#ONE IS NOT BETTER OR WORSE.... IN FACT...

[athenalvss]

ARE YOU UPSET? HOT. ( Bruce wayne )

summary: Bruce has a weakness for his wife when she's angry, maybe he should make her angry more often.

open request - dc masterlist

"Bruce."

He turned his head slightly and saw you standing at the edge of the stairs. Your satin robe was half-open, your hair loose and messy. Arms crossed, exactly under your chest.

God bless that stance.

"Do you know what time it is?" you asked, not moving.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I was reviewing some recordings of..."

"Bruce..."

Just his name, not honey, not love, not Boosh, his damn name. He was in trouble.

"Yes, I know," he said, turning completely around. He looked at her brazenly, not bothering to hide it. "You're upset."

—I'm cold, lonely, and upset. I've been waiting for you upstairs for two hours.

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed as well, as if that would balance the power. But no. Not when you were standing there, dressed like that, in front of him.

"What if I told you I needed ten more minutes?" he asked, without much hope.

you stopped right in front of him. "What if I told you this robe has nothing underneath?"

Bruce blinked. Twice. “Liar,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual.

"Oh, really?" you said, taking a step closer. The scent of jasmine and night rose enveloped him, mingling with the latent threat in your gaze. The cleavage that formed when you leaned slightly forward, the soft curve of her waist, the touch of your skin under the fine fabric… it was a delicious torture.

And the fact that you were upset made it worse. Better. Fucking irresistible.

Bruce exhaled slowly, as if he'd just taken a direct blow to the chest. His jaw tightened, and the hint of a crooked smile appeared on his lips. "That's not fair," he said.

"I didn't come to be fair, Bruce. I came to take you to our bed"

He looked at you, from your burning eyes to your thighs, barely hidden by your robe. And he cursed. Inside. Outside. Everything.

You were hot, and he… he'd always been an idiot for thinking he could resist you.

"You're upset," he repeated, as if he needed reminding her.

"I'm furious." Your voice was soft, almost sweet. But he knew you. He knew that when you lowered your voice, when you moved slowly, that was when you were most dangerous.

Bruce stood tall, the height difference making him look like a mountain in a gale. But the gale was in control. You were in control.

"Give me ten minutes," he tried, one last time, barely a whisper.

"I'll give you three." You turned, and the robe opened a little more as you started up the stairs, deliberately leaving that flash of skin, of curve, of intention.

Bruce stands there, watching you as you walk to the bed you both share, every day he thanked God for putting her in his path.

[r3ynah]

I Hate(Love) this family.

DCXDP PROMPT

Danny goes to University out of state and begrudgingly decides to let Ellie and Dan tag along(with the help of Jazz's persuasion), allowing them to do whatever they want as long as they don't get in trouble or attract any unwanted attention that may harm their family— so what in the hell do you mean that Dan and Ellie decided that it would be a good idea to be the most annoying and chaotic pests known to man and in THE Gotham nonetheless?

Oh, who was he kidding Danny knew that forbidding something from those two only made them want it more with the sole purpose of bothering Danny as much as possible.

Like that time when he said that Dan should do something productive like get a job, because the older said "he was bored out of his mind and wanted to do something productive" something along those lines, he got a job alright, he got a job as a Rogue what the hell Dan, no one in the right mind except you would think: "Oh, I need a job I should become a rogue to annoy my alternative universe me and also the vigilantes, but mostly alternative universe me"

And It wasn't better with Ellie either she had been so busy and fascinated by exploring the different hidden locations all across Gotham, that Danny barely saw her, and the only thing that kept Danny's mind at ease that she was safe was the calls he had with her twice a day to check if she had eaten yet, because she forgets that she has to eat most of the time.

Letting Ellie hear that Dan became a rogue is no good. Both of them crave chaos and letting her know will only result in the downfall of Gotham. Knowing her if she is ever given the choice between having eternal happiness or jumping into a pit full of chaos, she'll read the non-existent rules and regulations first before jumping in without a second thought.

It's already been a problem when she started mentioning that she wanted to interact with the bats in one of her and Danny's daily calls, speaking of that Ellie it's past dinner time he should call her if she has already eaten, how strange there's a notification from her number she only decides to text him first when something exciting(dangerous) happens, there was an image of Ellie in her ghost form smiling at the camera while holding a struggling Robin by the collar like a cat while she floated inches from the ground. He stared at the image for a few seconds before letting out a sigh of resignation.

Maybe just maybe if he closes his eyes hard enough to fall asleep, he'll wake-up in the morning and realize that this was all just a nightmare caused by stress, yeah just a nightmare

It was in fact not a nightmare, and the following this is basically what followed for the next few days:

No— Dan do not mention me in any of your villain monologues when fighting the vigilantes, If you keep this up I'm legit going to trap you in a thermos along with Ellie or worse with Vlad, Jazz please stop laughing at my pain— Ellie NO.

At this point, I'm not going to die of exhaustion due to schoolwork, I'm going to die keeping this family in check. Jazz you told me that they'll behave, you promised—you lied, didn't you?

Oh, my ancients you lied.

Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face as I see Ellie getting thrown like a Beyblade outside my classroom window, she went zoom as the professor was about to explain how trajectory of a rocket works. Jazz, please, actually stop laughing and help me, I'll start having grey hairs before I turn 50.

And... Dan just smacked Signal in the face in the middle of the road in daylight. ELLIE— put Robin back down to the ground, stop aggravating the child!

If I don't graduate college because of the two of you, I promise that I will have my villain arc, and this will be my origin story.

[marauder-misprint]

hey! love ur fics! my request is a james potter fic where he’s jealous and decides to spy on the date (eat that type of stuff up loll) i can totally see him being in complete denial under the guise of being a protective friend, and then it all clicks. thanks!

Hi! Thank you for this request ❤︎ James is a protective friend. Reader shant be harmed! He is totally not jealous, he is just looking out for your safety. ❤︎ This is Fabian Prewett slander. Also, there is a sibling age-gap between Molly and the twins??? lol at least in my fics there is.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Jacket

James Potter x fem!reader

4.2k words

cw: fluff, y/n, oblivious pining?

James was drying his hair in the locker room after quidditch practice when he heard of your upcoming date. He was minorly insulted that he hadn’t heard it from you, but rather from Fabian Prewett. Even worse, the date was with Fabian. All of it caught him off guard. James didn’t peg Fabian as being your type. Just don’t ask him what your type is; he doesn’t have an answer. Just not Fabian. 

When Fabian had announced that he snagged an absolute ten, he had the ears of the whole team. James thought Fabian was talking about some seventh year Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff that he personally would never pay attention to. James whipped his head toward Fabian when he clarified that it was you. He was almost certain that he must’ve heard wrong, but then Marlene questioned him further and Fabian repeated your name. 

James didn’t say anything as he finished changing and left the locker room. Usually, he would have a snarky comment or two. Not tonight. He was trying to process that Fabian really thought he had a chance with you and the fact that you had said yes.

“It’s a bit strange, innit?” James asked after relaying the information to the boys in his dorm. 

“That Fabian actually got a date? Yeah,” Remus said from his desk, earning chuckles from the others. 

“But with Y/N? He’s not her type.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Sirius said. “Girls are strange creatures. Bloody beautiful and distracting… but strange.”

“Just last week, Mary was screaming about someone taking her nail polish and then two seconds later, she comes back from her dorm with a chocolate frog ‘n’ is perfectly agreeable. Strange,” Peter added to support Sirius’ claim. 

James grumbled to himself as he reclined on his bed. This was you. You did strange just like every other girl, but a date with Fabian wasn’t right. It wasn’t you.  

“Oi, why you fuming?” Remus asked. 

“Fucking Fabian…” 

Sirius laughed, knowing his friend all too well. “That’s what happens when you don’t ask her out first.”

“I don’t want to ask her out,” James snapped before supporting his body with his forearms so he could glare at Sirius. “She can just do better than Fabian.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’d have no problem if one of us asked her?” Sirius asked.

James frowned. “No.” 

“Then who is she allowed to date?” Peter asked. “We’re the best people you know.”

“She can date…” James’ voice trailed off as he tapped his lips pensively. “Someone worthy of her. Prewett? No. You lot? No. … It’d have to be someone she could tell me about. I shouldn’t be hearing about her dates in the locker room.”

“Why is she telling you about who she dates?” Remus asked as he set his essay aside. That wasn’t getting worked on any more tonight. 

“Because I’m her friend! She should run these things by me.”

“Have you considered that you’re not her father?” Remus asked.

James pointed his finger excitedly at Remus. “You have a point! These idiots should get permission from me before asking her.” 

“No…”

“I can vet them before she wastes her time on them,” James continued, getting more confident in this theory as he spoke. “She should only be going out with the best of the best and I can weed out the gits and pervs.” 

“Prongs,” Remus warned, but James either didn’t hear him or pretended he didn’t.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Get her to cancel on Prewett until I make sure he’s worthy.”

“She won’t,” Sirius said.

“If she won’t… I’ll go on the date with her. Make sure his hands stay where I can see them. No funny business. No getting back to the common room too late.”

“I don’t think getting back late is going to be a worry,” Peter muttered. James sent a confused look his direction. “You’ll want to keep her away from his dorm.”

“Wormtail!” Remus groaned, throwing his back. “Thanks for putting that idea in his head.”

“No, thank you, Wormtail! That is definitely something I should be preventing!” 

Sirius threw a pillow at James. “Let a girl do what, or rather who, she wants!” 

James threw the pillow back with more force. You would not be sleeping with Fabian if he had anything to do with it. You could do better. He would make sure that you did.

---

“Y/N!” James practically sang as he sat across from you at breakfast the next morning. 

You grumbled out some kind of greeting before taking a bite of your breakfast. James being chipper in the morning wasn’t new. You weren’t a morning person while he was. You only put up with it because he had been one of your first friends at Hogwarts and he wasn’t someone you stopped being friends with. That and the part of you that wished he saw you as something more than friends. You knew you couldn’t hold out on that dream forever, so you had agreed to go on a date with Fabian. 

“You won’t believe what I heard last night,” James said as he piled food onto his plate. You raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “You have a date?”

You coughed, choking on your breakfast until Marlene hit your back firmly. You had told the girls almost immediately after Fabian asked you; they all squealed excitedly at the news. A seventh year? That was the talk of the dorm for the week. James didn’t sound like he was going to break out into squeals. 

“Yeah,” you wheezed before reaching for your cup to take a drink. “This weekend.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

You gave Marlene a sideways glance. 

“Is it your business who I go to Hogsmeade with?”

He flexed his eyebrows and ran a hand through his hair. He thought your friendship warranted the sharing of life events. You told him when you had your first kiss – a muggle boy from your neighborhood over the summer. You told him when you aced exams and received excellent marks on essays; you told him when you nearly failed assignments as well. You had knocked on his dorm door a few times when you had a nightmare or just couldn’t sleep in general. 

“Feels like something you’d share with me, yeah.” 

Good answer, James. Good, clean answer. Casual. Platonic and doesn’t seem like you’re expecting every detail. Work up to telling her that she shouldn’t go.

You rolled your eyes fondly and stabbed a potato on your plate. 

“Well, sorry you had to hear second-hand,” you said, sounding genuine, but then you added dryly, “How ever can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you should go.” Fuck.

The words left James’ mouth before he could stop them. That wasn’t the ‘work up’ he was mentally planning on. Marlene, Mary and a few more girls around you all stared at James in shock. Murmurs of ‘the audacity’ and ‘what did he say’ and the like filled the air. James was a loud person. Add that to the fact that people tended to listen when he talked, whether or not they were a part of the conversation or not, more people heard James’ statement than either of you would’ve liked.

“Ex-excuse me?” you managed to sputter out after a few seconds. 

“I… don’t think you should go,” James repeated, a hand ruffling his hair in an attempt to briefly cover his red-tinted face.

“And why is that, Potter?” His surname left your lips tasting bitter. You didn’t call him Potter. You called him James. 

��It’s Prewett! You can do better than him. I mean, come on!” he started spewing out. “Anyone can see that you’re out of his league. He shouldn’t even have had the balls to ask you out. And… and… What if he just wants to get into your pants?” 

You scoffed a laugh, but you reached across the table to pat his hand affectionately. 

“It’s just butterbeers,” you said sweetly. “Flattering you think I’m out of his league though.”

“You are.” A firm statement that made you flush slightly.

“Still, I’m not one to turn down free butterbeers, and I think it will be a good time. So… I’ll be going on the date,” you said, taking your hand back. “How about this for making it up to you: you can help me pick out what I wear.”

James’ immediate thought was to turn that down. Deciding what outfit you wore was something girls did. Why would he be interested in that? Then he realized that if he helped you pick out what you would wear, he could ensure that you didn’t wear anything too revealing or tempting. He could make sure that you were nicely dressed but not in a way that made Fabian really want to take you back to his dorm. And then spotting you in the Three Broomsticks would be even easier. 

Because, yes, if you were going on that date, so was he. 

“Alright.”

You smirked. You hadn’t expected James to actually accept your offer. But if he saw himself as one of the girls, it made sense that he was upset he didn’t hear about the date from you and being involved in the pre-date ritual would heal the wound you unintentionally caused. 

---

James laid on your bed on Saturday as you pulled clothing out of your trunk, tossing them on top of him. The boys had repeatedly cautioned James against this, and against what he was going to do. He couldn’t be reasoned with. He was fully convinced that this date was going to be a disaster for you and he’d be there for you when Fabian ended up acting like a dick. 

“So,” you said, standing up and clasping your hands together, “I’ve already decided on these shoes. If I’m going to Hogsmeade, I’m going to need to walk. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” James echoed. He picked at the skirts, shorts, jeans and shirts that laid around and on him. If you’d listen to him, you’d be in jeans and one of your plain t-shirts that didn’t hug your body all that much. 

“And I’ve already picked out my jewelry. I’ll touch up my makeup after we decide on an outfit. It’s still rather nice out, so I’m not thinking the jeans, but you never know. Some of the shirts just go better with them. But that red skirt? I really like that one. Is it too much for a first date?” 

Absolutely not, James thought. He thought you looked amazing in that skirt. But the goal was not to make you look amazing. James needed you to walk out of this dorm looking good, decent, alright. Not amazing. You were gorgeous so making that happen would be a struggle, but James was always up for a challenge. 

So he hummed, as if actually debating. “Maybe let’s pick a shirt first?”

Maybe he’d be able to find one of the shirts you said went better with jeans. You didn’t say anything as you started picking up shirts from the bed, holding them up to yourself as you looked in the mirror. 

“What about…” James riffled through the shirts until he found the plainest t-shirt from the pile. “This one?” 

You frowned. “I don’t know why I pulled that one out. It’s… not date material. Not making the cut. That’s a ‘Marlene nearly failed her Potions exam and we are not leaving this dorm until she can recite the ingredients to eight different potions’ type of shirt.”

“That’s a bit exact, don’t you think?” James laughed and turned the material over in his hands. “But I think it has potential.”

“James,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “I am going on a date. Drinking butterbeers. Being in public. Give me that.” You snatched the shirt back and shoved it back into your trunk. “Back where it belongs.”

You sighed and picked up a different shirt. Holding it up to your body, James knew that it was too tight and showed far too much skin for tonight.

“Nope. That’s a third date shirt,” he declared. He sat up and started actively searching for something that would maybe tempt you. He picked up an ever-so-slightly more fitted shirt than the previous shirt he chose. “This is a first date shirt.”

You let your choice fall to your side as you looked at what James picked. It wasn’t too horrible. If you paired it with a nice skirt, it could work. 

“Maybe…” 

You threw James’ pick over your shoulder and scanned your skirts that littered the bed at James’ feet. James tried not to look too triumphant, which proved easier than he originally thought once he noticed that you were back to skirts and not jeans. 

“It’ll be colder when you’re coming back to the castle. Jeans’ll keep you warm,” he suggested.

“James,” you sighed. “James, James, James. Are you, or are you not, a romantic?” 

He scrunched his features. “I am.”

“Then, pray tell, what happens when a girl is a little chilly after a date and she’s walking back with her date?”

James pressed his lips together firmly. Of course. 

“The guy gives her his jacket. But! Do you really think Prewett is going to have a jacket? Too risky.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jacket, scarf, I’ll take whatever. I’d take the shirt off his back,” you laughed. “Or hold his hand. Or maybe he’ll put his arm around me. There are so many options, my dear James. And, worst comes to worst, I’ll be a teeny weeny, titsy bitsy, tad bit cold. It won’t kill me.”

But it might kill me. 

You picked a cute skirt and then held the shirt and skirt combo out at arms’ length. You tilted your head slightly. Then you shook your head and put the shirt back down. James watched you with bated breath. You scanned the shirts on the bed one last time before your face lit up and you fished a sleeveless top out of the piles. 

“I think this is it!” you said more to yourself than James.

You went behind the dressing screen to change. James was mentally schooling himself to have a nice reaction to how you looked when you walked out. It wasn’t the outfit he was imagining at all, which meant his brain might take the mean route and he was not going to be the reason you cried before your date. 

He didn’t consider that he’d be rendered speechless when you stepped out. You brushed your hands down the skirt as you took in your reflection. You didn’t need a reaction from James. You exuded confidence and your smile showed it. You spun in a circle, ending facing James. 

“What do you think?” 

You think that even if you weren’t looking at him, you’d be able to feel his eyes raking over your boy. Definitely a good reaction. 

“James?”

He cleared his throat and sat up on your bed. 

“You look lovely. Prewett is one lucky bloke.” 

He meant it. Both sentences. Although they were both lacking. Lovely wasn’t the right word for how you looked; it was weak, an understatement. He just couldn’t articulate it properly. And, as previously sentiment might have suggested, Fabian didn’t deserve to be going on a date with such a beautiful girl. Lucky… Fabian must’ve drank liquid luck before asking you out. 

The door opened with a bang and Lily said, “Alright, Potter, out. I need my dorm.”

“Right,” James replied.

He nodded and stood up. He pulled you into a brief hug.

“You have fun,” he whispered, and then he walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Forty-five minutes later, he was walking a handful of strides ahead of the rest of the Marauders on their way to Hogsmeade. James was a man on a mission. The others were there with half a mind to prevent James from doing said mission. 

“Watching her on her date is creepy,” Remus said loud enough for James to hear. 

“Not watching her,” James said, turning around and walking backwards. “We are going to just happen to get butterbeers while she’s coincidentally there and in view of our table.”

“Coincidentally,” Sirius laughed. 

“You’re paying, right, James?” Peter asked. “That’s why we’re humoring him?” he added in a lower voice to Remus and Sirius.

“Heard that, Peter! But, yeah, butterbeers on me.”

“Why didn’t we press for liquorice wands too?”

“Because then I would’ve come by myself and Remus thinks that’s a bad look for me.”

“Because it is,” Remus sighed. 

You had walked to Hogsmeade with Fabian. You were already nestled into a small booth with him with butterbeers in front of you when the Marauders arrived. Fabian was telling you about his little nephew, William, who’d be attending Hogwarts in a few years; having an older sister who got married right out of Hogwarts allows that to happen. You were listening too deeply to notice that James strategically chose a table in the middle of the pub that allowed him to see both you and Fabian. 

“Little Charlie is the wildest of the three. Kid never shuts up when they visit. But Percy? Percy’s a quiet little thing. Tiny too.”

“I couldn’t imagine having three nephews already…” you said, shaking your head. “Nice of you to babysit for your sister though.”

He laughed. “Like I have a choice? Molly and Arthur just drop them off with Mum and then she hands the boys over to me and Gid. What am I supposed to do with a baby, a toddler and a small child? I mean, Percy is about the size of a quaffle…”

“Please tell me you did not play catch with a baby!” 

Fabian held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t! We didn’t! But it did cross our minds.”

“James, you’re seething,” Sirius commented. “Ah, thank you, Madam Rosmerta.”

Sirius slid a mug in front of James. He robotically picked it up and drank. James was too focused on you and whatever Fabian was saying to make you laugh. At least the ginger was keeping his hands on the table and not on you. 

“You know, I was joking earlier when I brought up liquorice wands, but now I kind of want some,” Peter said. “We should stop by Honeydukes whenever this is done.”

Sirius shot Peter a confused look. “Mate, you can go to Honeydukes literally whenever.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Ah, no buts. We’ll need you to help rein in James when Y/N’s date goes fine,” Sirius stated. 

James didn’t even register that Sirius said his or your name. Maybe if he focused his hearing enough, he’d be able to hear what you were saying. 

“I could use a few sugar quills,” Remus mused. 

“Fine! We’ll stop by Honeydukes so you can get off on sugar.”

“Don’t act like you won’t be buying anything, Sirius,” Remus laughed, flicking some of the foam from his mug into Sirius’ face.

Sirius made a disgruntled noise as he wiped it off. Again, James didn’t notice. The conversation and antics of his table were nothing compared to you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you leaned in slightly, the way you reached out and let your hand brush against his arm, the way your hand lingered. It was getting more painful to watch the longer he did. 

James only tried to get up from the table two times throughout the night. Sirius grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down both times. 

“Prewett’s not groping her, it’s fine,” Sirius hissed. 

Somehow you still didn’t notice the boys the entire night. Fabian successfully kept your attention. He paid for your butterbeers and you got up to leave the pub. This time when James got up to follow you, Sirius didn’t stop him. James threw a handful of galleons on the table and disappeared out the door, leaving the boys behind. He lingered far enough behind you and Fabian to not be noticed but close enough to hear you tell him that tonight had been fun. 

“I’m glad you had a good time. I really enjoyed myself too. Although, I’d say it’s hard not to when you got a pretty lady keepin’ you company.”

You giggled. Then you wrapped your arms arounds yourself – a telltale sign that you were cold. James called it. Just as he called that Fabian wouldn’t have a jacket to offer you. James wasn’t even sure if Fabian caught that you were cold. He ran a hand through his hair. He was growing irritated, especially when you shivered and Fabian didn’t even say anything. 

Then you stumbled on the uneven stone path. James lunged forward to ensure that you didn’t fall on your face. Fabian hadn’t even reacted. 

“Shit, thanks,” you said automatically. And then, “Fuck, James?” 

“You alright?” James breathed as he helped steady you, with Fabian now standing awkwardly a singular step away. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine.”

You brushed yourself off despite not having actually fallen and you shook out your hands. The trip had sent a jolt through your bones. James shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“I told you you’d be cold.” 

You gave Fabian an apologetic look, but then you took James’ jacket and put it on. You muttered a thanks. Fabian scoffed and walked away. He wasn’t going to walk back to Hogwarts with his date when she was wearing someone else’s jacket; that would be weird. 

“Oh… I guess date’s over,” you said quietly as you watched Fabian disappear around the bend. 

“I also told you he wouldn’t have a jacket.”

“You did.”

“He wasn’t offering you his hand, didn’t put an arm around you. Maybe you should’ve taken the shirt off his back,” James deadpanned. 

“James!” you exclaimed, slapping his arm. You adjusted his jacket over your shoulders. “Thanks, though. Really. This is warm.”

And it smells like you. Yeah, you weren’t saying that part out loud. Especially being that you just had a date with someone else. 

Without thinking, James threw an arm around your shoulder and started walking back with you. Anyone who saw you at that moment would’ve assumed that you had just had a nice date with James; you knew how it looked. 

After a few minutes of silent walking, you asked with a laugh, “What were the chances that you were there when I almost fell?” 

“Just lucky.” 

“You just happened to be in the area?” 

James nodded.

“This wouldn’t be connected to you not wanting me to go on the date in the first place, would it?” 

He scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Right,” you said with a nod. Of course not. 

“Maybe… I was… making sure Prewett behaved himself.” 

You stopped walking. “He did.”

“But he’s not right for you, as I predicted. No jacket,” James reminded you, turning around to face you after having taken one more step after you stopped. He popped his jacket’s collar to keep your neck warm. 

“Then who is right for me?” you asked, tilting your head and crossing your arms. “You?”

“I-I… We’re friends. I was making sure you were being treated properly.”

“Friends. Right. Then where’s Lily? Marlene? Mary? Emmeline? Lucy? Madison? All my other friends who care for my well being?” 

James was quiet for a second. “I’m just going above and beyond. For a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yes. A friend. I’d do this for any of my friends.”

“So you’ve spied on Sirius’ dates? Peter’s? Remus’?” 

James pursed his lips. He didn’t have a response to that. You knew he hadn’t spied on his friends. You took a calculated step closer to James and looked up at him. The proximity made James run a hand through his hair. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

You looked amazing in his jacket looking up at him with your beautiful eyes, and he could smell your perfume. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Is this just friendship? Fuck it.

James leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. His hands held your face against his and yours gripped the sides of his shirt. His lips felt soft against yours. You smiled into the kiss. When James pulled back, his hands didn’t leave your face. He stared at you with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. Your smile faltered slightly. 

“Was-” James sounded breathless. “-was that okay?” He swallowed. “Should I have done that? Was that wrong?” He let go of your face, took a step back and ran a hand through his hair and then adjusted his glasses. Then he started pacing. “I mean, you just look so good in my jacket and fuck, you’re beautiful and perfect and one of my favorite people… Merlin’s tits… I think you are my favorite person and seeing you with Prewett just wasn’t right, and everyone kept asking me who I would be okay seeing you with and no names came to mind and I just-”

“James,” you said calmly. 

You only said his name. You didn’t move. You didn’t do anything else, but he shut up mid-ramble. He stopped moving, completely frozen in place. You walked up to him and took his arm to place it around your shoulder. You wrapped one of your arms around his waist. 

“Walk me back to the castle and take me on a date some time?” you asked, looking up at him with a smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye. 

“I can do that. I’ll ask you out properly too. Because, as I think I’ve already proven, I am a romantic.”

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[jsooly]

death in the family (8) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, you and tarsem get along pretty well. too well.

note, lemme know how far i can go with the romance !! i have so many intimate/spicy ideas in mind, but do you guys want them?

(MASTERLIST)

/

a younger tarsem occupied your dreamscape. recollections of curious glances, teasing words, and romps in the mud resurfaced, reminding you that for every uncomfortable memory you had of your childhood, there were five great ones.

when the clan children were very young, they didn't try to hide their interest in your existence. you looked different, but you did the same things: hunted, spoke, ate like them... for a few years, they treated you like any other na'vi child. as you grew and they began to understand the threats facing their people, they separated themselves from you.

humans forced their way onto their planet, and even the good ones were held at a distance by the clan. you couldn't blame them for their animosity. you, like the other humans, were a reminder of what they lost. it weighed your frustration and sadness with a guilt you couldn't shake. but it wasn’t about you—not really. it never had been. reminding yourself of that fact was the only way you navigated living with the omaticaya.

you thought you'd be fine living out at the lab on your own, but... home is home. and home was among the clan, for better or for worse. tarsem's invitation became increasingly tantalizing the more you thought of it.

your comm buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. you sat up abruptly, paging through. "spider?"

you were met with silence despite the initial connection. you continued on. "the plan didn't work. someone got in the way, but i can—"

"don't worry about it." his words cut through yours.

you paused, brows scrunching in mild confusion. "don't... what? try again?"

"i appreciate your help, really. i do. i've heard the last few times you tried to call me, and i'm sorry i didn't respond, but you don't have to check in on me anymore. i'm not in any immediate danger, and... i'm doing fine, actually."

what? "spider, i don't—" the line dropped, but you still called out to him. "spider?"

no response.

you frowned, removing your fingers from your comm. don't need rescue? doing fine? without his intel of his whereabouts, it would be nearly impossible to keep track of quaritch's covert team. you sighed and massaged your temples. you tried your best for spider, but if he didn't want to help the rescue efforts, there was little you could do.

you made a promise to continue to check in on him despite his instructions. quaritch understood people. if they could be manipulated, he was on it. a kid like spider was especially vulnerable to offers of comfort and belonging. evidently, he'd been getting comfortable.

you groaned and rose to your feet. you eyed your weapons satchel.

well, tarsem, you thought as you slung it over your shoulder. you win this time.

you informed norm of your departure before seeking out katir to return to high camp.

/

seems you didn't really think this through.

under no circumstances would you trust katir around the clan's banshees—those were like low-hanging fruit snacks to the big guy. you two were still learning each other, and one thing about him was that he was always hungry. he was growing, after all.

speaking of growth—you weren't sure high camp had the space to support him. the cave spaces the people inhabited were narrow enough for ikran, but not for a slotsyal.

you pursed your lips as you stewed in thought. katir warbled underneath you, voicing his confusion of your continued cruise through the air.

you rubbed his neck. "hang tight, kitkat. you'll be okay on your own, yeah? a few days just hanging around?"

he chirped.

"okay. let's set down over here." you guided him to a floating mountain a couple minutes out from high camp. with another firm pat, katir lowered his head to allow you to dismount.

his eyes followed you as you stretched, then constricted upon hearing the war cries of na'vi approaching from the skies. your head shot up, peering at the descending ikran and their bonded partners, spears and arrows poised for attack.

"wait!" you yelled, waving your arms to make yourself visible. their flight stuttered, reflecting the confusion of their riders at your proximity to a stormglider without being... you know, eaten.

you gently nudged katir's head down from his defensive position, like you've seen jake do with direhorses when they grow agitated. his breath puffed from his nostrils in an angry rhythm, shaking his head in frustration. you whispered soothing words to him as the na'vi landed on the flat mountaintop in front of you.

"(this is the rogue stormglider.)" one rider snapped in na'vi, bow still pulled taut. "(what are you doing?)"

you held up your hands to placate them. "(he is tame.)"

"(how would you know?)" they retorted.

you rolled your eyes lightly. "(i've spent a couple days with him. trust me, if he wanted to harm me, he had many opportunities to do so.)"

"mawey." tarsem's ikran came shrieking down from its bird's-eye perch, landing between the scouts and you. he slid off, pushing down his people's bows. "(she speaks the truth. the stormglider is tame by her own hands.)"

you let out a shaky breath when you saw the surprise paint the scouts' faces, stepping back with a nod. with their weapons lowered and holstered, katir no longer perceived a threat and relaxed. he turned into you, nuzzling his snout into your side. you smiled and stroked the crest of his head.

the scouts observed you, and you swore you saw something close to respect in their gaze. you bowed your head slightly, a small smile on your lips.

when they smiled back, you had a feeling that everything was going to be okay.

/

with katir protected from the clan's hunt, you left him to roam freely in his natural habitat high above the forest.

you rode to high camp on tarsem’s ikran. thank the great mother you were sitting behind him, because you don’t know how you’d deal with that smug smile on his. he probably thought he was so persuasive to get you to come back home after just one day of talking to you. 

you scoffed but couldn’t stop your smile. "i can tell you want to say something."

"like what?"

"i told you so?"

"risk gloating in front of you?" tarsem glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "i learned my lesson yesterday."

"yeah, and what’s that?"

he pursed his lips in thought. "you are stubborn, like your father. headstrong, like your mother. i have seen elders go up against them and get a mouthful. i can say now that i share that experience."

you shook your head, laughing softly. "good or bad experience?"

"you're coming home, are you not?" he smiled to himself, happiness seeping into his tone. "unlike those elders, it seems i got the last word against a sully. i will be remembered for generations."

you giggled. "don't get used to it."

"if this is the only thing i win from you in our lives," he continued, softer. "i will die a happy man."

you fell quiet, letting the breeze speak for the remainder of the journey.

with a squawk and fluttering of wings, tarsem and the scouts landed back in high camp. the passing na'vi did not pay much mind to their arrival—after all, regular patrols were a part of life now that the RDA was back.

tarsem adjusted his loincloth as he dropped to the ground, offering his hand. you raised an eyebrow, finding his behavior amusing.

tarsem was always popular. he was strong, quick, masterful with weapons—a real prodigy if there ever was one. when whispers that he might be the next olo'eyktan spread through the clan, betrothals were offered up left and right. he was always sought after, and you personally witnessed some attempts yourself.

seeing the other side of it—him seeking you—was a pleasant surprise.

he didn't have parents that would make him feel as though he needed to be threatened by you, making him the closest thing to a friend outside of your own family. from childhood to adolescence, you believed his fascination with you was childlike curiosity.

but you weren't children anymore. and what lingered between you was no longer curiosity. it was interest. intent. the kind of attention that was far from innocent.

your hand slipped in his and you jumped off his ikran.

he cleared his throat as he walked through the camp. "i have a place for you to stay. quiet, far away from the chatter of the clan."

you smiled appreciatively. "thanks."

"close to my tent." tarsem' continued while his eyes tracked those who passed you with odd looks. "if you have problems, you can come to me."

"as i've demonstrated yesterday, i'm sure i can handle myself."

"i agree with you." he replied, glancing down at you. "i only suggest that you do not have to do it alone."

i don't want to. it’d be nice not to, seemed like the perfect thing to say. but you opted for another smile.

he led you to your designated tent. it was just like the one you shared with your siblings months ago: beads and designs woven into the threads of the canopy, crates for belongings, a computer for updates.

"this is perfect," you praised. "thank you."

"this is your home. you have no one to thank." tarsem said firmly, but his kindness was not lost on you.

/

days and days passed without much excitement. the news of your feat with your stormglider spread like wildfire. when you decided to roam the camp grounds, you were no longer met with odd looks. there was a respect around your name, and it seemed as though your clan was finally accepting you as you were. as one of them.

you visited mo'at and gave her updates of the family: where they were, what they were up to, what you'd seen with your own eyes. you regaled her with the story of pseudo-bonding with katir, cocking your head when she smiled widely, a soft chuckle on her lips.

"i told you eywa does not make mistakes." she hummed, brushing your hair. you mind traveled back to the day your family left, recalling the first time a woodsprite made its way up to high camp. "your father echoes in you."

your father.

another thing you were soon coming to terms with. now that your reputation was growing amongst the people, you were learning that many thought of you as an extension of jake sully. the only difference between the two of you was that you had no avatar—otherwise, the physical prowess and risk-taking was practically identical. you were the last remaining sully in the clan, and they treated you as such. the name—your name carried a weight they couldn't ignore.

you and tarsem often flew together. when it became hard to communicate atop katir given his size, he improvised and took you out on his hunting trips instead. you were a clean shot, after all.

after handing off the game to the clan, you would both crash. more often in your tent than his, after you got an unwelcome surprise visit from a scout one time and rumors spread.

he talked a lot. you figured with his new responsibility as olo'eyktan, he didn't have many people to talk with anymore. everyone looked to him for the answers. he had to be strong, for their sakes.

your tent was special to him for that reason—a place where he doesn't have to be strong. you understood what he was going through, seen your mother console your father many times with varying results. even the greatest leaders feel small sometimes.

after another successful hunt, you and tarsem made your way through the sleeping camp to your tent.

he dropped against the wall with a groan, rolling his shoulders as he shrugged off his weapons. you chuckled at his antics, setting your bow and arrows down as well.

you sat beside him, offering some water you collected on your night out. he accepted it happily.

tarsem observed you with a careful eye. he pulled at your clothes. "you need new things."

"hm?" you glanced down. your clothes were in a rough shape. every branch you ran into and every puddle you splashed in added up, and it was strikingly obvious. "i guess so. i'll stop by the lab tomorrow to—"

"no. get rid of this sky demon attire. wear the people's clothing."

"omaticaya dress?" you asked incredulously.

"yes."

you laughed dryly. "yeah, sure."

"sarcasm?"

"yes."

he rolled his eyes, sitting up straighter and unintentionally towering over where you sat. "i am serious."

you gave him a weird look. "get rid of this sky demon attire. you're forgetting what i am."

"the body does not always reflect the soul." he countered with a shrug. "your father is proof of this."

you snorted, pausing to study him when he didn't even blink. he really was serious, and for some reason that made you laugh harder. "you're serious."

"i said i was, yes."

"do you want everyone to see me naked?" you whispered urgently, disbelief on your tongue.

"i do not understand. naked?"

"without clothing."

he scoffed, gesturing to the sky in exasperation. "silly tawtute concerns. this is normal."

"normal for you." you shot back. "not for me!"

"it will become normal." tarsem retorted as though you were being unreasonable. when he heard you laughing, his frown deepened. "you make fun."

"no." you insisted slowly, though the grin on your face was undeniable. "i'm just not sure people need to see all that. i won't be able to move like i do if i'm worried about flashing everyone."

"flashing?" he repeated confusedly.

your mouth hung open for a moment. you knew that nudity wasn't even an issue for na'vi. as such, you quickly realized they had no concept for things like flashing. to tarsem, you were just babbling on with no good reason to reject his idea.

"flashing is like... exposing myself." you explained weakly.

you expected him to continue to argue with you. but his eyes flickered and a slow smile spread on his lips. "move how you want, ngatsyìp (little one). nothing about you should be hidden. nothing."

your hand shot out to swat his arm, the grin on your face failing to cover up your flustered state. your cheeks were warm, fueling the fire that allowed you to curse, "skxawng!" (idiot!)

he laughed brightly, gathering your wrists in one hand and tugging you to the floor beside him. he easily held you down, but then again, you were half-heartedly resisting.

"i will find beads and feathers for you. you will try them."

"is that an order?" you teased, challenge in your tone.

tarsem matched your taunt with one of his own. "you love to test my authority, ngatsyìp. push me and see that i know how to handle you."

/

in awa'atlu, jake couldn't sleep. fatherly instincts, perhaps?

. . .

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© jsooly ‘25

[facebook-refugee]

So in college I actually excelled. I even got into the honors college and got to take special classes. BUT sadly life happened. I was SAed on campus and at a friend's party, cheated on, abused and abandoned by family even more, my health just tanked. I do take pride in what I did get to accomplish and have tried returning 3 times before accepting this was an obstacle I couldn't overcome with just force and my want to.

BUT in my family there is the golden child of my older brother. Not a bright one who didn't get into a lot of the programs they applied for and our mother would go angry yell at staff till things were better for my sibling. The fucker tries holding the fact they have a degree over my head as a means of being superior. That they were able to complete until a masters degree before throwing it and all job offers away to join the army.

Now don't get me wrong I know my sibling will never actually be on par with me and it's hard to not take me being unable to finish a degree personally. Especially because it all got worse to a point of me being unable to even hold jobs so trying for disability. And thankfully I stopped talking to my family which saves me so much anguish. But all that hard work and all that I know I could do if I didn't have these obstacles that just boxed me in, it hurts.

Shout out to mentally ill people who dropped out of school

- shout out to the kids who were “so bright” and ‘heading somewhere” and had to drop out because school was too much to handle along with mental illness

- shout out to the kids who struggled to get where they got before they dropped out

- shout out to the kids who tried and tried and tried and still couldn’t finish

you aren’t unintelligent because you dropped out of school, you aren’t a delinquent or a bad person because you dropped out of school, just because you did what you had to doesn’t make you a bad person

[drabbles-mc]

Knock First

Bucky Barnes x F!Thunderbolts!Reader

For Week 1 of Hot Bucky Summer: "Mind your own damn business" & "embarrassment"

Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, allusions to smut, language, tower fic, vague mentions of reader having powers

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: hot bucky summer is BAAACK baby!!! had so much fun writing this. thank you as always to @buckybarnesevents for hosting this event every year!

Privacy at the tower was practically nonexistent these days. No one should have expected anything different, though. You were a team of people who didn’t really have much of anywhere else to go. The tower wasn’t really supposed to be a permanent residence, but no one was in much of a rush to find places of their own. Yourself included.

Knowing what you were dealing with, you had learned to accept the fact that your alone time could get cut short or interrupted at any minute. It wasn’t your favorite thing in the world, but you’d been stuck in much worse places. This place was the closest thing you’d had to a home in a long time, and it came with its own dysfunctional family dynamics included.

While you were accepting of the living arrangements, and managed to accept them without too many complaints, Bucky wasn’t handling it quite as well as you were. He was also at the tower now that he was in New York instead of down in DC. Whenever he complained you’d send him a random apartment listing, and for as much as it bothered him he continued to do it. Lucky for you there was no shortage of listings in the boroughs to send him.

The lack of privacy bothered Bucky a whole lot less before the two of you had started sneaking around together. Thinking back on it, you realized that you two only managed to stay away from each other for about a month after he started living at the tower with the rest of you. You could’ve sworn it was longer, but maybe that was just because it wasn’t as though Bucky had ever really fully thawed out his warm and fuzzy side even now. That didn’t particularly bother you either.

It especially didn’t bother you in moments like this, when Bucky was holding the side of your face with one hand while the other was sliding down your chest, your shirt already discarded on the floor. He hovered over you as he kissed you. Warmth bled into your body from his as he kept you caged between him and your mattress. You could hear it better than most, how quickly his heart was beating as he slotted the two of your bodies together.

There was the ticklish brush of his beard against your jaw and then your neck. You tilted your chin up to give him better access, digging your teeth into your bottom lip to stifle the moan you felt creeping up the back of your throat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid your fingers through Bucky’s hair, giving it a small tug of encouragement.

His low hum of appreciation sent vibrations down your entire body. The sensation caused you to arch into him, a shuddered gasp slipping from between your lips as he slid the strap of your bra down off your shoulder.

The word yes was right on the tip of your tongue as his hand that was previously holding your face landed on the button of your jeans. Before you could say it, though, you heard the sound of the doorknob twisting. You tried to get yourself upright, knowing that someone was about to walk in, but you didn’t get very far nor did you communicate to Bucky what you thought was about to happen. All the words were caught in the back of your throat, trapped there by the way Bucky’s teeth were sinking into the sensitive skin there.

Bucky heard the creak of the door open, but even if that hadn’t gotten his attention there was only half a second between that sound and the gasp that Bob let out, immediately followed by him stammering and stuttering, trying to get through an apology of some kind.

If it had been in Bucky’s wheelhouse of powers, he would’ve sliced Bob clean through from top to bottom with just a look. Luckily for all of you that wasn’t the case, but the look on Bucky’s face still made Bob want to dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

You had never seen Bob’s face turn such a deep shade of red before. He clearly hadn’t meant to walk into your room. His was the next door down in the hallway, and you were willing to bet that he’d had his nose buried in the book in his hands which lead to him walking into your room instead of his own. A series of honest mishaps but that didn’t do anything to assuage the anger that Bucky was currently feeling. Blood was rushing quickly through his veins for an entirely different reason now, one that had you trying to hold him back from getting up off the bed.

Bob was nervously looking down at his book, and then up at the two of you, and then back down at his book again as he tried to assure you both that he didn’t see anything. Which you had no choice but to laugh at because he was technically still seeing it, even as he was trying to say he wasn’t.

“I won’t say anything. Well, because there’s nothing to say. Because I didn’t see—”

Bucky cut him off, harsh but simultaneously saving him from trying to come up with the rest of his soliloquy. “Shut the fucking door, Bob!”

His eyes popped wide open, like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind even though you knew all he wanted to do was leave and forget that this had ever happened. “Right. Right.”

The second his hand landed on the doorknob, Bucky spoke up again, more exasperated now than angry. “With you on the other side!”

Your attempt to stifle your laughter was hardly even half-hearted. There was no pretending the entire scene wasn’t comical, Bob’s face somehow managing to get even redder as he went and put himself on the other side of the door. With a laugh and a flick of your wrist you pushed it shut behind him, scooching him out the rest of the way in the process. Once he was out, you allowed yourself to truly break down into laughter at what had just happened.

Bucky sat upright, maneuvering himself so that he was sitting with his legs hanging off your bed. Running his fingers back through his hair he huffed. “It’s not funny.”

You were still laughing, which was enough of an argument to his point without you even saying anything. Using one arm to prop you up, you slid your bra strap back into its rightful place. “It is, though.”

He gestured towards the door. “Didn’t think that a little warning would’ve been—”

You scooted closer to him. You’d managed to stop laughing but the humor hadn’t left your voice yet. “I was a little distracted—sue me.”

“If he goes and tells everybody…” he trailed off, meaning to make it sound like a threat but the tone wasn’t hitting quite right.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” Bucky looked at you with an expression that clearly showed how little faith he had in your statement. “I thought the kid’s heart was going to explode in his chest for a second there. I think we’re gonna be alright.” Bucky was grumbling, like you wouldn’t be able to hear him just fine even when he was speaking under his breath. Leaning into him, you hooked your chin over his shoulder. “That’s the risk you run when you’re sneaking around.”

“He has no reason to be barging in here.”

“Well, yeah, that obviously wasn’t on purpose.”

There was a pause, and while you couldn’t get the best look at Bucky’s face from your current angle, you had a feeling that he was mulling over your point. You hoped that the sound logic, combined with the fact that you were ready to finish that the two of you had started if he was, would be enough to stop him from getting up and going after Bob. What happened didn’t have to be a big deal if Bucky didn’t make it one.

About five more seconds went by and just when you were thinking that Bucky was going to fall back into bed with you, he shifted his grip on the edge of your mattress and went to stand up off the bed.

“I’m just gonna—” he was halfway to standing when you reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards you.

He was strong, but so were you, so your pull did cause him to stumble back a step. Looking back at you, annoyance was still etched into his features. Only difference now was that some of it was for Bob, but some of it was for you too.

“Is that really what you wanna spend your time doing right now?” You gave another light pull on his hand.

“What if he says something?”

You laughed. “What do you think he’s gonna do? Text the group chat saying he caught us making out and he saw, like, half my boob?”

Bucky had years of practice in keeping a straight face, but even so you knew deep down that he wanted to laugh. Something about hearing it spelled out like that made him realize, at least a little bit, how ridiculous he was being.

“Fine.” His concession came with him collapsing back onto the bed with you.

It took him no time at all to be right back on top of you again, but you still couldn’t help but to nettle him a little bit with, “Wow, don’t sound so excited about it.”

You caught his eyeroll right before he leaned in to kiss you. Neither of you bothered enough by the events of the conversation after to let it keep distracting you from what you’d set out to do in the first place. One more flick of your wrist and the lights shut off.

It wasn’t until early the following morning when you finally left your room again. Bucky had gone back to his own space the night before once the two of you were done, but you’d had no reason to leave your mini-sanctuary. So you didn’t. You’d slipped into a relatively unbothered sleep until the sunrise started coming through your window.

When you stumbled your way into the kitchen, there were hardly any lights on. There were enough windows to make up the difference, though. Rubbing the last of the sleep from your eyes, you saw that the only other person there, presumably the only other person awake at such an early hour, was Bob. He was sitting at the counter, a bowl of cereal and milk in front of him. His spoon was halfway to his mouth as he continued to read the same book he’d had in his hands last night.

You broke the silence, and by extension his concentration. “How is that book, anyway?”

He flinched at the sound of your voice, not having heard you come in. The spoon dropped back into the bowl. Luckily the droplets of milk that made it over the side didn’t seem to get on the pages he was looking at. He looked at you, but could only manage to hold eye contact for a moment before staring down into his cereal. His cheeks were already turning color.

“It’s, uh,” he cleared his throat, “it’s good.”

You smiled and nodded. “That’s good.” Turning around, you stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled the door open. Your head was practically tucked inside the thing as you contemplated what you wanted to make for your own breakfast. With your back still to him, you said, “Figured it must be a pretty immersive read if it’s got you walking into the wrong bedroom.”

The choking sound that came next let you know that he’d clearly tried to take a bite of his cereal while you weren’t looking at him. A couple more coughs and he managed to get out, his voice a little strained, “That was an accident. I prom—”

Carton of orange juice in your hand, you finally turned around to face him. “I know it was, Bob.” You chuckled as you grabbed a glass for yourself and filled it. “If I thought you were some kind of perv, I wouldn’t have let them put my room right next door to yours.”

He managed a weak smile, face still red from a mixture of embarrassment and coughing. “Right.”

Even though it grew quiet between you, you could tell from the rapidity of Bob’s heartbeat that this probably wasn’t the end of the conversation. He was just working up the courage to ask or say whatever it was that was on his mind. You were in no rush—he could take all the time he wanted. You kept yourself busy grabbing eggs from the fridge and finding whatever other leftover goodies in there you could to make something reminiscent of an omelet.

There was the clinking of Bob’s spoon against his bowl of cereal, and you were glad that he couldn’t see the smile on your face. He would’ve asked why you were smiling and you didn’t really want to tell him that you found his nervousness to be a little bit endearing. He wasn’t the one who was doing anything wrong. He wasn’t the one who had been keeping secrets. By that logic he had nothing to be nervous about.

His now-empty bowl scraped along the countertop as he pushed it away from him. Clearing his throat, he said, “So…you and Bucky…?”

You chuckled. All that time to think and yet those four words just about summed it up. You nodded, facing the stove still instead of him. “Yeah, something like that I guess.”

Bob nodded even though you weren’t looking at him. “Wow. I didn’t, uh, how long’s that been…”

You shot him a good-natured smile over your shoulder. “Long enough that I’m surprised you’re the first one to catch us.”

He smiled nervously, and the darkening hue of his cheeks had you wondering just how red his face could get. “Oh.”

He’d only met your eyes long enough to see that you smiled at him before looking back down at the book in front of him. It was evident that he wasn’t actually taking in any of the words written out, but it was easier to stare blankly at the pages than it was to stare at you.

Returning your attention to the stove, you said, “You know, it’s going to be really difficult to work on a team together if you can’t make eye contact with me.”

“Oh, uh, I’m not—I’m fi—it’s fine.”

Sliding your finished omelet out of the pan and onto a paper plate, you shut off the stove and put the frying pan into the dishwasher. Plate still balanced in one hand, you used the other to pull the drawer open and grab a fork. Bob was looking quickly back and forth between you and his book as you moved, his hair falling in front of his face every time he looked down.

You situated yourself on the opposite side of the counter, but directly in front of him. Paper plate right by the edge, you leaned forward and braced your forearms against the edge of the counter so you could eat. Cutting into your omelet, you gave it a couple seconds before speaking up again. It felt like Bob needed time to recover from every exchange now.

Once you finished your first bite, you said, “Out of everybody involved, you have, like, the least amount of reason to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” he said, the color not yet fully gone from his face.

“Okay,” you took another bite, “sure. I’m just saying,” you used your fork to point at yourself, “me,” you gestured towards the hall where Bucky’s room was, “and him should be the ones avoiding eye contact. But I have no sense of shame,” you said with a laugh, “and he takes all his shame and turns it into annoyance and angry looks so…”

Bob managed not to laugh until you made the comment about Bucky and then he allowed himself to revel in the amusement for a moment. He knew you were right, but that didn’t do anything really to make him feel any better about what had happened. He also knew that Bucky’s anger wasn’t confined to just the look on his face. He was worried about that more than the rest of it.

“Right. He just seemed pretty pissed, so…”

You shrugged and took another bite of your breakfast. “Don’t take it personally—he’s always like that.”

It got another quiet laugh out of Bob. You were both giggling to yourselves over it when you heard another set of footsteps getting closer to the kitchen. You could tell from the pacing of them that it was Bucky, but Bob seemed blissfully unaware of that fact. You let him enjoy ignorance for a few more precious seconds until Bucky came lumbering into view.

He looked back and forth between you and Bob. He caught the smiles on both of your faces, although the look quickly melted off of Bob’s when he realized who had just walked into the kitchen. You didn’t bother to try and pretend that you felt any less amused than you really were.

You flashed a cheesy grin at Bucky. “Good morning, sunshine.” Rather than return your greeting, he gave you a frown that was one part annoyance, one part exhaustion. Continuing to use your fork as a wand, you looked at Bob and gestured to Bucky’s face. “See? Told you. He’s just like that.”

Bucky didn’t look at Bob, but after another second he wasn’t looking at either of you. Back turned on both of you, he started to make himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah? What’d else you tell him?”

You rolled your eyes. “Bucky, c’mon.”

He turned back around, coffee mug in his hand. He skipped right over you and went to looking at Bob. It was hard for him to maintain eye contact with Bucky too, but for an entirely different set of reasons. He managed it, though. Managed it easier than he had with you.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bucky said, his tone flat. “Not to her, to me, to anyone. Just mind your own damn business and—”

“Come off it, Buck,” you interrupted him. “It’s not like he was snooping around.”

Bob’s eyes widened at the fact that not only had you interrupted, but you interrupted to come to his defense. He was content just to let Bucky say his piece and then try to move on without ever bringing it up ever again. He’d deal with the dirty looks and grumbles from Bucky for however long he needed. Eventually it’d all blow over. Something else would happen to steal Bucky’s annoyance. Probably, anyway.

The look that Bucky gave you told you to shut up without him having to actually utter the words. His put his attention back on Bob. “Just keep your mouth shut or—”

“Or what?” you asked with a laugh, tossing your now-empty paper plate into the garbage can. “He goes and blabs to Alexei about us, what’re you gonna do?” The ensuing silence spoke volumes, and you didn’t miss the tiny smile that was starting to creep its way across Bob’s face. “Because if I remember right, the last time you tried to get the upper hand on him, Bob beat you up with your own arm, so, you know,” you shrugged, “might wanna reconsider.”

Your rationale had both Bucky and Bob protesting, for similar reasons phrased very differently. Bob was talking to Bucky, trying to say that he had no intention of doing something like that, while Bucky was talking to you trying to explain that it wasn’t Bob who had done that. They were both right, but you didn’t care about that part. It got Bucky off Bob’s case for the time being, and it had the added bonus of giving you a good laugh.

Bucky stopped before he got himself too worked up. Taking another sip of his coffee, he turned and started to head back towards his bedroom. “It’s too early for this.”

You chuckled as he walked away, but you refrained from making any extra commentary. There would be plenty of time for that later. Both you and Bob watched him until he’d completely disappeared from view down the hallway.

Once you heard Bucky’s bedroom door shut, you looked across the counter at Bob again. “See? Not that bad. He’ll get over it.”

He looked at you, the longest he had all morning, with a sheepish smile on his face. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.” You tossed your fork into the dishwasher. “Plus now, you know, you got something to hold over Bucky’s head like a guillotine so—”

“Oh, no,” he cut you off, eyes wide like he was shocked you’d made the suggestion. “I don’t want to do that.”

You chuckled. “I know. Which is why it’s a good power for you to have.” Swiping your drink off the counter, you made your way over to his side of it. “And, you know, for what it’s worth,” you gently rested your hand on his shoulder as you walked by, “maybe next time double-check the room before walking into it.”

His cheeks darkened again as he nodded, gaze locked back onto the counter. “Yeah, I’ll remember that.”

Marvel Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @garbinge @late-to-the-party-81 @blackhawkfanatic @artemiseamoon

ps i didn’t include folks who specifically had been asking to be tagged in my invisible silver linings fic, but if you’re on that and also wanna be on my general mcu taglist please tell me! xo

[darkcrowprincess]

I kind of hate when people miss the point of anakin skywalker's character and why he thinks and acts the way he does. He was a slave as a child. He grew up in a culture till he was ten where everyone he loved and knew where slaves and could easily be blown up if they disobey. He was than bought(not freed, bought it happens in the movies so you obessesive pro jedi order people don't come after me) by the jedi and was told he was a peacekeeper now, but also how to fight. He was told he was the chosen one, but not really because no one was sure and no one was 100% sure what to do with him. All while his mother was left to be a slave. Again this all happens before he was ten! Of course Anakin is going to grow some resentment and confusing feelings about the jedi and the republic and poltics. Of course he's going to have complicated feelings about that. That doesn't mean he's wasn't good. That he wasn't capable of seeing good in people. But that's the thing, Anakin trusts people, not organizations, not groups, not politicians. Groups with power have screwed him over all his life. Why I can see why he would think the way he does and want to give Padme (the kindness person he knows) the universe so she can make everything better. It's not an excuse, but it is a reason. Anakin has trauma, and the jedi did not know how help people in their cult with trauma. So I really hate when people say Anakin is creepy or intense or this and this before his fall. Because hey news flash he's like this for a reason and it's trauma. It's not black and white thinking of he was always evil and here are the reasons why. Anakin has trauma and other than the few handful of people who really get him( Padme Obi wan, Ashoka, his clone troopers) no one knew how to help with it. People were either making it worse or grooming him. And don't come at me that they didn't need to help him, because they were the ones who bought him and never helped correct him of that mindset. Was it still Anakins fault for the choices he made in ROS? Yes, but the blame is not his alone. In fact a lot of it is the fault of the Jedi. It's amazing in fact that Anakin stayed good that long with everything he was dealing with. Of course he would break like that with his wife and child in danger.

(Don't like don't read. Post hate and I'll block you!)

[sirobvious]

No, I’m arguing that the “rules of playing pretend” have in fact already been written in a wide variety of different ways represented by a wide variety of different games, by passionate game designers who deserve your attention far more than the absolute TTRPG monopoly of Wizards of the Coast, and who have created fantasy combat games that are better than D&D5e for when you want to play fantasy combat, and created all kinds of other games for when you want to play something other than fantasy combat.

Because these exist, you actually don’t have to make your GM write a crummy D&D5e hack every time you want to play something, which takes more time and more effort for worse results.

If you’re really incredulous that somebody with a full time job could learn and play multiple games with other people who have full time jobs, here’s a quick non-comprehensive list of the TTRPGs I’ve played

D&D3.5e

D&D5e

AD&D2e (this one’s by far my favorite D&D)

Call of Cthulhu

Trail of Cthulhu

GREED

Mothership

Monster of the Week

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Mausritter

FIST

Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG

Death Bed: An Impenetrably Medieval Dungeon Game (extremely early draft, just a playtest of the combat mechanics)

I personally prefer longer, “crunchier” games, but there’s some great games on that list that are super short. In the time it takes to read this entire text post from top to bottom, you could get through half or more of the most important parts of GREED, Mothership, Mausritter, or FIST. (Though for someone who has only played D&D5e, I really would not recommend jumping straight to short rules-light games like FIST or Mausritter. The reason these games can keep themselves so short and light is because they expect you to be able to fill in the gaps with your own experience playing many similar games. Medium-complexity games like Eureka are the best starting point for new players and are the best way to escape the D&D5e walled garden.)

If you or anyone else reading this is at all interested in learning and playing a wide variety of TTRPGs in an environment designed to be conducive to scheduling, I have to recommend the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club, the entire point of which is to introduce people to new TTRPGs, give them time to read them, and then match them up with others of similar schedules to play.

The state of TTRPGs if it was video games

“Oh I wanna play a Half-life video game; instead of playing Half-life 1, Blue Shift, Opposing Force, Half-life 2, Episode 1, Episode 2, Portal, Portal 2, E:0, or E:02, I’ll just download 10,000 mods for Skyrim until all the draugr are replaced with Combine soldiers.”

[sugarhog05]

“Pretty gross, huh?” Trying and failing to lighten the mood, Moons face falls even further. Anxiety builds in your chest as his gaze practically burns into your back. You are only able to tolerate a few more seconds before swiftly covering yourself back up. You wipe at the tears that had pricked the corners of your eyes as subtly as you could, but the action would not escape his notice.

“…I still feel it. How it happened… how helpless I felt. It’s funny, for a long time I thought there was nothing worse than death. That as long as you survived… nothing else mattered. Not pain, not hardship, as long as you lived.” You pause to take a shaky breath, and his eyes are still on you. You won’t meet them. You can’t.

“It felt like it’d never end. And when it did the pain, the memory… it will never leave me. I learned that day that there ARE worse things than death.” You grimace. it’s itching again. Moon is quiet for a long time, but when he does speak you are finally able to meet his gaze.

“I noticed you’d itch your back a lot some days. You tried to be subtle about it… but I noticed. Is there nothing to be done for it?” You almost smile. Of course he’d seen you scratching. He’s the most observant person you know, quiet but always watching. Chuckling, you shake your head no.

“I would have done it a long time ago if there was.” He hums, and after a moment of contemplating something he raises his hand to move your shirt down again. You hate how you tense up, hate how he freezes when you do. You let out a shaky breath.

“It… it’s fine. You… you can look again, if you must.” Your hands are clasped together nervously fidgeting. His touch is feather-like, as if he was handling the finest porcelain. You are the farthest thing from it, but knuckles brush against your back so softly it makes you wanna cry. At some point he finally presses down on one of the scars, but you do not shy from the pressure. You lean back into his hand in fact, which surprises him. Despite his surprise, his reaction is to place his whole hand against your back. It feels much better than it has any right to.

“They look like wings…” He whispers mostly to himself, but you hear it. Stars, do you hear it. “How fitting, that even your scars are beautiful.” He was definitely speaking to you that time. You pull away from him and cover yourself once more. Standing up you plan to make a quick exit. You are only able to manage a small glance at him, and his face… Oh stars, his face. You did not think it was possible for someone to show such adoration on their face, but here he was. You barely manage a small ‘Excuse me, My Prince’ before all but running out of the room.

Curse them… they made it so hard not to care.

Hrnnnghhh… dang @jezziconvair making me wanna give Y/N wings again… I will probably make the scar wings canon because I love it so much. They also happen to frame an important scar right below the back of Y/Ns neck, which is cool. :)

Did I project some of my own issues with traumatic scarring? Maybe a little.

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (5/30/25) - Characters with Disabilities

I love the way Good Omens is a great vehicle for telling varied stories. And fic writers have given us some amazing disabled characters. In fact, there are so many great stories, I'm setting some limits. First, I won't include the varied eye conditions ascribed to Crowley because they feature in a ton of fics. And they're often not major parts of the story. Second, I won't include fics where people are neurodivergent only. There's a nuanced debate happening about whether neurodivergency is a disability or not. It's certainly not something I feel qualified to opine on in a Tumblr post recommending fan fics. (Of course, how many disabilities would become less disabling if we simply provided reasonable accommodations for people, amirite?)

And third, I won't include psychological disabilities--severe depression, OCD, anxiety. They could probably comprise their own list as well.

So anyway, on to the fics!

Let's start with something fluffy and sweet - The War of the Pie Dish (G) by Sodium_Azide. Crowley moves into a new flat and finds a welcome gift in a blue pie plate on his front doorstep. He bakes his own treat to return with the pie dish which starts the war. And becomes the highlight of Crowley's week. Why is this included in the disability theme? Well, you'll have to read this one-shot to find out since Crowley doesn't actually meet his kind neighbor for ages.

I love how the writer had Crowley interested in his neighbor long before they met and his reaction to accommodating Aziraphale when his disability became apparent. It's lovely.

Another sweet bit o'fluff is Between Stations (T) by in_a_pickle. Aziraphale takes a part-time job as a passenger assistant at the train station. His assignment to help a disabled passenger board his train goes from bad to worse. Luckily, the passenger, Crowley, has a good sense of humor. One of my faves.

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) (E) by @charlottemadison42 is a fandom classic in which Crowley is raising his nephew Adam when he finds himself attracted to Adam's teacher, Aziraphale. Unfortunately, Adam has several medical conditions that require regular care. And if Crowley and Aziraphale date, they will run afoul of HR rules, potentially risking Adam's much-needed health insurance. Yep, it's an American story. What else? But it's a classic for a reason and a great read.

In How My Light is Spent (E) by Azira_Amine, Aziraphale and Crowley experience near instant attraction when they meet at the coffee shop where Aziraphale works. Not so much a slow burn as a quick ignition. And fortunately, Crowley's guide dog, Bentley, approves as well.

Echoes of Luke 10:34 (T) by ChummyGeekery has Aziraphale understanding Crowley much better now that they've swapped bodies. Luckily, he's willing to help Crowley who has dealt with chronic pain over thousands of years.

On the Habits of Vampires and Retired Goths (T) by @munchmulch is the ultimate misunderstanding fic. Aziraphale moves in across the hall from Crowley thinking his sickly appearance is because he's a vampire. Actually, he's disabled. And the misunderstandings continue from there, making for a very funny fic.

Aziraphale notices Crowley is not himself in Out of Alignment (M) by @dragonfire42. Heaven and Hell come together to help resolve his issues. This fic offers great advice on supporting a partner through disability and recovery as well on self-management when in pain. Oh, and this story offers justice for Furfur. It's a fun take on our tiny demon.

This list is getting long. Do you need a break? A chance to stretch? A cuppa tea? Let's have a little Aziraphale break before we continue.

And we're back with...

A Smell Can't Be Ineffable (M) by @thinkinginscripts, Crowley loses his sense of taste and smell after a case of Covid. But bookseller Aziraphale has a method he hopes will help. It's sweet and beautifully descriptive.

In the Demon and Angel Professors series (G) by Ghostinthehouse Crowley and Aziraphale support several disabled students. They have a special understanding of the students' challenges because Crowley is disabled but keeps it a secret. Highly recommend this long series of short fics. It's a great read to keep open in your tabs whenever you have a quick minute to read a 666 word fic.

An Affair to Remember (T) by GoodInspirationAD, is inspired by the film of the same name. Crowley stops by the bookshop to explain why he stood Aziraphale up on their planned date at the Ritz. But he loses his nerve. Will the pair reunite? And will Aziraphale understand Crowley's reasons?

Do you read WIPs? If so, check out Ineffable Beauty (M) also by GoodInspirationsAD. The love this writer has for their characters really shines through. Crowley is a fashion model and Aziraphale is a writer. Both were seriously injured in car accidents. Crowley became a paraplegic and Aziraphale a quadriplegic. They fall in love and navigate their relationship with a little angst, but mostly mutual adoration.

This fic is really a fantasy--one where the pair never have to argue with the National Health or insurance company for the equipment they need, have meaningful work they love and are paid well for, and caregivers who treat them with respect and love. So yeah, total fantasy. But isn't that lovely sometimes? If you like a spicy read, check out Lay Thee Sinner, 'Neath the Cross and Pole (E) by ElysiumLeo (The_Nerd_Alert). Aziraphale is a Catholic priest whose fellow teacher, Gabriel, takes him to a strip club for his 50th birthday. There he meets pole dancer, Crowley. The two develop a friendship and Crowley offers to mentor the priest in sexual pleasure to help him decide if he wants to continue his life of celibacy in the priesthood. Crowley has a condition that resembles Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (can't remember if it was named in the fic) and we see him managing pain while doing a physically demanding job. Also a WIP. Mind the tags, people. Thanks to @thinkinginscripts and @fumblingbuffoon for inspiring this list and suggesting several inclusions.

Do you have a favorite fic featuring disabled characters I missed? Your recs are one of the best parts of doing this weekly feature. Reblog and share in the comments.

I'll be back next Friday with more great Good Omens fan fics on a new theme. In the meantime, check out my other favorite fics on this pinned post of weekly Good Omens fan fiction recommendations. And if my faves appear to be your faves, check out my bookmarks on AO3--all the fics I rate in my top 10% of everything I've read.

Don't forget to nurture the fan fic community. Share kudos and comments to show the many wonderful creators how much we appreciate them.

[malum-forev]

Neighbors

Bucky hated D.C. Absolutely loathed every part of the city. He hated the motorcades that would constantly make traffic jams impossible to navigate, he hated how the weather would go from freezing cold to boiling hot in a matter of seconds, and he especially hated his job.

The fact he had to read through hundreds of documents that said nothing and everything at the same time made his head hurt worse than when people smashed guns against it.

Bucky actually considered moving, many times. He thought the commute would be better than having to handle living in the city. For a while, he thought about moving back to Wakanda, the only place that had given him some kind of peace. He missed the normalcy of the city, and he wanted to settle down at some point. He was close to subletting his apartment and leaving the states altogether, but everything changed one fateful Friday afternoon.

The first thing he noticed was the floors. The old wooden panels felt like they had more give to them than usual. Like hundreds of people had passed through that day and worn them down.

The second thing was the lingering smell of perfume in the hallway. Spicy cinnamon with vanilla and something floral soothing the strong scent. It was definitely not his next door neighbor, the 6'7 burly foreigner who would only come out of his apartment to get his daily takeaway container. And it was clearly not the old lady who lived down the hall. The smell was way too modern for her to wear it.

The last thing, were the towers of boxes lining the sides of the apartment door directly in front of his. Cardboard boxes labeled: kitchen, bedroom, living room, in a nice loopy handwriting.

But none of these things could have prepared him for what was behind that innocently looking door.

The door swung open, wafting through the deliciously complex scent along with the comfort of chocolate chip cookies. Bucky never before understood the phrase feeling fuzzy inside, but as soon as he locked eyes with yours, the Sergeant's insides turned velvet.

It was like a movie, your head turned to him in slow motion, almost as if his mind was trying to memorize every single detail of your expression. So relaxed, so carefree, so happy. It had been years since Bucky had felt like that, and in just a couple of seconds you made him yearn for that happiness.

Next came your smile, your lips curved upwards like he'd just said the funniest joke you'd ever heard when in reality Bucky hadn't said one word. He's pretty sure that he hadn't even let out a breath.

He was completely dumbfounded. That was the only way he could describe it. He was staring at his new neighbor completely dumbfounded.

Bucky saw your lips move, but no sound registered in his head. To be completely honest, he was hearing church bells instead of words. It wasn't until you raised your eyebrows, expecting a response from him, that he realized he'd been staring silently at you for a full minute.

"What?" Was all he could get out. The word came out in a rush and sounded more like a seagull call than language.

"I said I'm sorry for the noise." You giggled. "I unpack faster if I'm listening to music."

"N-no worries." Bucky clears his throat, trying to remember how to properly speak. "I just got home."

"Oh! I finally get to meet the person on the other side of 4B! That's exciting." You hold your hand out, balancing a smaller box with your other hand and your hip.

"I'm the one who's excited." Bucky lets out, shaking your hand with way too much force.

Only silence follows his words and it makes him want to crawl underneath the new flowery welcome mat you've just set out and die. It's not until he hears you laugh that the life returns to his eyes.

"You're funny." You smile, introducing yourself.

Bucky barely catches your name because the whole hallway starts to sound like church bells again after you've said he's funny. It's been a while since someone called him that. Brave, courageous, sad, silent, those were synonyms of the soldier. But funny, almost no one called him that.

"I've just moved in, as you can see," you nod your head back at the mountain of boxes inside your apartment. "Do you like the apartment complex? I've been trying to vibe check all week but it seems our other neighbors aren't as friendly as you."

Bucky nods his head like his life depends on it. He'd be an idiot to say that the water takes over twenty minutes to heat up, and that the neighborhood isn't exactly safe.

"I love it." He tries to give you a relaxed smile but he's almost sure he looks in pain, lying has never really been his forte. "I'm actually thinking of buying my place."

"Well, congratulations on the thought of buying your apartment." You smile at him.

"Thank you, and-" Bucky takes a pause, gathering up all his courage to ask you out. He's spent years trying to rebuild the confidence he used to have. He hates thinking about how he used to be, back when everything was normal, but it's impossible not to think about it. Before the war, he'd easily come up to any woman and charm her left and right. He'd never admit it to anyone but he used to have at least five different women's pictures in his wallet at a time.

But now, he's trying to play catch up and it's almost impossible. It's like every day he needs to learn sixty different words to try and understand what they're talking about.

And just as the words "Will you go out with me?" were about to leave his mouth, he sees him.

Bucky's eyebrows raise and he lets out a defeated sigh as he sees another man cross through your living room to grab another box and bring it towards your bedroom.

"Thank you, and...." You wiggle your eyebrows playfully, hoping it's not the end of your incredibly hot neighbors sentence.

"Thank you, and I hope you have a lovely first night here." Bucky nods his head once before turning away, his heart twisting and turning as he catches your eyes one last time.

You're left behind, stuttering a goodbye before closing your door too. Confused and a little disappointed.

"Who was that at the door?" Your brother asks as he comes in and picks up another box.

"My new neighbor." You give him a light smile.

"He's cute." He raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, he's really cute." You say remembering those steel eyes that just a minute ago were looking at you like you set up the moon.

Author's note: Hiiiii guysss, I'm so sorry I hadn't posted in a while but as some of you know, I wrote a book! And it's now published on Amazon! If any of you are interested in it I would be more than honored to send you the link!

Anywayssss, I watched Thunderbolts a couple of weeks ago thinking it was going to kickstart my obsession again but I think I'm still not over Congressman Bucky! it's a problem. Hehe. Buuuutt I will be updating Eyes, They Never Lie, if you guys are still interested in that!

Okay okay my rant is over, I love you guys and thank you for your patience throughout this whole time I've been writing my book! Thanks xx

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen@whoreforbarnes@ironwinnerwonderland@oikarma@ellabellabunny123

[skibasyndrome]

Simon. I am begging. On my knees

"I want to feel you inside"

Nina!!! Hi!!! No this has not been sitting for over a month nope dkgshdf anyways, thank you so much for sending me a prompt (and also for helping me decide what to write today hehe), I hope you will like this one 💜💜💜

camping redemption; friends to lovers; my god, they are sweating

cw: nsfw

Read below or over on ao3

Once they settle down inside the tent, it doesn't take long for them to discard the sleeping bags after all. They rustle traitorously in the stuffy silence as Wille kicks them away, off to the other side of the tent, where they won't bother them for the night.

Simon lets out a pleased sigh, finding it a lot easier to breathe without unruly nylon and polyester pooling around him. Not even the proximity to the lake is making the uncharacteristic heaviness of this May night any better. Maybe it's worse. He feels like his shirt is still damp, as is his hair, their late evening swim seeming like not as much of a good idea anymore. Besides him, over on the other iso mat, Wille lets out a groan. "This was a bad idea," he mumbles. When Simon turns back around, facing him, he sees that he's tugging on the collar of his t-shirt, attempting to fan some coolness down his body. Simon doubts he's going to find any cool air, though. Not even the fact that they've only closed up the fly sheet is allowing any semblance of a breeze to enter into their tent. Simon can't quite bite back his amusement. There's something adorably hilarious about Wille when he's whiny. There's a reason why Simon's always enjoyed teasing his best friend. Even if he's been doing it less and less as they grew older, and with them, Wille's aversion to being laughed at, even in good humor. But it seems fine now, seems like they're just relaxed enough. So Simon stretches his leg, pokes Wille's shin with his toe. "Your fault," he says, and follows suit when Wille moves his leg out of the way. "Let's go camping for my birthday," Simon mocks, dropping his voice in exaggeration. "Like in the old days." At that, Wille kicks back lightly.

"I don't sound like that," he protests. But Simon can see the smile on his face, even in the dim light of their camping lantern. He's not ready to give up, not until he sees Wille squirm again. It's been too long. "Let's get out of the city," Simon quips, voice still comically low. Their legs are a tangled mess now, each of them trying to keep the other one from poking, tickling, kicking. Wille lets out another whine, but at least this one rings familiar of amusement and lighthearted frustration. "You make me sound like I'm old," he groans, raising his shirt up and over his face, covering what Simon hopes is a bright blush, as if that will make it disappear. Unfortunately, the opposite is true. Simon's retort gets momentarily stuck in his throat when his eyes drop to Wille's naked skin. Most days, Simon has no problem forgetting about the fact that Wille looks the way he does. That, under his baggy shirts, there are firm lines of muscle, and skin so charmingly pale and freckled that Simon has thought about counting the little marks in weak moments. Most days, Simon's attraction to Wille can be neatly tucked away, sitting somewhere in the back of his mind. Their friendship is too comfortable, too lived in, has always been closer than most people around them understood. Whenever Simon found the words to put to the feelings, it had already been too long, too settled for anything to change. Most days Simon feels a spark, a sting, a flare of something, and can manage to get right back to business. So he can do that, now, as well. When he averts his eyes, finding Wille's cotton-covered face again, he forces out a laugh. It sounds a little too strained to his own ears, but maybe Wille won't notice. "You make yourself sound old," Simon says, trying to wiggle his leg free from where it's trapped between Wille's. His skin feels extra warm where it's rubbing against Wille's leg hair. Another whine and Wille releases Simon's leg. The air has gotten even stuffier. Maybe it's mostly Simon's head, maybe it's mostly him being reckless and weird tonight and his focus slipping, as his eyes are slipping down again. Wille's belly rises and falls with his breathing, and, deep inside of Simon, there's the stirring of that familiar urge to... feel it, to reach out a hand and experience it up close. Wille's body, his breathing, his skin. It's an instinct he's so used to, somewhere between loving his friend and wanting to have him as close as possible and a different kind of want, sharper around the edges and more searing. Sometimes it keeps him awake at night, when he trails his hand over his own body instead, wondering, with ever dip and every crevice, what the topology of Wille would feel like under his fingertips. He doesn't usually have to face the feeling so up front anymore these days. The times of shared school locker rooms are over, most moments of nakedness defused by other friends with them. Maybe it's not just Simon's head. With a noise of discontent, Wille tugs the shirt further up, over his head. It lands where the pile of sleeping bags is resting. Simon lets out a quiet breath. He's been quiet for a moment too long, Simon realizes, when Wille clears his throat suddenly.

"Sorry," Wille says, "it's just way too hot." He still sounds lighthearted, but Simon thinks there's an edge there, hard to place. But he can't have that, can't let this get weird. Can't let what he's able to deal with perfectly fine get between them now. "No, I know," Simon says and rolls onto his back again. Thinking is easier when he's only looking a green canvas. But it still isn't helping the heat in any way. Simon decides to bite the bullet. With a sigh, he pulls his own shirt over his head and blindly throws it into the general direction of the other fabric.

Read the rest over on ao3 because otherwise the tags on this post don't work apparently :')

Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here

also pls let me know what you think <3

[monsteradarling]

it's so hard being a rad fem and bisexual. i hate that i'm attracted to men. i hate myself for having crushes on men even though i don't date them. i feel so conflicted between my emotions and my brain like i don't know what to do

What you're talking about is internalised biphobia and the misunderstanding of sexuality in feminist spaces, pure and simple.

Sexuality is a completely ordinary and neutral thing. Feminism has absolutely nothing at all to do with sexuality. Where the wires get crossed in regards to feminism is the fact that to actually liberate women, we need to fight and end both biphobia and lesbophobia, so both bisexual women and lesbian women can be free, too.

There is so much biphobia ingrained into society. The fact that you hate yourself for having a crush on a man is one proof of that. You can't control who you find attractive or catch feelings for. You're not a machine. The biphobic propaganda that says we can "choose" who to love is a complete lie.

One of the biggest flaws of radical feminism is that women tend to think that criticising opposite sex relationships, criticising heteronormativity and criticising heterosexism is the same as criticising opposite sex attraction. That's what creates the most inane debates that basically boil down to a rehashing of the old politicial lesbian rubbish from decades back, where some women believe that "I'm a lesbian/only date other women/a celibate straight woman" automatically makes a woman a better feminist somehow.

(Spoiler alert: it doesn't. Bigger spoiler alert: believing that makes you a worse feminist, because it stops you critiquing yourself and your own behaviour towards other women, and towards other men in your life.)

The fact is that as a feminist, it is painfully obvious that it would be better for women to not partner with them. We know this. We're also human beings, and being a feminist is not an identity label, where you have to be able to check off a bunch of different boxes before you make it your entire personality. We're human beings and we're imperfect.

If you fall in love with a man and you weigh up your options and decide to date him and he treats you well, then no, you can't say that dating that man or even marrying him is a feminist act, because it isn't. The critique of opposite sex relationships is about power imbalance, how badly men tend to treat women, domestic violence, rape etc. A good feminist isn't going to attack you over it, she's going to worry about you and hope that you've found the one in a million who's actually good, because no feminist ever wants a woman to be harmed - and if he isn't good, will be there with open arms to support you getting away from him, all without judgement. There is no "I told you so" or "well what did you expect," because we're human and sometimes the heart is louder than the head.

At the same time, I do want to point out that if you fall in love with a woman and date her, then calling that a feminist act ends up objectifying your partner, and I personally think it's both disrespectful and wrong. Love is love, at the end of the day, and while it would be safer for you to partner with a woman, you having sex with a woman isn't going to end patriarchy, because sexuality in general can't be changed.

Genuinely, if you start hating a part of yourself because of the feminists that you're surrounded by, you need to ditch them. You need to realise that they're not preaching liberation if it makes you hate a part of yourself that is neutral and natural.

I would caution you away from dating a man, but there is absolutely no issue in you having a crush or being attracted to them, and anyone who says otherwise is completely ignorant. If you do end up dating a man, though, the whole point is to keep him and your relationship away from feminist spaces, and don't rush in to defend him, that's all.

Considering the state of the world, the most feminist thing to do is to connect with other women first and foremost.

I've been where you are, hating being bisexual, hating my same sex attraction, hating my opposite sex attraction, and it isn't worth it. There is no separating or splitting your attraction. You're just bisexual. You don't have to talk about percentages or where you lean or whatever else. You're just bisexual, and that is perfect the way that it is.

Trust me: accepting your bisexuality fully is a feminist act, because if you can work through your internalised biphobia, and then support other bisexual women struggling in a similar way, then that is the small ripple of a pond towards giving more bisexual women confidence to all just be ourselves, and stop worrying about what others think. We're just flawed people like everyone else, and you deserve to be able to love yourself without any of that negativity gnawing away inside of you. You're not alone, I promise you. x

[phaeton-flier]

I think exclusivity deals ought to be illegal, and less or more treated as collision. They are flat-out bad for the consumer; no one who uses Spotify is better off with Spotify having the exclusive rights to a particular podcast, and are in fact worse off for having to pay more per month to fund the deal.

No one who plays video games is better off for PlayStation or whatever being the only one with a particular third party game, and is in fact worse off for having less choice.

[resident-idiot-simp]

Rogue taking Logan's powers

Shout out to @shy-canadian-snowflake for yelling at me to make this more of a thing besides a one-off idea

It started off with her being more comfortable with the fact that she could take Logan's mutation. After all, she couldn't exactly drain him easily and he really didn't care. It was also extremely useful for more than the healing factor, though she suspected people didn't realize that.

So it became something like second nature to absorb his power on the field after all there were no downsides.

This of course led to her getting very acquainted with the mutation and it becoming second nature for her to use.

Which again was exceedingly helpful. From there it just became second nature to keep his mutation active always.

He enjoyed it and if it made Logan feel less alone that was a nice bonus. He always struggled being the only one that was different.

She found a comfort in the fact it was just for them. Some secret ability and communication only for them to know and use.

So that's how it was and stayed. It was so gradual people barely noticed the change but even now ironically they looked at her the same way they looked at Logan. She wore it with pride, Logan saw it as a failing on his end.

But she never let that mindset slide for long.

New students came and they never explained, they rightfully assumed she was just like Logan and she never corrected them. Why would she?

It gets to the point she suspects some of the adults forget too.

Objectively they should know better but then again habit is a hell of a thing.

One of her favorite things is when people first come to the mansion one of their first questions is if Logan is her dad.

She wishes he was but alas no, but he might as well be. It's no secret they are close that she's his favorite by a LARGE margin.

They may as well be family even if it's not technically true. What matters is how they see one another.

Logan doesn't leave as much anymore but every now and then he does. The worst part of all of it is if he leaves long enough she can't keep the mutation.

It's fine at first besides it suck factor of Logan being gone, but then the mutation starts to leave. Her senses slowly start going back to normal.

The ability to smell and hear people before they are close gets harder and harder. It rattles her; it's like going blind.

It sucks majorly and it's becoming obvious to everyone else too. They can sneak up on her and it's throwing them for a loop. Slowly the enhanced senses leave completely.

The healing too, it took her a few injuries to get that back in her habits.

Which is worse than the instincts leaving first because now she can fall asleep sounded by the scents of Logan and her friends.

She couldn't though and now she was left tossing and turning sleep abating her.

Others asked if she was off and what happened. She tried not to laugh at the whole thing as she tried to explain. She truly forgot people don't know her mutation, it's not like she didn't mention it. He suspects people assumed it was on top of Logan's, but no.

This seemed to shock everyone except those who had known her from the start.

She was still miserable though, couldn't help but be. He was missing a part of herself and she hated every second of it. She knew Logan would be back soon but it truly couldn't be soon enough.

As soon as she heard the roar of the motorcycle she was out the door. Logan just smiled as he was bowled into.

"Hey kit."

She just tore her glove off and grabbed at his hands she hugged him tightly. He just purred and finally finally she could purr right back.

[walkingnearfoxes]

Fall in Love with Me Again. (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Dean coming back from hell is pretty similar to Odysseus returning to Penelope, ain’t it?

Inspired by Epic: The Musical. This is my first Dean fic on here, but the sweet boy has always held a very special place in my dead heart. Apologies if I mess up some canon but in my defense so does the actual show.

Warnings for angst, fluff, and barely contained references to musicals. 

Dean thought Sam attacking him would be the most painful reaction to his return. He was wrong. Your indifference was much worse.

Bobby gave him the address of the apartment. You were living just a few miles away from the old man. The fact that you settled was a shock. You were a hunter - always had been. You grew up alongside the Winchesters - stealing whiskey bottles from your fathers, practicing your aim at every shooting range, learning how to kiss Dean whenever your family’s hunts overlapped in the same shitty town. Dean knew you better than anyone, and no way you would throw away everything you knew for an everyday life. Bobby corrected him.

“She kept up looking for you as long as she could,” He explained, and damn it if Dean didn’t hate how everyone talked to him like he was a ticking time bomb. “But every monster this side of Mississippi was trying to trick her. Demons, shapeshifters, all these bastards wearing your face.”

Dean had to see you as soon as possible.

He barely had the patience to knock on your door, but he managed. He bounced on the heels of his boots in the agonizing seconds it took for you to get to the door. When you finally opened it, his breath left him. So many visions of you in hell, twisted images to torment him. But this is you. It’s really you standing there. You stare back at him, and for perhaps the first time in either of your lives, he can’t read you. 

“Dean?”

“Let me beat you to the punch, okay?” He sputters, worried you might slam the door in his face. He pulls a prepared vial of holy water from one pocket and a silver knife from the other. “I can do all the tests you need me to. I got the guns in the car, too-”

You hold up a hand gently. “Dean, it’s okay. Bobby called me.”

Dean stops. Sure, he didn’t expect you to fall to your knees and cry, but why were you looking at him like he was nothing more than a door-to-door salesperson?

“Oh…that’s good,” He huffs awkwardly, shoving his contents back into his leather pockets. “Yeah. I’m…I’m back, sweetheart.”

You smile as if greeting a server at your table. Dean watches incredulously as you step aside, inviting him into your normie apartment. “Come in.”

Dean carefully follows you. His eyes scan the apartment as you lead him to a circular table in the kitchen. Everything about this house feels stale. There’s no trace of your personality. It’s like you walked into a showroom and picked up every piece of furniture without changing anything. His brows furrow as he obeys your silent gesture to sit at the table. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” You ask him with a lazy wave towards the shitty fridge. “I have a few beers, a vodka seltzer or two…”

He was starting to wish you’d just stabbed him at the front door.

“No, I’m fine,” Dean nods to the chair beside him. “Please just…sit down.”

You sit, but you sit across the table rather than next to him. He clenches his hand into a shaking fist on his lap.

Silence had always been comfortable between you. You spent countless hours on boring surveillance together. You spent even more hours nestled in each other’s arms without saying a word. His thoughts drifted from this damned apartment and to a cold night in West Virginia. He drove the two of you to the outskirts of Harper’s Ferry, where your only company was the forest, the night sky, and one another. For a long while, you had just admired the stars. Then, you made up stupid constellations together. Bobby’s Patio. Sam’s Missing Belt. The Colt if it had Two Triggers. He’d go through hell again if it meant hearing you laugh the way you had that night.

“You look…different,” You say softly.

So do you, Dean thinks, but instead replies, “Different how?”

You slowly look him over, and he resists the urge to squirm. “Your eyes are tired,” You finally answer, your voice barely above a whisper - and he can just detect a sorrow in your voice. 

Dean doesn’t know if you still don’t think it’s him. He doesn’t know if you’re in shock. All he knows is that after everything he had been through, after everything he lost, he needs you. He needs you to know that it’s him, and that you won’t leave.

Slowly, he reaches over for your hand. His breath hitches when you don’t pull away. His calloused fingers gently squeeze your soft skin as he finds the bravery to speak. “Sweetheart…it’s me. It’s really me. But I’m not the same person I was.”

Your impassive stare breaks a bit, the tension in your shoulders lessening. “What do you mean?”

He looks down at the table, tracing the patterns of the wood. “The things I did down there…” He closes his eyes and tightens his grip on your hand like a lifeline. “I did what I had to do to survive. It was the only thing I could do. I wish I didn’t remember it, sweetheart. I wish…I shouldn’t be here right now. After what I’ve done, I don’t deserve you.”

Your thumb tentatively brushes over the back of his hand. “Dean…”

“But I’m a selfish son of a bitch,” He looks up to meet your gaze, tears just testing his restraint. “I’m not the man you knew…I’m not the man you fell in love with. But I need to know…I need to know I still have you. I need to know you can fall in love with me again.”

You’re silent for a moment, your eyes measuring his face. Finally, with a slight squeeze of his hand, you speak. “Dean…I’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” You gently bite your bottom lip. “But I’ve been tricked so many times…I need to be sure it’s you.”

Dean’s eyes widen as he nods eagerly. “I’ll do anything.”

You nod, and then slowly reach underneath your shirt. You reveal a necklace hidden under your collar. It’s a simple silver chain that ends in a small pendant of an oak tree. You gently tug at it so it breaks, and hold it out to him in your palm. You look at it momentarily, and then up at his face. “Throw this out.”

Dean lets go of your other hand, his face bewildered. “What?”

You blink, then arch your brows at him. “What? It’s a pretty easy task. There’s a trash can right there-”

“I don’t care about the damn trash can,” He snaps as he stands up angrily from his chair. “The hell’s wrong with you?! You think I forgot about that pendant?”

Your expression is bewildered as you slowly stand up along with him. “Dean, it’s just a necklace.”

He looks at you as if you’ve struck him. “I bought that for you. You know what it means.”

Your eyes narrow. “What does it mean?”

He’s too hurt by all of this to question your sudden memory loss. Instead, he rages. “You told me that tree looked just like the one in Bobby’s backyard. And it damn well does. We were climbing that stupid tree when you said you loved me for the first time.”

He doesn’t notice how your hand tightens around the necklace, or how your eyes water.

“You told me you’d die before you threw away that necklace!” Dean snaps. “I’m not gonna throw it out just ‘cause you’ve lost your damn mind-”

You’re suddenly jumping into his arms. He stumbles backwards from its force, body stiff in shock as you curl your limbs around him like a koala. It takes him a moment to realize you’re fully crying, and then he’s immediately wrapping his arms around you. He holds you as tightly as he can allow as your face buries against the side of his neck. He says nothing, too stunned and relieved at once to form a thought. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper shakily against his neck. “I’m so sorry. I had to be sure it was really you. You’re the only one who would’ve known all of that.”

“That was all a test?” Dean asks, his hand unsonciously cupping the back of your head. 

You nod, drawing your head back to look at him. “You said yourself you’re not the same man.”

He wants to kiss away the tears running down your cheeks, but he shakes his head instead. “I’m not, sweetheart. If you knew what I’ve done-”

“I don’t care what you’ve done.” You reach up to cup the side of his face. “I don’t care how long it’s been.”

He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes falling shut as your voice breaks him.

“If you want me to fall in love with you again, I will. Over and over again.” You whisper. “But I’ve never stopped. I never will. I’ve been waiting for you, and I know who you are.”

Dean kisses you. He kisses you with tears on his face, his hands cupping your cheeks. You kiss him back, and for the first time in years, Dean can feel himself calm. 

He doesn’t know how much time he passed before he finally pulls away, but only so he can look into your eyes. They’re the same eyes he fell in love with all those years ago, and the same eyes that will steal his heart time and time again.

“I love you,” He whispers.

Your loving smile nearly breaks him again. “I love you, too.”