#the idea of fighting like that and being so damaged by it and still having enough green new springtime things in you to step away

[omegaseverywhere]

Omega!Ghost who did not put down your file the moment Laswell said you would be joining Taskforce 141. Who took one look at your face, your rank, your skillset and felt his clit throb. Who, when he caught a whiff of your scent, had a panic attack in the bathroom because he couldn't stop slicking. Omega!Ghost who stalks behind you silently, staring. Sometimes, he's in the corner of the room. Sometimes, hes right behind you. Multiple times a day, you will turn around and he will be there, just looking at you. Locked in. Pupils dilated. He can't help it. He likes looking at you. (Gaz had to take you aside and tell you that no, Ghost isn't hunting you. He really isn't. I know...I know it feels like it but I promise-)

Omega!Ghost who says nothing to you for weeks after you meet. Not a damn thing. Not even when you both are with the other members of the taskforce. And because he doesn't say anything for a while, when he does - a little awkward compliment that reminds you of Shang from Mulan - you nearly shit yourself. Omega!Ghost who casually threatens anyone he hears may have a thing for you. Other Omegas. Betas. Alphas. Anyone can catch his hands. "You'll never find the body isn't a great threat. A better one would be "They'll be finding your body parts for months...and you'll be alive for at least one of them." (Price had to stop him because recruits were dropping like flies) Omega!Ghost who had a DNR tattoo and offical medical DNR papers to match but no longer does because of you. He believed no one would ever miss him. You proved him wrong, therefore he will now fight Death itself in your name if it comes to it. Omega!Ghost who has no idea how to court or show someone he's interested. Who also knows he's a giant tank of a man who can probably rip a person in half with his bare hands. Who decides that 'Alpha's like a strong mate right? S what Google says.' Who starts lifting random heavy objects when you are around for no reason.

Omega!Ghost who found out you took lunch in your car on Fridays when not on a mission and decided to join you once and then promptly exited the vehicle when you asked him why he decided to deadlift the fridge that morning. He was not prepared for that and he made a split second decision to leave immediately. (Soap is still laughing about it)

Omega!Ghost who is relieved when you start making moves. Who sinks into you so quickly, falling into his barely used Omega instincts to chirp and purr and submit. Who beams behind his mask when you order him food and drinks, when you leave him a scent-fused hoodie, when you train with him and push him to go harder...you aren't together but you will be and it makes him so happy.

Omega!Ghost who only agrees to go through a heat to purge his body if you are around to guard him. He isn't going to ask you to join him - because he isn't sure if either of you are ready for that - but he wants you to guard him. He trusts you to guard him. Keep him safe.

Omega!Ghost who, when asked if he was going to guard you during your rut, wondered why it was even a question. He was going to do that regardless. No one is getting to you. He'll rip people apart with his teeth if they think they have the balls to approach your rutting room.

Omega!Ghost who gets an incredibly thorough examination done just to see if he has any damage that would prevent him from having pups. He never thought about pups before but now that he's met an Alpha that he wouldn't mind having pups with, he needs to know. He frames the report that tells him that he's perfectly fertile.

Omega!Ghost whose purr is the loudest thing about him. Its very much giving motorcycle revving. He always hated it but it seemed to be the only thing that kept you stable when you were being evacuated, unconscious, and bleeding out from three separate bullet wounds so he doesn't think its so bad anymore.

Omega!Ghost who gets gooey when you scent the inside of his masks when he has to go on his own missions. Its grounding, having your scent nearby. Keeps him focused. Keeps him determined to not fuck anything up. Keeps him coming home.

Omega!Ghost who makes a horrifically embarrassing noise the moment you knot him for the first time and feeling grateful that you are too preoccupied with burying your fangs in his neck to claim him to notice. He does, however, notice the noise you make when he bites you back and teases you for it for the rest of your lives.

[shyjusticewarrior]

do you think any of Jason's goons are familiar faces from his Robin days? I imagine that there had to have been a few regulars that were in the work to make ends meet and not for the thrill of trying to fight a flippy kid in a cape. I just kinda like the idea of a bunch of the more decent old hands in the goon pool having Red Hood, who recently decapitated a bunch of sleezeballs, show up on their doorsteps and recruit them for managing his warehouse inventory & new recruits.

Jason: I need someone competent to run my books...is Bill still around?

It's an interesting idea. I don't think jaybin would've thought about ever working with them so I don't think he was paying much attention to that sort of thing.

Jason did wind up employing Suzie Su, someone who he fought in RHATO 2011. In Prince of Gotham he offered her redemption and gave her the Iceberg Lounge.

Fun fact: a criminal did recognize Jason as being the Robin he fought once.

Him and his gang attacked the revived & brain damaged Jason for sleeping on their turf, and Jason fought them off with muscle memory. The guy realized it was the old Robin and tipped off Talia's people, which is how she found out that Jason was alive. (Under The Red Hood)

[faunandfloraas]

inadvertently stopped using my freckle fade cream without thinking.... right around the time i started making gifs of felix.... coincidence?

[moist-von-lipwig]

the way the regular non-extended LOTR essentially cuts out all the Eowyn/Faramir romance scenes is a crime really

[foldingfittedsheets]

In honor of my nine year anniversary with my beloved wife please enjoy a story from our third date.

Just gonna reemphasize that. Our third date. We were still very much getting to know each other. We were virtually strangers.

We had been intending to do a meetup at a nerdy cafe with a group of people, but unbeknownst to us there had been a tragedy in the group and everyone else bailed. My beloved and I made the best of it. We had a nice date. I horrified them by eating sliders in three bites but it wasn’t a deal breaker.

Afterward I was driving us back to my place when a car came up and rear ended me. It was a pretty light bump but I was still like, well. That car hit me, time to pull over and exchange info.

Except the other car decided to instead shoot past me and drive away.

Infuriated, I pursued.

From the passenger seat, a captive on a third date with someone else in control of the car and pursuing strangers into the darkness, my beloved said, “Uh, what’s the plan here?”

“They hit me! We need to exchange information!”

Indeed. I did not have a plan. The plan was that when you hit someone with your car you exchanged insurance information. I would pursue until that happened.

The offending car led us a merry chase and as I followed through winding pitch black forest roads I felt the tiniest inkling of misgiving. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea? Pursuing someone into the darkness? But I persisted.

I wasn’t being propelled by a plan or even stubbornness but instead I followed a blazing righteousness. Fundamentally I knew that when you hit someone’s car you talked to them afterward. It was an inexorable fact. They would not escape the talking portion of this event.

When the car pulled into a trailer park I fully realized that this was not, in fact, a good idea. Inside the other car was a couple who were clearly having an argument and it seemed increasingly unlikely that they had insurance info to swap.

With a sigh I said, “Will you pull out your flashlight? Let’s see if my bumper is damaged.”

We got out of the car and inspected my bumper together. It actually looked fine, and I was about to call it when the woman got out. It was instantly clear she was under some chemical influence, her pupils dilated absurdly large. She attempted a poor performance as she said, “Oh, did we hit you?”

“Yeah,” I said flatly, “but I think it’s fine. I don’t see any damage.”

“We weren’t sure, uh, if we did, we didn’t think we did but we just weren’t sure.” She shifted anxiously foot to foot.

It was time to leave, a fact which became clearer when the man stepped out, eyes buzzing in his skull. He feigned innocence and radiated an aura of someone barely tethered to reality. My beloved and I waved them off and got back in my car to drive away.

As we did my beloved let out a huge gust of air as if they’d been holding their breath.

“Are you okay?”

“I was so squared up ready to fight them,” they said. “I’m glad we didn’t.”

I turned to look at them in astonishment. “Why would we have fought?”

“Are you joking? You followed them at 11pm to a trailer park! The second we got out of the car I was in a fighting stance. What did you think would happen?”

“I- I don’t know. That we’d talk and then go home? But. I can see now that driving after a car that tried to do a hit and run may not have been that safe…”

“You think!!!”

We sat in silence for a while before we burst out in relieved laughter.

“You were ready to fight?” I asked.

“I do kung fu! That guy looked so shady, I was ready to kick his ass, but I really didn’t want to.”

Unbelievably, they agreed to more dates, and eventually married me, but more often than not they’re the one driving.

[jojolimons]

lmao finished pepper grinder before downloading the qol update

[wormspoodle]

okay. au thing (?) i needed to get out of my head (its been sitting there for 2 months) its pretty half baked so bear with me

more context/ drawings under the cut:

im not sure if this has been done before, im pretty out of it fandom wise,, but!! this takes place during "Time Traveler's Pig" (s1 ep9)

the idea is that, while fighting over the time tape, dipper and mabel end up running into krampus and henceforth get taken by the krampus and the time tape gets dropped/ left behind in the process (classic)

ford hears the ruckus ofc and goes to investigate like he does in tbob j3 pages and also gets taken by krampus,, dipper and mabel see him and assume it must be a young stan or something bc at this point in the show they don't know anything!

they've never met bill, they only really know/remember mcgucket from the gobblewonker, and they don't know stan has a brother

so they just assume life was hard on stan and he looks different because he's younger (something still feels off to them ofc)

anyway story proceeds how it does in canon, ford is arguing at the krampus while dipper and mabel remember that they dropped the time tape and are also trying to plot a way out, mcgucket shows up and saves the day, and because dipper and mabel don't really know where to go from here, they decide to see if that guy is stan (which he is but not the one they're thinking of)

they all make their way back to the lab/shack for the time being, dipper and mabel find the time tape on the way back and it's damaged (another classic) so ford and mcgucket will have to fix it ofc

some conversations are exchanged, information is gleaned, dipper and mabel watch tv to pass the time and end up seeing on of stan's commercials on the tv and the dots start to slowly connect that something is going on here

those are the more. fleshed out concepts, everything else is pretty vague and undecided but ill also probably never revisit this

some more details/thoughts:

- ford is wearing no winter clothes bc im assuming when he grabbed the lantern to investigate the foot prints, he didn't think much and just threw on his boots or something, which is why he has to take refuge in that cave to stave off frostbite

- dipper and mabel don't connect that old man mcgucket is fiddleford mcgucket bc i don't think they a) think about mcgucket that much to make that connection at this point and b) assume he's just related and not the same person given how old old man mcgucket looks

-dipper does have the journal on him but he's keeping it hidden ofc just in case,, after they find out about stan he'd find out ford is the author probably but i don't want him figuring it out beforehand bc it would complicate things (i also don't think hed show ford his journal bc of. time/ space continuum reasons

- maybe bill will show up or something i dunno. dipper and mabel are armed with the j3 that knows bill is dangerous but they've also never met bill

- idk if they'll find out about the portal, idk if mabel will try and bring stan and ford together, idk what happens,, maybe the time police catch them before they do anything,, shrugging my shoulders

-this au doesn't really have a point i just wanted to draw it bc its fun for me to think about the implications !!

[redflagshipwriter]

Snitches the cat and his favorite bat

I wrote up dpxdc fics based off of prompts I happened to see in the last day to add to the reading pile for anyone who didn't prep for the archive down time today.

EDIT

The idea for Danny as a cat came from @shycorvid, thank you so much for correcting me and letting me play in your sandbox!

Snitches the cat comes from @garbagewith-a-cherryontop (I think??? I couldn't find a definite first post!) but the fantastic linked post is the one with how I think Snitches the cat looks here.

Word count is 1053.

Tumblr reference

masterpost for my AO3 downtime fics

“Ugh- that's not- did we just summon a demon cat?”

“It's so messed up looking. Ew.”

Danny blinked and swayed on his feet. He'd had a tail a minute ago, speeding across the GZ to check in on Walker. There had been an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. And now he was on his feet. All four of them.

Wait, what?

“You fucked this up.”

His ears twitched at the sound of a slap. Danny swiveled towards the sound and then got distracted by the feeling of his ears swiveling back. Whaaaaat?

He looked down at his precious little feeties. They were adorable paws.

“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. It came out as a conversational yowl.

The humans looked at him from about ten feet away and five feet up. “Annoying…”

He was pretty sure they were high schoolers. There were five of them, two girls and three boys. They were all bigger than him. High schoolers were usually bigger than he was, but this was just ridiculous.

“Count yourself lucky, dimwits,” one of the older kids said. He took a step towards Danny. Danny pressed his ears flat against his head and hissed at the approach. “If you managed to sacrifice Patches to a demon, your Mom would straight up murder you.” He laughed when he said it, like anything about that was remotely funny.

Uh- what now?

Only now, Danny noticed a very distressed calico cat underneath a laundry basket on the other side of the room. There was a stack of textbooks weighing the basket down. A large rug had been rolled up and- he sneezed rapidly, eyes watering. Chalk! They'd drawn on the floor with chalk!

‘This is some incompetent summoning,’ Danny realized, way too late. ‘Did they- how did they turn me into a cat?’ He looked at his unfortunate brethren under the laundry basket. Her ears were flat against her skull and she looked scared.

He remembered the word “sacrifice” and his blood flushed hit with fury. They'd wanted him to eat her! They'd wanted something to eat miss Patches!

The teenagers froze and looked at him, aghast at the angry sounds that were coming out of his throat.

“Shut up!” One hissed. She took off her shoe and threw it at him. Danny dodged and then threw his head back to yowl even louder. Sonic attack! Aural damage, you big jerks!

“The neighbors are going to- make it shut up!”

Danny had to run, dashing over furniture and tearing his way across a crowded table to avoid being grabbed. He screamed the whole time, eager to alert whoever they were so afraid of. Someone should see!

The window burst in.

Danny stopped running, shocked. He hadn't actually expected-

Someone snatched him up from behind and smacked him on the face with a palm. His jaw exploded with pain. It cut off his yowling.

Stunned. He was still for a moment and then he struggled for his life. The grip on his ribs was way too tight-

He looked over at the sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Holy shit, that was bomb as hell. His eyes went wide at the sight of a heavily armored small child crouched on the windowsill. The boy's eyes were covered, but Danny could still see him look at Danny and the poor calico under the laundry basket. He sneered.

“Unhand the cat or lose your hands at the wrist, you wretch.”

Danny loved him.

The teenager dropped him. Danny caught himself with a stumble. He let out a sad mraow before he could stop himself.

Fight club baby was enraged. “What have you done to this animal?” He hopped down into the room, revealing he was at least a foot shorter than the smallest girl in the room.

Danny trotted to him and started winding around his ankles admiringly. What a good kid! He purred.

“I will be taking both of your cats with me. If you ever harm an animal again, it will be your head that is found in a chalk-”

“Robin.” A hugeass grown man squeezed himself through the window that the kid had broken. Danny craned his head up, up, up, to see him case the joint.

The older man radiated incredible judgment. “I see that you require education on animal welfare and demonic summoning. Go on, Robin.”

“That's my Mom's cat!” One of the teenagers protested. “You can't take her!”

Robin growled at her. Danny jumped in his skin at the sound.

“Then we shall return it to your Mother and her alone, when we explain what you've done.” Danny let murder baby scoop him up and purred at full volume. Hell yeah. He looked at the cowering teenagers with condescension.

“Not that fugly thing.”

Danny blinked. He ended up making an inquisitive mraow. Why was a finger being pointed at him? He was baby.

“That thing showed up, you can get rid of it. But Patches is Mom's cat, and you can't steal a cat because-”

“Batman can steal any cat!” Robin bit out, gathered up Patches, and jumped out the window with both cats in an expert grip.

That didn't sound right, but Danny just enjoyed the night air as a line pulled Robin up to where yet another masked vigilante was waiting, cackling himself to tears.

“Batman can steal any cat,” he wheezed. “Brilliant. Good detour, Robin. Can I hold one?” He held out his blue-striped palms expectantly.

He faltered when he saw Danny, visibly surprised.

Danny… was starting to feel bad. He curled into Robin, hurt. He wasn't ugly. Why did people keep reacting to him weird?

“No,” Robin said curtly. “You have damaged his pride, and Patches is still reeling from her shock.”

The man let out a sigh but let the topic go. “That's Patches, and this is…?”

Robin hesitated. “He is the Snitch.”

That unlocked cooing. “Snitches? Snitchy Snitch Sni- ow!”

Danny snapped at the hand that came way too close and he let out a warning growl. No baby talk!

Robin seemed very pleased. He rubbed behind Danny's ears. “Snitch… I suppose that Snitches will suffice. We are taking him home.”

“....Maybe, just for fun, we should take him to get treated for mange first!” The guy made jazz hands to go with his statement.

Robin and Danny both growled that time.

[blythesarchives]

Masterpiece. | B.B

summary: You show Bucky some love in Wakanda.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Wakanda!Bucky | Fem!reader | Insecure Bucky | Soft & emotional sex | P in V | Unprotected sex

a/n: I had this idea for a really long time but finally finished it after having it in my drafts for months. A little shorter, so it was a quick little thing. I have some WS!Bucky fics in the works too, so hopefully those will be out soon! I made Bucky's time in cryo about a year and a half, between the release of Civil War and Black Panther. Idk if that's accurate or not, but for this fic it is. ;; wc: 3.6k

You stuck around. Honestly, nothing could tear you from his side.

T'Challa had arranged for you to have private accommodations within the medical wing where Bucky's cryogenic chamber was, ensuring you could maintain a constant vigil over him. The aftermath of the confrontation between Steve and Tony in Siberia had left you deeply shaken - when you discovered the extent of Bucky's injuries, including his violently dismembered metal arm - you had been horrified and it took a lot to calm you down. It was more than just the physical dismemberment, but the repeat amputation and the weight of the emotional turmoil for him and you was a lot to handle at once. Upon finally reuniting with him, you couldn't help but frantically check over his wounds, your hands trembling as you assessed the damage.

His body covered in various injuries, dried blood caking his skin, and his once-powerful metal arm now completely destroyed from Tony's repulsor blast, the metal once white hot now blackened as the circuits and wiring were completely melted and fried. The intensity of your concern was completely justified given his condition, though Bucky repeatedly tried to ease your fears with gentle reassurances. Steve also attempted to comfort you, though he mostly let you and Bucky have the time you needed.

When you arrived in Wakanda, Bucky's anxiety about potential discovery had been eating him - the fear of being found and captured again weighing heavily on his mind. The peace you had in Romania felt like it would never come again, it wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Steve stepped in, promising that Wakanda's advanced defenses and T'Challa's protection would keep him safely hidden from those who wished him harm.

While T'Challa approached the situation with grace and hospitality, you couldn't help but maintain a defensive posture around him initially. The memory of his vendetta against Bucky was still fresh - his determined pursuit with the intent to kill still dominating your thoughts. As he approached your group for the first time without his panther suit, your protective instincts remained heightened, positioning yourself slightly closer to Bucky's side.

"I assure you, my hunt for Sergeant Barnes is over, though I understand your hesitation," T'Challa’s deep voice carried a gentle tone meant to soothe and reassure you. His eyes held sincerity as he continued, "I was foolishly deceived and have seen the error in my previous pursuit and regret my actions. We offer both him and yourself sanctuary here in Wakanda, where you will find peace and protection. I give you my word as both a king and a warrior that no one will be permitted to threaten your safety. He will be free to stay as long as he desires."

You exchanged a meaningful look with Bucky, unable to fully mask the lingering hesitation that flickered across your features. When he met your gaze with quiet reassurance, you mentally scolded yourself for being so overtly cautious, though you couldn't quite shake the protective instinct. You felt like you were being unnecessarily paranoid, but after everything that had transpired - the chase, the fighting, the constant looking over your shoulders - you felt justified in harboring some anxiety about the situation.

Despite Bucky's outward display of calm acceptance, you could sense the underlying tension radiating off of him in waves, even as he maintained a brave face for your benefit. His stoic demeanor couldn't completely hide the wariness that years on the run had instilled in him.

You stood before him in the sterile medical bay as the team of doctors prepared the cryochamber. His warm hand gently cupped your cheek, those familiar eyes gazing at you with an endless depth of affection. "It won't be too long..." He spoke softly, his gentle words attempting to calm the storm of anxiety that swirled within you.

"Maybe not for you." Your voice trembled despite your best efforts to keep it steady, barely rising above a whisper to match his tender tone. "You're gonna be frozen in there, suspended in time - just a blink of an eye for you, while the rest of us watch the world keep turning."

He chuckled softly, the corners of his lips curving upward in that familiar way that always made your heart skip. "Yeah...well, Shuri seems to be pretty smart - probably the smartest person I've ever met, so hopefully she figures something out, so I won't be in there for too long." His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek, a silent gesture of comfort.

Your hand drifted up to cover his, fingers intertwining as you squeezed gently, seeking anchor in his touch. "We'll get through this..." The words escaped as barely more than a breath, a quiet promise meant more to convince yourself than him.

The doctors signaled the chamber’s preparation and you began your gentle goodbyes. “You could always come in with me.” He hummed against your ear as his arm wrapped around your body, holding you close. You smiled against his white tank top, sighing shakily.

“I don’t think my body is enhanced enough for that,” You muffled against him, “But I’ll be waiting.”

He continued to comfort you, his whispered promises of return that hung in the air like morning mist. When he finally stepped into the cryochamber Shuri had engineered, your eyes never left his face. You watched, heart aching, as his eyes fluttered closed and the chamber activated, crystalline ice slowly creeping across the glass, gradually obscuring your view of his rare, peaceful expression.

Through countless days and endless nights, through seasons changing and the world moving forward, you remained by his side until the day finally came when the ice melted away and those eyes opened once more.

It took quite a bit of adjusting, but life in Wakanda was gradually becoming more manageable. The climate was intense, with the relentless African sun beating down mercilessly throughout the day, making even simple tasks feel more challenging. Thankfully, the pristine lake situated just steps away from your shared cozy hut provided a welcome respite, offering an escape from the sweltering heat whenever you needed to cool down.

Bucky's adjustment period, however, had little to do with the weather. The recent removal of his prosthetic arm left him feeling deeply unbalanced, both physically and emotionally. The titanium appendage had been a significant part of his body weight distribution, and after decades of having it surgically integrated into his body, learning to function without it was proving to be a considerable challenge. The sudden absence of the familiar weight threw off his center of gravity, leading to a persistent sense of insecurity and mounting anxiety about his capabilities.

Doing things one handed was difficult.

Bucky's stubborn nature only complicated matters further, as he refused any offers of assistance, no matter how simple or necessary. Whether it was moving heavy objects around their living space, managing his increasingly long hair that now required more maintenance, or handling basic daily tasks - he remained determined to maintain his independence.

You backed off, knowing that he needed space to process and work through things independently. While your nurturing instincts urged you to do more, you consciously resisted the urge to be overly protective or maternal. He was undoubtedly capable of handling himself, yet you couldn't entirely suppress your natural inclination to provide support where possible.

You focused on offering practical assistance - preparing meals when needed, keeping the living space tidy and organized, ensuring his sleeping area was comfortable with fresh linens and proper cushioning if he’d allow it, and providing help with daily tasks like dressing when his mobility was limited.

Small gestures of support.

Though Bucky was grateful for your help, there were moments when the frustration of his situation manifested in terse responses or visible tension. He would become a little snappy at you or too moody when you spoke, but you kept reminding yourself that this was hard for him. The psychological impact of being without his arm for the first time in literal decades, regardless of its origins, was something you knew was incredibly difficult. To try to subtly ease this behavior, you made conscious efforts to help redirect his thoughts from dwelling too heavily.

Your days took on a gentle rhythm - spending time with the playful goats that roamed the area, playing with the curious children who would gather around the hut. But with every day came night, and as the sun's light faded and dusk settled in, accompanied by the persistent chorus of cicadas echoing through the trees, you saw how raw Bucky's psychological well-being was being affected.

Most of his tears flowed from deep-seated anger - anger that burned within himself for seeing weakness in his own reflection, for feeling unable to maintain his composure despite all the hell he had gone through already. In his mind, he was stronger than this moment of vulnerability, he was better than this; the act of crying over the loss of his limb felt almost juvenile and shameful to him, even though in reality it was obviously not - it was a natural, human response.

But he was still used to being human after spending a lifetime as a machine.

You were silent beside him, supporting his trembling form as the tears fell, holding him close against you as you offered what comfort you could through gentle touches and steady presence. Your heart ached to see his pain in the endless stream of tears, but there was a small measure of relief in knowing he felt safe enough to break down in your presence rather than bottling everything up until it inevitably erupted in a more destructive manner.

"I...just can't...handle this anymore." He hiccupped against your chest, his fingers desperately clutching at your top as if it were an anchor, grounding himself from everything that threatened to drag him under. You carefully considered your response, walking the line between wanting to comfort him and needing to help him face reality without pushing him further into distress.

"It's okay to feel this way...I know this is hard for you," you soothed while you rubbed comforting circles across his back. "I'm here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need it. You don't have to worry about asking for help or showing your feelings..."

He let out a trembling breath, slowly shifting his position until he wasn’t so crunched up against you. His face was flushed and tear-stained, cheeks mottled with emotion, so you reached out to brush away the wetness with your thumbs. "There you are...handsome man," you cooed, your lips curving into a soft, nurturing smile that reached your eyes. It was a familiar look he loved, no matter how he was feeling.

"...I don't feel handsome," he muttered back, his voice barely above a whisper as he deliberately avoided your gaze. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the intricate patterns of the weathered rug beneath you both, while the sturdy walls of the hut sheltered you from the biting night air that whistled outside. His words were heavy with self-doubt, pierced straight through your heart like shards of ice. Every fiber of your being ached to chase away his demons, to somehow make him see himself through your adoring eyes, to help him understand just how perfect and whole he was.

But this wasn't about your feelings.

You focused on soothing his wounded spirit, placing his needs above all else. "You are handsome, Buck Buck," you assured him, your voice steady and warm. "Nothing could ever change that. Not the loss of a limb, not the absence of your prosthetic, not a single thing in this world. You are everything to me, absolutely everything, and I want nothing more than to show you just how true that is. Would you let me?"

He finally lifted his gaze, his watery eyes meeting your steady ones. "I don't think...you want to right now. I just...I don't feel whole anymore. Not like this."

"Let me try?" Your voice was hushed, gentle as morning light basking over his skin as you carefully guided him back until he was seated more comfortably against the cushions scattered on the floor. He obliged with visible hesitation, his eyes a mixture of trust and lingering anxiety. You began to pull the silken cloths away from his body, revealing the strong planes of his muscular chest. His breathing quickened noticeably, an edge of nervousness creeping in as your hand drifted towards the delicate silk that kept his amputated arm hidden from the world's prying gaze.

His remaining hand caught your wrist, stopping you with an urgent touch. Your eyes immediately found his face, offering wordless comfort and reassurance. "It's okay..." You whispered, keeping your movements completely still to honor his hesitation.

"They had to take the rest of it...there's...not much left there anymore. I don't even...have a shoulder anymore. It's just...empty space where something should be..."

"Hey...shh. It's alright...we can stop right here if you need to. Know that whether you have something there or not...I'll have you either way. Every piece of you, exactly as you are. That doesn't matter to me - it never has, and it never will. I promise you that..."

He swallowed thickly, his throat constricting as a heavy lump forced its way down. Gradually, his racing heartbeat steadied and his breathing evened out enough to allow you to continue. In all his years, through all his struggles, you had become the only one he truly trusted to see him like this - vulnerable, exposed, and completely himself. It took patience and time, but you remained steadfast by his side and proved you were worthy of seeing all of him.

His fingers loosened their grip around your wrist, slowly releasing you as if reluctant to let go. With the silent permission, you carefully pulled away the silk fabric. His eyes squeezed shut instinctively, the familiar wave of self-consciousness washing over him as he actively avoided looking at himself. But those tightly closed eyes flew open in surprise when your soft lips pressed against the jagged landscape of scars around the area. His body jerked away reflexively at first, the unfamiliar sensation sending tingles across his skin. The touch still felt foreign to him, but just as quickly as he had flinched, his muscles began to unwind and relax beneath your tender attention.

"There we go...just let me love you. You are so perfect." Your words drifted between tender kisses, each one a gentle reassurance as you traced a path up his neck and along his jaw. Your hands moved up and around his body, touching and caressing him as if memorizing every inch. Your touch wandered a deliberate path from his hips, ghosting up along his sides until finally reaching his face, where you cupped his cheeks and drew him close, keeping him anchored to this moment. "Look at you...so gorgeous...you couldn't be more perfect to me. You know that? Every single part of you."

Your kisses continued, dotting across his face during your gentle peppering. The attention made his nose scrunching slightly as a shy, almost boyish smile spread across his features, transforming his entire expression. "You're just saying that..." He murmured, but your earnest words had already worked their magic, warming his ears and cheeks until they glowed pink, each sweet affirmation making his stomach flip.

"Oh no, I mean it, Bucky..." You hummed with such conviction that he couldn't help but meet your gaze. Your eyes held his, full of nothing but pure adoration as you whispered, "I mean every single word, every single time."

You continued to warm him up with tender kisses and gentle touches, taking your time as you massaged his body while you lovingly peppered soft kisses all over him. Your lips traced a path down his sternum and across his stomach, your fingers dancing lightly as they rubbed soothing circles over the sensitive skin by his hips, occasionally mixing in playful little nips that made him shiver. Gradually, you felt his body responding to your attention, his desire evident as it pressed urgently against you through the remaining clothes he still wore on his lower half.

"Are you sure you want to be with me like...this?" He asked once more, that deep insecurity still festering inside him like an old wound. He kept his gaze averted from the loss of his limb, unable to bear witnessing the damage that marked him. The phantom pains that plagued him were already more than he could stand - they seemed to intensify tenfold whenever his eyes fell upon the empty space where something should have been. His mind played such cruel tricks on him, tormenting him with sensations from a limb that was no longer there, an endless reminder of what he had lost.

"I'm positive..." You captured his lips in yours, pouring all your emotion into the sweetest, most tender kiss you could possibly give, wanting him to feel just how completely and utterly you adored every part of him.

When you were both fully undressed, you straddled him once more, beginning a slow and sensual rhythm as you moved your hips up and down, grinding yourself against his length. Your breath caught in your throat as you spoke, your voice thick with emotion, "Y-you...you're so incredibly beautiful...every single mark, every scar on you...none of it bothers me the way you think it does. I can see all that fear in your eyes...hear the doubt in your voice…but I promise you, I swear to you...it doesn’t. I love you. Every single part of you. All of you, exactly as you are."

You sunk down on him before he could respond with words, his voice strained as he moaned loudly, his strong hand instinctively finding its way to your hip as you moved against him with passionate intensity. His deep, resonant moans drove you forward, fueled your desires, and you maintained your rhythmic bouncing. Your own satisfaction was the furthest thing from your mind - all you wanted in this moment was to show him just how much your love for him was through every careful motion. You channeled all your attention into performing every little movement you knew brought him pleasure, carefully swirling your hips in tight circles, rolling your body in waves, varying the tempo and pressure while you recalled previous nights of passion and how much he liked every individual change.

"I love you so much baby, you know that right? You know how completely I adore you, what an absolutely perfect, precious boy you are..." You moaned back breathlessly, your eyes meeting his for a fleeting but intense moment. In that brief connection, you made sure every word flowed directly from the depths of your heart, knowing he deserved endless reassurance and affirmation of your devotion.

"You are a masterpiece," you urged, your voice carrying both fierce determination and infinite tenderness. "And you are all mine to cherish and admire every single day."

Crystal tears began flowing freely down his flushed cheeks, nearly causing you to pause in concern. Your lips parted instinctively to ask if something was wrong, but he spoke first, his voice thick with emotion. "I-I love you so much, sweetheart, y-you've always been there for me, through everything. You've shown me nothing but love and patience...even when I was struggling and being an asshole...”

His breath hitched as he took in a sharp breath, steadying himself to continue. “You were my warmth when I was stuck in nothing but darkness and cold...when I had no one else to turn to...when I had nothing left." His movements synchronized perfectly with yours, his body rising to meet each careful swivel and roll of your hips in an intimate dance of shared passion.

“You are my world.”

He throbbed inside you, burying his face in your chest as he tried to hold himself back from finishing but couldn't. He cried out into you, muffling his tears into your chest as he came - shooting thick ropes of hot fluid deep into your cervix and warming you from the inside.

Bucky remained still afterwards, seeming hesitant and uncertain, his body tense with what could only be embarrassment at finishing so quickly without ensuring your pleasure first. But that thought couldn't have been further from your mind - his vulnerability in these moments only made your heart swell with even more affection.

You guided his face away from where he'd buried it against your strong sternum, immediately capturing his lips in a deep, reassuring kiss before he could voice the apology you could see forming.

"Hush now...don't you dare apologize, Barnes.” Your tone playfully firm with the use of his last name, “I need you to understand...I love you. So deeply, so completely...whatever you think you're lacking doesn't matter to me at all. I will spend every moment showing you exactly how cherished and adored you are through my eyes until you finally see yourself the way I do." You pressed another lingering kiss to his slightly swollen lips, letting it stretch on for several long seconds before slowly pulling back. "And I'll keep doing it for as long as it takes."

"For as long as it takes, huh?" He echoed softly, a hint of playfulness creeping into his voice though you could hear the genuine concern underneath. "What if I need that every single day?" The question held a weight to it - you could tell he worried about being too needy, too demanding of your patience and reassurance. But your expression remained unwavering, eyebrows drawing together with fierce determination.

"Every single damn day, Buck Buck...until my lungs have lost their breath."

Thanks for reading - 💙

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[himbodruid]

Bullet(s) For My Valentine

Sylus x Reader

Sylus has never experienced a fear like this, seeing you bleeding out in his arms after taking bullets meant for him

Heavy angst, hurt/comfort

CW: gunshot wounds, emotional af Sylus, Zayne is just bestie

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Searing flames ripped through you. You’d never experienced being shot before, but there was a first for everything. 0/10, would not recommend.

You didn’t even know how things escalated to that point so quickly. Some illegal protocore dealings needed to be investigated, and you’d volunteered for the job on the off chance Sylus’s crew was involved. The contract was supposed to be a simple in and out intel gathering ordeal, but the perps must’ve caught wind of the investigation.

Sylus was indeed involved, but from Onychinus’s own investigative standpoint. You’d run into him while entering the building, and he quickly hatched a plan to become your escort.

When the pistols came into play, Sylus wasted no time taking down a handful of men. His evol made quick work of those his pistol couldn’t, and you knew it gave him a thrill.

But, he was so focused on that thrill that he didn’t notice a man sneaking around the shadows behind him. You saw him and leapt in the line of fire before the bullets could strike Sylus. Your own weapon discharged, the man fell to the ground before you did. You couldn’t even tell how many times you’d been hit, you just knew that your body was on fire.

“No!” Sylus had never shouted like that before, and the power behind it scared you. The room went dark, his evol erupting from him to snuff out every single potential threat, including your intel target. Damn it, so much for the mission. But that was the least of your worries.

Sylus knelt over you, pulling you into his arms and assessing the damage. All the while he muttered a string of curses, which included what sounded like “you beautiful idiot”.

Black spots danced in your vision when he lifted you into his arms. The darkness that swarmed you was tinged red, and you couldn’t tell if you were losing consciousness or if he was losing control of his evol. Which was impossible, surely? Sylus was the epitome of precise control.

“Stay with me,” he kept telling you, over and over. You tried focusing on him, on his face, but it was so hard with the fire in your veins. You wanted to assure him that you weren’t going anywhere, but even you had no idea how bad the damage was. You couldn’t pinpoint any one specific place for the pain, it was everywhere.

“Sylus,” you whimpered, wanting nothing more than to give in to the darkness that spotted your vision, but you were scared. And stubborn.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, love,” he murmured to you with a shaky voice, clutching you closer to him. The weightlessness you felt amplified further, and then you knew the red tinge was indeed his evol. He made quick work of the distance between the gathering and the base, but you succumbed to the darkness the moment he landed.

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“She’s not waking up. Why isn’t she waking up?” Sylus demanded, pacing the length of the room. He ran his hand through his hair for what felt like the millionth time. The doctor gave an exasperated sign, turning his glare towards Sylus.

After dropping the Association’s target at their doorstep, thankfully just unconscious, Sylus had recognized the doctor in front of him as someone his kitten trusted. And he….may have possibly maybe accidentally abducted the doctor in a fit of panic. It was faster than sending for his own medic, anyway.

The doctor, Zayne, put up a good fight with his own evol, right up until he saw her laying on the bed. Then he was all business, assessing her wounds and working to fix her up. Sylus had the twins bring any and all materials Zayne needed for this impromptu house call.

But now she lay so frighteningly still, unnaturally pale, on his bed, and Sylus had never experienced a bone-deep fear like this before. And the impatience that came with it was maddening. Zayne watched him with those annoyingly assessing eyes of his, choosing his words carefully.

“She’s stable. She has two perforating gunshot wounds in the lower left abdomen, so thankfully I don’t have to attempt fishing out the bullets. All vital organs were missed, as well, so she is incredibly lucky. An inch in any direction, and the outcome would be very different for everyone involved.”

Sylus exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours. She’ll be okay, he kept telling himself over and over. He scrubbed his face with his hands, slumping into a chair a short distance away. With his face still half cradled in his hands, he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. Meanwhile, Zayne continued his scrutiny from the stool Sylus had provided him.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I know very well who you are, but I want to know how you know her. And I want to know how she came to be in this condition, and if it will be a permanent issue from being around you.”

Sylus thought about his words carefully, ensuring that the adrenaline coursing through his blood wouldn’t make an enemy out of someone she respected. He was angry, but at himself and not the doctor in front of him. Zayne was right to be suspicious, since being the leader of a crime organization came with heaps of dangers that she would inevitably be exposed to. Yet the selfish side of Sylus abhorred the idea of letting her go to live a safer life.

“She was on a mission for the Association, and our goals happened to align. So, I went in with her in hopes of protecting her from dangerous people. Don’t look at me like that, I’m very well aware I’m also dangerous people,” Sylus said. “But somewhere, the mission went awry and she took the bullet that was meant for me, like a beautiful idiot.

“As for how I know her, that is a much longer conversation that I know you don’t have time for right now. And when she is out of danger and you have more time, we will talk about it and my intentions for her. Just know that I would give my life for her, I have given my life for her, and I will ensure she wants for nothing.”

Zayne kept his calculating gaze on Sylus, rolling his words around for a minute before relaxing his guard with a curt nod. Sylus’s shoulders drooped, thankful that the man in front of him seemed reasonable enough. Either that, or he was also insane. No matter, Sylus liked him well enough, and would do anything to stay on his good side for her sake.

“I may be her doctor, but I am also one of her closest friends. If you hurt her in any way, you will have me to answer to.”

And Sylus knew he would be good on his threat. Zayne was formidable with the ice in his veins, and Sylus was glad to have an ally out of him, rather than an enemy. The two men stood, clasping hands.

“Thank you,” Sylus said, his voice thick with an unnamed emotion. Zayne nodded once, turning to look at her again before stepping from the room. Sylus had arranged a car for him to take him back to Linkon. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t allow anyone to see the way to or from his home. But that privilege was extended to Zayne by proxy.

After a few silent moments, Zayne popped his head back in through the doorway. “She’s very accident prone, so you’re going to have your hands full. Good luck, and don’t hesitate to call for me.”

Sylus chuckled when he retreated once more. Accident prone, indeed.

He settled into the stool that Doctor Zayne vacated, waiting for her wake up. Anxiety coursed through him, despite the doctor’s reassurances. This was the first time in…a long time that he felt helpless. He just desperately needed her to open her eyes again, to hear her voice. Hell, he’d even take her casual bullying over this.

But all he could do was sit and wait.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩,⭑ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩,⭑ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩,⭑

You wove in and out of consciousness, continuously being pulled back under despite your efforts to claw your way back to the waking world. Flashes of conversation with muffled voices you couldn’t focus on. At some point you swore you could hear Zayne in the room, but that would be impossible. From the few visual snippets you could snag, you were definitely in Sylus’s bed. The absurdity of that idea, that Zayne could be here of all places finally convinced you to give in to the depths.

You weren’t sure how much time passed when you were finally able to return to reality. You came to your senses much slower than you would have liked, but when you finally peeled open your eyes, you quickly shut them again. Even the dim lamplight in the corner of the room made you flinch. Yet, when you felt the weight of something by your hand, your eyes shot back open.

Sylus sat slumped over the side of the bed, his head resting on his crossed arms. It was a brief moment of vulnerability that he rarely showed, and something swelled in your chest at the sight. With great effort, you lifted your hand, brushing silvery strands of his hair from his face. He inhaled sharply in waking, and then his eyes sprung open once he realized you were touching him.

“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again,” he admonished immediately, his voice cracking with emotion. You thought you could see his eyes become watery, but he clenched them closed when he brought your hand to his lips. He held it there while he struggled to regain his composure. After a few deep breaths, he finally opened his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. With a soft sigh, Sylus reaches over to the side table, pouring you a glass of water. When you tried to take it from him, he brushed your hand aside. He held the glass up to your lips, assisting you in taking long sips. Once finished, he placed the glass back on the side table, staring at it for a moment while he gathered his thoughts.

“Kitten,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”

“But why?” Your voice was stronger now that the water eased the scratch of it. He closed his eyes again, jaw clenching as though he were in pain.

“Because I failed to protect you. If you’d been killed while under my watch…” he said in a strangled tone, one that suggested he had tortured himself incessantly with the what-ifs. Your heart lurched at the torment that laced his voice.

“i’m okay, though, Sy. My dumb mistakes aren’t your fault,” you said, reaching out to cup his cheek in your palm. He nuzzled into your touch, placing his hand over yours.

“I would have my every weakness exposed and exploited than to see you hurt like that again,” he murmured against your palm. A single tear escaped, trailing down his cheek before colliding with your hand. You used the pad of your thumb to wipe it away, heart breaking at the devastatingly beautiful man in front of you failing to maintain his usually rock-solid composure.

“Sy..” you whispered, not sure how to comfort him. You were alive and mostly intact, and now you were determined to be more careful in the future. You didn’t think your heart could bear seeing him like this again.

Before more could be said, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Boss?” Came Kieran’s voice on the other side. “The doc’s here.”

Sylus cleared his throat and stood. He let his eyes linger on you for a moment before going to the door and opening it. Dread filled you when you saw Zayne enter, and your eyes darted between the two men.

Zayne and Sylus exchanged a look before Sylus wordlessly nodded and left the room. Confusion and terror roiled through you and you struggled to grasp for any excuse you could come up with. But those excuses died on your tongue when Zayne turned his calculating gaze on you. He just stood there for a moment, staring, looking like he was collecting his thoughts. He said nothing as he approached the bed and placed his medic bag by the table. Only when he sat did he heave a sigh and then opened his mouth.

“Relax,” he said calmly. “You don’t have to try and make up some lie about who Sylus is, or how you know the head of Onychinus. I’m here as your doctor first, friend second.”

You relax, but only slightly. Zayne being here and knowing exactly who Sylus was spoke a lot to how scared Sylus was. You longed to pry for information about this new development, but you breath came up short when Zayne helped you to sit up. He removed the bandages and assessed your wounds, nodding in approval at seeing you were healing well enough. He redressed the wounds and then sat back in his stool. His gaze had always unsettled you- it felt like he could see right into your soul. As a result, you’d never been able to lie to him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept it from you,” you say, looking down at your fidgeting hands.

“How long has it been?” He asked quietly. You looked back at him, confused.

“For what?”

“How long have you known him? How do you know him?”

You took your time thinking back over the events of the last year, trying to pinpoint where your relationship with Sylus changed from business to something more intimate.

“I think…it’s almost been a year? I tried to infiltrate the N109 Zone, but ended up crossing paths with someone who intended me harm. Sylus and the twins swooped in and saved me. I hated him at first, but I realize now that there was a lot I didn’t know at the time. I thought he was responsible for Gran and Caleb…”

Your words trailed off and you shrugged. “But things are…different now. I’ve come to trust him almost as much as I trust you.”

Zayne gave you one of his small smiles, the kind you knew meant that he was content with your answer.

“I can tell that he loves you,” he said warmly, placing his hand on your arm to still your fidgeting. “When he dragged me here, I thought he intended to use me against you. But instead, he brought me here because he knew you trusted me. He also insisted on my monitoring your condition, rather than bringing in his own man. He also tried to pay me quite the sum for the perceived inconvenience.”

Zayne leaned in, narrowing his eyes slightly. “How did you end up hurt like this?”

“The Association sent me on an intel gathering mission and Sylus happened to be there for the same reason, though for his own research. A fight broke out, guns happened, and next thing I know I’m diving into the line of fire so he doesn’t get hit in the back. I know, I know, it was stupid of me,” you huff. “I did it without thinking, even knowing he can instantly heal from something like that.”

“The same story he gave m- wait.” Zayne’s eyes widened. “Instantly heal? And how do you know he’s capable of such a thing?”

You clamped your mouth shut, awkwardly staring at Zayne while he stared at you in shock. Unfortunately, this was another one of those moments that you wouldn’t be able to lie to Zayne, and he would never let the question go. His medical mind would hyper-fixate on it until he got his answer.

“W-well,” you start, wondering how you should word it. “I mmmmaybe…sorta…shot him point blank in the chest when we first met. But he started it!”

Zayne sat back in the stool heavily, eyes wide with incredulity. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. “And he…healed…from that?”

“Yeah, with his evol. Ask him if you don’t believe me, but he’s the one that provoked me!”

A small hmm sound was all he replied with. He didn’t get a chance to press it further, as Sylus knocked and poked his head into the room.

“It was still painful as all hell,” he quipped, clearly having heard the conversation. Zayne waved him into the room. “Thankfully, we haven’t had a repeat performance.”

Zayne sat in silence, turning this new information over in his mind. Sylus came in, sitting at your feet and placing a hand on your leg, over the pile of blankets covering you. Zayne’s eyes zeroed in on the motion and he looked back at you.

“As long as you are safe and happy,” he said softly, letting the previous conversation go way too easily. You could detect worry in his gaze, but he quickly hid it being that stoic facade he was masterful at.

“I am,” you reply with a smile. Zayne’s eyes darted between you and Sylus, and you could feel Sylus’s eyes locked on the side of your face. Zayne nodded and stood, followed by Sylus so he could show the doctor out.

“If he ever tries anything, you better tell me,” Zayne said sternly, narrowing his eyes at the other man. Sylus’s warm chuckle reverberated in the room at the thinly-veiled threat.

“She is more than capable of handling herself, but no harm will come to her ever again. I will see to it personally.”

Zayne nodded, content with Sylus’s declaration. He strode towards the door, rambling off a list of care details that Sylus listened to with rapt attention. Zayne’s approval meant everything to you, and you felt like you could breathe easier. You didn’t realize how much it weighed on you, having to hide your relationship from the only friend you had left from your childhood. You briefly wondered if Caleb, who was notoriously more protective of you, would have approved of Sylus, too. But that line of thinking was dangerous, so you pushed it from your head. Instead, you started thinking about how Zayne would try to figure out how Sylus’s evol granted him near immortality.

You settled back against the mountain of pillows that Sylus provided you. It looked like he went through the house and brought every single one available to you, along with hoards of blankets, effectively cocooning you in a nest of comfort. The thought and care in those small details made your heart swell and you smiled to yourself.

And then the absurd man reentered the room holding a massive bouquet of roses in one hand, and a bag containing takeout in the other. You let out a bark of laughter at the unexpected arrival, covering your face with your hands. Sylus flashed a brilliant smile at you, and it stole your breath away. You wanted to see that smile every single day.

“What’s all this?” You ask, still laughing merrily. He set the bouquet on the side table and you reached out to touch the velvety petals. The flowers were a deep burgundy color, darker and more purple tinted than typical red roses. Breathtakingly beautiful, just like the man in front of you.

“I had the boys run an errand, and had them pick this up on their way home before taking Doctor Zayne back to Linkon,” Sylus said, a soft blush staining the tips of his ears. Home. With Sylus. You decided you liked the sound of that.

The remainder of the night was spent splitting delicious food and engaging in light banter. He meticulously took care of you, even though exhaustion was evident in the dark circles under his eyes and the airy quality of his voice.

It took effort, but you finally convinced him to curl against your side, opposite to your wounds. The moment he did, his entire body relaxed into you and he fell asleep almost instantly. Days of running himself ragged finally came to an end, and you stroked his hair gently while he slept. All the while, you pondered your thoughts and assessing your emotions.

And you came to the conclusion that you were helplessly in love with the man at your side, the leader of Onychinus and the most wanted man on Earth, perhaps the universe.

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 1 - Die Another Day

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, torture, waterboarding, descriptions of wounds, kidnapping, assault, blood, strangulation.

Previous parts - masterlist- next AO3

Enjoy <3

You wake to darkness.

Your head throbs, there’s a stinging down your arm. 

The floor feels like sand, you force yourself to sit up against the wall. There’s sand everywhere, in your mouth, nose, eyes, even under your clothes.

The dark has you disorientated, you can’t remember what happened, you were in the convoy. You remember the drive, the truck ahead of you being blown off the road. You don’t remember much after that. 

You decide to crawl, you need to know how big this place is, find an exit. Maybe you’re at a safehouse somewhere. No, there’s no safehouse you know that has sand for the floor. As soon as you move you cough, your throat is dry, your lips are raw and cracked. 

You bring your hand up spluttering as it sends throbbing pains through your head. A door opens and light floods the room, the coughing stops as you bring your hand up to block the light.

You hear shouting in arabic. Shit, this is not good. You feel round your body, you've been stripped to just underwear and a shirt. The figure moves from the door and you hear more voices. People rush in the room, you don’t have anything to defend yourself with. 

You kick and fight as best as you can. Digging your heels into the floor as the strangers pick you up by your underarms and drag out the room. Your left arm stings, you grit your teeth trying to press your feet down. They just lift you up off the floor, pulling you along. 

You’re taken into another room and thrown on the ground. This room has a light, you look round your head still throbbing, you don’t get time to take in your surroundings or assess damage before the door opens again. A man with his face covered walks in dragging a chair behind him. He places it down in the middle of the room as you back away.

“Sit.” He says in English, you can hear the thick arabic accent. There’s another man guarding the door with an AK in his hands. You swallow hard not moving, They’re going to have to force you if they want anything. 

You can just about see his eyes, that’s all you can see. You don’t know where you are or if anyone else is here too. You hope not, you hope they’re all okay. Fuck. What if they’re here with you, in a different part of this place. You’re not even sure what to call it, it’s barely a building. 

“Sit.” He says again. You hold your ground staring him down. He says something in Arabic before coming over to you. His fist slams into the side of your face. It snaps your head to the side. His hand comes down gripping a fist of your hair. You cry out as you’re dragged over to the chair, your eyes fill with water fogging your vision. 

He lets go of your hair as he and the other man haul you to your feed and throw you into the chair. You blink the tears away. They don’t bother tying you down. What are you going to do? Run? You wouldn’t stand a chance. You can’t believe this, you have assume you’re alone, you have to assume no one is coming for you. 

“British, medic.” He says. You look over at the other man in the room. Maybe if he didn’t have a gun you could take them. You’ve spared enough with Johnny and Simon, they’ve taught you how to fight 2 people at once. You’d be shot before you would even be able to get a good hit off. 

“What unit?” He asks, you look back over to him. You wish you could see his expression, it would give you a better idea of what he’s thinking. Now you can understand why people find Ghost so intimidating. You won’t give him anything. 

You’ve been trained for this. Not much, but you have a better chance than most. 

“What base were you stationed at?” He asks moving closer to you. You can taste blood in your mouth, your arm still stings, you’ve definitely been injured. His fist crashes into your cheek again. You grip the seat of the chair so you don’t fall off. This time you feel your teeth bite down on the inside of your mouth. 

“Let’s try again. What unit?” He’s already raising his voice. You cough clearing your airway. The taste of blood makes your stomach turn. You can feel adrenaline flowing through you now, your head stops spinning, your pain turns into a dull throbbing. You feel your heart rate pick up. 

The man's hand grips around your throat forcing you to look up at him. You can’t breathe your hands squeeze the chair. 

“What is the name of your unit?”He shouts through gritted teeth. You almost want to laugh, you’ll never tell him, you’ll never give them up. But you would like to be able to breathe again. You build up a ball of blood and saliva in your mouth and spit it in his face. 

You regret it as soon as you’ve done it. He lets your neck go though and you suck in a gulp of air. It makes you cough again, your hand going up to your neck, it’s raw, painfull. The man shouts something in Arabic and the man on the door moves. 

You’re still gasping for air when the butt of his weapon crashes into your head. Your body is thrown off the chair to the ground. You squeeze your eyes closed as nausea rises in you, there’s a ringing in your ears and a throb in your head.

He flips you to your back and you look up at him. His hands rap round your throat, his knee pressing on your chest. You try and fight him, scratching, kicking your legs. Black spots start appearing in your vision. 

This is it, this is how you die. You just hope you were right and you’re the only one here. 

Simon, Johnny, Kyle and John, that's who you think about. That’s all you think about in your last moments. 

___

Johnny clenches his jaw, he’s tried to ignore the anger bubbling in him. 

Price hasn’t stopped pacing, Laswell tried to calm him down first. That went about as well as Simon’s attempt. He doesn't know what to say, what to do. For once he’s happy to just wait for orders. 

He hears Gaz walk back into the room. He goes over to the table and puts a file down. Ghost walks over to pick it up. 

“Shepherds on the line.” Laswell says. 

“Put him through.” Price stops pacing and pulls a laptop round to face him. 

“Anything new?” Gaz asks, leaning over. Johnny just shakes his head. 

“Captain it is 2am, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Shepherd's voice comes through the laptop speakers. 

“The convoy was compromised.” Price says. 

“And this could not wait until the morning because?” Shepherd sighs.

“We have one MIA.” 

“Who?” 

“Does it fucking matter?” Price snaps. It makes Johnny’s stomach turns. 

“I warned you taking the medic was a bad idea captain.” Shepherd says. Johnny hears Gaz grit his teeth. “I don’t know what you want me to say?” 

“We’re going after her.” Price says. 

“John. Don’t make me do this:” He warns. He’s not going to stop them, no one is going to stop them. Johnny’s still not quite sure why Price wanted to call him in the first place. 

“How did the convoy get compromised?” Price asks stepping away from the laptop. Ghost hands him the file. 

“You tell me?” Shepherd replies. Johnny looks over at Laswell, she hasn’t moved. 

“You gave us the intel.” 

“You organised the convoy.”  Shepherd says, Johnny can hear the irritation in his voice. 

“Based on your intel.” John turns around handing the folder to Laswell. Now Johnny’s curious.

“What’s in the folder?” He whispers to Gaz. He shrugs, he didn’t look. 

“What happened to the convoy? Were there casualties?” Shepherd asks. 

“5 KIA, 1 MIA.” Simon says, Johnny looks over at him. Ghost was more than happy to lock himself in a room and do Price’s paperwork while Price went on a rampage. 

“No body?” 

“No body.” Price replies. 

“Look again. We cannot push into al-qatala territory. If they have her-” 

“They have her.” Price interrupts him. 

“You have your orders Captain. Clean up your mess, finish the job then we will talk about getting her back.” Shepherd orders, raising his voice. 

“I’m done cleaning up your messes General.” Price says leaning back over the laptop. “Laswell will send you the intel.” 

“Don’t do this John. You’re making the wrong decision.” Shepherd says. Price just lets out a sigh. “If they have her she’s a prisoner of war. We have a protocol for this.” 

“I’m not waiting for you to negotiate. I’m done, we’re getting her back, with or without your permission.” Price says ignoring Shepherd's comments. 

“John.” Laswell pipes up, everyone turns to look at her. She gets up showing him something on her laptop. Ghost looks over his shoulder.

“If you do this, Captain we will have to stop you.” Shepherd says. 

“I’d like to see you try.” Price says, he nods at Laswell and she ends the call. 

“What now?” Gaz asks, stepping up to the table. 

“They have her, she’s alive.” There’s a collective sigh around the room. It only lasts a few seconds, silent glances are shared between them. 

“Gaz, Soap. We need a vehicle. Ghost, we need ammo, explosives. We need to leave here stocked.” Price says ordering people around. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Laswell asks, Price shoots her a glare. 

“We’re getting her back.” John says. 

“He’ll send the shadows after you. I can try and hold them off for as long as I can. I can buy you 48 hours max.” Laswell says. 

“That’s all we’ll need.” John replies. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for us Kate. We'll handle it.” 

___

When you open your eyes again the pain in your head is worse. There’s a bright light above you that forces you close your eyes. 

“Don’t move.” Someone says, this time the accent is not as thick, there is a hint of something there. You turn your head to the side, you see someone’s hands are on you. You see the gash on your arm. It stings as they dab round it. 

You’re laid on something hard, a table you think. You try to move your arms and legs, this time you are tied down. You can feel wet on your back, you can’t tell if it’s sweat or water. You look round the rest of the room. There’s a breeze, you can feel it, cool and refreshing. There’s a sink and a hose, buckets of water and dirty rags. 

You know what’s going to happen. 

You look back at the person. His face is also covered, this time instead of bandanas and scarves it’s just a balaclava. It reminds you of Ghost, Simon, one of the people you promised you would spend the rest of your life with. 

Maybe they’re looking for you, it doesn’t matter you have to assume the worst. 

“They’re going to hurt you. I would recommend talking.” The stranger says,  definitely an accent from somewhere else. You watch as he wraps your arm in bandages. 

If you talk they’ll kill you. Surely he knows that.  

You’re not going to talk, you’re not going to give up the people you love. You try to remember what John taught you. You need to focus on a happy place, something you can retreat into while they torture you. 

Torture you, it makes you swallow hard, fear rises in you. You can’t panic, panicking will make it worse. 

They’re not going to kill you, they want intel. They hit the convoy but they need intel, otherwise you’d be dead. 

Something went wrong, and now they have you. 

The stranger stands up dragging his chair to the corner of the room and coming back with a roll of cling film. You look away as he starts to wrap your arm, fear bubbles in you again, the pit in your stomach won’t go away this time.  

This is going to hurt, it’s going to be hard. You have to stay strong though. If you love them you have to stay strong. 

The door to the room opens and another voice addresses the man wrapping your arm in plastic. You look back up at the ceiling, the light burns your eyes. Someone’s hand pulls your head to the side.

Another covered face. Another repetitive voice. 

“What is the name of your unit?” He asks, you think it’s the same voice from before. You don’t say anything. He lets your face go, you hear the door open again. More people come into the room, more people talking in arabic. 

You turn your head to the other side, the person who patched you up is gone. A hand grips your hair pulling your head back on the table. You’re forced to look up at the ceiling, the light and the grip on your hair makes tears form. 

“What base are you stationed at?” The same voice asks. You grit your teeth, your lips are sore now too, cracked and dry, they won’t be like that for long. 

The sound of sloshing water makes you feel sick. You can do this. 

You close your eyes. You need to find a happy place, somewhere you can focus on. 

Johnny and his smile. The way he looks at you with those pretty blue eyes. 

Johnny and his pretty blue eyes, that's what you’re going to focus on. 

A wet rag is pressed over your nose and mouth, you hear the hose start. This is it, you have to be brave. You have to be silent. 

If you want to keep them alive, you have to suffer. 

Your body is already pulsing with pain. This is really going to hurt.

Part 2

Banners by plum98

[v00do-d0ll]

I just had a idea for a prompt for a Superbat fic. One of my favorite things I have a headcanon for in Batman stories is Bruce’s emotions being so much that he can’t help but have them show in a moment of panic.

And this is not really a trope you can find in Batman fics because Bruce is so trained to not panic in stressful situations.

But I was just thinking like what if there was a fic, where Bruce and Clark are dating in secret and nobody knows not even the kids; and there’s this huge fight that everybody is hands on deck for. The Justice League is there, the Teen Titans are there, and so are all of Bruce and Clark’s kids.

And something happens to Clark to where he’s down and he’s injured badly, and the sun is not helping him at that moment. (It could be because it’s cloudy, Something covering the sun, or he’s just so badly injured and there’s enough kryptonite around to keep him from healing)

And while Clark is down, they managed to defeat or subdue the villain. Afterwards everybody runs over to Clark who’s bleeding out. And Bruce is the first one there and he’s trying his hardest to help him. He’s putting pressure over a wound that’s bleeding profusely. And he’s frantically talking to Clark because he knows it’s bad this time.

And everybody’s surrounding them, and there are a few others also trying to help Clark. But something happens and Clark’s heart stops. For a moment nobody moves, nobody even breathes. Until Bruce absolutely loses it.

He’s screams so loud that it makes everybody jump, and it’s such a scream that you could hear the desperate plea in it. He’s frantically giving Clark CPR while crying, Screaming “No, no, no! Clark come on don’t leave me” “Please don’t leave me.” “I can’t do this without you.” “You promised me you’d stay.” “I CAN’T take another death! Please!”

And everybody’s watching in stunned silence over how badly Bruce is freaking out. Because Bruce never freaks out. He’s always calm and collected. He’s the first person people turn to in situations like this one. But he’s hyperventilating. Tears are coming out from underneath his mask. His voice is going horse from the scream he let out. And nobody knows what to do for him.

The kids are all crying or on the verge, and seeing their father or mentor break down scares them even more. Because if Bruce is this panicked they know it’s probably over, and they don’t know what to do with that information. Dick is holding Damien and Jason against him. Tim and Kon are holding onto each other. John is clutching Damiens hand. Cass, Steph and Duke are motionless. The last time Bruce was like this was when Jason died, but the only person that saw him in that state was Clark.

But after a minute; which felt like an eternity. Clark takes a breath and opens his eyes.(They didn’t notice that the clouds had uncovered the sun slightly and Clark had started to slowly heal), Bruce throws himself at him. Sobbing even harder than before. He pulls off the cowl and puts his ear down to Clark’s chest to make sure he can hear his heartbeat. When he looks up, Clark is already staring at him. And he can’t take it, that was the closest call they’d ever had. He throws himself at Kal and kisses him right there.

Everyone gasps. Bruce desperately holding onto Clark as he kisses him with so much love and desperation. It’s the type of kiss that says “I love you, please don’t ever scare me like that again.” When they pull apart, Clark is the first one to look at everyone around them. He’s looking at everyone’s shocked faces. From the Justice League to their children. He doesn’t know what to say, because Bruce is still holding onto him.

Bruce takes that moment to recompose himself. He turns his head towards everybody and assesses the damage. He pulls his cowl back on, and says “I’m taking Clark to the med bay.” He helps Clark up and they leave together. And if Bruce is holding onto Clark a little tighter than he needs to, that’s nobody’s business.

Once they’re gone, everybody turns towards each other with complete shock on their faces ,still overwhelmed by what just happened and the revelation about their teammates and fathers. Everyone looking at each other silently asking the question “Did anybody know?” From the looks on everyone’s faces, nobody did.

Dick looks around to his family “We… we should go check on them” he says softly still in shock. Dragging Damien, John and Jason over to the Bat-plane. The rest of the team following in complete silence, As it finally hits them that Bruce and Clark are much more than friends and it seems that they’ve been that way for a while.

[channieschaoscorner]

First Meeting - Stray Kids x female!9th member reader

*Prequel to Tipping Point*

Pairing: ot8!Skz x 9th member reader, platonic Chan x reader

Summary: During one of Chan’s lives, he tells the story of how you met.

Genre: Fluff, platonic love, maybe slight Chan x reader again if you squint hard enough but idk the reader is running away from me at this point and doing her own thing.

A/N: Thank you so much to the anon who requested this one, this is the prequel to Tipping Point of how Chan met our lovely 9th member. As always thank you for all your love and support on my work, please send in any ideas or requests that you might have and I hope you enjoy!!!!!

Prequel to Tipping Point

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

Chan threw his head back and laughed as he read the questions during his live.

“Who wrote ‘Red Lights’? Hyunjin. Hyunjin did.” He nodded.

“Who wrote “I Like It? That would be Y/N. I don't know what children I've raised, you guys need to talk to them about that.”

He could hear the scramble in the hallway and braced himself for what was coming as the door to his room flew open.

“You liar!”

You burst through his door and shoved him out of frame, he didn’t even fight back. Chan landed on the floor laughing as you attempted to do damage control with what he said.

“I did not write ‘I Like It’ Stay, please do not listen to a word this man says. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.” You begged. “He’s just trying to cover up his own lyrics and he needs to take responsibility for them-will you shut up?!”

Chan was still in stitches on the floor, he knew there was no taking back what he’d said and that Stay would run with it now. He could picture the comments flying in and couldn’t hold back his glee. He crawled back up, wiping at his eyes to be met by your very unimpressed face and crossed arms.

“They believe you, you’re actually the worst.”

“You love me really.” He teased.

“I don’t, you’re a demon. I regret ever joining this group.” You tried to keep a straight face but the corners of your mouth twitched. In an effort to move on, you turned your attention back to the comment section.

I can’t believe Chan exposed Y/N like that

I love them

They’re so funny together

Welcome to IDidn’tWriteTheLyricsRacha Y/N!!!!!!

Actual friendship goals

How did you guys become friends?

“How did you guys become friends?” You repeated. “Have you never told the story of how we met?”

Chan shook his head.

“Go on, you tell it better.” You encouraged him, leaning back to listen about how you’d met your best friend.

────୨ৎ────

*Flashback to your trainee days*

Chan rubbed his face, hoping to wake himself up slightly but there was no point. It was closing in on 2am and he’d been in here since this morning. He admitted defeat and started to pack away his laptop. He closed the studio door and paused.

Was that music?

It was faint but it was definitely there. He assumed someone had left their phone hooked up to a speaker or something because no one would still be here at this time. He was so used to being alone in the building that he pushed the door of the practice room open with no hesitation, only to be greeted with the sight of someone dancing.

That someone being you.

“Oh!” He froze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was here.” He bowed down in apology, mortified at how he’d just marched in.

“That’s ok!” You smiled warmly at him. “I don’t blame you, I shouldn’t still be here right now but monthly evaluations are coming up and I want to be perfect.”

“You’re a trainee?”

You nodded and bowed, introducing yourself to him. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Chris, but most people just call me Chan. It’s nice to meet you, I’m sorry again. I’ll let you get back to practising.”

Chan left after that, but that wasn’t the last time you saw him. In fact, you started noticing him more. In the hallways between practices, the days you left the building before him, seeing him sit on his own to eat. You wanted to go up and speak to him but seeing everyone else give him a wide berth made you hesitate. He seemed nice enough that night but maybe that was just him being polite, maybe he wasn’t one for friends. So you didn’t speak though, not until he found his way back to a practice room in the middle of the night again.

A knock on the door made you pause. “Come in?”

Chan poked his head round the door. “I didn’t just want to barge in again but I heard the music.”

“Sorry, is it too loud? I can lower it down, I’m just used to practising late and no one being here.”

“No no it’s ok! Actually I was just… I wanted to see if… If maybe…If you…” He was tripping over his own words and rubbing his ear. You could practically feel the anxiety rolling off him right now.

“If I?” You prompted.

“IfeelreallyguiltythatIdidn’tmakesureyougothomeoktheotherdayandI’msorry.” The words fell out of his mouth, quicker than he seemed to anticipate.

You blinked trying to process what he’d said.

“I feel guilty that I didn’t check to make sure you were ok going home on your own the other day and I’m sorry.” He tried again. “I just wanted to check and see if you needed me to walk you back or anything because it’s late. But it’s ok if you don’t or maybe you’re not comfortable with that, it’s not like we’re friends. I mean you don’t even really know me, I just wanted-“ He was starting to ramble again and word vomit.

“That would be great actually.” You interrupted.

He visibly relaxed and smiled, you resisted the urge to comment on his dimples “Ok cool, I can go grab my stuff and I’ll come back.”

He left so you could pack your stuff up, you were glad he’d come back. You’d been contemplating approaching him whenever you saw him but he always looked so busy and at times intimidating. You knew he wasn’t very friendly with other trainees, you weren’t sure why but now you knew it wasn’t because he was an unfriendly person. Unfriendly people don’t offer to walk other people home just to make sure they’re safe.

You waited outside the practice room for him and smiled when he came down the hallway. “You ready?”

You walked in silence for a while before he broke it, “How are you feeling about the evaluations?”

“Nervous, it’s my first one. They gave us a few months to settle in before starting the evaluations.”

“You’ll be fine, they’re intense but just listen to their feedback and you’ll do well.”

You nodded. “It’s a group and individual evaluation so they’ll see me a few times.”

“That’s good, you have a chance to really show them what you can do.”

He gave you some more advice on the walk home, which you happily accepted. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who’d already been through this. He told you about joining 2 years ago, leaving Australia and his family but how he hoped it would all be worth it once he debuted. He offered his number to you once you got to your dorm.

“Just in case you’re rehearsing late again and need me to walk you home.”

────୨ৎ────

You settled into this routine then, one of you would text at some point in the day to see if you were staying late and you started to coordinate the nights so you always had company for the walk home. You felt more comfortable heading up to the studio to get him once it reached a certain time, always concerned about his lack of sleep. He was more than able though to turn the lecture back to you reminding you that it took more energy to dance into the early hours of the morning than produce. Despite knowing you were in the practice room drilling your routines for the evaluation, you wouldn’t let him see.

“I want it to be a surprise. You need to see it with everyone else for the first time.”

That was how Chan found himself waiting with other trainees and staff to watch the evaluations of the new trainees.

“I heard there’s a girl here that JYP wants to come down and see personally, he loved her audition but she’s not even meant to be that great of a singer.” Chan heard someone gossiping. “It was her dancing that got her in, said he hasn’t seen a dancer like her in years.”

Chan stopped paying attention, he’d spotted you warming up in the corner. You waved shyly at him, trying not to attract too much attention which was hard because you were currently sat in the splits looking far too comfortable.

“Are you friends with him?” A girl in your evaluation group asked.

You looked up at her. “Erm, kind of?”

“How?” She pressed.

“We bumped into each other, just got talking.” You held back on telling her how you’d actually met for more than one reason. One, you didn’t want it known that you stayed late to practice most nights. That time was your safe haven and two, you didn’t want your time with your time with Chan interrupted. The idea of others joining in on that made something stick in your throat. You coughed to try and shift the feeling but it wouldn’t leave you.

In fact, that uncomfortable feeling stayed with you right until the staff announced they would begin the evaluations. They were starting off with groups first then moving onto individual performances. The groups were more strutted, dancing, singing, stage presence. Everything you would need if you were going to debut in a group, but the individual evaluations is what you were looking forward to. You’d been allowed some leeway with this one as it was your first and were allowed to just perform a chosen skill e.g. singing, rapping or yours, dance.

The door opened and the room fell silent as JYP took a seat. You’d heard people gossiping that he might come to watch and give his opinion but it had all been rumours, nothing confirmed until he walked right through the door. He was truthful as the groups performed, telling them what they needed to work on, what was done well and if needs be, what went completely wrong. Your hands were trembling listening to him speak, your mouth had gone dry and no matter how much water you drank none of it helped. He waved the group away and called out the next one.

Yours.

You took your place, your eyes searched the room until you found Chan again. He offered you a small smile when he realised you’d been scanning the room, he nodded encouragingly. The music started and your body went into autopilot. The moves came naturally but that wasn’t because you enjoyed them. If you had to be honest, you’d say that girl group choreography just wasn’t your style. It was too delicate, too cutesy, not you. That didn’t matter though, this is what you needed to do in order to debut and so you’d do it without complaint.

You hit your final positions and then lined up in front of the staff to listen to their feedback. It was all similar.

“Danced well together.”

“Timing is good.”

“Need to be cleaner in some moves.”

It was JYP that you held your breath for, he spoke to the others first before finishing with you. He was helpful but firm, they all nodded and absorbed his feedback, taking in every word.

“Y/N.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“I expected more.”

That was it. He offered no other feedback before you were dismissed and sat back down. He expected more? What did that even mean? You knew the dance wasn’t your style but you didn’t think that you were terrible. You tucked yourself into a ball and dipped your head. This wasn’t good enough, you were a dancer. You’d been born to move, to dance, to perform. You had one more shot to impress him and you were not going to let this go to waste.

Chan watched you deflate in the corner of the room, he felt terrible for you but he’d be lying though if he said he disagreed with what was said. You were good, great even but you danced like you were just going through the motions, not like you loved what you were doing. It confused him. This didn’t seem like the girl who stayed rehearsing until 2am because she had to be perfect. He watched you fold into yourself for the rest of the groups until they announced the solo evaluations.

They were good, he couldn’t deny that. Between singers and rappers, there was a lot of vocal talent in the room. They moved onto the dancers and he watched your head lift up. Your jaw was clenched and there was a hard look in your eyes. They moved through the list, and many different styles were performed. Between lyrical, contemporary, the stereotypical girl group style. Your name was called last. You stepped into the centre, ignoring the whispers surrounding you.

The speakers came to life and everyone was silenced when ‘Doom Dada’ blared out. Chan watched your face light up and an attitude that he’d never seen before as you moved. It clicked in his head instantly, of course you were going through the motions before it wasn’t even close to being your style of dance. This, right now, you were like a whole other person and the love for what you were doing shone through.

You finished in a low squat with your arms crossed and held eye contact with the staff in front of you. JYP leaned forward with his hands crossed, you held your breath.

“That was exactly what I wanted to see. That is what you’re capable of and I don’t want to see anything less than that ever again.” He stood up, finished with the evaluations and addressed the room. “That is your standard for dancing. Anything below that is not enough.”

“Well, I guess we know who he wanted to see now.” Someone muttered behind Chan. He wasn’t listening though, he’d already stood up and crossed the room to speak to you.

“You didn’t think to mention you can dance like that?”

You were breathing heavily, the weight of what you’d just done beginning to hit you and your body was tiring quickly. “I told you I wanted you to see it with everyone else.”

“I won’t lie, I was worried after the group but that? That was insane Y/N, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You felt your face flush at his compliment. “It’s not that big of a deal.” You brushed him off.

“Nope, forget about waiting on me when I’m producing at night. You’re going to help me learn how to dance like that.” He grabbed your shoulders and started steering you out of the room. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” You didn’t object to the pushing, just let him guide you out.

“Celebrate that my dance evaluations are going to go through the roof now!”

────୨ৎ────

*Back to the present*

“So that was how we became friends.” Chan finished. “It wasn’t even a question for me when I was told that I could make the group to ask her.”

“I was always surprised that you asked me.” You admitted, shifting in your chair and tucking your knees up to your chest.

“What?!” Chan’s eyes almost popped out his head, you’d never told him that before.

You shrugged. “You were told to form a boy group, it had been so long since you joined that I never even thought you’d fight to make it co-ed.”

Chan was shocked, you’d been the first person on his mind the second he was told he could form his own group. He’d gone back straight away to explain how he couldn’t do it without you, what you’d bring to the group and he’d fight to have you there with him. It had been years and you’d never once mentioned that you had been genuinely surprised that he asked you to do it with him.

He was silent for a moment, thinking of his words carefully. “You were my first friend in 2 years that I knew wouldn’t leave.” He spoke quietly, so quietly that you nearly had to strain to hear him. “I couldn’t imagine doing any of this without you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

You held his eye contact, until the buzzing of the comments was too much to ignore.

I’m actually crying at this

Omg actual soulmates here

Y/N looks like she’s about to cry I can’t cope

If she cries I’ll cry

Forget friendship goals I fully believe they’re in love now

Aww Y/N as a girlfriend would be so cute!!!!

“Nope nope none of that.” You scrolled through. “I’d be a terrible girlfriend to anyone.”

Chan laughed again at that, agreeing with you.

“I’m a workaholic that spends all hours choreographing even on my days off. Never mind when I have a busy schedule full of practicing, touring, interviews. Honestly, I’d be the worst girlfriend. I hope no one ever asks me.” You were completely exposing yourself here and you didn’t care.

Chan looked at you slyly and then back to the camera. “Spoken like the true writer of I Like It.” He teased.

Your jaw dropped and you lunged at him to push him off his chair again while the comments exploded at his words.

[witherby]

DUDEEEEE, after reading your little Wayne (who is now a grown up) goes looking for a part time job and after quitting the last job I imagem them getting into a cafe job were both villain and heros goes and there's no fighting in there

Dude what's it like having such an amazing incredible spectacular brain

That's the coolest idea I've ever heard

The Littlest Wayne: Truce Juice

Nobody believes it at first, that your signage is genuine. They think it's a gimmick or a ploy to avoid your shop being targeted by villains if they decide to terrorize the city and start doing massive amounts of property damage again.

"Is it true?" Customers will ask, as they come by to get a smoothie or request a bagel. "You're willing to serve villains?"

And every single time, you smile, hand over their order, and say "yes!" Because you are.

Your family chooses to fight crime under the cover of darkness. They fix Gotham's problems by punching them and throwing them in Blackgate or Arkham. During the day, your father does his best to fund the places that need it the most — infrastructure, homeless shelters, food banks, education — but it's not enough.

You can help the normal citizens as much as you want, but they're still going to be terrorized by the villains that escape the prison and the asylum. They're still going to feel Othered from most of society, which is what drove them to villainy in the first place. Hurting them, pushing back at them, it fixes the short-term problems but never quite nips it in the bud.

Your hope is to treat the criminals like...well, like they're not criminals. Which is why you opened Truce Juice — a little drink cafe in the heart of the city that welcomes everybody, good, bad, and in-between. It's your good-faith experiment you had to beg your father not to intervene in, using either identity, for weeks before he finally agreed.

So, deed in hand, trained employees on staff, and insurance premiums through the fucking roof, you've got a business.

--

It takes a month of service and consistent advertising, but you finally start to see your experiment take shape. A gentleman wearing a half-black, half-white tuxedo walks into your cafe and approaches the counter with visible trepidation, hands stuffed in his pockets and sneering at everybody who makes eye contact with him.

Antiope, the girl currently working the register, clams up a bit, so you send her to the drink station instead and smile at Two-Face's henchman.

"Good morning," you greet him, "welcome to Truce Juice. How can I help you?"

The man looks at you like you've grown a second head. You smile back and gesture to the menu over your head.

"If you need a minute to look at the options, that's fine. I also have handheld menus for better visibility." You pick one up and offer it to him.

"You're actually fuckin' serious," he says, taking his hand out of his pocket. Customers loitering in the cafe flinch back as he does so, but you don't move. He takes the menu from you and glances over it. "...gimme a banana smoothie and a dozen plain bagels. Cream cheese and jelly on the side."

"Sure!" You punch his order into your screen and ring up the total. "Will that be cash or card?"

"What if I didn't wanna pay?" The man smirks. The hand still in his pocket makes a clicking sound. Several customers rush out. You don't move, but the shadow at your feet forms a disk shape and slips underneath the henchman, waiting to suck him into your pocket dimension if he starts getting belligerent.

"Then you don't get the smoothie and bagels," you reply calmly. "I'm running a business, sir. Goods and services are exchanged for money, here."

He clearly wasn't expecting you to say that. He stares at you. You stare back. He blinks incredulously. You blink expectantly back.

"So," you say again, "cash or card?"

"....cash," he mutters, digging into a separate pocket and pulling out his wallet. He hands over a fistful of bills. You ring him up and give him his change.

"Okay! Give us about five minutes. Did you want the bagels toasted?"

The henchman shakes his head. You smile and get to work, the dark disk melting back into your regular shadow. Soon, you're sliding the smoothie and box of bagels across the pick-up counter.

"Here you are. Have a good day!"

The man continues to stare at you like you're some freakish anomaly. You just give him a small nod, then turn to help the next customer brave enough to step inside with him here.

When you check the tip jar later, you see a fistful of hundreds crammed into it.

You feel your heart warm and know you're about to make huge waves in Gotham.

[wilwheaton]

For some odd reason, moderator Jake Tapper told Trump in the beginning that he didn't need to answer the questions and that he could use the time however he wanted. Trump ran with that, essentially giving a rally speech whenever he had the floor and was unresponsive to the vast majority of the questions. He made faces and insulted Biden to his face, at one point calling him a criminal and a Manchurian candidate. If anyone had said 10 years ago that this would happen at a presidential debate they would have been laughed out of the room. After the debate when most of the country had turned off cable news or gone to bed, CNN aired its fact check. [...] Even had Joe Biden been at the top of his game, he would not have been able to parry all those lies and he shouldn't have been put in the role of being Donald Trump's fact checker. His choice was to either ignore the lies and let them stand so he could use his time to make his own case or spend the entire debate correcting the record. It was not a fair fight. It's obvious that Biden's terrible performance has caused panic among Democrats and liberal pundits and analysts. The calls for him to withdraw are loud and meaningful and it's going to be a very rough period in this campaign whatever happens. For me, this isn't really a question. As long as Donald Trump is on the ballot, I will vote for the Democratic nominee. If it's Biden or someone else, the calculation remains the same. Nothing is worse than another Trump administration and I suspect that at the end of the day Democratic voters will agree with that. So it's still a matter of those undecided voters in swing states, just like it was on Thursday morning.

CNN's debate was no fair fight

CNN, yet again, gave Trump a national stage to vomit an endless stream of unchecked lies, and today, CNN is telling itself and anyone who will listen that the network and its moderators did a great job. That’s just plainly false, and America is paying the price for their failure.

That doesn’t let Biden off the hook. Biden had a terrible night. He was so bad, it’s allowed the political press to completely ignore not just how much Trump lied, but what he lied about: January 6, all his indictments, his Covid response, and on and on. President Biden was a disaster, and his campaign should be at DefCon 1 to try and repair all the damage. I am terrified that his awful performance will obscure his surprisingly good record and leadership in the post-insurrection era, and give the political press an excuse to run with “Biden is old” in the face of Trump’s endless lies, his felony convictions, his pending trials, and all of his criminality. Someone at Salon said that Trump didn’t win, but Biden absolutely lost. I can’t argue with that, even if the facts are all on Biden’s side.

I’ve seen President Biden on TV today, and even last night after the debate, where he didn’t come across as an ancient dude who needs a walker on his way to some Matlock reruns. He looks and sounds like the SOTU Biden we all expected would show up last night. I have no idea why he was so awful for 99% of the debate (the campaign says he has a cold), and I have no idea why the guy who is showing up to speak to supporters today, and who delivered the SOTU didn’t show up last night to save America from Trump, again.

But we have to live with this reality now, and I hope like hell that the Biden campaign, the candidate, and the entire Democratic party apparatus scrambles like fucking crazy to get all hands on deck to fix this, and remind voters that

This isn’t about BIden vs. Trump. This is about America vs. Project 2025.

There will be no second debate where Biden can try to salvage something out of the wreckage of this one. Trump has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Trump will crow about how he won, and declare he has no reason to debate again, and he’s right. Biden had one shot and he absolutely blew it. The moderators did not help, but the campaign had to have known they wouldn’t, and it sure looks like they didn’t prepare Biden for what we all knew was coming. I don’t know how those same people stop the bleeding, and if they can’t, America and the world are in real, real trouble.

But we all have to remember that we have a choice to make in just a few months. Right now, and probably on election day, the choice is between Joe Biden and Democracy, or Donald Trump and Fascism. It’s stark, it’s clear, it’s binary, and I can not believe that it is even a question. I just hope that there are enough voters out there who will understand that we do have a choice. The options suck, but we do have a choice.

Please choose Democracy. Please choose America. Please choose the future world our children will inherit from us.

[captain-astors]

Finished up my attempt at Deuce within @where-does-the-heart-lie's fighting game AU! Feeling a little iffy about it but I might've just been staring at this for too damn long. Anyways thoughts, symbolism explanation, and sketches I made in the attempt bellow the cut.

Okay! So in general I worked with a rule of 2's when it came to Deuce's hearts with the exception of his camera, but that's supposed to pair with the pen with the little heart cap, I just didn't remember to keep that in my final drawings somewhere. Trying to strike a balance between "Just a guy" and "fun stylized outfit" was hard and I don't think I quite got it, but it was enjoyable nonetheless!

Heart glasses- Representative of how he loves observing the world and aspires to adventure through it. The cracked lens represents how the damage he's received from people he loved has caused him to look at others cynically at times. Meanwhile the unshattered lens sort of represents his tendency to look at those who earn his love with extreme levels of internal praise, half of Ace's first novel is just him waxing poetic about how lovely Ace is and I think that's hilarious.

Hearts on the gloves- He shows his love for the world and for people through the writing he does with his hands! But they're somewhat damaged because they've been utilized for the medicinal legacy that was forced upon him.

Heart on the camera/pen- A specific love for journalism and writing and telling a story, credits to Whery for the first one.

Spade on the shirt- Not technically a heart but it's a little play on how he keeps the Spades close to his heart/tends to be kind of pokey if you try to get close.

Spade/heart on the back of the shirt- Symbolic of the whole life-devoting love within him, so it's large, but it's kept guarded and tethered by the camera strap and can only be seen beneath a layer and if he trusts you enough to turn his back. It's mostly upside-down to look more like a heart if I'm honest, but that as well as that it's on his back and so guarded is all representative of how the family that he presumably once loved shamed and pressured him, making a sort of "weight on his back". It's spade shaped because that's who his devotion and love belongs to, but also when counted with the other one, Deuce!

One of my scrapped ideas was having the coat be a doctor's coat with the only hearts on it being scorched edges because something something fire set him free but he still uses his medicinal abilities to benefit people in his new life, but I couldn't get it to look right so I went with the summery looking thing he's wearing now. It's fine but it kind of lacks a personality, I think that's the main thing I'd try to revise if I redid this but I've already overthought it to hell so. Another day.

Ace in Dr. Robotnik's outfit from the sonic movie is there for facial reference and emotional support I guess, I made that a while ago.

And in one last vaguely related tangent, yours truly has a very distinctly heart-shaped birthmark on my foot. It symbolizes that I'm tired. (Jokes aside I think it's cool, afab actually stood for Assigned Fighting game character At Birth)