#well that's just pissed me off for the day

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

part two

[arkhamsbrat]

jason todd is never going to admit that he is an extremely jealous man. that’d scare you off and he knows it. but he cant help that his left eye twitches when your friend calls you. he hears a deep voice on the line and he just stares.

its not that he doesnt trust you, but he does fear the day that you realize he isnt enough for you. too damaged, too brooding, too mean. it all boils down to not wanting to be replaced.

the jealousy calms down (slightly) when you turn to him with an smile and roll your eyes playfully. “drama queen!” you mouth while pointing at your phone. jason chuckles silently and lays his head in your lap, studying you while you speak.

your hands instinctively move to comb through his hair, finding your own comfort in the movement. his feelings are well hidden, he thinks. but you can see it in his eyes. the pretty blue orbs cloud over, wheels turning behind them at a speed you couldn’t match.

when your friend finally hangs up, you set your phone to the side and cup his cheeks with both hands. “y’okay?” he grumbled as his arms snaked around your waist. “nothin’ you gotta worry about.” there it was. “i’m your girlfriend, that’s like the whole point.”

if he was honest with you, you may run. hide from him somewhere he’d never pull you back out of. he couldn’t lose this, lose you. after years he’s finally found something to feel safe in- someone. but he couldn’t keep pushing you. he could see it in your eyes any time he swept his own feelings under the rug and locked you out of his mind.

he huffed, pausing for a moment before finally opening up with a mumble. “i dont like sharin’… just wanna keep y’to myself.” you hum and nod, waiting for him to continue. “‘s hard. everyone loves you, everyone wants your attention. just wanna keep you in my pocket.”

he scans over you, waiting for the snap- for you to get up and run. it doesn’t come. you kiss his forehead and shoot him a comforting smile.“thank you for telling me that, baby… am i doing enough for you?” it was just like you to start trying to fix it for the both of you. what else was he supposed to expect from you other than kindness?

“you’re doin’ enough, don’t worry about that, it’s just…” he drones off, not sure how to explain it. your finger taps his forehead gently. “all up here?” he nods once. “y’aren’t the only one who gets jealous, jayce.”

“it’s different.” he pouts, its adorable. “you… you’re not-” your hands cup his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you. “gonna stop you there. isnt different, and you don’t get to keep playing the ‘you aren’t broken’ card. you’re allowed to feel jealous and not feel like a monster.” he gives you a silent nod, still moping. “should i feel like a monster every time some girl looks at you while we’re out?” that was the first time you’ve admitted it, and honestly? you’d prefer he got cocky over you being jealous. he shook his head. “when it comes to us, if you wouldn’t be pissed at me doing it, don’t be pissed at yourself.”

there was a long road ahead, but he’s worth it. he’s worth it all.

[jinxsequin]

mechanic!jinx drabble ⊹₊⟡⋆

| summary: mechanic!jinx x fem!reader drabble

| wc: 2.8k

| content: mechanic!jinx, modern au, men dni, kissing/making out, slightly suggestive, reader & jinx are a tiny bit mean first, mostly fluff, possibly ooc jinx, probably car/mechanic info inaccuracies lol

mechanic!jinx who owns or either co-owns her shop with ekko, obviously named something ridiculously quirky. it looks like your typical garage/shop from afar but is definitely done up with her signature touch.

so when you’re driving through town, exhaustion sweeping over you as the heat and long day of driving catch up to you, the sight of a garage with the light up monkey sign illuminating the dark roads fills you with both a sense of relief and curiosity. you take a left and pull in, turning off the engine and resting your head on the steering wheel for a moment. coming back to your home town was always a taxing process, but it had almost been long enough to forget just how tricky the journey was. almost.

you pulled down the sun visor, scanning your reflection in the mirror as you smoothed out unruly pieces of your hair. you’d almost reached your family home, but the engine making strange sounds and stalling in the middle of the road was happening too periodically for you to ignore. now that you think about it - you definitely should have pulled over and got it checked out way before. there wasn’t a lot in your hometown, and at this time, practically everything still functioning had long closed for the night - so when the lit up ‘open’ sign in front of the garage came into view you thanked your lucky stars.

the cool summer air hits you the second you step out of your car. you wrapped your arms around your body, your flimsy cardigan doing little to prevent the goosebumps forming on your arms. you cautiously ventured further inside, stopping when you catch sight of someone inside.

mechanic!jinx who doesn’t seem to be affected by the chilly temperature, you figure, as your eyes land on the back of her figure leaning over a workbench, black tank top clinging to the top half of her body, showing off the intricate cloud tattoos wrapped around her bicep extending down her arm. two messy blue braids swing around with every movement as she’s seemingly caught up in her tinkering. you take the opportunity to scan the place you’re standing in. the space is clearly well loved and definitely lived-in, evident by the doodles and sketches of vehicles and their parts pinned up, tools, mini figures of cars and metal scraps strewn across every surface. 

“we’re closed,” the figure speaks simply, finally noticing your presence despite not bothering to turn around. 

you furrow your brows, checking the time. sure, it was just past midnight, but the open sign had been pretty clear, hadn’t it?

“the sign says you’re open,” you huff out, hating to be that person but also so worn out, wanting nothing but to crash into a bed as soon as possible. 

the figure finally turns around, pulling the goggles to rest atop their head. the woman in front of you has the most striking eyes you’ve ever seen, magenta hue glinting under the lights of the garage. your breath catches in your throat as you take in the rest of the features of her face while she scans your form from top to bottom, eyes narrowed. 

“huh,” she finally replies, ��must be broken again.” she walks to some spot behind you, meddling with a switch before turning back towards your figure. “there, closed!” she quipped with something that looked suspiciously like a grin. 

you spin around at her words, arms thrown up in exasperation. “are you fucking kidding me??” you bristle. jinx simply shrugs in response, a slight smirk playing on her lips at your annoyance. asshole.

you take a deep breath to attempt to collect yourself. you’re not going to get far if you piss off the only person around who can fix your car, however maddening she may be. “please, you guys are the only ones i’ve passed in this godforsaken town that look like you can actually help. it’ll be quick, and i’ll be out of your hair in no time,” you plead, swallowing your pride in hope that the woman before you would take mercy on you if she knew you were being genuine.

mechanic!jinx who toys with a spanner as she listens to you amusedly. she already knows she’s going to help - maybe she just wants to hear you beg. pretty women are her weakness, after all. she lets a beat of silence hang between you when you finish speaking, as if she’s weighing between decisions. she finally lets out a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as she continues to scrutinise you. 

“fine,” she relents, rolling her eyes slightly, “let’s go see what the damage is, trouble.” 

she’s been hunched over the engine bay of your car for around twenty minutes already, twisting knobs and wiping areas with a rag, occasionally shaking her head and murmuring to herself at the sight. you stand to the side, thinking anxiously about the state of your car and how you’re going to get home but simultaneously fighting to overcome the thoughts of just how attractive she looks in her craft, unable to tear your eyes away from her. you think you’re actually going to have to slap yourself out of it, when she suddenly looks up from under the head to turn to you. 

“damn it toots, did you ever get the oil filter cleaned on this thing?” jinx jabs, shattering your thought spiral.

of course, she just had to be infuriating as well as impossibly hot. you roll your eyes, scowling. “obviously, i’m not that stupid,” you shot back.

“ha, when was the last time?” she replies, raising an eyebrow. not giving you the chance to respond, she turns back to the engine, shaking her head. “it’s not just that, the engine clearly overheated - that explains the noises you said it was making. it’s going to take a couple of days to fix.”

“so i can’t take it now?” you ask in reply, mentally facepalming afterwards at the stupidly obvious question.

“are you out of your mind?”

“shit,” you mutter, running your hands down your face in dismay. “what am i gonna do?” 

mechanic!jinx whose gaze softens as she looks to you, despite your words being directed to yourself more than anyone else. jinx hesitates for a moment, biting her lip as she figures out what to say. “i’ll give you a ride home if you need it,” she finally manages, watching you in anticipation of your reaction, though she’s surprised at herself too. 

your gaze snaps back to her at that in confusion, that’s not the reply you were expecting from the snarky woman. 

“really?” you reply, following behind her as she begins to swiftly walk away, packing up her tools. 

“sure, lemme close up first,” she replies seemingly collected, but the way she stays with her back turned as she begins rolling down the shutters of the workshop is a little conflicting. your eyes narrow at her though she can’t see you. there has to be some sort of catch to this. “wait, how do i know you’re not some creep, or like a serial killer or something-”

mechanic!jinx turning back to you, an expression of incredulousness on her face. “don’t make me retract my offer, toots,” she deadpans. that shuts you up, and you simply nod in accord as you trail after her to her car, far too tired to care or argue any longer. her car is just as sleek and cool-looking as you’d expect from someone in her profession , but the little modifications make it so her. you think you’re subtle in the way your eyes flick over it in quiet admiration, but the faint smirk painting her face is telling a different story. 

once you’re situated inside, you can’t help but let your curiosity at the oddness of the woman’s behaviour get the better of you. who does that??? “so do you just offer rides in the dead of your night to all your customers or…”

jinx turns to you with a glare as the engine comes to life. “can you just be grateful?” her words carry no bite though, and the faint blush across her cheeks isn’t helping. she has a feeling she knows why she offered like that so quickly but she definitely isn’t admitting that.

“okay, yeah no i’m grateful. veryyy grateful, thankyou,” you emphasise, quickly turning your eyes back to the road as jinx simply scoffs lightheartedly in response. you tell her the directions, and only a few words are passed between you as she begins to drive, the fatigue from the long day getting the better of the two of you. you’re definitely not subtle in the way you admire the view of her side profile while she’s driving and her hands gripped around the steering wheel - but thankfully she’s too preoccupied with the road in front of her to notice. 

once you finally park in front of your house, you’re more than ready to leave - though the eye candy in front of you is very tempting, you’re absolutely ready to sleep for a week. you’re also not sure how much longer you’ll be able to be near her without doing something embarrassing or regretful. jinx clears her throat just as your hand reaches the door handle, all previous confidence and smoothness apparently thrown to the wolves as you turn back to her questioningly. 

“you can come by in three days, your car should be fixed by then,” she says. then, after a short pause, “i’m jinx, by the way.” 

you tell her your name and thank her again, genuinely, before getting out. jinx waits till you’ve gone all the way inside, watching wistfully as your figure disappears from view before she turns the key back in, heading home for the night. 

mechanic!jinx who is teased mercilessly by ekko the following day when she tries to casually bring you up. casually - who is she kidding? she’s never been casual about anything in her life. 

“so wait, you’re telling me instead of, you know, doing the normal thing and asking for her number, you were just straight up a jerk instead???” ekko had laughed when she recounted the events to him. 

“fuck you. how was i supposed to pull that one off?” jinx scowled, “and for the record - we were closed, it was that goddamn sign glitching again.”

ekko snorted in response, shaking his head. “well, you quite literally had a reason to, when she’s supposed to come back for the car?”

“okay, smartass, back to work,” jinx snarked, as ekko narrowly dodged the scrunched-up note aimed at his head, still laughing. she couldn’t argue with that, but in her defence, she was usually way smoother than that…somewhat.

mechanic!jinx whose breath catches in her throat when you eventually come back after three days during which she definitely wasn’t thinking about you. you can’t deny the fact that you put a tiny bit more effort in your appearance today, more than what was needed for just going to a garage on the outskirts of the town, kicking yourself when you realised as you looked at your reflection that afternoon. your mind short circuits as you’re walking closer to her, simultaneously thanking whatever powers were out there for blessing your eyes with the view in front of you and cursing whatever was in the air to make you feel this way. 

“hey,” you say when you’re finally close enough to be within earshot. 

“hi,” jinx replies, eyes refusing to leave your face. a few beats of silence pass while you both stare, before you snap out of it and clear your throat. “soooo…my car, is it ready?” you sound out tentatively.

jinx plays with the hair at the back of her head as she nods awkwardly, suddenly looking anywhere but your face as she starts walking. “oh, of course, your car. right this way…” 

you follow her through the garage passing different areas before you reach your car, the two of you standing near the side doors of your car as jinx debriefs you on what exactly was wrong with your car and what was done to fix it. you’ve checked out of the conversation long ago, far too distracted by how ridiculously attractive she looks right now, tattoos on display once again, but also how charming she is rambling about things you probably barely have a idea about, let alone care about. It’s a shame it doesn’t last long though. 

“the air filter on that thing…worst one i’ve seen in years, probably. and that fuel pump - what do you do, run the tank to the ground-”

“excuse me,” you snap, eyes narrowed at her jabs, spell broken. she’s almost civil one moment, the next she’s on your back once again?

“what?” jinx’s eyes widen exaggeratedly as she shrugs her shoulders. “it’s all true, in fact toots, i don’t think you should really even be on the road.” that was it - okay, maybe you weren’t the best at maintaining your car but you were perfectly good at driving it, thank you very much.

“do you actually do anything around here, or is running your mouth the only thing you’re good at?” you shoot back, barely controlling your rage at how easily she can rile you up. 

“i’ll have you know i’m good at many things actually,” jinx taunts as she leans in closer to you, “like actually getting my car checked when the engine is on the brink of failure, though me personally i haven’t ever-”

“are you good at shutting the fuck up?” you interrupt, your glare scorching as the rest of your body heats in anger and maybe something else. 

“should we find out?” her voice drops to a teasing whisper as she leans in even closer to your space. you’re internally berating yourself for the way your gaze immediately drops to her lips, though when you look back up to meet her eyes there’s a flicker in them as she does the same. a sweet smell mixed with the slightest tinge of engine oil clings to her, clings to you, overwhelms your senses and your body and your brain and what the fuck is actually going on?

mechanic!jinx who hums approvingly into the kiss when you meet her lips in the middle. your hands go to the back of her head, tangling your fingers as if to ground yourself while she places her warm hands on your waist, tugging you to the point there’s no space between you. her lips move against yours in the middle ground between delicateness and recklessness, and it’s almost maddening how good, how right, it feels - though that thought is quickly brushed away as her lips part from yours to move to your jawline.

you readily welcome the tenderness of her touch as she presses delicate kisses from your jaw down to your neck. her lips find your pulse point, and the quiet sound it draws from your lips make jinx lift her head up quickly, meeting your eyes with a faint smirk. you glare at her playfully, and that’s all it takes for her to shake her head and swiftly resume, moving her hands closer to your hips to pull you flush to her.

“jinx there’s a customer asking for their keys out there, can you go-” ekko’s sentence ends midway as he enters the bay, his eyes landing on the two of you pressed against the side door of your car. 

mechanic!jinx who is unwilling to let go of you, one hand still gripped firmly on your hip and the other on your shoulder as you watch the scene unfold with an embarrassed flush. jinx glares daggers at the clueless boy, more pissed at the fact that she was interrupted than the fact she was caught. 

ekko puts his hands up in surrender. “i’ll see to it,” he says, doing little to stifle his snicker as he turns on his heel swiftly and walks out. jinx mutters something about getting him back, dropping the hand away from your shoulder as she turns back to you. you visibly deflate at the loss of contact, though the hand on your hip is unmoving as jinx, for the first time it seems, looks like she’s struggling to speak. 

“canitakeyouonadate,” she finally manages to blurt out, and your eyebrows raise at the unintelligible words.

“what was that?” you reply, tilting your head in confusion. 

“can i take you on a date,” jinx mumbles, barely able to keep eye contact with you as she repeats herself more clearly. 

your heart skips a beat at her words, but you’re not letting up that easily. “oh, could you repeat that? i didn’t quite catch it,” you playfully mock, not holding back the grin that makes its way to your face. 

jinx sends you a fleeting look before burying her head in your shoulder. “can i take you on a date?” she repeats, though her words are muffled, “please.” you giggle, both at the ticklish feeling and her antics as you nod slightly. “you may.”

she raises her head to meet your gaze, smiling slightly as you finally give in. “my car?” you tease. 

jinx raises an eyebrow. “absolutely not,” she snickers, shaking her head in mock disbelief at your suggestion, before leaning down to meet your lips again. 

a/n: finally, a post actually below 6k words ! i really need to stop starting to write one idea then getting too excited about another and jumping to that because i get nothing finished...anyways this is literally brain vomit i just had to get it out so not too sure abt the quality !! but if you enjoy pls be sure to comment/reblog, thanks for reading <3

(gifs by cafekitsune)

[onelonelyghost0]

Danny was pissed.

Sure, he got his two weeks, but Clockwork could stretch one week into an eternity, and Danny doesn’t see the problem. Well, he does, but he also sees all the solutions.

“My boy, you don’t know the repercussions you could have!” Clockwork worries for the umpteenth time, “ The GIW could find you, you could’ve been killed, Dan-“

“Alright! I get it!” Danny cuts him off.

“I know what could happen! I’ve seen it! I’ve fixed it! I do all of your dirty work and barely take off days from work! I have their trust! The Justice League may be shit, yes-“

“Language,” Clockwork corrects absentmindedly.

“-but they don’t work with the GIW! I helped them, they’re more apt to help me now! If I’m King of the Infinite Realms and I’m to be the Ancient of Space, which you haven’t exactly been as sneaky with that training as you think you have, but I can’t protect?”

Danny stalks away from Clockwork, the predators grace he fights so hard to keep hidden on the Watchtower now on full display as he looks back as Clockwork, his words full of fangs and power.

“You’ll starve me. And you’ll be stuck with whoever kills me for good.”

Clockwork floated still, stunned by the Kings sudden resurgence of his Obsession, unable to see what the action will bring.

—-

Meanwhile, the Justice League wonders why Danny is suddenly away, and why Batman is lying so poorly about it.

Bruce was told not to tell, but he never was told to lie convincingly. He learned this particular loophole from Jason, after he told him not to tell his siblings about the gunshot wound. And Bruce learns his lessons well. So he not only lies to the Justice League, but to his family as well.

His children are like bloodhounds, sniffing out whoever has their father acting like this, and finding almost everything. The firewalls around Amity Park. The GIW. The experiments. How the ghosts weren’t even named, just numbered.

And how one Daniel Fenton, who bore a striking resemblance to one Daniel Nightingale, was in a near death accident with a portal that was Lazarus green.

And maybe, one of the Bats got a bit territorial. Making sure he got home ok. Asking oracle to keep an eye out. Seeing him in their civilian personas.

Danny knew he’d have a headache, but he didn’t expect one this big. Not one that gave him this many casseroles.

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[suzukiblu]

okay I SLIGHTLY dragged my ass writing/getting this up, it's been kind of A Day(tm), BUT: first day of the first February weekly WIP behind the cut; "the puzzle trap sex-room". content warnings: past grooming, past sexual abuse, past statutory rape, past dubious consent, CURRENT unhealthy coping mechanisms, immediate fallout of sex pollen/death trap-induced sexual coercion, and a POV character who does not understand what the problem with any of that is, he's FINE, Jesus, lay off already and let him live his life. So uh, you know, just Kon's . . . entire pre-YJ dating history, pretty much? Pretty much that, yeah. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Is the possibility of having given Robin an STI the only reason you can think of to be concerned about the events of the night?” Batman asks, perfectly neutral like another fucking trap–like he thinks Superboy’s the stupidest thing alive and gonna fucking fall for that again–and Superboy actually almost does disassemble this whole stupid cave. Or at least that huge-ass computer Batman’s got taking up half a wall over there or maybe some of those fancy Batsuits and all their utility belts full of souped-up gear, anyway. 

He’s real fuckin’ tempted to disassemble the Batmobile. 

Besides, if anyone gave–gave anyone a fucking STI, it was obviously the fucking prick who lied about not having fucking condoms on him. 

“I saved your fucking sidekick’s fucking life, asshole,” Superboy bites off roughly, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. The muscles that try to tense under Superman’s grip can’t–not as much as normal, anyway. Superman’s grip is just–it’s not something Superboy can do anything about, and that is pissing him the fuck off right now. “You could at least pretend to be, I dunno, fuckin’ grateful instead of just being a dick about my goddamn personal life.” 

“You haven’t described your personal life,” Batman says in that same bullshit neutral tone. “Or your dating history, or anything similar. You’ve described predatory adult women taking advantage of their age and experience to manipulate and take advantage of you.” 

“Let the fuck go of me or I’m gonna fucking make somebody sorry about it,” Superboy says to Superman, his voice flatter than the goddamn floor. Like–very literally flatter, since some of the floor’s clearly kinda just hacked out of the rock. 

He is actually about to go fucking nuclear on this bullshit non-conversation where no one’s fucking listening to him. 

Getting fucking lectured is not, in fact, any kind of a conversation. 

And he’s not–like, what the fuck is this bullshit, where they’re pretending like they’re asking him things and all they’re actually doing is making fucking assumptions and twisting everything he does say and not even fucking listening to him! 

“Kid, we just–” Superman starts in that bullshit voice like he’s trying to sound concerned instead of ever fucking listening to him or, you know, letting him the fuck go, and well–Superboy fucking warned him, didn’t he. 

So he grabs every single piece of the Batmobile down to the absolute last, and then he rips it all apart all at once and drops it. 

Though once he’s done that, he just to rip apart a whole lot more. 

The Batmobile collapses every which way and all its parts and pieces hit the floor in a massive cacophony of clattering and crashing and Robin jerks in alarm, whipping his head towards the pieces of it as they scatter across the floor. Superman startles a little too, and Superboy’s still not done being fucking pissed, actually, so he just–he still wants to rip apart this whole fucking cave and everything in it and just–just rip it apart, just–just–

“Let me go, you fucking prick,” he hisses up at Superman. “You have literally never cared before and I don’t give a fuck about your opinion about who I’m fucking anyway!” 

“Superboy,” Robin interjects carefully as he glances back towards them–fucking carefully, like he thinks Superboy’s somebody who needs handled carefully, who can’t handle his own shit, the patronizing piece of–“You did describe crimes. Legally, like . . . at least a couple of those situations are crimes.” 

Of course that’s what the asshole decides to fucking speak up about, Superboy thinks as a spike of fury stabs into his gut. 

[nomie-11]

Showing, not Telling

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie's not one to say 'i love you,' she's one to show you how she does

pairings: ellie williams x reader

Ellie had never been verbal in her affection—a byproduct of never being raised with a loving smile, Ellie didn’t know how to be verbal when expressing her love. While she hadn’t been raised with ‘I love yous’ and ‘I care for yous,’ she had learned through Joel’s gruff, unspoken ways—his careful glances, the food left on her plate when he said he wasn’t hungry, the way he’d always walk just to the front of her, keeping her tucked in where it was the safest.

That was how she learned love. That was how she showed it. 

And you—well, you didn’t need the words, not really. 

You noticed it in the way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, a quiet sort of fondness tucked into the corners of her small smiles. The way she’d meet your eyes across a crowded hall in Jackson, smirking at something only the two of you understood. How she’d flick a piece of bread at you at dinner just to make you roll your eyes, then offer you the last bite of her food just to make sure you ate enough. 

Then there were the notes. 

Small scraps of paper, usually torn from the edges of something old or her scrappy notebook, always in her messy scrawl. They started appearing before patrols, tucked into the laces of your boots or the pockets of your jacket when you weren’t looking. 

Be careful out there, dumbass. 

Try not to get yourself killed, I’d be pissed. 

Bring me back something cool, or don’t come back at all (kidding. Kinda—i need the 34th volume of savage starlight so if you see it please bring it back)

The first time you found one, it made you laugh. The second time, it made your chest warm. The third time, you started looking forward to them, tucking them into a little wooden trinket box Ellie had made with Joel when he was trying to teach her how to woodwork. The fourth time, you started to wonder what new variation of I love you she’d come up with next. 

One particularly cold morning, as you were pulling on your boots, Ellie shoved a note into your hands before you could react. 

“Read it later,” she said, running a hand through her shorter, already-messy hair and avoiding your eyes. 

So of course, the second you were out of sight, you unfolded the paper. 

It’s really fucking freezing, and you know the cold kinda freaks me out a little, so please just be safe and wear your scarf. 

You touched the scarf at your neck, smiling to yourself. 

Then there was the way she listened. 

It wasn’t just hearing—it was listening. Really listening. 

You talked a lot. About everything, about nothing, about things that didn’t matter and things that did. And Ellie? She remembered every detail. 

You couldn’t tell if she was writing it down, but she had everything locked away in a corner of her mind somewhere. Like the time you offhandedly mentioned that you missed the taste of peaches. A week later, she shoved a dusty old can of them into your hands, looking almost embarrassed. 

“I asked Joel and he still had a can from when we were on the road,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Figured you’d want it.” 

Or the time you told her about a Fleetwood Mac song your mom used to play when you were little, something you hadn’t heard in years. And one night, weeks later, she dragged you up to her room, sat you down, and pulled out her guitar. 

It was choppy, a little off-key, but it was your song. 

When you looked at her, something tight in your chest, she just shrugged. 

“You mentioned it,” she said, strumming absentmindedly. “Figured I’d learn it.” 

That was Ellie. 

And then there were the things she did when she thought you wouldn’t notice. 

Like taking on extra work without being asked, fixing things in your little garage apartment before they broke fully, making sure the bed you shared had enough blankets before you went to sleep. 

One evening, after a long day, you dragged yourself into the stables, exhausted from an awful double shift on the wall watch duty. You were dreading the chore ahead of you—cleaning out your horse’s stall, hauling hay, checking the saddle straps. But when you got there, it was already done. 

The stall was clean, the saddle polished, fresh hay stacked neatly in the corner.��

You turned, knowing before you even saw her. 

Ellie was leaning against the wooden fence, arms crossed, a smug little grin tugging at her lips. 

“You’re welcome,” she said, before you could even ask. 

You just shook your head, smiling. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, kicking at the dirt. “You looked like you were about to keel over earlier. And I owed you for volume 34, so now we’re even.” 

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against hers. 

“Thanks, El.” 

She just nodded, glancing away—but you caught the small, please smile that she tried to hide. 

Yeah. She’d never been one for words. But she didn’t need them. Not when she loved you like this. 

a break from my usual vi programming for my new wife ellie williams!

anyways sorry for being mia i've been super sick and suffering writers block so yeah, but i'll be coming back slowly!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[respectthepetty]

I really love that Wa and Yotha are good exes to each other now that they are in other relationships fifteen episodes into Perfect 10 Liners. And I love that they keep talking under the "Don't text your ex" sign.

Because even though Wa's relationship with Klao has more than its share of problems, they balance each other out. Klao needs someone to save him from himself, and Wa wants to be a savior.

And Wa couldn't be that person for Yotha. Wa couldn't rescue Yotha all the time. Yotha needed a guy who saw all his darkness and embraced it.

Sometimes a Black Brooder doesn't need to be saved by a Heavenly Human. Sometimes he simply needs a chill Green Guy to remind him that the world isn't such a dark place.

And Yotha found that light in Gun.

Much like Red Rascal Arc realized he could experience happiness every day instead of believing every day was a fight through his love for Yellow Yal Arm.

And Blue Boy Sand and his elite Mean Girls shirt found the perfect guy to understand him in Orange Oddity Pond.

Pond makes him breakfast and leaves little orange notes with daily encouragement.

And Sand loves every second of it!

So it's time for these color-coded boys in love to follow their seniors into domestic bliss, so now that Yotha has apologized for hurting his Green Guy, all is well.

Regardless if Faifa likes it or not.

They could have at least waited until Faifa was pretending to be asleep. The disrespect!

But our pretty Blue Boy still comes out on top after becoming the newest campus star, and he gets a beautiful crown of flowers for it because he deserves nice things.

So while his brothers and brother-in-law are about to go through trails and tribulations, Faifa is just going to be enjoying his win.

And while MY HEART IS BEING RIPPED OUT OF MY BODY, Faifa is going to be celebrating in the bar with his friends.

AND WHEN YOTHA'S HEART IS BEING RIPPED OUT OF HIS BODY AND BEING SMASHED IN FRONT OF HIS FACE, Faifa will be drinking the night away knowing he is the bestest boy on campus.

Narrator: Faifa will, in fact, be very pissed off.

But thank goodness Newton is about that business and decided to bring a gun to a knife fight, so the Jets and Sharks will have to sort out their differences another day.

(These two are so dramatic and constantly remind me that this is a JittiRain series)

But, thankfully, Faifa and his "Where there is love, this is life" shirt exit quickly once he sees everyone is okay and notices that Gun is wearing Yotha's black shirt since he knows that shirt isn't going to stay on long now that Yotha is aware of his feelings.

Gun is pulling a Sally Field right now and is shocked that Yotha actually loves him when all of the signs pointed to Yotha being in love with him, but I love this journey of realization for Gun.

And now Yotha has to negotiate how many cows he is willing to give Gun's family so he can keep him and Gun's dad said he just needed to pay a utility bill every now and then (probably electricity, am I right?), and he can keep his son for life. I love this for them!

BUT I DON'T LOVE THIS! Love does not heal trauma, babes! NO! You are not certified to perform exposure therapy! Don't make Gun cry like this. IT HURTS ME!

*rocking back and forth* I'm going to look at the parents' books about colors and design to calm down. Just leave me here for a second. I'll be fine.

Now this is more like it. Just be there for him when he wakes him. Comfort him. Love him.

Be his sunshine in the darkness.

But do NOT do what you are thinking about doing in his childhood room in his parents' house.

You know what? Actually, go for it! They deserve this.

I have a sister to put to bed anyway.

AYEEE

[iamespecter]

the mazersize part of the game almost made me quit(I just looked it up at the end lol) so I would love to see your version of a chica venue :>

(made this post before the internet died lol)

YEAHHHHHH I wholeheartedly agree with you!!!!!!!! as much as I love Chica.... I cannot turn a blind eye to WHATEVER THE FUCK MAZERCISE IS!!! Like, I am a hardcore Chica lover and all of her variants but you CANNOT pay me to say "I love Mazercise. It's so clever" it is legit the worst section in ALL of SB and it PISSES ME OFF

Anyways what's the venue? Why, it's Chica of the Sea and Dancercise!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Still not letting go of the fact that everyone gets a cool venue but Chica gets fucking Mazercise. bleugh. disGUSting. I am offended get that shit away from me!!!! BONNIE'S VENUE IS SO MUCH COOLER AND IT'S A BOWLING ALLEY. HOW'D YOU MESS UP THAT BADLY MANNNN

Anyways, Chica of the Sea would be located in where Kid's Cove is. Which means, Kid's Cove and Mazercise have to switch places, in order to make the venue work.

Unlike the others' venues, Chica of the Sea actually requires you to go a little deeper down below via an elevator; to emulate the feeling of getting transported 20,000 leagues under the sea to experience the attraction.

As the name implies, it is an ocean-themed location where guests can learn things about marine life, as well as having multiple mini-attractions to offer, like an aqua park. A mermaid version of a golden Chica statue resides in the middle of the lobby before the elevator, one of the first things one would usually see when first entering the venue.

Unfortunately as it stands to the current day of the Pizzaplex, Chica of the Sea is now abandoned to rot beneath the mall, as Chica's popularity dwindled due to the Voicebox incident and management could not afford to keep it running. instead, she is given a new (albeit smaller) location: Dancercise!

Dancercise is Mazercise, but better. It's a DDR-styled maze with a dance floor in the middle, where Chica would host countless party games like "simon says", and zumba dances. The venue is designed to keep the oceanic theme a little bit so they could reuse as much props from the og as possible, and the goal is to keep the customers occupied as much as possible to bleed their wallets dry.

The Fazwatch map for Dancercise would be this:

Top left: Exercising room (away from the loudness of the main room) Top middle: Restrooms Top right: Staff room/Parts and service

Middle left: Food court Center: DANCE DOME: Hexagonal Maze (outer), Dance floor (inner) Middle top: Changing rooms and lockers next: Souvenir/gift shop corner: Arcade, maybe?

And the maze/dance floor would be this:

I also had a concept art in mind for the Dance Dome/Maze, but.... I didn't finish it due to my frustration at my skill level of making environments back then

The Dance Dome would be where Chica's boss fight happens. But before you enter the Dome, you are FORCED to give up all of your belongings to a party bot because an incident had already occurred before where someone brought a laser gun and a fazcam in the dance floor, resulting in a pretty heavy lawsuit.

A botched simon says game ran by a intercomms!Chica will then ensue where you have to play in the dark, only some parts of the floor will light up and you have to avoid the REAL Chica. You'd be given a limited amount of glowsticks in order to make traversal easier but you gotta place them wisely. (think like, Funtime Foxy's Night 4 in Sister Location)

And then instead of getting crushed by the compactor in the original; once the fight ends, a staff area would unlock, allowing Gregory to access the catwalks of the Dance dome. A small fight between Gregory and Chica happens, and Chica gets kicked onto the Jumbotron. The jumbotron on top of the dance dome would then fall taking Chica with it, causing the whole dancefloor to collapse, and a second phase to begin with shattered Chica; all in the now abandoned and grimy Chica of the Sea exhibit buried underneath.

I wish I could show and tell more, but this is where I've stopped making visual concepts. I mean, I still have MORE ideas.... and I still even have the glamrock decals for Chica of the Sea.... but I dunno if anyone would be interested in wanting me to expand further on what Chica of the Sea contains lol

[theocddiaries]

Amy: What you two need to do to smooth things over is talk. With an impartial third party guiding you with a little bit of psychology. So come on, let's start. Sonic, say something you like about Shadow. Sonic: He's kind. Very level-headed. Trustworthy. He brings calm wherever he goes. Shadow: …Thank you, Sonic. Amy: Good. Shadow? Shadow: Hm… Well, he's… Good-hearted, even at his own detriment. He’s funny. He always tries to include everyone. He makes people feel comfortable. Sonic: Thanks, Shads. Amy: See? Saying those things is important. Just like accepting criticism. Why don't you start this time, Shadow? What's something about Sonic that you don't like? Shadow: Well… when I ask him if he wants something to eat and he says no, but then he starts picking at my plate… Sonic: It's true, I do that. I say I don’t feel like eating, but then I see the food and I can’t resist. Sorry. Shadow: It’s fine. I’m starting to remember to grab you a separate plate with a little bit of everything. Sonic: Okay, my turn. Hmm… I don’t like when you move my things around. I can never find anything. Shadow: Well, that’s not really moving things around, it’s called organizing, but okay, I accept the criticism. Amy: See? That’s healthy communication and-- Sonic: Since you’re accepting criticism so well, what about never admitting you're wrong? Like now. Amy: Sonic, wait, we’ve-- Shadow: I was actually being gracious because I don’t want to start a fight. Amy: Shadow, I was talking-- Sonic: I've got another one, you keep everything to yourself and then people have to guess what’s wrong with you. Shadow: You surely aren't talking about yourself in that scenario, considering you spend all day with your head in the clouds. Maybe that’s why you’re confused, saying I move your things when all I do is put them in a drawer instead of leaving them on the floor. Amy: Guys, we’re drifting off-topic a little-- Sonic: Look, if you need to micro-manage everything because you’ve got a trauma the size of Greenland, it’s not my fault, okay? Shadow: I do not micro-manage. Sonic: Come on, everything has to be as you wish. Shadow: If that were true, the trash wouldn't still be there. When are you going to take it out? Sonic: When I feel like it because this is my house. If I want to leave it there until it grows legs and throws itself out, I will! Shadow: Now you can afford the luxury call this a house; before I got here, this place was a mess! Sonic: No. Before you got here, this place was a peaceful haven! Shadow: A peaceful haven full of crap. You’ve got the closets as decoration, you big lazy! Amy: Okay guys, let’s breathe-- Sonic: Maybe I'm just tired of coming home and seeing you with that damn scowl all day, bitter idiot! Shadow: Maybe I’m pissed off all day because you don’t do anything! Sonic: I don't do anything because according to you I do everything wrong, Mr I-don't-micromanage! Just tell me what you want and I'll do it! Shadow: Right now, what I want is for you to leave! Sonic: No, you leave, you’re the one who’s a problem wherever you go! Shadow: Gladly! [stands up and walks toward the door] Sonic: Oh no no! I’m leaving, so you can't act like a martyr! [leaves the house too] [Amy pinches the bridge of her nose while they’re still heard arguing in the hallway.] Shadow: Stop following me, idiot! Sonic: I’m not following you, you paranoid, I’m going in the elevator! Shadow: Of course you’re taking the elevator! Lazy! Sonic: Go ahead and take the whole staircase, you selfish! Knuckles [comes out of the kitchen with a sandwich, having heard everything]: Damn, is this therapy? Making things worse? People spend money on such things… or maybe you're just really bad at this. Amy [throws a pillow at him] Knuckles: Ow! [sarcastically]: Amy, accepting criticism is important, Amy.

This could be like the prologue of this and this tbh

[ladywaffles]

A little ditty about the first time Maverick preened Ice’s wings for him… thanks for letting me play in your sandbox! :)

It happens during Ice’s molt, the year they decide to call a spade and spade and stopped leaving before dawn. They send their second class back out to sea three days before Ice molts. Maverick has been an instructor for almost a year, but this is Ice’s first molt as an instructor.

He’s not unused to flying, but it’s been a while since he’s put this many hours in the sky, pulling the maneuvers that Top Gun teaches. He wakes up at three in the morning with an itch in his wings that makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

It’s hell.

Ice trudges to the bathroom and closes the door before he flicks the light on, careful to make sure that it doesn’t bleed out through the doorway and wake Maverick up. If one of them has to be awake and miserable at oh-dark-thirty in the morning, there’s no sense in the other one suffering when they’re in between cohorts.

He gets a look at his wings in the mirror, and it’s rough. He hasn’t looked this bad since he was nineteen and putting himself through the rigor of daily PT in Annapolis. Sighing, he stretches a wing out and starts plucking at the dead feathers, massaging them out until they fall to the floor. It’s a mind-numbing task, especially in the middle of the night when he could be in bed, pressed against the warm line of Maverick’s body next to his, but he knows well enough that he won’t be able to fall asleep until he’s worked most of the way through his wings.

He’s just about to reach for the awkward part by his shoulder when the bathroom door swings open.

Maverick looks about as tired as Ice feels. His hair is rumpled, sticking straight up on one side of his head, and he blinks in the harsh light from the bathroom vanity like a drunk trying to focus on walking in a straight line.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Maverick squints at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ice says.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Maverick pouts.

Ice stares at him blankly. It’s too goddamn early (late?) for him to figure out what Maverick wants from him.

“It’s the middle of the night, Mav, you should be asleep,” he says.

“We should be asleep,” Maverick replies and drags him out of the bathroom with a steel grip on his wrist. He makes it all the way to the edge of the bed, pushes down on Ice’s shoulders until he’s sitting on the ground, then sits on the mattress with Ice between his legs.

“Maverick, I can take care of this, really, go back to sleep,” Ice tells him.

“Will you just shut up already and let me get on with it so we can both go back to bed,” Maverick grumbles.

Ice does as he’s told and shuts up. Maverick’s already irritable enough, and Ice doesn’t want to piss him off more.

Mav is faster than he is at working the dead feathers free. It helps that he’s got a better vantage point and can actually reach all of Ice’s wing without contorting his arms into twisted poses, but Maverick really is better at preening than Ice is. It feels nice, to have Mav’s nimble fingers running through his feathers. It’s a good feeling on a normal day, when they’re cleaning up after a day of blasting the kids out of the sky, but when he’s molting and every feather out of place is that much more annoying? Ice would bottle the sensation if he could.

He doesn’t realize how deep he’s out of it until his cheek smacks into Mav’s thigh. Ice jerks up, his wings puffing out as he snaps awake.

“You undid it all,” Maverick moans. “Will you just calm down and let me work?” He pushes in between Ice’s shoulder blades until Ice relaxes, then threads his fingers through Ice’s almost-too-long hair and guides it back to rest on his leg.

“No, I want to stay awake,” Ice protests. “You’re awake too, I woke you up—”

“Kazansky, I would not be here if I didn’t want to be,” Maverick says.

“But—”

“Let me take care of you, Ice.”

Ice wants to twist around and look at him, but Maverick curls his own wings around them both, cocooning them away from the rest of the world. It’s hard to fight the lure of comfort then, so Ice lets himself melt into Maverick as he works through the molting feathers.

He falls asleep at some point, and it’s nearly dawn by the time that Mav tugs him into bed properly and drags them both under the covers. Ice drapes himself over Maverick, their chests pressed together, until Maverick winds his arms around Ice’s body and holds him close.

“Thank you, love you,” Ice mumbles, straight into Maverick’s skin.

“Tell me again when you’re awake, hotshot,” Maverick says.

///

The sunshine wakes him up properly. It’s mid-morning, and Maverick is already awake, scratching his fingers along the base of Ice’s wings.

“Good morning, grumpy,” Maverick teases.

“Don’t stop,” Ice whines, tucking his head under Mav’s chin. He feels Maverick’s laugh in his chest, but Maverick does as Ice asks and runs his hands over Ice’s back.

“You could’ve woken me up,” Ice says.

“Funny, I think I said the same thing to you last night.”

Ice lifts his chin enough to look at Maverick. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he says.

“Am I sleeping in your bed?”

“Mav—”

“It’s a yes or no question. Am I sleeping in your bed?”

“Yes.”

“How long have I been doing that?”

“Four months, give or take.”

“In the past four months, have I ever given you the idea that I don’t want to be here?”

“No.”

“Logic and clear thinking would indicate then that I want you to bother me by walking me up when you’re uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? Because it wouldn’t be a bother.” Maverick cups his cheek. “C’mon, Kazansky. I know you’re Mister Ice-Cold-No-Mistakes, but I think you’ve got room for me. I want to be here. Let me be here for you.”

“Thank you,” Ice says. He doesn’t know what else to say. “It’s… been a while since someone did that for me. I usually just ride it out myself.”

“Two fuckin’ years since we met, and you never thought to ask for my help?” Maverick grins.

Ice tries to think of a retort, then last night comes back to him in crystal clear picture, like the sky above the Pacific on a cloudless day.

He knows exactly what to say.

“I get it. I know why you want me to wake you up when I’m up and uncomfortable,” Ice says, pushing his weight onto his elbows so he can hold himself above Maverick.

“Yeah? What is it then?” Maverick asks.

“I love you.”

He watches as Maverick passes through a carousel of emotions in a matter of moments.

“You said to tell you again when I was awake,” Ice continues.

“I did say that, didn’t I,” Maverick replies, breathless. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“If you keep talking to me like that, we’re not gonna make it out of bed in time for lunch,” Maverick says.

“Promise?”

There’s a playful glint in Maverick’s eye, the same one Ice saw the day he asked for a flyby for two.

Ice smiles back. “Love you.”

First post of the new year (even though I started this pic in december shhhh)

and what a surpise, it's more wing!au :) I just like the juxtaposition of admiral Kazansky (2 star here), polished to such perfection even his feathers are gleaming, versus just Ice, casual, rumpled feathers being diligently seen to by his loving partner.

Maverick has trouble sitting still usually, but preening Ice like this gets him to focus like nothing else (except for when he's flying a jet, of course)

[millieisawriter]

Oh, baby

arthur morgan x reader

summary: arthur being a sweet baby daddy, even if you aren't as optimistic

wc: 2k

tw: accidental/unwanted pregnancy

all pics taken from pinterest

based on this request

a/n: yeeeehaw finally back from my break

Getting pregnant wasn’t ever something you planned nor wanted to happen. Hooking up with Arthur, you were aware of the possible consequences. Both of you were, but the consequences aren’t something you thought about during the heat of the moment. And now you were living with them. Suffering through them.

Meanwhile Arthur didn’t seem so upset.You supposed you were somewhat lucky he was the one that got you pregnant, he wasn’t running off or pretending it wasn’t happening. But his optimism was starting to piss you off. From the day you had told him, he’s been attentive, caring, and a little happier. He wasn’t that grumpy guy the gang had known anymore. Now, he had a reason to be happy, perhaps even to live.

“Brought you somethin’.”

Arthur’s voice cut through the spiraling thoughts in your head as you sat alone by the fire. No bottle nor a cigarette in your hand, as it would’ve usually been. Now you had to be careful.

You looked at Arthur as he sat down beside you on the log. “What’s that?” You muttered as he handed you a small brown paper package.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Open it and see.”

You frowned, but curiosity got the best of you and your fingers ripped the paper. Inside, there was a blanket. A new one, not stolen. It was neatly folded, soft, and warm. For the baby.

Your stomach twisted. The moment your fingers brushed over the fabric, it all felt even more real. As if it hadn’t already been real enough. And this wasn’t even the first thing Arthur had bought. If things were different, maybe you’d be happy. If you were different. But you weren’t. You didn’t want any of this.

“You keep buying all these things,” you said.

Arthur replied as if that was the most obvious thing. “Somebody has to think ahead.”

“And that somebody is you?”

“Well, I’m the father.”

You scoffed and shoved the blanket back at him. “Yeah, well, I don’t want it.”

“Ain’t for you,” he shot back, his tone softening when he realized he shouldn’t have snapped back so harshly, “it’s for the baby.”

You stood up. It’s been baby this and baby that for the past few months. No wonder it was starting to get on your nerves. “I can’t wait until this,” you gestured at your stomach, “is finally over so I can go get shitfaced.”

Arthur didn’t smirk, knowing it wasn’t a joke. He didn’t even reply, not having the words. He tried, he really tried to help you warm up to the idea. There wasn’t much he could do. He had searched for solutions to make your problem disappear. Doctors had the skills and tools to help you out, but the problem was it wasn’t legal. Doctors were scared of helping ordinary people in that matter, let alone outlaws wanted in many states with bounties bigger than the money you’ve ever made.

“I just… I hate this, Arthur,” you admitted finally, “I hate feeling slow. Weak. I hate the way y’all look at me like I ain’t me no more.”

Arthur stood up as well. Looking down at your face, he saw how glassy your eyes were. You didn’t want to cry, you were fighting it. “Ain’t nobody thinks you’re weak,” Arthur tried to assure you.

You scoffed. “Oh, please, don’t tell me you don’t see it. The way the gang treats me like I’m fragile. Like I ain’t spent the last few years robbing and shooting and killing right beside y’all.”

“Difference is, now you don’t live just for yourself.”

Arthur paused, and so did you. An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you. The kind of silence that made the night around you feel overwhelming. You wished you could run, run away from all your problems.

Arthur continued, “I know this ain’t what you wanted. I know you’re scared—”

“I ain’t scared.”

But you knew he was right. You were scared, you had no idea how to be a mother. This had never been in the cards for you. You were an outlaw first, a woman second. And now, you were going to be a mother first.

Arthur let out a breath slowly. “Ain’t a crime to be scared,” he said, “hell, I’m scared too. But we can deal with this, you have me. Me and everyone else in this gang.”

“I don’t know how to do this, Arthur,” you muttered, your voice low.“I don’t wanna do this. I ain’t no mother material, and you ain’t exactly cut out to be a father either.”

Well, that hurt, but you had no idea about his past, about Isaac. The day Isaac and Eliza died, Arthur promised to himself that if he gets another chance, he’ll do better. And maybe you were his another chance.

“I tried,” Arthur sat back down on the log, his elbows on his knees as he stared into the dying fire, “tried to find someone, a doc, a midwife, someone who could help you. Ain’t no one who’d do it, not for us. Not for you. They’re scared to do it for normal folk, we can’t even dream of it.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it without a word. You swallowed, despite your mouth being suddenly dry. There really was no way out.

You sat down next to Arthur, closer than ever, so close your legs touched. The thing that really got to you was that he had tried. That he had gone looking, knowing well that helping you meant getting rid of something he clearly wanted to keep. Something that was important to him.

“Why?” You asked suddenly.

Arthur turned to look at you. “Why what?”

“Why did you try to help me?”

“Cause I care about you.”

Your throat tightened, and you hated it. You weren’t supposed to cry. Not over this. Not over him.

He continued. “I ain’t gonna pretend I don’t want this kid. I do. But I ain’t the one who’s gotta carry the burden, and I sure as hell ain’t the one who’s gotta go through all this. You are.”

You sniffed and looked away. “Well, ain’t no fixing it now, I guess.”

“No,” the man nodded slowly.

There was silence again, but now just a bit more comfortable. You could hear the soft hum of the night, a distant owl, the fire crackling in front of you, the wind dancing with the leaves. Maybe this wasn’t going to be that bad.

“Now,” Arthur gave your knee a light squeeze as he pushed himself to his feet, “you eaten yet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course I have. That thing makes me eat everything in sight.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at you, his gaze telling you he didn’t exactly believe your words.

You huffed. “Okay. I haven’t.”

“That’s what I thought. Sit here for a moment.”

He turned around to bring you something to eat. Something he got in town, something that wasn’t Pearson’s stew.

And you weren’t going anywhere. You hadn’t moved from your place at the fire for the past few hours. That was how most of your days looked lately. From time to time, someone else would join you, but the more pregnant you were, the more snappy you were. At some point it became easier to leave you alone.

“Eat,” Arthur ordered as he gave you some bread, cheese, and an apple. Then, he reached into his satchel to take out a chocolate bar.

It was a lovely gesture. The food wasn’t some fancy dinner, but not like you expected anything fancy. Fancy isn’t a thing when it comes to any aspect of the outlaw life. The food was simple, but better than whatever was floating in Pearson’s stew.

“Thank you.”

You bit into the bread first, interchangeably taking bites of the cheese. Then, not having fully swallowed the cheese yet, you opened the chocolate and took a few bites. And later on you finished it off with the apple.

You didn’t deserve that kind of understanding. Arthur had wanted this baby. He was probably excited, dreaming about a future you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine. Even if he himself would deny it, you knew he deserved better.

Out of a sudden, you asked, “Why ain’t you mad at me?”

Arthur frowned. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because I don’t want this, and you do. I’ve been a pain in the ass to everyone, you included.”

“You have every right to be like this. Your body isn’t yours anymore. I’d be mad as hell if I were in your shoes.”

Arthur was so understanding it made you nauseous. You wanted to hit him and cuddle into him at the same time.

Then, you felt something. As you threw the apple core into the fire, you felt a weird sensation in your belly. Some shifting, pressing from the inside. Then, a sharp kick.

“What the hell?” You hissed, looking down at the curve of your belly.

Arthur straightened immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“It just kicked me,” your hands went to your stomach, fingers pressing against the spot, feeling the kick again. “You want me to throw you a real punch, little bastard?”

You heard Arthur laugh. His laughter was genuine, probably for the first time ever.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if a baby was trying to kick its way out of your guts, Arthur.” You groaned, rubbing a hand over your belly. Another kick made you jolt slightly. It wasn’t something you were used to, the baby didn’t kick before. “Keep that up and I’ll— ouch!”

Arthur’s laughter died down, and now he was just smiling as he leaned in. He hesitated before saying, “Lemme feel.”

You looked at him with disbelief. “What?”

“The baby. Lemme feel the kicks.”

You sighed, eyeing him for a moment before grabbing his wrist and placing his hand on your belly. His touch was warm, but soft. When you let go of his wrist, his hand practically hovered millimeters above your skin as if he were scared of pressing too hard.

For a second, there was nothing. You were about to tell him to forget it when another kick landed right against his hand. Arthur stilled completely. You could see his face firstly flash with a surprise, which soon switched into a smile. He looked damn near mesmerized.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, eyes focused on where his hand rested.

You could see it in his face, how much this meant to him. It was strange, seeing Arthur Morgan like that. He looked younger somehow, hopeful in a way you hadn’t seen the whole time you knew him.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat. “Told you. Little shit’s got an attitude already.”

Arthur grinned. “Must take after you.”

You looked at the man as he kept his attention on your stomach. Nobody was arguing, nobody was scheming, nobody was running from the law. Just the two of you sitting there, Arthur’s palm resting against your stomach, feeling the proof of the thing that had turned your whole damn world upside down.

After a while, he finally broke the silence. “You ever think maybe this don’t gotta be as bad as you think?”

You didn’t answer right away, because, yeah, you had thought about it. Not in a hopeful way, not in the way Arthur had, but in a tired, resigned sort of way. You weren’t getting rid of it. You weren’t running from it. Whether you liked it or not, this was happening.

Then, suddenly, all you said was, “We can’t let the baby become like us.” And your voice finally carried a softness that wasn’t there for the past few months.

Arthur smiled, finally pulling his hand away. “We won’t.”

[shybluebirdninja]

Fury Roadtrip

Summary: Logan insists on being your road trip navigator, but his terrible sense of direction gets you both lost in the middle of nowhere with a very angry llama.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Gf!Reader

Note                : fluff

It all started with Logan’s damn confidence. He had that “I'm-always-right-even-when-I'm-wrong” swagger, and it was extra obnoxious when he was in the passenger seat.

“Babe, I’m tellin’ ya, you missed the turn back there.”

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “Logan, we’re following the GPS. I’m literally doing exactly what it says.”

He crosses his arms, grunting. “GPS is full of shit. I know the backroads better than this piece of tech.”

You almost laugh but bite your lip. Logan, your Logan, who spent most of his life in the Canadian wilderness, was trying to tell you he had the lay of the land down in the middle of nowhere Arizona. Sure, the man had sharp instincts when it came to sniffing out danger, but his sense of direction? Absolute garbage.

“Okay, darling,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “why don’t you tell me where we’re supposed to go, huh? Since you know these backroads so well.”

He cracks his knuckles, like he’s preparing for battle. “Take the next left.”

You squint at the road ahead, seeing nothing but desert stretching for miles. “Left where, exactly? The cactus? Or are we about to drive through some tumbleweeds?”

Logan doesn’t hesitate, just taps the window with a claw. “Left. Right here.”

You sigh but humor him. It’s Logan. You love the guy, claws and all. If he wants to play navigator, you’ll let him play. So, you make the turn. The moment the car veers off the asphalt, the tires hit sand. Great, now you're on some sketchy dirt road that isn't even on the GPS.

“This feels wrong,” you mutter, gripping the wheel tighter. “Really, really wrong.”

Logan chuckles like he knows better. “Trust me, babe. I’ve been around longer than this damn map.”

Right. You loved Logan, but sometimes you really wanted to strangle him. Five minutes go by, then ten. The road—if you could even call it that—narrows down to nothing but rocks and dust, and the car’s bouncing like it's about to break apart.

“Logan,” you hiss, glancing at him, “are you sure this isn’t, I don’t know, a wolverine death trap?”

He shrugs, looking out the window like this is all normal. “Relax, honey. Just a bit of off-roading.”

Then you hear it.

“Mrrrahhh!”

“What the hell was that?” you ask, wide-eyed.

Logan turns his head slowly, and through the window, standing on a rocky ridge, is a llama. A very angry llama. You don’t know why or how you know it’s pissed off, but you can tell from the way it’s glaring at your car like it’s about to throw hooves.

“Mrrrahhh!” It screeches again, taking a threatening step down the ridge.

“Logan,” you say, voice tight, “why is there a llama staring at us like it wants to fight?”

Logan, unfazed as ever, leans back in his seat. “Llama’s just mindin’ its business.”

“Mindin’ its business? It looks like it’s about to spit in my face!”

Before you can react, the llama starts to move—no, it starts charging down the slope, heading straight for the car. You slam your hand on the horn, but it only makes the llama angrier. It’s now full-on sprinting at you, and suddenly this road trip has turned into a showdown you didn’t sign up for.

“Logan!” you shout, eyes wide, panic setting in. “Do something! You’re the one who got us lost here with this demon llama!”

But Logan’s just staring at the thing with his usual nonchalance, like this happens to him every day. “It’s just a llama, babe. You’re actin’ like it’s a freakin’ Sabretooth.”

“Well, maybe it is a Sabretooth in disguise because it’s coming at us like it’s about to murder us!”

Logan grumbles, opening the car door and stepping out. “Fine, I’ll handle it.”

You watch, dumbfounded, as Logan walks toward the llama like it’s nothing. He stands there, arms crossed, waiting for the thing to get close. For a moment, you think he’s going to have some sort of epic standoff with this angry furball. You almost expect some Old Western music to play in the background.

“Mrrrahhh!” The llama slows down, huffing and puffing, clearly rethinking its life choices as it gets closer to Logan.

“See?” Logan says, turning back to you with a smirk. “Told ya. They back down once you show ‘em who’s boss.”

But just as those words leave his mouth, the llama spits. A giant, green glob of llama spit flies through the air, nailing Logan square in the face.

You lose it. You’re doubled over in the driver’s seat, laughing so hard you’re crying. “Oh my God, Logan! It just—” You can’t even finish your sentence, you’re laughing too hard. “It spit on you!”

Logan wipes his face, his eyes narrowing as he glares at the llama. “You son of a—”

“Told you!” you choke out between gasps, barely able to breathe. “I told you this was a bad idea!”

Logan stomps back to the car, furious, muttering curses under his breath. He slams the door and glares out the window, completely ignoring the fact that you’re still dying from laughter.

“Not. A. Word,” he growls, crossing his arms.

You manage to catch your breath and wipe your eyes, but the giggles still bubble up. “Oh, come on, babe. Admit it. Your sense of direction sucks.”

Logan just grunts. You, meanwhile, start the car, turning back onto the dirt road as you try to find a way out of the middle of nowhere.

“Next time,” you say, smirking, “I’m in charge of navigation.”

[typicalopposite]

🥟 dumplings please! 🛎️

Well this got long and angsty… BUT it will have a part two in another person’s ask (hint: it’s Hannah’s) later 🙂‍↕️😉

This is a bad idea… that is probably going to result in an equally bad, impulsive idea. Buck takes a deep breath and walks into the bar anyway. 

“Thank God!” Chimney must have been watching the door for him to walk in because he spots Buck instantly and hurries over to him. “You gotta do something,” he continues, grabbing Buck’s arm and tugging him through the crowd, towards the front. 

“I don’t understand why it has to be me…” Buck mumbles; not that he wants it to be anyone else. It’s just that a few days ago everyone was actively trying to stop Buck from contacting Tommy, now they are asking him to confront Tommy in person. 

“Because you’re the only one who might be able to actually get through to him…” Chimney replies, and stops in front of their booth. “Okay I got him.” The rest of his team collectively sigh in relief. Buck sighs in annoyance to their relief. They had invited him to come along, but he knew Tommy and the 217 frequented the bar too— oftentimes he would abandon his own team to come sit with Buck and the 118 when they’d arrive— he wasn’t taking the chance. So much for that well thought out plan.

“So… what exactly am I supposed to do here?” Buck asks, he looks around but doesn’t even see a trace of Tommy anywhere in the bar. 

“He’s up next,” Chimney says, looking horrified. “Buck his reputation will never recover from this, you have to stop him.” 

“Stop him from wh—” 

Buck gets interrupted by a loud speaker screech and when he looks towards the sound he finally sees Tommy. He is standing beside the karaoke machine, swaying and teetering nearly over before catching his balance. He looks so lost— so sad, and it makes Buck’s heart ache. 

But he’s sad too, and— and Tommy is the reason he is sad. So when Tommy’s head finally lifts up and looks towards the 118’s booth, and he spots Buck staring back; Buck doesn’t react. When a shocked look crosses Tommy’s face but then gives way for a soft smile; he gives a little wave… and Buck doesn’t react to that either. 

“What are you waiting for!?” Chimney hisses, pushing Buck towards the front of the bar. “Go say something.”

“No… if— if I was ever going to try to talk to him—” Buck argues. “—I’m not doing it while he’s drunk.” 

“Buck! That’s the best time to do it!” 

“That makes no sense!?”

Hen sighs. “With Tommy… it actually does. He becomes an open book when he’s drunk.”

Buck rolls his eyes, unwilling to hear them out when they wouldn’t hear him out about how much he missed Tommy, how desperate he was to hear from him.

At the stage Tommy clears his throat. “H- Hey… it— it’s me… again.”

“Again?” Buck repeats, confused. 

“This is his fifth time up there,” Chimney explains, abandoning his efforts to get Buck to the stage and plopping down beside Hen. Around them a couple other tables can be heard whispering and snickering while pointing up towards the stage. Buck managed to ignore how it pisses him off to see them make fun of Tommy. 

“So f- for ma’nxt— next song…” Tommy says, swaying around from the motion of turning his head down to the computer to pick a song. “I… I’m g’nna sss— ssss— s- sing directly to my d- my du— my dumpling.” He looks back at Buck and winks— tries to wink, anyway. It was more of a slow frog blink. More laughter erupts through the bar, but if Tommy notices… it doesn’t sway him at all from finding a song anyway. 

“Oh my god,” Chimney groans, and drops his head down onto his arms. “He’s still saying ‘dumpling’!” 

“Wh- what do you mean, still?” 

“Every song he has chosen has used the word darling in it,” Hen explains. “By the third song— and his fifth whiskey— he just… switched the word and started saying dumpling instead.”

Hello Darlin’ appears on the screen behind him. “Hello Dumplin’,” is what comes out of his mouth. 

Buck stands there, somewhere between entranced in the lyrics (minus the persistent use of the word dumpling instead of darling) and embarrassed on Tommy’s behalf; the whole bar minus one table is openly laughing at him now— and yet he finishes the song. 

“And if you could ever find it in your heart… to forgive me. Come b- *hicup* back dumplin’; I’ll be waitin’ for you…” he says, stumbles and falls backwards. 

In the audience there is no concern at all, very little applause, and a whole lot of laughter. Buck’s feet finally break free from where he had purposefully planted them to the floor, and he rushes up to the stage. Tommy is rubbing at his shoulder where it hit a chair on his way down. He looks up when Buck grabs his arm and his eyes shine— probably due to the fact they are practically floating in alcohol. He smiles, and reaches for Buck’s face, missing a couple times before finally caressing his cheek. “You came back to me, d- dumplin’…” he says… and Buck doesn’t have the heart to say it’s only because he was duped into showing up. 

“Come on,” Buck sighs, and helps him to his feet. “I’ll take you home.” 

He tosses Chimney the keys to Tommy’s truck as they pass, then walks Tommy out to his jeep. Tommy slumps against the door once it's shut, smiling up at Buck through the window; and Buck doesn’t react. He can’t react. Not now… not like this. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says after half a car ride in complete silence. Buck is about to tell him it’s fine; that he doesn’t mind giving him a ride. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Evan.” Buck’s throat tightens and he manages a grunt in response. “You— you were everything I ever wanted… and— and I let you go. I wish I hadn’t…” 

So do I… Buck wants to say. He grips the wheel and continues to drive. 

Tommy starts to hum. Then eventually he starts to sing. “You came into my life, little savior… I catch butterflies when you enter… it’s crazy what love can do… Now you got me singing my truth…” Buck sighs, and keeps his eyes on the road. “You bring me Calm in the chaos… When all the odds are against us… You’ll have all my love… I need you to know now…

Oh, my darling, am I falling? I can’t find the words to use… First my heart aches… then my voice breaks… so I had to write it down for you. 

Oh my… d- darling… What you started, feels like I got it all to lose. First the ground shakes, years of mistakes… You’ve given me another life, so I’ll live it for you…”

Tommy goes quiet and Buck doesn’t react. 

[stxrryskys]

STARRY MY LOVE I HAVE THE BEST FUCKING UDEA

Can you do headcanons of the MW crew of when they find that the reader has drawn the most down bad positions of them and the member of the crew? Then When they're asked about it they try to just write it off as anatomy practice?

YES YES YES!

C/W : Suggestive! Smut for goonsuke... Fweaky sex positions and yeah!

Daisuke:

your major was art, times were tough so you got an internship at pony express. when you boarded the tulpar you brought a sketch book so you didn't get bored. you became very close with daisuke almost instantly, he matched your energy so well he was literally you but a male, anyways, you were on the couch in the "living room" one day and you were drawing.. Drawing freaky stuff.. You liked to practice anatomy but you feel like you spaces out and drew two figures 69ing...while standing up.. And then you looked really closely at it and the male figure looked like daisuke and the women looked a bit like you.. Then as soon as you came to that Realization, daisuke walked in

"Hey dude! Whatcha up to? " you quickly sat on your sketch book and started a conversation with him

An eternity went by and you guys were laughing

"I gotta piss" you said abruptly, you sat up and skipped to the bathroom then he notices the sketchbook sitting on the couch and got curious and flipped though it

He flushed a bright shade a red when he saw the detailed position on one of the pages.. Then he looked closer and closer and saw that it kinds looked like.. HIM?! Shit.. What would he say to-

"DAISUKE! PUT THAT DOWN!! " you ran and hopped on top of him in an attempt to get him to put it down

"S-sorry I-i- got curious!! " he said as you hop on him

"That's - it was just- anatomy practice!! I swear!! "

"I-i- believe you !! "

Goonsuke:

"Is that me "____"?? If you wanted to do something like that with me then you could've just said so~"

So with your consent he waited till everyone went to sleep and did that EXACT position with you, just because he's young does NOT mean he lacks arm strength. He literally used to beat his shit everyday before the tulpar(and he's a baseball player 😻😻)

"Fuck you taste so fucking goo- ah-! "

Curly:

If you're being honest, you're terrified of curly, He is a really big guy and he looks like he could totally pound you into the concrete if he wanted to but your perspective on curly changed the second you accidentally walked in on him changing.

you drew as a hobby to pass the time and you thought you were pretty good at it, you definitely liked realism more than anything else and you kinda... zoned out? and when you looked back at your sketch book it was a RAUNCHY position,, specifically of you and curly, he was holding you, like up while slamming you onto his cock, you had to hide this before anyone could come snoop-

"_____? you in here?"

shit

"U-uh no!!"

But it was to late.. He was already in here

"Whatcha drawing kiddo? "

"NOTHING!? "

"Nothing?? C'mon lemme see" he snatched your sketch book and his eyes widened... Oh you're cooked

"C-captain! Put that down please!! " he just ignored your pleads and continued to examine the drawing

"... That me sugar? " he looked down at you with a lustful look in his eyes

"I-it was just anatomy practice!! "

He set down the sketch book and and grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you up on your desk like it was nothing

"Curly?? "

"You wanna recreate that with me baby? "

Anya:

You were anyas intern, she was a super sweet lady, you and her got along well, you enjoyed her company, when she wasn't all shy and quiet she was super sweet and funny, at the moment you and her were sitting in the medical room chatting late at night and you brought up your drawing hobby and she wanted to dabble in it! So you got your sketch book and showed her some of your sketches, then... She flipped to one page....

"Ah! Uhm!! S-sorry "___" I didn't mean to flip to-"

yet she continued to stare at it, and she purposefully moved into a position to where you couldn't retrieve the sketchbook

"A-anya! give it back"

"Im looking! gimme a sec!'"

you hop on top of her, causing her to fall back on the medical table

the sketch in question? just you. and anya! ,,,,,scissoring and she was just enamored with the drawing, even when you kept trying to take it

Now, anya was feeling bold, she hooked her legs around your waist and brought you closer

"So? Is that how you really feel about me? "

Jimmy:

Jimmy hated you and you hated him. It had always been like that, he was a dick, the LAST thing you wanted was to be his friend, especially on the tulpar.

He would constantly make fun of your art. He thought of you as "mediocore" so you'd usually only draw when you were alone because Jimmy was EVERYWHERE!

You were at the tiny little desk in your quarters and you were drawing what came to mind, you didn't really know but you could wing it.

Finally!! You were finished!! Leeeets take a loo-.... What is that.. AH! WHAT THE FUCK!! YOU DREW YOU!! AND- AND JIMMY HE WAS ON- ON TOP OF YOU WHILE YOUR LEGS WERE OVER YOUR OWN SHOULDERS- damn. You were NOT that flexible. You didn't really realize this before but..jimmy was actually really- attractive?? Before you could comprehend... Jimmy walked in

"Hey! My laundry got mixed up with - dude what the fuck is that?? " he pointed to the sketch book

"Nothing!! "

"Nothing my ass! Is- is that me?! "

"NO! GET OUT!! "

"What the fuck??.. Is this who you really are? Just some slut? " well that was actually really hot and you didn't even know you were into that

"I-it was just anatomy practice! "

"Bullshit... You really are a slut" he moved closer and backs you up against the desk, hands on either side of you

"Yknow.. You've never looked as good as you do now.. I guess it's when you're being a little pervert.. Now..we're gonna do that"

A/N FINALLY!! I'M DONE!! I'm sorry it's taken me forever to get this out because oh my god. I've been so freaky sick, we have a bug going around😣😣 and I've had to get back into therapy so I haven't been doing all that great 😮‍💨 BUT I'M ALIVE! I'M SORRH!! ENJOY! N

[ismyteadoneyet]

Bringing this back because I am 200 pages into my re-read of Legendborn, and [spoilers ahead]

I've just gotten to the part where Nick shares what his upbringing was like, as well as what happened to his mother. He then tells Bree this:

"I had a thought about what I said last night." [Nick's] voice is quiet, almost meditative, as he watches his thumb on my cheek. "About being Arthur's Scion and how, on some level, I never thought I'd have to really deal with it, you know? Not really. My dad didn't. Granddad didn't. A dormant Scion has clout, but no real say in the Order. I never thought about how his powers might feel and what I might do with them until..." His eyes flick to mine.

My breath hitches. "Until?"

"Until that uchel took you."

Like ??? Are you telling me that this guy has spent half his life running away from the Order, pissed off his own oathed-for-life bodyguard by simply ignoring him and his fuction, and actively ignored something that is literally tied to his bloodline in a way that will reach him regardless of him wanting it to or not, and then he meets this "random" girl and hangs out with her for TWO (2) DAYS and suddenly he's back in the game ??? No hesitation???

Like yes the whole "call and response" of his Lancelot-Scion-ness feeling comfy about finally finding his Arthur-Scion is probably in play here big-time (because of the whole "as soon as I met you I just trusted you immediately ?? I know it sounds weird but -") but also ??? (I'm ofc biased to my own theory lmao) there is simply NO WAY he feels this strongly towards a girl he's known for TWO DAYYYSSS ??? 😭😭😭

Theories and predictions about 'Oathbound', and The Kingsmage Oath in particular

okayokayokay yes, I know, I can think of nothing else but Legendborn these days, but ngl I feel such a desperate need to write this out to get more thoughts on it. We already know quite a lot about the Kingsmage oath, right? But as the title of the third book suggests, I believe we will learn a whole lot more about it in Oathbound and I cannot fkn wait lol

[Major Legendborn and Bloodmarked spoilers ahead, read at your own... volition, tihi]

Alright. So. First off, disclaimer - I don't currently have my physical copy of Legendborn closeby to reference stuff, so if any of this is debunked in the first book please correct me! Most of this is sprouted from Bloodmarked! I don't think we got that much info about the Kingsmage oath in Legendborn but it was also quite a while since I read it lol

Theory no. 1

First off, the thing that made me start off my 10-message long rant about this to my Legendborn-partner-in-crime to begin with, is the fact that the two "participants" of the oath are connected to the degree that, not only does the Kingsmage feel if the Scion is in danger, but the Scion in question also feels the things the Kingsmage feels. Selwyn even explains that this is partly why he attacked Bree during the trials in book one during the infamous "graveyard scene":

" 'You remember that I planned our partnership during the trial. Planned to trick you, corner you, and kill you. I knew Nicholas would feel a desire to kill someone that night, because it would come over from me to him through the bond. I planned for him to eventually discover that the person he'd wanted to... was someone he-' [Sel] shakes his head, eyes hard. 'That it was you.' " - Bloodmarked, page 366

...and

" 'The morning after the first Oath, [Nick] came to me. Said he'd felt my desire to kill you and begged me to leave you alone, because of what it did to him' -[Sel] taps his chest- 'here. He said it felt wrong, wanting to hurt you. ' So I knew that what I sent through the bond would poison the part of him that was beginning to love you. Knew that if I failed, he'd have to live with the memory of wishing his girlfriend dead. Not just the memory, but the feeling of wanting to kill you himself, with his bare hands. Murderous intent like that is one of the worst feelings in the world. Haunting. Destructive. And for someone like Nick... it would tear him apart in a way he'd never forget and never heal from. And I did not care. I believed I was right, all in the name of duty.' " - Bloodmarked, pages 366-367

Both of these show the bad effects of the bond. Sel can actively affect Nick's views of the people around him, and influence his actions, and I believe that this is shown by how Nick beheaded that one guard without hesitation, that one time.

"I didn't kill Zhao for my father." Nick's eyes burn. "I killed him for me." Sel's eyes widen incrementally. "We should...come back to that." - Bloodmarked, page 467

The interesting thing about this is the way Sel has been so sure that Nick would "never hurt another soul", and yet, here he is, rejecting Sel's reasoning that Nick killed Zhao because of his father, and instead hammering home that "no, I did it for me." Because, and hear me out on this, Nick is, in the moment of the kill...oathbound to a Merlin actively fighting his own demonia from taking over.

Bree also brings up multiple times that "Nick has become a killer, the dangerous thing" after witnessing the murder (which, when I read it sounded a bit silly since Sel has tried to murder her multiple times and even explained in detail how he planned to do that specific thing but oh well lol), but in relation to how we've seen Sel act throughout Bloodmarked, and keeping the Kingsmage Oath in mind, it makes sense. Because is it ever explained how Sel's descent might also be transferring to Nick through the bond? If it is, I don't remember seeing it.

Also, Nick being so incredibly calm and no-hesitation about killing Zhao (in one of the more brutal ways he could have, even), makes me fully believe that it was either 1. not his first kill, or 2. he is more affected by Sel's demonia than Tracy wants us to realize. During the scene where Sel and Bree watch him kill Zhao, Sel is still void cuffed, which to me means that he is still actively fighting his demonia from taking him. Sel doesn't get his void cuffs off until the fight with Erebus where Bree root-boosts him back to his normal, balanced self, which happens after Nick's kill.

The synopsis of Oathbound hints at Nick having "secrets to share with the Table", and we know absolutely nothing about what he spent all of Bloodmarked doing. We only followed one half of the whole. If Sel was only half-successful in "poisoning" Nick with murderous intent towards Bree in Legendborn, when he hadn't yet lost his humanity... Do you see where I'm going with this?

Tracy herself shared a fanart of Nick doing The Thing, and quoted the artist with something along the lines of "Nick should scare you!" and "Ruthless Nick is the correct opinion to have!", and considering that Nick is now, by the end of Bloodmarked, bonded to a fully succumbed Demon!Sel, what does that make Nick?

Theory no. 2

Now, onto the more fun side of the oath (or, more heartbreaking, depending on how you read it, I guess lol)

I have seen a few people being put off by Nick and Bree's relationship in Legendborn because it, to some degree, reads a lot like "insta-love". And sure, love at first sight and all that stuff but how long has Bree known Nick, really? A couple weeks, maybe? I however, have another theory to this.

Again, the two participants of the Kingsmage Oath share feelings both ways, as explained by Sel:

" 'When did you worry [about losing your humanity]?' [...] 'When I started to see what I believe Nicholas sees when he looks at you. Only a monster could look at you and want to destroy you, Bree.' " - Bloodmarked, page 368

And of course we are led to believe that Nick, the "blond, good-hearted knight in shining armor" is the good influence, right, and Sel being the "tall dark and handsome demon" is the bad influence on the two...

...But what if it was the other way around the entire time?

[Sel:] " 'I was raised not to trust myself!' " - Bloodmarked, page 368

[Sel:] " 'I don't know if that's in the cards for me.' [...] 'If I'm allowed that wish, it would be truly something. But wishes are dangerous mind games we play with ourselves. The only way to win is to not play.' " - Bloodmarked, page 475

Sel was raised as a weapon and a shield for the Scion of Arthur, and has never been treated as anything else. He was never allowed by anyone else nor himself to put himself and his own feelings first. So when he is suddenly struck with feelings for Bree, it makes sense for him to "blame it" on Nick, automatically. He couldn't possibly be the one with romantic, wholesome, fluffy feelings towards someone else, right? To Sel, it would feel wrong. "Illegal".

" 'Why didn't you [leave]?' 'Because my judgement is not what it should be around you, Bree. It never has been.' " - Bloodmarked, page 369

"It never has been," huh? Now, I find that to be a very funny choice of wording, Tracy, since the over-arching conflict in the entirety of Bloodmarked is related to mesmers and witheld information.

And the fact that Bree's mother and Sel's mother knew each other.

" 'The woman that helped you hide the memory. Was that Sel's mother?' My mother smiles, fond and sad at once. ' Yes. Natasia.' I have to ask. 'Do you know where she is?' She glances at Sel, and I know her answer is for his ears and mine both. 'No. Even if I could speak to her now, she would not tell me.' " - Bloodmarked, page 447

We also know that Sel's mother was the one who mesmered Bree in the hospital. But what if both Bree and Sel were mesmered at some point? What if the romantic feelings Nick felt for Bree the moment they met was actually Sel's feelings for Bree, coming over through the bond?

Another thing that speaks to this, I believe, is the use of the phrase "call and response", which Bree uses a lot when talking about herself and Nick,

" And then [Nick's] mouth is on mine, and every call and response we've ever felt pales in comparison to this one. " - Bloodmarked, page 377

...but also how she describes the relationship between Arthur and Lancelot:

" I shiver. Even [Lancelot's] voice affects me like Nick's does. 'Arthur?' he asks. And I reply, 'Lancelot.' Call and response. That's how it is between me and Nick. How it has always been. " - Bloodmarked, page 132

I believe, again, that this "call and response" thing is what I personally believe is what might be bringing Nick and Bree so close so fast. They are both scions of what I see as one of the most bromantic knights in the entire Order. Of course they out of all people would find a connection soul-to-soul right way. And that on top of Sel possibly knowing Bree before Legendborn even happens? It's no wonder that both of the two boys feel so comfortable gushing about her being "beautiful forever" in that one bloodwalk that one time, lol.

In conclusion, I guess the big question at hand is "Where does Nick's feelings end and Sel's feelings begin?" Where is the line? Is there one? I'd like to argue that the fact that Sel's first instinct, when he first starts feeling "what Nick is feeling" towards Bree is to kill her, is denial in the most severe degree. He is the first character from the Order Bree meets, accidental or not, and even though Tracy has said that she wrote Legendborn without a set goal for the endgame-couple, I'm willing to believe that that has shifted towards a BreeSel outcome after the mayhem of a character-development-arc that is Bloodmarked.

The fact that I am a BreeSel believer might also be influenced by the fact that we simply have not seen Nick in A While lol

And if not, I'm willing to root for a Bree x Sel x Nick throuple lol. As long as Sel is part of the endgame setup, I'm good.

Just please let Lark be left alone for William even if Lark and Bree commit to a Kingsmage oath, Tracy, I beg

[suzukiblu]

Day three of February’s first weekly WIP behind the cut; “the puzzle trap sex-room”. content warnings: past grooming, past sexual abuse, past statutory rape, past dubious consent, CURRENT unhealthy coping mechanisms, immediate fallout of sex pollen/death trap-induced sexual coercion, and a POV character who does not understand what the problem with any of that is, he’s FINE, Jesus, lay off already and let him live his life. So uh, you know, just Kon’s … entire pre-YJ dating history, pretty much? Pretty much that, yeah. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Nothing even happened to him. Nobody touched him or anything, he just–he didn’t do anything he didn’t decide to do or want to do or–or–

He didn’t want Robin to yank his hair. Or to lie to him about the stupid condoms. 

. . . he didn’t really even wanna suck him off, really, but Robin had refused to settle for a handjob and, like, it wasn’t like they’d had the time to argue about it, so . . . so that’d been . . . 

Nobody touched him, though. Or, like–made him do . . . anything. He, like–it was his stupid idea to get Robin off and try to work on the puzzle with his TTK at the same time and, like . . . and . . . 

Tana’s nice to him. She likes him. She–and doesn’t Superman fucking know how few people have actually, like–have actually ever, like– 

People don’t just like him. Especially not–especially not just for being him. 

And definitely not enough to just be fucking nice to him. 

Robin sure as fuck wasn’t nice to him, drugged off his fucking rocker or not. Not like Tana is. So she’s not like that. He knows she’s not like that. She likes him. Just ‘cuz sometimes they have problems, that’s not–everybody’s relationship has problems! Who the hell’s relationship doesn’t have problems? Fuck, Superman is literally screwing Lois Lane behind her literal husband’s back and everyone in the whole goddamn world knows it except said husband, apparently, so like–so why does Superman get to judge who he messes around with? At least Tana’s not fucking married or whatever! 

She’ll take him back again, and he’ll be better, and he won’t disappoint her or piss her off anymore, and–and it’ll be better. It’ll work this time; work for good this time. 

She’s good to him. So he can–he can be good for her. He knows he can. 

He has to be, because she's–because she's the only one who ever even would be nice to him. 

And fucking Superman still won't even let go of his fucking arm. 

“Kid, just–please just talk to me,” Superman says. Superboy has literally never cared less about talking to anyone in his life. He pries apart the computer monitor and pulls all the fiddly little bits of it apart and strips the walls of all their gear in just–just a wave, and less an instant, all-over thing. Taking it apart piece by piece is–better. Just–better. 

He doesn't really know why he's thinking that, just . . . 

“We do need to talk, yes,” Batman says in that same bullshit neutral trap-voice, and Superboy doesn't even look at him; just twists the interior locking mechanisms of his stupid utility belt into a knot. Let the asshole have to cut it off later. He picks a bunch of random other locks in the cave and knots them up just as bad. A couple alarms go off. He really doesn't give a fuck. 

It's stupid. Something–something a kid would do. 

Well, they're the assholes trying to treat him like one, so that's on fucking them, isn't it. And they’re the assholes who aren’t actually talking to him, so why the fuck would he stick around to talk to them? It’s not talking, when all they’re goddamn doing is deciding they know more about his life than he does. He barely even sees Superman most of the time, and he definitely never sees fucking Batman. Neither of them know anything about HIS FUCKING LIFE! 

Superman doesn’t even bother remembering any of the shit he says to him anyway, apparently.