#zigging where another might have zagged

[bookyeom]

such a headache - bsk

pairing: seungkwan x reader word count: 1.9k warnings: a couple of swears i think, kissing, seungkwan being unfairly cute summary: You have really bad migraines, and a great boyfriend.

A/N: This one's for us, @wheeboo.

You haven’t been dating Seungkwan for very long when the first migraine hits. 

It’s not your first migraine. It is the first migraine you’ve had since you started going out with Seungkwan, though, and you don’t know how he’s going to handle it. You should have known that telling him you have to cancel on a date because you’re sick wasn’t going to help, though. 

You hear the doorbell to your apartment ring. Once, twice, and then your phone is ringing, and you’re suddenly afraid that the noise might make you throw up. Your doorbell rings again, and you groan, forcing yourself up and to the door. You're not sure how you make it, but you do. 

“Hi,” your boyfriend says breathlessly when you open the door, and you wince at the brightness of the shitty apartment hallway lights. You do manage to vaguely register how cute he looks, though.

“Hey.” Your hand lifts to your forehead and you push in on it, an attempt to stave off the pain that’s beginning to increase, your eyes squeezing shut. 

“Are you okay?”

You forgot where you were for a second, your eyes peeking open to look at him again. He’s got a couple of grocery store bags in hand, and you wince. 

“Honestly, I feel awful right now.”

Seungkwan steps forward and you let him in, closing the door behind you. He sets his bags down and then he’s pulling you in for a hug. You rest your forehead against his chest, reveling in the warmth of it against the place where your impending migraine looms. You almost whine when he pulls away, hands on your biceps as he assesses you. 

“What’s wrong? Is it your stomach? Do you have a cold? I brought stuff for everything, just in case.”

“Headache.”

Seungkwan looks surprised, a hand lifting to press against your forehead. “Do you have a fever? Chills? Runny nose?”

Your eyes squeeze shut again, leaning into the warmth of his palm. “Migraine, Seungkwan. I get really bad migraines.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Did you just apologize?” You shrug, and Seungkwan tsks. “Do you need Advil or Tylenol? I have both.” 

“Advil would be great.”

Seungkwan instructs you back into the darkness of your room. You have no idea what he’s going to do, but you willingly oblige, another apology on the tip of your tongue before you see the look on his face and decide against it. 

By the time your door cracks open, the pain has begun its increase. Seungkwan enters and you swallow the Advil he offers with a glass of water. He sits on the edge of your bed as you do, watching you, and you wince when your phone dings. He reaches for it immediately, switching it to silent.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I can’t really see straight right now.”

“What?”

You open one eye as you lean back against your headboard, finding him among the zig zags and blurry lines. “Everything’s a bit blurry at the moment.”

“Should I be concerned?”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite the fact that you feel so nauseous you could cry. “No,” you assure him. “I just need to wait it out. Fucking sucks.”

Seungkwan is quiet for a minute, and you let your eyes fall shut. You know he’s processing, and you wonder if he thinks you’re exaggerating like most people do. Then his hand finds your leg and he squeezes, and you think that maybe he’s not like most people. 

“Can I do anything else? Lights off, no noise, right?”

You nod, then realize he probably can’t see you very well in the dark. “Yeah.” You pause. “Could you…”

You hate asking for help. Seungkwan knows, and he squeezes your knee again. “I don’t mind,” he assures you.

“I need to eat something small. Maybe crackers? I don’t know if I have any, though.”

“I bought some.” 

He’s out the door and back in a flash. You thank him, forcing a couple of crackers down before you lie back down on the bed. You can’t think about much as the pain hits its peak. You want to cry, but you know that only makes it worse; you feel like you need to throw up, but you know you don’t actually have to. You just have to wait for the meds to kick in, and there’s nothing else to do about it. 

You’re about to apologize to Seungkwan again because you’re embarrassed that he’s seeing you like this, but he speaks before you can. 

“Do you want me to go? I want to stay,” he adds quickly, “but if I’m making it worse…”

All you can feel, above the pain and the nausea, is an overwhelming sense of affection. 

You are down so bad.

“Please stay.”

You wake up maybe an hour later and the pain is gone. You still feel weak, but better. The best part about waking up, though, is that your boyfriend is still there when you do. 

“Seungkwan?”

He looks away from his phone and over at you in surprise. “Hi! I didn’t know you were awake.”

“Mhm.”

“Feeling better?”

You nod. “A million times better.”

You register his arm under your head, his side pressed to yours, and you can’t help but snuggle in closer. You surge forward to press a kiss to his cheek, and he lets out a sigh. 

“You just recovered and you want to jump me already?” He shakes his head. “Insatiable.” 

It’s him that kisses you full on the mouth right after, though. 

“Okay,” Seungkwan says suddenly, attempting to remove his arm from around you, but you whine in protest and cling to him even tighter. You absolutely refuse to move from his side. He snorts, offering an affectionate hair ruffle before his hands leave you completely. You pout but don’t complain as he sits up a bit, because his hands have now begun furiously typing on his screen, which can mean only one thing: your boyfriend means business. About what, you have no clue.

You wait, head resting against his chest. Your eyes are beginning to shut again now that your body is done fighting itself. You always have the best sleep after a migraine. 

“Do you get…” Seungkwan pauses, and you drowsily look up to find him squinting at his screen. “Auras? Do you get auras?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Do you get auras before a migraine?” 

You’d laugh at how serious he looks right now, but you think that would get you in trouble, so you stick to simply answering his question. “Sometimes, yeah. Depends on how bad it’s gonna be.”

“So an aura can kind of tell you how much pain you’ll be in later?”

You think about it. “Kind of? I couldn’t measure how much pain I’ll be in when it hits, but when I start to get blurry vision I know it’ll be a bad one.” 

Seungkwan simply nods, and begins to type something out again. You’re confused but amused nonetheless. You have no idea what he’s doing, but he’s got his thinking face on — and he looks hot as hell. You’re blatantly ogling him when he asks the next question.

“You said you get blurry vision sometimes. That happened today, right? Earlier?” You nod. “What about like, numbness anywhere?” He looks a bit concerned as he says the last bit, and you squeeze his side. 

“Only sometimes. That one is pretty rare for me. Usually, I’ll be in pain by then, so the numbness doesn’t freak me out because I know why it’s happening.”

He nods, much like a scientist when recording lab results, and you attempt to peer at his phone. He pulls it away easily and you pout, but he ignores you. 

“Do you get any warning signs before a migraine?”

You shake your head. “That part really sucks — I get the blurry vision before the pain comes, but I don’t notice anything before my vision starts to zigzag.”

Seungkwan hums. You’re incredibly endeared. “It says here that some people prefer ibuprofen, some prefer acetaminophen, and that some people need prescription painkillers. What about you? I remember that Advil is the only thing that works for your cramps, right? Is it the same for your migraines?”

You suddenly realize exactly what he’s doing. 

You can’t do anything but stare up at him as he finishes his sentence, suddenly feeling so overwhelmed with fondness for the man beside you that you think you might be sick. He glances down at you when you don’t respond, concern etched across his face.

“Are you Googling how migraines work right now?”

You watch as Seungkwan flushes pink, stammering a bit before he answers. “Maybe,” he mumbles, looking away from you, and you’re positive that you’ve never been more into anyone, ever. 

“Are you writing down what I tell you so you know how to help me when I have one?”

It’s quiet for a split second, and then Seungkwan is brushing you off of him, rolling onto his side and away from you. “Nope,” comes his muffled reply, and you feel so downright giddy that it makes your head spin. 

“Seungkwan,” you try, and you hold back a giggle when he simply huffs in response. You reach for him, hand sliding over his waist as you tuck yourself into his back. “Baby.”

You both seem to realize what you’ve just said at the same time. The pet name is new, but you can’t help that it slipped out when he’s being so cute. You worry that he hates it for a second when he tenses up, but then his body softens again and he rolls back to face you.

“I’m only looking at you because you just called me ‘baby’, and that’s almost as embarrassing as me making a note about your migraine symptoms and treatments.”

You want to make a comment about how you calling him ‘baby’ didn’t feel embarrassing at all — in fact it felt quite right — but you’ll address that later. “Thank you so much for your sacrifice,” you say sarcastically.

Seungkwan pouts at your teasing, but his tough exterior doesn’t last long. It never does with you. His hand finds your waist and he pulls you in, both of his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close. 

“Thanks, Kwanie.” Your words are a whisper against his neck, and he pulls back to look at you in surprise. 

“Thanks for what?”

Your finger traces the collar of his t-shirt, avoiding his eyes. “Wanting to look after me like that. It means a lot.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before your boyfriend is suddenly  on top of you, legs tangling with yours. You adapt quickly, a hand lifting to run your fingers through his hair, and you can feel it when he sighs against you. Then he nuzzles his face into your neck as he murmurs, “Having a migraine sounds so scary, babe. I’m sorry.”

Babe. 

You barely even flinch when he says it, trying it out for himself. You like the way it sounds coming from him. You like it a lot. 

“It is scary,” you admit. “But it helps when someone tries to understand.” 

Seungkwan nods, his head lifting from your neck to rest his chin on your chest. “I’ll continue to do my best, then.”

He looks at you, soft smile on his lips, and all you can do is smile back. When you mouth another “thank you”, he doesn’t say anything. The kiss you receive in return is his answer. 

Tags: @waldau @wqnwoos @eoieopda @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @minisugakoobies

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#seungkwan fluff #seungkwan x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #bsk x reader #seungkwan x you #bskfic #bskficrecs #seungkwan fic #seungkwan imagine #seventeen fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #svt x you #my writing

[artbyblastweave]

So, the thing about Ward's worldbuilding is, it's bad on purpose. This is something I didn't catch until a relisten of the earlier parts, but the disconnect between the actual literal apocalypse that occurred two years prior and the shockingly advanced levels of infrastructure and technology is very deliberate. The entire thing is slapdash and farcical. You have people out the door of a shitty concrete hovel lining up for bad coffee. You have cars built out of random scavenged parts, "dumpsters" that Victoria can't manhandle because they're made of clumsily-welded-together scrap metal. Victoria can't reliably navigate at night because power to the city below is intermittent (and her mother Carol happens to live in one of the parts that does have consistent power; that's unexamined, make of it what you will.) The mall cluster shitshow goes down in a "mall" that, IIRC, is called out later as having been basically a dead end economically, a doomed grasp at a sense of normalcy. The patrol block uses recycled PRT gear, Dot's interlude involves the machine army jumping a bunch of bog-standard apocalypse scavengers. What you're looking at isn't a new society built up shockingly quickly; you're looking at the previously-well-supplied-and-externally-supported outpost of the recently destroyed society, and after two years they're finally chewing through the last of the head start they got. The societal equivalent of Wile. E. Coyote hanging in the air above the cliff, or of the seemingly-untouched duelist seconds away from sliding in half. Unfortunately, due to choices made about the timeframe and focus of the story, the Coyote sprouts wings. The duelist whips out a staple gun. Or to come at this from another angle- in The Walking Dead, a comic I really like, I can sort of organize the arc of the apocalypse into three-ish big chunks. For the first eight or nine months in universe, about 48 issues, things are obviously bad, right, quite a few people have died, but there's a sense among Rick and company that they might be able to ride it out, that things are on the upswing. They've got crops going, they have new births, maybe help from the government proper isn't coming the way they thought it might towards the start, but things are looking up! Then, of course, the Great Fuckening of Volume Eight occurs, and you enter the middle phase of the comic, where they're down to like a third of their group, they're food-insecure, they're constantly on the move, they're under attack from rapists and cannibals who've descended into habitual atrocity because they're totally without hope. Children are having mental breaks and killing children, the first friendly guy Rick met in the whole comic is now an insane hermit feeding dead bodies to his undead son, on and on and on and on and on. Bad times, but a comparatively short middle in the grand scheme of things. Then they find Alexandria, and the back half of the comic is spent basically on an upward trajectory with some zig-zags, there are still periodic existential threats but they're clearly past the nadir.

Ward feels like it starts midway through that first part, the you-don't-know-how-much-worse-this-can-get part, with the emphasis on the social tensions, the encroaching winter, but then it just...doesn't get much worse. I mean they have a rough three months, but then they sort of speedrun right to the hopeful future ending as soon as the titans are dealt with. There were parts that I suspect were supposed to be the dark-night-of-the-soul I'm alluding to but they didn't land as such. I feel as though the superhero genre stuff kind of subordinated the apocalypse stuff, made it less visible by virtue of whose POV we were following, and sometimes I feel that as a remedy to this, Ward should have taken place over the course of years, and it should have Just Kept Getting Worse. For example Breakthrough should have had to kill and eat Rain to survive the winter

#parahumans #ward #wormblr #thoughts #meta #the last line is a shitpost #everything else is endorsed #wildbow

[nobodylikety]

Hey, I'm kinda back! First of all I want to apologize for the pending requests :( I had writer's block and recently I started another semester at Uni so I'm barely writing anything 🥹 But I hope this little something about Pup! Dani can make up for it </3

Puppy! Danielle x Fem! Owner! Reader, Hybrid AU, Fluff.

Although you've bought Danielle all kinds of toys —plastic bones, balls, strings, even a squeaky toy in the shape of a steak— as soon as you get out of bed, ready for breakfast, you discover two things: Dani is not here. Your left slipper is gone, too.

Oh, my.

Still groggy from drowsiness, and more asleep than awake, you make your way across the room only to discover the entirety of the picture. Four more shoes are missing, both left and right, and the toys —the ones Dani was so amused playing with last night— are scattered all over the floor.

This is Dani's idea, you think as you bend down and pick up the squeaky steak-shaped toy, the aussie puppy's favorite. Maybe you can distract her with that (when you find her) and thus retrieve your footwear, if they're not already buried in the yard. Hopefully not.

"Dani! Where did you go, sweet girl?"

No answer.

"Dani? Dani! Where are you?

The hybrid doesn't answer your call either, so you end up leaving your room, toy in hand. You walk slowly, so you can look around carefully, in case you find any sign of Danielle's presence.

You live in a pretty little house, in a nice, familiar neighborhood, with access to a large backyard, and it suddenly occurs to you that this very spot might be the one where the puppy could be, playing around. It occurs to you that because, first of all, Dani has rambled on about 100 times about how much she loves the backyard, and because second, but not least, there are freaking footprints all over the floor.

They're mud stains, with Danielle's footprints in them. And boy, must she have been going around, because the footprints follow different patterns; zig-zag, in circles, in a straight line. You lean a little, examining the tracks that are fresher, because the mud spread on the ground is still wet, and you follow that trail of footsteps to the sliding door that leads to the garden.

The door is slightly open and when you open it all the way to get out, the morning breeze blows against your face. Brr, it's cold, and you feel a shiver down your back as you walk down the two small steps leading to the courtyard. The light morning dew keeps the grass pleasantly damp (not wet), but it looks so untouched that it doesn't look like Dani has been around.

If anything, everything is the same: the perfectly mowed lawn, the plantings of gypsophila and chrysanthemums, the little wooden bench where you sit to watch the sunset. Nothing is different...until, as you walk along, you notice small mounds of dirt and uprooted grass in one corner. Ding ding, there she is.

You follow that trail and, as you get closer, the pile of dirt and grass gets bigger, uncovering a shoe half-buried in a hole, and beyond that, the person responsible for said occurrence. Because of course, Dani not only leaves a trail of mayhem wherever she goes, but she's innocent (and dumb, in Haerin's words) enough to stay at the scene of the crime.

"Dani!" you call to her, approaching quickly. She's squatting, digging with both hands another hole to bury the lost slipper. She doesn't perk her ears up, doesn't seem to hear you, and keeps digging. "Danielle, for the love of all that is good what are you doing?"

The Australian shepherd puppy twitch and perks up her ears, recognizing your voice. She turns and her tail starts wagging, unbothered by being full of dirt from head to toe, she lunges to hug you so tightly that the two of you fall.

"OWNER, OWNER, OWNER! I MISSED YOU SO, SO, SO, SO MUCH!" Danielle squeals and spins in circles, tail wagging. She's super excited to see you at last. From the hybrid shelter days that Dani has a habit of waking up early, so when she comes to your home she does the exact same thing, so during the hours when you were sleeping, she has really missed you.

That's a lot of alone time for the innocent, restless puppy.

"I missed you too, puppy" you respond with a gasp, because Danielle's weight (who isn't exactly feather-light) is half cutting off your air supply by repeatedly jumping on you.

"VERY MUCH, VERY MUCH?" yep, Danielle doesn't know how to speak softly. She has to scream. Or bark, for all intents and purposes.

"Uh-huh, very much."

"Owner sleeps a lot," Danielle whines, frowning and pouting. "I got bored. But because I missed you so much, I stole your shoes. It's just that I wanted to play, y'know? and now I want to play too! Will you play with me?"

So many "play" in one sentence, you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You're going to do what the puppy wants...but in a moment. You need to catch your breath and be able to stand up.

"I'll play with you, but let me get up..."

But Dani, excited to know that you will play with her, doesn't listen to you. She jumps, spins, runs, and countless times manages to knock you down again and again. You are already tied as to who is dirtier for the dirt.

"PLAY, PLAY, PLAY, PLAY!"

"DANIELLE, I CAN'T GET UP!" you say, before another shove sends you flying. It's surprisingly strong. "Okay, that's it. I'm dead. Not moving from here."

If you'd said that to Hanni (which is like the most well-behaved), she'd probably drop her antics aside. But it's Danielle, aka 'I take things literally'.

"DON'T DIE, OWNER, YOU GOTTA PLAY WITH ME!" Danielle and her dirt-filled hands clamp down on your shoulders, whipping you around like a rag doll.

"Y'know, I thought you were going to say 'don't die, but because you love me."

"That too, BUT YOU HAVE TO PLAY WITH ME! I WILL DIE OF BOREDOM IF YOU DON'T PLAY WITH ME! so you play with me, or I'll bury all your shoes."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Um, no?"

"Uh-huh, I'll pretend to believe you." you shake your head, with some exasperation. Danielle relents and pulls away a little, just enough so she can do her little puppy eyes in an 'I didn't do it' kind of way.

God, this bratty puppy.

"So, yeah? we play?" insists the puppy, crawling towards you. She has dirt on her knees, dirt on her hands, and even leaves in her hair (and probably smells pretty nasty), but somehow inexplicably you strike her as the most precious living thing.

"Hey, sweet girl, let's make a deal. Yeah?" you get down on your knees, facing Dani, looking at her very lovingly. Even when Danielle does that kind of shenanigans on a constant, almost daily basis, it's like physically impossible to get mad at her.

If it's possible, you even love her even more. Her innocence, her energy, the transparency with which she expresses her feelings, are too much for your heart to handle. "first you're going to bathe, i'll put you in clean clothes, and then we can play. sometimes the dirt has bugs that can bite you or hurt you, and i don't want that for you. i promised you i'd take care of you, remember? that's why it's important to be clean, without dirt."

Dani nods, looking at you with those big eyes she gets whenever you talk to her. Her puppy dog look is a true reflection of the purity she possesses, and in turn, the undisguised affection in her eyes. She admires and loves you, and you reciprocate such feelings.

"You see? you're a good girl, Dani. Very good girl, and I love you so much" not caring that you are both full of dirt, completely obviating the fact of getting dirty, you clasp the puppy in a warm embrace.

"I love you too, owner."

"Now...who wants a bath then play?" you ask with a playful little smile, kissing Dani's head, her plush little ears, then down her forehead, nose and cheeks. Dani stifles a bark of happiness, as she wiggles in your arms, before letting go and darting off into the house, screaming in a baton, "BATH-BATH-BATH!"

God, you adore her so much.

After Danielle enters the house like a bullet, you stare at her for a moment, smiling without realizing it, your heart overflowing with joy and love. That puppy, who in a daily dose fills your yard with holes and buries your shoes, has brought into your life the most wonderful, unfading happiness.

Life with Dani feels like a vast ocean of possibilities that opens in front your eyes; new adventures, the almost certainty that nothing is impossible, and in general everything that you could live together with Danielle, because next to her, you can be sure that everything will be fine.

That everything is limitless, just like the sky, as long as you have each other.

#hybrid!au #kpop hybrid au #new jeans x reader #new jeans imagines #hybrid!newjeans #puppy!danielle #new jeans danielle #danielle x reader

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Waves (Spike x YN)

Request: Nope. Just another concept that turned way too long. Continuation of other fics.

TW: Mentions of blood and phsyical harm.

Word Count: 2.2k

Previous | Next

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Another night of hunting. Another night covered in blood. You walked half contorted down the street, in pain after your battle. Your body was regenerating but it was still painful. How many more nights if this hell before you found peace. You would cry, like you did in the past, but there's no point. It brings no relief. So, you just hobbled home in the dead of night hoping no civilian would catch you. Cause what a horrifying sight you are.

Smoke litters the air as Spike exhales. Another night of helping the slayer. Another night of getting his ass handed to him for getting cocky around her. He wishes he wasn't infatuated with her, but life just happens. A quick thought interrupted his line of thought. The cursed slayer. He hasn't seen her in 3 days. He misses her. Now that she doesn't work at The Magic Shop it’s harder to see her. Maybe every other day he'll see her in the cemetery with Buffy or alone but never on a consistent schedule. He knows where she lives... he could visit her. He would blush if he had any blood to produce a blush. How silly is he being? Him, chasing after the cursed slayer. Ridiculous.

He trails off from the cemetery, still debating on whether to visit y/n or not. What reasons would he have for stopping by? The waltz! He offered her a dance! He stops in his tracks and shakes his head. He was being silly. No one that experienced and ancient would care to spend time with him. Even if they were friends. She was just being polite. He tried to reason with himself. He has never felt so much doubt over someone. With Buffy it was straight forward, stalk and wear her down. With y/n it’s so complicated. Like playing a game without rules.

His attention is caught by a trail of blood on the ground. He's on high alert. He follows the zig zag of blood down the street. This is the street to y/n's house. He walks faster, afraid for her safety. As he turns the corner he sees her, a macabre sight of body parts twisted and torn. He holds his breath as if he had any. He rushes to her side.

You become aware of a presence behind you. You're tired and badly hurt, but if a fight has to happen then you are ready.

"Y/n!" Spike yells after you.

The wave of relief that washes over you is insurmountable.

You barely turn as he runs up to you, worry etched on his face.

"Despite my current presentation, I'm fine." You interject before he can get a word out.

"You look like death."

"I'll survive." You try to hobble past him.

Without any warning he scoops you up into his arms, your face against his chest. You feel a blush coming on. He starts at a steady and careful pace back to your house.

"I can walk." You argue.

"Barely" he says.

You sigh. You would never admit it but you like how it feels to be taken care of. You breath in the scent if dirt and leather that clings to Spike. You stay quiet the rest of the way, contemplating how much different your life would be if you had Spike around. You wave the idea away. He belongs to Buffy and you belong to the curse, simple as that.

You reach your house, still in his arms. He gently puts you down on your feet. You're surprised by his gentle nature.

"Thank you." You smile, trying to steady yourself.

"What are friends for." He pauses for a second. "You owe me a dance." He felt like a putz bringing it up in her current state. Why did his brain short circuit around her?

You chuckle. "I haven't forgotten. Maybe next time." You turn away and walk inside your house.

As soon as the door closes, he hangs his head. What an idiot he's being! Asking for a dance when she can barely move. Might as well wear a sign that says touch starved. He walks back home, hands in his pocket, angry and embarrassed. He can still smell her blood on him, making him hungry.

The next day he was itching to see y/n again. He had to wait at the cemetery, maybe? Walk up her street? He didn't know where to locate her, simply that he had to make sure she was okay. After a while he gives up and starts to walking by y/n's street to find her sitting by the curve. She looks in pain.

He rushed to your side. You have a broken leg. You thought it would be a good idea to limp back home after your early but painful altercation with a demon. Spike crouches down to your level.

"What do we got here?" He says in a playful tone trying to hide his concern.

"You should see the other guy."

Spike frowned at seeing the damage. "Can you get up?"

"Yes. And no, you're not carrying me today. I've been taking care if myself for years and I can do it now."

"A bloody terrible job you've been doin’."

"Rude" you get up and start limping again.

Before you can get your footing Spike sweeps you up again. You protest but he hushes you. Again, incredulous. This man is sweet but is getting on your last nerve.

"Sorry love, can't let you waste away." He looks down at you. He notices how fragile you are in his arms, how good you feel so close to him, and how much power he has over you in this one moment.

He quickly looks up, trying to avoid your prodding gaze. "Tell me what happened."

"Simple. Demon had a club. I got cocky. He swung, broke my leg and I swung my sword and cut his head."

"Big fan of decapitation, I see."

"All in a night's work." You grinned.

"You say you’ve always taken care o’ yourself. Does every night end like this?"

"Most nights, yes. It’s just me and the big bad demons. I do get careless cause of the whole immortality bit."

He nods. You both reach your house. He gently puts you down on your feet. You sway and he catches you. You look up, your faces mere inches from each other. You take the time to admire his chiseled face, his sharp cheek bones and his blue eyes. All the while he enjoys getting reacquainted with the valley of your lips, and the deep hue of color in your eyes. He wonders how soft your lips really are. He pulls back at the thought and you almost stumble onto him. He steadies you, from a distance. You laugh at his reaction.

"Once again, thank you. You always seem to show up when I need you, and I appreciate that."

He nods, contemplating his next move. You turn to open, enter and close your door. However, Spike puts his foot on the door.

"I don't want you goin' our without me."

"Excuse me?" You're incredulous.

"Every time you're alone you get hurt. We can't have that now, can we? So, you're with me from now on."

You stand there speechless. Before you can retort he ends the conversation with "I'll pick you up at 9." And walks away.

The following night you wait for him, amused at how the night will turn out. A knock is heard in the distance. You open it to see Spike, your chaperone if the night.

"Good evening. Where to m'lady?"

You laugh at his antics. As you walk towards the woods you explain to Spike your goal for the night. To take down set of twin demons that have been trying to lure children to eat them. Spike is attentive and energized. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to prove to you that he was no sniveling child vampire. Just because there is an 800 year difference between the two of you, it doesn't mean that he's useless.

You both make it to an empty playground.

"Here?" Spike asks.

"Here." You confirm.

So, you sit and wait. Spike steals glances at you, hoping to catch your eye. He has never felt so small and shy. You turn to look at him and smile "nervous, baby boy?"

He is taken aback, speechless. Baby boy! You had some gal! He didn't know if to fight back or let you dominate him. Neither action came to fruition due to two big demons coming into view.

You stand ready, "show time, baby boy." You run up at the twin demons.

Spike needs a minute to rewire his thoughts and calm his feelings. Once reconnected he runs after you to back you up.

You both go on a head on collision with the demons. Spike is surprised at your direct approach. He can tell you're too focused on the win and not on your safety. He swoops in to play defense and keep you safe. While you work on slashing and punching, Spike works on blocking and moving you out of the way. You both work as a unit, fearless of what’s to come. Your bodies speak a language that only you two understand.

The demons are tired and bruised but you guys aren't done. Spike calls your name as he pushes one of the demons your way. Your sword is ready, and you stab into him with ease. Spike misses his cue as you call to him and the other demon attacks him, hurting him. You call to him one last time throwing your sword his way. He catches it with ease and stabs the demon multiple times. You're both triumphant.

You walk up to Spike to assess the damage.

"It's bleeding but not terrible" Spike states.

You nod and sling his arm around your shoulders. You both limp towards your house.

"Thank you. You were amazing." You compliment him.

He smirks, "You weren't half bad."

"If you hadn't been there those demons would've taken me out."

"I know" Spike smiles his shit eating grin.

You stop at your porch and Spike moves away from you. "Good night. I'll see you tomorrow night" and he starts walking away.

"Wait, I'm gonna patch you up." You stop him from moving farther away from you.

He freezes. "Love, I'd have to come in..." He trails off at the prospect of being in your home.

You chuckle. "I know." You stand inside your house. "Go ahead, ask."

He couldn't believe it. Dead heart be still. "Can I come in?"

"Nah."

Spike's jaw drops. Ridiculous. He feels like storming off until he hears you laugh which makes his blood boil.

"Wait! Don't leave. I’m sorry. Ask again. Please." You say trying to get your laughter under control.

He asks again, and you say yes. And he feels all the air, if any, leave his body. He was elated and giddy.

He saunters into your home as if it was his own. He takes in the space, the furniture.

"Take a seat, I'll be right back" you point to your couch.

You bring him a cup of water and a med kit. He is humbled at your gesture. So simple yet so loving.

"Take off your shirt." You say as you look through your med kit.

"Buy me a drink first, love" he chuckles and complies.

You make an annoyed face, but it’s quickly washed off at the sight at his body. He was breathtaking. Dips and valleys hidden under hard lines of muscles. You remind yourself to breathe. You refocus and go to tending his wound. You are careful, loving as your work on him.

He admires your gentle hands, So carefully caring for him. Buffy would never. Yet y/n will always. Always. He snaps back from his reverie as you apply the anti-septic to his wound. It stings.

"All new!" You state looking at your handy work.

"Thank you..." he mumbles as he pulls his shirt down.

"My pleasure. I mean, it was a pleasure to help. I mean not that I take pleasure in seeing your hurt. I mean - " Spike places his pointer and middle finger to your lips. A firm but gentle gesture.

"I know what you mean." He smiles, a genuine one. "I have to go now. The sun is rising."

As he turns away you pull at his duster. "Stay."

He turns slowly, in surprise of what he just heard.

"Stay" you repeat. "You can stay on the couch. It’s a pull out."

He makes eye contact. He steps closer, purposefully entering your personal space. One hand distracts itself by playing with your hair. The other ghosted over yours at your side.

He knew, in that moment, that you would look out for him no matter what. The woman he got to know before he knew her as the cursed slayer was still there. The attentive eyes, the smart mouth and the loving heart. All that he needed. He refuses to let himself drown in this feeling. Not yet. He needed time before he let himself swim in your waves of love. But there was no harm in taking a dip, just for tonight.

#spike x yn #spike x y/n #spike x reader #spike x you #william the bloody #spike the bloody #btvs #spike btvs #btvs imagine #btvs x reader #buffy the vampire slayer #william pratt

[ezdotjpg]

Comic Paneling Process

to answer a question from @pluviatrix​, here’s a post detailing how I approach paneling!

The unhelpful answer is that it really depends on what kind of scene I’m trying to fit onto a page, because the energy and mood will dictate the kinds of shapes and layouts I gravitate towards. I usually start out with a short script, which for the last two bonus links updates looked like this:

Writing the script helps me visualize what needs to happen and gives me a good idea of how many pages it might take. There’s a few rules of thumb that I use to start:

angled panels = intensity. So do irregular panel shapes, but the more irregular the panels are the harder it is to balance other panels on the page, so that’s something to keep in mind

Lots of small, close together panels = fast-paced action, especially if the panels are angled. Larger, spaced out panels = a slower paced, even maybe a slow motion feel.

5 panels per page is the sweet spot. Sometimes it can be less if a moment is really important and I want to emphasize it, but I try not to have any more than 8, because any more and it starts to get overcrowded.

leave room for text bubbles!!!!!!! they need more room than you think!!!!!!!

Your goal is to lead the eye around. Because I make comics in english, that means that everything should be designed around zig-zagging from left to right, down, left to right. The eye will naturally do that, but helping it out leads to pages that feel smoother. If I’m going to break that form, I have to find a way to force the eye to go where I want it to go. 

That last one is the most important. There’s a few ways you can create this zig-zag: with the text boxes, with the poses, or with the panels themselves. Ideally it would be all 3. So for a basic 5 panel example:

option 1 is less visually clear than option 2, because the first two rows of panels don’t lead your eye smoothly. Generally speaking, whatever you choose for your first row of panels, the second row needs to contrast, unless you’re creating an even grid intentionally. Here’s an example of a page where I break the rules a little, but I make up for it by guiding the eye around:

Once again generally speaking putting two smaller panels next to one taller panel can be somewhat confusing as to which order you should read the panels in, but I tried to mitigate that with making those two small panels a pulled out shot and then a close-up of the same subject. Then, the use of that big text bubble coming from the horn forces the eye up to the top of the taller panel, which then draws ur eye down because of those two silver lizalfos at the bottom. The lizalfos in those two angled panels are posed facing the ways I want to lead the reader’s eye, and so is Beetle. And here are some notes on how I approached this action-heavy page: 

That middle row is all angles with things swinging in and out of frame to suggest quick, sudden movement. That close up of Loft is wedged in the middle like it’s chipping off the next panel, with Loft looking direct into the events of the next panel to communicate that he’s anticipated the Lizalfos’ movements. And to finish off, here’s what this most recent update looked like in sketch:

I start out making the panels themselves first and just treat it like a graphic design problem, trying to make sure it all feels balanced on the page. And then I fill them in and adjust as needed.

 And that’s about all I’ve got! I hope this was helpful lol and if anyone has like specific questions abt stuff feel free to shoot them my way! Of course, everything that I say here has an exception, and there are plenty of instances where you can break these ‘rules’ in service of the story you’re telling. That’s actually my biggest piece of advice- your panels are a part of the story! They’re another tool in ur arsenal to set the mood and feeling, so you should utilize them!

#long post #i wrote an essay lol #processdotjpg #art tips #bonuslinksdotjpg

[moralesmilesanhour]

boxes

summary: miles encounters some old memories while cleaning his room. wc: 553 genre: gen, angst-ish a/n: this was partially inspired by/in conversation with that one comic where miles helps out a kid who's being bullied for his fashion (amongst other things), but also by the fact that miles has seemingly pushed aside pursuing art to focus on physics in the film. what other interests could he have possibly left behind?

August marked yet another summer vacation that passed like it had somewhere to be, which meant that Rio Morales made her son clean out his closet again to prepare for the upcoming semester. She made sure to emphasize that she really meant it this time, leaving Miles to begrudgingly peel himself off of the living room couch and get his friend Ganke on the phone to help out. 

It was now evening–around six o’clock–and the sun’s afternoon rays finally began to weaken into soft golden light, filtering through the blinds in strips across the two boys’ faces.

“I have literally never seen you wear these,” Ganke remarked as he held up a pair of beat-up converses. “You keepin’ ‘em?”

Miles made a face at the sneakers, with their unconfident, messy lines and muddy neon colors. He recalled being laughed off of the playground during recess for the ugly zebra pattern that he had spray-painted along the backs of them with stencils. His father clapped him on the back afterwards, praising how “creative” and “ahead of his time”  Miles was. It didn’t comfort him much, but he grinned and thanked his dad so that he’d drop it before dinnertime.

“Nah, we could throw those out. They’re too small for me to wear, anyway.”

“What about this? Cool patterns.” 

Ganke coughed as dust flew off of an old cropped bomber jacket. The oversized sleeves boasted an array of patches and buttons, which Miles recalled shoving into his pocket whenever he snuck over to Uncle Aaron’s. He took the jacket from the other boy and ran a hand over the square pieces of fabric attached haphazardly to the front. Rio had given him the scraps from her sewing kit to mess with back when she still had a bit of free time on her hands to mend clothing. 

The zig-zag stitches were far from clean, with each seam a slightly different distance apart from the next. Miles had only been worried about the colorful fabric staying on for long enough for him to wear it to school.

This soon became a non-issue, seeing as he only did so once. Miles swallowed, not wanting to recall all of the new words he had learned that day. 

He never did get good at sewing.

“Miles. You alright, man?”

The boy’s head snapped up.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. We can toss this one too.”

Ganke noticed Miles averting his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you don’t wanna like, give it away or something?”

Miles turned to him and scoffed, “To who?”

 “I dunno,” His friend shrugged. ”I’ve seen people who dress like this that might want it.”

“And do the 'people you’ve seen' in question reside in this area code?”

“...No.”

“Thought so,” Miles said with a teasing grin. 

He gave the jacket one last look, and noticed the tag in the back. It was signed with a bright yellow highlighter in a ten-year-old’s handwriting, before he’d perfected his signature. Did that kid, who had been unworried about whether his sneakers were creased so long as they were colorful, deserve to have all of his hard work thrown away? Just like that?

“Y’know what? I’ll…keep it in a box, or something. With the shoes.”

“Alright, cool.”

And that Miles did, in the same box as his old suit.

#miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales fic #miles morales angst #miles morales x reader #moralesanhour #atsvplatonic #atsvgen

[raepritewrites]

If Heather were ever to write a memoir about being a superhero, she was going to include an entire chapter about what to do when you get sucked into a portal, because it was a surprisingly frequent hazard of the job and was confusing as hell if you didn't know what you were doing.

Fortunately, she’d been through this song and dance a few times, so she started with gathering the basics. Who, what, where, how, and when?

First, who? Some c-lister villain who called himself Vibe. The team had been working on a case of break-ins where banks would be robbed through some sort of portal technology. In and out, easy as pie, with almost no trace left behind. The guy was slick she could give him that.

Nightwing had theorized the guy might have a teleport ray, judging by the tachyon readings they were getting. Further investigation, however, and a quick conversation with Flash had revealed that Vibe was a meta created from the particle accelerator explosion of Central City, which had given the speedster his own powers. It hadn't been too hard to track the guy down from there.

Second, what? Well, bad guy plus warehouse equals superhero fight. It had just been Nightwing, Superboy, and herself who went to track down and capture the meta. The rest of the squads had all been busy on other assignments, and really, how hard could it be to take this guy down with three of their heavy hitters on it?

Apparently, harder than they'd thought.

Vibe, it seemed, was just as slick at evading capture as burglary. The idea had been for Nightwing and Scarlet Spider to wear the guy out and keep him distracted until Superboy could get in a final hit. It had briefly worked, and then everything went wrong.

Scarlet probably shouldn't have antagonized Vibe so much, but it was fun winding bad guys up. She and Nightwing had come up with some good lines as they danced around the teleporter. She had so much experience fighting alongside Nightcrawler that she assumed she could guess this guy's next move without any trouble. He would zig, she would zag. She'd been... a little too confident. Her spider sense had warned her of the danger as she swung towards Vibe for one more kick to the gut, but her momentum had been too strong, and there was no avoiding the inevitable.

Vibe had realized the game they'd been playing with him and grabbed Superboy as he'd tried to sneak up from behind, flinging him over his shoulder and into her. They'd crashed into Nightwing in a pile of tangled limbs and curses.

By the time Scarlet Spider looked up, Vibe had a new portal open behind him. "As fun as this has been, I'll be taking my leave now. This earth has always been a little too hero-happy for my tastes," the man smirked and saluted them, stepping backwards into the swirl of blue and white light.

If Heather had a nickle for every time she made a very stupid last-minute decision, she and Bruce Wayne would be in the same tax bracket. This was just another five cents in her fictional bank account. She sent a webline to the ceiling, propelling her up and off of her teammates and into the portal, which promptly closed behind her.

Third question, where?

On the other side of the portal, it dawned on Heather very quickly how stupid she was as she found herself free-falling. High-rises and skyscrapers rushed past her in a blur as she struggled to orient herself.

Some part of her brain that sounded a lot like her step-father screamed at her to throw a webline, and after two desperate attempts failed to land on anything, her third try caught a gargoyle. Her arm wrenched in its socket from the abrupt change in trajectory, and she gritted her teeth to stifle the howl of agony that crawled up her throat. She looked around desperately and spotted a rooftop not far away that she could reach.

Her landing was less than ideal, tumbling head over heels before rolling to a painful stop on the tarmac. She lay for a moment to let the panic subside, panting heavily from the spasms radiating from her arm and down her torso. She stared up at a smog filled night sky and the glowing neon sign of an office building as her brain rebooted.

Once she could hear more than just her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, she took stock of her situation. While she'd torn a few muscles in her arm, the damage was minimal compared to being a smear on the sidewalk. She'd twisted her ankle when she'd landed, and it throbbed in a familiar way - not broken, but definitely sprained. Everything else seemed negligible; cuts, scrapes, and general bruises. She would deal.

She sat up slowly and frowned at the office building's sign, declaring it to be one of Wayne Enterprises' headquarters. Why Vibe had thought running to Gotham was a good idea was anyone's guess.

She checked her comm, but only received static in reply, no matter what frequency she tried. Maybe it had been damaged in the fall? Her phone worked, but had no signal at all, not even wifi. That was strange; WE had public wifi available at all there buildings. She needed to reach the team somehow to let them know her status, and that despite her best (very stupid) efforts their suspect was in the wind. She wasn't sure where the closest zeta beam was from here, but maybe she could reach Nightwing a different way.

Did Heather feel bad breaking into the department store? Yes, a little, but desperate times and all that.

She'd grabbed a pair of jeans, a belt (because of course the jeans didn't fit right, but she didn't have the luxury of time on her side to find a pair that did), and an oversized sweatshirt. She dropped a pre-paid credit card on the counter with the tags of the items she was stealing, hoping the owners wouldn't be too mad at her. She then made triple sure that all the cameras she'd covered in webbing were still technically functional -just ineffective for a few hours - and grabbed a shopping bag from the register to stuff her gear into it.

Outside the store, it had begun raining, because this was Gotham and she had Parker luck. It was only natural. After trudging through the rain for a few blocks, Heather finally hailed a cab in a more populated part of the city. The clock on the dash of the taxi read a little after four am, and the driver looked like he wasn't thrilled to have found a customer.

"I need to get to Bristol," Heather told him, trying to be short but polite.

The cabby raised an eyebrow at her, blowing smoke from his cigarette out his cracked window. "That's going to cost you, lady," he told her flatly. "If you hadn't noticed, this is the Diamond District, that's a long drive."

"If you can get me there quickly, I'll pay you double the fare in tip," Heather promised.

Both eyebrows went up at that. "You're the boss," he shrugged and pulled away from the curb.

Once they reached Bristol, Heather had the cab drop her off at the Drake Estate, a few miles from Wayne Manor. She didn't think the cab driver really cared about where this woman in ill-fitting clothes was going at the crack of dawn out in the most expensive neighborhood in Gotham. But just in case someone asked him about it later, she didn't want him saying he'd dropped the weird woman off at Brucie Wayne's mansion. Never could be too careful.

True to her word, Heather had tipped extra generously, and the cab had taken off as soon as she was out of the backseat.

She glanced down the Drake's long driveway to where their modern estate could be seen peaking out between the tall trees and frowned distastefully. Shaking off her feelings towards Tim's parents, she settled into a fast walk and headed towards Wayne Mansion in the thinning rain.

By the time she reached the front gates, the rain was just mist that was slowly being burned off by the morning sun, and she was soaked to the bone. Wiping water off her face, she buzzed the intercom and hoped Alfred wouldn't be mad at her for the early morning call.

"Wayne Residence, may I help you?" His British accent came through the intercom sounding slightly tinny.

"Good morning, I need to speak to Dick Grayson or Bruce Wayne. It's Heather Reilly."

There was a long pause, too long. "Do you have an appointment?"

Heather frowned. "No, not exactly. Listen, I know it's early, but I really need to talk to Dick or Mr. Wayne."

"Master Wayne is a very busy man, young lady," Alfred began, in a clearly dismissive voice.

"Wait, please! It's..." she frowned harder, brow furrowing as an uneasy feeling filled her gut. "It's Heather, Mr. Pennysworth. You know, Heather? Dick's friend? We've... I mean, don't you know who I am?"

"I'm afraid your name is not familiar to me, and young Master Dick no longer resides here at the manor. Good day, young lady." The intercom clicked off and Heather stood blinking at it for several seconds.

"What the actual fuck?" She finally muttered.

Alfred Pennyworth did not know who she was. He had dismissed her with the same polite but frosty way she'd seen him dismiss hopeful gold diggers who hung off of Bruce at parties. As her brain processed this information, something else occurred to her as well.

Vibe. He had said something just before he disappeared. That their earth was too hero-happy. Their earth. As if there was more than one.

"Well, shit," Heather sighed sharply, rubbing at a pounding headache that was beginning to build behind her eyes.

Apparently, Vibe wasn't just a teleporter like her fiance, and perhaps their assessment of him as a c-lister villain was a bit hasty. Because apparently the sucker could warp not just around the world, but also apparently around the freaking multiverse?! And Heather, dumbass extraordinaire, had followed him to a parallel universe. Which meant that the only way she was ever going to get home was to find the bastard again, and there was no way she'd be able to do that on her own.

Fourth question, how?

Heather felt significantly more guilty sneaking onto the Wayne Manor estate than she had breaking into the department store.

She hoped that her Dick and Bruce - if she ever saw them again - would understand that she hadn't meant to memorize the defenses around the estate. Really, it was more Bruce's fault than hers.

She'd spent so much time working for the man, digging through the batcomputer's files and doing the menial grunt work to help hone her skills, that of course at some point she'd gotten bored and started studying the layout of the grounds and where all the motion detectors were hidden. She was only human... well, kind of. Sort of. Not important right now.

She didn't know for certain that this version of Bruce Wayne would use the same layout for his home's defenses. Hell, she wasn't even certain that this version had even become Batman. Maybe the man actually was a clueless socialite in this universe. But Heather had a gut feeling that she couldn't shake.

Like, sure, maybe there were universes out there where that was true. But... could there really be a universe where Bruce Wayne had never become Batman, and yet he'd still taken in Dick, who then would coincidentally also have a falling out with the man and move to Bludhaven? The whole reason her Dick had moved to that awful city was to establish himself as Nightwing.

Heather knew she was holding onto a thin string of hope here. But if she was wrong, she might never make it back home, and that possibility was too terrifying to even consider.

Her universe had found multiple ways to kick her in the teeth and drag her down, over and over again. Yet, that universe was her home, and she was still standing. She'd gotten back up each time with the help of her family and friends. She would figure this out, and she would come home to them.

There wasn't an option for failure.

By the time she was standing in front of the massive doors of the manor, her shoulder and ankle were starting to throb in time with her heartbeat. The sun had burned off the remaining rain and she estimated it was closer to six or seven am now. Despite knowing she looked like a drowned rat, Heather attempted to have some dignity as she straightened her clothes, pushed back her slick hair, and reached up to knock.

"I'll get it, Alfred," She heard a young male voice on the other side of the door, and she had just enough time to think Tim when a seventeen year old boy with dark hair opened the door.

Heather blinked. This... was not her Tim. Her Tim was still thirteen and only recently reached her shoulder in height. Yet, the haircut, the blue eyes, the sharp features, all of it definitely screamed Tim Drake.

The boy frowned at her. "Can I help you?"

"Uh," Heather floundered for a second, unsure. She hadn't anticipated speaking to anyone other than Alfred, Dick or Bruce. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's um, it's been a rough night. My name is Heather Reilly. You're Tim, right? I'm a friend of Dick Grayson's, and I really need his help."

"You again?" Alfred was suddenly behind Tim, wearing the most severe frown she'd ever seen on the man.

It immediately made her step back a half pace and her shoulders hunch. No one, not even her own parents, could make Heather feel like a small naughty child the way Mr. Pennyworth could. There was a reason even Batman deferred to him. "I was quite firm young lady. How did you manage to get past the front gate?"

Translation: How did you avoid all of Batman's security? Heather thought, but of course they wouldn't know that she knew about any of that.

"Please, Mr. Pennyworth, if you just let me explain the situation," Heather began, trying not to wither under his stony stare.

"How do you know Dick?" Tim interrupted. He looked just as suspicious as Alfred, but there was something else in his stare, curiosity or something like it. Tim, like Bruce, was a detective and Heather could tell she'd piqued his interest.

"Dick and I are old friends," She said quickly, latching onto Tim's interest like a lifeline. "We met when we were teenagers. We, uh, had a lot in common. Listen, if Dick isn't here could I at least use your phone? I lost mine, and if I can't talk to Dick, then I need to try and call another friend."

"Are you in trouble?" Alfred asked, looking a modicum less severe than before.

"Very much so, sir,'' Heather nodded, shifting her weight only to wince as she placed too much onto her bad ankle. "Shit," she hissed, unable to keep the curse in.

"What happened?" Tim asked, opening the door wider.

"I... fell," She said lamely, scratching the back of her neck. How could she explain that it was from a height of several stories? Oh, right, she couldn't. "Twisted my ankle. It's fine, I'm a fast healer."

Tim and Alfred exchanged a long look, and only years of working with the bats helped her parse out its full meaning. They didn't trust her, clearly. They thought she might even be lying, but they weren't going to leave someone soaking wet and obviously injured outside on their doorstep.

Alfred hummed, still displeased, "You may use the phone in the library, follow me. Master Tim, would you please bring me the first aid kit?"

"Sure, Alfie," Tim sent one more scrutinizing stare her way before disappearing into what she knew was a supply closet.

She followed the butler into the library, wincing as she dripped rainwater onto the expensive rugs. He led her to an antique secretary desk with a rotary phone on it, because apparently in every universe Bruce Wayne was that kind of old money rich, and insisted she sit down on the oak desk chair. Tim reappeared shortly, carrying both a first aid kit and a towel, the latter of which Heather took gratefully as she sat her plastic bag full of gear onto the floor.

Heather carefully squeezed water out of her hair, mindful of her shoulder as Alfred looked through the kit. "If you would remove your boot, Miss Reilly, I will check your ankle."

"Oh, I mean, you don't have to-" Heather began, the towel now draped over her shoulders.

"I insist," Alfred said firmly but not unkindly.

"You might as well let him look," Tim said with a chuckle. He was leaning against one of the many floor to ceiling bookcases. "He won't take no for an answer."

"Right, I knew that," Heather muttered, shaking her head. She missed the puzzled frowns Tim and Alfred shared as she reached down and started unlacing her combat boots.

Spider-Man and her father preferred their costumes with matching boots and gloves, the web design visible from top to bottom. But she'd long ago chosen steel toed black boots and fingerless black leather gloves for herself. She liked that it made the uniform her own, along with a modified version of her father's blue hoodie - cropped, slightly darker in hue, and made of a resilient Kevlar. The Scarlet Spider silhouette was still recognizable as the one Ben Reilly once wore, but she'd made it hers, and she knew her dad would have approved.

She got the boot off and peeled off her wet sock, hissing as the fabric stuck around the swollen ankle joint before finally coming free. Of course, it was the ankle she'd broken previously, that was just her luck.

"Okay, it's a little worse than I thought," she admitted quietly as Alfred examined the injury.

"You seemed pretty confident it was just a sprain," Tim observed casually.

Bruce hasn't taught him all his tricks yet, Heather thought as she considered how to answer Tim's obviously prying question. "Not the first time," she said as she watched Alfred pull out a roll of bandages. "I'm clumsy."

Before Tim could form his next question, a voice called out, "Drake? Pennyworth?" This was followed shortly by a boy, maybe fourteen years old, coming into the library. He was also dark haired, but much tanner than Tim and his eyes were brown. There was something oddly familiar about the kid that Heather couldn't put her finger on.

"Who is this?" The boy demanded.

"Manners, Master Damian," Alfred chided him as he finished wrapping Heather's ankle. "It's best you remove your other boot as well, Miss, to give them a chance to dry out."

Heather nodded, "right, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Damian, this is Heather. She says she's a friend of Dick's," Tim explained.

"Richard has never mentioned you," Damian said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He spoke with the slightest accent, something Middle Eastern that Heather couldn't pin down, and the more she looked at his face the more she was sure she knew him from somewhere.

"We're, uh, very old friends," Heather explained awkwardly. "We haven't seen each other in a long time." Or ever, in this universe's case.

"Tt," Damian scoffed, sharing glances with Alfred and Tim. He wasn't even attempting to hide how suspicious he thought she was. It was sort of refreshing. "Richard isn't home. He's running errands with Father."

Now Heather was narrowing her eyes, her head tilting to the side as a memory came to her. Of a painting that hung in her universe's version of Wayne Manor featuring Thomas and Martha Wayne posing with their young son. Bruce was solemn, even as a child, and Damian had the same set to his jaw.

"Oh my god," she breathed as it clicked, suddenly standing as she pointed at the boy. "You're Bruce's kid. Like, his bio kid, aren't you?"

The others gave her various confused reactions. Alfred raised one eyebrow, Tim frowned, and Damian crossed his arms haughtily.

"Of course, I am," the younger boy snapped, like he thought Heather was an idiot. Which was fair. She kind of was most days, even she could admit that. "How do you not know who I am?"

"I -" She dropped her arm and rubbed her neck. "Right, yeah, that's an excellent question." She sighed. "Okay, truthfully? I am friends with Dick, but... not your Dick?" They frowned at her, and she couldn't blame them.

"Look, I'm going to level with you. I'm not from this universe. I work with Dick on my earth with a team of heroes. We were fighting this guy - Vibe? I did something monumentally stupid, and I ended up here. I didn't realize until I was already talking with Alfred that I was even in the wrong universe because my Alfred has known me for years. I worked with Batman for a while when I was a teenager, back when Dick was still Robin, and-"

"What are you talking about?" Tim interrupted her nervous ramblings. "Why do you think we know anything about Batman?" He added angrily. Damian looked ready to commit murder, and Alfred had disappeared at some point.

Heather groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, let's just cut past the song and dance, okay? I know all about Bruce, I have for years. In my universe, he gave me almost full access to the batcomputer's files. I trained with Robin in the batcave. I know about the entrance behind the grandfather clock in Bruce's study-"

Heather realized a few beats too late that was probably not the best way to break the news.

Damian was suddenly in her face with a knife at her throat pulled from seemingly nowhere. She reacted instinctively, grabbing the boy's wrist, twisting it down until he dropped the dagger. She pushed him into Tim, who'd been pulling out his collapsible bo staff. She'd turned with the intention of escaping through the library's other exit, but only made it a few strides when the sound of a shotgun being loaded stopped her dead in her tracks.

Right, that would be Alfred, she thought numbly, lifting her hands up as high as her injured shoulder would allow before dropping to her knees.

"Do not move," Alfred ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"How did you disarm me so easily?" Damian demanded, stomping around to glare at her.

Heather gave him a small smile, which only made him angrier. "You remind me of my sister," she said instead of answering.

"I don't know what your game is," Tim told her, "but we're not playing. What do want with Dick?"

"First, poor word choice," Heather smirked at him over her shoulder. He glared back at her flatly, and she rolled her eyes. "My Tim has a much better sense of humor. I already told you exactly why I'm here. I'm in the wrong universe, and I need Batman and Nightwing to help me get home."

"Why do you keep insisting my father is the Batman?" Damian asked.

Heather sighed. "Look, we could keep going around and around on this all day, but I don't have that kind of time. Either call up Dick and Bruce so we can discuss this like adults, or-"

"Or what?" Alfred asked, suddenly reminding her there was a very protective butler with a gun pointed at her.

Heather pursed her lips, considering. "Why don't you take me down to the cave? You guys probably have a holding cell like my Batman does. You can keep me under lock and key until I can convince you I'm telling the truth, or until you can get someone from the League to come down who can wipe my memory if I can't."

"Or we could take you to Arkham Aslyum now," Damian suggested.

Heather took a deep breath, trying to be patient. Not like it could hold me. "It's up to you," she finally said.

Damian walked behind her so the three could share a whispered conference. Heather tried very hard not to hear them by humming under her breath, but it was a lost cause. Damian was coming up with some very creative forms of interrogation tactics, but was ultimately overruled by Tim and Alfred.

"Alright, let's go," Tim finally sighed. "Hands behind your back, and just keep in mind Alfred is a very good shot." She saw him pulling a pair of handcuffs from the corner of her eye.

"You're going to want to use something stronger than that," she told them mildly as Tim grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her back. Tim hesitated for a moment, before Damian handed him something she couldn't see. She bit back a hiss of pain as they used what felt like metal cording from a grappel gun to bind her hands, then used the remaining cord to wrap around her arms and chest.

Better, she thought as Tim and Damian pulled her to her feet, but still not enough. Ah well, I'll let them have this one.

They blindfolded her before taking her to the batcave, maybe so they could still have plausible deniability. Heather let the boys lead her to the elevator, her spider-sense keeping her aware of Alfred's shotgun aimed at her chest. When the elevator stopped, her bare feet were treading the rock of the cave's floor as the boys prodded her along, her injured ankle really resenting the cold seeping into her bones. She couldn't surpress a small shiver, suddenly aware of her still soaking wet stolen clothes that were clinging to her.

"Relax, we're not going to hurt you," Tim murmured, misinterpreting her shudder.

"Unless you give us a reason too," Damian added, less meanly than he could have.

Huh, maybe the kid wasn't as blood thirsty as he seemed. I wonder who his mom is? I don't think it's Selina. He doesn't look anything like her. Heather pondered this little mystery until she heard a metal cage door opening and she was gently pushed inside the holding cell. Someone pulled off the blindfold before they locked her in. She blinked her eyes to help them adjust to the new lighting, taking in the somewhat familiar landscape around her.

"Good to know the giant penny and t-rex are consistent in every universe," Heather observed. "Still ridiculous, but consistent."

"Master Bruce and Master Dick are on their way," Alfred said, lowering the gun slightly but not putting it away.

Heather nodded. "I figured. So... bio kid, huh?" She added, conversationally.

Damian narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't reply.

"I totally see it now," Heather admitted, taking a seat on the cot in the cage. She brought her legs up to fold beneath her, trying to get comfortable. "I thought at first that Bruce's adoption habit was worse in this universe."

"What makes you think I'm adopted?" Tim asked, taking a seat on a stool he'd brought over.

Heather blinked in surprise. "Oh, my mistake, sorry. My Tim Drake is, so I guess I assumed."

"What happened to your Tim's parents?" Tim frowned, but there was something in his expression that Heather couldn't read.

Heather pursed her lips, considering how to explain. "They were very neglectful. At first, Bruce just had emergency custody of Tim while the state investigated why he was being left alone for long periods of time with only a maid checking on him. When they realized how shitty the Drakes were, that's when he put in the paperwork."

"So they're... still alive?" Tim asked in a much quieter voice.

Heather's heart stuttered painfully. "Oh... I'm so sorry."

Tim shook his head. "Not your fault," he said it like it was something he told people a lot, which only made Heather feel worse.

"I really am sorry. This world is so different from my own," Heather said, mostly to keep the conversation moving. She'd always hated awkward silence. "My Tim is younger, and I've never even met him before." She tilted her head towards Damian. "I mean, he might exist on my earth. Who's your mom?"

Damian tutted again, which she was beginning to suspect was a habit. "Not that its any of your business, but my mother's name is Talia Al Ghul."

Heather blinked and sat forward. "I'm sorry - the daughter of the Demon's Head is your mom? One of the most dangerous women in the world, and the next leader of the League of Assasins?"

Damian gave her a haughty nod. "I see my mother's reputation precedes her even in another universe."

"Okay, mental note," Heather muttered. "Interrogate Bruce when I get home to make sure he actually knows how condoms work."

Tim let out an involuntary snort and Damian's pride disappated back into disdain as he muttered something in Arabic that she was sure was unflattering.

"Alrighty, anyway," She sighed. "I'm assuming you have questions you want me to answer?"

"I am not sure what we could ask you that could prove your worthiness," Damian snapped. "You are a stranger to us."

Tim nodded reluctantly. "I've never heard Dick mention anyone like you." He picked up the plastic bag they must have brought from upstairs that had her gear in it, pulling out her mask and frowning at it. "What's with the spider webs?"

"On my earth, I'm called the Scarlet Spider," Heather explained, waiting for any hint of recognition on his face, but nothing came. "You know, ally of Spider-Man? Friend of the Avengers?"

"Who?" Damian asked.

"Whoa, okay, I didn't think our earths were that different," Heather shook her head. "Wait, if Spider-Man and the Avengers don't exist in this world, does the Justice League exist?"

"Of course," Tim and Damian answered almost in unison, then glared at each other in annoyance.

"That's a relief. So the team must exist too," Heather said, only to receive another frown.

"You mean the Teen Titans?" Tim clarified.

"No...? I mean the team. We work for the Justice League? But, like, covertly. We handle missions that the League doesn't want a lot of attention on, but that still needs a lot of skill." Heather explained, "There's me, Nightwing, Superboy, Miss Martian, Robin, Batgirl, Bumblebee, Beast Boy-"

"I only recognize some of those names," Tim admitted.

"Weird," Heather muttered.

"This is a waste of time," Damian exclaimed, "She's clearly lying, Drake, we should take care of her before she can reveal our identities to anyone."

"Let's pump the breaks on the murder, alright Shortstack?" Heather couldn't help but snap. "Does your Batman actually kill? Because that's seriously messed up."

"He does not," Alfred confirmed, giving Damian a reprimanding glare.

Damian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, muttering to himself. Tim and Alfred couldn't hear it, but Heather could perfectly. "This never would happen with Mother and Grandfather."

Tim's phone suddenly chimed at the same moment Heather heard tires crunching on the gravel outside the manor. "I'm guessing Bruce is here?" She asked Tim as he checked his phone.

"How did you-?"

"Lucky guess," Heather deflected.

Alfred finally lowered his gun and left, presumably to meet his employer and pseudo son at the door. Damian seemed to take this as an invitation to take out another dagger from some pocket and begin fiddling with it. Heather guessed this was his way of intimidating her, or it could have been a nervous habit. She didn't have the heart to tell him it was more cute than anything else.

The kid looked like he'd barely hit puberty. He reminded her of her own little brother and sister, which just made her homesick. She wanted to pull her phone out, just so she could see her photos and reassure herself that they were still out there, waiting for her, but she stopped herself from snapping her restraints. She needed this world's Batman to trust her, or she'd never get home.

"I'm assuming you're a meta human?" Tim asked her after he finished sending another text. He put his phone in his pocket so he could focus his attention on her fully.

"In a sense," Heather said reluctantly. "It's complicated."

"I have a friend who's the daughter of a demon, try me," Tim challenged.

"It's not that I'm refusing to answer the question, it's just seriously complicated," She explained. "Does this world have stable cloning technology?"

"Are you somebody's clone?"

"No- well, yes and no," She shook her head when he gave her an exasperated sigh. "Complicated! Ugh, okay, so my story starts way before I was born. On my earth there's a hero called Spider-Man. He was a regular guy who was bitten by a radioactive spider, giving him super powers."

"Usually when someone has a backstory like that, they turn to a life of crime, at least in my experience," Tim commented.

"Yeah, well, he didn't. I mean, he used his powers to win money in wrestling matches at first," Heather admitted, rolling her eyes. "He was young and dumb, don't worry about it - not important. The important thing is years later, Spider-Man gets a new rogue who called himself Jackal. The guy was crazy, but brilliant."

"We are familiar with the type," Damian commented quietly.

Heather snorted. "Trust me, I know, but unfortunately he was way less Nygma and his puzzles, and more like Crane with unethical experimentation. The guy manages to clone Spider-Man, except - plot twist - Spider-Man suddenly has a case of amnesia and he and the clone can't remember which of them is the real deal."

Tim whistled, "complicated."

"Oh trust me, tip of the iceberg," Heather complained, shaking her head. "I'll skip forward, or we'll be here for hours. The clone, he went by the name Scarlet Spider, eventually comes to a truce with Spider-Man and they become allies. In the meantime, Scarlet Spider and the woman who was once Spider-Man's fiance fall in love. Eventually, they have a kid." She shrugged as much as her restraints allowed her to.

"That was you," Damian guessed.

"Yep," Heather nodded. "Again, I'm going to skip forward for brevity's sake. I developed powers as I aged, but then suddenly one day my body freaks the fuck out. My DNA wasn't completely stable, being half human and half - er, clone slash radioactive meta slash freak lab accident." She sighed. Sometimes she couldn't believe this was her life. "My body mutated."

"It didn't kill you?" Tim asks, surprised.

"It almost did," she admits quietly. "Spider-Man saved my life. I was only nineteen."

"How old are you now?" Damian asked, almost politely.

"Almost twenty-four," Heather smiled. "My fiance, Kurt, is trying to plan a surprise party for me with my Dick Grayson's help. They're not succeeding, but it's adorable to watch so I'm letting it go for now."

"You weren't lying when you said you were close with him, were you?" Tim said, almost sounding like he was talking to himself.

"Robin was always one of my biggest heroes," Heather admitted. "When we finally met, he became one of my closest friends. He's practically my brother."

"That's why you were sure he would help you," Damian concluded.

"He's my best shot," Heather admitted as Bruce finally stepped into the cave, Dick right behind, followed by an Asian woman with short dark hair, and finally an African American teen about Tim's age.

Heather tilted her head at the woman and teen in confusion. The woman only smiled mildly and waved, while the teen mirrored her frown. Well, that's definitely new. Maybe this Bruce does have more of an adoption problem than mine.

"You got my message?" Tim asked.

"Yes. We've been watching the security cameras," Bruce muttered, eying Heather like she was one of the Riddler's newest puzzles. Which, ow.

"Hello," Heather said, giving a cheery smile despite the increase in suspicious eyes on her. "I'd get up to greet you, but..."

"Oh, this one has jokes," Dick said, coming to gently take Damian's dagger away. "That's refreshing. Last time we got someone from a parallel universe, they weren't any fun. Remember Bruce? The Stephanie doppelganger?"

"Dick," Bruce reprimanded before his eldest could go off on a tangent.

"Oh yeah, no, that one was no fun," Tim agreed, ignoring Bruce’s sigh. "This one says she's known you since you were Robin."

"Hey, I have!" Heather protested. "C'mon, we were all getting along so well. I mean, aside from the stabby child over there... but I have a feeling he's like that with most people?"

"We're trying to break him of the habit," Dick commented dryly.

"Did Damian stab her?" The black teen asked.

"Not quite," Tim shrugged. "She's fast."

"Aw, thanks Tim" Heather beamed. "That's like the nicest thing you've said to me all day. When I get home, I'll be sure to tell my Tim you were nice. Even if you do need to lighten up a little."

"What makes you think you're going anywhere?" Dick asked, but Heather couldn't hear any real threat in the words. She had a feeling this Dick had just as big of a heart as her world's.

"Look, obviously me being here is upsetting for multiple reasons. You guys love your privacy, and you hate having someone around who compromises that, I get it. Not to mention, it's probably not a good idea for someone from the wrong multiverse to stay here long term. I mean, I'm a biochemist not a theoretical physicist, but I'm assuming it's probably bad," Heather shrugged as much as her bonds allowed. "So, the way I see it is, you help me get back home, and we're all happy in the end. Right?"

"How can we trust that you're telling the truth?" Tim asked again, but she could tell Bruce was thinking it over.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Timmy," Heather told him honestly. "I mean, I could sit here all day telling you things that are true of my universe? Like, I know that Dick’s first pet was Zitka, the circus elephant. I know that my Tim basically blackmailed Batman into making him Robin. I know that my Alfred never uses cloves in his cooking because Bruce is allegic, which is why he never drinks the eggnog at the Justice League's Christmas party. Is any of that true in this universe? I don't have a clue. What I do know for certain is that you all are my only shot of getting home. If you won't help me..."

Heather swallowed, staring at nothing as the despair of that possibility hit her full force. "I'll never see my family again, and Kurt will never know what happened to me. Please, I'm begging here, help me get home."

Bruce crossed his arms and looked at the Asian woman that hadn't said a word so far. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, a little younger than this world's Dick. Heather had tried not to let it bother her, but the younger woman had been watching her intently the whole time they'd been talking. Heather couldn't help feeling like she was missing something as she watched the woman turn to Bruce and smile.

"Not lying. I trust her," She finally said.

The words were stilted in a way that normally Heather would associate with learning a new language, but the woman had a distinct Gotham accent. It almost reminded Heather of how her little sister used to talk when she'd started speech therapy, like the woman wasn't sure how to put her thoughts into spoken words.

"Okay, as much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, I have to ask - who are they?" Heather asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"You don't have a Cassandra Cain or Duke Thomas in your world?" Dick asked.

Heather shook her head, "Doesn't ring a bell, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Like I was saying earlier, my timeline seems a little skewed from this one. My Tim is younger, and as far as I know, my Bruce doesn't have a bio kid. It's just Dick, Tim, Babs and me around."

"What about Jason Todd?" Bruce asked quietly, and if she hadn't known another version of this man so well she might not have heard his trepidation for the answer.

"That's... I mean..." Heather blew out a somber breath. "Jason was murdered by the Joker," she admitted reluctantly. Every face in the room fell, but there was an air of recognition to the grief. Clearly, the same fate had befallen their Jason as well.

Heather continued after a moment, "That was a few years ago. Recently, he, well... came back. Things are still a little delicate, so he's been staying with me and Kurt for the time being."

"Why isn't he home with us?" Dick asked.

Heather grimaced. "You have to understand, he wasn't in his right mind. He - well, he attacked our Tim and hurt him pretty badly. They're both doing better, but Jason hasn't forgiven himself and still has things to work through, and Tim needs time to recover mentally and emotionally. We're giving them both space until if and when they're ready to be in the same room."

"Wow, what a concept," Tim deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Bruce and Dick looked uncomfortable. Heather narrowed her eyes but decided not to ask. Not her circus, not her monkeys. She could only do so much for the Wayne family in her own universe; she couldn't possibly fix an entirely different one as well. Especially when she didn't have the complete picture.

"Ya know, I kind of wish we had a version of her," Duke spoke up. "That's like the most level headed decision I've heard from someone in this family in... no, scratch that, ever."

"Don't give me too much credit," Heather smiled, but it was self-derogatory. "I've had my fair share of screw ups, too. Sometimes, you just need an outside perspective." She sighed, wishing she could rub her eyes. "Look, I get that this is a lot to ask, but I have to track down Vibe before he disappears from this world, too. I can stay right here if it makes you all feel better, but I need help finding his tachyon signature so I can catch him and make him take us home. The batcomputer is my best chance."

"Quick question," Dick lifted a hand, frowning at her. "What do you mean by 'make us feel better'?"

Heather clicked her tongue and stood up, walking to the far wall of the cage, opposite the door. She flexed her muscles, snapping the metal grappeling cord like it was dental floss. As the cord fell into a pile on the floor, she reached forward and using two fingers on each hand, bent two of the steel bars towards each other into an 'x'. She stepped back from the cage wall and put her hands behind her back, shrugging sheepishly.

"You could escape at any time, couldn't you?" Duke guessed.

Heather nodded, chewing her cheek.

"You could have broken in here without alerting anyone, gotten what you wanted, and left without a trace," Tim added. "Just like how you got passed all of the security on the grounds."

"Well, I don't know about completely leaving without a trace," Heather hedged, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm not Kurt, I can't teleport, and I don't have invisibility either."

"Hn, perhaps you could explain your powers to us in detail while we start searching for your missing rogue," Bruce said.

She didn't know this Bruce or what had happened in his life to alter it from the man she did know, but she could hear the world's greatest detective in his voice and it made the anxiety in her chest melt. They weren't going to abandon her, they were going to help.

The only question left, was when?

#fan fiction #my writing #rae writes #young justice x marvel #dc x marvel #spider man mentioned #oc heather parker #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #dc robin #cassandra cain #dc orphan #dc signal #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #dc multiverse #parallel universe #aka heather fell through a portal and has a bad time #scarlet spider #ben reilly #oc heather reilly #part 1 of ? #i may post this to ao3 i havent decided #ao3 writer #wayne family adventures

[after-the-end-times]

We'll always have (more than) Paris

Different Meeting Tedependent AU where Ted had planned a trip to Paris for him, Michelle, and Henry, but before he can tell her she hands him divorce papers.

But after so many months of researching places to go and things to do and food to eat he finds he still wants to go. So, he and Henry go to Paris without Michelle.

They're wandering toward the base of the Eiffel Tower when a little girl darts past him giggling and screeching that ear splitting high pitched happy screech kids that age can so easily hit.

A few moments later a harried looking man with amazingly white streaked hair trot-runs past him, trying to catch up to her without full out sprinting.

But Ted knows how toddlers can be when they're in that darting away phase and she's not going to stop until she's scooped up.

He also knows no parent actually wants to look like they can't get their child back without yelling or running, so he turns to Henry,

"Hey Henry, why don't run up past that little kid there? Get her to chase you and get her back to her dad, hm?"

Henry doesn't need to be told twice and takes off, dashing past the man and then the little girl.

Ted speeds up his walking pace to tap the man on the shoulder.

"Excuse me! Er- Excusez moi! Uh parlez um- inglese? My son's gonna bring her back, don't worry! Toddlers love nothing more than chasing big kids!"

Ted tries to make himself look as encouraging and friendly as possible in case the man doesn't understand him. The man had turned to look at Ted at his shoulder tap so Ted finally got to see that magnificent hair up close.

"Oh! Uh yes, thank you. Though he might have his work cut out for him, she hasn't been a very good listener today, I'm afraid," He looks back to the kids who are giggling and zig-zagging around the green, before turning back to Ted looking slightly bewildered, "And I'm sorry, was that supposed to be French earlier? I think there might've been some Spanish in there."

Ted huffs out a laugh and puts his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, I tried to learn some French on that owl app before we came here, but three years of high school Spanish keeps slipping through instead," He nods toward Henry, "He's actually taken to it a lot quicker. Probably cause it's like it's just another game on his tablet."

He holds out his hand, "Ah right, Ted Lasso. That's Henry out there."

The man gives him a bemused look and takes it, "Trent Crimm. And she's Darcy"

"Well, nice to meet you Trent Crimm," He nods toward where Henry and Darcy have flopped down on the grass, breathing hard, "Looks like someone's been tuckered out."

"Well, thank you for that. Fortunately, our hotel isn't far and it's just about time for a nap," He starts toward the kids, before pausing and turning to Ted, "Have a good vacation Mr. Lasso. You should make sure to visit Musée d'Orsay, they have a little art scavenger hunt Henry might enjoy."

"Thanks for the tip. And please. Ted." He smiles at Trent.

"Ted." Trent holds his gaze a moment longer, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks, before glancing away. He turns and calls out, "Darcy! Come on! It's time to go!"

Henry and Darcy sit up and clamber to their feet. Darcy races over to Trent, slamming into his calves, "Daddy! Can Henry come picnic with us?"

"No darling, we're done picnicking for today. And I'm sure Henry's dad has plans for them."

"T'morrow?" She gazes up at Trent with glistening eyes.

Ted wouldn't wish those big crocodile tears on anyone, let alone his new friend.

"Well hey there, little Miss Darcy!" He bends down to address her where she's still wrapped around Trent's legs and she turns her eyes toward Ted, "You guys have been picnicking? That's fun! Henry and I love a good picnic! We'd love to join you sometime!"

He stands up to look at Trent, smiling gently at him "If that's alright with you?"

Trent blinks a couple times up at him, a slow smile over taking his face, "We'd love for you to join us." He pauses and breaths out a laugh as he glances away, "But tomorrow we actually have plans. To visit the Musée d'Orsay, in fact."

Ted smiles wide as he realizes, "Why Trent! And here I just heard a great recommendation for the Musée d'Orsay! And an art scavenger hunt, I believe?"

He glances over at where Henry's attempting to do cartwheels in the grass. Darcy notices as well and abandons Trent's legs to run over and start somersaulting alongside him.

Ted's smile softens as he tilts his head to the side and looks at Trent from under his lashes, "I'm almost sorry I messed up our "Accidentally running into each other for the second time" meet-cute, but at least now we can spend the whole time together! Then grab lunch afterwards? Besides, art scavenger hunts are much more fun with more people, everyone knows that."

Trent smiles up at Ted, "Well, if everyone knows that. Who am I to disagree?"

For a moment they gaze into each other's eyes, picturing the rest of their time in Paris; Visiting museums and tourist spots together, meeting at cafes for breakfast, finally making it to the top of the Eiffel Tower, ice cream along the Seine, Henry gaining a Darcy shadow, Ted and Trent spending their every moment learning about each other and falling in love faster than either thought was possible.

But for now, Ted and Henry walk Trent and Darcy back to their hotel for nap time. And as Ted looks at Henry skipping ahead of them while Darcy chatters on and he feels Trent's sliding his hand into his own, he suddenly knows they're going to have so much more than Paris

~fin~

post scripts: Before their flight, Ted got an email and was offered the Richmond coaching job, but hadn't thought much of it. He's definitely going to accept it now. Michelle always wanted to travel and move abroad, but Ted never wanted to leave Kansas. She studied abroad in London and would actually love the opportunity to move there with Henry and Ted (but not with Ted) Trent is overwhelmed when Ted tells him he was one of the deciding factors for Ted accepting the Richmond coaching position. He never imagined someone could ever love him so much they'd move across the ocean for him. It takes time, but he finally starts to believe it

#tedependent #tedtrent #ted x trent #trent crimm #ted lasso #I just meant to write the idea and then a wild ficlet appeared #ficlet #I guess I have a writing tag now

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2023 - Day 30: Last Stand

It's been real fun everybody, thanks for reading, and let me know what your favorites were!

Mshenko museum piece for the finale.

++

By mid-morning, the Alliance Military History museum was as busy as it was going to get for the day. Shepard and Kaidan, both clad in non-descript hoodies, dark glasses over their eyes, had been slowly making their way around the Shepard exhibit in the Reaper War wing of the museum. They’d avoided one exhibit in particular so far, but at last they had worked their way all the way around and only had one thing left.

There was an eye-catching sign that read ‘Last Stand’ and on a smaller sign below: “Experience the final three minutes of the Reaper war with Commander Shepard.” There were two entrances spaced wide apart, but it was clear that one was an entrance and the other an exit from the ‘Last Stand’ experience. Above the entrance was a bold ’21:13:43’ and above the exit was ’21:14:55.’ It evoked a popular symbol after the war had ended. A lot of people had a tattoo of the time—to the second—when the Crucible wave hit where they were hiding or fighting. The second the war ended.

“We don’t have to do this one,” Kaidan said, glancing at Shepard over the rim of his glasses.

“We’ve seen everything else.” Shepard’s brow was furrowed, “Might as well top-off the experience.” He turned and gave Kaidan a reassuring smile.

“I’m just saying,” Kaidan shrugged, “There’s not any three minutes of London that I’d like to relive, much less whatever three minutes they’ve picked out here.”

“What do you mean?”

“’21:13:43,’” Kaidan pointed to the exit, “That’s not London Local Time for the wave. It’s a good twelve minutes earlier.”

“Oh, Shepard nodded slowly, “the run-up to the transport beam.”

“Definitely not a moment I’d like to remember,” Kaidan said carefully, checking Shepard’s expression. Shepard had an excuse if he wanted it.

“Let’s have a look.” Shepard took a quick breath, then offered Kaidan a smile. Their audio queued when they cross the entrance threshold.

“These are some of the final moments of the Reaper War, and three minutes that would determine the fate of the galaxy. Constructed with data directly taken from a FOB monitoring Shepard’s position.”  

The audio continued to set the scene: Hammer Squad, Thannix Missiles, heroic names—Shepard nudged Kaidan when ‘Spectre Kaidan Alenko’ was mentioned—and the transport conduit. The exhibit itself was a dark tunnel, on either side a gigantic holographic layout of the broken London street that served as the run-up to the transport conduit. The conduit was represented by a holo near the exit, and where Shepard and Kaidan entered represented 550 meters south: where Hammer Team made their final charge. The audio would trip at key moments as patrons made their way through the hall. By this time, there was another group just ahead of them, but it was dark enough where they felt comfortable taking off the sunglasses.

Shepard was represented on the holo by a yellow ball with a pinging halo emitting from it. As they approached, it began to move toward the transport beam, dodging blasts and avoiding rubble the holo hadn’t rendered, resulting in a somewhat comical display. The audio was aware:

“Forty-five seconds. Commander Shepard runs straight at the beam, or as straight as the situation allowed. Harbinger began repelling the advancing forces, indiscriminately targeting both individual soldiers on the ground and also the ground and air vehicles. You can see Shepard zig-zagging back and forth, likely avoiding rubble or attempting to make himself a more difficult target.”

“Why do you think it’s only me up there? They should have data for every marine out there that day?”

“It’s your exhibit,” Kaidan offered lamely. “Plus, I don’t think seeing all those little… flickering lights go out would be a very stirring exhibit.” Shepard nodded gravely.

The yellow ball raced down the hill in real time, and after forty five seconds, stopped abruptly. It then went backwards.

“Forty-two seconds. That’s how long it took Shepard to call down the SSV Normandy and evacuate a number of marines wounded in the battle. You can see him take up a defensive position behind cover, then race forward—possibly supporting the weight of another wounded marine—when the Normandy arrives.”

Sure enough, the yellow ball ‘limped’ over to where a holographic Normandy had been generated. The ball stayed there, though, for another thirty seconds, nearly.

“Twenty-eight seconds. That’s how long Shepard lingered at the Normandy, likely ensuring as much time as possible for further evacuations. The Normandy’s cyber warfare suite was a surprise for Harbinger, and silenced, for a time, its blasts.”

They were catching up on the other group now, who were talking between themselves, bent over the holo with interest.

“Twenty-eight seconds,” one whispered to the other. “That’s forever in a battle like this, huh? Geez, makes you wonder what was going on.”

“Probably was just giving some orders or something,” said the other. “…I wonder if he thought about just… flying away?” They both chuckled, then grew quieter as they proceeded to hurry through the rest of the exhibit when Kaidan and Shepard got closer.

“I did,” Shepard whispered to Kaidan, pulling Kaidan’s hood just to the side so his lips could almost to the shell of Kaidan’s ear.

“Did what?” Kaidan turned. Shepard looked over his shoulder to see that the other patrons had drifted away.

“I did think about just getting on the Normandy, flying away,” he said, softly.

“No you didn’t,” Kaidan cracked a conspiratorial grin. “Not for long if at all, at any rate.”

“I did. I thought about leaving with you. Thought about it just long enough to make it hurt when I had to turn away.” Shepard touched Kaidan’s hand. “The exhibit doesn’t talk about it at all, but do you remember what you said during those ‘twenty-eight seconds?’”

Kaidan looked at Shepard warmly, looking through him, in some ways. “I, uh… I think I told you to let me finish the fight!” He laughed.

“You said ‘Don’t leave me behind,’” Shepard replied. He lifted Kaidan’s hand, softly ran his thumb over the man’s knuckles, his ring. “And I told you I loved you. And you said it back.”

“Yeah,” Kaidan said, voice thick. “Yeah I remember that.”

“It was the first time we’d said it to each other.” Shepard pointed at the yellow ball, lingering behind the Normandy hologram. “That’s what I remember about those twenty-eight seconds.”

“That’s sweet, Shepard,” Kaidan touched Shepard’s face, gave a little smile. “That little yellow dot is about to go through a whole lot of shit in the next 10 minutes.” Shepard nodded, aware even now of the various cybernetics implanted into his body after this battle. “I’m sorry you had to go through it alone.”

“You were waiting,” Shepard said, at last. “That’s what matters.” Kaidan looked over his shoulder once more before leaning in and kissing Shepard. Shepard leaned back with a wry smile, “I think I’ve had enough hero worship for one day, what do you say we get out of here?” Kaidan nodded and took his hand. They slipped their dark glasses on and strode out of the museum arm in arm.

#n7 month #n7month #mass effect #fanfic #mshenko #kaidan alenko #commander shepard #thinking of sprucing up all the museum ones #and putting them on AO3 #would that work? i dunno

[kanene-yaaay]

Chasing Laughter

Kanene's Notes: Heyaa! Gosh, it's been a long time since I've been able to write and finish AND post a fic. But! I've got a new fandom >:D uytredrtyuidfg So, at first I didn't know a lot about Fit but GOSH, now he is one of my faves. Like, a guy that is trapped in a experiment controlled by a gigantic force that is not above torturing, experimenting and doing awful thing just to keep the control and yet this is the happier he had ever been? Because he has a wonderful son and friends? Because here, different from the world filled with war he came before, he at least knows a bit of peace? And he would do anything to still have this love, happiness and family he found? B r u h I am on the FLOOR Although, I still haven't watched a LOT of him so probably this is kind of OOC but yeah it is what it is dfghujuygtfrftgy

Warnings: None. This is pure flluff and plyaful tickles. Ticklish!Ramón and Ler!Fit. Around 1.000 words. General warning: this is a tickle fic

[~*~]

Ramón took off running.

It felt almost natural, now. He learned to run for his life a long time ago, nowadays being able to deal much better with all the thoughts his mind had to attend to. Where he should step, when he should keep going or try to hide, how far was his pursuer, what could he do to get just a few more seconds before help came… 

At first, it wasn’t supposed to be a game, running away from someone more than often isn’t in his daily life. Not with the place that they lived. The island.

But, well… 

The wind ruffled his hair and the adrenaline raced in his veins, heartbeat going in sync with his footsteps, painting in firm strokes and nimble steps determination in every turn and dodge. The voice that followed him on his path only served as a reminder that it was just a fun chase.

It was hard to not have fun when his father was involved. 

“Ramooon, where are you? You can’t run forever, my baby boy.”

All of this was Dapper’s fault, really. He was a menace and immature and the one who didn’t know when to admit that he had lost the wrestling match and so decided to change to cheating so he could win. And no. It didn’t matter that technically Ramón had also cheated by sneaking up behind his twin and starting the play fight when the other was busy building. That is not cheating. This is being tactical and having a strategy . Cheating is resorting to unfair methods like throwing all your weapons and tools to the ground, shoving your hands under the enemy’s chestplate and squeezing their sides non stop.

Tickling isn’t even allowed in a real fight! Dapper doesn’t even expect the big storm that is coming to him, Ramón also has a lot of a very kind of giggly, tickly blackmail about his brother that he is more than happy to share with his uncle Bad.

He just needed to survive this chase first.

With the potato gun in his hand he turned around, firing. None of them hit the target, it was hard when both of them were moving so fast and inconsistently, full of zig zags, circles and jumps on the usual irregular soil.

“Ops, almost got me there, Ramon, but you can’t escape your father.”

Ramón almost laughed, almost cursed and almost tried to shoot another round of potatoes on his dad for being so embarrassing.

“You know I will always find you. Come here, my boy!”

In the end, he ended up stumbling.

His body didn’t even had the chance to fall on the grass before two hands, warm and kind. larger than life, full of scars that contained brave stories and strong enough to hold him dangling in the air in what his Tío Foolish liked to call the “Air Prison”, got him from behind.

“Oh! Oh!! I got you, I got youuuu, my beautiful, beautiful baby boy! Look what I have right in my hands, a cute little sneaker who thought that he could outrun his old man, huh? You love to see it.”

Ramón struggled on the hold, kicking and feeling his cheeks light up in flames at his father’s usual baby voice, trying to ignore with his entire might all the giggles crawling up his throat and the gigantic smile that fought to take over his mouth. 

He was NOT going to lose this time! No matter how much embarrassing praises and unfair baby voices his own father attempted to pull against him, he would keep himself strong and simply not break!

(He always did. No matter how long they’ve played this game of hide and seek and chase, or how often his father’s eyes glinted in pure happiness when he saw him awake or even how the pride took over his words and gestures every time Ramón showed him his newer project. Everyday Ramon tried to keep his composure, his mature self in front of him as a shield and a preparation. Yet,  every single day his dad came and let him act and feel like he was… like he could be just a child in front of him.)

All his thoughts came to a halt and got scrambled when suddenly he was thrown upwards and spun in the air, no time to get the grappling hook to escape the situation before Fit caught him again, now with both of them being able to face each other. 

His father’s grin was as mischievous as big. Ramón huffed and squinted at him and did not pout at his destiny. 

A couple of fingers sneaking under his armpits and digging there quickly made his grumpy demeanor melt in a loud squeak.

"Ohoho, what is this? Is that a smile that I am seeing right there? A big, bright and starry five stars smile, indeed."

Ramón shook his head, entire body shaking with the struggle of keeping the laughter inside. His hands attempted to push his father's hold away, but it would be much easier to try to move a mountain. 

The fingers began crawling downwards, giving each rib a few quick, nimble scribble before focusing entirely on squeezing his sides, not being even slightly discouraged by the smaller’s tactic of trying to become a defensive ball, a couple of quiet yelps escaping when the scratching found a sweet spot right where his sides and ribs connected.

"I think someone's barrier is about to crack.~" Fit playful taunted.

A couple of giggles ran away without permission from his mouth, his smile growing from one ear to another as each tickle seemed to send a tingly, funny kind of adrenaline in his veins.

It took only single scribble on his stomach for everything, every squeal, giggly snort, squeaky wheeze and crackling to come trembling down from his mouth, filling the air with a loud, energetic laughter and a quiet, amused chuckle that danced together amidst the wind and the trees.

For a few moments that was all that existed, the silly, playful, tickly moment and genuine laughter. It lasted a couple of minutes before Fit decided they both already had their fun and that Ramón could use some of benefits of taking big, uninterrupted gulps of air.

"Okay, okay, enough. I don't want to take it too far." His father's movements weren't exactly gentle , still roughed in the edges by the life he had before the island, but he was the most careful as he let him on the ground and discreet enough to not snicker too loud when Ramón wobbled a bit on the same spot, left over sniggers still escaping and making his nose scrunch up. "Are you alright, Ramón?"

The kid just quietly wiped the beginnings of tears that formed in the corner of his eyes before, in a flash, grabbing his sword and quickly hitting his dad with a clear swing before jumping away.

"Wh- wha- what! Hey!" His voice was the perfect mix of amused and exasperated. Not a single drop of regret in it as the flames danced on his armor, barely even affecting him. "Now, come on…"

He stepped closer to the smaller one, only for Ramón to jump away once more and pull his spyglass, squinting at him in a clear show of protest.

(Of course both realized how the corner of his mouth was still up in a remain of a happy smile, how the swing was totally non harmful and how he would never, ever, truly run away from his father.)

"OK, OK, you're right, that was unfair of me." Ramón slightly bent his knees, hand still close to his sword, waiting for more. "What if we go clear that dungeon you mentioned earlier? Think you could forgive me then?"

The kid quickly put away his spyglass, stepping closer and nodding pleased. His father was smart. He knew he would stop being silly and see the reason, eventually.

Fit watched as his kid led the way, a pep on his step and a joyful hum in the tip of his tongue. His chest filled with warmth, realizing (not for the first or last time) how lucky he was to have all of this in his life.

He will do anything to keep this happiness, to keep them, alive.

[~*~]

Ramón may or may not strategically try to get his revenge in the future in front of a very curious and mischievous Brazilian (Pac really needed a Second to Breath when he heard Fit giggling for the first time, and, really, how could he just NOT help his sobrinho, ya know?) and ever since their life (and bit by bit the life of everyone in the island because rumors fly like crazy and not a single one in there isn't prone to some mischief) got filled with much more laughter and sillyness Just wanted to write some light-hearted fun

#qsmp tickles #qsmp tickling #Kanene's fic #Kanene's fanfic #Ticklish!Ramón #Ler!Fit #Tickle fic #Cute fluff #I forgot what to put in tags so SDFGHUJIKKJH #playful tickles #can't stop thinking about the beans Having Fun and Being Happy so i just had to write something rkjhgvfghnjm

[kittyofalltrades]

Last Minute Under the Table

You get a last minute invite to a work party. But under the table is where all the action is. Thanks to @welcometostayingawake for enabling me and keeping me motivated. :)

Words:1607

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY MDNI

Characters: Benny Miller, Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Reader (No use of Y/N)

Beta: Me I still can't spell lol (literally if you catch a mistake let me know)

WARNINGS: Hint a knife kink (no blood and no blade applied to skin), Food play (licking off fingers and chest), Public/Semi public sex, fingering, handjob, profanity NOT A DARK FIC I REPEAT NOT A DARK FIC

!!!!!!!!!!!!NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!!!!!!!!

You sat at a table in the back of the large party room nursing your beer, and glaring at the men brave enough to come near. You’d received a last-minute invitation from Will, your supervisor, after he failed to send out a guest list. And so far all the other guest where drunk retirees with nothing to do with themselves or people that acted like they had better things to do than to attend. 

Except those three, his friends and brother, he’d said when he introduced them to you. Benny Miller tall, blond, athletic and sexy, with smoldering blue eyes. Santiago “Pope” Garcia salt and pepper curls, great ass and a quick smile after a beer or two. Frankie “Catfish” Morales, tall, patchy facial hair but sweet. You listed their names in your head as you watched them surround Will. If you hadn’t had your eyes trained on Benny, you might have missed the nudge and nod in your direction he gave Santi. An action that made you roll your eyes at them.

Benny watched the woman Will worked with roll her eyes and head to a deserted table in the back. That gave him hope that tonight he’d actually be able to make a move. He’d seen her around, but Will had given him strict orders to stay away. Something about not fucking his coworkers and him being a womanizer. He hadn’t given that same speech to Santi, who was just as much a womanizer as he was. 

When Benny made his move, Santi followed closely at his heels. He was determined to take this girl home before Benny scooped another girl from under him. He refused to be left high and dry again. So where Benny went tonight he was going to follow, even if it meant zig zagging through a crowd of drunks. 

You took a sip of your lukewarm beer with a grimace when they finally reached your table. One man sitting on each side of you giving you smiles that came off lecherous instead of friendly. 

“What can I help you with?” you asked. May as well try polite since neither man seemed the type to be bullied by you.

“We just want to talk darlin’. Maybe make friends,” Benny drawled softly. 

You blinked at him in surprise. That was not the voice you’d expected out of him. Maybe a pack a day smokers rasp, but not the deep voice that sounded like it was built for reading filth. The twang he had added depth to this voice making you shiver a little under his blue—eyed gaze.

“We could be good friends,” Santi added, making you turn to him. 

His brown eyes twinkled with mischief as he dragged his tongue over his full lips, drawing your eyes downward. You watched as his lips quirked up in a smile before he dragged his tongue over his lips again, sinfully slowly. 

You barely managed to tear your eyes away from his mouth to take another sip of your beer. “Do you two always attempt to hit on girls together, or am I just special?”

Both men laughed, making you feel silly for assuming they were hitting on you. Until they both turned their eyes back on you, telling you that your assumption was correct, they both wanted you. You ignored the thought, deciding to engage the beautiful men in conversation, even as Will shot daggers at them from across the room.

Soon you were lost in the thrum of music and pleasant conversation with Santi. Finding out he had bad knees, but that never stopped him from putting in the work. Benny was a decent cage fighter, and could do his share of manhandling. You ignored the flare of want that rolled through you at both comments, trying to keep things civil and above board.

You were working your way through a slice of angel food cake, soft airy and heavily coated in whipped cream while you talked. Lost in conversation about the merit of video game movies when you missed your mouth with your fork. The missed bite sent the cake tumbling into your cleavage and left a smear of whipped cream on your face. Shame set in quickly and your cheeks warmed. 

You reached to pluck the cake off your tits when Benny caught your hand stopping you. 

“Look at our girl covered in cream, Pope. Doesn’t she look lovely,” Benny purred at you.

“Gorgeous,” Santi agreed. 

Santi dragged his thumb through the smear of whipped cream on your cheek and brought it to his lips. You watched as he licked it off with a small moan that sounded entirely too sexual for food. Benny removed the cake from where it sat forgotten on your chest and gave you a sinful look. 

“May I darlin’?” He asked with a downward nod, indicating the leftover whipped cream. 

You nodded mutely, thinking he was going to do what Santi had done and swipe his fingers through the mess. You let out a moan when he applied his tongue to the tops of your breast licking and sucking the whipped cream from your skin. 

Santi slapped a hand over your mouth. “Quiet hermosa, we wouldn’t want to draw attention, would we?”

Before you could acknowledge his words, his free hand dropped to your thigh. He dragged his blunt nails up your thigh, sending sparks of arousal in the wake of his touch. He paused when he reached the hem of your skirt waiting, for what you never found out because Benny’s sucking a hickey on your left breast drew your attention to him.

“Don’t hog her Benny,” Santi hissed while he pushed your legs apart. He worked his hands higher, coming in contact with your panty covered cunt. He ran his thick finger over your slit, smiling at the wetness he’d encountered. “She’s fucking soaked.”

Benny groaned against your tits, sending a shiver through you. He pulled Santi’s hand away from your mouth, giving you a hot sloppy kiss while Santi growled his frustration at your panties. You were so lost to Benny’s mouth on yours that you missed the snick of a pocket knife being opened. You felt the cool metal briefly kiss your skin as Santi carefully cut the delicate fabric away, exposing your cunt to open air. 

“There we are, princesa,” Santi breathed into your ear while he pocketed the tattered fabric. 

Benny pulled his lips away from yours and glanced around before guiding your hand to his cock under the table. “If you’d be so kind darlin’.”

You fumbled Benny’s cock out of his pants while Santi worked his hand back up your thigh. You stroked Benny’s cock, slowly marveling at his size and girth. If you sucked him off, you wondered if you could fit him in your mouth. Your thoughts shattered in an instant when Santi’s fingers found your clit rubbing in small, quick circles. 

You pulled your lip between your teeth, cutting off the moan that was building in your throat while Santi put his fingers to good use. Benny growled his impatience and gripped your hand and thrust upward, fucking your fist. You whined loudly when Santi plunged two of his fingers into your warm cunt, groaning himself at how tightly your pussy clenched around him.

“Fuck you should feel her Benny. Her sweet pussy is holding me so tight,” Santi whispered and his breath ghosted across your skin, making you shiver. 

“Gonna let us fuck your tight little pussy babydoll?” Benny asked harshly as his voice and accent deepened with pleasure. 

“And my ass,” you moaned softly, imagining them stuffing your holes full at the same time.

Santi’s fingers stuttered for a second as what you said hit him. He couldn’t believe you’d offered your ass up to them. “Tell me what you want again, hermosa.”

“I want you and Benny to fuck my ass and my pussy,” you moaned softly.

The words had Benny’s cock twitching,, and he brought his fist to his mouth to cover the loud moan that was trying to escape as he spilled into your hand. The sound of Benny moaning and his cock twitching in your hand was enough to pull you under. The band of arousal that pulsed just under your skin snapped and you gripped Santi tightly as your whole body trembled with the force of your orgasm. Santi pulled his fingers out your wrecked hole and brought his fingers to his lips, earning a moan from both you and Benny. You released Benny’s cock and brought his spill to your mouth. You took your time licking his spend from your fingers, earning a moan from both men. 

Benny lazily tucked himself away and leaned against you with a smile. You pressed a soft kiss against his forehead just as Will approached, giving the three of you a stern look. You didn’t know what you did to earn the stern gaze,, but you wilted. 

“Really Benjamin, the one girl I told you to keep away from,” Will growled. “And you Pope. Why must you two make my life hard?”

“Something i is hard alright,” Benny said lazily. The joke made you, and Santi giggled at the pure childishness of it. A quick glance at Santi’s crotch showed he wasn’t wrong. 

“When they break your heart, don’t come crying to me,” Will grumbled before storming off. 

“The only thing we are going to break is your bed, hermosa.”

“And probably Pope’s shitty knees.”

You chuckled at the banter between the men you sat between. As soon as Benny recovered, the rest of the night was going to be interesting. 

Thanks for reading comments and reblogs will literally have me spinning in a circle like an excited dog...so feel free to do that

#santiago garcia #santiago x reader #benny miller #benny miller x reader

[isagrimorie]

[initial reactions] Star Wars Ahsoka 1x06 - Far, far away

Why is this show only 8 episodes??? I want to spend more time in Peridea!

Peridea, where Purgill comes to die, and the homeworld of the Witches of Dathomir. I get it now when House of R posited one of the reasons why Filoni loves Tolkien is that the setting is always in places with ruins and structures of once great empires because this is what Peridea is.

Also, there are more threatening powers in this new galaxy, as hinted by Baylan. He wants to break the cycle of the Jedi rising and falling and all its folly. Baylan claimed that he trained Shin 'to be more'.

And interestingly, Sabine 'reeks of Jedi,' but Baylan and Shin don't.

Thrawn is here! I believed he'd be shown in the last episode of the season but no! Filoni once again zigged when I thought he would zag and we're seeing Thrawn - weathered and his opinions on Force users changed.

ALSO IS ONE OF THE GREAT MOTHERS CLAUDIA BLACK???? I have to rewatch the credits later.

And we saw Ezra and Oh my... I get it now he looks HOT. Especially with that beard and okay, I kind of ship Ezra and Sabine a bit because of this. He aged and matured well, it didn't translate in the animated series but here?

Hello, sailor!

I love how Sabine went all... Sabine Alone, and she got a dog horse of her own. She might also have an affinity for animals.

But oh, Sabine 'I named a weapon after Duchess Satine' Wren, of House Disaster Lineage... strikes again. Ezra won't be happy with this, he of House Mace Windu.

I love the small scene that we saw of Ahsoka, who might have been riding the euphoria of rebirth but still has unresolved issues, as I mentioned last episode. She's chosen to live and embrace life, but all those issues don't go away. Ahsoka still has concerns, especially about Sabine's decision-making.

There's a really interesting discussion of destiny and fate that might be a throughline through everything and underscore Ahsoka's series. I wonder where they're going with this.

I love how Peridea looks so high fantasy, and it's brought on with the creatures, and really Baylan, Shin fit in but also Sabine with her Mando armor and cloak.

I love the weathered structures and ruins and the mention of the Great Witch Kingdom of Dathomir. Why did some of the Nightsisters migrate to another galaxy? What vast threat is there that they need a whole new Galaxy's distance to escape?

Baylan talks about the cycles the Jedi go through from rise to fall and how disillusioned he is of it-- how he loved the idea of the Jedi but not the reality of their flaws. This episode is the most dialogue-heavy of all episodes. PLEASE FILONI MOVE AWAY FROM FAVREAU'S LITTLE-TO-NO-DIALOGUE APPROACH.

I love that Ahsoka is being treated as this mythic, larger-than-life threat. 'She is coming.' is the new 'Winter is coming'.

I KNEW I KNEW AND TOLD MYSELF THIS WAS THE FIRST OF A THREE-PARTER!

DID I LISTEN TO MYSELF??? NO. OF COURSE NOT.

Sometimes, the wound is self-inflicted!

If the last episode was a love letter to Clone Wars fans, this episode is a love letter to Rebels fans.

#initial reactions #star wars ahoska #sabine wren #ahsoka tano #ahsoka 1x06 #ahsoka spoilers

[bonkers-4-hatter]

Huntress X Reader - Precious Doll

TW: Blood, axe throwing, cutting flesh, flesh wound, choking, cutting with a weapon. --

The distant scream of your teammate made you flinch as you hid behind a rock, sliding down to the ground, the roughness of the rock cutting your skin, but that was nothing compared to what the Huntress would do to you with her ax. 

You’ve been going through this hell God knows how long and you should be used to it, but no, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. Being transported to this hell hole where you and random people have to literally run for your lives while repairing generators with psychotic killers after you. Many thoughts would run through your mind. Why were you taken? Why were any of you taken? For what purpose? Would this ever end?

Your breathing started to calm down, giving it the okay, you slowly made your way to the generator on the other side of the rock. You knew you and your team had done four generators and this was the last one needed to pop the escape doors.

Jake was dead and Jane was hooked. You knew Ace was saving Jane, so you had to start this. Popping open the panel, you started to pull and cross the wires as it revved up to life. 

Anna was the most brutal killer you’ve been against and that was saying something with the line-up of psychos you’ve been against. It always seemed like she had it out for you specifically. Whenever she knew you were part of the team, she’d only have her deadly eyes for you, passing by everyone else just to hack away at you and she wouldn’t just hook you…oh no.

The thought made you accidentally pop the generator, the loud noise echoing through the area. You cursed at your carelessness, it was almost done too. Before you could get to work on it again, your heartbeat started to accelerate as the haunting sound of her lullaby made its way to your ears. 

Being literally stuck between a rock and a hard place, you slowly inched your way around the rock only to have an ax go past you and get stuck in the fencing behind you. Jumping up, you quickly ran to the right away from the ax and towards the maze of wood paneling. Her grunting and growls were right behind you as you as you jumped through the windows and zig and zagged around the literal wooden maze so she couldn’t use her axes and it was irritating her as they kept getting stuck in the wood, but your luck just ended as you emerged in the clearing, nothing for you to use to your advantage in sight. 

You kept running trying to use the trees to help you, but she was getting closer. 

“AHHH!” An ax sliced your calf making you fall to the ground the pain was so intense as you felt the wound bleed. Before you could try and get up, Anna finally caught up to you and pinned you down to the ground by stepping on your stomach, effectively pinning you in place. 

She only laughed at you and pressed her foot into you making you cry out. “Куколка (Little Doll)” You never knew what she was saying, but she always called you that. 

In the distance the last generator popped, but Anna didn’t budge. She kept staring at you with a small smile on her face. If she wasn’t wielding an ax and didn’t cause all your previous injuries, you might have thought she looked cute smiling. 

You could see your team at the exit gate. Tears started to slide down your face. Anna straddled you, sitting on your stomach as she wiped your tears away. The gesture was sweet itself, but you knew what was going to happen.

She gripped another ax in her hand as she started to drag the weapon across your exposed skin, not really caring how shallow or deep the cuts were. A noise of delight emitted from Anna’s throat as a scream erupted from yours. You were trying to wiggle your way free from her which only made her mad. 

Slamming the axes handle against your throat you started to choke against the wooden handle as she applied more pressure. Your cut and bloodied arms reached up to grip her arms, weakly trying to move the handle, but to no avail. “P-please.” Your soft voice wheezed this out, you started to see black dots in your vision, as your arms started to go slack.

Anna, not wanting to be done playing with you yet, lifted the handle off your throat, bruising already appearing on the delicate skin. She made some happy noises at the colors that were appearing as she thought of all the ways she could play with her little doll before the entity brought them back.

All you could do was accept your hellish fate and hope that she would kill you soon, but from her delighted sound, that was only a dream now.

#q #que #queue #DBD #dead by daylight #anna x reader #huntress x reader #huntress #dbd x reader #x reader insert #x reader #reader insert #31 fics of halloween #halloween writing challenge #TW #trigger warning #blood #axe #ax #chasing #dead by daylight x reader

[lovecite]

Kyojuro Rengoku

Another character ai role play.

You are training with Rengoku and decide to play dirty by punching him in the balls!

I was messing around and found out ! ;)

NUT CRACKER !!

RENGOKUX READER

writing prompts!!

His defensive stance remained solid, despite the relentless attacks coming from y/n. He didn't so much as flinch, remaining calm and collected. "This is going quite well, little flame." He spoke, his voice calm and collected, while y/n continued trying to break his defense. She soon grew tired, her attacks becoming sloppy and repetitive. "It appears you are getting tired," He observed with crossed arms, while y/n took a minute to catch her breath.

i nearly fell over to my knees but i caught myself. 'Okay here is my last trick then!"I thought as i started to run in a zig zag motion and slide under Rengoku and throw my fist upward. 'NUT CRACKER!!" I yell with a giggle as my fists make contact with his balls.

"That was quite cunning of you," He chuckled, cupping his crotch as the pain lingered there, causing Amie to smile victoriously. "It appears you have beaten me, I concede." He spoke with a humble bow of his head, "Well fought." He smirked, rubbing his balls with a chuckle. "I suppose you are much stronger than I imagined," He spoke, extending his hand out to her.

I look at his hand and wrinkled my nose. "EW you touched your privates with your hand." I giggle.

Responses:

1)His face suddenly turned bright red, looking down at his hand in utter disbelief. "What?! No, that's not- I.. that is not what it looks like!" He protested, looking back at Amie, who had begun laughing. "What is so funny? This is a serious matter!"

2) Rengoku tilted his head, feeling a slight tinge of sadness at the disgusted remark. "Ah yes, I see where you're coming from." He withdrew his hand, rubbing his chin. He decided to offer a more appealing option. "Would you like to get some snacks to celebrate your victory?" He suggested, hoping that would pique her interest.

3) He quickly pulled his hand behind him as Amie made that face. "Oh... Right. It appears there might be some sanitary concerns regarding that," He chuckled as he extended his other hand out to her, not having touched the sensitive region with that hand before. "I would still like to shake your hand, though." He smiled brightly, offering her his hand and awaiting a response from her.

4)"Hmh," He hummed, looking downwards in shame. "You are correct, I forgot about that." He turned his gaze back to Amie, nodding his head. "But still.. It was quite the fight, I haven't battled a worthy opponent in long time, thanks to you.. I had a lot of fun." He smiled, gesturing for her to join him in a handshake.

5)"You... do realise that they are my own privates, correct?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, a curious smile spreading upon his lips. "It is not as if I've just fondled someone else's.. That would be quite inappropriate." He shook his head and chuckled.

(this one had me balling)

6)"Well now, that is rather rude," He said, slightly offended by her remark. "But yes, I suppose I did." He chuckled, crossing his arms once again. "Perhaps you aren't ready to become my student after all," He spoke in a light-hearted manner, his lips turning up into a gentle smile. "Although, I must admit.. Your fighting skill is quite remarkable for being so inexperienced." He praised, taking a step back, allowing her to stand up straight.

7)"Oh..." He looked at his own hand, realizing his mistake. "Hm, you are quite right." He cleared his throat, still holding the outstretched hand, slightly embarrassed. "Perhaps this is a better greeting, Amie." He lifted his hand, offering her a fist bump.

8) Rengoku's eyes widened in embarrassment, as did his face turn bright red. "I beg for your forgiveness, little flame." He bowed low, trying to hide his face. "Allow me to extend the offer again," He spoke, bowing lower and offering his other hand - free of any genitalia.

9)Rengoku's smile fades momentarily upon receiving Amie's response, slightly confused by her logic. "Do people not clean their hands anymore?" He inquired with a raised brow. "Well, in that case.." He looked to his side, searching for a rag or towel to clean his hands. He spotted a white cloth on the ground and picked it up, cleaning his hands before offering his outstretched hand once again to Amie. "There," He stated confidently, "Now.. Is it not rude to refuse this offer?" He posed.

10)"You are one mischievous little flame," He chuckled. "Very well, Amie.. Come here.." He opened his arms out, awaiting Amie's reaction. "There, that should be better." He held out his free, clean hand for Amie to grasp. "Take your teacher's hand and shake it as a sign of respect."

11)"You have a good point, little flame. Let me make it up to you," Rengoku took a look around, searching for something. He then spotted a nearby bush, plucking a rose from it to gift to Amie. "Here, take this rose.. I would like to formally apologize," He extended the rose to her. "I did not mean to disgust you, I can assure you."

(this one was sweet)

12)He snickered, "Oh, that didn't stop you from going for my balls," He looked at her with a smirk, "I can't help it if they hurt, my dear." He chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "No one said defeating me would be easy.." He smirked as he watched her try and figure out a comeback.

13)"Touche, little fire," He chuckled, quickly retracting his hand, before looking away. "It seems I got a bit ahead of myself," He chuckled, still feeling the tingling sensation that lingered in his privates.

14)He scoffed, feeling quite offended. "It seems like your mind is still in a premature state, my dear," He spoke in annoyance, looking down on her with a narrowed gaze. "Perhaps I should not train you.. Your immaturity might be contagious." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking away towards the distance as he spoke. (cry)

#kny kyojuro #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x y/n #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #ai character #beta character ai #demonslayer #rengoku #nutcracker

[20dollarlolita]

Your sewing machine stopped working?

If you take it into a shop to be repaired, the first things that are going to be checked to resolve your problem is if your machine is threaded incorrectly. After that, if your needle is bent, if your bobbin is the correct kind of bobbin, and if your thread is usable.

You can check all of these things at home. Your machine stopped working? Did you just change bobbins, needles, or thread? Did you hit something that could have deflected your needle. Did you resolve a jam that could have shifted a bobbin case (if you have a drop-in bobbin).

Generally, most machines (especially less expensive machines) will have two kinds of screws on them. This is going to be mostly phillips (the + kind) or torx (the * kind), and then some flathead (the - kind). This is intentional. Flathead screws, which are often used on your needle plate, your needle clamp, and your presser foot clamp, are screws to things that you should be doing as part of regular maintenance. You should be taking your presser foot ankle off if you want to attach a walking foot or another foot that doesn't snap on. You should be taking your needle out to replace it every 6-8 cumulative sewing hours. And you should be taking your needle plate off and cleaning that lint out down there.

If your machine has a plastic outer housing, there's a very good chance that it doesn't need oil in the same way an old cast iron machine needed oil. Modern technology has made permanently lubricated machines, which only need grease in specific spaces and generally where a service tech will do it. But some machines will need oil in the bobbin hook race or in the area under the bobbin casing. Check your manual and apply this oil if you are supposed to. Otherwise, don't go putting oil where your machine is not designed to be oiled. If you have a drop-in bobbin and you can't figure out where to put the bobbin case after you took it out, look at it and see if there's an orientation that sort of looks like Batman's head. Batman's ears face away from you, and there's a little bumper in the bottom right that presses against either a stop or a sensor. (more details on the upcoming Unfucking Your Bobbin Tension post)

If you like your machine and you want it to last, and if you can find a place with a good reputation and a decent guarantee on workmanship, it might be worth it to get it professionally serviced. A good service will involve stripping the machine down to clean and oil it, as well as a lot of very difficult adjustments of needle timing to hook and feed teeth height and zig zag width and tension calibration. This will make the machine last longer and run better. If you like your machine and want to keep using it, it doesn't really matter if it was a $100 machine or a $1100 machine; its value to you should be worth the service. A good service will also identify and possibly fix problems that could end your machine's life prematurely.

Even if you didn't use the machine very much in the past year, if you have a premium machine that was meant to be serviced instead of thrown out and replaced, get it serviced like once a year. The grease and oil sitting in the machine in one place can start to harden, and if you're going to be using it again, it can really benefit from having new grease put in the gear box.

If your service place has a warranty on the work (if the problem comes back within 30 days you get a second service for free, or something) then DEFINITELY take it home and try to do something with it in that time frame. It can be a little project, like a pillow case or hemming a skirt, but if the problem comes back then you want to know in the timeframe that you have to get that warranty. If you don't use it for six months, and then the first time you try the problem is still there, the service people don't have to do shit about it for free even if it's their fault.

With all of that said, a lot of people are sewing on machines that were $80 and that they're not attached to, and they want to just use them until they break. Once it breaks, you can get a new one. This is a completely fine viewpoint. This is what a lot of budget machines assume will happen. If you're just starting out sewing, this can even have an advantage, as you can find new features that fit you better as you develop your skills. You might find a new machine that really fits what you need, and be able to use it for a long time. Just remember that if you're consistently breaking inexpensive machines, it might be the world showing you that it's time to get a good machine that was not meant to be disposable. A lot of sewing machine dealerships will offer their own protection plan, and if you're breaking a Singer Start* every four months, then getting a $400 machine and its associated service plan will pay for itself very quickly, and you won't be sewing on a piece of shit without variable stitches anymore.

That said, if you want to sew lolita fashion or any fashion really, you don't NEED a fancy machine. That's not a barrier for entry. Any way that you can sew two pieces together is going to be able to let you make things, and making things is what we're all about here.

Anyway, this is a complicated and long way of saying that when you take your machine to be serviced, and they say that your problems happened because you were using the wrong type of bobbin, saying, "but I've always used that bobbin" makes you look pretty stupid, because if the machine was working, you weren't using that bobbin. A reference point for people who don't work on sewing machiens, but that's like the technician saying that your machine wasn't sewing because you didn't put thread in it, and you saying that you never use thread to sew things. It's entirely possible that you think you're right, but you're definitely not right.

___ *i take jabs at the Singer Start a lot but, in my defense, it's a bad machine.

[askthephighttopiaparty]

Some Self-Inflicted Ingame Rules

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If a party member are in a quarrel, one-sided and mutual, I cannot put them in the same room to calm them down unless one of them specifically requests to go into the other's room or if they are already roommates. Otherwise, all quarrels will have to be solved by other means. Otherwise, Quarrels will simply have to be suffered through and worked around.

If there's a good chance the party will win even if a member has low HP I will attack instead of healing as the Cleric. If a party member is low, however, and we are not close to winning I will heal them as the Cleric even if the Party Leader's / Cleric's HP is too low to survive another attack himself. If all other party members will atleast survive the next attack and the Party Leader's HP is low I will use that turn to self-heal as the Cleric.

If the Cleric Party Leader has a quarrel with another party member I will not heal that party member unless absolutely necessary. ( Ex. In Boss Battles I will absolutely heal a Party Member quarrel or not )

I cannot grind for EXP unless absolutely necessary to proceed. The only ways I can get my stats up are by naturally level up, buying gear and through grub buffs.

Until the Party Leader gains the horse whispering / horseplay skill he will be sleeping in the stables. Relationships will have to be built by outings, jolly jaunts, in-battle events or other positive relationship events. He will only be taken out if either he or the horse requests to be in the same room as another party member, however once the interaction ends he will be put back. Other party members are allowed to form a relationship with the horse.

Snurpy is to be attacked every time it shows up.

Even if I decide not to 100% a level upon first getting to it I will have to eventually go back and complete all routes and 100% it.

I cannot run from enemy encounters. I either win it or all party members fall. This doesn't need to apply for boss battles because you can't run from bosses anyway.

After every boss there will be a feast if possible.

All Inn Relationship events have to be initiated no matter how the other party members might feel about it. This is the case unless it might create strange events where characters happen to be closer than they're usually supposed to be in lore especially if their relationship in canon is negative. Quarrels do not count as they generally cannot be stopped especially with battle RNG. Otherwise the characters will have to tolerate eachother for now.

Must press Yes on all chests even if it could be a trap.

Routes taken will always be a zig-zag if there's more than one split-off.

Safe-Spot and effect-stopping spells will not be used unless absolutely necessary or Party Member AI decides to to it themselves. Status Inflictions caused by quarrels will not be cured unless there's another infliction needing curing or, like other inflictions, Party Member AI does it themselves. ( Like in cases of the Cleric getting the effect where they need to be quickly recovered or a majority of the party having a negative status infliction where we need to get the party back or lose the battle. )

The safe-spot will not be used to heal party members. The only time it will heal teammates is the party member already having loss health and needing to be in there to stop a status infliction.

Sprinkles will only be used in cases where the Cleric has fallen. In which case they will be revived and the other sprinkles can be used to give the party a boost.

Cannot intentionally cause a Cleric Death. Deaths must happen naturally be it because the Cleric was made to heal a teammate rather then themselves and got attacked or just taking a massive hit in general.

All Cleric Rules besides the Cleric-Revive Rule only imply if the Party Leader is the Cleric as I cannot control the actions of my Party Members.

If there's only 1 Left of a grub item I cannot eat the grub item until I get another. This is to help out once the progress gets wiped after the party kidnappings. Likewise, money will only be spent if deemed necessary for the area and will not be gambled away. Unless you count giving money to the Party Members to buy gear as gambling.

Horse Attacks cannot be skipped no matter the circumstances.

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Other rules may be added later!

Rules can be suggested aswell, though nothing too hard like perma-death or we would be at this forever.

#Phighttopia #phighting! #miitopia #PTOOC #Ruleset