#they’re kids they deserve to have a year or two without the fate of the world on their backs

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc au #dpxdc memes #dpxdc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead on main #dead on main ship #alcohol

[sixeyescurseuser]

Teachers Satosugu

Thinking about adults Satosugu who become Jujutsu Tech teachers together. They’re married too. In their late 20s, they’ve found sweet domestic bliss in the dangerous yet meaningful life they’ve created for themselves. 

Geto still makes sure to praise Gojo for all the work he does; often surprising Gojo with his favorite sweets or a trip down to the street vendors, saying: “Thank you for your hard work, Satoru” and “Come on, let’s eat something special, you deserve it.”

Gojo still goes on his one hour rants about topics that fascinate him, and Geto listens without complaining. Even if this is the third time digimon has been brought up this week. 

Geto stays at the school to teach for the majority of the time. He only takes missions if they are emergencies and avoids interacting with the higher ups. Thankfully, Gojo is more than willing to deal with that side of work. 

While Geto is involved in both physical training and classroom lessons, he’s more hands-on with the latter. Compared to the Kyoto students, let’s just say that the Tokyo students don’t put in a ton of effort when it comes to their academic scores. 

Geto is fated to be the hardworking but disappointed teacher. 

(Geto: “Nobara, Yuji, c’mon, I am begging you two to study more.)

The thing with Yuji is that he is smart in that he can memorize things and write well, but not being exposed to the sorcerer world from a young age has put him really behind. 

(Geto: “Hasn’t Satoru told you all about Sukuna’s origins and what not? Given you books from the library?”

Yuji: “Oh the library! I forgot that existed!”

Geto: …

Yuji: “Also no, Gojo-sensei didn’t tell me anything yet.”

Geto: 💀💀)

Additionally, Gojo isn’t the best when it comes to structured lessons in the classroom. He’d much rather skip over the boring stuff and show his students the real excitement out on the field.

This is where Tokyo students surpass Kyoto students in fighting abilities. Plus, getting lots of first-hand experience of what sorcerers actually deal with helps them quickly adapt to situations and strategize how to outwit their opponent. 

But book-smart-wise? Megumi carries. 

Once, Yaga gave the first years a firm reprimanding because of the missing past three mission reports. (Excluding Megumi.) Turns out, Gojo didn’t inform the first years about filling out mission reports at all. 

That night, Geto scolds the shit out of Gojo. 

Gojo: “Hey Suguru, isn't that your job? I just help them train their fighting skills, no?”

Geto pinches Gojo’s side - who lets out an undignified yelp - even though he knows Gojo is just joking. Besides, Gojo does try to teach the rules better after Geto’s scolding. Gojo just needs reminders, that’s all.

It doesn’t help that Gojo is literally a prodigy and always does things his own way. 

(Geto, shaking his head: “Lord knows these kids need all the help they can get with you as their teacher.”

Gojo: [jaw open, betrayed]

Cue Gojo decisively turning the other away in their bed. 

Geto: “Oh, did I upset the baby?”

Gojo: “Worse. You upset your husband.”

Geto guffaws.

“My husband can take it.” Geto moves so he’s spooning Gojo.  “Isn’t that right?”

Geto’s breath tickles Gojo’s ear, making Gojo shiver.

What were they talking about again?)

***

Gojo might be busy as hell but Geto will be there to protect their students from the higher ups. 

That mission where Yuji died for a short while after switching with Sukuna to face that special grade? It would never have gotten that bad. Geto would’ve been with his students and protected them.

Geto is anxious to the point where he designates certain curses for specific people, mostly to look after his students. This way, he can be there if his students are in serious danger, preventing more young sorcerers from dying due to the higher ups' negligence.

Of course, Geto’s rainbow dragon has always been assigned to Gojo. 

Gojo will often take Yuji on rides on the rainbow dragon, either for missions or just to be up in the air. When this happens, Geto’s orders for the rainbow dragon consist of: “Only listen to Satoru’s reasonable orders” and “Protect Yuji from Satoru’s recklessness.” 

On another note, Geto’s curses would have intercepted before Todo and Mai could beat the shit out of Nobara and Megumi. Geto himself would show up quickly after, furious when he sees the Kyoto students trying to take out his students. 

(Geto with his murderous glare: “As far as I know, the competition hasn’t started yet. No one should be picking fights with each other, hmm?”

Mai and Todo, quietly: “Of course, Geto-san. We’ll be taking our leave.”

Geto stays standing in front of Nobara and Megumi until the Kyoto students leave.)

Even as teachers, Geto and Gojo are incredibly competitive with Kyoto. Of course they’re going to talk shit during the goodwill exchange event. They’ll watch the broadcast of the competition and loudly cheer their students on. They’ll also whisper to each other in the most obnoxious way. 

Utahime is about to bust her blood vessels. She still throws her tea at Gojo when he makes a snarky comment that pisses her off; the tea bounces off of Gojo’s infinity and splashes all over Geto, who groans. 

Well, that shut the pair up for now. 

***

When Nobara spilled coffee on Gojo’s shirt, Geto had been the one to catch them first. 

(Shaking his head, Geto says: “You guys really did it this time…”

Nobara: “We could just replace it??”

Megumi: “It is 250,000 yen.”

Geto: “It's also Satoru’s favorite white shirt.” He pats Nobara’s shoulder comfortingly.

Yuji: “Geto-sensei, please help us!”

Geto: “And spend the precious money I earned with my own hard work? I don't know, Yuji-kun, I gain nothing from helping you.”

Nobara: “He’s your husband”

Geto: “And he’s your sensei.” He turns to Megumi. “Slash father”

Megumi: 😩😩

Moments later, Gojo enters the room: “Iijichi-kun said you guys have my newly laundered shirt-“

He sees Megumi with two breast bumps.

Gojo: ??

The others laugh as Nobara pulls out the stained shirt, causing Gojo to let out the most horrified, dramatic gasp. 

All the students find it hilarious, but Geto laughs the hardest. He's bent over, hands on his knees, straight up cackling. When Geto somewhat catches his breath, one look at Gojo’s stricken face sends him into another fit of laughter. 

(They are so married.)

Geto walks over and slings himself over Gojo. 

Geto: “It’s okay, Satoru, you can just get another one.”

Gojo: “That was my favorite one, you know this, Suguru~~”

Geto: “Satoru...you’re rich-“

Gojo: “My clothes are important, they aren’t so easily replaceable. Imagine if I had tried to replace you-“

Geto: “Did you just compare me to your inanimate white shirt?”

Geto begins to pull back, but Gojo immediately latches on to him.

Gojo: “Noooo, I didn’t mean it. I love you~~”

They proceed to act out a mini-drama, which ends in Geto leaving with faux-disappointment and Gojo chasing after him.

Consequently, Gojo forgets about his stained-beyond-repair 250,000 yen shirt.

***

When formation B occurs in response to Megumi being “hit on,” Geto watches from afar, disappointment deep in his veins. 

We’re too old for this, he thinks when Gojo reveals Megumi has to master twinkle twinkle little star. 

Having had enough, Geto steps in and tugs Gojo away. 

“Baby, come here, you forgot to take your pills this morning,” Geto says. Gojo gasps in offense. 

“SUGURU, SHUT UP! I'M NOT MENTALLY ILL!“ Gojo cries, but now there’s no way he doesn't look crazy.

Geto has his arms wrapped around Gojo’s waist while Gojo flails to escape. 

“Satoru, stay STILL- NO you are not going back!”

They end up making a bigger scene. Megumi wants to d-word. 

(“With this treasure i summon-“)

Gojo doesn’t care who hears or sees, and is now screeching for Geto to let him go. Left with no other choice, Geto bites Gojo’s shoulder. He also tries to shove his fist in Gojo’s mouth - anything to shut him up.

Geto is going all out like they’re teenagers again. 

(Nobara at Geto: “YEAH GET HIS ASS!”)

Geto eventually becomes aware of the small crowd that has gathered and rethinks his actions. He ends up dragging Gojo by his collar. 

“Ok, we’re leaving,” Geto calls to their students, leaving no room for argument. Megumi immediately follows, dragging Yuji and Nobara in tow.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk headcanon #satosugu fluff #satosugu headcanon #satosugu fanfic #teachers sastosugu #megumi fushiguro #yuji itadori #nobara kugisaki #cerdrabbles

[mayumiiyuu]

Eddie x reader

Where she hits a bully with a lunch tray because they’re making fun of Eddie for something stupid because she don’t take none of that shit

I love violent reader insert

A/N: i too, love violent reader insert, with all my anger issues (which I should prolly talk to my therapist about) I too would smack anyone with a lunch tray if they made fun of the love of my life.

e. munson || violent delights

tw: mentions of (well deserved) violence against douchebags

While you were relatively new at Hawkins, only having lived there for about two years when you transferred in your sophomore year of high school, you had earned quite the reputation for yourself as none other than the badass of Hawkins High.

It wasn’t that you were mean or unnecessarily cruel, the basket ball team douchebags had already taken the title as bullies of the school anyhow, it was just that you were frank, brutally honest, and utterly allergic to bullshit.

You didn’t bother with the stupid made up rules about cliques being unable to mix, despising the social hierarchy with all your heart and soul, you were friends with the people you wanted to be friends with, from all different sorts of groups. From the funny band kids to some of the less pretentious, nicer cheer leaders, to even some of the nerds that played dungeons and dragons, you only ever made space in your life for genuine people, people who could be their most authentic selves without worrying about the status quo.

Your reputation as an absolute badass first started when you called out your old, racist, sexist, homophobic, and all-things-a-bigot-was English teacher who gave you a backhanded comment in class when you wrote about how F. Scott Fitzgerald was a shithead who basically plagiarized his wife’s work and plastered his name on it when you were supposed to do an in-depth essay on The Great Gatsby and it’s themes involving “the American dream”. You smirk at the memory of him basically cowering at your feet when you called out the fallacies he had used when you debated with him.

But, you had officially earned your title when you broke a jock’s nose by slamming his stupid face into a locker when he had made a sexist remark at you right before he tried to lean in an swap salivas with you.

You had been sent to detention that day, and that was the fateful day you had made acquaintances with with a certain metalhead. After telling him your reason of being there, he had applauded you, inviting you over to his club to join in on one of his campaigns. Unable to refuse as you had wanted to get to know him more, you agreed.

From then on, you found yourself constantly within the company of Eddie Munson.

You liked him, with his whole eccentric personality, witty remarks, and weird sense of humor, you had become friends with the boy fairly quickly despite his outcast status—which, of course, you didn’t give a damn about. He made you laugh the hardest you had ever felt, stomach aching to the point you swore if you laughed anymore you’d grow a six pack; he was someone you often sought out for to have some of the most interesting, thought provoking conversations. Despite his carefree demeanor and utter lack of concern for his academics, you had observed that Eddie was actually really smart, able to dismantle societal concepts with his disdain for conformity, hell, you even admired the guy for his open mindedness.

Though you had made friends, you could only ever really count them on the fingers of one of your hands, as people were too intimidated by your blunt demeanor to approach you. That, combined with your resting bitch face, made it hard for people to view you in a warm and welcoming perspective.

But you had decided long ago that whoever was too intimidated by your aura and sharp eyes weren’t worth your time. If your reputation and the rumors they had heard of you honestly made them hesitate to befriend you, they weren’t people you wanted in your life anyway.

Currently, you sat at a lunch table with Eddie and the other members of Hellfire, throwing your head back in laughter as you cackle at one of Eddie’s snarky jokes about the popular crowd.

As if they had heard him, Eddie’s own sworn enemy stands from his seat and makes his way towards your guys’ table.

Ever the observant one, you had spotted him get up from his seat, by scanning his body posture with his clenched hands as well as the look of contempt in his eyes, you silently prepared yourself for battle.

As he saunters over to the table, a few of the other basketball jocks following behind him, you let out a tsk.

Didn’t even have the fucking balls to come here himself, no, he had to bring in reinforcements.

The glare you send him almost makes him want to turn back and torment the D&D nerds another day, but since he was a man with his pride on the line, he very idiotically ignored his gut feeling.

You intertwined your fingers together, propping your elbows on the table as you rested your chin on your hands, eyeing his movements carefully.

The others quickly catch on, the freshmen, who you knew as Mike and Dustin, quickly avert their gaze and freeze like deer in the headlights, as if Jason Carver was a T-Rex: he can’t see you if you didn’t move.

But if Jason was a T-Rex, you were motherfucking Godzilla.

He flashes them his signature smile before Eddie rolls his eyes at him.

“What do you want, Carver?”

“Oh y’know, just wanted to see what the freak show was up to—hey, didn’t anyone tell you guys the circus left town the other day?” The blonde says sarcastically as his goonies laugh at his weak ass joke.

You stay silent, thinking that maybe, just maybe, in that pea sized brain of his, he would somehow find some common sense and realize what the hell he was getting into.

“Fuck off, will ya?” Gareth replies, exasperated from the jock’s incessant attempts of intimidation and bullying.

“And the geek speaks!” Jason cries. “What, you guys feeling brave now that (last name) is sitting at your table?”

Eddie stands, his form most definitely towering over Jason’s, in order to defend his friend.

You only pay half attention to whatever Eddie says to him, glare glued onto Jason, laying patiently, silently in wait for that jackass to give you a good reason to knock him into next Tuesday.

Whatever Eddie says to him riles him up more than Jason reckoned.

The blonde laughs, the sound devoid of any amusement at Eddie’s words.

“Why don’t you take you and your satanic cult and get the hell away from here, yeah? Or, better yet, why don’t you jump off a bridge? Doubt anyone’ll miss you,” every word that comes out of his mouth makes you want to claw his eyes out. “You’re nothing but a freak, Munson, no one fucking wants you around. Bet your parents left you with your uncle because they couldn’t stand to see what an utter disappointment their child was—or, maybe they couldn’t find it in themselves to love a freakish monster like you.”

Good, you thought, that sentence was reason enough for you.

You grab your lunch tray, lowering in order for him not to catch onto what you were about to do next.

You plaster a smile on your face, which had him somewhat fooled. He smiled back at you warmly.

“(y/n), come on, why don’t we escort you away from these freaks,” He starts, gesturing you over to him and his friends.

Tch, typical meathead jock, not a single thought in his brain. Had he seriously not noticed the look of pure death in your eyes?

“Of course,” your voice is nauseatingly, sickeningly sweet that it sends a shudder up Jason’s spine. “But, first—“ were the last thing Jason heard before you lifted up your lunch tray high in the air as you swung it at him, hitting him smack dab on the face.

He lurched backwards at the force you had hit him with, blood coming out his nostrils as his friends caught him before he could land on the floor.

Too bad, you would’ve loved to see that.

Eddie and the rest of your friends are absolutely stunned, while at the same time admiring how gracefully and effortlessly you had just attacked the captain of the basketball team.

As Jason somewhat regains his consciousness, he wiped the blood that had started to dribble from his nose onto his upper lip, panic and shock written all over his face.

You bend your knees slightly as you lean in towards him, his so called friends too chicken to even try to defend their captain from your wrath.

“Next time you try that shit again,” you start, placing the lunch tray down on the floor. “It’ll be the last thing you ever do, mkay?”

He stammers, hands shaking under your vicious stare.

“Nod if you understand.” You say, ensuring the message got to him loud and clear.

He gulps, nodding his head slowly.

“Good.” You state, flipping your hair as you waltz your way back to your seat, sipping your apple flavored juice box.

The whole cafeteria looks at you with the same and utter shock Jason had just given you, murmuring to themselves about the scene that had just unfolded while Jason was basically carried by his friends that acted like his crutches.

Eddie sits down and exhales. “That, was the single most amazing thing I have ever witnessed in my entire life,” he looks to you, veneration in his eyes as he chuckles. “All hail (y/n)!”

The group continues to chant Eddie’s statement, banging their fists on the table as they praise you. You roll your eyes playfully at their antics before standing up to take a bow.

Suddenly, you freeze, and all commotion in the cafeteria comes to a halt as a well dressed man strode his way towards you.

Through all your time in his office, you recognize the man instantly.

“Principal Higgins,” Mike breathes out as he glances towards you worriedly.

“(y/n), to my office, now.”

You turn around slowly, slumping your shoulders as you follow his orders.

“Yes, dad.” You groan inwardly.

But as you catch sight of Eddie giving you a smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief, you can’t help but feel the pride swell in your chest.

Detention, suspension, community service, or even having to clean up the garage, whatever punishment your father had in store for you would be worth it.

#eddie munson #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic

[pythoneon]

Someone might’ve posted about this before, but while i have the persistent brainrot, I wanna ramble about hatchetfield and the perpetual cycle of missed opportunities.

The first couple is pretty obvious: Paul and Emma. They’re two people who don’t get the chance to move past the early stages of a relationship. In TGWDLM, they’ve just gotten on a first name basis, even though he’s a regular and there’s a connection between them. It’s a slow burn that fizzles out because of the circumstances. Black Friday is a bit different because, while they’re not an official couple, Emma cares enough about Paul to bring her to what she thinks is a belated Thanksgiving dinner with estranged family. But that musical ends with everyone being blown to kingdom come, so again, it doesn’t evolve further than being “intimate” with each other. Then, of course, there’s their brief interaction in NPMD which parallels TGWDLM, with an interruption by Officer Bailey. In Nightmare Time, only Paul 23 and Android! Emma have a happy ending, but not without hiccups of course. They seem like an inevitability-pun fully intended-in every universe. Oftentimes, their potential is never fully realized.

Becky and Tom is an interesting couple because they’re the only main pairing that dated and broke up, only to get back together later on. They dated in high school and were pulled apart by circumstance. Tom goes to war, and in the interim, Becky becomes entangled with her abusive husband that keeps them apart even after he comes back. In Black Friday, they reunite, bone in the movie theater, but again, they get fucking bombed at the end. In Jane’s A Car, they actually get to rekindle their relationship, getting to the point that Tom brings Becky home to meet his son. Tim even likes Becky, acknowledging that she can’t replace his mom but she’s a good presence for them both. Unfortunately, Tom’s grief and guilt drives them apart again-pun not intended this time. There could be other worlds where they get back together as well, but that comes after years of heartbreak, trauma, and separation.

Lex and Ethan are interesting because in every world we’ve seen thus far, they start each story in a very committed relationship. We don’t see their beginning stages like the others, so we already know how they are together. This makes Black Friday even more devastating when we watch Ethan die protecting Hannah, and Lex never finds this out. She dies unaware of his fate. Then in Witch in a Web, they’re both in jail after trying to make money to get Hannah out of their neglectful mother’s home. Yellow Jacket is the worst, I think. Because Ethan wants the best for Lex and Hannah, he allows Hannah to take part in the super kid fight club, which accidentally dooms his relationship after they kill Otho and have to go on the run from Charlie. We see him getting her a ring, preparing to propose to her, but he never gets the chance. Lex leaves him behind in Hatchetfield to relieve him of the burden of having to protect her and Hannah. Ethan loves Lex so much that while trying to save her, he loses her.

Finally, our newest and most hopeful addition: Steph and Pete. The babies. We see them first in Abstinence Camp, finding kindred spirits in each other because they see themselves outcasts in their environment. I’d argue this is also true in NPMD. They’re both outliers in their social groups, and connect because of this. In TGWDLM, we can assume they both are infected before ever meeting-the same thing goes for Black Friday. The nice thing about their relationship is, in both Abstinence Camp and NPMD, they end the story in the early stages of their romance, and we can assume it’ll develop further because they both trust each other and have ‘defeated’ the monster. However, they don’t get through it unscathed. Nobody does. But I’ll be optimistic and say they’re the only ones who actually get the happy ending they deserve.

Some honorable mentions:

- Ted and Charlotte, and Ted and Jenny. Ted seems to truly care for Charlotte, and in TGWDLM, he watches her die for her scummy husband. In Black Friday, they’re briefly seen together at the end, but again, BOMB. Then there’s Forever & Always, where it’s revealed Ted is responsible for the death of his one true love, and also his own.

- Linda and Gerald is less subtle, considering they’re both batshit, but their insanity makes them a match made in hell. So, it’s pretty sad when, in Nightmare Time 2, Gerald dies helping Linda become the titular Honey Queen. And, of course, Linda dies in Black Friday while on the phone with him.

- DUKE AND MISS HOLLOWAY. OH BOY DO I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THEM. THE TRAGEDY OF FALLING FOR SOMEONE WHO YOU CAN NEVER SHARE YOUR LIFE WITH BECAUSE BUT YEARNING TO BE IN THEIR LIFE IN ANY WAY POSSIBLE. THE PAINS OF BEING IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE THAT YOU NEVER REALLY KNEW, NOR COULD YOU EVER TRULY KNOW HER, BUT YOU LOVE HER REGARDLESS, AND YOULL ALWAYS LOVE HER. PROTECTING THE PERSON YOU LOVE EVEN IF IT MEANS ACCIDENTALLY DAMNING YOURSELF INTO STARTING OVER WITHOUT THAT PERSON. GOD THEY MAKE ME SO SAD

#starkid #hatchetfield #nerdy prudes must die #starkid npmd #hatchetverse #nightmare time #npmd #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #paulkins #lautksi #barneston #holloweane #lex foster #ethan green #pete spankoffski #steph lauter #becky barnes #tom houston #paul matthews #emma perkins #ted spankoffski #charlotte sweetly #linda monroe #gerald monroe #duke keane #miss holloway

[sevenswansinatrenchcoat]

I've been talking about teasing apart lyrics for the amazing devil's battle cries so here are my two sets of lyrics!

Joey Batey:

The wrinkles and bricks that we’re left with at last And that drink will it fix all those questions unasked Who died? And made you king of it all

Now the wind feels so warm on the back of my neck As I walk with the sun hand in hand from the wreck Some fictions we took to mean fate believe me I know

Tell the truth to me love, does my hair look as nice As it did when you once tied it up in your eyes? Look at me as you say this, don’t look at your phone

Cos that sun that beams down as my hands touch the grass After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last For the person fifteen year old me would be proud to have known.

Cos these plates they smash like waves And the wine stains hide the tears

But that breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear

And these lines aren’t wrinkles dear heart They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art And as I walk away I know I’ve been through the wars, But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause

With you I could summon the gods and the stars Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids.

‘Come at me you blaggards’, you’d yell from the banks Wielding words against make-believe wizards and tanks And by god love believe me, I wanted to play too, I did.

But we sunk into water no creature can know

You dragged me along to watch all your shows

Our devils broke rank, and out of the depths came an army I won’t let you turn our last night into this I’m going to binge watch a box set, drink wine, reminisce This isn’t a break up dear heart, it’s a season finale.

Cos these plates they smash like waves And the wine stains hide the tears But that breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear

And these lines aren’t wrinkles dear heart They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art

And as I walk away I know I’ve been through the wars, But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause it’s applause it’s applause

All it took to unearth in the dust and the dirt Some release or respite from the heat and the hurt Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am

And now at the end, I’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind, I’m doing fine.

Madeline Hyland:

I’m at the brink, don’t laugh

At the winks I’ve masked

Who’ll save you when you fall?

Who wins this war? You’ve a knack

For applause from the back of the stalls but you lack The conviction to look at me straight and say yes

Don’t be uncouth, be a man

Don’t lie with your eyes, you know I despise that look You’re home. For God’s sake I’m

Done with your dreams, they won’t last

Thirty winters will pass, you’ll look back at the woman fifty year old you will be proud to have known.

Place your smile in mine Why stay? Hide the

Breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear

Hardly knew the words I’m dolled up love don’t I deserve to just

walk away I know I’ve been through the wars, But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain

Come on love, please don’t start

Sing your notes, play your part Then we’ll leave. We were gods

‘Come at me you blaggards' you’d yell from the back of the gallery

Say goodbye. I am not

A drunkard, A daughter, A preacher, god knows how you You dragged us both into the darkness that grows Oh dear God.

I won’t Leave without a fight I’m going to binge watch a box set, drink wine, reminisce This isn’t a break up dear heart, it’s a season finale.

Place your smile in mine Why stay? Hide the breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear

Hardly knew the words I’m dolled up love don’t I deserve to

just walk away I know I’ve been through the wars, But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain It’s not pain It’s not pain

at the end of all things

#sorry about the formatting it's taken from my cd booklet art project #the amazing devil lyrics #the amazing devil #seven swans having thoughts #seven swans doing art

[lorspolairepeluche]

15 Lines: Oday

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

"You aren’t wrong. It is a sorry fate. I would know. But it is not my fate here. No — very few in my tribe made the effort to love me." (The Dawn Star, ch. 4)

"I was once forcibly apprenticed to a storyteller of my tribe, in yet another effort to turn me from the path I wished to walk. It lasted less than a year. Perhaps I did learn some from him, in the end. It would have been hard not to — he never shut the fuck up." (The Dawn Star, ch. 9)

"I am going to kill [Thybé]. Don’t worry yourself — his life is forfeit to me for several other things too, and he likely plans to kill me for just as many, but we have many a task to see done before we ever get around to actually killing each other." (The Dawn Star, ch. 13)

"I have stood in the presence of three Suns — and they have stood in mine." (The Dawn Star, ch. 13)

"I am Oduyanga! I am the Sun’s bright star! I am the widower of Altanaran, radiant Sun and khan of the Oronir! And I have come home, little brother." (The Dawn Star, ch. 13)

I knew when I was younger that I would die in battle on the Steppe. It’s just coming later than I thought it would. And perhaps a little less gloriously. [...] Perhaps it is glorious to die like this." (The Dawn Star, ch. 18)

"They’re [Magnai's] older sisters. A height advantage is worth bollocks to them. Do your pleasantries, Hien. If you would have the Oronir as allies, these are the women to convince." (The Dawn Star, ch. 22)

"You don’t have to prove you’re returning to your old self by telling me how Daidukul’s dick tasted." (The Dawn Star, ch. 26)

"The way every warrior did not hesitate to rush to battle together like that… Perhaps that is how it should be. Rivalries will never die, of course, but…they should not divide us so." (The Dawn Star, ch. 26)

"Hey, sun. I’d call you by name, but ‘Altan’ usually comes out of my mouth in a roar these days, when my daughter’s doing something she knows she shouldn’t." (The Dawn Star, ch. 27)

"Hey, with all the trouble Lord van Ballsack Better-Than-Thee gave me — on two separate, near-apocalyptic occasions — I think I deserve to annoy you once in a while." (Day's End)

"Then, Master Leveilleur, I must ask you to hasten your exit. You have insulted and demeaned beloved and respected members of the Solongo tribe, and as its khan, I cannot abide such behavior toward those in my care. [...] I believe you heard me, ser. You're upsetting my kids." (this post about Oday adopting the twins)

"Moogles, great one, are vastly different from the people I escape by visiting Zenith." (this post about places the usual suspects go to get away)

"Look, dragoon -- do you wipe your ass on the carpet when you visit someone else's home? You're the guest here! Shut the fuck up." (this one about the dravania road trip)

"And if the Fury’s people can give hope and a new dawn to someone as hopelessly dark as I was when I first came to the Holy See, then I know that you, those people, can keep what you love fixed in your sight and your hope firmly in your hands, and you can keep walking to that dawn together." (from their speech to the ecumenical council during the endwalker role quests; it's not posted anywhere)

(thanks @camelliagwerm for the open tag; tagging @bladeverbena bc i wanna see some bnuuy lines; @solipseismic to reignite the three-way ping-pong we had going on that one time)

#oduyanga solongo #the usual suspects

[sokkas-therapist]

✨Avatar Headcanon✨

Directly following the war, the Gaang decides to take some time to just breath. So, Iroh takes over for a year or two so that Zuko can take the time to live a normal life with the Gaang. They find a nice, relatively cheap house in the Earth Kingdom middle ring and settle down for around a year. It’s peaceful, and their only worries are who’s going to do the dishes or if someone fed Momo twice. These kids deserve some time to be normal people! Afterwords they each go back to their respective nations and start to rebuild the world after the damage caused by the war.

#atla #atla headcanons #aang gang #gaang #sokka #Zuko #Toph #aang #katara #Suki #avatar #avatar: tla #down time #chill #they deserve it #they’re kids they deserve to have a year or two without the fate of the world on their backs

[from-a-reckless-writer]

v. red.

read on ao3

Red.

The sky turned to scarlet, and you were forced to watch the brother you loved, turn into a monster. There are screams and smoke, and you are tied here watching it all unfold.

Lena hates red.

Deep Mahogany.

All of sixteen, you walk into his study.

Your father is slumped over his desk. There is something wrong, you already know. After all, you are familiar with the sight of death. It has greeted you once before. Death even held your tiny hand, on the shoreline, as you dug your feet in the sand, listening to the waves that sound like screams, waiting and waiting for arms that never came back.

This time you wait as the EMT’s carry him out. This time Lex holds your hand. His hand is bigger, colder, and it should’ve scared you then; how eerily uncanny his resemblance to Death was.

Merlot.

Somebody needs to clean it up, or it will stain.

For some reason, that was the most dominant thought in your head. Even though most of the wine had soaked through your shirt, some still dripping down the side of your cheeks, an ocean of red on you, compared to the mere droplets on the expensive rug.

Lillian had only become more cruel through the years. The sting on your skin and the shock of the scene pushing the quiet thought into the surface.

You can’t even remember what you had said, what you did, you can only remember how numb you felt after it all.

Sweet Cherry.

Her lips are the sweetest thing you have ever tasted. How you lived without the flavor of her on your tongue all these years is something you will never know.

She drips between your fingers and you lap it all up. She is cursing in Spanish under her breath, and love, you think, are the lasting deep red lines down your back.

She will mark you for forever.

Ruby.

“You spoil her,” Sam accuses.

You answer back with a scoff. “Be thankful I didn’t buy Disneyland for the day.”

You didn’t even know if the little girl would like it, but jewelry was what you got when you were her age. Shiny trinkets and precious lockets from wherever it is that Lionel hailed from. Even now, his old golden watch is still ticking steadily against your wrist.

It just so happened that Sam had agreed to get the girl’s ears pierced, and suddenly it was the perfect gift.

You never even knew there was something missing, till these two walked into your life, till Sam wrapped you up in her warmth.

And you’ve never been good with kids, but Ruby looks up to you with shining eyes, and you know no golden luxury you can buy her will ever convey just how much she means to you.

Yet, you still try anyway.

“Your earrings look very beautiful, young lady.”

“Thank you! They’re a gift. Rubies for Ruby, my aunt said!”

Blood

Twenty-two and new to the city, and almost killed. Twice.

There is so much blood between you and Supergirl, between you and Metropolis, between you and your mother and your brother.

And so,

Lena Luthor hates red.

It’s too loud.

Too flashy.

Screams danger.

Reminds her too much of the day she lost everything, once again.

But-

Fate had bigger plans it seems.

Because Merlot is what got you loose-limbed and loose-lipped, an ‘I love you’ stumbling out. Before you know it, her lips are pressed to yours, and oh, oh, this is sweeter than cherries.

Sweeter than anything you’ve ever thought you deserve.

And after-

After the drunken confessions and the shy sleepovers, ruby red boots take residence in your closet, along with a cape of the same shade.

The sacred piece of cloth you wrap around you whenever she’s away.

Because deep mahogany is the shade of the bench you two are sitting on when she asks for your hand. And the waves in Midvale sound like laughter. There are tears streaming down your face, and her bright blue eyes can’t quite believe you said yes.

As if there was ever going to be another answer.

-and blood.

Because it should’ve been impossible, but it wasn’t.

And now there is a little girl with black hair but blue-eyes. The blood running in her veins, something stronger, and just a tad bit magical, something alien and human all at the same time.

A miracle, really.

Because scarlet are the sunsets in Argo City, and the light plays softly and so beautiful in Kara’s eyes.

God, you think, this is love.

This is Love.

Because red is Kara’s sun, and Kara’s cape, and Kara’s robe when she said her vows.

Red is Kara's love.

And Lena Luthor hated red, but everything changed when she saw the color of the thread that connected her to Kara Zor-El.

#i dragged the words to this fic out of my brain #and they were screaming at me not to be let out #this fic did not want to be written. #but here the fuck it is #so good 4 me ig #the reckless writer writes #a supercorp ficlet of sorts #if u see a typo no u didnt #supercorptober 2021

[therenlover]

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

----------

Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

-------------

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater​ , @elaineygrace​, @multiyfandomgirl40​ ,  @lovelymischief​ , @rami-malek-trash​ , @dazzlingseb​, @avgravy​ , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​, @alanathedeer​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ 

Please do not post my work on other sites, thank you!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

[ganymedesclock]

These are questions I've had for some while and it's hard to find someone who'll answer with grace. This mostly relates to disabilities (mental or physical) in fiction.

1) What makes a portrayal of a disability that's harming the character in question ableist?

2) Is there a way to write a disabled villain in a way that isn't ableist?

In the circles I've been in, the common conceptions are you can't use a character's disability as a plot point or showcase it being a hindrance in some manner. heaven forbid you make your villain disabled in some capacity, that's a freaking death sentence to a creative's image. I understand historically villains were the only characters given disabilities, but (and this is my personal experience) I've not seen as many disabled villains nowadays, heck, I see more disabled heroes in media nowadays.

Sorry if this comes off as abrasive, I'd really like to be informed for future media consumption and my own creative endeavors.

Okay so the first thing I'm going to say is that while it IS a good idea to talk to disabled people and get their feedback, disabled people are not a monolith and they aren't going to all have the same take on how this goes.

My personal take is biased in favor that I'm a neurodivergent person (ADHD and autism) who has no real experience with physical disabilities, so I won't speak for physically disabled people- heck, I won't even speak for every neurotype. Like I say, people aren't a monolith.

For myself and my own writing of disabled characters, here's a couple of concepts I stick by:

Research is your friend

Think about broad conventions of ableism

Be mindful of cast composition

1. Research is your friend

Yeah this is the thing everybody says, so here's the main bases I try to cover:

What's the story on this character's disability?

Less in terms of 'tragic angst' and more, what kind of condition this is- because a congenital amputee (that is to say, someone who was born without a limb) will have a different relationship to said limb absence than someone who lost their limb years ago to someone who lost their limb yesterday. How did people in their life respond to it, and how did they respond to it? These responses are not "natural" and will not be the same to every person with every worldview. This can also be a great environment to do worldbuilding in! Think about the movie (and the tv series) How To Train Your Dragon. The vikings in that setting don't have access to modern medicine, and they're, well, literally fighting dragons and other vikings. The instance of disability is high, and the medical terminology to talk about said disabilities is fairly lackluster- but in a context where you need every man you possibly can to avoid the winter, the mindset is going to be not necessarily very correct, but egalitarian. You live in a village of twenty people and know a guy who took a nasty blow to the head and hasn't quite been the same ever since? "Traumatic Brain Injury" is probably not going to be on your lips, but you're also probably going to just make whatever peace you need to and figure out how to accommodate Old Byron for his occasional inability to find the right word, stammers and trembles. In this example, there are several relevant pieces of information- what the character's disability is (aphasia), how they got it (brain injury), and the culture and climate around it (every man has to work, and we can't make more men or throw them away very easily, so, how can we make sure this person can work even if we don't know what's wrong with them)

And that dovetails into:

What's the real history, and modern understandings, of this?

This is where "knowing the story" helps a lot. To keep positing our hypothetical viking with a brain injury, I can look into brain injuries, what affects their extent and prognosis, and maybe even beliefs about this from the time period and setting I'm thinking of (because people have had brains, and brain injuries, the entire time!) Sure, if the setting is fantastical, I have wiggle room, but looking at inspirations might give me a guide post.

Having a name for your disorder also lets you look for posts made by specific people who live with the condition talking about their lives. This is super, super important for conditions stereotyped as really scary, like schizophrenia or narcissistic personality disorder. Even if you already know "schizophrenic people are real and normal" it's still a good thing to wake yourself up and connect with others.

2. Think about broad conventions of ableism

It CAN seem very daunting or intimidating to stay ahead of every single possible condition that could affect someone's body and mind and the specific stereotypes to avoid- there's a lot under the vast umbrella of human experience and we're learning more all the time! A good hallmark is, ableism has a few broad tendencies, and when you see those tendencies rear their head, in your own thinking or in accounts you read by others, it's good to put your skeptical glasses on and look closer. Here's a few that I tend to watch out for:

Failing the “heartwarming dog” test

This was a piece of sage wisdom that passed my eyeballs, became accepted as sage wisdom, and my brain magnificently failed to recall where I saw it. Basically, if you could replace your disabled character with a lovable pet who might need a procedure to save them, and it wouldn’t change the plot, that’s something to look into.

Disability activists speak often about infantilization, and this is a big thing of what they mean- a lot of casual ableism considers disabled people as basically belonging to, or being a burden onto, the able-bodied and neurotypical. This doesn’t necessarily even need to have an able neurotypical in the picture- a personal experience I had that was extremely hurtful was at a point in high school, I decided to do some research on autism for a school project. As an autistic teenager looking up resources online, I was very upset to realize that every single resource I accessed at the time presumed it was talking to a neurotypical parent about their helpless autistic child. I was looking for resources to myself, yet made to feel like I was the subject in a conversation.

Likewise, many wheelchair users have relayed the experience of, when they, in their chair, are in an environment accompanied by someone else who isn’t using a chair, strangers would speak to the standing person exclusively, avoiding addressing the chair user. 

It’s important to always remind yourself that at no point do disabled people stop being people. Yes, even people who have facial deformities; yes, even people who need help using the bathroom; yes, even people who drool; yes, even people whose conditions impact their ability to communicate, yes, even people with cognitive disabilities. They are people, they deserve dignity, and they are not “a child trapped in a 27-year-old body”- a disabled adult is still an adult. All of the “trying to learn the right rules” in the world won’t save you if you keep an underlying fear of non-normative bodies and minds.

This also has a modest overlap between disability and sexuality in particular. I am an autistic grayromantic ace. Absolutely none of my choices or inclinations about sex are because I’m too naive or innocent or childlike to comprehend the notion- disabled people have as diverse a relationship with sexuality as any other. That underlying fear- as mentioned before- can prevent many people from imagining that, say, a wheelchair user might enjoy sex and have experience with it. Make sure all of your disabled characters have full internal worlds.

Poor sickly little Tiffany and the Red Right Hand

A big part of fictional ableism is that it separates the disabled into two categories. Anybody who’s used TVTropes would recognize the latter term I used here. But to keep it brief:

Poor, sickly little Tiffany is cute. Vulnerable. How her disability affects her life is that it constantly creates a pall of suffering that she lives beneath. After all, having a non-normative mind or body must be an endless cavalcade of suffering and tragedy, right? People who are disabled clearly spend their every waking moment affected by, and upset, that they aren’t normal!

The answer is... No, actually. Cut the sad violin; even people who have chronic pain who are literally experiencing pain a lot more than the rest of us are still fully capable of living complex lives and being happy. If nothing else, it would be literally boring to feel nothing but awful, and people with major depression or other problems still, also, have complicated experiences. And yes, some of it’s not great. You don’t have to present every disability as disingenuously a joy to have. But make a point that they own these things. It is a very different feeling to have a concerned father looking through the window at his angel-faced daughter rocking sadly in her wheelchair while she stares longingly out the window, compared to a character waking up at midnight because they have to go do something and frustratedly hauling their body out of their bed into their chair to get going.

Poor Sickly Little Tiffany (PSLT, if you will) virtually always are young, and they virtually always are bound to the problems listed under ‘failing the heartwarming dog’ test. Yes, disabled kids exist, but the point I’m making here is that in the duality of the most widely accepted disabled characters, PSLT embodies the nadir of the Victim, who is so pure, so saintly, so gracious, that it can only be a cruel quirk of fate that she’s suffering. After all, it’s not as if disabled people have the same dignity that any neurotypical and able-bodied person has, where they can be an asshole and still expect other people to not seriously attack their quality of life- it’s a “service” for the neurotypical and able-bodied to “humor” them.

(this is a bad way to think. Either human lives matter or they don’t. There is no “wretched half-experience” here- if you wouldn’t bodily grab and yank around a person standing on their own feet, you have no business grabbing another person’s wheelchair)

On the opposite end- and relevant to your question- is the Red Right Hand. The Red Right Hand does not have PSLT’s innocence or “purity”- is the opposite extreme. The Red Right Hand is virtually always visually deformed, and framed as threatening for their visual deformity. To pick on a movie I like a fair amount, think about how in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the title character is described- “Strong. Fast. Had a metal arm.” That’s a subtle example, but, think about how that metal arm is menacing. Sure, it’s a high tech weapon in a superhero genre- but who has the metal arm? The Winter Soldier, who is, while a tormented figure that ultimately becomes more heroic- scary. Aggressive. Out for blood.

The man who walks at midnight with a Red Right Hand is a signal to us that his character is foul because of the twisting of his body. A good person, we are led to believe, would not be so- or a good person would be ashamed of their deformity and work to hide it. The Red Right Hand is not merely “an evil disabled person”- they are a disabled person whose disability is depicted as symptomatic of their evil, twisted nature, and when you pair this trope with PSLT, it sends a message: “stay in your place, disabled people. Be sad, be consumable, and let us push you around and decide what to do with you. If you get uppity, if you have ideas, if you stand up to us, then the thing that made you a helpless little victim will suddenly make you a horrible monster, and justify us handling you with inhumanity.”

As someone who is a BIG fan of eldritch horror and many forms of unsettling “wrongness” it is extremely important to watch out for the Red Right Hand. Be careful how you talk about Villainous Disability- there is no connection between disability and morality. People will be good, bad, or simply just people entirely separate from their status of ability or disability. It’s just as ableist to depict every disabled person as an innocent good soul as it is to exclusively deal in grim and ghastly monsters.

Don’t justify disabilities and don’t destroy them.

Superpowers are cool. Characters can and IMO should have superpowers, as long as you’re writing a genre when they’re there.

BUT.

It’s important to remember that there is no justification for disabilities, because they don’t need one. Disability is simply a feature characters have. You do not need to go “they’re blind, BUT they can see the future”

This is admittedly shaky, and people can argue either way; the Blind Seer is a very pronounced mythological figure and an interesting philosophical point about what truly matters in the world. There’s a reason it exists as a conceit. But if every blind character is blind in a way that completely negates that disability or makes it meaningless- this sucks. People have been blind since the dawn of time. And people will always accommodate their disabilities in different ways. Even if the technology exists to fix some forms of blindness, there are people who will have “fixable” blindness and refuse to treat it. There will be individuals born blind who have no meaningful desire to modify this. And there are some people whose condition will be inoperable even if it “shouldn’t” be.

You don’t need to make your disabled characters excessively cool, or give them a means by which the audience can totally forget they’re disabled. Again, this is a place where strong worldbuilding is your buddy- a handwave of “x technology fixed all disabilities”, in my opinion, will never come off good. If, instead, however, you throw out a careless detail that the cool girl the main character is chatting up in a cyberpunk bar has an obvious spinal modification, and feature other characters with prosthetics and without- I will like your work a lot, actually. Even if you’re handing out a fictional “cure”- show the seams. Make it have drawbacks and pros and cons. A great example of this is in the series Full Metal Alchemist- the main character has two prosthetic limbs, and not only do these limbs come with problems, some mundane (he has phantom limb pains, and has to deal with outgrowing his prostheses or damaging them in combat) some more fantastical (these artificial limbs are connected to his nerves to function fluidly- which means that they get surgically installed with no anesthesia and hurt like fuck plugging in- and they require master engineering to stay in shape). We explicitly see a scene of the experts responsible for said limbs talking to a man who uses an ordinary prosthetic leg, despite the advantages of an automail limb, because these drawbacks are daunting to him and he is happier with a simple prosthetic leg.

Even in mundane accommodations you didn’t make up- no two wheelchair users use their chair the exact same way, and there’s a huge diversity of chairs. Someone might be legally blind but still navigate confidently on their own; they might use a guide dog, or they might use a cane. They might even change their needs from situation to situation!

Disability accommodations are part of life

This ties in heavily to the previous point, but seriously! Don’t just look up one model of cane and superimpose it with no modifications onto your character- think about what their lifestyle is, and what kind of person they are!

Also medication is not the devil. Yes, medical abuse is real and tragic and the medication is not magic fairy dust that solves all problems either. But also, it’s straight ableism to act like anybody needing pills for any reason is a scary edgy plot twist. 

(and addiction is a disease. Please be careful, and moreover be compassionate, if you’re writing a character who’s an addict)

3. Be mindful of cast composition

This, to me, is a big tip about disability writing and it’s also super easy to implement!

Just make sure your cast has a lot of meaningful disabled characters in it!

Have you done all the work you can to try and dodge the Red Right Hand but you’re still worried your disabled villain is a bad look? They sure won’t look like a commentary on disability if three other people in the cast are disabled and don’t have the same outlook or role! Worried that you’re PSLT-ing your main character’s disabled child? Maybe the disability is hereditary and they got it from the main character!

The more disabled characters you have, the more it will challenge you to think about what their individual relationship is with the world and the less you’ll rely on hackneyed tropes. At least, ideally.

-

Ultimately, there’s no perfect silver bullet of diversity writing that will prevent a work from EVER being ableist, but I hope this helped, at least!

#disability #writing ruminations #readmore

[fleur-de-violette]

And I’ll look into your eyes to find out if I’m real

A3O Summary: Bruce wants a lot of things. A bath. Seeing his family. Not having been missing for a whole year.

He wants Dick to wake up and realize he’s not a hallucination.

Whumptober 2020 day 6 – Stop, please. Note: Have you seen that the whumptober 2021 prompts are out? They’re super cool and I didn’t finish the 2020 so it’s safe to say I won’t do them. Still, I’m excited for it.

Back to the fic, warning for hallucination, lots of crying and pretty much general angst. Enjoy!

-

Bruce wants a bath.

He wants a lot of things. One of them is a bath. He never considered himself too dependent on the luxuries that came with his civilian identity, but right now, he really wants to be in clean, warm water with a nice scent, maybe a few candles, and some relaxing music.

It isn’t as much about the bath itself, because he had the time to clean himself, warm up and relax his aching muscles in the shower, it’s the idea of it. He wants to be in a moment where he could allow himself to lose time without feeling guilty about the next crisis. These moments are too rare, if not nonexistent, in his life. And now isn’t one of these moments.

Bruce wants a lot of things.

He wants Alfred not to look so tired. He wants to see Tim smile, really smile. He wants to take the next flight to Hong Kong just so he can hug Cassandra. He wants to solve a case with Steph, watch that smart spark in her eyes and find out how much she grew up. He wants to go to Crime Alley and check on Jason. He wants to shake Gordon’s hand and to kiss Barbara’s hair. He wants to feel Selina’s body against his. He wants to understand Damian. He wants to see Dick’s eyes.

He hasn’t seen Dick’s eyes since he came back from time. Batman’s white lenses had left his son’s face sometime between the moment he passed out next to Damian and the moment a neurosurgeon removed a bullet from the inside of his skull. Dick had yet to wake up.

And Bruce hadn’t seen Dick’s eyes in a year.

It’s something that hasn’t happened since that fateful night at Haly’s Circus. Even when they weren’t talking, he always took the time to check on his ward. His son.

He never wanted things to go this way. He has all the money anyone could wish for and more, a position of power, both in one of the biggest companies on earth and in the most famous superhero team in the universe. He’d been trained by the best of the best.

And yet.

And yet he can’t stop his family from ripping to shreds.

The Joker is still loose. He’s got a dozen missed calls on his phone, mostly from Clark. He doesn’t care. Right now, he doesn’t care. He’s tired.

Dick must be tired too. Bruce tries to tell himself that this is the reason he hadn’t woken up yet. He’d been assured by several doctors that the surgery went well. Dick should wake up anytime now, and the confusion and pain will decrease within the next few weeks, leaving only a scar on the back of his head, until that, too, will be hidden behind the thick black hair Bruce hadn’t ruffled affectionately in ages.

Bruce’s hands hover over his son’s unconscious body, as if afraid of touching him. Of breaking him more than he already did. Not for the first time, he wonders what would have happened if he had ensured that the young boy from the circus found a good foster family and left him there. If he hadn’t, with all the vanity of a twenty-four-year-old millionaire, thought he was the only one who could take care of him.

He sighs. He lowers his head once again toward Dick’s face and sees two cloudy blue eyes looking back at him.

He blinks. Tries to control the avalanche of emotions falling upon him. “Hey,” he says, choking on his own voice.

He’s not really expecting an answer, so he’s surprised when Dick opens his dry lips and lets out a small, “Hey. Long time, no see.”

A tear Bruce knows Dick doesn’t even notice forms itself in his son’s eye. Bruce wipes it away gently. “Are you in any pain?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” Dick lies. Bruce doesn’t call him out on it.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Dick goes to shake his head but aborts the movement with a pained jerk. “No,” he says instead.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

Dick lets out a small laugh. “How would you know? You’re a figment of my imagination.”

Bruce suddenly feels very cold. He takes in both the knowledge that Dick doesn’t think he’s real and the implication that hallucinating him is something he’s familiar with.

His hand presses a little more on his son’s face. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m real.”

Dick closes his eyes and another tear escapes one of them. “Don’t. Please.”

“Talk to me. What can I do to convince you?” Bruce feels a pressure building behind his own eyes.

“Please, stop,” Dick repeats. “I can’t. I can’t believe you.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll take all the time you need. You don’t have to believe me now, but you need to calm down.”

Dick is close to hyperventilating now, and Bruce wonders if he should just leave the room and let Alfred take care of him. But that seems too much like running away for his liking, and he’s been away long enough.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Dick continues, not caring, or perhaps not registering what Bruce said. “I can’t, you’re not. I can’t hope, because what if I wake up and you’re gone? Again?”

Bruce feels his heart shattering into pieces, but he can’t let himself break down. “Breathe, Robin,” he says, immediately wincing when the name passes his lips.

Calling him by a title he hadn’t worn in years probably won’t help Dick’s grip with reality, but he can’t help it. Right now, he can only see a distressed child in front of him. A child who always responded well to this name.

And it seems that some things can’t be erased by time, because Dick gasps and takes a few more deep breaths, calming down. Bruce thinks the worst of it is over. He thinks maybe Dick will fall back asleep, and wake up again in a few hours, less confused this time.

He’s wrong.

Because not a minute later, Dick opens his eyes again, and says, “The real you would be much angrier than that.”

Bruce feels the mass in his throat, the one that appeared at the beginning of the conversation, start to grow again. “What? No, why would I be angry?”

“Let you down,” Dick answers in a way that makes Bruce wish he had never asked. “Disrespected your will. Let Gotham become a mess. Destroyed Batman’s name.”

“You didn’t,” Bruce murmurs. “You didn’t.” When Dick doesn’t seem to calm down, he adds, “You’re a better Batman than I’ll ever be.”

Because this is true. He doesn’t need Alfred of Gordon to tell him what he always knew. Dick is the essence of what Batman should be. He’s the Batman Gotham needs, even if she doesn’t deserve him. And for that reason, Dick shouldn’t have been Batman. He’s perfect, and he’s destroying himself.

Batman had never been a title to pass on, let alone to Dick. Sure, he trusted his son and first sidekick to take the mantle if he was unable to, but he never had wanted him to be Batman. No one but him was supposed to be Batman. Cassandra was the closest to the title, but she wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t let that burden fall on her.

Still, he hadn’t wanted it to fall on Dick, either.

“Why are you saying that?” Dick asks. Bruce can practically see the gears turning in his head. Good. He knows firsthand that Dick is a damn good detective. He will figure this out. “This is not something I believe or fear or want to hear. Why are you saying that?”

“I’m real,” Bruce repeats, and Dick lets out a sob.

“You’re not,” he protests, but Bruce can see his resolve weakening. “You’re not. Tim said, but you…”

He stops. Blinks. A few more tears fall out of his eyes, and Bruce knows his own aren’t dry either. “You’re real. You’re… please, be real.”

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking down. “I’m real,” he chokes. “I promise.”

Dick’s eyes go wide. “What about Damian?” he asks. “Aren’t you angry?”

Bruce sighs. What about Damian? This is a whole different question. The kid is sleeping in his room right now, having finally listened to Alfred, leaving his Batman’s side. He had barely said a word to Bruce.

Bruce has been gone for a year, not by choice, sure, but gone nonetheless, and now he doesn’t know where he fits, between his son in blood and his son in everything else.

Batman and Robin, a bond that can’t be broken. A bond that still exists, he hopes, between himself and Dick.

“I will talk with him,” he says because his relationship with Damian, his complicated feelings about the mere existence of Damian and his anxiety about having to work with him as a Robin, aren’t Dick’s responsibility. They never should have been. “I’m not angry with you.”

Dick blinks again. “My head hurts,” he finally admits.

Bruce’s hand hovers over the morphine drip. “Do you want more painkillers?”

“If I sleep,” Dick asks, “Will you still be there when I wake up?”

Bruce bends down, leaves a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dick says. “But thank you, for being here.”

Still, he closes his eyes and his body relaxes a little. Probably as much as it is possible while recovering from brain surgery.

Bruce stays there a long time, his hand still on Dick’s face. He’s broken a lot of promises. But he’s sure of one thing.

He will be here when Dick wakes up again.

He will still be real.

Ending Note: Hope you enjoyed the fic! Many thanks to @ohmytoddhewitt for beta reading!

#dc #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #emotional whump #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #dick grayson whump #fanfiction #my fic #my writing #bruce wayne is a good parent

[berylgrace]

101 for percabeth?? :)

hello sweet angel anything for you!! i don't know what happened here

It’s not often Percy gets one over on Annabeth during a sparring match. They’re both skilled; Annabeth seems to think he’s replaced Luke as the greatest swordsman of their time, not that it’s a title he’s willing to claim for himself, but she’s been practising since she was seven years old. Annabeth is terrifyingly fast, the short blade of her knife allowing her to dive in close, strike fast, steal victories from right underneath her opponent’s nose. She has lightning reflexes and a sharp mind, able to judge in a split-second whether or not a risk is worth taking.

And, admittedly, she seems markedly less concerned about injuring her boyfriend than Percy is about injuring his girlfriend. Call it the old-fashioned chivalry that Sally had drilled into him, but he’s reluctant to maim the girl he loves. She has no such worries.

But sparring with her is so fun. No one else pushes his boundaries quite as far, no one else tests the limits of his physical strength purely for the sake of combat. Clarisse gets him too angry, the other campers don’t match up. But Annabeth is a challenge, every time, one that usually ends in a draw, dripping sweat, neither quite defeating the other.

Percy hadn’t planned on playing dirty, too. Annabeth had sealed her own fate last week, pulling out whatever judo shit she’d been practising with a few Ares kids in her spare time. She’d won without question, but fairness had certainly been removed from the equation.

So, revenge.

His chest aches with exertion as he circles the training ground, a good twenty or so minutes of intense sparring already behind them. His face is hot and wet, lungs screaming, but his mind remains resolute. Annabeth comes at him again, a gleam in her eyes, and he blocks her strike with his sword, holding her off until she’s forced to concede and step back, too awkwardly positioned to force Riptide from his hands.

Gods, she looks beautiful like this. Panting, sweating, red-faced, determined. Her eyes are wild, turned mad with storms of ambition and victory brewing behind them. Her curls are tied back into a braid, but the flyaways around her face stick to her skin despite attempts to huff them out of the way. There’s something special about getting to see her like this - he might well be the only person who gets this view, the full glory of Annabeth in battle without the terror of knowing she’s going to kill him. It’s a unique privilege, one that allows him to take in her beauty as he simultaneously assesses her weaknesses.

Seizing his opportunity, he charges, bringing his sword down in an arc that forces her backwards, rushing into defence. He can see the cogs turning in her head, trying to predict his next move. She’s incredibly good at that, so much so that his plan is totally out of left field, purely for the element of surprise. As she tries to regain the upper hand, arms trembling with the effort, he suddenly pulls back, ducking down as her retaliating force sends her careening forwards, and at the last minute grabs her legs to pull her over.

Sure, he overshoots a little, and ends up toppling himself in the process, but it doesn’t matter; Annabeth lands in the dust with a thud and a surprised groan, her knife clattering off somewhere to the side, and Percy lands on top of her moments later.

He’s very proud of himself. His face must say so.

“You asshole.”

Her entire left cheek is streaked with dust. She tries to glare at him, but he just laughs, still in disbelief that it had actually worked.

“You overbalanced! I think that means I win,” He crows. It’s his right to, after all - she does it all the time.

“You’re gonna win my fist in your face,” She grumbles, making no attempt to get up or shove him off her. “That was so dirty. I’m kinda impressed.”

Percy laughs. “I knew you would be.” He kisses her cheek (the non-dusty one, facing him and glinting in the sunlight.)

She falls quiet, evidently catching her breath after such an intense fight. Naturally, the peace doesn’t last long, as a voice from somewhere behind them suddenly calls out:

“Are they like, making out? Ew!”

Annabeth lets out a sigh that can only be described as defeated, yet uncaring at the same time. “I… didn’t realise anyone was watching us.”

“They always do, babe.” As much as he hates it, a lot of the campers still find a novelty enjoyment out of watching two of their brightest in any kind of battle. Percy’s never really enjoyed the attention, but it’s something he’s gotten used to ignoring, at least.

She groans again, but still doesn’t move or push him off. “I hate you. They think we’re like, dry humping down here.”

Percy scoffs, mock-indignant. “You don’t hate me, quit lying to yourself. And I’ll have you know, I am not remotelydry. I am marinating in sweat right now.”

“What a lovely thing to tell me when you’re on top of me.”

“Aww, you’re welcome, honeybun!” Percy lays it on thick, hamming up the stupid nickname as he shuffles himself even closer on top of her, wrapping her in his arms. He probably smells and feels gross, but she’s just as bad, and it’s his job, nay, his duty as a boyfriend to be the bane of her life. Annabeth shrieks, wriggling and attempting to escape, but he traps her and cackles with delight.

“Get off of me!”

“What, you don’t like my musk?”

“Is that what you call it?” Annabeth laughs, pretending to gag, “Oh my gods! I’m going to die here!”

“What a wonderful way to go, don’t you think?”

She rolls her eyes, giggling. “It’s not the hero’s death I imagined.”

He nods. “But it’s the one you deserve.”

#percabeth #my writing #still accepting prompts btw pls send them!! <3

[milkteahood]

So what if shortly after Miranda takes rose she also kidnapped heisenberg’s kid too? Probably because of how successful of an experiment he was. Which leads to Ethan teaming up with the Heisenberg family to save both kids (also rose isn’t to be used as a weapon). We all know that Karl isn’t one to be messed with but don’t underestimate a P. O. mother. Happy ending please!

Karl would come home one day from the village to find his wife crying hysterically and throwing things around. He’d immediately rush to her to ask what’s wrong to which she tells him “that bitch took my baby”. Karl’s mind goes blank for a moment there “what do you mean she took them?”.

“She took them Karl! I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t do anything!” she’d cry “she said she’s a perfect match in case Rose fails because you yourself were so close to being perfect for her”

At this point Karl would be fuming. One is to use him, but using his child awakened a new type of anger he didn’t know he was capable of. He’d hug his wife close reassuring her that they will get the kid back no matter what. They both work on a plan to take down Miranda, plan which includes Ethan because they know very well that he’ll kill the other lords.

“Isn’t there a way for Ethan to get Rose without killing the rest?” she’d ask while they wait for him.

“I’m afraid not. There’s no way those morons would betray Miranda” Karl would say.

The thought of Donna and Sal dying made her sad. They really deserved better. Even Alcina’s fate made her feel pity. All she’s ever wanted was to be Miranda’s favorite. Little did she know Miranda valued Karl over all of them. Karl’s s/o would sit quietly while listening to her husband and Ethan talk. He really seemed angry, but that made 3 of them.

Once Ethan arrived and got the final jar, he was expecting a battle. Meanwhile, all he found were Karl’s plans all over the place. As he was reading the papers scattered across the table he heard a woman’s voice arguing with Karl “let me talk to him. You’ll scare him off. Hell, you even tried killing him”.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ethan snarled, holding the jar tightly

“I’m Y/N. Please, take a sit” she’d say while gesturing to the chair near by.

Ethan didn’t move and Karl wasn’t having any of his shit.

“She said sit!” he’d yell and grab Ethan, forcing him to sit on the chair.

“What the fuck do you two want?!” he’d say.

“Look Ethan, we need to help each other” Y/N started “Miranda didn’t only take Rose, she also took our child”.

“What? You two have a kid? I’m not buying that” Ethan replied.

“You can either help us, or you can become food for— auch!” Karl would suddenly turn to his wife “what was that for?”

“I told you to be nice!” Y/N said.

“And if I help you, do I get Rose back?” Ethan would ask

“Absolutely! And in one piece” Y/N would reply “we just want our kid back”.

Ethan would agree to the plan, because he knows the pain they’re going through. He would be completely surprised about the fact that Karl is married and pretty confused that someone can actually stand him, let alone have his child. Even with everything he’s been through since he arrived in the village, Karl being a family man was the biggest shock to Ethan.

Killing Miranda wasn’t going to be easy and even Karl was scared they might lose. Ethan and Chris met later on, as he sought out Ethan once he discovered he had sided with Karl. It’s safe to say Ethan was not happy about seeing him, but listened to everything Chris had to say. Y/N was happy more help was coming but Karl was wary of them.

The plan was simple, Ethan and Karl would take on Miranda, while Y/N and part of Chris’s squad would sneak in and take the children. The battle was painful and both Ethan and Karl made peace with the fact they might die. Karl never told Y/N about it tho. He never told her there’s a good chance he’ll die.

Luckily, with Chris’s help, they managed to destroy Miranda once and for all. Y/N got the kids and was running to hug her husband, but not before he handed Rose to Ethan. Karl would hug his wife and child tightly and Mia would be so thankful for their help.

Chris would take Karl to the side and explain everything to him, including the fact that he and his family have to be kept under observation “I know this is difficult for you, but if you cooperate, you and your family can finally gain your freedom. And do not worry, no harm shall come to your child”. To seal the deal, he’d let Karl do the honors and blow up the entire village.

Years go by and Karl’s child and Rose are best friends and so are Mia and Y/N. Karl and Ethan would have a love hate relationship, as in “I definitely consider murdering you, but I will not let anyone else do it”.

#milkteas asks #heisenberg asks #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #karl heinsenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #re8 heisenberg

[helpistolethesecharacters]

A Match Made by the Gods

Part 2

Thor x Male Son of Zeus Reader

Word Count: 1576

Hi Anon! I hope this is what you were after for part 2!

-----------

Thor leaned back in his seat, admiring Y/n as he sipped his drink. They had been meeting a couple of times a week for a drink or two ever since their encounter in the forest over a month ago now.

After the initial misunderstanding between them, Thor had felt a little unsure how to go about acting on the not-at-all platonic feelings that were developing inside him. Normally he would just go for it, after all, you wouldn't know if the other person was interested if you didn't ask, but he was wary. Things hadn't ended well with Jane, and he was hesitant to have things sour between himself and Y/n.

"Tell me more of this 'Camp Half-Blood' that you work at."

The amused expression on Y/n's face was worth more than Thor could say. He did so enjoy seeing the other man's face light up in any way.

"Well," Y/n began with a private smile, "We're all descendants of Greek Gods. We've got the big three; Zeus, Poseidon and Hades, and then the lesser known Gods and Goddesses of the Pantheon. Each one has a cabin for their children when they come through the camp. Some of them are bigger, like the one for Aphrodite's children, and they're usually located near the various things that are the most relevant to that God, like Poseidon's cabin is located right on the water."

Thor watched Y/n gesture with his hands as he got more caught up in explaining. There was so much life in this man. Thor enjoyed being someone who was allowed to see it.

"The kids are great, but things can get pretty crazy when you add in super abilities and prejudices and whatnot."

"Prejudices? What do you mean?"

Y/n took another sip of his drink and mulled the question over. He was sure that Thor wasn't asking about the word itself, more the context. He refused to buy into the popular theory that the God was totally naive.

"Well, its a pretty mixed bag at the camp. There are the kids that stick to their parents particular grudges and beefs with the other Gods and Goddesses in the hopes that if they hold the same beliefs, then maybe their parent will pay them attention or find them worthy, or something. And then there are the ones that can see their parent for what they are. Those are the ones that either make up their own minds or hold the complete opposite opinion simply for the chance to pull the finger, metaphorically, at their absent parent."

Thor bowed his head in thought.

"Those that can see their parent for what they are. What are they?"

His normally boisterous voice was lowered to account for the serious conversation he had stumbled onto.

Y/n leaned in unconsciously as he answered.

"Well, essentially they're the deadbeat parent that left the other parent with a baby and no real way to protect it from the dangers that come for them just for being what they are."

They were silent for a little while, both lost in thought.

"I think that, for the God or Goddess in question, there's an element of shame in there. More than what you would expect for having abandoned their child."

Y/n licked his dry lips and kept his eyes on his glass, now empty on the table in front of him.

"For them, we, the children they leave behind," he clarified with a quick glance at Thor, "are a symbol. We are absolute proof that they are not the perfect beings they pretend they are. We are the undeniable fact that they, the seemingly divine Gods, fell in love and laid with humans. For all their powers, they are not so different from us. The only difference is that we don't deny our faults."

Thor sat in silence, just watching the man on the other side of the booth. For all that both Asgardians and Olympians were regarded as Gods by the humans, they were apparently quite different. He, for one, was sure there was no force on Midgard that could force him to leave Y/n behind. He would even defy his own father if it came down to it. He might not have the other man in the way that he wanted yet, but he was sure that at some point in the future it would happen. Their meeting had been nothing less than an act of fate.

-----------

Something odd was happening to Thor. A few times in the last week his powers had acted up without his prompting. Specifically, the last two times he had walked Y/n back to his car, he had gathered his courage and gone to lean in to try to kiss him goodnight, but instead of either being rebuffed or accepted, thunder would rumble out of nowhere or lightning would strike down far too close for comfort.

It wouldn't affect Thor much, it was his element, but if he was this out of control at the thought of kissing the other man, he was worried that he could accidentally hurt him, or worse.

So tonight when they were standing by Y/n's car and lingering by each other with no other reason to prolong goodbye, Thor was understandably nervous. He wanted so badly to kiss Y/n, but he really didn't want to be the cause of pain for the other man.

He didn't even get close this time, as just as he made to step closer, thunder rolled across the sky warningly. Thor looked into Y/n's eyes, an exasperated look on his face.

"I am very sorry about that, I honestly don't know what's wrong with me. I haven't been this out of control since I was much younger!"

He took in the guilty look on Y/n's face and felt his own face shift to match the confusion he was feeling.

Y/n cringed.

"I don't think it's your fault."

Thor shifted slightly.

"Father." He said softly, suddenly connecting the dots from their first meeting. The look on Y/n's face was confirmation enough for him.

"Your father is Zeus, the lightning God."

Thor spoke slowly as he parsed out his thoughts. Y/n nodded with a defeated look on his own face.

"Yeah, sorry about this. I don't know what his problem is, he hasn't interfered in my life in years. To be honest with you I thought he had forgotten he had me as a son."

Thor thought to relations between the realms of the 'Gods'.

"I might have an idea about that."

--------------

'Sometimes it pays to know so many sorcerers.' Thor thought absently to himself as he stood on the top of the Empire State building. He wasn't about to walking into their realm, but he also knew that if they didn't do this now, he might never get up the nerve to do it.

It had taken pathetically little time to find out where the entrance was. Thor knew he could have asked Y/n, but he wanted to sort this out without him, and he just knew that Y/n would want to be involved if he told him why he wanted to know.

Unfortunately, he knew how the 'Gods' tended to think of humans, Y/n might only be half human but that still made him lesser than them in the eyes of those with powers and life-spans like theirs, and Thor wasn't about to put Y/n in that position if he didn't have to.

An earsplitting strike of lightning right beside him brought Thor out of his thoughts. He looked out over the skyline instead of facing the man he now knew was Y/n's father.

"Why have you come here Asgardian? You are not welcome in our territory."

"You know why I am here."

He left it at that. Zeus knew why he was there, and Thor wasn't prepared to pretend otherwise.

The other man turned to stare at Thor. He turned to meet Zeus's eyes. He wasn't about to be cowed by this man. They shared an element after all.

"You are trying to corrupt my son."

Thor rolled his eyes and turned back to the skyline. It was less infuriating.

"I have no such wishes. Your son is a good man. I wonder what stake you could have in the matter. The worried father? I think perhaps you lost that right when you gave him to his mother and turned away. Perhaps you are worried for your power base? I have no plans to sway Y/n from his position, nor any future plans you may have for him."

Zeus was staring stonily at Thor.

"Whether I was there during his childhood in person or not is not the issue here. I was always there in spirit."

He sighed, and seemed to lose his fight.

"I suppose, in the end, you are right. I have no control over who my son dates. But let me tell you. If you hurt my son, not even your All-Father will be able to save you from my wrath. There will be nowhere in any realm that you could hide where I would not find you."

With a last strike of lightning, Zeus was gone, leaving Thor standing on the top of the Empire State building alone.

The one thing that broke through the silence left behind by Zeus was the thought that if he hurt Y/n, he would deserve everything that the other God would heap on him.

#Thor x Male Reader

[j-amespotter]

★ cardigan - s. b.

“i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.” 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

x. x. x.

Summary: Your relationship with Sirius is on the rocks, but you loved him and at the end of the day, he was always there. For your own happiness, something had to change. 

Genre/Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, toxic relationship 

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this took a lot, and i mean a lot of energy. not sure how i feel about it (i am my worst critic) but i really didn’t want a pushover protagonist. ps... communicating with your partner is hot! let me know what you think (and if you think i should make a taglist) :) 

masterlist

“Ravenclaw girl this time. Blonde… I think I recognize her. Couldn’t see the front of her robes, she might be one of the fifth-year prefects. You know I’m terrible with names. Ask James, he finds it hilarious.”

“You should work for the Prophet, Lils,” you said, without looking up from your toast, which was becoming more and more tasteless with every bite. “What were they doing?” 

“Talking,” answered Lily pointedly. “He ended the conversation fairly quickly when he saw me looking, though.” 

You sighed. This discussion was becoming too routine for your liking, most often with Lily, occasionally with Remus. “Well, if they were just talking, then I don’t see the issue. Lily, it is early. We have double Potions this morning. I really don’t want to deal with your weird suspicions about my boyfriend right now.” 

If Lily sensed your underlying irritation, she chose to ignore it. “I just think you deserve better, that’s all. I mean, James–” 

You finally turned and stared defiantly into your best friend’s vibrant green eyes. “Lily, I hate to break it to you, but James is the exception, not the rule. Just because he’s some angel on earth doesn’t mean all boyfriends are like that, and that’s not even considering the fact that he’s been hopelessly in love with you since second year…” 

Huffing, Lily picked at the fruit off of her plate. “Okay, I get it. I won’t bring it up again.” It was sweet how much Lily cared. James doted on her day and night. It would have been easy to forget about her friend’s love-related quandaries. But that was Lily Evans – always considerate of others.

Truthfully, you were tired. You knew what ‘talking’ with Sirius Black entailed. It did not make you feel as secure as you indicated to Lily. As time went on, it was getting increasingly harder to defend Sirius’s overly-careless behavior. If he wasn’t chatting up girls in random corners of the castle, he stood you up on your scheduled study dates in favor of detention with James. There was only a little comfort in the fact that he wasn’t always like this. If he was, would you have even dated him? Deep down, you knew that as much as Sirius was a thrill-chaser, he was incredibly capable of being a loving boyfriend. For that reason alone, you bore the incredibly painful motions of being in a relationship with him. 

He briefly reminded you of his better qualities when you opened your Potions textbook and felt a feathery kiss on your neck. “Guess who?” whispered Sirius sultrily into your ear. 

You couldn’t help the automatic flush that made its way onto your cheeks. “Hmm… is it Remus?” you whispered back, stifling a giggle. 

“Don’t tease,” he grunted before planting a swift kiss on your cheek. He plopped onto the chair next to you and faced you with a lazy grin. “You look disappointed, love. I’m afraid your usual Potions partner is a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He gestured across the room, where you spotted Lily practically hanging off of James’s lap, distracting herself until the start of her favorite class with his lips. 

“They’re hopeless,” you commented airily, in an attempt to disguise your envy. You felt Sirius’s gaze burning into you. “Missed you at breakfast this morning,” you added in a casual tone.

“Oh, well, you know–” 

“No, I don’t know,” you interrupted, bitterness leaking from your clipped voice. You always let Sirius off too easily. “But I certainly can’t wait to hear your ready-made list of vague excuses. Please, do continue.” There. He had it coming. He deserved for you to throw him off track.

“Baby, it was nothing,” assured Sirius rather predictably. “Just Pippa asking for help with Transfiguration. Honest.” He placed a hand on his heart in mock sincerity, which only angered you further. 

Nevertheless, you chose not to argue. He was incredibly brilliant with his words. There was no way he would understand your plight. Instead, you absentmindedly flipped through your Potions textbook as Slughorn finally entered his unruly classroom. 

Sirius seemed uncharacteristically bothered by your lack of response. With a half-glance at James and Lily, he entwined his fingers into yours. “They’re in their honeymoon phase, you know. You really can’t compare.” 

“There is no comparison, Sirius. James prioritizes Lily. I can’t remember the last time you prioritized me,” you whispered. There was a finality in your tone that you hoped he would hear. It was the most you were willing to discuss the matter. 

Sirius Black was a lot of things, least of all oblivious. He gently squeezed your hand. Silently, he slipped his fingers out of yours, choosing to follow your lead and not pursue the issue any further. 

A part of you was proud of the fact that you finally found it in you to voice your concerns to him, but another larger part dreaded the irreversible distance it put between the two of you for the rest of the day. You weren’t necessarily avoiding each other. Though his smiles were significantly more tender, he seemed reluctant to talk, let alone touch you.

Sick of the mental torment you were subjecting yourself to, you stuffed your unfinished Charms essay into your bag and headed to your dormitory, choosing to retire for bed early. Mid-yawn, you spotted a single red rose on your unmade bed. You didn’t have to read the attached note to know who it was from but felt your heart thudding against your chest as you unfolded the small piece of parchment. 

I’m sorry. I love you. 

There was no signature, but you could recognize his meticulously-slanted script anywhere. You stared at the note adoringly before pressing your lips to the corner of the crumply parchment and marking it with the remnants of your lip gloss. 

Suddenly, you were no longer tired. Skipping down the stairs, you found yourself wishing for a certain map that would tell you the exact location of the only person you wanted to see.

Fate seemed to be on your side when you saw him in the common room, his head bowed as if he was praying. “You’re here!” 

He gazed up at you, his shoulders relaxing when he noticed the smile on your face. “I’m really–” 

You didn’t let him finish. You kissed him hard, throwing your arms around his neck. You felt him smile against your lips. Reluctantly, you pulled away from him. “Don’t worry about it. I was being silly.” 

Sirius’s grin widened. “You’re quite low maintenance, y’know. I thought it would take at least a week and a hundred roses. And if not roses, then daisies, sunflowers, peonies… I was ready to pull all the stops. For future reference, a good snog is all it takes to win me over.” 

You laughed heartily, though you struggled to keep up with his train of thought. You always appreciated his good-natured ability to poke fun at the gravest circumstances. “I just missed you.” 

“Me too, darling. I’ll do better this time, I promise.” 

☆

True to his word, Sirius showered you with a level of affection that could rival James’s for Lily. He spent every spare moment with you in his bed, sneaking into the kitchen for secret dinners, and pushing you against bookshelves in the back of the library, homework-be-damned.

On Tuesday night, you sat on the Astronomy Tower. You glanced at your watch, realizing that Sirius was nearly an hour late. Your eyelids were drooping shut. It had been a long day. Everything in your brain felt scattered. You could’ve been catching up on the mounds of schoolwork you were now falling behind on. Sirius… Did he say midnight? Did you hear him correctly? Maybe he meant for you to pencil it in. Maybe he was hurt. Was it Remus? You stared at the sky, peering at the crescent shape of the moon. It taunted you. Stop kidding yourself. He’s not coming. 

Just as you were about to call it a night, Sirius stumbled into the Tower and onto the floor. Startled, you helped him up. “There you are! Are you alright? I was so worried… Are you drunk?” 

His grey eyes shone in the soft moonlight. The cloudy expression on his face paired with the sloppy grin he sent your way spoke for him. “Lost track of time… we snuck into Hogsmeade,” he slurred. “Rosmerta slipped us some firewhiskey. Here, I brought us a bottle...” He reached into his robes, only to come out empty-handed. “Uh-oh… finished it. Sorry, baby.”

You processed his words very slowly, realization dawning on you with the weight of heavy bricks. “Un-fucking-believable.” 

“Hey! We’re all of age.” He threw up his hands in surrender and widened his eyes innocently. “Next time, darling. I promise.” 

“It’s not about the fucking drink, Sirius! You’re here so you obviously haven’t forgotten that we had plans tonight! I don’t care if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but you should’ve told me. I’ve been waiting here like an idiot for an hour. I’m exhausted!”

“Told you,” he grumbled, now irritated, “we lost track of time.” 

You stared at him, unable to comprehend his complete shift in attitude. “Whatever,” you said finally. “I’m going to bed.” 

Spinning on your heels, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you prepared to march away from him with your chin up. Before you could take too many steps, however, a firm hand grasped your wrist. The intensity of the force pulling you back to him felt so otherworldly that you could hardly believe it was a wasted Sirius. 

You had a fleeting thought of pushing him away but instead tilted your head so he could pepper kisses onto the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again, between his fluttering pecks along your jawline. 

His lips found yours. His hand released your limp wrist as his fingers gently trailed up your arm. “So beautiful,” he murmured, gazing directly into your eyes. You practically melted as your body fell into his. Like always, his arms were ready to catch you, drunk or otherwise. 

☆

“No Sirius yet?” asked your mother, sipping her drink cheerily.

You refused to look her in the eye in fear of giving something away. “No, not yet. Should be here soon, though.” 

“Better be,” said your father, slipping away from a party guest. “He’ll miss cake.”

It was your parents’ twentieth-anniversary party, an occasion made doubly special as their one and only daughter was now officially a Hogwarts graduate. You had planned the party and made Sirius promise that he would not only attend, but also arrive early to help greet your guests as your boyfriend. 

You knew that your parents did not initially approve of Sirius, but as your relationship strengthened, so did Sirius’s standing in your family. Now, post-Hogwarts, you were desperate to not only show your parents that the two of you were committed to one another but also feel yourself that your love would endure the many challenges of adulthood. 

As the last of your family friends trickled out of your childhood home, you failed to hide your disappointment at his loud absence. Like many months earlier, your mind see-sawed between possibilities, some pathetic, others worrying. You were in the middle of a war, after all. You always believed Sirius’s recklessness would be his downfall. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, your worries subsided when you saw him slip into the parlor with a present in hand and a sheepish smile directed at you and your parents. “Happy anniversary! Sorry I’m late, you won’t believe– hey, where’s the party?” 

“It’s over,” you announced bitterly. 

Your mum and dad sensed the tension and tactfully exited the room. “We saved you some cake, dear,” your mother said to Sirius, after politely thanking him for his present. 

“So,” you started as you heard your parents’ footsteps fade away, “where were you? Actually, don’t answer that. Let me talk first. This was important to me, Sirius. You knew that! What will I say to Mum and Dad? Don’t I matter to you at all? Is it always going to be like this?” 

“Slow down,” whispered Sirius. “I’ll explain everything – just listen! I was with James, okay? We were only mucking around on the bike. I was on the way, I swear! But then these Muggle Aurors – police, they’re called – they started chasing us! We were getting away but these three blokes – Death Eaters – caught up to us. Long story short, we got into quite a scuffle and…” He looked at you in an attempt to gauge your reaction. 

Your mouth hung open as you absorbed his story. Regardless of your anger, he presented a legitimate case for himself that you could not quash. “Death Eaters? Thank Merlin you’re alright. How on earth did you get away?” 

“I’ll tell you everything. Your mum mentioned something about cake?”

You stood on your toes, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head on his chest. “In the kitchen,” you answered softly. “I wish you would be more careful.” 

He kissed your temple. “Don’t worry,” said Sirius dismissively, “I handled it, didn’t I?” 

☆

“So, what do you think?” 

You and Sirius were standing in the middle of his new studio flat. Primely-located and newly-furnished, it was the picture-perfect bachelor pad. Sirius now had a place to call his own, thanks to a bountiful inheritance from his Uncle Alphard. The walls were bare and the lighting dim, adding an overall sensuality to the atmosphere. 

“It’s nice,” you remarked sincerely, smoothing his plain black bed sheets. You peeked into his wardrobe, smirking to yourself as you noticed it was half-empty. “Lost the rest of your clothes, babe?” 

“No,” answered Sirius quietly. “It’s for you.”

“What is?” 

“The closet space. It’s for your clothes.” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“For when I come to visit,” you amended automatically. 

You turned to see Sirius scratching the back of his head. “No, for when you live here. With me.” 

“W-What?” Your mind was reeling. You leaned against his side table to steady yourself. “Me? Move in with you?” 

“Well… yeah,” said Sirius as he slowly regained his signature confidence. “We’ve been together for ages, seems about right. Besides, James and Lily are getting a place together.” 

You did not understand why you weren’t over the moon. It was what you always wanted from him – a tell-tale symbol of his otherwise-flaky commitment to you, a sign of your sparkling love. It was the beginning of the next chapter of your lives, and you were meant to start it together. On paper, it was perfect. There was no explanation for the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Suddenly, the words that would never come were on the tip of your tongue. The answer was clear as day. “No.” 

“What?” 

It was an extremely difficult task to catch Sirius Black off-guard, a feat you used to motivate your argument. “No, Sirius. I won’t move in with you.” 

Shock was written all over his face. “What the hell? Why?” 

“Because… you didn’t even ask me!” 

Sirius stared at you blankly for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Alright… (Y/N), will you please do me the honor of sharing an address with me? Is that it, then? Shall I get down on one knee?” 

“No, Sirius. That’s not the point,” you said firmly. “The point is that you didn’t ask me. You just assumed that I would say yes – don’t interrupt. I know we’ve been together for years, but can’t you see? You make me so incredibly happy and yet, so unbelievably unhappy at the same time. You’re so good to me, and then so horrible, and then amazing again… I can hardly keep up anymore. I’m a fucking doormat and I’m sick of it! It’s humiliating. I’m tired of feeling humiliated in front of people I care about. It’s starting to become too high a price of being in love with you.” 

You ended shakily, afraid to look at him. When you dared, you saw him wearing an unfamiliar expression. The silence washed over you both for an eternity. You had the horrible thought that perhaps this was it. Perhaps, you crossed a line. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how broken you both were, how broken you were, and now… well, he couldn’t unsee it now. You were over. Without a word, you headed for the door with your head down.

“Wait,” shouted Sirius hoarsely. “Don’t go. I-I’m not sure what to say to make you stay.”

“Try being honest,” you whispered weakly. 

He swallowed nervously. “Okay, here goes. I know that I haven’t put enough effort into this relationship… I know that. I realize that I take you for granted and that you deserve better. I don’t blame you for thinking that. I would never have blamed you for thinking that. But here’s the truth – I am so far gone when it comes to you, you have no idea. I am so in love with you. I think about you morning, noon, and night. And the thing is, here we are, fighting for Muggles and Muggleborns and the good of the world… but above all, I am so utterly afraid of losing you. I think that’s why, actually. That’s why I keep you at arm’s length. I don’t think I mean to, but it just happens. Because I’ve never met anyone who loves me as much as you do, not even my mother. Especially not my mother. I’m torn between keeping you close and pushing you away because the truth is, you’ll always deserve better than me. And I’ve always been afraid of you realizing that.”

His truth was careful but sincere. Your hand slipped off the doorknob. Still, it was not the first time Sirius had rendered you speechless. “How do I know you mean it? That it’s more than just words to you?”

“Let me prove it to you,” he said meaningfully, grey eyes glistening. 

You took slow steps toward him, and he embraced you with the hope of filling all the gaps he may have left open. “Okay,” you said, your voice muffled into his shirt. “Just… leave the closet half-empty for a little while.” 

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