#at worst i could be stabbed by a machine

[bruciemilf]

Young! Dick thought living with Bruce was unbearable until he ran away and lived with his short of-kind of- through adoption - uncle.

“He has you on a curfew? Lame. Go out, have fun, get stabbed. Builds character!”

“Vegetables? lol?? Here’s 20 bucks and a soda. Vending machines’ down the street.”

“You wanna get a tattoo?? Hell yeah. Come on, my buddy doesn’t check ID. He has his own needles. You’re vaccinated, right?”

TJ completely vanishes when he wants to. Like there’s an underworld in Gotham only he has access to. He becomes one with shadow and leaves Dick by himself for a worrying amount of time.

And patrol? Nightmare. First off, TJ’s turf crawls with filth from head to toe. He’s in the red light district, — every section of Gotham is a red light for Dick, thought, — raging from worst, to a thing beyond worst.

Bruce isn’t surprised when a small bundle leaps into his arms the minute he crosses Owl-Man and his newfound sidekick. Former. Dick is no sidekick. He’s Bruce’s partner.

“Asleep?”

“Sedated.”

“Junior.”

“Have you seen this kid flip? You’re welcome. Anyway, happy I could help. You know you totally owe me one, right?”

“Come home for dinner.”

“Nope.”

“Alfred says so.”

“God damn it.”

[jezabelle9299]

Broken Lungs S.R x FEM!Reader

CWs- Spoilers for season 5, depictions of asthma and use of a nebulizer, mentions of gunshot wounds, and health insurance not covering necessary medication.

Quick Infodump- Oxygen saturation levels should be 95-100%, lower than 93% should seek immediate help from a healthcare professional, and lower than 85% can cause severe damage to the brain because of a lack of oxygen.

Overture: Spencer is recovering from the knee surgery he needed after being shot in the field, when he sees a familiar face in the hospital being treated for an asthma attack.

A/N- This is based on my own experience with asthma, but it's different for everyone, so the relatability may vary with this one. But I was stuck at home all day because of an air quality alert so I did this instead of getting ready for the semester that starts in two weeks.

After one of his worst days in the field, Spencer ended the day in a hospital bed unable to walk. Hotch had been stabbed, and he had been shot. Both would be ok, and they were in separate hospitals to recover. The team alternated who would come to visit, and when. It usually took until the nurses kicked them out at the end of visiting hours, for them to actually leave. 

It’d been 2 days since his surgery, and the nurses had given him permission to walk around with his brace, on crutches. He’d never used them before, so he walked around the floor to the nurses’ station to get some more jell-o, and then around the hall back to his room. He allowed his curiosity (or nosiness) to get the better of him, occasionally glancing in at the people with their doors open, giving them a small smile or wave. Until he saw a familiar face. 

You’d worked for the FBI for a few years, working on the same floor as the BAU, but you weren’t in the field. You were sitting up in a hospital bed, playing solitaire in one hand, holding what looked like an oxygen mask to your face with the other. You looked up when you felt his eyes on you, and there he was, trapped in the doorway. You’d think you were hallucinating if not for the brace on his knee, and the crutches he was propping himself up on. He didn’t move from the threshold until you gave him a small wave, jumpstarting his movement into your room. 

You’d heard about Hotch’s incident, but you weren’t in the office yesterday, and since Spencer’s injury happened later in the day, you had no idea why he was here. You pulled the mask spraying (terrible tasting) medicine into your lungs from your face. You could stop for 30 seconds to see what he was here for. 

“Hey Spencer, what–um, what brings you here?” He hesitated, because you’d know since the 5th floor of the FBI building was the most gossip-ridden place he’d seen since high school. Yet he had no idea you’d be here. It’s not even as if you never talked, whenever he was in the office he’d stop by your desk to talk to you. He figured that you hadn’t gotten tired of him yet because he was gone a lot, although in reality you’d never tire of hearing his voice.

“I got shot in the knee, I’ll be fine, the real question is why are you here?” You’re sure it’s on government record, something Garcia could find in two minutes if she looked, but you still didn’t like talking about it. You knew it was stupid to be embarrassed of it, but you couldn’t help it. Every time it got brought up, you felt like the dorky character in a movie carting around their inhaler all the time, the butt of some cosmic joke. 

You preferred to think of it as an inconvenience more than anything. It didn’t come up often because you weren’t in the field, and when you needed to use an inhaler, you measured your breathing long enough to get to an empty bathroom or supply closet. You’d just blame the jitters that came after on too much coffee, and no one would ask any questions. This time, the inhaler wasn’t working, the next step in medication, a small machine similar to what you were supposed to be hooked up to now, wasn’t working either. So you drove to the ER feeling like you’d just run 10 miles, and they were making you stay 36 hours to give you stronger medication in intervals. 

“No reason.” You didn’t know why you even bothered with that response. Neither did Spencer, tossing you an apathetic look. He knew how squeamish you got when attention was drawn to something that made you look vulnerable, which is why he let it slide every time you walked into a supply closet looking flushed and panicked, with a soundtrack accompanying every time you took a breath, only to come out 5 minutes later with no supplies. 

 “Ok, really? Why would you even try it, you’re hooked up to a nebulizer and your oxygen saturation is at 90. What happened?” He was using the tone he only ever broke out for interrogations and proving Morgan wrong, but you still wanted to minimize the attention drawn to this not so glamorous piece of your life. You wanted Spencer to see you as someone he could date, even someone he could love, so this was not ideal to the image you’d been trying to show at work. 

“I have gross broken lungs. It’s really no big deal.” He laughed, but there was minimal humor behind it. Like he couldn’t even fathom you thinking this was ‘no big deal’. 

“I would venture to say you being in the hospital because you were unable to breathe is a very big deal.” While you loved when Spencer got a little bit cocky, you decided it would be more fun to make the little vein in his forehead appear again. So you tossed a vague shrug.

“Well I’d say getting shot is a much bigger deal. So why don’t you sit down, eat your jello, and tell me what happened to you, while I finish this thing.” He couldn’t argue with that, because at the very least he wanted you to feel better and the medicine currently going to waste while you were talking was the only way to accomplish that, so he relented. 

He didn’t want to move your things to the floor, but they were occupying the only chair in the room, so he made himself comfortable at the foot of your bed. He always wanted to be closer to you anyway. Setting his crutches next to him and opening the small cup of jello he’d somehow been holding this whole time, he reiterated his answer from before. 

“I told you already, I got shot in the knee, went into surgery, and now other than having to use these crutches for a while, I’m fine. Just need to spend a little longer in recovery before I can go back home to minimize the risk of infection.” He took a bite of jell-o just as a show of finality, like there was nothing more to say. Like a gunshot wound was not a huge deal. 

The whirr of the machine started to slow down, the medicine sputtering instead of coming out in a steady steam, meaning you could finally be done. You set it on the table by the bed, right next to your abandoned game of solitaire, and as soon as you set it down Spencer’s attention was back on your wellbeing. 

“Ok your turn, what happened?” 

“I’ve had asthma since I was a kid, and I just got unlucky today. It’s always worse this time of year, and my inhaler wasn’t really doing anything for me. Our health insurance plan doesn’t cover the more expensive meds unless I’m in the hospital, so here I am, for the next 36 hours.” You made a point to turn your exasperated expression into a cheesy smile, hoping to convince him to stay for just a little while longer.  “But the bright side is that since you're here I don’t have to play solitaire anymore. That was getting old fast.” You grabbed the cards, giving them a quick shuffle.

“So what do you say Vegas, are you up for a round of poker?” You hoped that would distract him from fussing over you, and luckily it did. He was satisfied you were ok, and the last thing he wanted was to push you too far, and for you to ask him to leave. So he let the smile take over his face. 

“Always. But i'm not going to go easy on you just because of your- what did you call them- broken lungs?” That got a good laugh out of you. Admittedly wheezy, but still one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to him. 

“Gross, broken lungs. And I wouldn’t dream of it.” You dealt the cards, already knowing you’d lose. You didn’t even know how to play poker. But word around the office was that most of your coworkers wouldn’t play with him since he always won. But you didn’t mind, you mostly just wanted someone to hang out with, and you were overjoyed that person was Spencer. He won, of course. Only gloating a little bit at how badly he beat you, and while you were dealing the second round of cards, you couldn’t help but vocalize what had been in the back of your mind for a few minutes now. 

“Hey Spencer, could I ask you a favor?” He had a mix of worry and willingness to help all over his face. 

“Anything.”

“Could you–not tell anyone in the office? Just. You know how they are, they would make a fuss about the whole hospital thing and it’s just not necessary.” 

“Where do they think you’re going to be for the next day and a half?”

You looked down like a kid who just got caught in a lie. “I kind of told Hotch I had a cold.” Spencer just sighed in response. 

“I really do think you should let them fuss over you. You deserve it, and you know Penelope lives for that sort of thing.” That you couldn’t deny, no matter how much you disagreed with him saying you deserved to be cared for. 

“Please, Spencer?” 

“Alright, but they might walk past your room in the morning. Garcia said she was coming, and you know she’ll drag at least one person along with her.” 

“Noted. I’ll close the door in the morning. Thank you Spencer, seriously, it means a lot.” You put your hand over his and it felt like every thought he’d ever had was gone from his brain at your touch. He couldn’t believe his dumb luck at meeting someone like you. Just to be in your orbit, to see and know you, felt like it could only be accomplished by divine intervention. Selfishly, he wished that you’d be staying a little longer, so that you could both leave together. Even more selfishly, he wished that you would leave with him, and come to his apartment. There he could take care of you, make you feel special until he could finally convince you that you deserved it. Deserved everything. 

You moved your hand to start tapping it on your leg, and while Spencer knew the side effects of respiratory steroids, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something was wrong. That maybe he did something wrong. 

“Is there something on your mind?” 

“No, it’s just the jitters. I used to get them so bad when I was a kid, my parents would have to practically hold me down. It’s like I have the energy to run a mile, but I can’t actually do it. I’ll calm down in a bit, but I’m probably going to get really rambly first.” 

“I’d love to listen to you talk, and I love being on the other side of a ramble.” It was just then that a nurse came in to ask if you were feeling better, charting your vials,  reminding you that you need to take your next dose in 4 hours, and telling you that an orderly would be in to set it up then.

Just when she was getting ready to leave she turned her attention to Spencer. “I’m sorry, but I am going to need you to go back to your room Dr. Reid. You both need to get some rest.”

He reluctantly told her that he would and just as soon as he’d come in, he disappeared again. He gave you a wave when he was gathering his crutches, but no real goodbye. You of course waved back, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You really liked him, and you thought maybe he really liked you too. And yet, he only gave you a wave. 

All of the adrenaline moving through you, getting you all worked up finally won out, and stupid as it may sound, tears started to prick the corners of your eyes. Just as you closed the door to your room to get some privacy while you cried, your phone started to ring, and you couldn’t help but think; What now? You answered it without looking, and on the other side of the line was the person you wanted to hear from the most. 

“So what did you want to talk about? I have all the time in the world.”

[denwritesandcries]

Hug me Tighter – S.C

Pairing: sam carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You’re only trying to make your girlfriend take a nap with you, the fact that it’s in a hospital bed after one of the worst nights of your lives doesn't really matter.

Word count: 1,8k.

Content: post-scream VI, cursing, tooth-pudding fluff, mentions of violence, cuddling, pet names, long dialogues, REALLY soft gfs.

Note: Damn, this might be the sweetest and cheesy thing I’ve ever written. Could also be an AU, since Anika is alive, or just Scream, if they could actually be happy.

English is not my first language.

You realized that you were waking up at a terribly slow pace, as if everything was suddenly in slow motion and even the smallest movement took hours to run and every second was longer than the previous one. Your body feels heavy and comfortably warm, resting on perhaps the best bed in which you've ever slept. You blinked slowly, failing to keep your eyes open, every movement of your eyelids almost making you fall into unconsciousness again.

Your body shudders with the feeling of a long yawn crossing you and you turn your head to bury your face back in the location and go to sleep again, only to be surprised when you come across hot skin instead of what your brain thought was a really soft pillow. It is only then that you register a movement against your back, light and constant, almost as smooth as your own sleepy state, climbing and descending your spine and enveloping you even more in this security bubble almost supernaturally.

Another weight lies between your neck and your head, right at the point of your wrist and there's another heavier resting on the top of your head, although you're sure of the mess your hair should be right now. Your hands grope and instinctively grab a handful of familiar fabric beneath you, feeling the texture of a sweater you knew very well.

“Sam,” your hoarse voice breaks the silence.

You were tempted to let the darkness and the inviting fog of sleep consume you again as you relaxed and held another yawn, but your resting place vibrated with a low laugh.

“‘M sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” you denied with a satisfied sigh, sinking against her body.

The chin on your head pulled away and the hand on your back stopped and you immediately missed the contact, finally opening your eyes and lifting your head to protest.

“You're feeling better?”

Sam's question catches you off guard and you pause, staring into your girlfriend's soft brown eyes and raised eyebrow with confusion. Frowning, you finally decide to take a look at the place you are in and come across a messy white room with machines nearby. A hospital room.

The events of the last few hours come back to you in a quick, jumbled flash. The confrontation with the Ghostfaces, the deaths, the police, the ambulance... and the surgery, because of course in addition to all the terror and threats of the last few days you also ended up being stabbed.

Well, that explains why you feel so sluggish then. You're high on drugs. That is, if the IV prick in your arm is any indication.

The hand on the back of your neck moves up towards your face, fingers tracing the contour of your chin and jaw, thumb rubbing soft circles on your cheek, your body relaxes and you lean into her touch, sighing all too contentedly at the affection. The memory of waking up a lot more groggy before and convincing Sam to lay down too when you found her sitting next to the hospital bed holding your hand tightly slowly returning to your hazy mind. She was a little hesitant at first, but it wasn't that difficult to convince her to hold you with the excuse that it would only be for a few minutes. You bet it must have been a few hours already.

“Hm,” you murmured absently, stretching against her, “I’m definitely feeling much better now.”

“That's good,” your girlfriend huffed softly, “I can't feel my legs in this position anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“Am I too heavy?” You ask, lifting your head to examine her for any bruises from the previous fight, “I can move if it’s hurting you.”

“No,” She squeezes you tighter quickly, “I’m good here.”

Sam's own eyes were half-lidded, almost closing over the last few minutes you were asleep, but she refused to give in to the urge to doze off too. It would have been such a waste when she could just hug you and breathe properly for the first time since the last few hellish weeks you've all had.

The TV on the wall had long since been muted, with the image of some random animal documentary flickering in the background. Sam's head rested against the pillows and your body lay happily spread over hers – and she looked perfectly satisfied for someone who had complained and complained about your puppy dog ​​eyes before.

Somewhere between convincing Sam to lie down and pretending to pay attention to the screen, you ended up falling asleep, one of your arms hanging lazily over the side of the bed. Sam realized this instantly, feeling your weight finally relax on her. It made her relax too. Not completely. Sam was never completely relaxed, no matter how tired she was, not anymore, especially not after a night like that. But she managed to feel good enough to enjoy the moment.

The environment was as welcoming as any hospital could be, but her embrace brought a sense of security that lulled you perfectly to sleep and the knowledge that everyone was okay and in the next room allowed Sam to let her guard down. Yet falling asleep and losing that, the feeling that nothing could happen as long as she held you tight and ran her fingers over your warm skin, seeing and hearing every sleepy sound and movement you made – from a tired sigh as you fit, to one of your hands founding the collar of her sweater and grabbing it, holding her close – it would be a waste.

“You sure?” You hesitate, searching her eyes for any hint of hidden discomfort.

Sam sighs, nodding: “You wouldn’t believe how comfortable I am right now.”

“Okay then,” you rest your ear on her chest, feeling her head nod and her heart bumping, still a little high. A yawn crosses your lips, “But let me know if you need me to move.”

She hums in response and you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the sound of machines running and your soft breaths in the same rhythm left you trying your hardest not to fall asleep again until you felt your girlfriend's chest vibrate beneath you again in a barely contained laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re tired.”

“Huh?” you muttered, lifting your drooping head and finally refocusing your vision on her.

“I should probably get up now, let you get some rest.” Sam said, reluctantly removing her arms from you so she could move away.

You shook your head, grabbing one of her hands and letting them fall to the side of the bed, swinging freely in the air.

“No, I’m good here.” You echoed, denying nonchalantly. You let your head find a place on her neck, making her lie back against the pillows.

Sam sighed against you slowly, much more out of satisfaction – and relief – than annoyance at your insistence, returning to the task of running her fingers down your back until you spoke again.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, voice muffled by the face buried in her neck, “And the twins?”

“They're watching Anika.” She responds and you get alarmed, before Sam reassures you, “She's gonna be alright, she just needs to stay in the hospital for a while longer. And also a lot of rest. Like you, by the way.”

“I am resting.”

If Sam hadn't been fighting sleep for over an hour now, she would have a wide, stupid grin plastered on her face at the sound of your indignant mumble. Since that wasn't the case, she contented herself with a small smile.

“Whatever you say, amor.”

She surrenders, completely this time, without any more false attempts to leave. Sam felt as if you were the one rocking her and not the other way around, as if nothing else could touch her, even for a little while. There were no worries about horrible jobs, breakdowns in therapy, pressure with college exams and much less paranoia about the existence of cinematic serial killers. Nothing else could exist in your – literal – white room. Just the two of you in that small bed.

Each synchronized breath of your chest next to hers pressed her own ribs, the delicate breath sending delicious shivers down her spine and making her completely aware of how close your bodies were and shocking her at how it still didn't feel close enough.

“I love you,” she says. Rasped, you barely hear it. “I love you so freaking much that sometimes I just want to drown into your chest and curl up between your ribs, with your heart.” She takes a breath, then pauses, hesitantly: “...Is that too weird?”

“...Well,” you gasp, heart completely racing against your ears, “No weirder than what we already go through on a daily basis, I guess.”

Sam groaned at your response, feeling like a lovesick teenager in one of the movies Tara and Mindy love to make fun of. Rambling poetically about her passion.

But, screw it, that's exactly what she is, right? Sam thought. Let her have it. She deserves it.

(Her therapist would definitely pat her on the back for that thought.)

Unlike what Sam thought she should feel with the realization of that thought, her heart didn't skip a beat uncomfortably, her hands didn't get sweaty and cold with the doubt of how to deal with this. It kept pounding in that same slow, steady, familiar rhythm, with one of the most precious and loved people of her life completely aware of how she felt.

“I feel like drowning into your chest all the time too.”

Her favorite place in the world was anywhere you were together and it was physically impossible to be closer than that at the moment, although she wouldn't give up trying.

It was pure and simple happiness. Warmth and security that captured her stomach and left it churning with what felt like a million bubbles popping simultaneously.

When you first came to her life and Sam realized being falling for you, she thought her love would swallow her. That it would be something she would keep to herself until it exploded. You seemed to have made it your mission to prove her otherwise.

“I didn’t say ‘all the time’ tho.”

Here you were, together and fine.

“Oh, shut up.”

Your grip on Sam's hand tightened in very bad feigned irritation and when you rose quickly to give her a kiss, your girlfriend burst into laughter and your lips hit her strong jaw instead.

“That tickles, baby.”

“I was shooting for your lips, but you moved.” You simply shrugged, leaning into her again and this time she met you on the way, a stupid smile growing between you and breaking the kiss too soon. You lay back down and Sam took a long breath, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

This time, when her head feels heavy and droops from sleep, Sam does nothing to stop it, letting the feeling finally consume her.

Nothing, not even in her most vivid fantasies, had ever been so perfect.

And if by chance Tara ends up sending Sam a photo of the two of you napping the next day when everyone is getting ready to go home and it becomes the new wallpaper on her phone, well… that's nobody's business.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Entre, Rouge🩸🔥

this is very silly

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 666

Warnings: story is told from Wade's perspective. need i say more?

Phew!

Okay, that last Wolverine didn’t quite work out. Several stab wounds in the shape of adamantium kebabs aside, I just wasn’t a fan of his vibe. The puffy hair, the leather ensemble, and the missing hand? No thank you. I’d like an intact Wolverine with access to a shower and a hairbrush to help repair my universe.

I sat on the log I once shared with the extremely-departed Logan. Lots of blood and guts spilled everywhere, pieces of TVA agents and metal bones strewn about the snow, thick snowflakes falling through the naked trees and onto my illustrious red suit.

Oh, I should probably introduce myself.

The name’s Wilson. 

Wade Wilson. 

Wade Winston Wilson. 

Doctor… Esquire. 

Also known as the ever sexy and permanently alive Deadpool. Sure, I look like the gum-covered underside of a highschool desk, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop in my quest to fix my universe and save my friends. Like Lancelot and his Holy Grail, I’m going to find a Logan and shove him into my timeline until he fits. Or do whatever happens in that story.

The little dimension doohickey I nabbed from discount Mr.Darcy sat in my gloved hand. Lots of retro graphics and shiny buttons made it look like a flip phone, but fancier. I was scrolling through universes to try and find my next target.

“420? No, I don’t think I want pothead Logan. 69? Now that’s just too obvious,” I muttered with a laugh while flipping through universes. The numbers scrolled by like etch-a-sketched fruit in a slot machine. Except without the pants-tightening excitement of winning a jackpot.

My yearning for walking through rows of old geezers sitting in their own piss puddles while mindlessly playing the slots was overtaken by a fascination in the universe that filled the screen. Confetti exploded in my head like an edged bottom who’d held out as long as he could.

“Bingo!” I said, jumping up from my spot on the crumbling log. My fabulous boots made a nice crunching sound as I walked through blood-stained snow.

Earth-80085.

The Legiverse.

A universe filled to the brim with horror, trauma, copious sex scenes, and hyperfixations switching faster than Nosferatu fiddling with his light switch. You know the one.

I jammed the “go” button on the doohickey and a huge portal appeared in front of me. Orange, glowey, translucent, door shaped. Kinda looked like jello if you squinted.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked myself, naïvely, “I’ll get burst like a blood-filled water balloon by Leg’s OC of the week? Nah, she wouldn’t do me like that.”

Taking in one last chilly breath of determination, I skipped through the portal.

What I was not expecting to step into was a bedroom.

Pale green curtains blocking out any sunlight, wooden walls with cutesy pictures, cat towers and toys scattered on the carpeted floor. And…

Is that… moaning?

My head whipped in the direction of that delicious sound. Rumpled and soaked sheets, wooden headboard slamming into the wall behind it, bed creaking under the rapid movement.

And there, tangled together in the way God definitely didn’t intend, were you and Logan. Him driving into you, toned abs flexing with each thrust and fluffy hair bouncing, with you squirming and moaning beneath him. Logan’s rough hands felt along your lucky hips.

“Damn,” I whispered. Why did you get to have all the fun? Can’t I get a little Lo-Lo action?

I hung my head, disappointed, as I pressed the “leave” button on the doohickey. It wasn’t fair! Readers get to fuck whoever they want, however they want, whenever they want. They even fuck me on a regular basis! And where does that leave poor Deadpool? Either in another fanfiction or taking care of myself the ol’ fashioned way.

Ignoring the growing discomfort in my rather-flattering pants, I stepped back through the stupid doorway to continue my search.

Why are all the good ones fucking, crucified, killing me, or Henry Cavill?

i got drunk and watched the third "night at the museum." this popped in my head while watching hugh be a silly man

[localguy2]

General analysis of DR Zane, S1 and S2 included (spoilers):

Man... Is this one a doozy...

Okay okay so, what I wanna touch on first and foremost is Zane's humanity, or his perception of his own humanity, because uhhh...

Folks the implications are NOT GOOD in the SLIGHTEST in regards to his Mental State and thinking process.

Something we've seen repeatedly throughout DR is that the merged realms and it's people in general don't view Zane as human, they don't see him as a person but more so a machine, or equipment.

We saw this first in S1E13 'Wyldly Inappropriate' we get introduced to "Zane Day", a day dedicated entirely to Celebrating Zane and who he is, and it sounds really sweet and it is- but...

It's celebrated in the worst possible way ever.

Zane is treated like a robot, like striaght up robot, when people speaks its all in an attempt to mimic a robotic voice, and sometimes people end up saying stuff that's really offensive to him (Zane look alike contest).

Heck, even other Nindroids are in on it.

This sorta paints a sad picture in regards to Zane, because it implies that the city (or maybe entirety of the Merged Realms) see Zane as just a robot ninja with cool powers, nothing more, nothing less.

And we see this a second time in S2E7 'Fugitives from Madness' and S2E8 'Secrets of the Wyldness', in which Zane and Cole fight off The Administration, and yet again we see how Zane's Humanity is absolutely disregard, heck it's even violated in this scenario, they don't even acknowledge him as a person, The Administration straight up calls him "Equipment".

Equipment that's to be destroyed when taken, and that's despite Zane proving himself to be an actual being multiple times to the agents.

So, what am I getting at here?

Well, in simple terms, The World of Ninjago Post-Merge doesn't really acknowledge Zane's humanity or his personhood, of course, the average everyday civilian to a lot less extent then say, an entire organisation, but the wholehearted confidence the Agents of the Administration say that Zane is an object calls into question whether it's their actual personal beliefs, or protocols set by the Administratior.

And... You know what's the absolute worst part?

Zane doesn't even TRY to defend himself.

Striaght up, he neither tries to explain what Nindroids are to people during Zane day, and just goes along with the flow.

And when fighting The Administration, he even OFFERS himself to them in exchange to let Cole and Bonzel get away, granted you could say it was part of his plan to buy him and the others more time, but his continued insistence on trying to find a compromise with The Agents sorta hammers home his whole hearted belief that he's:

A) Expendable.

B) Not a person, but a machine/"equipment".

Now, this might be over analysis on my end, but I would also like to point out the scene where he plugs himself into The Administration mech and tries to decode/hack their netrowk and systems.

In that scene, his mech gets stabbed in the back with a massive sword from one of The Agents, and instead of immediately getting the fuck out, he stays Plugged in and KEEPS trying to hack their stuff, all in the hope that he can finish it in time before he gets fried alive.

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen, his circuits get fried completely and he passes out.

But, it again (directly or indirectly) hammers in points A and B, Expendable, and Nothing more then a machine.

(I would like to add as well, his this parallels nicely with PIXAL in S11 during 'Kiaju Protocol', their stubbornness, and something I've neglected to mention about Zane which EVERYONE knows, is his Self-Sacrificial and Nobel tendencies).

And you don't even have to make that many assumptions for all of this to be considered true, just look at what he says...

In S2E5 'The Spell at the Waterfall', Zane finds a plush made for him by Frohickey, of Frohickey himself.

When Zane asks why Frohickey made him this plush, Frohickey says that he made it so if Zane had any issue to take up with him, he could talk to the Plush instead (reminiscent of his PIXAL-Brush coping mechanism in S1).

And Zane... Well he striaght up lies, he says and I quote:

"I do not expiernce heightened emotions."

Which, yeah, okay buddy, sure...

Just ignore the time you shut off your emotions... Sure

But anyway, this is really really unusual for Zane to say, he might not be good at emotions, but he'd never ever deny the fact that he feels all of them.

Well... Unless he fully believes he's just a machine.

See what I'm getting at here?

If he doesn't believe he's more then machine, then he sure as hell will make wrong assumptions and judgements on his own personhood and emotions, and... Why shouldn't he?

Everything and Everyone in the merged realms sees as him as nothing more than that, regardless of previous experiences and events that have impacted him personally.

It's wrong, really REALLY wrong, but in his mind, probably not so much.

So, what do I think they writers are doing this?

I think personally, this is all subtle and slow build up to give Zane an eventual arc, perhaps in Part 2 of Season 2, or in Season 3 even.

Because, even Doc himself recognised that Zane's character has become very stale and boring during the last few seasons, and given how pretty much EVERY CHARACTER in the show has gotten something to do that involves their character, it'd be particularly odd to leave Zane out (well unless they don't know how to write him).

And it's why they're deliberately making Zane go and say these things, it's subtle, but when it's time to give him his own time to shine, it'll make a lot more sense.

This could also related to the egg/pod thing he woke up in under Imperium, because Doc also said that it's a matter for later seasons.

But it remains to be seen if the future planned Zane arc/story is connected to the egg he was in, we'll just have to wait and see really...

[milksnake-tea]

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: after the dreammaster tells him the bad news, sunday is left alone with his thoughts and his work. ❀ ˎˊ- sunday character study ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 753 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: major 2.2 spoilers, mental breakdowns/panic attacks, mentions of injuries and war ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: ive spoiled sunday too much it's time for him to suffer to keep equilibrium 🗿 anyways this isn't a reader insert but rather a character study (i was going to do an essay but this is more fun) so yippee enjoy <3 ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

Pen scratched against paper like nails on a chalkboard. The angel’s gloved hand gripped it with enough force to shatter a small bird’s neck, slashing signature after signature onto the pages upon pages of official paperwork, Penacony’s need and his shackles.

The paper could've been a death certificate and he would've signed it. His golden eyes scanned each page within seconds, forgetting its contents by the time he signed it and moved onto the next. There was only one thought on his mind - there was only room for one thought.

Robin- Robin, Robin, Robin. His mind was his worst enemy, conjuring horrific images of her fate.

Bloody- No, Mr. Wood said she was at a hospital now, so she should be fine- she should've been fine when he let her leave. There never should've been a gunman, never should've been a war, never should've been a damned bullet in her neck-

He should've never let her go- he should've convinced her to stay, there were many ways to be a singer without having to leave Penacony, the Internet didn't exist for no reason but she insisted, she wanted to go, she wanted to fly, she wanted to experience the world so why didn't she tell him that she was going into a warzone?

She should've told him- no, she must've known that he wouldn't have let her go, but what kind of older brother would let his kid sister go off into a battlefield? Especially since things like this would happen, and-

CRACK!

Sunday barely registered the ink running down his hand, staining it a deep, deep black. He saw the black seep into whatever paper he was working on. Somewhere in the back of his head, he cursed it, cursed that stupid pen, cursed himself for being careless, but again and again, those thoughts were washed out by his imagined image of his weakened and vulnerable sister barely hanging onto life as she breathed through a machine, light years away from home.

His chest hurt. Was he hyperventilating? Maybe. Probably. High-pitched ringing like a siren filled his ears - he couldn't even hear his own breath. Something pricked - no, stabbed, it hurt more than he'd initially thought - in his hand, likely his pen. Was he bleeding? He hoped not, but honestly, he couldn't care less right now. No matter how much pain he was in, it was nothing compared to the agony that Robin must be experiencing.

Mr. Gopher Wood’s words echoed in his mind.

Following the Odes of Harmony… that was what led Robin on that path. He understood her desires to help the weak, of course he did - he too wished to help humanity, who couldn't help themselves. But like this? By extending assistance to the pitiful and weak humanity, whose only goal was to survive, who would only take advantage of her kindness? By making herself a target?

If she'd told him, he could've secured help for the refugees, he could've put in a request to take them into Penacony, he could've done anything, anything that wouldn't have ended with a bullet in her neck. But no, she decided to lie to him and didn't even bother to tell him of her injury.

He blinked wearily. He could feel his eye bags weighing down on his face. Tiredly, he stared at the dried ink that ruined his hand and his paperwork.

Why didn't Xipe protect her? Wasn't Robin one of Their most devoted acolytes?

He took off the stained glove, absentmindedly checking his hand for injuries. His gaze wandered back to the ruined paperwork, his signature half-signed and broken right at the sharp N.

Weak. That's what the Harmony was.

He stood up. Carefully, he picked up the ruined paper, reading over its contents.

Insignificant.

Its sender wasn't exactly important, either - just another despicable dog of the IPC, and not even a high-ranked one. He could just say that he'd never received it in the first place, and no one would dare to question him.

Taking leisurely steps, casting tall shadows in his wake, he held the paper over one of the many candles that lined his office, and watched indifferently as it caught flame. Within seconds, the paper was charred black, and then mere embers.

Numbly, he turned back to his desk, clicking his tongue at the remaining ink, pooled around a shattered pen.

He should clean it up, shouldn't he. The faster he got his paperwork done, the sooner he could see Robin.

And maybe, just maybe, he could then convince her to stay.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

tags: @sh0jun, @themoderatelyawesomeninja, @xphantasmagoriax, @rainswept, @lucensei

@akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace

[lightofraye]

The reason(s) I’m anti-Danneel

Hello all!

This is actually my first official anti-Danneel post as opposed to reblogging an anti post or responding to anons who somehow found me.

First, a note: some of what I'm posting are reposts from other now defunct/deactivated Tumblrs that I was able--thanks to the Wayback Machine and/or Tumblr preserving the reblogs with information--so whenever possible, I will credit the original authors. It's because of them that I was able to find out all the crap Danneel had done and the evidence.

If it's a "Jensen said this", don't ask me where precisely, because there are way too many cons, panels, interviews. Just trust that Jensen did say it, okay?

Now... to begin with the biggest crime to lay at Danneel's feet: Abuse.

So I'm going to preface this with a content warning/trigger warning. If you are bothered by description of abuse, even emotional abuse, I advise you to skip. I will not be held responsible for how upsetting this might get. You've been warned.

Now to begin! Here's the issues I've noticed (and others). Hat tip to @taraslittlecorner (now defunct/deactivated) for the original post that I was thankfully able to find on the Wayback Machine.

I'll add a cut here because it's going to get long!

Public Humiliation:

Jensen eating gummy bears. This post was made as a public stab at Jensen for the amount of gummy bears he was eating. It was a stab at not only his eating habits/weight, but it was also a stab at him being greedy or gluttonous.

Jensen on the carousel. Another stab at Jensen about his weight.

The whole AD house tour is full of stabs at Jensen. She takes a swipe at everything from him not wanting to change the children’s diapers, not cleaning the toilets, not cooking, and not being able to organize or clean behind himself. (There’s a lot of sketchy things in that video as well.) She even made fun of him for being proud of his side of the closet for being tidy.

Jensen didn't cry at the birth of his children. Yet another attempt at making an important, emotional moment in Jensen’s life about her, as well making Jensen seem as if he is emotionless and detached from his family and children, and she’s the one that’s so sensitive.

The FBBC interview. Now, that interviewer sucked ass too, let’s not kid ourselves, that was one of the worst interviews I’ve ever seen in my life. Elta continually trying to make Jensen look lazy, saying that he didn’t smell good, saying that she was pregnant knowing it made him uncomfortable. All of this was with one goal, to humiliate him.

The gaslighting hairdresser. You will never convince me Elta put this woman up to posting this photoshopped, off guard, horrible pic of Jensen and herself, as well as disclosing the location of his family in order to make it look as if she’s been there the whole time when really she’s not. Jensen is very self conscious about his appearance, and this showed him in a bad light, again to humiliate him and make him look like a slob. (That seems to be her MO.)

(These are just the ones we’re all familiar with, but if you guys send more receipts you want to add to this I’d be glad to add them to it as a receipt collection.)

2. Controlling: This is another all day topic. Seriously, we could talk all day about how one can be considered controlling in a relationship, and Elta is no different. The biggest and most public thing that we can see is her constant control over his Social Media.

Now, we know good and damn well that she’s also doing this to hold up to her facade of a “happily married couple”, but it’s also a way of controlling his interactions with other women, (originally he was never allowed to follow women on Social Media; something that has recently changed since The Boys and Big Sky has happened), and to keep track of who he’s talking to and what he’s doing.

Access to one’s cellphone, email address, and other social media is almost as good as attaching a GPS onto a person. If she access his cloud, she can access everything from text messages he’s sent to his most recent emails to his employers.

I have some proof but it will take time to document all of them.

**For those SPN buffs out there. You will also notice that Dean got a whole lot less action between the sheets and with female guest stars after his wedding to Elta, and that’s not a coincidence.**

Jealousy, or extreme jealousy in Elta’s case, can also be the mark of an abuser. The NEED to maintain that state of control, and if he get’s attached to another woman that is paying him better attention, he may try and break things off with her.

3. Isolation: If you’ve noticed Jensen hardly sees his family anymore. He used to speak of his family often, now it’s rare that he’s ever seen with them. They usually have to come to Dallas Con just to see him, and the only actual evidence we have of Elta being there with them all in years is a sketchy ass post on Instagram of Thanksgiving a few years back. Jensen did take his dad, brother, and brother-in law to the Nascar event he recently attended. Other than that, there has been little to no evidence of contact with his family at all as the years progressed, and it’s gotten worse as the years pass of that “marriage.”

He also seems to have shorted his circle of friends to people she gets along with. Marcus, Steve, etc. And even on “vacations” it’s surrounded by her little group of mooching family members and friends: New Orleans, she brought her brother and mother, as well as Steve Carlson and Marcus. Marcus even attended the trip to Cali when they went to the Golden Globes after party.

If you really take time and look, he’s rarely seen with anyone that ELTA doesn’t get along with, or are friends with. He doesn’t even hang out with Jared outside of Canada like he used too, and that should raise suspicious eyebrows alone.

4. Hypersensitivity:

We’ve seen this in the countless attacks Elta, as well as her friends, feel the need to do to SPN fans, or anyone that questions the legitimacy of anything she does or post. I don’t have all of these anymore on hand, but will add the links if I can find them. She’s called fans “fat whores”, anti joker face used to have the receipts, they went on for a while. You don’t have to dig very deep to find this stuff people.

She’s even had Clif write long ass post in order to make it looks as if she’s been so targeted when she just really brings all this shit on herself. She feels threatened because somewhere deep down, she knows she’s doing wrong. You know how the old saying goes, the guilty dog barks? Well, Elta barks a lot.

Even Jensen can get a little defensive when they attack her at cons and to his face. He knows that if he doesn’t defend her, or trys to stand up for himself there will be repercussions. “I don’t tell my wife what to do. I’m not stupid, or suicidal.”

5. Unexplained injury, or weight-loss: Since about 2018, Jensen has progressively lost weight. To the point that the FBBC instagram page even removed the photo I used in this example because people were commenting on Jensen’s weightloss. They try to explain it away in marathon training, but we all know that’s not the case. The constant attacks she’s made against his weight are starting to show.

Every time Jensen has to quarantine with her he starts to look like death warmed over, weight drop, sickly looking skin color, (which is also a sign of malnutrition), and that dead look we can’t get seem to forget. Then we get him back to work, and it’s almost an immediate improvement.

Then there is the chunk that’s missing out of his nose now because of a nose injury that kept being explained in different instances at the same event as to how he even got it. It first appeared a day after the FBBC family reunion event that took place in May of 2018 in a post made by Elta of Jensen playing with the kids, and people thought it was just a breathe right strip.

If you look closely, you can even see that his eyes looked to be blacked, as if he’d somehow broken his nose.Once he got ot an event for Elta’s Limbo Jewelry line launch in NYC, he kept changing the story as to how he got said injury. First he told fans that he’d hurt it by hitting a pool wall while playing with his kids. Then he said he’d dropped a keg on it. Well, if you’ve ever worked for a bar or been around kegs you know those things are heavy, and that story is a blatant lie.

CONSTANTLY SHIFTING STORIES OF HOW AN INJURY OCCURRED ARE ONE HELL OF A RED FLAG PEOPLE!!

If it were Elta with the injury, and she kept changing the story as to how she got it, there would have been questions asked; but since Jensen is a man it was never looked into.

Take all these for what you will guys! It’s only my observations and opinions! You may not agree, but I know you all can agree that if Jensen were female, this conversation would have happened a LONG time ago.

Men can be victims of domestic abuse/violence, and the evidence is there! I’m sure there is more, and if you send it to me via submission, even if you want to keep quiet and not put your handle on there I will add the evidence to this post.

THIS MAN DESERVES BETTER!!

[balkanradfem]

A friend sent me this and it's been on repeat in my head ever since! Women angrily sing about the amount of labour they've been forced to do for m*n and how sick and tired they are of it.

(click for lyrics)

All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid Nymph, then a virgin, nurse, then a servant Just an appendage, live to attend him So that he never lifts a finger 24/7 baby machine So he can live out his picket fence dreams It's not an act of love if you make her You make me do too much labour

Why are you hangin' on So tight To the rope that I'm hangin' from Off this island? This was an escape plan (This was an escape plan) Carefully timed it So let me go And dive into the waves below

[Pre-Chorus] Who tends the orchards? Who fixes up the gables? Emotional torture From the head of your high table Who fetches the water From the rocky mountain spring? And walk back down again To feel your words and their sharp sting? And I'm gettin' fuckin' tired

[Chorus] The capillaries in my eyes are bursting If our love died, would that be the worst thing? For somebody I thought was my saviour You sure make me do a whole lot of labour The calloused skin on my hands is crackin' If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? And the silence haunts our bed chamber You make me do too much labour

[Verse 2] Apologies from my tongue Never yours Busy lapping from flowing cup And stabbing with your fork I know you're a smart man (I know you're a smart man) And weaponise The false incompetence It's dominance under guise

[Pre-Chorus] If we had a daughter I'd watch and could not save her The emotional torture From the head of your high table She'd do what you taught her She'd meet the same cruel fate So now I've gotta run So I can undo this mistake At least I've gotta try

[Chorus] The capillaries in my eyes are bursting If our love died, would that be the worst thing? For somebody I thought was my saviour You sure make me do a whole lot of labour The calloused skin on my hands is crackin' If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? And the silence haunts our bed chamber You make me do too much labour

[Bridge] All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid Nymph, then a virgin, nurse, then a servant Just an appendage, live to attend him So that he never lifts a finger 24/7 baby machine So he can live out his picket fence dreams It's not an act of love if you make her You make me do too much labour All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid Nymph, then a virgin, nurse, then a servant Just an appendage, live to attend him So that he never lifts a finger 24/7 baby machine So he can live out his picket fence dreams It's not an act of love if you make her You make me do too much labour

[Chorus] The capillaries in my eyes are bursting (All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid) If our love died, would that be the worst thing? (Nymph, then a virgin, nurse, then a servant) For somebody I thought was my saviour (Just an appendage, live to attend him) You sure make me do a whole lot of labour (So that he never lifts a finger) The calloused skin on my hands is crackin' (24/7 baby machine) If our love ends, would that be a bad thing? (So he can live out his picket fence dreams) And the silence haunts our bed chamber (It's not an act of love if you make her) You make me do too much labour

[justabigassnerd]

Periods and Mood Swings

Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,230

Warnings - periods, mentions of blood, fluff

Summary - you have your first period and your dad tries to help

A/N - hey y'all sorry it's been so long since my last fic I'm working as hard as I can to get these fics out for y'all I swear. this was an anon request so I hope I did it justice. I won't ramble so as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

Since you didn’t grow up with a maternal figure in your life, Carole had made it her goal to be the figure you were missing, however, she often made sure to educate your father, Maverick in the process to make sure he was ready for anything that fatherhood could throw his way.

One of those things being periods.

Carole had sat Maverick down and given him an intense talking to about the importance of making sure you were aware of what a period was and what it meant before you started to have them. She made sure Maverick knew what products to buy and what to expect with your behaviour. By the time Carole’s intensive bootcamp had ended, Maverick was sure that was harder than any training he had done at Top Gun, yet he felt very prepared for what was to come around the time you turned thirteen.

When you reached your teens, you had been thoroughly prepared by your dad for what was to come when you hit puberty. However, your period, while you had been somewhat awaiting its arrival, struck before you could’ve ever been ready. You woke up one morning and were immediately hit by a strong stomach cramp. You suddenly shot out of bed and darted into the bathroom sighing heavily when you saw the patch of blood on your pyjama bottoms. You cleaned yourself up, grabbing the pads and spare underwear you had squirrelled away in your drawer just for an occasion like this and rushing back into your room to get changed into something clean and checking your bed sheets, relieved to see that they didn’t fall victim to your period. Not feeling motivated to put anything more on than a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with a hoodie, you grab your pyjamas and take them downstairs, putting stain remover on the blood stain and chucking them in the washing machine before starting the wash. You decide that while you’re downstairs you’ll make yourself some breakfast, you pour yourself a bowl of cereal and sit at the kitchen table to eat your food. When you finish you put your empty bowl and spoon into the dishwasher and head into the living room, intending to relax and watch some tv but as you sit down, a wave of cramps overcomes you, forcing you to curl into a ball and squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to rid yourself of the pain.

By the time Maverick had finally gotten out of bed and made his way downstairs you had resigned yourself to the fate of never being able to leave the sofa, the pain being too much. When Maverick stumbled across you curled up on the sofa, he immediately assumed the worst and was rushing over to your side in seconds.

“y/n, what’s wrong sweetheart?” He asks worriedly, kneeling down and looking you over for any signs of illness or injury.

“Period.” You mumble grumpily into the cushion, the word barely understandable but Maverick managed to hear it clear enough and his eyes soon widened.

“Are you okay?” Maverick asks, regretting his words when you lifted your face enough of the cushion to glare at him.

“Oh yeah dad, I’m doing great! I love feeling like I’m being repeatedly stabbed in my stomach.” The sarcasm was practically rolling off of you in waves and Maverick found himself almost cowering under your gaze.

“Got it, not asking that question ever again.” Maverick mumbles, glancing down at the floor briefly before looking back up at you.

“Is there anything I could do to help?” Maverick then tries asking, watching carefully for your response. He could see you itching to fire another snarky comment his way. He knew he was doing exactly what Carole had predicted. He was panicking, and because of that, he was asking all the wrong questions. He waited with bated breath for the inevitable sassy comment to leave your mouth, but it never came. Instead, you relaxed back against the cushions.

“Could you get me some pain meds? I didn’t think to take any.” You ask, wincing as another cramp shoots through you, your arm winding around your stomach as you curled in on yourself to try and reduce the pain.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart.” Maverick was nodding frantically as he scrambled to his feet and rushed off in search of something to alleviate your pain. He dug through the medicine cabinet until he found the ibuprofen, then rushed to the kitchen to fill a glass with water before bringing the water and medicine to you.

“Here, sit up so you can take it.” Maverick says gently as he helps you sit up so you can take the medicine. Maverick watches as you take the pills quickly, setting the glass down on the coffee table once you’re done with it. Maverick then goes to move to grab the glass and take it back into the kitchen, but you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“No, stay please.” You request, your mood doing a whole one-eighty from the sass Maverick had briefly been on the receiving end of. Maverick knew he couldn’t deny you anything you wanted, especially when you weren’t feeling a hundred percent because of your first period. Without speaking, Maverick sat back down alongside you, letting you curl into his side, and wrapping an arm around you as you settled your head on his chest, just above his heart.

“Do you want the tv on?” Maverick asks softly, glancing at the tv remote sitting on the arm of the chair alongside him.

“Only if there’s something good on.” You mumble, adjusting yourself slightly to get in a more comfortable position as another cramp attacks you. Maverick turns on the tv, flicking through the channels until he finds a movie that is good enough to have on.

“Sorry for being a little moody with you.” You say after a few minutes of silence, your gaze remaining fixed on the tv as you speak.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Carole warned me about this. It’s like she knew I’d panic and say all the wrong things.” Maverick says with a soft chuckle, hearing you laugh lightly as well.

“Carole does know everything.” You say, smiling as you imagine Carole giving your dad an intense pep talk about everything.

“But you didn’t say anything wrong. My stomach just hurts so bad, and my mood just feels all over the place.” You continue, curling further into your dad’s side as he runs a hand up and down your back.

“Carole prepared me for that. It’s okay. I’ll look after you as best I can. And if I’m ever overstepping or irritating you, tell me.” Maverick says, looking down at you as you look up at him, nodding at his words.

“Thank you, dad.” You whisper, smiling as he presses a soft kiss against the top of your head as you rest your head back on his chest, relaxing in his arms and focusing on the tv and the steady thump of his heartbeat. Unconsciously, you hugged your dad a little tighter as you thought about how grateful you were for him. He wasn’t perfect. Nobody was. But he was doing his best and he was going to be there for you as best he could.

You didn’t doubt his words for a second.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

AAAHHH I adore the most recent chapter for SbITILYP!!!! I think our protagonist is beginning to catch some feelings too...

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 24

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 9,391

There is a kidnapping. Hiccup rushes into things and also admits he is an environmental terrorist, privately.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, Worst In Show, unedited, Hiccup’s POV, Reader’s POV

&lt;Previous - Next>

You peered in from around a corner, a small basin pressed to your middle, your hands gripping at the hands on either side of it. 

You were alone, besides Hiccup, who you were sure hadn’t noticed you yet, because you were definitely not spying.

He held up a Terror in his hands a ways away in a clearing between huts staring up at it in the yellow light. It looked a lot like a bobble headed cat; the small dragon dangled limply from where he grasped it, his hands hooked under its armpits.

They were set up in front of a series of small buckets and minor constructs, most of them burned and singed, sitting on top of a stone-stacked wall. There were a few burnt apples and sticks and leaves lying around the clearing too, and as you walked up you stamped a few out.

Target practice?

You guessed you were feeling him out.

You were curious as to what he was doing, yet for some reason you were embarrassed by the idea of focusing too hard on him, and so you made an effort also to examine the scenery around. Or, you had. That had gone out the window.

Honestly, you hadn’t spent as much time taking in Hiccup after coming onto the island, too busy avoiding plot things and pretending not to notice the world around you, but you still recognized how a few of his freckles had faded since you’d known him, which was sort of upsetting.

Fortunately for him, however, he’d grown more sure in the time you’d known him, moreso learned watching from afar, which was nice. Not that he’d ever been necessarily unsure before, more misguided. But you also liked him when he’d been just lanky-footed, though you hadn’t felt much loss there, because he was still lanky-footed.

Truly, he had eyes and ears in places you didn’t think would have eyes and ears. Not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose.

But he had definitely overheard you talking when you’d been doing laundry. Really…

You wondered if you should greet him.

It was only a matter of time until he came over himself. It was a ways away but you could still see the way his eyes flickered to the corner of his lids in a way that directly implied that he’d seen something.

You wished more people were around, not too busy out enjoying the pleasant, warm sun on a day everyone would usually be working together like a well-oiled machine.

You hoped you had the guts to keep moving. 

The other Riders had been stumbling around, too, looking for him. You’d just be down to let him know. Simple.

You inhaled sharply and steeled yourself, marching- Well, more stumbling- down into the metaphorical arena, dropping your small, borrowed metal-lined basin by the entrance, meaning the side pillar of a yellow-painted hut.

The basin clattered behind you, the momentum of the drop enough to send it clattering against the wall of the hutt for just a moment until it eventually stilled. That was enough to draw Hiccup’s attention.

A smattering of purple beads, one or two with patterns and the rest without, hung along the top drawstring keeping his tunic closed.

One or two glinted in the light off his sleeves, though today they were sparse.

He hadn’t been wearing his red tunic as much, which sent a pang through your chest, light yet stabbing in a subtle way, like a growing pain or the ringing of a small gong or a series of tinkling wind chimes.

He looked good in red, though green was his color too.

“Who’s that?” You asked, nodding to the dog-sized green Terror in his arms, boots grazing over grass.

You did your best to keep your voice even and to not think about the walk you’d spent with him together, coming back from the pond, your stomach feeling as if it itself was glowing, filled with metaphorical twisting, finicky bugs and things you’d never considered on purpose.

“Oh, uh- This? This Is T-Sharp-? Shapt- Sharpshot,” Hiccup said, nodding to himself and pursing his lips so they ended in a line as he looked at the small dragon in his arms, as if he had just decided on that name at that very moment.

“Really?” Your arms were hidden behind your back, your hands linked by each other as you looked at Hiccup.

Behind him was a bucket with a few dead fish floating inside and some water. One side of it was glowing red and a small fire had been dancing around its edges, playing a sordid game of will-it-won’t it.

You scuffed your foot against the floor, which was uneven meaning you accidentally kicked a hard rock sticking out of the ground.

“Ow,” You said, hopping slightly as you lifted your stubbed, booted toe into the air and hid it behind you.

“Yeah- Right,” Hiccup nodded, “It’s- A good name?”

You’d heard the rumbles of gossip around town; they were holding some sort of contest.

You wondered if anyone would show up to watch. If you knew the village, it was very likely, if it occurred at exactly the right time. Yet with how much lounging everyone had been doing, if it took place in a few hours, that would be unlikely. 

“Yeah,” Hiccup said without prompting, answering the sort of half-question you had unconsciously proposed into the silence, “Snotlout and Fishlegs got into an argument. So now we’re having a contest on who can be the best dragon trainer- Don’t tell them I said that. It’s not a contest.”

That definitely had the potential to blow up in someone’s face.

“Wow,” You said, “Are you sure that’s smart? I mean… Aren’t you guys trying to be partners with your dragons, or something?”

You weren’t sure if being the first necessitated being the best, especially when he had people like Fishlegs and Astrid to contend with, but Hiccup did have a certain je ne sais quoi with the dragons that you thought anyone would be hard-pressed to match.

He trained everyone’s dragons, after all.

Stormfly, Barf and Belch, meatlug, Hookfang…

Separately, you were glad to see Hookfang was fine. Astrid had gotten the honey to him on time, it seemed.

He was usually wandering around the village with all the grumpy attitude he was capable of. You knew that deep down, he really liked people, though. At least kids. He wouldn’t stick around the children so hard otherwise; he was very fond at heart.

“No, I’m not,” Hiccup grumbled, slouching slightly, probably thinking about Thawfest, “I didn’t want to compete in the first place.”

You nodded.

The sort of competition Berk seemed to generate over anything at all seemed saturated with a sort of enthusiasm and fevered, violent determination that wasn’t ever safe. Hiccup was definitely fevered and enthusiastic, but you could see him being out off by this.

It was always annoying to compete with Snotlout, or so you’d heard. The Jorgensons prodded themselves on being the most avid of them all.

You wondered what Mrs. Jorgenson felt about it; whether she was for her son or against in any given circumstance was up to her mood and the time of day.

“I have been meaning to ask- Have you ever thought about going out again?” Hiccup started rubbing his neck as Sharpshot curled into a ball, his tail held sternly in his own mouth, “I mean, for a dragon, or something. I could help you train one.”

“I- Huh? I mean, I wasn’t serious,” You laughed embarrassedly. It took you a moment to recall what he was talking about, despite the fact that was half the reason you’d approached him in the first place.

You shuffled your feet slightly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Are you sure?” Hiccup asked, somewhat dejected.

“Fish, cleaning; I still have to pay rent,” You explained, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

You were certain there were parts of dragon training that they’d definitely not shown on screen; you’d already been an eyewitness to a few. “Yeah, we would have to… Figure that out,” Hiccup looked troubled for a moment, grimacing, before shaking his head lightly, and then hedging stiffly, “I guess, well, I could help you- If you wanted to fly anywhere…?”

You would be happy to fly me around?” You asked sheepishly, for lack of anything better to say.

“I-I guess?” Hiccup shifted, “Is there anywhere you’d… Like to go?”

“Okay,” You shrugged nervously, clasping your arms in front of you, “I’m not sure. But feel free to sweep me off my feet whenever you like.”

Your upper back and neck felt hot as you began to gather what felt like a sweat, not quite sure what you were even saying.

You’d stopped focusing on the little dragon for a bit, too focused on the conversation. What brought him back into your realm of focus was the way he latched onto Hiccup’s prosthetic while you were talking, gnawing on the metal part with its gums as if it was some tasty bit of fish, or a bone.

“What? Like… Let me pick you up? Or-” He gestured to his arms, as if trying to show off how thin they were, before hesitating, then hopping slightly as he shook his prosthetic leg, booking quickly between you and his dragon, “Because-...”

He asked that last bit unsurely. His face said clearly he thought he messed up somehow. You were too embarrassed yourself to discern where.

“I think so, R-romeo,” You tried not to let a beat pass before you spoke, intending not to show how awkward you felt, hoping to instead get swept away by fast conversation. You knew for certain he wouldn’t get it before you opened your mouth and regretted it but you said it anyways, like a train with broken brakes, rushing down a track.

You glanced down, maybe in an attempt to distract yourself, where the Terror was still holding steadfast, holding bodily onto his leg in what might have been an instinctual effort to keep stable.

Hiccup stopped a moment after with a sheepish grimace, jumping slightly as he made an effort to stand still.

However, again, like something you couldn’t control, you were immediately brought back to the time he’d brought you over to the cove.

He was going to get it.

You cringed.

What had you told him? Flowers, chocolates… Nice dates?

You flushed. 

Was that what he was trying to do?

It was a really nice day out, just the same as it was way back when you and Hiccup had been sitting on that blanket overlooking the mountain pond.

Hiccup tilted slightly to the side, “Isn’t that the name fro-?”

“No-!” You laughed awkwardly, “I mean- yes? I mean…”

You wanted to groan nervously, or maybe smack yourself around the head, or slam it against something hard, but that wasn’t really possible at the moment.

You’d felt odd about him since he’d given you the glowing algae vial- you figured you could grow it in a pot, maybe- and showed you the pond. A little weirder than usual, that is, in a different way. 

 “It means, like… I- ah-” You spluttered, picking up on his confusion, resisting the urge to hunch your shoulders embarrassedly; It’s what you got for making references in the wrong language, “It’s probably better if I don’t-It's one of those things you have to know beforehand, i think?”

You lied through your teeth, smiling uncomfortably, “It’d probably be really awkward if-…”

You made a sheepish noise at the back of your throat, something in your stomach curling and fluttering with embarrassment.

You resisted the urge to grab it and strangle it. Or squish it.

You really did like him.

“Right,” Hiccup said, though the corner of his mouth had quirked up into something resembling a dazed crescent smile, “So… I’m heading to the arena for dragon training… Things. For the competition? Would you… Come with me?”

There wasn’t a patch of skin on your face that wasn’t on fire.

Or maybe it was the bucket behind Hiccup, the fire along the edge of it starting to quickly pick up in flickering intensity, made more intense by the flap of Hiccup’s Terror’s wings as it scrambled for balance, Sharpshot having apparently gotten bored of Hiccup’s prosthetic and climbed up just moments prior.

“O-okay,” You wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

It rose up for a second and you could tell the moment he registered it, his mouth turning into a line as he grimaced, “After I put that out.”

You yelped as he turned, showing off a few small embers attached to the back of his fur coat, which were also beginning to catch.

“Ow,” You mumbled, wincing as something small clattered to the ground behind you.

You held onto the lowest bar of the cage surrounding the arena, rubbing the back of your head and resting your other arm as your feet dangled into the rings as you sat up on the ledge. You were on the stone side, the one overshadowed by the large cliff face marking the beginning of the forests above.

You looked to your side, trying to find what had so promptly hit you in the head. Besides you, there were nothing but a few pebbles. You turned slightly and to your back was a slightly larger pebble, which really could have been what had made contact with the back of your head.

You looked around discontentedly for a moment longer, though you spotted no one else but the Riders below and Meatlug to your front. And indeed a ways away was Meatlug, warbling and marching determinedly along the wooden pathway over the ocean side, the side of the arena opposite yours.

Could she have done it? No, she was too sweet. And she was at the wrong angle. The pebble had very clearly come from behind.

For a moment, you thought you heard something, but it was so faint that you were sure it couldn’t have been more than your imagination.

Well, speak no evil, hear no evil.

You stared confusedly down at the Riders below.

You tried to let go of your unease, laying your head on your elbows. They seemed to be on the verge of a violent breakout; well, at least Snotlout and Astrid were.

Most of their dragons weren’t here; just Toothless and Meatlug.

Your bucket was resting a little while beside you with the water and floating fish from Hiccup’s trashed on-fire one, a just-in-case for the tiny dragons below. There was a bit less water in it now, and Hiccup’s coat was a bit more burned than it had been before, but if you needed to use it, you were sure it’d still be useful.

The edge of it dug into your side. You glanced back towards the cabin built into the wall by the arena and nudged the bucket more to the side, causing the water within to slosh dangerously.

Fishlegs had trained his dragon to fetch by reading cards, which you could say was about two tricks in and of themselves. Even if the cards had pictures.

The Twins' Terror performance was kind of impressive, though Terrors were a little bit stupid. You missed Astrid’s.

Hiccup’s was definitely second best, though you were certain that shooting fire was second nature to most dragons. The farmers had trouble with them sometimes, as the few Terrors bored enough to wander into the wheat were very trigger-happy, especially when they were startled.

“You!” Snotlout shouted from down below, as if he had been called by thought, like the devil, “Who won?”

Hiccup had joined in on the argument too, it looked like, at first glancing back between you and the others.

He, too, was now looking at you with expectant eyes.

You smiled guiltily, still trying to shake off the sense of paranoia you had felt earlier.

“...Fishlegs?” You said, though you were certain that no one would listen, not really. You were sure your determination would only add more fuel to the fire, but to say it was to take the easiest way out. At least then they would leave you out of it, after.

You cringed. Something in you withered a little bit, especially at the dejected look on Hiccup’s face, but after a moment you decided that for your own preservation it was better this way,

 “Sorry,” You called down to where Hiccup was standing still and shooting Fishlegs a dead look, the corners of his brows furrowed.

Fishlegs took only a moment to pause, shoulders slightly loosening though still stiff, bent arms falling slightly, the closest approximation to his expression being a simple ‘uh-oh, before he turned his attention back to arguing with Snotlout.

Snotlout looked mad at the idea that Fishlegs had the gall to turn his attention away from him and towards the ‘loser,’ rolling his eyes and gesturing violently at Hiccup, then waving his arm up above.

“What is going on with you two-?” Is the last thing you caught, shouted by Astrid as she made an irritated attempt to fend off the twins, before you turned your attention away.

You felt off as you looked around, realizing that the area above and by your peripheries, even looking back and forth, was empty.

“Where did Meatlug go?” You mumbled, pulling your legs up through the grate.

It was a curious thought, the same absentminded kind you spent on a lost pencil or a friend who’d wandered off while you were busy with another, which might have been what Fishlegs would have been doing with Meatlug by now any other time.

The space she occupied hadn’t been nearly close enough to you to set any alarm bells off immediately though there was a change in the air and a distinct lack of sound from her heavy dragon feet hitting wood.

You had to turn all the way around before you spotted her, her tail end disappearing up a set of steps leading around the side of the cliffs opposite the way to Berk, to the right side of the large stage behind the arena, lined by large abstract statues of vikings unreal and long past.

“Oh,” You said, pushing upwards and accidentally kicking the bucket close to you as you got up, which sounded a lot louder than you would have minded if it was silent. Though with all the arguing, it wouldn’t matter.

Quickly, you worked into a jog in an effort to catch up to her, ignoring the prickling feeling racing up and down your spine. You were being ridiculous and you’d prove it to yourself.

It wouldn’t be good if Meatlug got lost, now. Fishlegs would be sad, and with how often Mrs. Ingerman complained about her wandering off, you were sure he was going to get grounded.

Losing Meatlug would definitely make things more difficult for Hiccup, especially if he was put in charge of finding her, being responsible for all the dragons on Berk. And it would be a lot more difficult to give Meatlug quality outside playtime if he was stuck around the house doing chores.

Besides, she was a dragon. She was just fine, and so you were just going for a look.

You made it across the clearing in good time, proud of all the dips and ledges you’d been able to pass without tripping over, and yet as you came closer to the base of the steps in your stomach grew a sense of unease, the chill running across your arms only growing stronger.

You did your best to come up with a hop in your step, climbing the shallow staircase and crossing wide ledges with easy optimism. 

You came to the top quickly, passing a few piles of pebbles, where, for some odd reason, there lay what could only be labeled a knocked-over pile of pebbles. They were splayed across the dirt, fanning out from what you determined to be the most common impact point just rocks blocking the path just in front of a thick, stiff pile of rocks blocking the way ahead like a tattered wall.

You blinked confusedly, a hand slightly extended even as you pulled your elbow closer, your steps hesitant as you looked around for Meatlug, instead meeting eye-to-eye with the sharp point of what looked like the shape point of a white horn peeking out over-

“Oh,” You said.

You heard the call of your name, and quickly you opened your mouth to speak-scream, do something- but it was too late, as you felt the heavy presence of an Outcast emerge behind you, shadow looming cool and dark, stretching forwards so far its horns looked like a wickedly sharp hook on the sea end of a fishing line.

“They- they took Meatlug?!” Hiccup asked, “That’s who you’re worried about right now? The dragon?”

He tried to smother the spike of panic in his chest as he realized you’d been missing. Meatlug, too. But meatlug was a dragon. She could defend herself better than any Viking- she had built in weapons, for Thor’s sake. There wasn’t anyone who wasn’t his Dad who could wrestle her down without help, not now that she’d been taught to fight off people the correct way.

You were missing. And there were Outcasts on the loose.

 “-He could be going anywhere!” Fishlegs started, shooting Hiccup a grossed out look, which he ignored, “What-What are we going to do?!”

“They don’t really go all over the island,” Tuffnut snorted, walking casually towards the pile of rocks plugging the Outcasts’ escape tunnel before stopping and shrugging, not at all panicked at the fact that you were missing, “Like. six yak farms-”

“-A couple of sheep pens-” Ruffnut gestured with both of her hands before resting them at her hips from where she stood, on the side of Tuffnut farthest from Hiccup.

“-Mildew’s cabbage field-” Tuffnut sneered at the mention and Ruffnut rolled her eyes, clearly not pleased at all -kind of disgusted- the way people usually were when Mildew was brought up.

The twins looked at each other, shoulders stiffening in mock revulsion before gagging and saying in unison, “Gobber’s outhouse.”

They both stick their tongues out in a move that was oddly synchronous as they gagged again.

“Is there anywhere else they might be headed?” Hiccup asked quickly.

He didn’t really have the mind to stay still yet he forced his feet to keep planted against the dirt anyways, eager to run after you on Toothless. But if he didn’t know where you were going, he wouldn’t be able to get to you on time.

“Well… there is the secluded beach,” Ruffnut said, turning to face Hiccup completely. Her face was still clearly written over with disinterest, eyes looking off towards the rockpile to her side.

“Yeah,” Tuffnut agreed, gesturing widely, looking up slightly as if to convey a picture of serenity, “It’s really nice. The white sand, so soft on your little toes- It’s on the other side of the island. I can’t believe you haven’t been there.” 

Ruffnut punched him in the arm, “Stop telling people where all our good hiding spots are, yak-brain!”

“You started it!” Tuffnut snapped back doodily, bending down and bringing his arm to cover his head in order to protect it from his sister’s onslaught of punches.

Hiccup grimaced, resisting the urge to say something slightly sarcastic and definitely situationally inappropriate. Any other time and he might’ve tried to vet it out; see if it was a good date spot. Instead, his gut jumped in alarm.  

“Aw, why don’t we toss ‘er overboard?” Came the voice of Alvin the Treacherous, spoken in a low-ish, high-ish grating grumble. 

He stood tall over the other Outcasts. His stature was nearly large enough to match Stoick’s, with a personality that made him about ten times more sensitive; you hadn’t known  who he was, at first. And you’d been mouthing off while they’d carried you over. 

That had definitely set him off, and it was very likely that you had the black eye to prove it. He’d knocked you into a rock.

You never had much of an opinion of him at all -you didn’t often cross paths- yet you knew his reputation and wondered if this was what was going to get Mildew finally kicked off the island.

“Boss- She’d- make a good hostage?” Have the nervous voice of another large Outcasts, bald with a thin, twirled mustache. He looked very goofy, hunching over himself with his built frame, like a small dog with its tail between its legs. 

You’d been gagged with some dirty old cloth, carried around like a hapless animal, a ragdoll held under the arm, hands tied by the wrists, arms also pinned to your back by multiple cords of tight rope. It was almost hard to breathe.

It was better than a large, sweaty hand over your mouth. That had been unpleasant.

“But- what about Mildew? If she goes back and tells the rest-”

Mildew had separated from the flock a while back, leaving for home up on the backside of the Great Hall’s mountain.

“To ‘el with Mildew!” Alvin sneered from the other side of the boat, in a way that made you scoot back, though your face was exceptionally blank. You hoped you gave off the impression that you were unimpressed.

You did your best to tune them out as Treacherous knocked his grunt a new one.

Your knees were beginning to hurt as you’d been thrown roughly to the ship’s floor, which rocked with the movement of the water, but only barely. 

Your feet and lower legs were folded under you, flush against the wood as you listened to the arguing outlaws. They were both slightly damp, the wood of the ship’s floor having been apparently washed over by a wave while Alvin had been spying.

You were, of course, a little bit nervous and a little bit scared. Were the Outcasts taking you; back to their base? But, as it stood, you were also incredibly bored. And confused.

You had no idea how they were able to muzzle Meatlug with just rope.  Or, maybe a vague idea. You had the idea that maybe she was, perhaps, a bit overtrained.

You glanced around, hoping to God, the Gods, whichever one or ones were in charge, that there was a way out of this that didn’t require you getting stabbed in some form or another.

You didn’t know what they wanted from you. Did they think you were part of the Riders?

You weren’t. You hoped that was obvious. What if they asked anything from you? You could try the hand thing. But no, would that even work? 

Your cheeks burned. You’d rather save yourself the embarrassment. And the dragons from the Outcasts, of course.

You hoped it wouldn’t take too long for the Riders to know that you were gone. They would at least notice Meatlug, you hoped. Hiccup might recognize that you were missing. That would be great.

The ship hadn’t quite been launched away too far from Berk, the top of its mountains just disappearing over the horizon. The ‘crew,’ if it could even be called that, as just a handful of Outcasts, still pulling the flimsy rowboat that had brought you there up on board.

Most of the ship was made up of a dull, gray wood that looked to be crumbling in some parts and was littered with various Outcasts all in the same coordinated uniforms, gray chainmail and darker gray fabric. Metal shoulder guards with the same vaguely curly helmets over dark-colored hair. 

You wondered if they were all related or if they’d all dyed their hair or something. The latter option seemed to be the most plausible, you being unable to spot a head of hair that wasn’t greasy in some fashion. But then again, the whole lot of them was pretty dirty. 

It was a very nice day out, sort of chilly as Berk always was, though you were more out at sea than near Berk, yes the sun shone yellow and everything was well-lit. The only shade came from the sail, outlined against the ship’s floor, just out of reach to you.

There were only a few clouds in the sky, of course, which was mostly clear. There was a speck in the distance, not any more noticeable than a piece of dust in your eye, painful as that would be.

You took a moment to squint at it before you decided that it probably wasn’t anything, the lack of movement throwing you off slightly.

Still, you looked a moment longer, for lack of anything better to do. It took you a while to realize it was growing. So maybe it wasn’t your imagination.

The Riders had come to your rescue? Your eyes widened slightly, which hurt your eye a bit,bla and you quickly turned away, hoping no one on the ship had noticed. 

You heard the hurried stamp of Outcasts as they hurried by you, shouting as they left their positions rowing, Alvin the Treacherous shouting all the while.

You risked a glance to your side, hoping there was something you could do to get ready as Outcasts levied their crossbows over the edge of the ship.

You looked up again to where, up in the sky, you saw the Riders. They were a distance away now, just barely out of shooting range.

Fishlegs was seated on Hookfang’s body, a few feet back and away from Snotlout, and from the way things were going up there, he was definitely fretting over Meatlug.

You spotted Astrid, too, but the others…?

You squinted for the third time, wincing as you felt something wet on your face -you couldn’t tell if it was sea spray or something else- yet it was unneeded.

Your only warning was a whistling, the same one most Vikings had run from before the first movie had finished. Or, It was far from a warning, really, more like an outright aggressive attack.

A shot of what you immediately recognized as plasma slammed into one side of the boat, the front side opposite you, splitting wood and damaging the bow.

You watched as an Outcast balked and edged away from the fire side even as it rocked, the force of the blast causing it to shake and singing the floorboards. You felt its heat despite its distance. Plasma was lightning and you’d rather not get burned.

Strangely enough, though, the blast hadn’t nearly been to the strength you’d remembered back on Berk, when terror was the norm. You supposed, though, that the ship might sink if that was the case.

Still, in the chaos, you’d been knocked to the side as someone’s knee caught you in the shoulder as he scrambled away.

Just by you, Meatlug was struggling in her restraints, though her pupils were enlarged and she was girling as best as she could, tied down as she was, looking around in the sky with doe eyes.

You heard a different kind of hissing soon after as the area around you filled with the noxious smog of Zippleback gas before you’d very quickly felt yourself yanked up by the shoulders.

You felt an unbelievable vertigo as you’d been thrown into the air and caught roughly, huffing just as you heard the light grunt of a teenage guy.

You were unbelievably confused, head spinning

You heard the sound of the releasing of wood gears and taut strings as arrows went flying, a few bursting through green smog and flying a good distance before landing in the sea. You heard the shouts from within the smog and were sure there were some Outcasts who had been aiming at each other by accident.

You hoped Meatlug should be fine, though for a Grinkle who’d been taken care of as well as she had, you suspected the arrows wouldn't serve as any more than thorns.

There was a reason why the Vikings on Berk stuck to their axes and swords and just resorted to throwing bolas when it came down to shooting dragons from the sky.

The smoke- It was very smart of Hiccup- because that was definitely not the Twins- to try that.

“Cut the sails!” Hiccup demanded, facing the Riders to his right as he spoke, voice carrying over the wind. It definitely sounded a bit off, as if he wasn’t quite used to giving order’s but it was confident, which did miles in terms of covering that up.

Snotlout groaned at the sound of his voice and Tuffnut threw his head back and seemed to gargle nothing into the air, but for the most part, the Riders seemed to work together like a well-oiled machine. Like your laundry partner, if she was six smallish Vikings instead of one big one in pants. 

They hadn’t done much, but for the most part it had all transitioned smoothly.

Case in point; as the gas dissipated, you watched, eyes straining around Hiccup’s torso, as Astrid signaled for Stormfly to shoot, spines jabbing haphazardly towards the ropes controlling the sails, cutting them loose.

The Outcasts below weren’t nearly quick enough to shoot, Astrid, Stormfly, Snotlout and Hookfang covering Barf and Belch as the Twins fled. 

Up in the air, things seemed more muted, especially as you were drawn away from the chaos. 

But you heard some rustling, only just barely audible, the sound of fabric on fabric on skin and something else. So, you did your best to look up at your savior, craning your head and peering out of the corner of your eye as he pulled out something from his waistband-a knife.

You were slightly uneasy, what with the unsteady ground, as he held it before you, smelling smoke and what was definitely dragon as you squirmed around.

You closed your eyes quickly, pinching them shut until you felt the flat face on something cool against your cheek and a quick, thin snap before the fabric gagging you broke loose.

He used the knife to cut the gag away from your mouth.

You blinked your eyes open again, unsteadily, your left eye stinging. 

You were face to face with Hiccup for a moment.

He looked sort of upset in a way that made you want to grimace, your eyes meeting neutral, solid greens before he turned his attention away and leaned further forwards, head whipping back towards the Riders.

“Stay out of shooting range!” Hiccup called again.

Over the sound of rabble down below, you made out the sound of Astrid and Snotlout responding, though this time, you couldn’t quite hear what they had said.

“Whatever,” Tuffnut rolled his eyes, as you scooted up just enough to see the Twins, shouting as he laid back on his dragon’s neck, distracted as Ruffnut took the liberty to punch him. Hard.

“You’ll be fine on your own?” Hiccup shouted, looking towards Astrid, who was hovering with Stormfly just a few meters below, “I’m going to get my Dad!”

“Yeah,” She looked up at him with focused eyes as nodded, “We got it.”

You wondered what the Chief was going to do with this. He couldn’t let them go. You hoped they would all be fine- the rest of the Berkians.

It was sort of surprising.

You weren’t sure why, but you’d seen the two Haddocks around together a lot less. You’d heard it from someone who heard it from Gobber that Hiccup had been avoiding the big man, and the Chief had been letting him.

It would be pretty easy to put them into custody, you guessed. The Outcasts were sitting ducks; Alvin, who if you remembered correctly from village talk, was the leader of all of them. 

It was strange that he’d arrived without extra detail though he seemed large enough for it not to matter, if largeness was any indicator of strength the way it was where the Chief was concerned.

You leaned closer to Hiccup as Toothless made a sharp turn, Hiccup’s leg under your back jerking as it switched gears.

The wind ripped past your face as Toothless rocketed through the sky.

Your escape from Dagur had been a lot more perilous. However, the way the wind blew against Hiccup, brushing his hair completely out of his face, exposing parts of a pale, blotchy forehead. It was kind of flattering, the way he leaned forwards slightly in an unconscious effort to stay streamlined.

It made him look daring in a Hiccup sort of way.

You looked up at him from where you were half reclined, both legs hanging off one side of the saddle, head hanging off the other. You were positioned in front of Hiccup on Toothless, where his tiny horn-like fins poked you in the stomach like flexible, twitchy mittens.

It was kind of awkward.

He was your knight in shining armor, sort of. More like a lanky-furred Viking guy with a metal shield, which you seemed to like a bit more.

A lanky-furred Viking guy who’d taken acid to the back for you and who’d been struck by lightning and who liked the things you gave him a lot and who you liked to see with the things you’d given him very, very much.

You had to ask yourself where the Terrors were, without their minders. This was probably not how that was supposed to go.

You stood awkwardly on the white sands of the secluded beach, the same place Hiccup had dropped you off before he’d bolted back to the village for his Dad, as Stoick on Thornado dropped Alvin roughly onto the dirt.

The Chief landed on him as he tried to push away and make a break for it. Make a break for it or attempt a take-down of someone, most probably you, though that seemed even less and less likely as Hiccup and therefore Toothless stood stationed in front of you.

Toothless was definitely bored, much more interested in the pushing and pulling waves than the Outcasts being stripped of their helmets, gear and weapons and escorted to captivity in restraints by a league of tough, large, able-bodied Berkians.

Hiccup was standing casually by you, if by ‘by’ you meant slightly in front of, though you could tell he was still tense, shoulders a bit too stiff and arms crossed in a way that was atypical for him as he conversed with the other Riders. His eyes, though, stayed cautiously on his Dad and Alvin.

And Snotlout, as he goaded on the grunt outcasts, who glared at him. One tried to lunge but was quickly punched down by Spitelout, who had then turned his attention to his son, ready to give him an earful.

“-If you plug a hole, you can pick water up with it,” Tuffnut nodded, “I did that once with a mug that had a hole in the bottom. It was really thin, though. Made it out of a rusty pipe or something, I dunno.”

“Heat builds pressure,” Ruffnut nodded, joining in. You were pretty sure what they had held merit; you were pretty sure the pipe thing did. 

You wished you had the internet, still.

You sometimes thought that they were secret geniuses, or very good at stumbling on to real science. 

“What?” Hiccup said, “That doesn’t make sense.”

The twins were positioned a lot closer to you than the others, Astrid and Fishlegs being more focused on the Outcasts’, Fishlegs more so because he was worried about Meatlug, who’d had yet to be brought to shore by the adult Vikings. He was hunched over as per usual, quite twitchy and asking about her frequently in a way that made everyone close to him annoyed. Astrid was standing more firmly, arms crossed as she stoickly surveyed the scene.

Ruffnut snickered, “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“What?” Hiccup looked to you for help.

You smiled with a bit of mischief.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” You repeated, bumping into his arm with your own as he shot you a slightly betrayed look.

You shuffled carefully, mindful not to kick up too much sand as your boots were still wet and cleaning sand out of your soles and toes was something you really weren’t looking forward to doing later.

“That- I’ve never heard of that. Ever. Not working,” Hiccup looked at you with concern, shoulders loosening.

You blinked your eye, which was now definitely at least slightly swollen.

You’d touched it a moment earlier to find something lightly stinging just below your eye. When your fingers had come off, they were slightly shiny with what you thought was blood, though it didn’t really seem to be bleeding freely, so it was probably fine enough for you to handle on your own.

Nobody had said anything yet, anyhow, so you didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

“It might,” You shrugged, smiling emptily, though you were sure you could have said something of merit having learned more in elementary than he’d probably ever get to know his entire life.

“Yeah,” Tuffnut said, pleasedly. You were fifty percent certain if they did believe the Earth was round, or if other people believed they did, it was because they’d come up with something ridiculous to say to bug everyone else.

“... This isn’t going to become another ‘Earth is round’ thing, is it?” Hiccup asked exhaustedly.

Ruffnut’s head perked up at the statement, head whipping to you before she began to speak in a raspy, very approving voice, “Round-earther.”

Tuffnut started jumping in place like he was about to start sprinting, shaking his arms out.

You fist bumped Tuffnut as “Yeah,”-ed in a way that told you it was less about the word and more about his approval, bobbing his head over hunched shoulders, satisfied at your obvious agreement.

“If you don’t,” You but your lip, searching for the right word, “Not keep trying to woo me with all your boundless scientific knowledge, it might.”

Hiccup looked scandalized.

“Science is more Fishlegs’ thing,” He grumbled, shrugging,shaking his head and looking away to nod towards the large boy, looking miserable in a sort of mild way,

You bit your lip, feeling a little bit bad. Really, you were incredibly grateful that he was able to get to you so fast. 

“I know. You’re really smart, actually, I mean-” You nodded, speaking emphatically, before nudging him with your elbow, in a gentle effort to communicate that you weren’t serious, “-You’re a genius, but that’s half the point-not that bit, I mean the one before it- Really, privately, I don’t think Fishlegs believes the Earth is round, either.”

Hiccup shot you a quick, short smile at the compliment, yet still nudged you lightly back.

You smiled slightly too, something you were sure was along the lines of like a small crescent, feeling sort of warm in the chest.

In the background, both Tuffnut and Ruffnut boo-ed quietly. Fishlegs, a few feet away, because to speak with more intense anxiety about Meatlug, despite everyone else’ reassurances that she was okay. 

You knew Fishlegs and Meatlug already stuck questionably close, beyond the levels of ‘best friend’ that Hiccup and Toothless had, bordering on some anxious attachment. This was not going to help that.

“You were being sarcastic?” Hiccup asked after a moment.

You shifted, sticking your tongue out slightly, both of your brows quirking up.

Hiccup’s bottom lids pulled upwards as he smiled, the joy you imagined in his eyes and the light reflecting off them making it look like a fire had been lit in his pupils.

“Gross,” Tuffnut mumbled to his sister in your periphery, nudging her in the arm and making a face, which maybe just made you smile harder.

It -the beach- would be a good place to pull in water. And it was connected to the tunnels. If only he could figure out a way to funnel water upwards; his chute system worked off gravity and dragons bringing water up to the top of it to begin running.

For a project as large-scale as a pipe system, he’d need something more sophisticated.

He wasn’t sure what the twins suggested would work. But…

“It’s okay,” You said, bumping his shoulder with your own, “Have you been working on anything new? In the forge, I mean. To do with pipes.”

Hiccup turned to look at you.

“Ah, yeah…” He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud.

You and Hiccup were walking the long way back to the village, through the forest walking past large, straight-backed pine trees, in the part of Berk where the fauna grew tallest and things were just a bit more wild.

Pine fronds rustled and there was barely a walkable path, the way you were headed. Hiccup guessed that there weren’t many people going to the secluded beach.

He’d offered to walk you, privately because he didn’t want to fly back with the rest of the others, who would be undoubtedly making fun of him.

And he wanted to make sure you were okay.

“What are you planning?” You hedged, looking at him from the corner of your eye, hands behind your back. You’d been putting them a lot there recently. He wondered if there was a reason for that.

The two of you were very close, squeezing past and over fallen logs and dodging around mossy trunks and large plate-looking mushrooms.

“For the record, I really liked your Terror trick.” 

Hiccup started at that as he kicked aside a large stick and stepped over a rock, protruding out of the damp forest floor.

He supposed he should be pretty pleased with that answer, and a part of him was, preening and sitting a bit straighter as you took a few steps forwards, hopping over a short gnarled root and brushing aside a particularly dark set of long ferns, but. Another part of him was a little bit doubtful.

The air was very fresh despite the fact that the fauna was incredibly packed down by the underbrush.

“You said you thought Fishlegs’ was the best,” Hiccup grumbled as you squinted up at him.

The look you gave him filled him with a small measure of embarrassment, cheeks burning slightly. So he was a little itty-bit jealous.

“I meant what I said,” You paused, waiting for him to catch up, stopping in front of a large log, one that definitely was decaying and probably had a lot of bugs in it. He wondered if Terrors like bugs.

Hiccup tried to see around it, long and definitely wide. It seemed to go through a large mass of unkempt ferns and boulders. He couldn’t tell where it began or ended. 

…Maybe he should have brought Toothless instead of letting him run ahead. But if you got lost, to be fair, you weren’t the worst person to be lost with. 

Hiccup wasn’t affronted by the idea, “Looks like we’re going to have to go up.”

“Okay,” You nodded, leaving the looking to Hiccup, kicking down the beginnings of a small bush as you grabbed for the side of the log.

You yelped as part of the bark crumbled, breaking off your hands, and grimaced blankly down at it, held in your palm as you stood again in front of the log.

Hiccup looked at it with concern, then decided to feel for his own grip, wincing when he made contact with soft bark, half rotted and darkly colored, pulling himself up the side and trying to feel for a hold with his prosthetic.

His other hand made contact with something soft and damp for a moment, which he winced at yet didn’t care much about as he grabbed upwards, “Here’s good.”

“Thanks,” You said simply as you lined up behind him.

He felt around at the top of the log before grabbing along what felt like a ridge, pulling himself up with a grunt and threw himself over, straddling the top. 

A glowing bug skittered past against the wood, traveling towards a patch of fungus growing out of the dead log; a long thing with many legs looking a light transparent blue.

Hiccup frowned. It had probably come over from the pond. Hopefully didn’t just cause any kind of environmental disaster; he wasn’t being conservative at all with what he put in there.  Fishlegs would probably handle it. He was more into that kind of thing than Hiccup. For you, it was worth it.

He twisted in half to look back at you, scooting back on the log slightly in order to make room “So…”

Your brows were brows lifted upwards as you spoke, “...What’s been going on with you and your Dad?”

Hiccup perked up, grimacing, eyes turning from you to back down the path the two of you had walked to get here. 

It was a sudden question, but with the lull in conversation, as it usually went in most circumstances, there was bound to be something, though the subject of that something was usually impossible to put a name to. Unless it was Hiccup speaking, in which case it was probably going to get him in trouble.

But had you really picked up on that? Hiccup and his Dad, that was. Hiccup had to wonder if he was really that easy to read. If his Dad was, for anyone who wasn’t him. The answer to that question was a bit more obscure to him.

“Sorry,” You said, sheepishly.

Hiccup nodded.

“It’s fine,” He wondered how much you knew about them; how much you’d been witness to. The idea was embarrassing to him for reasons he hadn’t thought about. It was a bit different with everyone else, given most of the people here already knew his business. 

He guessed you had been here long enough to be most people, but you were not.

How much did you know about him? Did you know how much he liked you?

Hiccup shrugged, sort of moodily, glaring down at the forest floor way down off to the side by your feet.

And then he held out his hand

He was sort of nervous when he did, but as if late it seemed that an exchange of hands was something the two of you did more easily. But whatever brought the conversation away from his parent issues.

But then you laughed, and took it. It was sort of nervous and a little bit shy but it was spur-of-the-moment and the kind that just came out of nowhere, short and uncontrollable. And it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

It was… Almost enough to make him forget about his Dad.

Really, he didn’t know why he was still upset. He had told his dad it was fine -that he’d been forgiven since he’d been bugging you- but he still didn’t want to see him right now. So he took the liberty to remove himself from the situation. It’d probably be fine later. Their relationship was still slightly rocky.

He had no idea what his Dad was trying to do, offering Hiccup help. You didn’t seem to be the rough-and-tumble type. Maybe you were. Who knew.

His Dad didn’t get his friendship  with Toothless, not even in half. Not until he’d gotten Thornado and even then, they were more different. More like battle buddies than friends, which was a completely different thing; more about the utility than anything else. As least he’d stopped trying to kick the dragons off the island, 

He half pulled you up the log, watching your arms tense and loosen as you climbed.

Hiccup swallowed, then frowned slightly.

You settled on the log across from him with a light thump and a wince, looking back behind you and tugging your skirts loose after the majority of the trim had gotten stuck under one of your legs.

You looked a bit different in this light, face more covered in shadow, details by the pond harder to pick out now that you were in the relative darkness of the forest instead of by the pond, but he laughed nervously all the same, bringing one hand up to rub the back of his neck.

There was some dark mottling around your eye. It sort of implied a swell but the bruising wasn’t nearly enough to throw off the symmetry of your face or seal your eye shut in the way eyes did when they were busted. Still, it was noticeable and it looked like it hurt.

There was a very light cut below your bottom lid, not nearly enough to form a canyon but enough to cut down to blood, already scabbing. He was sure it would be nothing more than a papercut by tomorrow. 

But still, he kind of wished he’d gotten there in time to stop it.

He looked down, startling at your thumb running over the back of his hand, vaguely and definitely unconsciously tracing over the lightning scar like a jagged vine trailing up his wrist.

It has just been a moment, but he’d-He hadn’t realized the two of you had still been holding hands. 

You nearly pulled yours away, but Hiccup was just in time to stop that, the gentle wrapping of his own fingers pulling to yours just barely enough to be felt.

He kept his eyes trained away, as if to ignore what he’d just done, feeling slightly as if he’d just gotten away with something small and taboo, like he was a child again stealing a piece of bread off his Father’s plate.

Fortunately, you seemed happy as well to ignore the Gronkle in the metaphorical room. Maybe even… Flustered?

“How are the, ah,” You asked, both hands on his wrist now, “Acid burns? Are you fine, now?”

He wasn’t sure how you’d gone from the Lightning scars to the acid burns, but he did guess that was the last time he’d… He’d rescued you. Kind of.

Hiccup’s blush must have spanned from one ear to the next with how they tingled with that very familiar hot-yet-not, half-stinging-in-a-painless-way sensation.

After all the abrasions and blisters had gone, it was fine. Of course, now, it was mostly healed, though it gave him trouble sometimes.

The skin there was stuffer and newer than he’d like it, incredibly soft and rough and sensitive and insensitive in all the wrong ways. But it made for a cool scar. And that was all that mattered.

What he couldn’t make up for in stature, he definitely had covered in scar tissue.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore- not when he moved, or tried to sleep… He used the ointment the two of you had gotten from Gothi.

He wished he’d gotten to the Outcast ship sooner. Really, he should be the one asking if you were fine. There was no point dancing around it.

They -He and the others- didn't have time to go back for the Terrors- they’d be causing trouble back at the arena

“You’re…” Hiccup turned his attention down to the dirt and mulch, then back up at you. His free hand twitched as if suggesting he use it to take a look at the part of your eye that must have still been sore, instead moving to trace the inside of your wrist. The one that belonged to the hand still holding his, which had relaxed enough that his knuckles brushed against the old log bark.

 “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You stuck your tongue out slightly and smiled in a way that used your cheeks, “...is something wrong?”

Hiccup startled, “What? No- I mean,” he was not particularly paying attention as he began to slide slightly on the log, precarious balance thrown off kilter. He would adjust, in just a second, though, after he- “I- Your eye-”

Unfortunately, before he could finish, he felt something still catch against the gray fabric of his trousers -probably bark- and even as he made increased efforts to stop it, letting go of your hand and throwing his arms out, accidentally smacking you in the shoulder, he still slipped and fell off the other end of the log, landing shoulder first on hard forest floor.

He really had to stop doing that.

[nyoomfruits]

HEHEH for da prompts

L. “Why are you covered in blood?” “Uh. Long story?”

and

7. Office AU

:)

“why are you covered in blood?” “uh. long story?” + office au i was literally about to go to bed and then my brain was like "oh my god i have the dumbest idea so. here we are"

Lando is dripping, when he appears at the desk he occupies across from Oscar’s. Oscar squints at him. “Why are you covered in blood?”

“Oh, uh,” Lando glances down at himself, pulls a face. “Long story?”

“Lando,” Oscar says, voice flat. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Oscar,” Lando says, falling down in his desk chair, letting out a tired groan. “Tell you I didn’t what.”

“The copier. On the fifth floor,” Oscar says, getting up, retrieving a stack of towels they keep for exactly these reasons in a cabinet in the corner.

Lando pouts at him. “It makes the best copies,” he says, letting Oscar wipe the worst of the blood off of his left arm.

“It eats people,” Oscar admonishes, tosses one of the ruined towels over his shoulder. They should probably start stacking towels in a color that’s not white. “At least tell me that it's not your blood.”

“It’s not my blood,” Lando says, and when Oscar raises an eyebrow, ads. “Seriously, Osc. Don’t worry. Had to stab the damn machine a few times before it would release my perfectly crips copies.” He holds up some papers. At least he had the wherewithal to put them in a plastic folder. Which is absolutely smeared in blood.

“Fucking, I don’t even know why we still have that thing,” Oscar says. He reaches up to wipe at Lando’s face, and Lando hums, leans into the touch. Oscar wishes sometimes, that he could just take Lando and hide him away from the world and never let anything hurt him ever again.

Unfortunately, Lando is Lando and he is Oscar, so. Weirdly codependent coworkers it is.

Lando smiles at him, soft in a way he only really ever seems to reserve for Oscar. “Always better than the demonic coffee maker,” he says, patting Oscar on the arm. “Speaking off, are you thirsty?”

[rainnmaybank]

Safe once again

vance x reader (GN)

masterlist

navigate my blog

warnings!!: mentions of bad parent relations, breakups

like most nights, this one was miserable. rain poured down drenching the aura around. y/n was wet down to the bones. small flows of lightning swam through the clouds lighting up the surrounding.

it seemed to be fight after fight, i didn’t matter if it was with their parents, friends or best friend. no matter where they went arguments sparked and burned them.

that night was worse then it ever had been, her mother spoke words she knew she didn’t truly mean. y/n never forgot words spoken out of anger.

the words rang through their head over, and over, and over again. “maybe you should leave, all you’re doing is annoying everyone”

in y/n’s mind that translated to we don’t like you, we don’t want you. like being kicked out by the only people you ever loved, heart wrenching pain snuck it’s way though their veins the farther they ran.

no particular place in mind, y/n just needed to get away from it all.

the storm rolled in quicker, wind picking up and thunder rumbling closer. the grab-n-go. of course that as the only place still open at this time of night.

y/n pushed on the door, ringing the bell over their head mixed with the howling noise of nature.

there was nothing they could do but wait for the storm to lessen. roaming around the store to seem busy, boys pushed and shoved each other around the infamous pin ball machine. she knew who was there.

y/n kept their head down, tear stained cheeks didn’t mix well with fluorescent lights.

eventually y/n had came face to face with the last aisle, the end showed the boys whom had been making all the noise.

y/n paced themselves walking down that row, not wanting to reach the end to quickly.

to say y/n was sad was an understatement. anxiety crept through their veins now, all that they had know just threw them away. deep sense of dread flooded their mind, heavy thoughts ran like a river. feeling how it felt to no longer have unconditional love, nobody ever realizing how damaging that really is.

every step brought them closer to the end, pace after pace. their mind never silenced. it spoke so loud they hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten to the boys. stopping themselves before running into them.

y/n raised their head only to be faced with the one and only boy who’d ever broken their heart.

vance.

for a moment it was like the whole world had stopped, their mind stopped, the sounds muffled in her ears.

he was exactly what they needed, what they missed. even if both of them were chaotic, they brought unspeakable peace to mind.

like starting death in the face, beautiful calming death. their worst nightmare but only need. they didn’t dare to speak a word in fear their voice would fail them.

like stabbing in their heart, pain intensified over their body, they weighed heavy to the ground.

vance glared over feeling the presence of someone not in his little group, a smug look covered his face till he noticed it was y/n.

his hands stopped playing as his mind lost focus, friends behind him confused looked at eachother then over at y/n, reading the room they stepped away from the two.

vance stepped away from the pinball machine examining y/n’s face as he approached them.

“you’ve been crying” damn those fluorescent lights. y/n spoke lightly “no i haven’t, it was the rain” they waved their hand towards the window. “yeah right, i wasn’t born yesterday y/n, what happened?” his hand moved brushing stray hair from their face

the warmth floating off his body was enough to crack y/n, tears swelled within their eyes once again, parting their lips and taking a deep breath y/n went to speak

vance stepped closer rubbing his thumb over their cheek, his voice was gentle in a way you hadn’t heard in a some time “tell me what happened” y/n slightly leaned into his hand as they began to speak.

“my mom…” was all they got out before the water works hit, that was all vance needed to hear pulling them into a tight hug.

vance waves bye to his friends as he took y/n out helping them into the passenger seat of his truck.

knowing the last place y/n would want to go was home, he took them to his place. his parents weren’t home.

y/n glazed outside watching rain drops racing down the window, the lightning light up their small town in ways it never had before.

stormy nights are just like stormy thoughts.

vance had brought them inside, handing them clean dry clothes and starting the shower, y/n was chilled to the bone from the cold drops of the sky.

he waited for them outside the door, sat against the wall thinking to himself.

the bathroom door creaked open to reveal a much warmer looking y/n, his heart skipped beats at the sight of them in his clothes once again.

pushing himself from the floor his body moved faster then his thoughts as he embraced them.

y/n had no fight left within, falling into his arms.

a safe place that never seems to run out of safety.

that’s what he was for them.

vance took them back to his room, “get comfy i’ll be right back” y/n nodded, exhaustion filled every inch of their body, back clashing into the mattress their eyes laid heavy.

it wasn’t long before vance had returned handing them a glass of water and a plate with their favourite cookies on it.

y/n smiled sleepily accepting his offer

they spoke few words as they shared cookies, warmth finally wrapped around the pair as y/n’s eyes closed small hums coming from their lips, vance smiled to himself taking the glass from their hands placing it on the nightstand.

he turned off the lamp beside him, wrapped his arms around y/n he sighed holding their body to his own.

vance was at peace once again.

y/n was safe in her mind.

[maxislvt]

Teacher!Wanda x Reader!Secretary

Wanda catches R muttering angrily at the copy machine you're just a little bitch aren't you jamming because you're a fucking attention whore well you have my goddamn attention now and you're going to listen you fuckwad

And Wanda immediately gets turned on because yeah I'm an attention whore

And R whips their head around and goes "what?"

And Wanda just "what 👁👄👁"

warnings: suggestive but no smut, bad humor, you're kinda dumb in this one but that's fine.

If any of the teachers and staff at Westview High School had to describe, they'd use an odd combination of words. Aggressively endearing. Aggressive not that you were mean to others, but in the sense you had a habit of cussing at the worst of times and kicking furniture. Endearing because it was almost in defense of the students or to uplift your coworkers. It was a bit unbecoming of a secretary to tell a ninth grader to "Go out there and kick Eastway ass!" at a soccer game, but the girls soccer team had one nationals that year.

Wanda, being your girlfriend, had grown to love your foul mouthed affection. It was just your way of being nice. Even she wasn't safe from the occasional "you can fucking do this!" The words that left your mouth were always positive. She didn't think you had a truly malicious bone in your body.

"You stupid bitch, I bet you think you're so funny fucking up my schedule. Huh? You useless fucking slut. I'll show you "

That was until she walked towards the teacher's lounge to make some copies of a test. She'd never heard you talk to anyone like this. What could've possibly happened for you to be talking to someone in such a way? It was out of character. A loud plastic bang could be heard from the office. If she hadn't become suddenly aroused by your new found hostility, she would've been worried. She chose to listen in.

"You think you're cute? I'll smack that smug fucking look off your face!"

Another smack and a kick. You were really going in on your target. Letting out all your pent up frustration out on them. Wanda would've killed to be in that position. Manhandled and tossed around for the sake of relieving your stress. The pool of wetness in her underwear was hard to ignore. "Fuck," She whispered to herself. It wasn't until she heard the familiar sound of the printer copying that her shame began to settle in. Of course she'd have to bring this up at a later date.

"Hey, babe." You said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I think I fixed the printer for the most part, but just call me if you need help." Before leaving, you wrapped your girlfriend into a tight hug. Anger had left your body and you were now an entirely different person. The soft, cuddly partner had grown to love. "Hey, can we have lunch in my office today?"

Wanda perked up at the offer. "I was gonna show up even if you didn't ask." She kissed your check back and let you go. "I'll see you in thirty."

Thirty minutes had come and gone and Wanda never been so happy to be spending time in your office. No class after lunch she could spend the rest of the huddled up in your office while the other teachers rushed around for 2 more hours. Maybe you'd have to answer some calls or fill out some forms, but your attention was almost entirely on Wanda.

"Soo," Wanda said as she mindlessly stabbed her salad. "I heard how you were talking to the printer earlier." She laughed watching you suddenly become nervous. Though you were the more dominant one, Wanda always took the leap of faith into more adventurous escapades. "I didn't know you could be so…mean." Her heel covered foot ran up and down the inside of your legs. "I'd love to hear it again."

You nearly choked on your lunch. You coughed and hit your chest a few times. Suddenly, you were stiff as a board and incredibly embarrassed. "Oh, um. Sorry, I should've just gotten Tony or something. I just didn't want all those kids to wait for their coloring sheets." As oblivious as the day you and Wanda got together, you completely misunderstood her intentions. "I didn't dent the printer or anything.

Wanda could only laugh at how unsuspecting you were at times. "No, sweetheart. I meant I liked hearing you talk that way." She reached over to cup your face and watched as the fears turned in your head. Wanda playfully squeezed your cheek just before you let out a little "oooh." She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, oooh."

[ittybluebell]

The Glue Trap (daredevil g/t)

Finch is stuck in a glue trap that Matt forgot about. He rushes to save them.

Tiny was silent.

It wasn't uncommon - there was the odd time they went down to another apartment, a result of Matt lacking in the goods department.

Suspicious, Matt did another sweep. No, he found. Tiny was still here. They were… quiet. Not moving. Somewhere under the stairs to the roof. Their heartrate was elevated. Their breaths were quick, stuttering, with an undercurrent of sniffles. They sounded all too much like someone Matt wouldn't second guess saving out on the street.

Tiny grunted under strain. There was a strange sound under their feet, like mud.

Matt jolted as if electrocuted. He forgot a trap.

What followed was Matt lunging for the loose floorboard. He tried to estimate how long they'd been stuck. Since he left this morning? The pungent scent of glue wisped into the air and guilt twisted inside him. How could he forget? Were there others? How long had Tiny been there?

There was still food in their stomach. The smell of strawberry and wheat cracker was fresh on their breath. Matt felt a tinge of relief, replaced by guilt again - not nearly as long as he'd feared, but any length of time was too long.

Tiny's reaction was one of their squeak-yelps and a subsequent stabbing.

Matt hissed, "Ow," and flinched back when something sharp stung his finger. Tiny made another motion to defend themself and Matt withdrew his arm. "Y'know, most people don't attack the person trying to save them," he said, mildly put out. He understood he was an actual, literal giant here, but give him some credit.

Alright, so he should have announced his intentions first - that was on him.

Matt said, "I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"The hell you are!" Tiny bellowed with all the ferocity contained in their little body. It was an unexpectedly Herculean amount. "Who set the traps in the first place, huh? Then you come in tryin' to snatch me up like a damn claw machine. 'Help' my ass!"

"I'm trying to help. I'm sorry about the traps - really, I am. I thought I got all of them out. I'm truly sorry. Will you let me fix this? Without stabbing me again? Please?"

A contemplative silence fell over the two. It was only respectful to ask: as someone who'd been stabbed and shot and hit more times than he could remember, Matt could handle a poke or two. But he didn't like being grabbed without his consent - why would someone who's just a few inches tall?

What even was that weapon, a nail?

…he should update his vaccines.

"You don't plan to lock me up and reveal me to the world for fame and wealth or ship me off to scientists that'll experiment on me?" Tiny asked suspiciously.

That was… shockingly specific. And all completely valid concerns. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. In God's name, I swear I'm not lying. Would I be trying to gain your trust if that was my goal? Why would I bother?"

"I guess… you just don't want me to stab you again."

"Oh, for- I owe Foggy several apologies if this is what he deals with."

Tiny agreed to let him help after admitting they were prepared to die anyway - ouch - and that being captured by a 'bean' - what? - really couldn't be worse. A win was a win and Matt didn't argue, reaching under the floorboards to rescue them.

It was a surreal experience for both parties. Feeling a tiny, human body fit in his hand, and for Finch, a massive hand wrapping around them. They were stiff as a board, bracing against fingers as wide as their torso. For every borrower, this was the worst case. This was the nightmare that made children hide under the covers. A human had discovered them - was holding them. Finch resisted the urge to bite and scrap and do anything in their limited power to free themself. A second hand pressed down on the edges of the trap and then Finch was being pried off. The glue was reluctant to let them go and threatened to claim their boots as a prize. Finch squawked and fought to keep them.

"Shit," Finch blurted. "Oh, sewers. Fuck me running. Mother of termites. Pissberry."

The glue released. Matt lifted both borrower and trap out of the floor and rose from his prone position.

[recurring-polynya]

My Top 5 Bleach Filler Characters, Appropos of Nothing

5. Inaba Kagerouza, Reigai Arc

Inaba is, simply put, the pinnacle of Soul Society worldbuilding. He's got this long dramatic backstory and a bunch of rage bottled up in his chest, but also a guy needs a paycheck, so he's just been doing the R&D grind for a hundred years. He knows a shit-ton about the Dangai, which is relevant to his evil scheme, but it's also just his day job (also the Dangai owns, I want a PhD in "the Dangai"). No one else in Squad 12 seems to have the least bit of beef with him, even after he builds an evil duplicate of every person in the Gotei. Unlike a lot of mad scientist characters, he's good with his weapon. Maybe he's weirdly jacked under his villainous smock?? Also, his evil scheme was generally well thought out, and took into account the fact that the Gotei is a bunch of buffoons. ngl, I kinda wish his plan had succeeded, if only for the fact that it would probably really piss Aizen off.

4. Ran'Tao, Bount Arc

Everything about Ran'Tao owns, including:

Sexy glasses

Condemned so hard by the Central 46 that they gave her a kidou seal back tattoo

KIDOU. SHOTGUN.

Stabbed Kariya in the gut

Noped out at the end of the arc because Who Needs the Gotei's Shit?

3. Kuchiki Kouga, Zanpakutou Rebellion Arc I think that when you hear the story about how Byakuya was forbidden from marrying Hisana because she was a commoner, you're supposed to feel this great sense of injustice, like wow! Byakuya actually showed character by standing up for his love! And that's great and all, and then you get the Zanpakutou Rebellion Vintage Kuchiki Bullshit Flashbacks and it's like, oh, the last guy they married into the clan mass murdered a bunch of people and then they had to seal him up in a cave and I feel like that's an important piece of context in the entire Kuchiki Family-Being-a-Bitch-About-Who-Byakuya-Marries debacle.

Which isn't to exonerate the Kuchiki, here! It's very clear that Kouga wasn't that bad before he got pushed over the brink by Kuchiki family machinations. I mean, this is very much an Everyone's The Asshole situation.

I love the fact that they never come out and say that Kouga is Byakuya's uncle, but he's very obviously Byakuya's uncle.

I love the fact that he dramatically cut his kenseikan off with his sword and threw them at Ginrei and they made a gree card of it.

I love that he appears to be exactly Renji's height and has one chunk of hair that is the same color as Renji's and he over-accessorizes horrifically, and at best the Squad Six old-timer's had to be like "Byakuya don't do this to us again" when he hired Renji, and at worst there's a chance that Renji the secret baby that was born after Kouga was banished and he was hidden away in the Rukon so he didn't screw up the succession line but he's actually the true Heir to the Kuchiki.

2. Harugasaki Seizo, standalone episode 313 This dude had a homoerotic rivalry with Ikkaku (doomed, of course, because who could compete with Yumichika?), lost his shinigami powers when he took a blow meant for Ikkaku, and then spent the next hundred years putting his entire pussy into doing laundry for Squad 11. This man invented yearning, even if he did choose the worst possible person in the history of ever as the target of his affection.

1. Amagai Shuusuke, New Captain Shuusuke Amagai Arc He looks like Ross Poldark. He can't hold his liquor. No one knows who witnessed his Captain's Exam. Ukitake and Kyouraku tried to talk him into a threesome. He was nice to Kira. His bankai was a tuba that made a foghorn noise when it belched out fire. His dad was the shinigami equivalent of a narc, who got done dirty by the Captain-Commander. He fought the Dangai Cleaner and won. I love him more than anything.

Honorable Mention: Kenryuu and Enryuu, New Captain Shuusuke Amagai Arc Because they are an important reminder that for all the shinigami buffoonery I am forced to witness, day in and day out, some people graduate from Shin'ou, get shikai even, and still can't get hired by the Gotei.

[fordtato]

YES. So I'm not the only one that has MANY things to say about Return to the Bunker. I was super hyped up for this this before, but then for the whole 32 minutes of watching I was like "...are you even serious? c'mon!"

This thing felt less like a Gravity Falls episode and more like a big Ford Hate Party. Wtf?! He had a few interactions with Mabel in the series, but literally ALL of them were positive, since she never talked about her issues directly to Ford (not trying to blame her, I love Mabel with all my heart). And here Ford's straight up a huge ass to her. Not wearing a sweater in the summer (HE LITERALLY DOES?!), telling her in the face he doesn't trust her, acting like spending any time with her is wasteful and a scar on his honor (?). Dudes, did we really watch the same Gravity Falls with the same characters? Ford can (and is) be dramatic and too serious sometimes, but he's also silly, fun and adventurous! And it's SHOWN in the series! And he loves the twins more than anything!

But let's get to the thing I have the biggest problem with. The way Ford's trust issues were treated. Guy's been through hell and back. Every person in his whole life that was his close friend, ended up stabbing him in the back (from his perspective). He literally spend 30 years all by himself, FORCED to trust only himself, because trusting someone else might have ended up in him being dead. Now he's barely back home, everything is new and complicated and dangerous, there's the rift, there's Bill being a huge thread, there's his relationship with Stanley, there's his house turned into a mockery of the only thing he was ever proud of, AND this guy still stays relatively calm and collected. Now you're also expecting him to suddenly forget about 30+ years of trauma he experienced and trust people he barely knows (Soos, Wendy) with his worst fear?! And you're punishing him for being jumpy, terrified and paranoid, when he has all the reasons to act such way?! And what's with the scene when he gets on his knees and in teary tone admits that just a sad, lonely boy, but now thanks to Mabel and her friends he might change? Like, sir? Are you the Ford Pines we know? Pre-weirdmageddon afraid-to-his-death prideful and emotionally withdrawn Ford Pines? And then he "learns" absolutely nothing AND ERASES THEIR MEMORIES WITH A MEMORY GUN?? WHAT THE FUCK? I barely forced myself to watch until the very end, because I wanted to scream. You think that Ford, WHO IS A VICTIM and was against the memory gun for most of his life unless absolutely crucial, who had to erase his brother's whole personality and the only reason he remained relatively sane after that was because said brother's memories were brought back, would EVER erase memories of his own twelve year old niece and her friends, RIGHT AFTER BEING ALL OPEN HEARTED and admitting he was wrong?! I can't. I'm sorry. I got all emotional.

Mabel's not really Mabel. Ford's definitely not Ford. Stan was... well, weird, but I could maybe go with that? The B plot was better anyway. The only one that remained more or less close to their canon characterisation was Soos. Even McGucket didn't really click.

ALSO. Ford's relationship with Fiddleford in this one. Wtf. Ford, who mourned what happened between him and his former best friend for years, who had a fucking "I'm sorry Fiddleford" as one of his thoughts on mind reading machine, and who, after seeing him for the first time during Weirdmageddon was all regretful and sad, in this episode is, again, an ass to him?! And their meeting, for the first time in 30 years, is not really a big deal? Ooof.

I'm angry. I didn't like it at all and I thought I'm the only one, because all of the comments are so happy and enthusiastic. I'm glad I'm not alone. It's really not good. Well, it had good moments. I laughed REALLY hard during that dating show with the shapeshifter and a few jokes had me chuckling, and, as you said, the art is really great and you can see all the time and passion that went into it. But the plot itself... I guess it's supposed to be canon complaint. It makes it even worse. The writers really hate Ford, don't they? Eh.

Sorry for the dump. I don't know what's gotten into me. I was so excited for it, a beginner's mistake, I guess.

It felt, personally, like the writers greatly misunderstood (or did not interpret from series as I did) which qualities of Ford, Mabel, McGucket and Soos made these characters loveable and made the show work.

The script of this fan project, at times, seemed specifically antagonistic to the source material, to these characters, and to the motivations these characters held.

I am not trying to shit on something people loved, but I did not enjoy the writing at all.