the bravest souls in fan spaces are the people who selfship with a character that already has a wildly popular ship in the fandom. you looked at a tidal wave of fan meta and fics all pairing your fav with another popular character and said okay. but what if i was the one kissing them instead? extremely powerful aura.
At Toba aquarium in Japan, after closing time, some clever little otter pups help their grandpa tidy up their toys. As a reward, he gives them ice cubes
ken with âcan you come pick me up?â and âis that my shirt?â fluff to suggestive, thinking of picking him up late at night and you rolled out of bed putting one of his shirts on that heâd accidentally put in your washing pile to go and get him
Ken x Reader drabble.
âCan you come pick me upâ & âis that my shirt?â literally just fluff
Word Count: 1205
I made myself laugh like crazy writing this shit I adore it
Loud ringing rattles in your head, startling you from a deep, peaceful slumber. Your hand smacks around onto the bed wildly as you try desperately to grab your phone. When you finally grab it, bright, white light pierces through your vision and burns your eyes. But through the overwhelming sensations, you see it. Ken, your newly appointed, and very innocent boyfriend, is calling you at 1pm on a weekend.
What.
A whimper of exhaustion escapes you as you answer the phone, head reeling at his excited squeals echo through the phone and into your ears.
âKen, what's up? Why are you calling me so late,â your voice is lined with sleep- raspy and low. However, Ken doesn't seem to notice and talks bright and cheery, as if it were a happy, summer's day. As per usual.
âHi! My car got stolen, can you come pick me up?â
âWhat!?â Heart thudding out of your chest, you jump up, grabbing at random nearby clothes before shoving them on. Whatever hope you had at sleeping peacefully tonight is now long gone- along with Ken's car apparently.
You should've known.
âYeah, no big deal or anything! I just need to be picked up!â
âUm, it's a very big deal Ken. You literally just got your license and that car!â
The trip to your car is faster than normal and your bare feet scrape along the concrete painfully with every rushed step. Your shoes dangle uselessly in your hands along with your keys. The shoes can wait, Ken, unfortunately, typically cannot. He's high maintenance on a good day.
âOkay, Ken. Where are you at?â
âI don't know. There's a bar and a lot of guys yelling.â You can practically hear his excitement through the phone. âI've never seen a fight like this before!â
âI think you should get away from them.â
âNo, that's okay!â
A loud, exasperated sigh escapes you, âKen! What's the bar's name?â
âWilsons!â
âWILSONS!?! Ken, that's an hour away, how the hell did you get over there!?â
He gives a noncommittal hum and you can practically see the way he shrugs through the phone. If you didn't adore him so much, he'd be stranded. But you can't do that to him. So, you set the bar in the GPS and leave, blasting music to keep yourself awake.
âOkay! Ken, listen to me. Do not go anywhere else. Do not go to the bar. Stay outside and wait for me.â
âOkay! I'm so excited to see you soon!â
âHmmmm,â a loud sigh escapes you, âI'm excited to see you too, Ken.â
âYay!â
âOH ALSO! Do not take anything that anyone gives you. Okay?â
âOkay! Bye, bye!â
You can only hope he will still be there by the time you arrive.
~
Like an obedient dog, Ken sat on the side of the street for exactly an hour, waiting patiently for your arrival. When you pull up next to him, he jumps up and beams brightly as he waves with both hands. Despite how angry you are, you can't help but smile back at him.
âHi, oh my gosh! These men are so nice, they kept offering me drinks and telling me how nice my girlfriend was for picking me up. You should go meet them!â
âGet in the car, Ken.â He follows your directions immediately, staring at you with a small smile and raised brows. âAre you okay? Where is your car, hun?â
âYeah, I'm great right now!â He chuckles and leans forwards, face inches away from yours, âI have no idea where my car is! But that's okay because my beautiful girlfriend is here!â
Your fingers find the back of his neck, before your hand slides to cup his jaw. He's so painfully ignorant sometimes, but goodness he always looks so hot doing it. It would be easy to kiss him right now, but your eyes flicker over and you lock onto men ogling at you and Ken through the window. He follows your gaze and laughs loudly, waving at them as they laugh and point back.
Not friendly. Despite what Ken thinks.
The car squeals off suddenly and Ken releases a loud huff, falling back against the seats as you speed away. He whines as the bar disappears from sight before shrugging and turning back towards you.
âHow was your night, Y/N?â
âI was enjoying some much needed sleep and then someone called me at 1am saying their brand new car just got stolen.â The anger slips out easily and Ken deflates, smile faltering as he sinks into the seats.
âI'm sorry. I screwed things up again.â
âNo, Ken. You're still learning, we all are really. It's okay, sweetie. I'm just tiredâ
âWell! Then we can go home and cuddle all night and sleep in tomorrow! I've been told by a special someone that I'm the best cuddler in the west.â
âReally? They must be really smart to think that, huh?â
Your gaze shifts over to him and you smile softly, watching as his eyes flicker over your face. They're full of so much softness- so much love and adoration. They shift down and widen suddenly and Ken jumps up, slamming his head into the ceiling as he laughs loudly.
âAhahah! Is that my shirt?â His finger reaches out and he strokes the material, pulling it away from your skin before letting it fall back. âThat's totally my shirt!â
âWhat?â
You glance down and see it, Ken's favorite pink striped shirt is laying over your body, clinging in all the right places and loose in others. You didn't have time to be picky earlier and you barely even noticed what you shoved on. But now Ken notices and Ken seems very excited at the idea of you in his clothes.
âOh, yeah. I just threw whatever was on the floor. I didn't even look really. Sorry, I can take it off when we get home.â
âNo! No. You look good in it. I mean you look good.â His eyes trail over your body and he leans even closer, practically filling your nose with a faint bubblegum scent. âYou should wear my clothes more often!â
âYeah? You think so?â
It's so easy to tease him, even easier when you're not driving. But this will have to do.
âOh I know so!â
âWell, how about we go home and I try some more on? Give you a little show?â
âOh, that sounds amazing!â He presses back into the chair and nibbles at his lips before looking out towards the passing trees. âDo you mean that in a sexual way?â
âYes, Ken. I mean that in a sexual way.â
A loud whoop escapes him and he celebrates, pumping his fist as he dances in his seat. He turns back towards you suddenly, calm and unexpectedly suave as he continues to try and woo you.
âAnd I can give you a show? Try on some of your clothes?â
A screeching laugh tears from your throat as you try to compose yourself. You calm quickly and turn back towards him as you try and hold in your laughter.
grace, who has been alone for five minutes: oh my god. an alien! im not alone anymore! i hope he wants to be friends :)
rocky, coming up on 50 years of solitude, imprinting on grace in ways baby ducklings can only dream of: if you leave me to sleep where i can't watch your heart beat i am blowing up this tunnel with us both in it
Your partner came back from the dead after being missing for decades. Every one of their friends who they went with ended up dying a horrible death.
Now, somehow, their entire mental health is based on the continued life and happiness of this fairground goldfish that they picked up.
Neither of you know the first thing about how to care for even a healthy fish. This fish has been poorly cared for, has multiple diseases and the person who handed it over explicitly didn't expect it to live nearly as long as it already has.
You're frantically googling how to set up a fish tank, where to buy fish food, can you even take a fish to the vet? Your partner wants you to know that they're happy they made it home and survived their horrific ordeal, but also that if anything happens to the fish then they're going to kill everyone on this planet and then themself.
You're honestly wondering if you're even helping the fish, or just prolonging its suffering, but your partner will only accept medical help for their many injuries or engage in basic self-care once they're confident that the fish is being looked after.
So you get a tank. You set up a filter and all that stuff. You learn way more than you ever wanted to know about water temperature and ph and nitrate levels. The fish is safe. You start to develop some affection for the little guy. Your partner begins to recover. The fish begins to recover.
Which is when you learn that in its 'healthy' state, the fish regularly refuses to sleep when tired, keeps begging for food that is obviously unhealthy for it (and struggling to eat the food that you do provide because âit tastes grossâ), and continually tries to persuade your partner to take it out of its nice safe tank so it can go explore the wonderful world of Outside, where the slightest mishap will kill it instantly.
Your name is Adrian, and you kind of wants to strangle this fucking fish, statement.
the oddsđČ â.â ê±àŒ | âshe got a lot of prada, that dolce and gabbana.â
ryland grace x model!fem!reader
âestablished relationship.
RYLAND grace had never understood people who believed in fate. statistically speaking, fate was ridiculous. the universe was chaos. random chance. probability. billions of tiny events colliding together every second. things happened because they happened, because physics existed, because cause and effect existed, because the world was far too complicated to be reduced to some invisible cosmic plan.
heâd spent most of his life believing that.
then heâd met you.
and suddenly his whole argument became significantly harder to defend. because what were the odds? seriously, what were the actual odds?
same morning, same book, same page. down to the exact same paragraph. sometimes he still thought about it. sometimes he still found himself smiling in the middle of nowhere because the memory would suddenly appear in his head uninvited.
he was there because it was saturday morning, heâd finished grading papers, and he wanted a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll large enough to qualify as a geological formation.
that was all.
then you walked in, and suddenly his day became significantly more complicated. the first thing he noticed was that you were beautiful. ridiculously beautiful. the sort of beautiful that made people subtly look up from their laptops as you passed.
not because you were dressed extravagantly. quite the opposite, actually. a plain white shirt, black jeans that were perfectly tailored, looking damn near painted on, and a long coat.
easily. not a problem. then he looked up again. you were standing at the counter. the barista smiled, âwhat can i get started for you?â
âhot chocolate, please.â
ryland paused, interesting.
âand one cinnamon roll.â
the book nearly slipped out of his hands. what were the odds? he glanced towards his own table. towards the hot chocolate and the cinnamon roll. then back towards you.
you collected your receipt and stepped aside. ryland returned his attention to his book. clearly this meant nothing. people ordered hot chocolate. people ordered cinnamon rolls. these were normal foods. he was being ridiculous.
not next to him him, just facing him across the aisle. close enough that he could accidentally make eye contact, which unfortunately happened immediately. you smiled politely, and ryland smiled back, then looked down at his book so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. very smooth. ten out of ten social skills.
he frowned slightly, âŠthat seemed familiar. he looked down, then looked back up. you were reading the exact same book. the exact same edition. he squinted.
âŠsurely not.
a moment later you looked up too, your eyes moved from his face to his book, then back to your own, then back to his. slowly you ask, ââŠis that?â you lifted your book.
ryland lifted his, and for a second both of you simply stared, then started laughing. âokay, thatâs weird.â your smile widened. âthatâs very weird.â ryland laughs.
âsame book?â
âsame book.â
âsame edition?â
âsame edition.â
you narrowed your eyes, âwhat page are you on?â
ryland turned the book slightly, you immediately burst out laughing because it was the same page, exactly the same page.
for a moment neither of you could stop smiling. the coincidence was too ridiculous. âthatâs actually insane.â you laugh
âi know.â
you glanced towards his table, towards the hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll, then slowly looked at your own. ryland followed your gaze. both tables had exactly the same order. there was a long pause.
âokay.â you pointed, ânow youâre messing with me.â
âi was about to say the same thing.â
âyou copied me!â
âyou hadnât even walked in yet!â
âthatâs exactly what somebody trying to cover their tracks would say.â
ryland laughed, it slipped out before he could stop it, and immediately your eyes brightened, like youâd been trying to make him laugh all along.
you stood, picked up your book, your drink, your cinnamon roll, then gestured towards the empty chair opposite him. âcan i?â
rylandâs brain briefly stopped functioning, âyes.â too fast.
you sat down anyway, âwell.â you set your things on the table, âeither this is the strangest coincidence in human historyâŠâ
âor weâre the same person.â he says
you gasped dramatically, âthat would explain a lot.â
âwould it?â
âwell, i already think iâm great.â
ryland laughed again, and immediately realised he was in trouble, because you were funny, which somehow made the whole situation worse. the conversation flowed effortlessly afterwards. normally ryland needed time to warm up around people, especially attractive people. especially women attractive enough to completely derail his train of thought. yet somehow talking to you felt easy, like continuing a conversation heâd already been having.
you discussed the book, argued about characters, disagreed over certain chapters, laughed about the increasingly ridiculous coincidence, and somewhere along the way ryland completely forgot to be nervous.
until he suddenly remembered how beautiful you were, then he got nervous again. you were in the middle of explaining why one particular character was obviously making terrible decisions when he found himself staring slightly too long.
not intentionally, just⊠looking. watching the way your eyes lit up when you spoke, watching the way your hands moved while explaining something, watching your smile.
you caught him, and he immediately wanted to disappear. âwhat?â you asked, smiling. ânothing.â a terrible lie.
you looked unconvinced, âyou were staring.â
âi wasnât!â
âyou absolutely were.â
his ears immediately turned red, you noticed. your smile softened slightly, became warmer somehow, less teasing. âyouâre cute.â
ryland forgot every word heâd ever learned.
you looked delighted by this development. âoh wow.â he covered his face.
you laughed, âthat was easy.â
âplease,â his voice emerged from behind his hands, âhave mercy.â you laughed even harder. for the next hour neither of you touched your books because despite arriving as complete strangers, somehow the conversation never ran out. one topic became another, then another, then another.
like somebody heâd been looking forward to meeting long before either of you realised it.
what are the odds?
now, almost a year later, he was standing in front of a classroom full of thirteen-year-olds trying to explain how exactly heâd ended up dating one of the most famous women in the world.
a task that, frankly, was proving impossible, because the problem wasnât that you were famous. it took him weeks to realise that, and months to fully understand it. the problem was that when ryland thought about you, fame never even made the list.
when other people saw you, they saw magazine covers, runways, photoshoots, interviews. the woman whose face appeared on billboards and advertisements and social media feeds.
ryland saw the woman who stole his hoodies, the woman who constantly forgot where sheâd left her phone, the woman who cried at animal documentaries, the woman who always reached for his hand in crowded places without even thinking about it.
so when his students reacted as though a celebrity had just wandered into the room, part of him genuinely forgot why.
the entire situation had started because heâd forgotten his lunch. again. which wasnât even remarkable, the remarkable thing would have been remembering it.
heâd left it on the kitchen counter while trying to answer three emails, grade assignments and determine whether his classroom snake was displaying signs of boredom.
so naturally heâd walked out without it, he hadnât even realised until lunchtime, and apparently neither had you because otherwise youâd have texted him immediately. instead, halfway through fourth period, there was a knock at the classroom door.
ryland barely looked up. he was in the middle of explaining ecosystems. or attempting to. the lesson had somehow devolved into a debate about whether raccoons would survive an alien invasion. he wasnât entirely sure how.
âcome in,â heâd called absentmindedly, still writing on the whiteboard. then the room had gone completely silent which should have been his first warning. his kids were never silent. ever.
a meteor could crash through the roof and at least three of them would still be talking. the silence was so unusual that he finally turned around.
and there you were, standing in the doorway, smiling, holding a paper bag. for a moment his brain simply stopped working. not because of how beautiful you were, although you absolutely were. it was because he genuinely hadnât been expecting you. youâd become such a normal part of his life that seeing you wasnât surprising anymore. seeing you unexpectedly, however, still had the ability to completely derail his train of thought.
heâd forgotten what he was saying, forgotten what he was teaching. all because you smiled at him, which was embarrassing. particularly for a science teacher.
âhi,â your voice had instantly made him smile. that happened a lot, far more than heâd ever admit out loud.
âhi.â smooth, grace. how very articulate. youâd lifted the bag slightly, âyou forgot your lunch.â the entire classroom had watched in stunned silence as his expression softened immediately. he hadnât even realised he was doing it.
but whenever you were around, something in him relaxed. like his body instinctively recognised safety. home. heâd crossed the room without thinking, taken the bag, thanked you, then youâd kissed his cheek, just casually. the kind of gesture neither of you thought twice about anymore.
except apparently thirty middle-school students thought about it very intensely because the second youâd left, the room had exploded. the reaction was immediate, chaotic, hysterical. questions coming from every direction simultaneously.
half the class shouting over each other, everyone demanding answers. everyone looking personally betrayed that their slightly nerdy science teacher had somehow managed to acquire a supermodel girlfriend.
âmr. grace is that your wife?!â
âthatâs y/n y/l/n. why is the y/n y/l/n here????â
âdude, she mogs.â
âi wish i got her to sign my face.â
âmr. grace how did you land a baddie?â
âmr. grace is there space baddies?â
ryland had spent several minutes trying unsuccessfully to regain control of the room which only encouraged them further, because the more flustered he became, the funnier they found it. eventually heâd surrendered. there was no point fighting it.
âhow did you casually meet the face of saint laurent???â a student had practically yelled.
âyeah.â
âseriously.â
âwhat happened?â
âdid you save her from something?â
âdid she save you from something?â
âwere aliens involved?â
ryland had rubbed his eyes, âwhy would aliens be involved?â
âbecause that would make more sense.â
the entire class had nodded, which was frankly insulting. heâd decided not to acknowledge it. instead heâd leaned back against his desk and told them the truth. or tried to.
because the funny thing was that the story never sounded particularly impressive when he explained it. it sounded small and ordinary.
two people reading a book, thatâs all.
except it had never felt ordinary to him, he remembered every detail. the smell of coffee, the rain outside, the exact colour of the lipgloss you were wearing. he remembered the moment youâd realised you were reading the same page, the moment youâd laughed, the moment youâd asked if he minded sharing a table because the coincidence was funny. he remembered saying yes and immediately spending the next ten minutes worrying heâd sounded weird.
he remembered walking home that evening with a ridiculous smile on his face, the sort of smile normally associated with people whoâd recently suffered a concussion. he remembered lying awake afterwards replaying the conversation. thinking about you.
the students listened with growing fascination, partly because the story, yes, was romantic. mostly because they had never seen their teacher smile like this before. every time he talked about you, something changed, his entire face softened, his voice warmed, the words came easier.
one student eventually raised their hand, âmr grace.â
âyeah?â
âyouâre still smiling.â
ryland blinked twice, confused.
âwhat?â
âyouâve been smiling the entire time.â
the classroom erupted immediately, because it was true. and suddenly ryland realised it was, he laughed, then shook his head, looked down at the floor. caught.
which made things worse, the teasing intensified. students accusing him of being hopelessly in love. students making exaggerated gagging noises. students claiming he looked like heâd stepped out of a romantic comedy.
they werenât entirely wrong. because somewhere along the way, heâd fallen in love with you so thoroughly that talking about your first meeting still made him happy. still made his chest feel warm, still made him smile without realising.
eventually the bell rang, students gathered their bags, still raving about their favourite model and their favourite teacher. still discussing the impossible mystery of how their science teacher had managed to date a world-famous model.
one student paused by the door before leaving, âmr grace?â
âyeah?â
the kid grinned, âi think she liked you first.â the entire class immediately agreed enthusiastically. ryland opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. he wasnât sure. heâd spent so much time convinced you were out of his league that heâd never considered the possibility.
but then he remembered the way youâd smiled at him that first day, the way youâd asked for his number, the way youâd kept finding reasons to see him again, and for the first time, he wondered. maybe you had.
the thought followed him for the rest of the afternoon. and later, after school, when he arrived home and found you curled up on the sofa reading while waiting for him, it followed him then too.
you looked up the moment he entered, smiled immediately. the same one from the coffee shop. the same one that still made his heart do stupid things.
âhow was work, baby?â you asked. ryland stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight. the familiarity and the comfort. the impossible fact that you were actually here. that somehow the woman from the coffee shop had become his person.
then he crossed the room, sat beside you, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss against your hair. âreally good,â he said softly.
it was.
because every day that ended with coming home to you usually was.
So there are obviously much more pressing thoughts I have about Barbara Gordon: Breakout and the story it is telling about Barbara, but Iâll hold off on that for a few days to prevent too immediate of spoilers.
Until then, on a goofier note, seeing how Dick is depicted in outside media versus his own comics is always the funniest shit to me omg
Like heâs so cute here. He has been having a weeks-long breakdown in Nightwing. He lays on the floor and self-flaggelates for his perceived failures for a few days and then someone calls him out to help and heâs like âokie :Dâ
And itâs not like this is some unprecedented mis characterization by BG: Breakout; every series does this. I dunno what to tell you.
If it were just one cameo that did this, the argument could be that the author just doesnât know whatâs happening in Nightwing. But I refuse to believe that at this point. Meaning either:
1) This is an editorial mandate to have Dick adhere to his more well-known persona when popping up elsewhere, and that âwell-known personaâ is Good Boy McGee.
2) This is some kind of 4D chess commentary on Dickâs ability to act and his martyrdom when it comes to the people he loves, choosing repeatedly to present a facade of fine-ness so as not to worry them, or because he doesnât think he deserves to be worried over.
Yâknow, I like the whole idea of the marvel and dc characters existing in each othersâ worlds but as, like⊠animals.
For example, in the dc universe, there was once a military dog that was experimented on and ended up living for a century in the ice with the strength of ten men, or whatever, and everyone just calls him Cap.
Or in the Marvel universe, thereâs this weird bat that keeps adopting random orphaned birds (and one bat pup he literally stole from a particularly violent mated pair in the same enclosure) because itâs gay with an unsuccessful mating life and when the zookeepers tried to use a female bat and science to force offspring he accepted the pup but rejected the female so hard that she never sees the baby without zookeeper intervention.
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