#The point of impossible tasks is to BE IMPOSSIBLE

[gilverrwrites]

ꜰᴛ. ᴅɪᴄᴋ ɢʀᴀʏꜱᴏɴ, ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ, ᴋʏʟᴇ ʀᴀʏɴᴇʀ, ʀᴏʏ ʜᴀʀᴘᴇʀ, & ᴡᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴇꜱᴛ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴꜱᴇʀᴛ: ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴀ/ɴ: ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴀʟɢᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

ᴅɪᴄᴋ – ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴀʙʏ, ʙᴀʙʏ! ᴛᴡ: ꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ ɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ (ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ)

After months at it like horny rabbits, a feat you didn’t think possible considering Dick’s baseline libido, it had seemed like an impossible task. You’d long since given up trying, at least until the fertility treatment appointment Bruce has dropped big bucks on, which wasn’t for a few more weeks.

It’s why you didn’t get your hopes up when your period didn’t come as expected. It’s why you didn’t reach for a pregnancy test straight away, why Dick didn’t push the subject. Neither of you wanted to deal with the sting of disappointment that the inevitably negative test would administer.

At least that’s what you’d thought the mutually agreed up status would be. When you emerge from the en-suite, limbo status pee stick in hand, Dick keeps his head down, but you see his stormy blue eyes, peeking out from under his dark locks, his yearning clear as day. It breaks your heart as you picture his face in 10 minutes' time, the same look of disappointment, of grief you’d seen too many times before, plastered on his face, only adding to your own feelings of pain and inadequacy.

But at the same time, it’s Dick who makes you feel better when you’re low, so you climb into the bed beside him and curling up in his arms. Eyes closed, focused only on the soothing fluctuation of his chest and the feel of his lips against your forehead.

“Hey, baby.” Dicks voice stirs you. You’re not sure if you’d been sleeping for a while or if you’d just started to doze but your eyes feel heavy as you look up at your partner. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his eyes are creased in a way you recognise as his attempt to hide a smile, and you have to remind yourself not to expect anything. “Look.”

Something shifts in your peripheral, Dick is waving the test back and forth to grab your attention, but the movement makes it hard to read the test window until you reach out to grab it from him.

Two lines.

Two beautiful, beautiful lines.

“We’re…”

He finally cracks, lips twisting into a genuine, sunny smile. One you’d missed wholeheartedly. It doesn’t leave his lips as he presses it to your face, over and over, words marred as he smothers you with his affections. “We’re gonna have to give you a new nickname, cause we’re having a baby, baby!”

ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ – ɪ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ꜱᴀʏ ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ. ᴛᴡ: ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ.

There isn’t even a hint of irony or humour in his face. He’s stone-cold serious. More than 200 lbs of muscle, scar tissue, and don’t-fuck-with-me- face, standing in front of you with an unopened pregnancy test.

“You can’t be serious.” He doesn’t falter at your dismissal, position and face held firm even as you roll your eyes and attempt to gently bat the box away. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant.”

“Would you?” The stern look on his face finally waivers, making way for a cocked brow and a teasing smirk. He can be so smug sometimes; Thinks he knows you better than you know yourself.

You might regret giving him an inch, but you concede, slightly. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t know know, but I’d have a hunch.”

“Yeah? Well, I have a hunch.” He fires back, following close behind you as you attempt to walk away. Right on your heels until you collapse on the couch. “Humour me.”

“A hunch based on what?” You ask as he joins you, lifting your legs to make space for himself before letting them fall back down onto his lap.

“Well…” Milky eyes land on your breasts just long enough to make a point before they trail back down your body, stopping at your ankles, which admittedly have been giving you trouble recently. When he pressed his thumb hard into its joints and starts to massage them, you don’t complain, but you’re not willing to admit defeat just yet. “You’ve been… swelling, and you’ve been peeing a lot. Weird things make you nauseous, things you used to like.”

Of course, you’ve noticed these things too, but when he starts listing them back-to-back like this you can’t deny that his case is might just be a teensy bit compelling.

“You’re tired all the time, and I’m pretty sure you’re-”

“Okay, fine.” You yield, playfully glaring at him as you grab the box from the coffee table where he’d placed it before joining you. “I’ll take the test, but when I’m right, and I will be, you have to go to the store and buy me ice cream.”

“Random food cravings, that's also a sign.” Before you bite back he already raises his arms in surrender, a cheeky, boyish laugh rolling off his tongue under the burn of your glare until you close the bathroom door behind you.

Jason can be quite the sore loser when his stake is high enough, but he’s always been a surprisingly gracious, if quietly complacent, winner. You know this, as you sheepishly exit the bathroom 20 minutes later, positive test in hand.

You’re not quite sure what you’d expected to find upon your emergence, but Jason, grinning ear to ear, ice cream and a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting in hand is certainly a sight you could get used to.

ᴋʏʟᴇ – ᴍoᴍᴍʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ.

He’s clueless. Tired as a worn-out rag, as he drags his feet around the apartment. He’s greeted you with a cheery smile, and a long-awaited smooch, undoubtedly happy to be home and with you once again. But Lantern business is arduous, and while his heart might be all in on being home, his brain certainly isn’t switched on.

“I can do all that for you.” You volunteer, watching closely as he boils the kettle, tries to undress, and attempts to unpack what he can, but he’s having none of it.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can do it.” He reassures you, love in his eyes as he blinks slow and sleepily at you, tasks at hand almost forgotten. “I- um- you- you rest. I’m home now, so um- so you don’t have to do everything around here.”

With his attention on you for a moment, you try to avert his gaze downward to the growing bump in your belly, or your t-shirt which states; ‘MOMMY TO BE’ in big, bold, colourful font, but the kettle starts to sing before he comprehends anything, and he’s turns away from you all too soon.

“You do everything all over the universe.” You point out as you join him at the counter, retrieving two mugs for him to fill. “I don’t see why you should have to do everything around here too. Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet?” He questions slowly, eying you confused, following your hands as you smooth them down your shirt before resting your palms against your stomach. “Mommy to be.”

He reads your shirt aloud, slowly sounding out each syllable before repeating, “Mommy. Momm-eee… Wait, you’re gonna be a mommy?”

Already his drowsy eyes are several inches wider, his mouth agape, curling into a wide grin as you nod. “You’re gonna be a mommy, which means I’m gonna be a dad? Me! A daddy!?”

“Yes!” Clutching your hands tight and bringing them to his chest.

“Oh, this is the best news! This is amazing! I love you so much.” Kyle is the first to start jumping up and down, newfound energy now coursing through his body, but you follow his lead soon after, briefly. All that hopping can't be good for the baby after all.

ʀᴏʏ – ᴘɪɴᴄʜ ᴍᴇ.

Telling Roy became more of a spectacle than you’d hoped. Despite all your best efforts to play things cool, you could feel their eyes on you across the table. Roy’s, Dinah’s, Ollie's. Every glance might seem totally innocuous to any onlookers, but you could see the curiosity behind every prolonged stare and quirked lip as you declined alcohol, and coffee, and coke. Who knew there were so many boundaries on what pregnant people should and shouldn’t eat. No eggs, no poultry, no cheese, no fish.

Obviously, you couldn’t have known that Roy would have succeeded in his long-standing purpose to knock you up when you’d agreed to dinner with the soon-to-be in-laws, but man, had you known, you’d have declined.

At least then you wouldn’t be sweating like a sinner as you try to stomach the only thing on the menu that meets all your new dietary requirements. They're some of the smartest people you know, surely they can tell.

“So,” Dinah starts, and you can feel yourself unraveling. “Are you-”

“Yes! Yes, fine, I’m pregnant.” The word vomit escapes you under the mounting pressure before you even think them through, and you realise very quickly, as you process the barrage of wide, confused eyes staring at you, that your confession may have been unnecessary.

“I was going to ask if you’re enjoying your food.” Dinah clarifies, smiling as her eyes find Roy’s over the table. “But congratulations, how exciting.”

“That is great news. I think another round is in order, don’t you Di? Lemonade all round!” Ollie continues, and you nod and smile politely, but really, your energy is focused on Roy, who hasn’t moved an inch or said a word since your impromptu announcement.

His expression gives nothing away, and his eyes don’t even land on you until he feels the palm of your hand drape over the top of his. “Roy, are you okay? I thought you'd be excited.”

You thought he’d be happier. He’s been begging for this for months, but you have to strain your eyes when he finally speaks up, forest green eyes detached as he whispers. “Pinch me.”

“What?”

“Pinch me.” He repeats, and the relief floods through you as you watch his lips crack into a triumphant smile. Unadulterated joy flooding his face all at once as he grabs both your arms and pulls you closer. “This is the best thing to happen since Lian was born!”

ᴡᴀʟʟʏ – ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ. ᴛᴡ: ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ.

“Open up I gotta take a leak.” Your husband calls from the other side of the wood that separates you, stirring you from your disoriented train of thought.

As a couple, you’d been trying for a baby ever since you’d tied the knot, but now that it’s really happening, the reality of the situation has hit you like a ton of bricks. A baby. A real flesh and blood child, a fragile little being who will be reliant on you, who will look to you for guidance and for, well, everything.

“You good?” Wally shouts again, this time knocking on the door, stopping your descent into internal panic before it happens again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie, shoving the cap back on the test before hiding it in your back pocket, opening the door, and greeting Wally with a smile that even you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

He smiles back at you, but his gaze lingers on your expression, those emerald irises seemingly looking right through you, but the pressure in his bladder must win out because he doesn’t follow you as you swap places, and the sound of his zipper fills your ears before the door is even closed.

You barely make it downstairs before the telltale rush of wind that signifies his presence hits you, however. He’s waiting for you on the couch by the time you reach it, bottom lip between his teeth and he looks at you with big sad eyes.

Before you can even ask him what’s wrong, he pipes up; “So, when where you gonna tell me?”

He looks as troubled as you feel, but apparently for different reasons.

“Tell you what…” You trail off as you clock it; the pink plastic stick that has been in your pocket now twirls deliberately between Wally’s anxiously animated fingers. “Of course I was, I just needed a little time to process first.”

When Wally talks-faster-than-he-runs West has nothing to say, you know there’s something wrong. There is rarely silence between you, and while you’ve never felt the need to justify anything to the man you love, you do feel an itch to make some noise, so you keep talking. “It’s just, I know I should be happy, and I am! I’m just also, scared. You know?”

In an instant, the concern etched into his features melts, replaced by the sunshine you’d come to love; his freckles shifting under the stretch of a smile. Your own tense muscles relaxing at the sound of his laugh. “Of course you’re scared, I'm scared too” Having kids is terrifying!”

“Yeah?” You ask quietly, feeling silly for getting so in your head about the situation.

“Yeah!” Wally replies. You watch as he starts to stand before disappearing from view, and reappearing right behind you, arms wrapped tight around your torso, bringing you in for a hug. His lips are soft against the back of your neck as he nuzzles into you. “But we’re gonna be scared together, right, Momma?”

[hoiststowline]

_ultra magnus x reader

distraction is scarcely a term within Magnus’ vocabulary. while he may be momentarily pulled from the task at hand due to unanticipated circumstances, he’s never found himself sidetracked by conversations or situations beyond his control. he’s learned to cast any and all doubts aside for the sake of the mission, consistently and constantly in search of the same goal he’s chased for many years. 

you’ve mostly, if not entirely disrupted and turned upside down his definition of adhering to a straight-lined, point a to point b schedule. in normal circumstances, such an interruption would have him seeing red, infuriated with himself that he was so easily cornered and strong-armed into yielding to such uncontrollable emotions.

how he’s ever previously labeled you a distraction was in poor judgment, and something he’d take back immediately if ever granted the chance. you don’t know he’d internally called you such, perhaps you never will- but it still carries guilt each time the memory crosses his path. you are a welcomed change of pace, a well received relief that has breached his gruff exterior and stiff personality. others cannot see what lies beneath, accustomed to his bluntness and unable to bypass his anti-social mannerisms. 

the harder he pushed you away, finding himself undeserving of your kindness, the more you retaliated and laboriously persisted. always gentle, but standing firm in trying to breach his armor to find the long stowed away compassion. little did you know, it was always there, reserved for someone special, never able to deny you in the minutest of situations. 

“That is now the fourth time you have woken yourself up,” Magnus rumbles somewhere above you, the servo that was draped over your legs curls a little more protectively around your form. “If you are tired, rest.” 

it’s extremely difficult to not succumb to the desire of sleep when he is so warm, the hum of his systems practically coaxing your eyes to slip shut. this always appeared to be the end result after a well-deserved reunion, exhaustion consuming you after setting sleep aside for a prolonged time, if only to spend the maximum amount of hours awake with him. last time you checked, it was nearly three am, and if Magnus was aware of the hour, he’d certainly be lecturing you on the importance of a good night's rest, even if his desire to remain by your side is just as potent.

“Are you going to?” you whisper, wondering if he purposely turned out all of the lights to his room, a ploy to drag you further into the clutches of sleep. 

there’s a blink of silence before he answers. “Am I going to what?” 

after poorly stifling a yawn, you attempt to tilt your head rearward to catch his expression. as expected, he’s peering down at you curiously, a simple raise of his brow alerting you all you need to know. 

“Sleep.” you return, head now resting on his upper torso as your palm splays overtop the servo at your front. “When’s the last time you got some rest?” 

a curt ex-vent is answer enough, but he still responds. “I hardly can discern how that is correlated to the matter in question.” 

“That probably means it’s been a while,” as your words begin to meld together, your focus returns to its original spot, the seams of Magnus’ digit as he draws absentminded shapes across the length of your leg. 

“A deal, then?” he hums, and you can feel him moving behind you, carefully lowering himself in full to the berth. 

you find yourself heavy-lidded once more as he runs his lips over your shoulder, then up to your neck, and lastly placing the third kiss at the crown of your head. every time, as if like clockwork, he always deposits the same three kisses in the same three places, an endeavor to try and get you to sleep. 

“I will,” he mumbles, nearly stumbling as you bundle into his side, impossibly tiny fingers grabbing at any plating that was within reach. as if he wasn’t quite close enough, needing him to be within reach at all times. “If you do the same.” 

“Oh…okay.”  and when he finally presumes you’ve drifted off, you slip a little deeper into his slide, kissing the top of his servo in one last unspoken good night.

[hawkgal-2]

One Night in Soho

Taglist: : 18+, Bishova, Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Friends With Benefits, Canon Compliant, New Avengers, Vigilante Girlfriends, honeymoon phase, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships

Chapter 1: Very Spicy Mac & Cheese Read now on Ao3 or under the cut

The warehouse smelled like battery acid and mildew. Kate was already regretting the way her boots squeaked on the slick concrete floor with every step. Yelena, of course, didn’t make even the slightest sound. Of course she didn’t — how the former Widow managed to operate with such elite stealth was baffling. And hot. Fuck, Kate was already getting distracted. She had promised Yel it wouldn’t be a problem.

Kate slowed her pace, shifting her weight as silently as she could, bow taut in her left hand, an arrow nocked and ready, though she knew damn well that whatever alien artifact they were chasing probably wasn’t going to pop out like a jack-in-the-box. The shadows along the walls were thick, rippling slightly in the cold breeze coming through a busted window high above. Not Kate’s first time in a spooky warehouse, not in the least — but it was her first time as an official “New Avengers Candidate” and that certainly upped the stakes. She tried to hone her senses and ignore, impossibly, the fact that Yel was finally giving her a shot.

Kate cared deeply about being a New Avenger, but she cared more (somehow) about impressing Yelena. In her mind, being recruited as an Avenger was the fastest path to Yelena and her being “official” as girlfriend-girlfriend. Talk about a tryout.

The place had probably been a metal works facility fifty years ago, but now it was just rust and old dreams and a few weird gamma radiation pings that the New Avengers’ scanner had flagged from orbit. Which was why they were here — and of course, it was probably nothing. Which is why only Yelena was tasked to scope the scene; and why Kate was finally given the shot as a tagalong.

No Bob. No Walker. Just Yelena and tagalong Kate.

“Vigilante girlfriends,” Kate mouthed the words, sure to not make a peep. She eyed Yelena out of the corner of her eye.

“What was that?” Yelena whispered.

Kate winced. “Nothing,” she muttered back, more audible this time. “Just saying that I still think this is a trap.”

Yelena didn’t answer at first as the two rounded another bend and entered a concrete hallway. She liked to be dramatic, Kate had discovered over the last few years of on-again-off-again hookups. Yel liked to let silence stretch out, make it unbearable. Then finally, a whisper: “It’s never a trap, Kate Bishop. You only think that because you are hoping it is more romantic that way.”

Kate blinked, nearly choked on air. “Romantic?”

“Yes,” Yelena said flatly. The two were forced closer together down the narrow corridor. “As in, dramatic. Fantastical.” Yel cast her a snide side-eye. “Not, like, sexy. This is not that. This is a mission.”

Kate exhaled in a hiss. “I know.” She tensed the arrow notched in her bow. “But like, it could be sexy if we wanted it to be.”

Yelena let out a curt, silent laugh. “No.” She slipped ahead, crouching beside a crumpled metal container and examining the scorch marks along its edge. “In which case, it bears repeating — don’t try anything stupid just to impress me. We’re here as operatives, not as…” Yel trailed off.

Kate crouched close beside her. Her smirk was obvious. “Not as… what? Girlfriends?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “No, we’re here as operatives and not as friends,” she stressed.

The conversation was still fresh from earlier that morning, where Kate had sleepily said her first ‘I love you’ and Yelena had opted to respond by emphasizing their decidedly (in her mind) ‘friends with benefits’ nature of their association. Kate hadn’t liked that response, so Yelena had gone down on her and made her come twice as penance. By that point, they were late. They suited up, headed to the waterfront, and here they were.

So yes, the conversation was fresh.

“Just, keep your head focused,” Yelena continued. She had pulled out another scanner, hoping to hone in on the gamma signal. “This should be an easy mission and an easy box to check on your review process,” her voice had dropped, she was in ‘tactical Yelena mode’ as Kate called it. “So no more checking out my ass and definitely no more confusing feelings, okay?”

Kate could feel herself blushing, which she worried would be even more unprofessional if Yelena noticed. She faked a look over the top of the crate to divert her face. “I wasn’t checking you out,” Kate lied, and she knew Yel would see through the bluff. “But I don’t have any confused feelings, alright? My head is clear as day.” Kate didn’t expect to double down on the lovey-dovey-ness from earlier, but here they were. “And,” she continued, her voice escalating, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove some sort of weird Yelena-style detachment because of whatever you’re struggling with when it comes to me and our labels. Just make sure you’ve got my back.”

Yelena took offence. “I have everyone’s back, Kate. Of course I’d have your back. Just because I can’t say ‘I love you’ doesn't mean I don’t have your back.”

Kate snapped back her gaze, looking Yel dead in the eyes. “So you feel it but you just won’t say it?”

“That is NOT what I meant,” Yel was also talking louder now too. “We’ve just barely started seeing each other—”

“Two years is not ‘just barely’,” Kate interrupted.

“Focus on the tryout.” Yel looked back at the scanner.

Kate wasn’t having it. “Tryout for being a New Avenger or for being your girlfriend?”

“For New Avengers.”

Kate narrowed her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smile. God, Yelena was so annoying. And hot. Annoyingly hot.

Kate was planning to continue her tirade when a ping registered on Yelena’s scanner. Both of them froze. “Forward,” Yel whispered — back into full-serious stealth mode. She shuffled into a crouched walk and tugged at Kate’s arm to follow closely behind as the two snaked around a large stack of crates and into a corner further in the warehouse. The air was thicker here. Charged. Kate felt her hair rising slightly at the back of her neck. Some kind of electromagnetic field, she figured. Her fingers adjusted on the grip of her bow, arrow still held low but ready to draw and fire in half a second.

The object was nestled in the rusted hull of an old forklift, like it had grown there over time. Metallic but pulsing faintly with bioluminescent veins, like it was half-machine, half-alien-glob. Blue light strobed along its surface. It looked almost like a prism — six jagged faces, no symmetry, no seams — but humming with heat and something else. Something colder.

Kate leaned in slightly. “That’s the tech.”

“Great deduction skills, Kate,” Yelena murmured. “You do not need to say the obvious. You are not doing commentary.”

“I like talking through stuff.”

“You like hearing your own voice.”

Kate huffed, ready to snap back with a string of retorts, but looking at Yelena she noticed the movement from far beyond her shoulder — something slinking quickly towards them through the shadows. Yelena’s focus was back on her scanner, now beeping frantically. "The energy readings are incredibly abnormal," she murmured, her eyes narrowed. "Something's about to happen—"

"Movement," Kate cut her off, her hand instinctively pulling Yelena low and close. "Multiple."

Kate counted at least six, maybe eight figures in the shadows, their forms indistinct but their intentions clear. They moved with a coordinated precision that spoke of training, of experience. Not random thugs. Something organized.

"I told you this was a trap," Kate muttered, firing an arrow at one shape in the distance. "Draw them to the center, give me clean shots."

Yelena nodded, leapt into action. She wanted to be seen, to draw the figures out of the shadows. She moved like a blur, closing the distance with the closest figure, disarming them with a brutal twist and following up with a swift kick to the gut. The figure crumpled, but two more rushed in, flanking her.

Kate loosed another arrow, striking one of the figures in the shoulder. They grunted, stumbling back, but didn't fall.

Yelena was now in the thick of it, a whirlwind of motion. She blocked a punch, spun, and delivered a punishing elbow to another attacker's throat. Kate fired again, hitting a third figure in the leg, slowing them down enough for Yelena to catch them off balance with a finishing blow to the back of their head.

When another took the chance to jump Yelena from behind, Kate charged forward, leaping between Yelena and the attacker, slamming her bow into the figure's face. They staggered back, surprised, and Kate followed up with a series of quick, sharp kicks, creating space.

"Yelena, back to back!" she yelled. An attacker lunged, and Kate parried, redirecting the force of their blow. Yelena seized the moment, delivering a devastating kick to the attacker's ribs.

Another loud ping from Yelena’s sensor broke their focus. “We need to go, now!” she huffed, drawing her pistols to take down two of the assailants; it was loud, but there was no need for stealth at this point. “I’m grabbing the artifact. You cover me.”

“Roger.” Kate moved on instinct alone, lifting her bow to target another figure across the warehouse as Yel split from their formation. It seemed for a moment like the onslaught had slowed — Kate couldn’t keep track of how many they had struck down, but if Yelena managed to take the chance to grab the artifact, they might be able to escape by the skin of their teeth. Kate turned to Yel to gloat — and that’s when she saw the two figures closing in around Yelena from behind.

She didn't hesitate. “Down, Yelena!” With a hurried shout, Kate sprinted forward, firing an arrow into the shoulder of one of the masked figures, momentarily distracting it. She then tackled the other, knocking them away from Yelena just as they reached out for her. The momentum carried Kate and the figure towards the forklift where the glowing alien artifact was already dangerously perched. Kate knew that her movement was chaotic and unplanned — her angle was too hot, her footing was too rash. She just wanted to protect Yelena, but at the expense of her own sense of safety. She barrelled forward, knocking Yelena to safety and delivering a low, frenzied kick to her attacker in the same movement — and toppling into the forklift.

Then something exploded

Not a boom explosion, more like crack-whomp — a concussive burst that ripped air backwards and sent Kate flying into a stack of rusted barrels. Her head smacked against something hard and her vision went sideways. There was smoke. Lots of it. The light flared again and she couldn’t tell if it was coming from the floor or her brain, but either way, everything shimmered… weirdly.

Then — for half a second, no more — she saw herself.

No. Not herself. A mirror. Like, a full-length reflective pane hovering in mid-air. Her thoughts were still garbled, but she still tried to make sense of it: why this glowing alien glob would morph into a mirror (of all things) once shattered into a million pieces.

“Yelena?” Kate croaked. Her voice sounded weird. Echoey.

Then footsteps. Coughing. A tight, aggressive grip on her elbow pulling her out of the smoke.

Yelena’s voice was sharp now, clipped in a way that made Kate’s heart lurch. “Get up, Kate. We’re leaving — now. Fast.”

Kate blinked through the confusion. “What was that—”

“No time. Move,” Yel spoke flatly. Kate had never heard her so serious before.

Kate was being hauled toward the exit at the far side of the warehouse. She staggered against Yelena, trying to focus on her own feet, trying not to vomit. “Yelena, I—”

“MAC AND CHEESE,” Yelena shouted the words as though they had been rehearsed. “VERY SPICY MAC AND CHEESE.”

Kate froze. The words hit harder than the explosion did. “You said my codeword system was dumb.”

“It is dumb, Kate Bishop,” Yelena growled. Her face looked pained by the admission. “But it’s effective and VERY SPICY MAC AND CHEESE.” She repeated the phrase that Kate had insisted they memorized.

“You remembered.” Kate almost swooned, until it clicked what Yelena was trying to communicate. ‘Mac and cheese’ was their code word for meeting back at the apartment. ‘Very spicy,’ was their word for, in brief, things have just seriously hit the fan.

They had made it to the doorway by this point, when Yelena shoved Kate back into daylight and turned to head back inside. “Trust me Kate,” she snapped. “I’m serious.”

Kate wanted to probe — to ask what the hell was going on — but she knew when and how to take Yelena at her word. “Mac and cheese,” Kate repeated. Got it.”

“And take the long way home!” Yel shouted over her shoulder as she moved swiftly back into the smoke of the warehouse interior.

Kate didn’t think twice, turning to put some distance between herself and the warehouse behind her. Whatever had happened in there, it rattled Yelena somehow. For things to go very spicy was not an easy switch to flip for the blonde.

But… through it all, Kate couldn’t shake the thought still bouncing around her brain.

“She remembered the codewords,” Kate whispered to herself. “That feels like progress.”

[deweydecimalchickens]

With a study of folk music and a scientific mind, I'm fairly sure we can raise the dead with:

- a squashed cactus (water from the desert)

- water from an iron mine (blood from a stone)

- a careful survey of people taking common antipsychotic medication (milk from a young maid's breast that never man has known)

Look it's not MY fault your Impossible Tasks Three are totes possible.

[aethersea]

I do think Blazing Saddles handled its one depiction of native americans very poorly, and the full extent of its representation of chinese workers on the railroad is they were literally just there. not even one single speaking line. unclear if this is worse or better than the redface.

it's fucking phenomenal at lampooning antiblack racism though. extremely blatant, extremely funny satire, which is constantly and loudly saying "racism is the philosophy of the terminally stupid at best and morally depraved at worst, and we should all be pointing and laughing at them 24/7"

plus the main character is a heroic black man who has to navigate a whole lot of bullshit but is constantly smirking at the extraordinarily stupid racists and inviting the audience into the joke. the one heroic white character is a guy who was suicidally depressed until he met the protagonist and they just instantly became buds, and he's firmly in a supporting role the whole time and happy to be there. the protagonist saves the day with the help of his black friends from the railroad, and uses the position of power he was given to uplift not only those friends, but all the railroad workers of other minorities too, in an explicit show of solidarity.

anyone saying "Blazing Saddles is racist" had better be talking about its treatment of non-black minorities. it had better not be such superficial takes as "oh but they say the n-word all the time" or "they have nazis and the kkk in there!" because goddamn if that's the full extent of your critique I very seriously suggest you read up on media analysis. there is too much going over your head, you need to learn to recognize satire.

[noecoded]

heartbreaking:the worst people you know just started an emo band

[mythallia]

do we think that maybe the fooliverse is the universe where lovely doesn’t get kidnapped???

[johnlockifconvenient]

Her - Megan Thee Stallion - Lestat de Lioncourt

I am she, she is me

(click the title to view on youtube)

@actofheartbreak @theprodigaldaughterisback @andrewgowerfans @marmarthehatterverse @willneverbeordinary

@boring-side-effect @wo-mary @crueclown22 @innmortality @ohh1hghjgvhhj2

@reesegarrett @uughthisbitch @lovelylittlelosers @ofakingandhislionheart @sparklysneke

@gayboymolloy

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

(nearly 1 year later) AND ANOTHER THING "A FRIENDLY RIVALRY" COULDVE EXPLORED. w junkrat's treasure being reveald and probably taken by jq & hammond. there could've finally been a chance to draw out and then resolve some tension/bitterness/???? between jr & rh a la "roadhog's only sticking w junkrat for his treasure."

I remember that a lot of ppl interpret their dynamic like that and personally i don't doubt that that's roadhog's front/excuse to himself for hanging out w junkrat. (<tho personally i think he's just convincing himself and others of this to believe he's still a loner weirdo, but on the inside he hangs out w junkrat bc its fun/he likes to.) But now that the treasure's like discovered and potentially taken away from junkrat, this would b the main opportunity to actually address whether they'd still stick together. Is roadhog going to leave now that there's nothing in it for him? Or are they gonna stick together, confirming rh values his partnership w jr beyond monetary value??

Anyway the story ends before this sort of thing could've even been addressed or explored, & the cover art implies that jr rh jq and ball all team up anyway and ride the ship together or sth fsr (??????????) so like. whatever. pointless story.

[bibiana112]

"girlie did very much fail at solving a sudoku puzzle to save her life though" NO! SHE ONLY HAD HALF THE NUMBERS YOU CAN'T SOLVE IT LIKE THAT MUCH LESS ON A TIMER

[guiltyonsundays]

Incredible sequence of posts on the dash just now

[a-s-levynn]

"I'll tear the fibre from the filament / I'll be the limit of your light again" A Series of Small Offerings - II/7 - day15

[thisfuckingdork]

Of course I’ve become attached to skinny ferret 19 and his fellow (literally) tortured souls of Echo. In order these are:

Daniel Gallegos - Skinny ferret: 19, chronic bad taste in men (wanted to fuck the smelly meth bear. I mean, his 2020 Arches version? I get it, but man it was 2014, you know he was in his nasty Echo era), nearly shared a grave with the Chunt Timothy Esposito - The buff breath play Skunk, really like his design, pity what happened to him (seen with Daniel and Benjamin by Cameron in the trailer) Benjamin Kowalski - The straight guy after some weed Keith - Brian’s only real ex Allen - The rat that drowned in his own vomit that Cameron saw at the end of Arches Rachel - Duke’s wife who died paying off a debt to Brian Unnamed Freshman - The cold open victim of Arches. I showed the picture of his paw to my vet friend and he guessed “Black-Tailed Jackrabbit” so I went with it I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone draw these characters, so I took it upon myself. Tried to make them unique to eachother and give them their own personalities, even when all I have to work with is “rat named Allen, ate bar food once”

[lesbiansanemi]

It would be great if that thing could stop happening where I’m minding my own business perfectly fine and then all of a sudden in the span of like two seconds I’m on the brink of tears and feel like the breath has been wrenched out of me and I feel like the world is going to cave in around me and swallow me

[daincrediblegg]

anyone else up getting sick of hyper-cynic contrarianism that serves no real constructive purpose? or is that just me?

[freyholland]

Still blows my mind that Gearbox either killed off or made determinant basically every character that mattered in New Tales From the Borderlands, thereby guaranteeing that no one from that game will go on to matter in the larger series plot at all