#dc#dc comics#batman#bruce wayne#dc fanart#dick grayson#batfamily#batfam#tim drake
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Logging in to wish a Happy Trans Day of Visibility🏳️⚧️!
Started this ages ago but adultin n life n work n bills n taxes n whatnot, bleh-bloo-blah tryna find time for art when I can :)
Hi! Me again, I just can't stop reading tmr headcanons. Can I request 'what would tmr boys reaction would be if their S/O got kidnapped instead of Minho.' Thank you!
What would tmr boys reaction would be if their S/O got kidnapped instead of Minho
- His s/o was not the type to throw themselves in danger
- however, when the berg showed on the horizon, they were one of the first people to put their hands on a rifle
- Thomas got there late, and there was no s/o in sight, so he figured they were safe
- until they sprang out of nowhere, trying to tackle Janson
- the nearby soldier knocked them out right away
- Thomas struggled against the two soldiers holding him down
- misplaced his shoulder in the process
- he yelled the name of his s/o so loudly he probably wouldn't be able to speak for a week
- a huge fight started, during it the kids, including his s/o were loaded in the berg and took off
- being reckless as he is, Thomas managed to keep Janson off board, beating the living hell out of him
- soldiers stopped him, but not before Ratman was half dead and bleeding
- Thomas didn't hide his tears
- was terrified Wicked would experiment on s/o, or kill, or God knows what else
- wouldn't stop thinking about how to save them
- would do anything to get them out alive
- would have dreams when he saves them and hugs and kisses them, wakes up with tears of happiness streaming down his cheecks only to realize it wasn't real and cry some more, but in fear and sadness
- after saving his s/o, Thomas is super overprotective of them
- like, every little thing, a paper cut or a bruise or a slightly different voice would make him run towards them, asking if they were okay
- eventually came back to normal
- but we all know he's soooooo caring and protective
- the moment he saw his s/o in Wicked's arms, his world stopped
- however, he got out of his stupor quickly, trying to run for you, but the soldier kicked his bad leg, causing him to fall
- when he finally managed to stand up, s/o was already gone
- he kept yelling curses at them, kept hitting those injured soldiers who were left there to die
- it helped nothing and he knew that
- honestly, he could've murdered someone if not for Minho, who held him in a tight hug until he calmed down
- his anger turned to an agony
- he was crying hard, because he was in terrible pain, physically and emotionally
- he vowed to get s/o back safe and sound
- would be the first to find them, as if he felt where they were
- didn't let go of their hand until they reached the Safe Haven
- both didn't go out of the hut for a couple of days, talking, crying and promising their love to each other
- when he barely escaped being captured by Wicked, he thought the victory was there
- little did he know they grabbed s/o instead
- s/o bravely fought the soldiers, but Minho couldn't see it
- and then his s/o stands on the berg, helplessness in their eyes as they take off
- and Minho just stands there, angry at Wicked, and furious with himself for being unable to help
- Newt and Thomas promise they'll find his s/o
- he became very grumpy after that, but also really really silent
- sometimes his bottled up feelings would unleash on everyone because of any little thing
- like a stupid question, or a fallen fork
- he wpuld be so eager to find his s/o he didn't even think when he stalked inside the Wicked headquarters fighting off every soldier like they were bugs
- he found s/o exhausted, hurt and bleeding
- but they were alive, that's all that mattered
- hugged them all the way back
- watched as the medics patched them up, controlling everything
- never leaving their side while rlthey recovered
what blew my mind about the maze runner is that it's not your typical hero-villain story; where the villain is selfish while the hero is selfless and tries to protect the world
because if you think about it: the hero, thomas, ultimately brought down wckd solely because of wanting to save minho - NOT because he wanted to save the world, but just his friend
whereas the villains, wckd and ava paige, WERE in fact working for the greater good, attempting to look for the cure to save humanity as a general and didn't care about a few people dying, as it wouldve been just collateral damage (had they been successful in developing the cure on a mass scale)
i lwk find that pretty neat
(pls recommend some more books that break this stereotype js like tmr 🙏)
the strings theory | bts x reader | MCU
seven heroes, infinite possibilities—every choice pulls a different string in the cosmic web
cr: banners by @eerieedits / @shadowkoo | written by @jungkoode
taglist ➜ there will be no individual taglists for these for now, sign up to the global one ‘the strings theory’
wc: stated in each fic below between ()
genre: Marvel AU (each member is a superhero), smut, fluff, angst.
warnings: in each masterlist. rating: explicit, 18+. all contain smut.
— started writing: August 3rd.
— finished writing/posted: November 1st.
this is bullshit this is not happening
No. TST lacks the logistical capacity and ideological desire to help feed anyone going hungry from lack of food benefits, and it does not de
do not fall for liberal hopegrifts and wishcasting
do not believe AI summaries based on nothing, or nothing other than some group talking about itself The Satanic Temple can take your money, but it cannot feed you. The Satanic Temple can sell you a T-shirt, but it cannot protect you or save you. an email newsletter list for merch and soliciting donations, nationwide 300 active members and two buildings in Massachusetts, is not infrastructure to serve tens of millions in need no one sharing the claim otherwise can tell you what TST’s budget was last year, how many people they fed last year, or where someone hungry would even need to show up. dunking on evangelicals (who will actually feed you! but probably also ask prying personal questions) is not a good excuse to ignore these practical, necessary considerations local food banks need your money. Food Not Bombs and legitimate religious organizations (of your own traditions) need your support for doing more of what they’re already doing. your neighbors need to know you and know y’all can share meals and resources with each other. that is true, and the time for preventative measures is running out do not let people in your life think TST will feed them come Saturday; that is not real. the real work is much harder
That Special Type
Rich!Subby!Wanda Maximoff x Dom!Fem!Reader
(1)Eight-figure
Summary: When you meet Wanda, one of the top CEOs in the business scene, you see her for what she is immediately. She's exactly your type.
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: Set up chapter, hints towards dom/sub dynamics
@sherlockchallenge September Prompt: Water
When the kid wakes up -- she is a newer camper, claimed less than a month ago -- choking on air, bruised and battered but alive, 200 mismatched sets of Celestial bronze armor clatter as each one of them breathes in relief, as shoulders slump, as new siblings cry, as seasoned campers squeeze their eyes shut and clench their hands into fists and think: thank the gods, not this one too.
Nico watches Will almost hit the ground.
The girl is quickly gathered into waiting arms, squeezed tightly and carried, limping, to the infirmary. The gathered swell of them cheer, tiredly but genuinely, backs relaxing at her confused little grin and putting the puddle of stained grass behind them. The forgotten flag lay somewhere at the base of Zeus' fist, and someone will return for it, eventually -- a win is a win -- but helmets come off, blue and red plumes exchanging smiles and bumping shoulders and hauling off towards the showers.
Nico pushes past the stream of campers, working through the opposite direction until he is is back, at the even circle of red among the dead grass, standing opposite of a bowed blond head, of ashen skin and heavy breathing.
"Will," he says, quietly. He hears Cecil somewhere to his left, unsure, lingering. Knowing better than to push his luck but unwilling to leave him, anyway. "Will, talk to me."
He doesn't, and the sun drifts behind a cloud to give them some privacy. In a sparking blink there is a damp washcloth in his hands, and when he looks, Lou Ellen stands next to Cecil, squeezing his hand. Nico nods at her. She nods back, and pads silently back to Camp, tugging her friend with her.
Nico steps over the damp earth, wincing at his cracking knees as he joins Will on the floor; Will does not look up, still, smoldering hands wrapped around his elbows until his knuckles are white, shoulders jerking, every so often, when he cannot hold himself steady. The tears have not yet fallen from his eyes but his chin trembles, and a lump balls in his throat.
"C'mere, piccolo."
When Nico tugs he comes, at least, tipping forward to rest in the circle of Nico's arms, curled in the crook of his neck. He is rigid, for a moment, feverishly hot, and shaking; there is a spasm, and another, and another, and then he cracks. He cries softly, at first, trying with all that he can to keep his cries hidden behind great, gasping breaths, but then Nico's own face crumples, although Will cannot see it, and he tightens his grip. And Will sobs.
And sobs, and sobs, and sobs.
"I almost didn't do it," he gasps, barely words between desperate inhaled, "she was too far gone, Nico, there was hardly a thread -- I couldn't --"
"You did," Nico says firmly, and Thanatos, still lingering, takes one last look at the puddle of blood and close-calls in the center of the clearing and nods, raising a hand in a parting wave. Nico nods back and he disappears; Nico exhales, curling into Will's gasps. "You saved her, sweetheart. She's fine. She's walking, Kayla has her right now. Lou's keeping an eye on her."
Will sobs again, huge and dark and scared and relieved, and there is so much heat and exhaustion pouring off him that it hurts, a little; he is not calming down by any measure and in fact every sharp breath makes him worse. He is building on his own panic and spasming harder and harder in Nico's hold; it would not be the first time, and it will not be the last, but Nico is half-worried he is going to work himself up into seizure.
"Hold on," he whispers, and squeezes Will close; the Sun, anticipating, retreats further, and Nico drags them both into shadow.
He knows it is bad because Will doesn't even react to the disorientation. Nico stumbles, as he often does, feet unsure on the cool marble, but finds his bearings quickly; Will still hyperventilates in his hold. Nico bites back a curse and sits him on the floor, head between his knees, and rushes to open the windows, to drape the cloth Lou Ellen gave him over the back of his neck, hoping the cold shocks him out of his spiral. It doesn't, so Nico kneels before him and squeezes his hand, tight and ignoring the blistering of his own palms, exaggerating his own breathing until Will can hear it, over his staggering inhales, barely-there exhales.
"There you go," Nico murmurs, as Will begins to copy him. "Keep going, miele. We have all the time in the world."
He strokes Will's hair, as he comes down, waiting until there is awareness back in his pinprick eyes to smile, gentle and encouraging.
"Your hands," is the first thing Will says, because of course it is. "'M sorry."
Nico ignores him. It is nothing Austin can't fix when Nico sits with them at dinner, it is nothing he cannot wrap in Polysporin and bandages, even.
"Happened during the game," Nico lies. Will would never believe him otherwise but he is too distracted, now, vulnerable and aching. "Don't worry about it."
Will nods and slumps against Nico's bedframe; he is comfortable, enough, in Cabin 13 not to question where Nico has brought him. It makes the barest hint of a smile push across Nico's face and he tries to focus on that, and only that, as he pulls the cloth off Will's neck and starts on the splatters by his elbows, scraping off the dried blood.
"Leave the rest," Will says. "I'm too -- hot, still."
He is, really. The divine light he channels takes ages to fade fully from his hands and throat, and it will be ages before Will stops feeling it, let alone before Nico can touch without giving himself sunburn at least. But sunburn is almost nothing, and if he lives long enough for radiation to kill him it will be a blessing; he rubs the blood off his forearms, next, careful of the new blistered burns, heading back to the ensuite occasionally to get a new cloth or cool his hands to ice under the water.
Not all the blood will come off. Some of it is cemented on, and it will need soap as well as water. There are rivulets of red sunk into the creases of his elbows, of his knuckles, that no matter how long Nico lets the wet fabric soak it does not come off. Most of all his clothes -- they are beyond repair, so wet in some places they are black. Will follows his gaze and his chest contracts, again, breathing increasing.
"Off," Nico says quickly. "Give it to me, you can't sleep in that anyway."
It worries him that Will does not argue or hesitate but strips the soiled clothing off like it is made of swarming ants, of slithering leeches. Nico catches it before he can launch it and panic himself further; he holds him, again, holding down his flailing arms and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Will cries, naked and blood-soaked, still, and Nico swallows back his own tears at the sound of it. He cries like he is watching shroud after shroud go up in smoke, like he is cradling cracked skull in his hands, like he is gripping the back of his mother's shirt as she desperately promises she will come back, she will. He cries like every barely-healed fracture in his heart cracks anew, like he has no more thread to sew up the pieces.
He cries like he lost the girl, in the woods, alone, singing frantic hymns before he had time to call for help. Nico gathers his shattering pieces in his arms and squeezes like he can mend them back together.
He worries about dehydration and remembers Will's teasing wink, bringing a cup of water to a weeping, skinned-knee child: can't cry and drink at the same time, watch this. It should be the last thing on his list and it is weakness but there is only so much crying, dying animal sound you can hear before it makes you feel trapped, before the fear starts coiling in your own chest; Nico closes his eyes and glares at curious shadows and orders drink from them, right into his open hands. He leans Will back and hands the bottle to him and he drinks, thank the gods, cries fading again steadiness coming back, somewhat, to his chest.
"You need to sleep," Nico says gently. "You're drained."
"I'm scared," Will admits, voice small.
Nico nods -- biting back the lump in his throat -- and guides him upright, has him wait on the bed. He digs through his drawer, aware of Will's boring eyes, until he finds a shirt that has stretched in the wash, soap-soft and overlarge, and a pair of boxer shorts that will work as good as any. He hands them to Will and Will stares at them, eyes blank, so Nico crouches by his feet, guiding the shorts up his legs and, holding him upright, tugging the shirt over his head, guiding his arms through the holes.
He turns down the blankets and coaxes Will under them, tucking the quilt up and over his shoulders and centering his tired head on the pillow. His is wild-eyed, still, any awareness he had earlier long gone as he retreats into his head, spine rigid. He is breathing steady, at least.
It takes hours but Nico stays with him. He sits on the edge of the bed and strokes Will's sweaty hair, humming through his shaking voice, swiping away his own tears and meeting his slowly drooping eyes.
"Sleep," he encourages, hoarse voice wobbling, and tries for a smile. The far-away Sun has drifted farther, now, red over the horizon; the dinner bell will sound any time, now, and Nico will wrap something up for him for later. He will need it, whether or not he will want it. "I'll wait."
Either Will is too exhausted to force his eyes open any longer or he trusts Nico enough to guard him. His eyes slip shut and his shuddering breathing slows, minute by minute, and his hands twitch, blood still caked under his nails, but they no longer tremble as badly. The heat has faded, too.
Bending down, Nico presses a kiss to his forehead. He pulls back and brushes away the wet that has dripped onto his head, and Will sighs, relaxed, finally, as Nico inches away. Nico hovers by the door, watching; his chest rises, and falls, but rises again, over and over and over. His arms curl around his head, eyelids still as he sleeps, thankfully dreamless. Shadows fall across his face.
Nico orders them to guard him, and jogs to meet with the rest of the Apollo cabin, wiping the tears off his face.
