#license to swoop

[tunnblr-username-generator]

Swoopingpermit

[imwritesometimes]

This is the shit democrats need to be out in the streets banging the drum over right now. You voted for him and he's already fucking you over. You rural farming voters who thought you'd be safe from his anti-woke agenda. It's already coming for your livelihoods. Can you afford 4 more years of this shit?

[lesbiangiratina]

Officially published order testament image…

[eyesonmywall]

we are SO over i cannot believe zomba got a gf before me this sucks ASS

[skydiveswoop]

5 Top Reasons Why People Skydive | Step-by-Step Guide

Skydiving, the exhilarating sport of leaping from an aircraft and free-falling through the sky, holds an irresistible allure for adventure seekers worldwide. Here are the top 5 reasons why people are drawn to the thrill of skydiving. If you want to know the details information then look at our infographic.

If you want to book your tandem jump then visit our skydiving license center and directly call us at:- 1-800-463-5867.

[areyouwell]

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations. 

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck. 

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel. 

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously. 

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids. 

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck. 

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one. 

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath. 

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child. 

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever. 

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine. 

“Rough–” 

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket. 

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse. 

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about. 

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on. 

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things. 

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.” 

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability. 

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you. 

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…” 

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing. 

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now. 

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count. 

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side. 

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly. 

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep. 

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm. 

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots. 

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest. 

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo. 

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks. 

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up. 

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short. 

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern. 

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.” You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky. 

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic. 

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another. 

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building. 

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort. 

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough. 

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She���ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic. 

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out. 

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile. 

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end. 

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood. 

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now… 

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face. 

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. 

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body. 

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information. 

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you. 

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination. 

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge. 

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission. 

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his. 

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too. 

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen. 

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face. 

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.” 

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding. 

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye. 

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here. 

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling. 

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay? 

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

 toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition. 

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed. 

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight. 

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod, 

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing. 

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now. 

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?” 

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest. 

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent. 

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips. 

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright. 

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake. 

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks. 

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow. 

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief. 

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first. 

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head. 

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind. 

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for. 

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it. 

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory.  “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo’.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question. 

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply. 

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips. 

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.” 

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably. 

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation. 

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world. 

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers. 

Obviously. 

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did. 

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you. 

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’   

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?” 

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable. 

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition. 

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it. 

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers. 

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest. 

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips. 

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle. 

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further. 

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly. 

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate. 

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you. 

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

[roydick]

Dick Fic Rec List!

Dick-centric

  look back in anger by vechter

Post-Spyral fic that just gets it (lets be real vechter just gets Dick). A lot of wonderful Fab Five moments, hints of Dickroy, and a fantastic look into the mind of Dick Grayson.

  persephone’s in hell by Whiskey

De-aged Dick Grayson. Unstoppable force (Dick) meets immovable object (Jason). Background Dickroy, everyone is present. Set in post-crisis.

  beat journalism by dustorange

After Bruce fires him, Dick becomes a reporter. Amazing Dick and Clark interactions.

Dick&Tim

  a soft place to land by unchosenone

Post Infinite Crisis, post Blockbuster. Two grieving birds.

Dick&Damian

  I’ll Wait With You by Sohotthateveryonedied

Damian steps on a landmine, Dick refuses to leave him alone. 

  The Rule Stands by Engineerd

Time travel brings a  10 year old Robin Dick Grayson to Gotham not long after Damian has been resurrected.

Dick&Bruce

  Got Stepped On All Over by whaleofatime

One of my favorite Nightwing!Dick era Dick & Bruce fics. Bruce pov of Dick’s casual competence.

  riding the blues by TheResurrectionist

One of the best outsider pov fics I’ve read. Dick flees the manor after another fight with Bruce, gets some life advice from a well meaning dad.

  arms tonight by one_step_closer_to_death

Long-term effects of Chemo. Angsty hurt/comfort fic about a father’s love and the one battle he can’t fight.

  License and Registration, Please by rogman

Rookie police officer Dick trolls Batman and the whole GCPD in one fell swoop (non-canon sort of crackfic but very funny) Who knew the Batmobile was actually just a Honda Civic?

Reborn Era

  to be buried alive by FromStarstuff

What we could’ve had if the writers hadn’t forgotten all the women in Gotham during Reborn. Cass and Dick split Batman duties and learn some things about each other along the way.

  the slumber party initiative by ScarlettSwordMoon

Mandatory quarantine in the bunker with Dick, Damian, and Stephanie. An attempt at light hearted slumber party games gets mean quick, turns into an opportunity for growth and acceptance.

Titans

  big d stands for big (demon)or by danishsweethearts

4 out of 5 chapters. Tower’s haunted. Good thing Dick is an exorcist right? Absolutely hilarious, one of the best Titans fics out there.

Dickroy

  It builds and builds and builds by vechter

Dick and Roy Outsiders era, the ones we love the most are the ones we know just how to hurt. 

  heavenly way to die by one_step_closer_to_death

Early Outsiders era. Roy gets seriously injured and flirts with Dick.

  there’s a hole where your heart lies by FromStarstuff

Dickroy through the years, finally getting their act together.

[bonefall]

Update + Reply Bundle

Heyo all, it's been a while with some radio static and I've got a bundle of bits to reply to here!

If you're wondering where I've been, it's actually that things got MEGA busy on my end. Between the new year, a small promotion at work, getting a license to operate an X-ray machine for extremities (i have no idea how this happened man i have an applied science degree in dead people), learning some Java, and making travel plans to visit my partner overseas, it's been hectic but good.

But I ain't gonna pay it no mind, because every 6 months in queensland a man is torn apart by a crocodile the Warrior Cats never stops. I have also been passively ruminating on the Family Tree and keeping up with checking the inbox. Before I get to ShadowClan and the Glitch Warriors, I'll tackle all the other things.

SO reply time;

Changing Skies Reactions (On Moonpaw's sister being stillborn, the ShellFern cheating situation, etc)

The Flipclaw/Myrtlebloom Family Tree Fix plumthrift is soooo back

Other Fun Stuff (Which character should be allowed to say fuck. Names I'd like to use in other Clans.)

(NOTE; not addressing anything submitted about BB!ASC just yet, I want to put all my plans together first)

CHANGING SKIES REACTIONS

My honest feeling is that they don't know what a chimera is, BUT, I'm actually glad about that.

I would 100% rather they go with having her be possessed by a dead stillborn rather than them making her rare, ultimately harmless genetic quirk "the reason" why she's haunted. The stillborn haunting is the sort of concept I've come to accept in the setting (though I do have my critiques and reservations about another Evil Voice plotline, especially given the shitshow that was Splashstar in the last book of ASC), but there are DEEP layers to how messed up the implication of "zygote souls" would be.

Others have been joining into the convo in the meanwhile, tho. In essence, I agree with @mothdapple's thoughts on the subject. I hope the voice isn't wholly evil, and I hope that the haunting doesn't stem from her chimerism.

I'm betting that she gets a weird shipping moment with one of her cousins tbh. Especially if she survives this arc and doesn't become a medcat. You just know they'll open up the next arc with her and Sunkit being mates with 400 babies if you ship her with a girl too hard lmaooo

@dawn-sunlight

MANNNNN. You CANNOT convince me that I'm not correct about this at this point. The first 4 times it might have been coincidence, but they seem to have pinpoint accuracy for sinking popular LGBT headcanons and hetconning straight romance into old material.

That's Riverstar, Blossomfall, Ivypool, Leopardstar, Onestar (they replaced a firestar scene man), and now Thriftear and Flipclaw in one fell swoop?

Not to mention how everyone was joking around about "Old Woman Yuri" with Tawnypelt and Leafstar and then BAM, Sudden Crowfeather.

Like idk. Watch Barley get a super edition called Barley's Boo where it's revealed he once fell in love with a beautiful BloodClan she-cat who he had to leave behind, until it's revealed she's in WarriorClan now, so he leaves the barn to get her pregnant before dying. And also she's his first cousin.

That's a joke but if Apollo hits me with the dodgeball I hope he kills me in 1 hit

THE FLIPCLAW/MYRTLEBLOOM FAMILY TREE FIX

thank god. This is actually an extremely easy fix for me, now. All the pre-emptive cleaning I've done for the BB!ThunderClan family tree has paid off.

I Don't Rewrite Arcs Until They're Done, BUT, I have discussed the previous options at length before and how I intend to fix it. If you're reading along but need to catch up on the convo and context, follow these links in order,

Summary and Intro: BB!ThunderClan and the Propositions (ShellFern, StormCherry, FlipBay, or PlumThrift)

Anon ShellFern argument

Anon StormCherry argument

Hypokit Moonpaw Designs for All Four Options

Phantom of the Opera FlipBay Moonpaw

StormCherry Voter who changed their mind for FlipBay or PlumThrift

All caught up? Nice.

PlumThrift is sooooo back. It's basically what they've shown in the first book of CS. Soccer moms and their weird ass kid who they're desperately pushing to be an overachiever LET'S GOO. The most likely thing that will happen is that Moonpaw is a PlumThrift kitten-- unless something big changes.

(Though I am a little bit saddened that I can't do the cool Phantom of the Opera mask thing which came from Bayshine... unless Moon was honor sired, of course. Or maybe adopted. Hmm...)

For Oakkit, Sunkit, and Hazelkit though, I'm leaning towards what anon mentioned. Their canon parents are Myrtlebloom/Flipclaw, so it would be very easy for me to change to FlipBay because of my pre-emptive fixes. It'll match canon, and I have also grown fond of the idea of the two silly dads.

(plus then it's extra easy to have Moonpaw come from the first surrogated litter which was for PlumThrift to raise, and the second litter is for FlipBay. Biologically full siblings, socially cousins.)

That said, there's still a small chance they get shuffled over to ShellFern. Or, more radically, I might end up sending them over to StormCherry. If that doesn't happen though, don't worry, I'm still keeping Honeyfur and Leafshade in my back pocket in case there's no other opportunities to give them kids.

I will say this for certain though-- PlumThrift BB!Moonpaw would never have full siblings. She will be the only child they ever raise. If the canon parents ever have another litter, they would immediately get shuffled to FlipBay or someone else.

Sunbeam's kittens are, of course, Finchlight's. im punting that other thing into RiverClan. GIT.

OTHER FUN STUFF

I do actually want more mushroom names broadly, because sapient cats would actually be REALLY interested in fungi. I'd even say they'd be more interested in them than flowers. A lot of edible fungi have a chemical compound that makes them smell and taste like meat, so imo, they should be kind of like natural snacks or treats you can find while out and about.

Kinda like how humans have fruit, a culture of cats would have mushrooms. I plan on researching and writing a VERY elaborate mushroom guide at some point explaining this all in-depth (which I will be going thru my little "rolladex" of artists to illustrate it, when it's time), so I don't want to dive into the details just yet.

But in terms of names...

Something I wish I'd been able to do more of is weird, hard-to-translate prefixes. Scents that humans overlook, more time-related names about seasons or crepuscular events, categories of birds and invertebrates, etc.

Petricorfur, Prey-scent-tail, Arionbelly (a particularly large slug for eating), Rascalheart (a particularly feisty bit of prey that gives you a good chase), Thermalhawk (a thermal is a rising wind that allows birds of prey to soar more easily) etc.

If I was going back and scrounging up Glitch Warriors for other Clans, or just generally shaking up the prefixes, I would add names with these "themes" into each Clan;

Thunder: Sweet things and more wood-related terms Nectar, Drupe, Sap, Pith, Grain, bark textures like Fissure, Scale, Tessel.

River: More aquatic animal terms, poetic imagery, and "beautiful" things Caddis, Cray, Salmon, Roe, Mussel, Pearl, Dazzle, Twirl, Dance, Sway, Mirror (for the state of water when it's absolutely calm).

Wind: Sounds, events around the time of birth Bellow, Hiss, Roar, Crackle, Swale (if born around the time of a muirburn), Journey (if born out of camp), Drowsy (for a long birth)

Shadow: Mushrooms, wetland terms, fermentation effects, names that might otherwise sound like insults to other Clans Cake, Candle, Jelly, Parasol, Elf, Sphagnum, Gas, Drake (male duck), Muck, Peat, Bog, Fizzle, Bubble, Rot, Blight, Gnat, etc.

Sky: Cars and Suburban Terms Truck, Bike, Cycle, Wheel, Asphalt, Lawn, Fence, Board, Shingle, etc.

I also really want to put Vetch in someplace. It's a pretty normal and common kind of flower, I just think the name is neat.

@angelinelitalady

Firestar's Quest Chapter 5: "ARE YOU TELLING ME SKYCLAN HAD TO LEAVE BECAUSE THERE WEREN'T ENOUGH FUCKING TREES????"

Canon? I will never not answer Bumble, you're going to have to give me two guns to ask this kind of question because there isn't a version of me in any nearby timelines that would say anyone except Bumble. It should be a rocket launcher, actually. We need to give her the nuclear codes. In BB I'd give it to Spotty. It would be REALLY funny. 25% of the story is preventing the rise of TigerClan and the other 75% of the story is taking the gun away from her.

HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR ALSO! IT'S SNAKE TIME BABEYYYY

@magewolf-the-artist

Do it! Go ahead! I can put it over in the Fan-Fanart post if you'd like. I should really make a section there for written art, too.

Everything about BB and everything WC-related I put on this blog is open source, from Clanmew, to plot threads, to Clan Culture, etc. PLEASE reference what you'd like if you're inspired by anything you see here!

The only thing I ask is that you keep that spirit of mutual collaboration alive. If you add onto Clanmew, allow others to reference it too. Talk about your thought processes. Encourage people to be inspired by what you did and make versions of their own. That's the beauty of fandom.

My end-game goal is for BB to result in a "skeleton" of chapter-by-chapter notes, the sort of thing you would hand to a ghost writer, so that it's essentially bones that anyone could take and write out themselves. This will take a looooong time because it's more about me having fun along the way, so if you want to write something, go ahead!

Never, never worry about "getting something wrong." You can change things, you can grow as a writer with time, wisdom, and practice. The worst piece of art is a piece that is never made.

[apod]

2025 May 25

Beneath Jupiter Image Credit & Copyright: NASA, Juno, SwRI, MSSS; Processing & License: Gerald Eichstädt & Seán Doran

Explanation: Jupiter is stranger than we knew. NASA's Juno spacecraft has now completed over 70 swoops past Jupiter as it moves around its highly elliptical orbit. Pictured from 2017, Jupiter is seen from below where, surprisingly, the horizontal bands that cover most of the planet disappear into swirls and complex patterns. A line of white oval clouds is visible nearer to the equator. Impressive results from Juno show that Jupiter's weather phenomena can extend deep below its cloud tops, that Jupiter's center has a core that is unexpectedly large and soft, and that Jupiter's magnetic field varies greatly with location. Although Juno is scheduled to keep orbiting Jupiter further into 2025, at some time the robotic spacecraft will be maneuvered to plunge into the giant planet.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap250525.html

[midnightshindig]

So if Cecil (through some magic SciFi bullshit or smth) ended up with viltrimite-style super powers, how do you think he'd deal with that? Would he keep them under wraps for the element of surprise or pivot into superhero training and end up with a better appreciation for his supes? And how'd he handle it personally? Would he have a Donald moment?

I just like shaking this old man

superhero!Cecil hcs!

okay this isn't x reader or anything i'm just spitballing

hcs under the cut!

Cecil is randomly bestowed upon powers

We'll say generic superhuman abilities, akin to but not as powerful as a viltrumite

maybe as strong as Oliver, we'll say

but he's MUCH more coordinated

He's had years of field training in non-powered combat

so now he's just showing off

initially he'd be so fucking freaked out

demands the lab keep him in working-quarantine (they lock him in an observation room with a walkie talkie and a laptop) to see if he's dangerous

he isn't

and then he goes to Donald like "What do I do with this? Do I.... become a superhero?"

and Donald's like "bitch stfu we need a leader and nobody else can do it."

So Cecil doesn't become a superhero per se

but he doesn't let his powers go to waste

He starts using his abilities-- which reach Mark's level of strength-- to help train his superhero on the field

It honestly helps him realize the limitations of his superheroes on a more tactile level

He never realized even those who can fly get exhausted

So he goes SLIGHTLY easier on his team

which boosts empathy and everyone gets along better anyways so yay!!

Cecil abuses the fuck out of his powers

especially flying

He still teleports in case of emergency, so why wouldn't he? but he's much more willing to fly to casual things like meetings and training and shit.

He lowkey starts beef with the air force

bc why should HE have to memorize THEIR flight patterns?

and why do they keep trying to shoot him out of the sky?

"Unidentified flying object my ASS- I'm wearing an American flag and I'm carrying my GDA license with me right now."

-- Cecil, after getting detained by the Air Force for flying across a training area

He's still so fucking bitter about it

Sometimes it freaks him out

he has trouble adjusting

He keeps breaking the handles off his coffee mugs bc of his newfound grip strength

Mark helps him readjust to his new strength

"It can be jarring at first- but! You'll get used to it in no time, I promise."

"Are you sure? I don't know that the country can afford for me to keep breaking computer mouse's and steering wheels with my bear hands."

"Just relax and treat it like it's delicate- because it is. Everything is delicate to you now. Treat it like you'd hold paper. Don't crumble the paper. That's all."

and his advice is actually really helpful.

Cecil is gripped with guilt for not leaving to become a superhero

He knows objectively his leadership saves more lives than his powers ever would

but it doesn't feel that way

all the indirect carnage he prevents pales in comparison to the people he watches die on his big screen

knowing if he'd been there he could've caught that little girl

or the teenage boy falling from a building

or swooped under the father about to be crushed by a bus

etc etc etc

he loses some sleep over it, I won't lie.

Donald notices

and can't help but intervene

"Sir, I know you don't care what I think... but you're not responsible for those deaths."

Cecil snaps the handle off his mug, taking a deep breath and delicately picking it up by the cup itself and taking a sip of coffee before setting the mug down

"the Hell I'm not, Donald. I'm not some feeble old guy making the calls anymore, I could be out there, saving people!"

Donald notices Cecil is arranging money to be sent to the family's of the victims from the most recent supervillain attacks on his computer

that's such a him thing to do...

"Sir... you saved multiple TOWNS of people by correctly mitigating risk and positioning the right people in the right places."

"And seven adults and three kids are still dead, Donald. That's never going to be okay no matter how many lives I save."

Cecil stands up, fixing his lapel "This isn't the trolley problem, it's golf. It's not about the lesser of two evils, it's about me doing my god damn job to the best of my ability. And my ability needs to be better." He slammed his fist onto the desk

"My abilities ARE better, damnit! and-" he noticed the fist-shaped crater in his metal desk

he sits in his office chair, pressing his back into his and sighing

"And I'm still not saving every life."

Donald doesn't have much to say to that

[daydreamingoveracupofcoffee]

I loved your characters finding out their soulmate is a villainess and how they go about it (especially Shinso and Aizawas) I was wondering what it would be like if instead of their soulmates being a villainess they were a vigilante. As a completely separate version of the prompt or even as a continuation of the first one. Sorry I hope this makes sense.

Vigilantes are equated with villains, so the reaction of many characters is not much different if their soulmate were a villain. The characters will be more gentle and friendly to their soulmate vigilante. Both heroes and villains will try to win them over to their side. Below I have taken characters with whom, in my opinion, there would be interesting relationships.

The reaction MHA to their soulmate is a vigilante:

Shota Aizawa (Eraser Head):

Aizawa would be skeptical and cautious, his logical mind immediately assessing the risks of their vigilante actions. As someone who operates in the shadows himself, he’d understand their drive but disapprove of their reckless disregard for legal boundaries. The soulmate bond would complicate his usual detachment, forcing him to confront his feelings.

He’d track them down for a blunt conversation, likely in a dark alley.

“You’re making things harder for everyone, including yourself.”

His gruff exterior would hide a growing protectiveness, and he’d warn them about the dangers of their path while quietly admiring their resolve. Aizawa might even covertly keep tabs on them to ensure they’re safe.

Aizawa would push them to channel their skills into legal hero work, possibly recommending underground hero training. His pragmatic approach would balance respect for their independence with a firm insistence on doing things right.

Hawks (Keigo Takami):

Hawks would be intrigued but wary. As someone who navigates gray areas and works covertly for the Hero Public Safety Commission, he’d understand the vigilante’s motivations better than most. However, his loyalty to the system and awareness of its flaws would create a tension between his duty and the soulmate bond. He’d be curious about their skills and reasons, masking his concern with his laid-back charm. He’d swoop in with a teasing grin.

“So, my soulmate’s a rule-breaker? Gotta admit, that’s kinda hot.”

Hawks would probe their motives casually, using humor to defuse tension while subtly warning them about the dangers of vigilantism. He’d keep a close eye on them, possibly bending rules to protect them from arrest.

Hawks would try to persuade them to work within the system, offering to pull strings to get them licensed. His relaxed demeanor would hide a fierce protectiveness, and he’d wrestle with balancing his feelings for them against his obligations, potentially risking his own position to keep them safe.

Mirko (Rumi Usagiyama):

Mirko would be thrilled by the chaos of it all, her rebellious and fiercely independent nature resonating with her soulmate’s vigilante spirit. However, as a top hero who values strength and freedom, she’d be annoyed they’re risking their life outside the system, seeing it as reckless but admirable. The soulmate bond would ignite her protective instincts, though she’d never admit it outright.

“You’re my soulmate and a vigilante? Gotta say, you’ve got guts!”

Mirko would spar with them to test their skills, respecting their strength while bluntly warning, “Keep this up, and you’ll get crushed.” Her tough love would hide a growing attachment, and she’d keep tabs on them to ensure they don’t get caught.

Mirko would push them to channel their energy into legal hero work, but only if they can keep up with her standards. She’d admire their defiance, forming a fiery, passionate bond where they challenge each other to be stronger, though she’d never let them outshine her.

Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo would be angry, intrigued, and grudgingly impressed, masking his deeper feelings with bravado.

Upon discovering his soulmate is a vigilante, Bakugo would explode with frustration:

“What kind of idiot risks everything to play hero without a license?!”

He’d see their actions as reckless and a direct challenge to his own path as a pro hero. Yet, their defiance and strength would spark his interest, though he’d never admit it outright.

Bakugo’s competitive nature would make him view his soulmate as a rival at first, especially if they’re skilled or have a powerful Quirk. He’d be irritated by their disregard for the law but secretly admire their guts and ability to stand up to villains without backup. Over time, he’d grapple with his attraction and respect for them, conflicted by his rigid belief in being the best within the system.

Bakugo would confront them head-on, demanding they explain themselves. His harsh words would hide his concern, and he’d likely challenge them to a spar to “prove they’re not just some wannabe.” If they hold their own, he’d grudgingly acknowledge their strength. He’d warn them to stay out of trouble but would low-key keep an eye on them, ready to jump in if they’re in danger.

“If you’re gonna fight, at least don’t do it alone.”

Hitoshi Shinso:

Shinso would be unfazed on the surface, raising an eyebrow and saying something like, “A vigilante, huh? Figures my soulmate would be a rule-breaker.” Internally, he’d be analyzing their motives, intrigued by their defiance of the system. His own experiences with being misunderstood would make him open to hearing them out.

Shinso would feel a quiet kinship with his soulmate, especially if their vigilantism stems from feeling marginalized or disillusioned with hero society. He’d admire their courage to act outside the law, though he’d be blunt about the risks.

“You know you’re painting a target on your back, right?”

His soulmate bond would spark a protective streak, but he’d mask it with his usual deadpan demeanor.

Shinso’s pragmatic side would clash with his soulmate’s vigilante lifestyle. He’d point out the practical downsides—legal consequences, lack of backup, and the threat of villains like Stain or the Hero Public Safety Commission cracking down. However, he wouldn’t push them to join the hero system outright, as he’s skeptical of its fairness himself. Instead, he’d suggest they work together discreetly, using his Brainwashing Quirk to help them avoid capture or gather intel.

“If you’re gonna do this, at least let me make sure you don’t get caught.”

If they refused to change their ways, he’d accept it with a sigh, staying loyal but keeping a close watch.

Their relationship would be built on mutual understanding and subtle trust. Shinso’s dry humor and sharp wit would mesh well with his soulmate’s rebellious nature, creating a partnership where they challenge each other’s views. He’d be their strategist, helping them navigate the shadows while pursuing his own hero path. Over time, their bond would deepen through shared experiences of defying expectations.

Naomasa Tsukauchi:

Tsukauchi would be stunned and conflicted, his detective instincts kicking in immediately.

“A vigilante? That’s… a complication,”

He’d approach their first meeting cautiously, wanting to confirm they’re not a reckless lawbreaker.

Tsukauchi’s sense of duty would make him wary of his soulmate’s illegal activities, especially since he works to uphold the law. However, if their vigilantism is driven by a desire to protect (e.g., targeting villains the system overlooks), his empathy would lead him to see their perspective. The soulmate bond would deepen his protectiveness, though he’d struggle with balancing his feelings and his job.

Tsukauchi would firmly urge his soulmate to stop vigilantism, citing the legal risks and his own position.

“I can’t turn a blind eye forever—you need to work within the system,” he’d insist, offering to connect them with hero agencies or legal pathways. If they refused, he’d be torn, wrestling with his duty to report them versus his loyalty to his soulmate. Ultimately, he’d compromise by discreetly aiding them—sharing police intel to keep them safe—while pushing for reform in the hero system to address their grievances.

Their relationship would be grounded in mutual respect but tinged with tension. Tsukauchi’s calm professionalism would temper his soulmate’s rebellious streak, while their passion would challenge his by-the-book approach. They’d work in the shadows together, with Tsukauchi as the cautious strategist and his soulmate as the bold executor.

Himiko Toga:

A vigilante soulmate, with their rebellious independence and moral ambiguity, would likely fascinate her.

Toga would be thrilled by the soulmate bond, seeing it as a romantic destiny. A vigilante’s defiance of both heroes and villains would excite her.

“You’re so cool, living however you want! I wanna be just like you!”

She’d probably try to get close immediately, asking to see them fight or even offering to “taste” their blood.

Toga would follow the vigilante like a lovesick puppy, showing up at their missions uninvited. She’d mimic their style or ideals, but her violent tendencies might unnerve them. If they reject her advances, she’d pout but persist, saying, “You can’t hate me forever—we’re meant to be!”

If the vigilante’s justice avoids unnecessary bloodshed, Toga might struggle to understand their restraint.

“Why hold back? Don’t you love making them bleed?”

However, their shared rejection of society’s rules would keep her hooked, and she might tone down her lethality to impress them.

The relationship would be chaotic but affectionate, with Toga treating the vigilante as both a crush and a muse. Their independence would inspire her to express her “love” in healthier ways, though her instability could strain the bond. Over time, she might learn to respect their boundaries, forming a surprisingly loyal partnership.

Twice (Jin Bubaigawara):

Twice would embrace the soulmate bond enthusiastically.

“No way, my soulmate’s a badass vigilante?! I’m the luckiest guy alive!” His other personality might grumble, “They’re trouble, Jin, ditch ‘em!” but his dominant side would be smitten, eager to impress them.

Twice would admire the vigilante’s courage and independence, seeing them as a “hero” in their own way. However, he’d worry they’d reject him for being a villain.

“You don’t think I’m a bad guy, right? I mean, we’re soulmates!”

He’d double himself to help their missions, desperate to prove his worth.

The vigilante’s gray morality would confuse Twice, who sees the world in simpler terms (heroes vs. villains). If they oppose the League’s actions, he’d be torn between loyalty to his friends and his soulmate, leading to comedic outbursts like, “I can’t choose! You’re both my family—argh, I’m gonna split!”

Twice would be a supportive, if chaotic, partner, using his clones to back the vigilante’s missions. Their acceptance of his quirks (literal and figurative) could help him find stability, and he might question his villainy if they show him a different path. The relationship would be heartfelt, with the vigilante grounding his fractured psyche.

Stain (Chizome Akaguro):

Stain would view the soulmate bond with suspicion, believing emotions could cloud his mission. He’d stalk the vigilante, analyzing their actions to determine if they’re “worthy.” If their justice targets corrupt heroes or protects the innocent, he’d nod approving.

“You walk a path close to mine. Don’t stray.”

If the vigilante’s code diverges from his (e.g., sparing unworthy heroes or prioritizing personal motives), Stain would confront them, accusing them of weakness: “You’re no better than the fakes if you lack conviction!” If their ideals align, he’d see them as a fated ally, vowing to fight beside them to “purge the filth.”

The soulmate bond would unsettle Stain, as he prioritizes his mission over personal connections. He’d resist emotional attachment, but their shared outsider status could soften him slightly, especially if they prove their resolve. He might leave them a blade or token as a rare gesture of trust.

If their ideals align, they’d be a formidable duo, striking fear into corrupt heroes. If they clash, the bond could force Stain to question his black-and-white worldview, though he’d fight this introspection fiercely.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“Digging Your Own Grave” - Dean x Reader

“Digging Your Own Grave” - Dean x Reader

Rating Teen

Dean x Reader

Tags: Humor, Grumpy Dean, Adult Language, Fluff, Kissing, Reader Insert for “Optimism” Episode 14.6

Word Count: 1,000

Dean’s ego is wounded because of Jack calling him an old man. You aren’t doing anything to help Dean feel better.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my dialogue, "Did you just kiss me to shut me up?" “Nooo?” square.

Big thanks to @zepskies for the chat and prompt that helped me rattle this little drabble out.

You’d scoped out the library for Dean and Jack a couple hours ago. Harper Sayles had a smile that took up half her face in greeting. You filled out an application for a library card with your fake Nebraska license in order to get some intel on this bad luck charm of a librarian. 

Now, you’re waiting in Dick’s Red Rooster Diner while Jack swoops into the library to “save” Harper from the big bad FBI man that is Dean Winchester. To pass the time, you sip on a raspberry iced tea and relish a cinnamon roll while flipping through a spicy Nora Robert’s novel you also checked out. You’ll pop it into the drop slot tonight. You don’t need the specter of an overdue library book haunting your 2 am thoughts for years to come.

With the book fanned out in front of your face, you don’t notice Dean sat across from you until he clears his throat.

He looks miserable.

Totally fuckable but miserable.

“What happened? You peek out the picture window. “Where’s Jack?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Playing hero like we planned.” He grabs the cinnamon roll off your plate and stuffs half of it into his mouth and chews in deliberate, deep-in-thought, slow motion.

You frown at the sad state of affairs that is your significant other and also at the loss of your treat. “That’s good. He wanted to help on a case and he’s doing his bit.” You wait a beat. “Right?”

Dean swallows, then washes it down with some of your iced tea. “He called me an old man.”

Your hand holding the book flops to the tabletop with a thud that rattles the silverware.

You stare at him while he stares back at you with those apple green eyes.

He waits with those crow’s feet you love to trace with the tip of your finger when he sleeps. With etchings of furrowed forehead from years of contemplation and worry. With those perfect lips that aren’t quite as pouty as they used to be. With that one gray hair poking out atop his head of spiked strands.

“What’s funny about that?” Dean asks in irritation.

You realize too late that you’ve been grinning.

“Dean, he was probably just acting… you know, pointing out the obvious age…” You clamp your lips shut.

Dean’s eyes widen and he straightens in the chair.

“I mean, it’s Jack. He’s still learning the nuances of language.” You try and salvage what you can.

His brows quirk up. “He’s not the only one.”

You’re about to fire something back when Dean’s attention shoots to the window. You follow his lead. Jack and Harper are on the sidewalk outside the library. There’s another man talking to them before they part ways.

“Son of a bitch did it,” Dean mutters. “I’ll follow them.” He stands. “You,” he points at the linoleum by your feet, “Stay here.”

“Dean…”

“I don’t need a walker or a chaperone. And I don’t want to have to worry about you getting in trouble. If I need you, I’ll press my Life Alert button.”

“Be careful.”

He nods and manages a sort of smile.

~~~

You have stayed quiet since Dean called you to drive Baby to the back alley behind the library. Vance’s body was stuffed in the trunk by Dean, even though Jack offered to help. Vance’s body was pulled out of the trunk by Dean, even though Jack offered to help, and carried to the open grave by Dean.

Dean tossed Jack a proverbial bone with the shovel when Vance was safe and sound, coffin lid creaking shut. “Dig.”

Jack was downright giddy to shovel piles of graveyard dirt over what would now be Vance’s, hopefully, final resting place. The stake through the heart should ensure Harper’s zombie boyfriend stays good and buried.

You haven’t lifted a finger in the cemetery. Mainly because Dean hasn’t let you. You’ve kept careful watch over Jack and Dean and surveyed the surrounding pitch black for any danger. Harper Sayles sailed away and you don’t want any happy returns.

You should feel more at ease with Dean joining you by Baby’s trunk. But you can sense he’s still prickly. He’s breathing deeply in and out through his nose. He’s trying to hide the exhaustion and exertion of the entire ordeal. 

He stands next to you, shoulder to shoulder. He’s got your six, staring behind you as you survey Jack’s shoveling form in front of you in the lantern light. He’s chucking and tossing dirt in hyperdrive mode.

“Jack,” you whisper yell and his head whips in your direction, his bangs following a second later. “Bend at the knees.”

He nods and smiles, offering a thumbs up before taking your suggestion and getting back to work.

“Kid doesn’t need to worry about his joints. He’s not an old man.” Dean’s comment drips with sarcasm.

“Never too early to learn proper form.” You counter and look up to side-eye Dean. He stares down at you briefly, his mouth quirks up in a grin that lightens your heart.

It’s quiet except for crickets and the cyclical sounds of Jack’s shovel slicing into soft earth and the subsequent spatter atop the coffin lid.

You muster the courage to speak. “Dean, you’re not old. I mean if you’re old, then that means I’m old. And I am in no way, shape or form ready to admit that.”

Dean hums to let you know he’s listening.

“If anything you’re just older, you know. A seasoned hunter. Someone that Jack looks up to. Wants to emulate. Because of how much you know. How much good you’ve done. And, besides, you know what they say. With age comes…”

Your words are cut off by Dean’s lips, pressing with force against your open mouth. You moan at how warm he feels even with the chill in the air. He breaks off sooner than you’d like. He’s smiling, guarding your back at your side.

You feel your brows scrunch together. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”

He tilts his head, not looking at you, only offering his achingly beautiful profile. “Nooo?”

You chuckle. “Way to sound convincing. Then why?”

He shrugs. “You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.” He lifts a brow and glances at you. “And that, my dear, only comes from experience.”

[artbyblastweave]

ask game; Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl aka Antares

I've always thought that Victoria's first appearance is quite the bit of deft needle-threading.

The thing about Interlude 2 is that Vicky is our first example of one of this setting's established heroes actively fighting crime- not just swooping in to vulture up the accomplishments of an up-and-comer- and a therefore a major goal of the sequence is to ensure that the audience comes away structurally unnerved by what counts as business as usual for the heroes, set the stage for the hurricane of ass-covering to come. So we have a sequence where she lords her power over a baseline criminal who has no realistic chance to fight back or get away, where she cripples and nearly kills him in a display of excessive force, where she uses her connections to other capes to duck out on the consequences of her excess once she realizes that she's crossed certain moral and optical Rubicons. All of this is gross, all of this speaks to an alarmingly cavalier attitude amongst even the most ostensibly accountable heroes. And from a protagonistic perspective, all of this serves to soften the blow of Taylor's actions at the bank in act three, because we're predisposed to see Vicky as an arrogant, overprivileged loose cannon who'd actually have a significantly higher body count than all of the Undersiders put together if not for the cushion afforded to her by her status as a superhero. A golden child up against the already put-upon underdog.

But. She also does all of that to a Neo-Nazi, who was fresh off committing a hate crime. I mean, if this was violence against a purse-snatcher, a drug-dealer- It would be very, very easy to block this sequence in a way that would set her up as a villain and nothing else for the rest of the work. In The Boys, for example, Homelander debuts by incinerating one bank robber's hand and throwing another a thousand feet into the air to land hard on a parked car, and the dissonance between that casual brutality and his chumminess with the onlookers is the thematic backbone for... basically the entire show, because he was in such total control of the situation that the only reason to do it that way is that he fundamentally doesn't care. In Super Crooks, it's made abundantly clear that the superheroes trying to arrest the titular supervillains are significantly more destructive to the city than the villains are, because their institutional backing removes any incentive to do anything but pursue the flashiest arrests possible for the sake of ratings. But Glory Girl? She's a sixteen year old putting her money where her mouth is on the unconsidered-dilettante suburban-left-ish tumblrite rallying cry of punching a Nazi. She's living out a near-boilerplate superheroic fantasy of righteous violence against an uncomplicatedly righteous target- likely a fantasy entertained at least once by the median cape fan, if we're being honest- and then, in the aftermath, blood on her hands and on the pavement, staring down the full weight of the prospect of actually having killed a person in an unconsidered spate of rage, is very much a panicked teenager about it, scrambling for a way to walk it back.

Which, independent of the specifics of whether this particular asshole had it coming, is the problematic element of this that generalizes- that superheroism in this world is a system that puts the social license to use concrete-shattering power in the hands of a kid with the judgement and attitude of someone scheming up ways to dodge curfew. She's done this before, she's gonna keep doing this, she's gonna keep being two-faced about it with her public-facing golden-girl image. But she wasn't wrong to be angry. And the fact that this is the kind of thing she gets angry about is hard to separate from later beats where she tries to do right by people, hard to separate from her willingness to put herself on the line against Endbringers and the Slaughterhouse 9. It's a bad situation, a horrible system that's guaranteed to incentivize bad behavior, they shouldn't be assigning any of this shit to a 17-year-old. But later on, when things go south for her, the seeds are planted so that she can retain audience sympathy in a way that she likely wouldn't be able to if this story was a banal hatswap, with unfairly maligned "villains" who do no real wrong against supervillains who happen to call themselves superheroes.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

i'd like to report a crime - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: anxious work stress + leon comfort!!, leon being a fucking goober Notes: when i'm at work I'm always picturing him swooping in to save me...... leon kennedy if you can hear me please protect me from 9-5 hell... and like I said before, I would LOVE requests or prompts for this fic, I have so many ideas but I can't commit to any of them lol.

Standing in the bullpen at work today, you had a thought. Maybe they called it “medieval torture” because that was a whole lot catchier than “a shitty day at the busiest police precinct in Washington DC.”

It certainly felt like medieval torture to you. Before you’d even stepped into your big girl pants this morning, you knew that today was going to suck. Plain and simple. Suck. Yet another presidential event was bringing the Secret Service’s jurisdiction into your already hectic station, meaning that big square dudes in suits were going to be breathing down your neck until quitting time. You had three huge active cases that needed your attention. One of those cases came pre-packaged with a deeply annoying lawyer, who, in your professional opinion, has his head shoved a foot up his ass. He will absolutely be showing up to bother you today.

And worst of all: in your haste to get to work (Leon had put some serious effort into making you late), you’d accidentally worn a pair of super uncomfortable shoes! So now every waking moment of your existence was bonafide torture.

Clamping your jaw, you glance up from the paperwork in front of you and check your watch. Three o’clock. Right, okay, you can work with that.

You slap your hands down on your desk as you push out of your seat, and it gets a satisfying yelp out of the man sitting cross-legged beside it. He bristles up like a porcupine and nasally complains, “Where are you going, Detective Kennedy? You said we could—”

“Coffee, Douglas,” you bite back to said lawyer.

The last thing you want right now is some of the lousy, watered-down coffee from the station’s breakroom, but taking mini-breaks at your desk is just not an option anymore. Douglas has been camped out there from the moment you clocked in, and since you both refuse to budge, he’s going to stay there. Breakroom it is. You wince the whole way there, cursing your shoes from hell.

Someone forgot to start another pot of joe, so you have the absolute pleasure of doing it yourself. A small blessing in disguise, really. You give the glass pot your best thousand-yard-stare the whole time it heats the water, and just when the outline of it is starting to burn behind your eyelids, you’re jolted out of your glazed reverie by a cheerful, “Detective Kennedy!”

The officer appears at your side like she was there the entire time, and you wouldn’t put it past her—Giana is the latest in a long line of rookies who have imprinted on you over the years. Good kid, but a little on the overeager side.

She gives you a sympathetic frown and launches into way too much bubbly talking for your aching head to handle. “Heyo! Man, it’s crazy today, huh? You look beat, detective. Hey, think of it this way—just a few more hours and we’ll be home free! Any fun plans tonight?”

The question triggers a movie-style flashback sequence in your mind, complete with black-and-white visuals and some tasteful dream fog. Leon, your husband, boredly poking around the aisles of a new Target by your place. Leon discovering the boys' toy section. Leon, your beautiful, amazing husband, going starry-eyed at the massive NERF Elite Titan CS-50 Toy Blaster, which you’re pretty sure you need a license to operate.

He’d tapped the Nerf box like a boy on Christmas morning. “150 foam bullets, baby.”

But it would take a lot of energy to relay all of that to Giana. So instead of explaining that you’re having an epic Nerf duel with Leon when you get home (no headshots, loser makes dinner), you cooly answer: “...Spending time with my husband.”

Giana hums. “It’s so weird to me that you’re married…” (Thanks.) “I can’t even picture you not grinding away at some case.”

The coffee machine burbles out its last sad spit of coffee. You pour a good amount into your mug, smiling, “Oh, Leon’s just as bad. We’re both married to our work. He’s just my favorite mistress, s’all.”

Giana opens her mouth to launch into another cheery tirade you can’t catch up with. You like the girl, but on top of being way too eager, she’s also painfully see-through. For example, you don’t even have to turn around to know that a gloriously hot guy has just walked into the bullpen behind you. It’s written all over Giana’s owlish look over your shoulder. Hell, you can even clock that he’s heading straight this way—not only does Giana cross herself to bid away impure thoughts of the stranger, but she evaporates into smoke out of pure shyness.

“Look out!” She stage-whispers.

Aw. Poor girl, you think as she waddles away. Considering who’s going to be unloading a clip of foam bullets into you later this evening, (what a strange double entendre), you’re basically immune to hot guys. You can handle this.

“Excuse me, detective, I’d like to report a crime?”

All sense of professionalism poofs off your face at that familiar voice. You whirl to face your husband, and in one swift slash, the ten ton weight of your stress is slapped clean off your back.

Leon’s resting stare has slowly been absorbed by his Serious Agent Face. But today, he’s smoldering less in the business way and more in the off-duty model way. In a white tee, jeans, and racing-striped leather jacket, he certainly looks the part, clean-shaven and dewy-skinned. Fuck him and his unblemished skin. What Umbrella moisturizer was he using back in the day, dammit?

You’re capable of joking again and fall flawlessly into the bit. “Of course. What kind of crime, beautiful?”

He isn’t really able to look flustered, but you think you get close to the impossible with the way his head tilts at that line. You notice that he’s hiding something behind his back.

“A theft,” he answers. The tiniest smirk twitches on his mouth. “My heart’s been stolen.”

…What a fucking cornball. The tragic part is that you find the joke pretty funny, and not completely in the ironic way. He waits for you to giggle and twirl your hair or what-the-fuck-ever, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction, ducking into his quick hug to grin into his shoulder.

You groan at his awful joke. “Jesus. You need a fork for all that corn, Leon?”

“I take mine off the cob,” he drawls in your ear. With that voice, he could make anything sound suggestive.

You’re about to pout at him for failing to return your hug, when you draw back and see that his hands are full. It’s then that Leon presents his bounty to you, bowing his head and holding his trophies aloft like a knight giving respect to his princess: in one hand, one of the stupid expensive coffees you like, and in the other… your comfiest work flats.

“How?” is the first thing your fish brain manages to say. Because, truly, how does he always know? The coffee, the shoes— “Did you put a tracker in me? One that tells you everything I’ve been complaining about all day?”

You go slumping down into the nearest seat, mystified by him. Leon sets the still-steaming coffee down in front of you and kneels, stooping to help you out of your shoes-from-hell. The strap around your ankle has rubbed the bone raw even through your tights. He gets the clasp loose on the first shoe with little fussing, then soothes the skin with tender brushes of his thumb.

“Mhm,” he hums. All you can see of him from this angle is the layers of color in his hair, deep browns and ash blondes blending into one another. The smug pride in his voice is obvious—he loves knowing he’s read you well. “Tells me when you’re hungry, too. Have lunch with me?”

Please god, your body begs. Just picturing it loosens some of the tension in your neck. Like last time, the two of you would play-fight over where to eat, and your cute little delivery boy would go pick up the winner. That way, you wouldn’t have to waste a single moment of your allotted thirty-minute lunch. Leon would pull up a seat at your desk (maybe scare Douglas off with a flash of his badge), and you’d get a blissful, uninterrupted dose of him. Enough to get you through the rest of your shift.

He’d be too deep in Professional Agent Mode to babble like he does at home, but Leon’s raspy chuckles and his hand on your knee would tide you over til’ five.

…But no, the universe is never that kind to you. You wince at Leon’s offer and drop an apologetic hand to his shoulder, still knelt at your feet and working on your other shoe. He’s too good to you. “M’ sorry, baby, but I think I’m gonna have to work through lunch if I wanna get home on time. Rain check?”

He doesn’t mind. He throws a squinty warning stare your way, not happy that you’re getting dangerously close to overworking yourself, but he understands.

A sly smile creeps onto Leon’s face as he helps you slip on a flat. “I could talk to your Captain. What if you were pulled away for a ‘federal emergency?’”

“Then I think me and my Captain would implode from stress,” you laugh. “He’d think I’d been drawn into some national crisis or something.”

Leon scoffs. “That’s only happened, like, once.”

The other flat welcomes your poor, aching foot like a jacuzzi hot tub, and you take a deep magical sip of the overpriced coffee he got special for you. It trumps the watery breakroom joe any day.

For a minute you’re so stupidly happy that you could easily punch a boulder clean off a cliff. Hell, you might even twirl your hair.

“One too many times!” You groan. Since he’s being all cute and kneeling at your feet, you can’t resist poking him a couple of times to be silly. In the chest. In the cheek. In the heart. Stage-whispering, you accuse, “I think you just like having excuses to work with me.”

Leon finishes helping you into your shoes, but he’s in no hurry to leave his spot. One of his rough hands finds yours in your lap and toys with your wedding band, twisting it, testing the groove where it’s been sitting for a few years now. Those big blue eyes fix on your face. You’re married to the guy, but something about being the subject of all his naked attention makes you feel like shrieking into a damn pillow. He’s the best. Judging by that mean little smile on his face, he knows it’s true.

He gives your hand a little squeeze and points out, “I was your partner before anyone else. We never got our buddy cop beat—so yes, I will shove myself into your world since I can’t pull you into mine.”

You’re grateful he still thinks that way. Getting him to talk about Raccoon is harder than pulling teeth, but this—your partnership, whether that be as cops in an imaginary second life, or as husband and wife—never fails to pry him right open.

You’d been asked before if it was frustrating, how your paths had split after the city had blown. The two of you had come from the same spot and endured the same things, but where Leon had soared up, you’d kept to what you knew. No part of you envied him for it. In his mind, the two of you were still the same unit you’d been then, endlessly loyal to one another. You watched Leon’s back and—clearly, he watched yours.

“You’re my favorite,” you tell him, sweetly petting his chin. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you at our Nerf duel when I get home.”

All the buttery tenderness wipes from his face, and in an instant he’s on his feet, clapping a scarred hand down onto your shoulder and bending to whisper fiercely in your ear. “I’d like to see you try.”

He smushes a kiss to your cheek, waves a friendly, “See ya,” and melts back into the current of the rowdy bullpen. You hate to see him leave, but by god, you love to watch him go.

A few seconds after Leon says his goodbye, Giana, your rookie, peers around the open door of the break room. Her patchy blush goes all the way down to her uniform collar. “...Nevermind. I can definitely picture you married, Detective Kennedy…”

-

Ask to be added to my Leon taglist!

[hanaybuns]

Karamatsu and...Black Jack?

ok, so i value integrity and i keep my promises. i made a post a few days ago saying that i would read black jack because of this official art

basically, i was curious why they chose black jack for karamatsu. i was vaguely familiar with the other characters, but i had never read black jack.

osomatsu is the franchise's poster child, so of course he would be atom, who is also osamu tezuka's most famous character.

i'm not familiar with phoenix, but honestly the story seems very compelling and in all transparency, i have no idea how it connects to choromatsu

Ichimatsu as hyakkimaru is somewhat fitting, as hyakkimaru has a very hardened disposition after living without most of his body parts. he also has a similar dynamic with jyushimatsu that hyakkimaru has with dororo.

jyushimatsu as leo and todomatsu as sapphire kind of fit with their respective gimmicks (jysuhimatsu as the animal character and todomatsu as the only female/feminine character, though i've never read either manga so there's probably more meaning to this)

but my favorite character is karamatsu, so i wanted to look into why specifically black jack was chosen for him.

I read around 6 volumes of Black Jack and let me say, it's peak. I honestly thought it would feel outdated and/or simple in it's narrative structure, but every chapter is so compelling. osamu tezuka was a licensed physician (though he didn't practice), so he's able to fully explore some really interesting takes on life and death and where medicine fits between them.

so, i read on, trying to figure out why they chose black jack for karamatsu. was it for the pun on his name (karack jack)? was it because they were running out of characters? was it just because of the eyebrows?

Maybe it's all of those things, but there's something that won't leave my head. over time I continuously thought the same thing after reading every chapter: Black Jack... is COOL

he's so cool, he just is. Black Jack is a genius unlicensed doctor who charges exorbitant fees for his procedures. most of the time, his patients come to him as a last ditch effort and he's able to swoop in and save the day. He has this really aloof attitude outwardly, but in private he shows his immense care and consideration for his patients. feeling devastated when he fails to save one.

he also just tends to hide his more tender emotions in general, only really expressing them in his internal monologue or when he's alone.

does that remind you of anyone? anyone at all?

ok so you may think it's a stretch, which I get. but hear me out! sometimes SOMETIMES... karamatsu is also cool. i'm honestly not gonna go through all his cool moments... because i talk about it in every other post i make (punching oso is definitely one of his best moments) but according to this post, even in season 1 when he was at his least cool, Fukuyama Jun agrees with me!

"Fukuyama Jun (Ichimatsu’s VA) said that Karamatsu is a ‘cheat character’ because despite being a supposedly-painful character, he shows his cool/mature personality as a big brother way too often, especially in ep 24."

my thing is, beyond being cool, i still feel like black jack and karamatsu are kind of similar. honestly, in my mind, black jack sort of feels like an older, more jaded karamatsu.

because we actually kind of see him become more burnt out and jaded as time goes on. like, this is what he looks like during his daily life in the takoyaki party movie

now ofc, this montage is kinda showing that the bros are bored with their daily existences... but they don't all look like this. most of them mainly look lethargic. if anything, karamatsu looks a bit apathetic.

and ofc we can't forget what he looks like in the latest official art

(though, this is more for comedic effect than anything lol)

and don't worry, ofc karamatsu still has his karamatsuisms in the movie, but they're definitely not as exaggerated as they once were.

now all of this is to say that i believe as time goes on, karamatsu is becoming more and more... stoic? dulled? i mean, season 1 kara is almost a completely different character than current kara. @brofightiscancelled made a really good point and speculated that in s4, they're really gonna lean into the exclusivematsu bit with him. i very much agree, especially because karamatsu's butt monkey status has been greatly reduced (though he's still the main target for any totty dryness or residual ichimatsu aggression).

(btw, i think the others are also much more dull, but karamatsu, todomatsu, and osomatsu feel more drained vs. jyushimatsu and ichimatsu feel more so mellowed out. choro is actually the only one who became more intense. i also believe that karamatsu's progression is a bit more distinct, simply because he basically lost his defining gimmick from s1, while the others still have some of their gimmicks from s1.)

But another trait that I feel black jack and karamatsu share is how dedicated to their world view they are. or i guess how unyielding they are? and thats actually not always a good thing for either character. black jack always does things the way he wants to, even if it lands him in jail. he refuses to get a medical license because it would force him to practice medicine by the books. and he's extremely stubborn in his fees, he's convinced that any amount of money is worth saving a life. he'll charge people who clearly don't have the funds large sums of money, no matter what.

karamatsu is the same, but uh, the things he's stubborn about are way dumber

they also are both extremely dedicated to their appearance, even if others disapprove.

(btw black jack is constantly mocked for the brown patch of skin on his face and told to remove it. but he refuses to because his childhood friend, who is biracial, donated it to him)

in conclusion, the staff were cooking when they gave black jack to karamatsu. i think they were aware of their subtle similarities, but also they were aware that karamatsu is seen as cool and wanted to give the coolest character to him. this was just a very long post to express that.

also, here's an akatsuka reference i found in black jack

[skydiveswoop]

What Should You Wear For Your First Skydive

When you're preparing for your first skydive, you should wear comfortable clothing and follow the guidelines provided by the skydiving center. Here's what you should typically wear for your first skydive:

Comfortable Clothes: Wear comfortable, weather-appropriate clothing. Dress in layers if the weather is cold, but avoid bulky clothing that might restrict your movement. Think of athletic wear or comfortable casual clothing.

Closed-Toe Shoes: Wear athletic shoes or sneakers with laces that provide a snug fit. Closed-toe shoes are essential for safety and comfort during the jump. Avoid open-toed shoes, sandals, or flip-flops.

Jumpsuit: Many skydiving centers provide jumpsuits to wear over your clothing. These jumpsuits help protect your clothing and provide some aerodynamic benefits during the freefall.

Eyewear: If you wear prescription glasses or contact lenses, make sure you have them with you. Skydiving centers often provide goggles to protect your eyes from wind, so you can wear your regular glasses or contacts underneath if necessary.

Sunscreen and Lip Balm: If you're skydiving in a sunny location, apply sunscreen to protect your skin from the sun's rays. Lip balm can help prevent chapped lips, especially at high altitudes.

Hair Ties: If you have long hair, it's a good idea to tie it back to prevent it from getting tangled in the wind during the jump.

Jewelry and Accessories: Remove any loose or valuable jewelry, watches, or accessories that could become dislodged during the Skydiving jump. It's best to leave such items behind or in a secure place.

The specific requirements and gear provided may vary by skydiving center, so it's essential to follow their instructions and ask about any unique recommendations they may have. Safety is a top priority in skydiving, so adhering to the guidelines provided by your instructor and the center is crucial for a safe and enjoyable first jump.