#*through clenched teeth* whatever man it’s fine. I don’t care

[voiddragoncat]

I’m going to see Sonic 3 tonight I’m so excited!!!! I’m gonna YELL if they play any kinda rendition of Live & Learn. I’ll probably yell regardless.

Drew this to celebrate, and because I hadn’t made a finished drawing of Shadow in a while even though it’s literally his year

The majority of the time it took to draw this was spent trying to add his arm and hand

I eventually got too frustrated and just got rid of em but I’m still gonna post one of the sketches because I spent too damn long on that to just. Not.

[quinny19]

Title: Sleeping my way to victory

Bakugo had never met anyone as infuriating as you.

You were quiet. You were lazy. You slept through class, slept through fights, and somehow, somehow still managed to be one of the strongest people in Class 1-A.

It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t fair.

And worst of all? You never took him seriously.

Every time he challenged you, you yawned, stretched, and beat him without even trying. It was humiliating, and he swore on his future as the number one hero that one day, he’d wipe that smug, half-asleep look off your face.

Until then, he’d keep challenging you. Over and over.

Scenario 1: A Typical School Day (ft. Bakugo Losing His Mind)

Class 1-A’s morning routine was always chaotic.

Iida was lecturing someone about being on time. Uraraka and Mina were chatting about their favorite snacks. Midoriya was furiously scribbling in his notebook.

And you?

You were fast asleep at your desk.

Like always.

Head resting on your folded arms, steady breathing, completely unfazed by the noise around you.

Bakugo, sitting one seat away, twitched violently. "HOW the hell do you sleep through this shit?! It’s morning, dumbass, wake up!"

You made a vague noise of protest, cracking one eye open to look at him. "Mmm… too early."

"IT’S NOT TOO EARLY!"

Kirishima chuckled from behind Bakugo, nudging his shoulder. "Dude, you should be used to this by now."

Denki leaned over, grinning. "Yeah, man, it’s kinda cute how much you care."

Bakugo froze. "I DON’T CARE!"

"Ohhh, sure," Denki teased, wiggling his eyebrows. "That’s why you always try to wake them up, right?"

Kirishima smirked. "Yeah, what’s up with that, huh? You like watching them sleep or something?"

Bakugo turned bright red. "I—WHAT—SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Meanwhile, you had already dozed off again, completely missing the chaos you had caused.

Scenario 2: Another Challenge, Another Loss

"Oi, lazy-ass. Get up."

You groaned, rolling onto your side on the training field’s grass. "No."

"GET UP AND FIGHT ME!"

You sighed heavily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. "Again?"

Bakugo growled, cracking his knuckles. "I swear, I’ll win this time."

You gave him a slow, amused blink. "Mmm. Didn’t you say that last time? And the time before that? And before that?"

"SHUT UP AND FIGHT ME!"

You yawned, stretching. "Fine. But if I win, you have to buy me lunch."

"LIKE HELL I—"

"You’re the one challenging me, Kacchan. It’s only fair."

He clenched his fists, then snarled, "Tch. Whatever."

The second Aizawa gave the signal, Bakugo launched himself forward, explosions propelling him toward you. His palm sparked, ready to finally land a hit—

And then—

You dodged.

Not just dodged—sidestepped without even looking, like you already knew where he was going to attack.

He gritted his teeth. "You—!"

Another explosion. Another effortless dodge.

And then, as if to mock him, you let out another yawn.

During the fight.

"Are you—ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SLEEPY RIGHT NOW?!"

"Mmm," you hummed, blinking lazily. "You move too much, Kacchan. You should try relaxing."

"RELAXING?!"

And then—before he could react—your quirk activated.

A sudden wave of pressure rippled across the battlefield, and before Bakugo knew it, he was airborne, sent flying backward by a controlled burst of your power.

He crashed into the dirt, groaning.

You rubbed your eyes, sighing. "Told you so."

Aizawa called the match. "Winner: (L/N)."

Bakugo sat up, seething. "You… lazy… bastard…"

You walked over and crouched beside him, offering a hand. "Guess you’re buying me lunch, huh?"

He slapped your hand away. "LIKE HELL I AM!"

From the sidelines, Denki and Kirishima snickered.

"Man, Bakugo, you get your ass kicked by (Y/N) a lot, huh?"

"Shut up!"

"Are you sure you’re not just doing this to spend time with them?" Denki smirked.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Scenario 3: The Simulation Training (Or, How You Slept Your Way to Victory)

U.A.’s latest training exercise was a massive simulation—designed to test endurance, battle strategy, and survival skills.

It was an all-out free-for-all.

Students had to eliminate robots, avoid hazards, and outlast each other in a controlled battlefield.

Bakugo was ready. He was determined to finally, finally beat you.

Except—

Twenty minutes in—

You were asleep.

Like, actually asleep.

Sitting on a rooftop, arms crossed, napping.

And somehow? Some-fucking-how—

You were still in first place.

Bakugo nearly had a stroke watching you take down an entire fleet of enemy bots while half-asleep. You barely moved, just flicked your fingers and redirected energy waves that erased everything in your path.

He was losing to someone who wasn’t even awake.

"OH, COME ON!"

At the end of the match, the rankings appeared on the screen:

1st Place – (L/N) (Y/N)

Bakugo stared at the scoreboard, trembling.

Denki patted his back. "Damn, dude. You lost to a sleeping person."

Kirishima grinned. "That’s gotta hurt."

Bakugo turned to you, absolutely fuming. "HOW THE HELL DID YOU EVEN WIN?!"

You blinked sleepily at him, rubbing your eyes. "Mmm… dunno. Maybe I dreamed of me winning?"

He twitched. "DREAMED?! "

You yawned again, giving him a lazy grin. "Guess you’re just not strong enough yet, Kacchan."

Bakugo’s face turned scarlet. "I SWEAR TO GOD—!"

Denki snickered. "Damn, (Y/N), you’re really good at making Bakugo mad."

Kirishima smirked. "Or flustered."

Bakugo choked. "I’M NOT FLUSTERED!"

You just shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Wake me up when you’re strong enough to win, Kacchan."

And with that, you walked off—completely ignoring the way Bakugo stood there, fists clenched, steam practically coming out of his ears.

Denki grinned. "Man… he’s so down bad for them."

Kirishima nodded. "Yup. Definitely."

Bakugo whirled around, furious. "*I AM NOT!"

Part 2:

part 3:

Part 4

[nameless-jamie]

Your PA series is life!!!! ⚽️⚽️⚽️

Can you write a fic where PA traveled abroad (for whatever reason) and there's trouble with her plane and she can't get back for Jamie's match. There's also signal issues so when they try to call each other they barely hear anything? And Jamie is all worried and confused and it's the Team's job to make sure he's okay?

Thankssss✨️

Drabble - Landing Safely

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, kissing

A/N: Hello thank you for the request I hope you like this small drabble.

Jamie Tartt had never been this restless before a match.

And it wasn’t the good kind of nerves—the kind that made his legs buzz with energy and his heart race with adrenaline. This was different. This was wrong.

Because she wasn’t here.

For weeks now, Y/N had been everywhere with him. Riding shotgun in his car on the way to training, curled up next to him on the plane for away games, half-asleep against his shoulder as they watched some terrible reality show he pretended not to care about. She’d been in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets and his arms—soft and warm and his.

She was always there.

Until now. Y/N had to take a quick flight and visit her sick aunt who lives abroad, she was due to be back this afternoon...

Jamie checked his phone for what had to be the hundredth time. No new messages. No missed calls. His knee bounced restlessly as he stared at her last text:

Trying to get back in time for the match, but the flight’s delayed. Something’s wrong with the plane, and the signal’s shit. I’ll keep you updated.

That had been hours ago.

Since then, he’d only managed to get one call through, but all he’d heard was static and her voice cutting in and out—something about waiting at the airport, something about trying to book another flight. Then the call had dropped, and now… nothing.

He should’ve been getting in the zone. Should’ve been listening to Ted’s pre-game speech or Roy’s no-bullshit pep talk. But how the fuck was he supposed to focus when Y/N could be stranded somewhere—or worse?

The thought made his chest go tight, his pulse thrumming dangerously close to panic.

The team noticed immediately.

“Oi, what’s up with him?” Isaac muttered to Sam as they watched Jamie pace the locker room like a caged animal.

“He’s worried about Y/N,” Sam replied with a knowing glance.

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “It's Y/N. She's always fine by herself.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, well, tell that to him.”

Yep, right now, Richmond's top striker was losing his mind over his assistant. His girlfriend assistant!

“How bad is it, boyos?” Colin asked quietly.

Sam just nodded toward Jamie—who was now running a hand through his already-messy hair, muttering to himself like a man possessed.

“Bad.”

Roy’s voice cut through the low murmur of the locker room. “He’ll get over it.”

The team exchanged glances. Clearly, Roy had never seen Jamie Tartt in love before.

By the time kickoff rolled around, Jamie still couldn’t shake the tension coiled tight in his chest. He tried to push through it, to play like everything was fine, but every glance toward the stands—toward that one empty seat—only made the frustration build.

It showed in his game. His touches weren’t as clean, his passes weren’t as sharp. Every missed opportunity had him gritting his teeth harder until his jaw ached from clenching it so tight.

By halftime, he was seething.

Roy caught him the moment they stepped into the locker room, one firm hand clamping down on his shoulder.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Jamie shrugged him off, eyes blazing. “You know what’s wrong with me.”

Roy scoffed. “She’s not dead, Jamie.”

Jamie’s stomach twisted. “I don’t know that.”

The words came out sharp, cracking slightly at the edges.

The room went quiet.

Because that was it, wasn’t it? He didn’t know. And that uncertainty was killing him.

“Mate,” Sam said gently, “She’ll be fine.”

Jamie exhaled hard through his nose. He wanted to believe that. Needed to believe that.

So he clenched his fists, swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded.

For her.

Richmond won.

Barely.

Jamie had played like shit in the first half, but somewhere in the second, he’d managed to pull himself together just enough to land an assist that helped seal the win. It hadn’t been his best performance, but it had been enough.

As soon as they hit the locker room, Jamie lunged for his phone, fingers fumbling as he unlocked the screen.

One new message.

He clicked it open so fast he nearly dropped the damn thing.

Landed safely. I’m okay. See you soon, Tartt.

The breath he let out was so deep, it felt like he’d been holding it in all day. His head dropped back against the locker, relief crashing over him like a tidal wave.

She was okay.

She was safe.

And she was coming back.

It was late when Y/N finally got to Jamie’s house. Exhaustion clung to her—muscles aching, head foggy with fatigue, suitcase feeling heavier with every step. But she couldn’t go home. Not yet.

She needed to see him.

She barely had time to knock before the door swung open, and suddenly, there he was.

Shirtless. Barefoot. Perfect.

“Fucking hell,” Jamie muttered, eyes wide as he grabbed her, pulling her into his arms so tightly she could barely breathe. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” she murmured against his bare shoulder, sinking into the warmth of him.

His breath shuddered against her hair. “Thought I was gonna lose my mind,” he admitted, pulling back just enough to cup her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks like he needed to feel she was real.

“I’m okay, Jamie.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” His laugh was rough, uneven. “Don’t leave me again.”

Her heart clenched. Because this wasn’t just about today—this was about everything. About all the times Jamie had been left behind. All the times people had walked away.

So she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “I won’t.”

Jamie melted into her like a man starved for touch. Then he kissed her—slow and deep, like he never wanted to let her go.

Like he never would.

Later, tangled up in bed, Jamie still wouldn’t let go. His head rested against her chest, arms wrapped tight around her waist as if holding her close was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing down the messy curls. “You okay?”

“No.” His voice was muffled against her skin.

“Jamie—”

“No, listen,” he grumbled, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. “You were gone, and I couldn’t do shit about it, and I was—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I was scared, alright?”

Her heart ached.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, love.”

Jamie’s grip tightened. “You better be.”

She smiled softly, brushing the curls from his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah. But you love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Jamie grinned—all sleepy and smug, eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only comes after too much adrenaline and too much worry.

Then, voice low and drowsy, he mumbled, “Good. ‘Cause I really fucking love you.”

Y/N laughed quietly. “I know, Jamie.”

And for the first time all day, Jamie finally—finally—let himself relax.

Because she was here.

And she was his.

[iamyoursonly]

Problem Solving? (28/07/2024)

your girl is back. literally cooked this up because i felt like it. I AM NOT CRYING IN MY ROOM DON’T WORRY. anyways enjoyyyyyy. (can you guys tell I’m still in my bakugo phase)

1k words — unedited (might have a pt two)

In times of desperation and despair, I often resort to crying my eyes out instead of trying to solve the problem at hand. As of right now, my tears have been rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably, sobs and sniffles apparent.

I always question myself if I have ever known what I was living for. But until this day, I still do not have the answer. Was it for the pleasure of surprise in life? Or the sense of fulfilment when I succeed one day? I have absolutely no idea. I hate how I look, how I sound, how I don’t fit into beauty standards… How am I supposed to love someone if I’m unable to even love myself?

Sharp pain penetrates through my chest as my emotions flood and then overflows, making me overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions. I clench my teeth to stop myself from screaming out loud and yet the inner voice inside me is telling me to let it go.

A knock, and another. Then the voice speaks, “Open up, lil shit.”

I could recognise that voice anywhere. That rough tone but has a nice touch of kindness inside when they speak to others, a bit loud yet still soft. Bakugo Katsuki.

I snapped out from the thoughts and the emotions. Using my sleeve to rub away my tears, then proceeding to check if I looked presentable in the mirror. To be absolutely honest, I do not look presentable. Eyes red and puffy, face swollen and body bloated from the immense amount of food I’ve consumed. But I’m wearing a hoodie. So I guess it’s fine…

Opening the door, I immediately lock eyes with him. His crimson ones meeting mine, as if they were taking in the image of me and asking me if I were okay. His eyes spoke of concern and care.

As people always say, ‘actions speak louder than words’. Katsuki reached out to me and gave me a big hug, which he never does because he’s not keen on physical touch. And the second our bodies made contact, the tears threatened to pour out again.

“What’s wrong? Tell me about it.” He says, his tone calmer than usual.

I wasn’t sure how I’d respond. The emotions were flooding inside my head, and all I was doing was telling myself not to cry. Reluctantly, I said, “Everything.”

He just kept quiet. His company was soothing, I have to admit. And thanks to him, my inner person took over and the tears fell once again. The obvious whimpering was deafening, I cried like there was no tomorrow. All the emotions I’ve been suppressing since he came in went rushing out, hitting me like a truck.

Katsuki, being the man he is, he soothed my back, once, twice, thrice…

My breathing slowed before I started choking on my breath. I held onto his hug tight, still not willing to let go of him yet I never wanted him to be the one who sees me in this state.

The inner voice inside of me cries, “Everything’s wrong. I hate my voice, I hate my face, I hate my body, I hate what I have done, I hate the way I think, I hate how everything just goes wrong when I do it, I hate that nothing goes right, I hate how I write, I hate how I’m incapable of being better, I hate myself.”

A long moment of silence arrives as I take in whatever I have thrown out of my mouth just now. The realisation was harsh when I knew it wasn’t the rational choice as I might lose him. I can’t lose him.

Katsuki looked at me, “Don’t say that. I love your eyes, the way you look at me, the way you’re nice to a lot of people, how you’re always smiling, hardworking and loving towards others. You’re so beautiful also, the way your lips curl up is unique. And the way your eyes light up when you eat your favourite cake. I love everything about you. I love you.”

He locks eyes with me before caressing my face with his left hand, “Even your flaws are beautiful, they are a part of you. If you don’t learn how to love yourself, how can you possibly love another?”

I was speechless, I did not know how to react to all that information he just thrown at me. The compliments and the hidden love confession that I noticed. A blush creeps up onto my face as I bury my face into his shoulder, “You love me?”

Feeling him smile and his voice comes right after it, “Yes I do. I know it might be unexpected but trust me, I really do.“

“Since when? And why? There are so many better choices than me…”

“Since I first laid eyes on you, because you caught my eye. You’re strong during that entrance exam and I was kinda, surprised. And I’m sorry I was harsh to you in the beginning, I swear I was an immature bitch that didn’t think before he spoke.”

“Katsuki…”

He used his index finger to shush me, “If I love you properly would you promise to love yourself and learn to love me too?”

His feelings may not be reciprocated in this moment but that tingle in my heart feels the genuine care and sincere love in his tone. “I promise.”

“So would you let me, Bakugo Katsuki become your one and only love, your boyfriend?”

“Yes!”

He holds my hand as we walk down to the cafeteria for lunch, all eyes on us. His grip on my hand tightens as he glares at all of them before finally yelling at them, “What are you extras looking at? Is my girlfriend too pretty for you to handle?” A pause and a moment of silence proceeds. ”Good. Just so you know, she is mine. Back off losers.”

I chuckled and kissed his cheek before sitting down at our usual table, “I love you.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand, “I love you too, darling.”

[mxssingmemories]

Hey can write a fic where r is tony kid (dont care for the gender) tony was called to pick up r thinking they did something bad but instead its this

Like r used bear glue and got multiple of them stuck all of the school years later r is part of the avengers and they find out about this little prank

the school incident // tony stark x daughter!reader

summary: you've always been the type to enjoy pulling a good prank. unfortunately, your newest idea gets you caught and in major trouble. what happens when your dad (and the avengers) find out?

wc: 1k~

warnings: a giant penis (NOT nsfw i promise)

a/n: this was so much fun and i am SO sorry it's so late <3

When Tony got the text message that you needed to be picked up from school, he freaked out. His brain ran through so many scenarios so fast it made him dizzy; what if you’d gotten in a fight? What if you started a fight? What if you and Peter messed up big time? 

He shook his head to clear his mind, and ran down to the garage.

“Everything alright, Boss?” Happy asked, eyebrows knitted together. Tony just nodded, and slipped into his car. The fifteen minute ride to your school was filled with worry from him, the foot that wasn’t pressing on the gas pedal bouncing up and down repeatedly. He told himself to breathe; you didn’t need your dad to walk into the office panicking like a mad man.

He pulled into the parking space as quickly as possible, rushing to the all too familiar Principal’s office. “Hi, I’m here for Y/N Stark?,” he told the receptionist. She seemed to forget how to use words when she motioned him to the back. A blush rose on her face as he left, and if it were any other time Tony would have flirted with her just to embarrass you.

The air in the office was tense, and you sat in one of the seats with a blush on your face. You looked up to see your dad’s relieved expression that quickly turned into one of frustration when he realized you weren't hurt.

“Good afternoon, Mr.Stark. I’m sorry to pull you out of whatever..business you were dealing with, but Y/N pulled something we just can’t ignore.”

“It’s perfectly fine, sir. What did she do?” he asked him, his eyes narrowing at you across the table.

“I don’t think there is a delicate way to put this, Mr.Stark, so I’m just going to lay it all out for you. Miss Stark was caught on video supergluing what seems to be a massive..sex toy,” she muttered under her breath,”with one Peter Parker. His guardian has already been made aware of this and appropriate action has been taken. ”

Tony was, for once, speechless. He looked at you, the Principal, and back at you a few times. You could feel your ears begin to turn red as the silence got longer and longer, doing your best not to burst out laughing as it would only make the situation worse. His jaw was wide open, and he finally snapped back to reality when you reached across the table to shut it for him.

“What the absolute hell?” He yelled, forgetting where you both were for a second. You blushed even harder, hiding a snicker behind your sleeve despite your dad’s very obvious anger.

“I have somewhere to be, but I hope you have a good day. Please send me an email with the information about what you’re going to do with her. I assure you this will be taken care of,” he rambled gruffly, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the office quickly.

On your way out, you passed the foyer. Despite your best efforts, Tony peered through the blinds to get a look at the “issue.” It was big enough to be seen from the office, and this just seemed to piss your dad off more. He averted his eyes quickly. His jaw was clenched so hard, you contemplated sticking your ring between his teeth as a joke, but decided against it knowing it would only make the situation worse.

The drive home was tense. His fist was tightly wrapped around the gearshift, only taking his eyes off the road to throw a glare or two at you. The minute you arrived at the tower, he grabbed your arm once again and took you to the personal floor.

“What were you thinking?! You could have jeopardized your education! Do you realize what this will look like to colleges?!” 

For some reason, you giggled a little bit, and the giggle turned into a laughing fit. Tony quickly joined you, laughing so hard tears were coming out of both of your eyes. 

“I can’t even pretend it’s not funny anymore,” he wheezed, bending over and dramatically falling to the floor. 

“You know what makes it even funnier?” you giggled, looking your dad in the eyes. “That wasn’t even the only one!” you shrieked, putting your head between your knees as you cackled. 

This only caused you both to laugh harder, clutching your stomachs like your lives depended on it. It took about five minutes for you both to sober up from the laughing ordeal, and an extra 5 for Tony to put his serious dad face back on.

“I have to admit it was a really good prank,” he smiled at you. “Even though it was fuckin’ hilarious, you’re still in hot water. I’m going to let you go without punishment this time, little miss, but if it happens again there will be actual consequences. Okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded your head in agreement, already bounding up the stairs to tell Pepper what happened.

“TONY!” She yelled downstairs, and he braced himself for the unavoidable lecture. In his opinion, though, it was worth it.

The team was in the main living room, gathered around a few files dealing with some “official business.” Amidst the normal files, there was one that stood out. It was titled “The School Incident.”

Even though they knew they shouldn’t be snooping, their curiosity outweighed their morals, and they clicked on the file.

In it was security footage from your school, detailing the exact moment the prank was pulled. Everyone sat around the table in shock, silence filling the room as they processed what they’d just seen. Apparently, you’d decided that this was the exact moment to walk in, and the Avengers all stared at you when you made your entrance. Dropping your backpack at the door heavily, you flopped down on the couch exasperatedly. 

“Y’all. I had such a weird day, this guy named- Why is everyone looking like they just saw a ghost?” you asked, confusion spelled out on your face. Your eyes focused next on what the team had pulled up on the screen, and realization flashed in your eyes as you jumped up and ran out of the room. You didn’t even bother trying to explain. The Avengers burst out into laughter as they followed you out of the room, the ruckus so loud it Peter could probably hear it in Queens. You had no choice but to run, and run you did.

[dandelionpixels]

Hi! I recently started iasip and i’m so sad there’s no good charlie x reader stories! so i was wondering if you could do a charlie kelly x reader x nick miller bc they would be so funny together as they like fight for the reader’s attention. maybe like schmitt and nick go to patty’s pub to help the reader hit on men(charlieeee) and maybe nick gets jelly. you can choose who the reader ends up w but i thought it’d be a cute idea!

omg this is such a good concept!!!! i love it i hopw i can do it justice <33

- schmidt and nick drag you out to paddys, insisting that you need to get out there and have fun

- its a pretty busy night and charlie is almost single-handedly working the bar while the rest of the staff is seemingly having an argument off to the side

- nick points him out, “what about him?” you look for a moment, hes scruffy and panicked but there’s something about him that’s intriguing so you nod, “yeah i like him.” nick does a double take, “okay so- wait what? you like him?” you shrug, “sure” and nick looks affronted, “really?? the bartender with the weird facial hair? he looks like he can barely read.”

- schmidt butts in, “careful nicholas, you’re basically insulting yourself.” nick shoots him a glare and then turns back to you, “fine, whatever. him.”

- a bit later, you guys managed to find some seats at the bar. charlie immediately appears in front of you, speaking so quickly its almost al one word “hi-welcome-to-paddys-pub-what-can-i-get-you?” you pause for a moment and nick steps in, “hey dude, you seem understaffed.”

- charlie spins around to see his coworkers still shouting about something in the back, and turns back to nick, “yeah, do you want a drink?”

- you shove nick lightly, “offer to help him!” nick makes a digusted look, “it’s my night off, you want me to work at a bar that’s not even mine??” you only need to look at him for a moment for him to surrender to your wishes. he turns to charlie, gritting his teeth, “hey man, im a bartender downtown. want some help?”

- charlie grins and it admittedly doesnmake you blush slightly, “seriously dude?? that would be so awesome!!” nick flashes you a tight smile and stands on his chair to hop over the bar in a way that makes your pink cheeks flush darker.

- the next couple minutes are charlie running nick through where everything is and explaining that the health codes are more of a suggestion at this bar. nick just nods and pretends he already knew everything.

- the two of them share a quick fist bump and split up. despite nick being new, he falls into the rhythm pretty quickly and gets confident even quicker. charlie flashes you a smile and sets a cocktail of some sort in front of you, “thanks for the new bartender dude, this one’s on me!” he winks and despite being called dude, it feels like he could’ve been flirting

- before you can even process that, nick hollers your name from the far end of the bar, you turn just in time to see him toss a glass in the air and catch it with a wink in your direction

- the rest of the night consists of the two boys showing off in various more extravagant ways, always making sure to either wink or shoot you with finger guns. schmidt isn’t shy, he keeps leaning over to tell you for the 20th time that they’re flirting with you. on number 21 you swat him on the shoulder, “knock it off!! i’m having fun, just enjoy the view why don’t you!”

- as the night winds down, the crowd wittles down to you and just a couple other people. nick makes his way over, leaning over the bar to talk to you, “finally, i feel like i’ve barely said anything to you tonight.” charlie walks up and leans against the bar, right next to nick, but only looking at you, “thank you guys, really a lifesaver.”

- nick punches him lightly in the shoulder, jaw clenched slightly, “anytime man, pleasure working with you. i really should be getting her home though.” charlie flashes you a lopsided grin, “are you sure? you could stick around here, i should be off soon and i can take you home.” you rest your elbows on your side of the bar, chin in your hands and a smile on your face, “we could all stay a little longer?”

- both boys immediately nod in reluctant agreement, tossing a towel over their shoulders in sync

[sillysickfics192]

super smash bros

is aged them up just a teeny bit so tyler can drive

Tyler was ready for the school day to be over. It had dragged on long enough, and sitting in eighth period, he was bored out of his mind.

His phone buzzed

Finally something interesting,

a text from Aiden appeared on the screen.

“hey man can you give me a ride home”

Okay, not as exciting as he had hoped, but at least he’d get to spend some time with his friend after school. 

“yeah sure, what’s the occasion?” Tyler knows that Aiden and Ben usually walk home, even on days like today, when Ben stays after school for his session with the guidance counselor. Usually Aiden would just venture the almost a mile walk home easy breezy, so something was off about this.

“nothing just don’t feel like walking home today”

Aiden replied, no punctuation as usual.

“alright. are you feeling okay?”

“i’m fine.”

“okay, meet me by the side door and we can walk out to my car together.”

“👍”

And with that, it was back to the boringness of eighth period.

-

Taylor waited for Aiden by the door they planned to meet at, scrolling on instagram.

As Aiden approached, he noticed something was off. Aiden’s skin was pale and clammy, and his smile seemed dull today.

“Hey Ty, no Taylor today?”

“Nope, she’s got robotics. You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good, and I’m not just trying to call you ugly.”

“Let’s just get home.”Aiden mumbles through clenched teeth.

When Tyler unlocks the door, Aiden hops into the passenger seat, relaxing into the cushion. Tyler starts the car, turning the vents toward Aiden, who had been fanning himself on the way over.

Before pushing the gas, Tyler reached a hand to Aiden’s forehead.

“Fuck dude, I think you’re sick, you’re literally so hot.”

“You think I’m hot? Thanks man.” Aiden mumbled sarcastically, as if he didn’t already realize he was sick.

“So that’s why you wanted a ride?”

Aiden nodded, closing his eyes and listening to the peaceful hum of the a/c, trying to drown out the pounding of his head and rising nausea

Tyler pulled out of his parking spot, typing Aiden’s address into the gps. He was glad he didn’t have baseball today, it would’ve been bad to make the poor fevered boy next to him walk home.

They got about three minutes down the road, before Tyler watched Aiden’s face somehow lose even more of its color.

“Aiden are y-“

Aiden cut him off. “Pull over.”

“This is kinda a bad spot for that, assuming your about to puke, there’s a plastic bag with some of Taylor’s random shit in it, just dump that stuff on the ground and use that.”

Aiden didn’t need to be told twice, quickly doing as he’s told and snatching the bag off the ground, with little care for whatever is inside. 

Tyler focused on the road, trying to ignore the sounds of Aiden’s vomit splashing into the bag. Tyler is what some might call, emetophobic. He doesn’t have it bad, but hearing Aiden puking up his guts next to him is making his breaths quick and his hands shake on the steering wheel.

The heaves started to get smaller, although still as gross if not grosser, especially when one wave brought with it a harsh wet cough or burp. But by the time they arrived at Aiden’s, he had finished vomiting, taking shallow breaths and holding the almost full warm bag of puke in his hands. When Tyler pulled up, Aiden was quick to exit the vehicle and rush to the front door, fumbling for his house key. He was ready to dispose of the bag of vomit in his hand. Tyler followed close behind.

“Aren’t you going home?” Aiden asked, unlocking the door.

“Of course not. I can’t just leave you here sick like this.”

“But clearly you don’t handle throwing up very well, and something tells me I’m going to be doing more of that today.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s what friends do, right?”

“Whatever you say. Don’t feel like you have to stay if me being sick like this freaks you out too much or whatever.”

“It’s okay. Now let’s get you to bed.”

They climbed up the steps, Aiden holding onto Tyler for some support, his legs felt weaker than ever.

Once Tyler was sure Aiden had everything he needed, he stepped out of the room to call Ashlyn.

It rang twice before she answered.

“Hey Tyler, what’s up?”

“Hey Ash, would you mind coming over to Aiden’s? He’s sick and you’re the only other person who’s not busy right now, I don’t think I can handle him by myself.”

“Is he that much of a handful?”

“Not really, I’m just kinda afraid of vomit. Think you can help?”

“Yeah sure. But just fyi, I have no idea how to take care of someone sick.”

“Just leave the rest to me.”

-

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. Ashlyn waits at the door, let in by Tyler and led up to Aiden’s bedroom. The room has a couch, where the two waited for Aiden to wake up. Tyler has had plenty of experience taking care of sick people. He always takes care of Taylor and his mom when they get sick, especially after his dad’s passing. Tyler has already taken Aisen’s temperature (101, which he should keep checking in case it goes up and he needs to take him to the hospital.), one of the first steps when someone gets sick. Now, he just needs to make sure Aiden is hydrated, taking the proper medications, and eaten when he is ready.

Speaking of which, he should probably get to work making Aiden something to eat. He searched the kitchen for ingredients, finding just enough ingredients for a couple servings of noodle soup. He’s not a great cook, but he can easily follow a recipe on his phone.

Ashlyn sat around, feeling useless. That is, until the sound of frantic footsteps above her, telling her Aiden is awake.

“I’ll go check on him” She told Tyler, who was busy with the soup. 

She speed walked up the stairs, unsurprised to find that Aiden was getting sick again. Tyler had left a bucket for him on the nightstand, but Aiden seemingly had tried to make it to the bathroom, but obviously didn’t get there on time. Aiden’s shirt had vomit down the front, and a puddle was forming on the floor. Ashlyn grabbed the bucket and handed it to Aiden, leading him to sit down in his desk chair. Aiden tried to speak between mostly dry heaves now.

“Ash? When- when did you-“ he was cut off by his own gags.

“Shh. Just get it up. Tyler called me since he’s not good around vomit.”

Aiden nodded in understanding through the dry heaves. 

“Aiden I don’t think you have anything left to bring up. Drink some water, I’ll clean this up.”

Aiden wanted to argue against her cleaning up his mess. But he knew he couldn’t do it himself, not without getting sick again. So he trudged back to his bed and let Ashlyn handle it.

Ashlyn cleaned up the mess, which was really gross, but had to be done. It took about ten minutes, in which Aiden had still not fallen back to sleep.

“I can’t sleeeep.” he groaned.

“You have been sleeping for a while already. Maybe come downstairs with me? Tyler is making soup, it should be ready soon.”

Aiden grabbed his blanket off of his bed, wrapping himself up like a cloak over his head, making Ashlyn giggle. 

They carefully went down the stairs. Greeting Tyler in the kitchen.

“Hey germy, you sleep well?” Tyler said, barely looking up from his pot.

“More or less.” he responded, his voice groggy

“Well, your soup will be ready soon. You like chicken noodle?”

“Definitely. I’m starving.”

“That’s good to hear. It’ll be done in around fifteen minutes. Go get comfortable on the couch and wait.”

Aiden didn’t need to be told twice to sit down, his limbs feeling like mush.

“Oh and Ashlyn? Take his temperature.” Tyler called from the kitchen.

Ashlyn grabbed the thermometer, feeling the heat radiating off of the boy before the thermometer told her anything.

“It’s about the same.” she said after it beeped.

Aiden nodded, feeling bored out of his mind.

Ashlyn must have sensed this, because she suggested they play a video game, sitting down next to Aiden, who agreed.

They open Super Smash Bros, and picked out their characters Ashlyn as Yoshi and Aiden as Bowser. 

As soon as the round started, they focused in on smashing the buttons, attacking each other. Aiden seemed to know all of the combos and tricks, while Ashlyn was mindlessly smashing buttons, yet still winning.

Aiden however, did some kind of super move, making a comeback and winning just before the round ended.

“Haha! In your facceeee! Even when I’m sick I still dominate smash bros!”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Round 2?”

They continued to play like this, Aiden winning continuously until his food was ready. Tyler unfolded a couple tv trays, and they all sat on the couch eating their soup. Tyler put on Aiden’s favorite spider-man movie. (The first Andrew Garfield one) And they peacefully watched the movie and slurped their soup. Once he finished his soup, Aiden scooted towards Ashlyn, resting his head on her shoulder, and falling back asleep.

🫶

request are open!

[edosianorchids901]

Shatter

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "you never cared"

Cw: anger, sensory overload, alcohol

Rome, 41 AD

Crowley had, somewhat naively, hoped that things were looking up. He’d always enjoyed spending time with Aziraphale, after all. An evening of oysters and alcohol sounded like just the thing to fix whatever was wrong with him.

Only, it hadn’t fixed it. Sure, for about five minutes he was closer to happy as they talked and drank together. But then the storm clouds rolled back in, and the bristling tension inside him had only gotten worse.

He tried taking deep breaths. He tried getting even more drunk. He tried telling himself that he was being ridiculous, and should just relax and enjoy having someone who would put up with him when he was this irritable.

It didn’t work. Instead of getting less irritable, he was getting more. A lot more. More to the point where he wasn’t sure he could keep it in anymore.

And Aziraphale. Kept. Talking.

Normally, that was fine. He liked listening to Aziraphale talking. Enthusiasm was great, and no one did enthusiasm like Aziraphale. Normally, it made him feel less alone.

Today, Crowley wanted Aziraphale, the other diners, and the whole of Earth to shut the fuck up and let him have two seconds of fucking peace.

A steady march of profanity had started up in his head a while ago. He couldn’t manage to switch it off. It didn’t help with the overload, except that it did in some way. Like it was releasing a little bit of the pressure.

But not enough. The pressure was still building, an explosion of panicked rage burning in his chest. Every single noise stoked the flames higher, pushed him further towards a supernova.

The clamor of the other diners rose, laughter from another group.

Crowley twitched. It was fine, nothing to get upset about…

“Oh, and then,” Aziraphale started, “the man said—”

���I don’t care,” Crowley snapped.

He hadn’t meant to say it. But his whole body shook with the overload. Everything needed to stop.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “You don’t care?”

“No.” Dizzy, Crowley shoved to his feet. The whole restaurant pressed in, crushing him. “Just… stop. I can’t handle you talking more.”

The furrows in Aziraphale’s brow deepened. “You never cared. About me taking before, I mean. You always seemed to like—”

“Just…” Quaking, Crowley held up a hand. “Just shut up! Give me two fucking seconds of quiet!”

Then, before he could blow up, he fled. The quaking was only getting worse, agitation eating him alive. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t stop the mounting explosion.

No amount of steady breaths or calm self-talk helped. He just kept heating up, reaching the boiling point.

It was overflowing now, no matter how hard he tried to choke it back under control. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think.

Gritting his teeth, he paused in the middle of an alley, clenched his fists, closed his eyes. It didn’t help. Nothing helped, and he’d probably pissed off the only person who ever cared about him even slightly.

The overload got worse and worse, a building helpless fury that tumbled out in smoke. He let out a howl, wordless distress.

Lightning exploded around him. Crashing into the buildings, the ground, shooting up into the sky.

It died down with a rumble, smoke still billowing from him, and he snarled as he shook himself off. The anger hadn’t died down, not even with the release.

It never died down.

“Oh my,” a voice said from behind him. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Crowley whipped around, shaking. He would be shaking for hours at this rate. “What the deuce are you doing here? Why are you following me?”

“Well, you’re quite clearly…” Biting his lip, Aziraphale hesitated. “Struggling, shall we say?”

That was an understatement. But the gentle concern in his voice brought tears to Crowley’s eyes.

The dark glasses weren’t enough to hide the tears. He twisted around, stomped off.

Aziraphale fell in step beside him.

They walked down narrow alleys, through the forum, back into alleys. Crowley was still smoldering, still didn’t trust himself to speak. If he spoke, he might blow up again, and it was bad enough that he’d done it once.

Gradually, though, his strength failed. The tears rose again, and he couldn’t choke them back. He couldn’t push himself, not anymore. He’d run out of energy.

Exhausted, he crumpled to the ground and pulled himself to lean against a building. Aziraphale, who had been walking silently beside him the whole time, vanished.

Crowley couldn’t blame him. After all, who would want to be around someone who got angry enough to blow up?

“Here, I brought you some more wine. I-I thought it might help.”

Startled, Crowley looked up. Aziraphale hovered nearby, a jug in hand. “Why’d you come back?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow lifted. “Because��� I thought it might help? You seem to be having a particularly awful day.”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He pushed his sunglasses up, wiped his eyes, took a deep breath.

“Awful week,” he finally managed, almost burst into tears. “It’s been an awful week. Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He exhaled in a gust, worn out. Didn’t have the energy to put it in words.

Aziraphale sat beside him, holding out the jug. “It’s okay. And you don’t have to explain to me, if it’s too hard. We can just share a drink, silently.”

Choked up, Crowley took the jug. Maybe later, he could try to articulate what the helpless anger at existence was like, especially when it surged out of control. But for now, drinking silently with Aziraphale sounded damn good.

[wordsformizu]

Your Father's Daughter

Mizu x Reader

word count: 1.6k

Chapter 15

Healing would never be easy. Wounds and lesions join each other in choir as they sing out in excruciating pain whenever you try to move, and bruises decorate you as a reminder of what you’ve been through. You might smell the decay of an ulcer, its surrounding skin dying either on you or within. Open sores untended to smell of sickly fruit fallen too far from the tree. I am not speaking of the body. Your body experienced pain like this before and each time you were able to slink back home into the strong hands of the only man who loved you in this world. Your body would heal, you knew that. Your heart, you weren't so sure. 

There would be nights where you stayed awake, staring at the ceiling in hopes that sleep would wander into the corners of your room; slipping into your sheets like a bad lover. You prayed for it to prey on you. You wanted to see it hover over your body, reach its dark hands over your neck and clasp tightly until your eyes shut. Sleep or death, it didn't matter to you. Neither came in the night. 

You began counting the hours of the days through Ringo. Every morning, and the beginning of the evening he’d come in to check on you. Change your bandages, clean your wounds. With him he brought meals, or at least your own portion of meals as you refused to leave the room you were recovering in. Hot fresh cooked meals that you refused to eat in front of him. As he cleaned your wounds, you would listen to him calmly ramble about whatever was going on in the world outside. Whenever the topic of his master was brought up you would grow distant in presence. You couldn't stand the idea of him, and speaking about him felt like sandpaper being rubbed between the layers of your skin. 

If you were to be honest with yourself, whenever your mind did drift to him you were brought back  to that look he gave you. The crease of skin between his brows, the hidden sorrow below the surface of his eyes. His expression was one you had never seen given to you before. It felt like the pond. The only difference is there was no one to throw you into his waters, and you were unwilling to dive in yourself. Not when you were in the midst of your own pool of emotions. 

“We can try walking some more, yes?” Ringo was wiping at your temple. As he pulled back the cloth you could see there were less blood specks on it and based on the face he was making you could tell you were healing up just fine. As you watched him, you wondered about his scars. He was brutally beaten in the prison, fighting against the ego of another man and his soldiers, but his wounds were healing up just fine. Despite the few scratches on his cheek and a faint blue patch on his light skin, you could barely tell. Who cared for Ringo while he cared for others? Maybe his healing was through healing others, you thought. He caught your eye and smiled at you with the warmth of a thousand suns and you knew. 

“Master has finished training for the evening,” he started again, mentioning him softly. He was attentive enough to tread lightly on the topic of him. 

“No one would be outside”

“I don’t feel like going outside.” you responded stubbornly, moving your head away from his touch.

“It would help with the soreness.”

“I’m not sore.” and like it was summoned, the pain surged through your body and you clenched your teeth. Moving your body would be nice, and some fresh air would be even better but you didn't want to risk bumping into-

“ He’s in Master Eji’s hut. He won't be coming out anytime soon.” 

You were quiet for a moment, looking off to the wall before closing your eyes and sighing deeply. 

“Help me up.” 

The evening air felt cool on your skin compared to the arm Ringo was using to support you through the walk. You didn't realize how weak your limbs had become while resting, and moving your legs again felt like fresh water was being rushed to your muscles. 

“You will soon be walking on your own in no time.” The apprentice's voice didn't hide the excitement in his statement. He sounded more enthusiastic than you were, but it made sense. He had been following your healing journey since you all escaped your fathers burning home. You could tell he felt a sense of responsibility and care for you, and there was a time where you would have found it strange and threatening; but here you let him. 

The fresh air felt wonderful on your skin as Ringo led you outside. Hearing the sounds of nature around you reminded you that there was more to your world than that small room and the floor you lay on. The birds sang a tune of solumness in this cold weather, but to you it was fitting and necessary. They sang tunes you couldn't express yourself. The Grass was covered with a soft blanket of snow that reflected the light of the sun. It bounced off in rays and turned the air around you into a warm orange. You were thankful for the blanket wrapped around your shoulders protecting you from the illusion of warmth reflected by the sun and snow. 

“We won’t go far-”

“ I just want to stay here.” You said, stopping in the middle of the path. 

“Are you sure? Just a few more steps would be good..”

You began tuning him out at this point, taking in the world around you. Stepping out of that room did help you. Something opened up within you, something that froze you in the spot you were in. 

You were so angry. 

You were so sad. 

You were so lost.

The man walking beside you wasn't your father, who would beckon you to take walks no matter the weather. These surroundings were unfamiliar. This was enemy territory, and you weren't even strong enough to fend for yourself. You felt as open as the wounds he gave you, and as lost as a pebble tossed into the sea. 

Your only request given to you by your father, though silent, was to stick by him. To stick close. Those words never needed to be said. You would be fine beside him. Protected and safe. You were fine there. His presence always assured you that your safety would be promised. It was warm and strong. The confidence that radiated off of him filled you with a purpose. He was the sun on a winter day. Now an everlasting night of winter has come over your life. It was an honor to be his shadow because shadows could not exist without a light. His flame gone from your life has cast you into an eternity of not darkness, but nothingness.

And he left you when you forgot to move. 

How could you let yourself fall from his grace, from his greatness. There was this urge to call out for him, reach for him in some way but it was weak. You knew his coldness was what you deserved. You cared for him still, and you felt that you would. Forever. You knew him so well, you became so familiar. You knew he’d never forgive you for your hesitation, no matter how small. There was no fault in the harm he placed on you. Betrayal was unforgivable, no matter how momental it was. 

If the world could give you an ounce of kindness, now would be nice. You knew it never would, because the kindness it did give you was a chance to live with purpose through your Father. Now that that chance was forsaken, there was nothing left for the likes of you. If it could, the snow would harden to ice, reaching for your ankles and hold you to the frozen soil. It would crawl up your skin beneath your borrowed clothing, and you wouldn’t fight it. You would let it take you. That’s what was deserved. With no sun to melt away the ice, freezing slowly would be proper. Your limbs would grow into numbness until you lose familiarity with how they once felt to move them freely. Your veins would freeze over like the wooden pipe systems of the city, and your breathing would slow. Ice would crawl into your ears, mouth and nostrils, blocking you from breathing and crying out from the biting pain. Giving in to the harsh hands of winter, you’d accept winter’s death. Quiet, and unkind. The strong winds would bring destruction to the rest of you, blowing you into the air and the spring sun would melt your remains into the soil. 

The apprentice touched your shoulder, startling you. You were beginning to believe in the silent death you dreamed of and slipped away from the reality you actually stood in. He moved in front of you now, lowering himself to your level. His smile was always warm. No matter what you threw his way, punches or insolence. He always greeted your consciousness with sincerity. The tears you weren't aware of dripped down your chin onto the blanket wrapped around your shaking body. He was not the sun on a winter day, but he could be a fireplace to sit by in a dark forest.

“You look like you could use a warm bowl of soup.” he said

Or that too. 

[wolfs-writing-den]

Snippet #1 - Aftermath

Obi-Wan and Dragon!Anakin escape, with the main casualty being Anakin’s arm. This is the late-night, unedited, rambling edition of a conversation that comes later- after the reveal that Dragon!Anakin is In Fact Vader The Sith.

Dw tho. I’m sure things go fine later. Mace is gonna be thrilled.

•Snippet Below!•

“Vader… your arm needs treatment. This ship’s kit barely has a decent strip of bacta, you need professional medical treatment-“

“Then drop me off at the next spaceport, and go home, Obi-wan.”

The Jedi seemed torn, and at that he could only growl through clenched teeth. The room swayed, another flash of pain left him almost breathless, clouding his senses and adding to the fog coating his thoughts.

Obi-Wan was shaking his head. Why was Obi-Wan shaking his head?

“I’m not going to abandon you.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you are injured! Severely!”

“That has never stopped anyone before!” Anakin’s growl turned thunderous, eyes flashing sickly golden-yellow. Obi-Wan faltered, before setting his jaw and staring back just as fiercely.

“Jedi do not just discard their allies- their friends- so easily.”

“Good, because I am neither-“ Anakin hissed, irritation and pain fueling his ire against this stubborn, stupid old man. “- I am a Monster, Jedi Knight. Worse even- a Sith Monster.” He spat, teeth sharpening into fangs even as a white-hot pounding in his bones warned against any further shift.

“I don't need your mercy or your help.”

The sad look he got from Obi-Wan in response only stoked the flames. With a bitter curse he moved to stand- only to try and brace himself with his missing hand. A guttural cry ripped from his throat as the roughly-bandaged remains of his forearm failed him, sending him to the floor in a rather inelegant heap.

Or well- he would’ve ended up there had Obi-Wan not caught him. He fell limp against the Jedi, his remaining hand clutching the other’s robes as he let himself be guided down to their knees. The gentleness and care that Obi-Wan took startled him, so abruptly different from his usual existence. It felt utterly surreal, like this was all merely a fever dream.

“No monster would’ve saved my young padawan like you did- no sith would’ve taken the care to ensure safe escape for all those slaves at the camp.”

“…” Anakin shivered, falling into the warmth of the Jedi holding him up, breathing ragged and broken. His arm burned, his senses felt muddled- the force was muted in a way it never had been before and instinctively, he knew it was associated with the loss of his arm. It would never be the same again.

“I- I am no friend of the Jedi.” His voice felt hoarse, and his words lost their bite. He was pretty sure he’d reopened something and was bleeding all over Obi-Wan. “You and Ahsoka don’t count. You’re both crazy.”

He got a quiet chuckle at that.

“But I’m serious. What do you think will happen when you bring me back to that fancy temple of yours on Coruscant?”

“You’ll get medical treatment, and proper care afterwards. You have valuable information- a deal could be struck for your safety. A sort of witness protection.”

Anakin could only blink up at the man owlishly, his sheer naivety astounding. “Obi-Wan…. I’ll be put in suppressing cuffs and thrown in the brig. They’ll torture whatever information they want out of me and then kill me if they know what’s good for them.”

Even before he was done talking, the other’s head was shaking ‘no’. Again. Damn him.

“Please- trust me. If you can’t trust the Jedi, trust in me. I won’t let your wounds go untreated- you lost your arm saving us, Vader. If you don’t get treatment now you may lose your life-“ his voice cracked, and to Anakin’s flagging consciousness, the emotion over something so trivial made absolutely no sense.

But… Obi-Wan believed it. The truth of his promise chimed out into the force, even muted as it was. He was so, so tired…..

“Fine.” He huffed, “do as you see fit.” Black spots flitted in and out of his vision- making his head hurt something fierce. He thought he may have heard his name being called as his eyes slid shut and he slumped against the warmth at his side- but he was unconscious again before it could matter.

Obi-wan was left holding his new charge- hoping desperately that he wasn’t making some horrible, horrible mistake.

•✨🐉•

[presidentbungus]

Demo starts scritching at the bottom of Scout’s skull, then slowly starts moving up, humming something he doesn’t recognize under his breath. Scout’s not really sure what he’s doing, but it’s nice. And it’s kinda hard to care when all he can think about is being pressed against Demo and it’s like sitting against a space heater he’s so fucking warm, their legs tangled together in front of them, and Scout just wishes he could see his face.

He can imagine it. Demo always makes the same face when he’s concentrating and he’s always concentrating on something (and right now he’s focused on Scout, just him, and fuck, man). He’s probably squinting at nothing in particular, and he’d be cross-eyed if he had two eyes, lips all stupidly puffed out like he’s clenching his teeth together. Maybe he’s sticking his tongue out just a little, like he does when he’s really in the zone.

… Probably thinking, like, wow, Scout’s so great, his hair’s so soft and nice, boy I’m lucky, I’m never gonna dump him unless he dumps me, in which case I would accept that as a reasonable decision and still be best friends with him afterwards because he’s just that great. Or something along those lines. He has to remind himself to unscrunch his eyes and unflare his nose and do something mostly regular with his mouth, and he spends a few seconds being really glad Demo can’t see his face right now because he probably looks really stupid.

And the whole time those smart, quick fingers keep brushing across his scalp, combing through his hair. His other arm’s got Scout all wrapped up, resting heavy enough against his chest his lungs pinch just a little when he breathes in too deep and don’t get him wrong, no complaints here. Demo keeps humming, probably something about pirates or krakens or taxes. Scout can’t think of anything to say and for the first time in his life nothing’s coming out of his mouth anyway. He’s sweating through the bandages on his hands though. And his heart’s hammering so hard he can feel it in the tips of his fingers, and he’s sure Demo’s able to feel it through his spine, and oh god is that embarrassing? Is he being fucking weird? Did he remember to put on deodorant this morning because oh god he’s so fucking sweaty, and maybe he should say something just to clarify, maybe something like I’m sorry if I smell bad and I’m sweaty, you’re really great and all, I like your arms a lot and your music’s stupid but you’re good at singing it, something like that really quick, oh my god oh my god…

And out of nowhere, right before Scout opens his big stupid mouth and gets himself broken up with, Demo pops his lips and says: “Scout, if you love me, ya gotta wash yer hair.”

“What—c’mon.” Scout’s worried that means the little head massage thing is over, but he still keeps going, thank god, and you know what, whatever.

“No, really.” Demo thinks on it. “Your scalp feels like a nice greasy patch of temperate swamp.”

He finally awkwardly cranes his neck back (trying to make sure Demo doesn’t move his arm and hey, he doesn’t) and sure enough, he’s making that stupid fucking face, tongue out and everything even though he just spoke, and whatever long line of nothing Scout had in his mouth just dissolves. Instead he manages to muster a faint: “Hey.”

“Just a touch of shampoo, Scoutie, I’m tellin’ ye. Could be nice.”

He scoffs. “I use shampoo.”

“You use a three-‘n-one. I’ve seen it.”

“And it works fine, asshole.”

“It could work better.” Before Scout can respond to this, that arm squeezes all the air out of him—probably on purpose—and Demo’s other arm presses on top of it, and his head nudges into the crook of Scout’s neck and says “Please, Scoutie, for me, just for me?”

… Aw man. “Fine, whatever,” he wheezes, and Demo lets go of him so he can throw his arms in the air. “But I don’t know any of that shit.”

“I promise I can work that out,” he hums, already back to scratching down Scout’s scalp. “Thank you, thank you,” suddenly attacking him with kisses down his neck and the side of his face, making the loudest friggin’ smacking sounds he can probably muster.

“Geez—geez, okay, I get it,” and some horrible embarrassing sound that’s probably supposed to be a laugh frees itself from his throat, and Scout barely tries to push him off. It doesn’t work, and he doesn’t stop. Thank god.

[onelastfic]

Basteta and Ronnie Interactions

Wanted to get into writing more Present AU Callyieverse stuff and thought I'd get the juices flowing with some fun interactions. Likely went way overboard but this way a fun dynamic to write 😅

————

The metal door slammed shut behind them, and the hiss of gas began to fill the small, windowless room. Ronnie’s eyes darted around, his face already turning red as the air grew thick with toxins.

"Shit! This ain't good!" Ronnie gasped, clutching his throat. His breathing was ragged, and he staggered against the wall, his hands trembling. "Let us out, damn it! Ronnie ain’t built to be in a gas chamber!"

Basteta, however, stood unphased, arms crossed, her expression as calm as ever.

"Quit screaming will ya. Ya just wasting air." Basteta said, looking around the room.

Ronnie clenched his fists, visibly struggling. "You think Ronnie can just breathe this shit in and be fine?!"

She scoffed, not bothering to look at him. "Ya such a whiner, old man. It’s just some gas, it's not like it’s gonna kill us."

"Ronnie is literally fucking dying over here!" Ronnie’s eyes narrowed as he staggered again. His words came out in strangled bursts as his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor with a wheeze. "Ronnie… can’t breathe…"

It wasn’t until she noticed his rapid gasping and his desperate flailing for air that she finally seemed to realize something was off. She straightened up, her expression turning serious.

"Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit?!" She strode over to him, assessing his condition. "Ya actually are dying?! I forgot humans aren’t built like me?! Alright, calm down. I’ll get ya outta here."

Ronnie’s gaze blurred as he gritted his teeth. "Ronnie’s gonna be a little more grateful if you hurry up already…"

“Right! Try to Kool-Aid Man this bitch!”

Without another word, Basteta backed up and smashed a hole through the wall with all her might. She yanked Ronnie’s arm and dragged him out, carrying him into the open air with little care for his dignity.

"Next time, ya gotta warn me about ya weak-ass human lungs before I almost unintentionally kill ya."

Ronnie gasped for air, still coughing. "Ronnie… doesn't need saving… But maybe next time… check the damn air first…"

——

Basteta perched on the edge of a rooftop, her tail swishing as she grinned down at Ronnie, who was pacing below.

"Ok, we need cool nicknames for the op!" She called out, her tone laced with mischief.

Ronnie stopped mid-stride, pointing an accusatory finger up at her. "No, we don’t! Ronnie don’t need no stupid nickname!"

"C’mon, don’t be like that, Tropic Thunder." Basteta teased, propping her chin in her hand.

"NO!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the alley.

"Ok, fine." She relented with an exaggerated sigh. "You can be Chocolate Thunder instead."

Ronnie’s face twitched, his hands curling into fists. "Don’t make Ronnie come find you on that roof and whoop your ass! Now focus!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya say, Black Dynamite," Basteta replied with a casual wave of her hand.

Ronnie paused, glaring up at her. Then, after a long beat, he muttered,. "…Ronnie actually don’t hate that one."

——

Gunfire echoed through a narrow alley as Basteta and Ronnie ducked behind a dumpster. Ronnie reloaded his gun, gritting his teeth.

“Damn it, Basteta! What did Ronnie tell you about interrupting his recon?!”

Basteta hissed, peeking around the dumpster. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Perfect! I didn’t realize I needed ya permission to kick some gangbanger ass!”

Ronnie fired off a shot, then glared at her. “Ronnie was scouting! Ronnie had a plan! Then your stupid ass came in claws-first like a goddamn Looney Toon and screwed it all up!”

Basteta threw a rock at a gang member, hitting him square in the forehead. “And ya ‘plan’ was what, exactly? Wait for them to invite ya to their tea party? Some of us like to take action, grandpa.”

Ronnie ducked as bullets whizzed by. “Ronnie ain’t your goddamn grandpa, you overgrown housecat! If you’d shut the hell up for two minutes, we’d be done by now!”

Basteta lunged forward, slashing at an approaching thug before turning to Ronnie with a grin. “Done. What’s ya excuse now, Mr. ‘Professional’?”

Ronnie stood, fists clenched. “Ronnie’s excuse is you, dumbass!”

——

“Ronnie told you not to take the damn vent!” Ronnie’s voice boomed over the comms, frustration laced in every syllable. “It’s a death trap, just like Ronnie said!”

“Oh, shove it, Baldy!” Basteta snarled back, her voice crackling through his earpiece. “The vent was fine until you set off the alarm stomping around like a damn elephant!”

“Ronnie doesn’t stomp—Ronnie moves with precision! It’s not Ronnie’s fault you don’t know how to follow instructions, ya flea-ridden alley cat!”

“Oh, fuck you! Ya the one who couldn’t keep ya big ass from tripping over the laser grid!”

Ronnie grunted, grabbing his rifle and firing off a round at the advancing guards. “Maybe Ronnie tripped because someone didn’t disable the damn grid like they were supposed to, huh?”

“Maybe Ronnie should’ve stayed in whatever back-alley action movie he crawled out of instead of dragging his stupid ego into my heist!”

“Ronnie ain’t here for your ‘heist,’ pussycat—Ronnie’s here to save this damn city, which is apparently too much for your fur-brained ass to handle!”

“Eat my claws, cue ball!” Basteta hissed before her comms cut off abruptly, leaving Ronnie to mutter curses under his breath as he barreled through another group of henchmen.

——

“Ronnie told you to slow the hell down!” Ronnie barked, white-knuckling the dashboard as Basteta’s stolen sports car careened around a corner.

“And I told ya to shut ya big, dumb mouth and let me fucking focus, ya overgrown linebacker!” Basteta shot back, her wild grin visible in the rearview mirror.

“Ronnie’s not joking, dammit! You’re gonna get us both killed!”

“Oh, please,” Basteta purred, yanking the wheel to dodge a hail of bullets. “I’ve got nine lives. You? Eh, maybe two on a good day, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?! Ronnie’s 24, you rabid hellcat!”

“And ya got the personality of a 60-year-old gym teacher with hemorrhoids!”

Ronnie growled, one hand gripping his sidearm as he fired out the window at their pursuers. “Ronnie ain’t dying in a car driven by a discount Catwoman!”

“Well, buckle up, Baldy, because this pussy’s purring!” She slammed on the gas, leaving Ronnie shouting profanities as the car narrowly avoided another explosion.

——

“Ronnie said keep it quiet!” Ronnie shouted, slamming the door of the safehouse behind him.

“I was quiet!” Basteta snapped, tossing a bloody knife onto the table. “Until ya started firing like Rambo on steroids!”

“Ronnie had to fire because you decided to take on three guys with machetes! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking maybe I wouldn’t need backup from Mr. ‘Spray and Pray’ over here!”

“Ronnie don’t miss, you arrogant hairball! Ronnie saves your ass every damn time!”

“Bullshit!” Basteta pointed a clawed finger at him. “If anything, I save your big, bald head from getting popped like a damn watermelon!”

“You save Ronnie?” He scoffed, arms crossing. “Last time Ronnie checked, it was Ronnie dragging your drunken ass out of that bar brawl, remember?”

“Don’t act like ya didn’t start that brawl, ya old sack of testosterone!”

Ronnie’s hands flew up. “Ronnie ain’t starting shit—he’s finishing it! Unlike you, who’s too busy running her mouth and batting her damn eyelashes at every lowlife in Townsville!”

“At least I have eyelashes, chrome dome!”

“You wanna keep talking about Ronnie’s head, or you wanna focus on the mission, huh?!”

“Fine!” Basteta threw her hands up, stalking toward the window. “But next time, I’m letting ya take the machetes, dumbass!”

——

“Where the fuck is Ronnie’s sandwich?!” Ronnie demanded, slamming the Vanguard League’s fridge door shut.

Basteta lounged on the couch, licking her claws. “Oh, that? Yeah, I ate it.”

“You ate Ronnie’s sandwich?!” His voice thundered, making her smirk widen.

“Sure did. You didn’t write your name on it, cue ball.”

Ronnie stormed over, fists clenched. “Ronnie doesn’t need to write his name—Ronnie’s the only one who buys roast beef around here!”

“Well, maybe Ronnie should’ve bought two sandwiches, ‘cause that one was delicious.”

“Ronnie’s gonna put you through the goddamn wall, you thieving little shit!”

“Go ahead, tough guy.” She gestured lazily. “But I don’t think your precious ‘Ronnie sandwich’ is crawling back out of my stomach.”

——

The explosion rocked the ground beneath them, sending dust and debris flying in all directions. Ronnie crawled out of the rubble, groaning, his clothes torn but somehow still intact. He shook his head, brushing dirt from his shoulder as he staggered to his feet.

"Ugh, well that was shitty... Anyone dead?" Ronnie asked, wiping his brow and glaring at Basteta, who laid nearby.

Basteta sat up, looking around at the smoldering wreckage. "Only on the inside, but I was like that before the explosion, so I’m good."

Ronnie stared at her. "You really are a freak, ain’t ya? Explosions don't even faze ya."

Basteta smirked. "That's because I’m built different. You should try it sometime."

Ronnie shook his head. "Ronnie don’t need no lessons from you. But I gotta admit, ya got guts... and a hell of a weird way of using 'em."

"Glad to see you finally appreciate my way of doing things."

"Ronnie sure as hell didn’t say that."

——

Ronnie climbed into the driver’s seat of the hotwired pickup. Basteta slid into the passenger seat, one leg propped on the dashboard, tail flicking lazily as she buckled nothing.

Ronnie glanced at her. “Ronnie don’t see no seatbelt on you.”

Basteta shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “Pssst. What in hell would I need a seatbelt for? What good are they actually for?”

“You’re gonna regret it.” Ronnie said.

She arched a brow, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Why?”

“Because this ain’t Ronnie’s truck so that means Ronnie can do this—”

He slammed on the brakes without warning, throwing the truck into a violent skid. Basteta flew forward, crashing through the windshield in a glorious arc of shattered glass and dirt. She hit the ground with a dull thud, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop.

For a moment, there was only the hum of the engine. Then Basteta twitched, got up completely uninjured, and shook the glass from her fur. Stalking back to the truck, she yanked the door open and climbed back into the passenger seat.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at Ronnie’s smirking face. “Not. A. Fucking. Word.”

Ronnie snorted, revving the engine again. “Ronnie didn’t say shit. Ronnie showed it.”

——

Ronnie slammed on the brakes at a fork in the road, staring at the map in his hands. Basteta leaned over, eyes narrowed.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“Ronnie don’t get lost.” He snapped, jabbing at the map.

She snorted. “Oh, please. You couldn’t find your own ass with both hands and a flashlight.”

Ronnie glared at her. “Ronnie ain’t takin’ this shit from someone who thought north was where the sun sets!”

“Say that again, dumbass.” Her claws clicked menacingly.

He grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Ronnie said—”

She grabbed the map and tore it in half, scattering the pieces to the wind. His jaw dropped.

“What the fuck?!”

“Now you don’t have a map to pretend to read.” She said smugly, lighting a cigarette.

Ronnie growled. “Ronnie’s gonna throw you out of this goddamn truck.”

——

Ronnie stormed into the room, dragging Basteta behind him as she growled and hissed.

“Ronnie don’t appreciate being lied to, cat!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Ronnie counted on you, and you fucked it up!”

Basteta rolled her eyes, slamming the door shut behind her with her tail. “What the fuck are you yelling about now, Ronnie? You lose your goddamn binky?”

“You told Ronnie the stash was in that crate!” He yelled, pointing wildly. “Turns out it was full of fucking pillows!”

She bared her teeth in a sharp grin. “Yeah, pillows filled with coke, ya dumb fuck. If ya bothered to check instead of pitching a goddamn tantrum, ya’d know that.”

Ronnie paused, blinking. “...Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Now get outta my face before I shove your precious ‘Ronnie’ right up your ass!”

————

Ronnie belongs to @kururu418

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Alright y'all, here's a snippet of the joel x therapist! reader fic that I have embarked upon in the last couple days. Hopefully I can finish the first chapter by the weekend and post it.

Sidenote: thank you to everyone who has left comments on my rambly posts, encouraged me to write and been so supportive in general of newcomers to writing in this fandom. Joel is an intimidating character for sure but I actually had a lot of fun writing for him.

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist!reader 

Warnings: swearing, discussions about trauma

Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel, survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma.

“Tommy, I swear to god if you bring up this damn therapy shit again I won’t hesitate to shoot you next time we’re out on patrol,” Joel growled through clenched teeth, as he walked away from his brother into the kitchen of the house. 

“Boy, it ain’t like I never heard that before,” Tommy quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he followed Joel into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as he leaned against the frame, hands shoved into his pockets. He observed his brother's rigid stance, the tightness in his shoulders, as Joel stood before the sink while looking out of the window above it. 

This felt like the umpteenth time that Tommy had broached the subject of Joel getting help and talking to a ‘shrink’ as he dismissively described it, for his issues that he was struggling with. Joel was fine. He didn’t have any issues. He was doing just fine and didn’t need any help from some professional who would only scrutinize him, reduce him to his vices, and open old wounds from his past life. He was encouraged to go to grief counseling after Sarah died but by some grace of God, or whatever godforsaken omnipotent entity existed at that point, the outbreak occurred. Forget mental health, physical health and survival, aka not becoming infected, was the only thing that mattered.

Tommy exhaled softly, “Listen, I'm only suggestin’ it because I care about you. Ellie cares about you. You both have been through hell and back in the last year, I mean shit, we all have. But it seems like everything y’all went through is still affecting you, holding you back from letting your guard down and settling in here,” he states plainly, sadness lacing his tone. 

“That’s bullshit Tommy and you know it,” Joel snaps, turning to face his younger brother and leaning back against the counter, arms crossed in defense. His gaze narrows, “I go out on patrol don’t I? Pick up extra shifts wherever it’s needed, help out with the contracting jobs, go out with Ellie in town.” Joel stood up taller, puffing out his chest, challenging his younger brother.

Tommy shook his head, running his hand over his face with an exasperated expression. Heaven forbid Joel did anything for himself that did not involve contributing or providing for someone, period. He just couldn’t shake that from his identity, and Tommy’s heart broke for him as he watched his brother’s stubborn pride, ridden with guilt and trauma, swallow him whole. 

‘Man when are you gonna fuckin’ do something for yourself Joel?!” Tommy asserted, his frustration reaching a boiling point.

“Forget the damn commune, forget the community, forget Ellie for a sec and think about the last time YOU did something for yourself, the last time YOU reached out for help damn it” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the threshold of the kitchen as he strode towards Joel.

“You’re not on the run anymore brother. You don’t have to just survive. You can have a life here. You can sleep without keeping one eye open and relax without looking over your shoulder. Don’t you want that? Don’t you think you deserve that?! Don’t you think you deserve this?!” as he gestured around to the cozy kitchen and fixed his older brother with a pleading stare. 

Joel’s eyes widened as he tried to step back, the edge of the counter biting into his lower back as he took in Tommy’s weary face, the pain in his soft brown eyes, mirroring his own. His younger brother rarely raised his voice anymore. The outbreak took its toll on his hot headed temperament that never simmered down, even after he was discharged from the army. Joel knew that Tommy cared about him, hell he knew how deeply his brother loved him, after all they had been through respectively in the last 20 years, it had to be serious for him to raise his voice. 

Joel opened his mouth, ready to bite back but his brother raised his hands in the air in surrender.

"Look, this is the last time I will bring this up, I swear. But yesterday I called up the therapist in town who’s been helpin’ folks out, and asked her about the therapy process and she seems real nice, and supportive. She said you could come in for a consultation and talk to her and see if you’re interested,” Tommy said quietly.

Joel’s gaze narrows as he scrunches his eyebrows together in incredulity, “You-”

“I had nothing to lose Joel. And neither do you,” Tommy cuts him off, raising his chin in defiance. “At least go talk to the therapist, if you don’t like her or you’re not feelin’ it, then I’ll drop it and let it go. The office is on the main street, just beside the clothing store, adjacent to the stables and they’re open everyday from 9-5.” 

“Christ Tommy,” Joel leaned back as he looked up at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse in on him. Gotta love that brotherly love.  

“Look I should be getting back now, Maria will be waiting for me. Here’s the number and address for the business. I’ll see you around okay?” Tommy patted through his pockets and retrieved a small piece of paper with writing scribbled on it, placing it on the counter beside Joel. He gave him a last placating look before he walked out of the kitchen, the front door closing behind him with a soft click. 

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply before turning back around to look out the kitchen window. He hung his head in defeat, rounding his back as rested his elbows on the counter and glared into his matte reflection in the sink. He didn’t need any help. He was doing fine. He’s still upright and breathing, with blood coursing through his veins isn’t he? Albeit, he is not jumping out of bed like a sprightly 30 year old anymore. His knees pop and crackle when he gets up from crouching over machinery while doing manual labour, his joints protest the next day when he pushes himself too far, moving slower than usual on job sites.

Hell, even his memory is starting to get cloudy around the edges. If it weren’t for Ellie some days, he’s sure he would leave the house without pants on, what with her always reminding him where things are in the house, special events that are coming up in the community that he forgets to put in the calendar. He had been a bit more snappy than usual, as Ellie so lovingly pointed out one day, but that’s nothing compared to his normal demeanor. 

‘You’re becoming a grumpy motherfucker y'know that? Jeez, who shit in your cornflakes this morning?” she grumbled at him with a mouth full of cereal, after he snapped at her reminder that it was parent day at the local school. Parent day, P.A. day, Joel hadn’t dealt with any of this shit in over 20 years since Sarah was in school. Even then he managed to neglect many of the parental events, seeing as Sarah was the perfect student, with nothing but glowing reviews from her teachers. The fact that Ellie was going to school amidst a fucking apocalypse was enough for Joel to be happy with. 

But still, he’s doing fine, right? Just fine. 

[bluemoonperegrine]

Bonus scene: Think Fast

This is effectively chapter 2.5 of "Those Who Wander." It's only 448 words. Much of the key dialog sprung fully formed from @vicarious-rebel's delightful brain.

You don't have to read the earlier chapters to follow this. Basically Marc's crushing on a guy and has no intention to follow through on it. An opportunity presents itself, so Jake does what needs to be done.

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

“Jefe,” Jake murmured as he looked over the cab’s roof. The guy hermano had been so smitten over sat on park bench a short distance away. Peanut shells littered the ground around him. “Your crush is here.”

Hmm? Marc returned sleepily. Where are we... wait. Is that—

The cute park ranger! Steven supplied.

“Yup.” Said ranger stood up and looked at Jake with a big smile on his face. Without a moment’s hesitation Jake waved.

Marc made the mental equivalent of a gasp. What are you doing?!?

The ranger—Jim?—managed to smile harder and waved back.

Let’s talk to ‘im, Steven said. I want to see his eyes again. Oh, good! He’s walking this way.

He was and Marc was close to panic. No! Marc insisted. We’re not talking to him. You’re supposed to be working, Jake.

Jake chuckled. He couldn’t care less about Jim, but hermano did and was too chicken to do what needed to be done. As usual, Jake did it for him. “Okay. We won’t talk to him, but you will. Think fast!” With that Jake stepped back and shoved Marc into the metaphorical driver’s seat. A rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooded the body. Marc would give them a heart attack one day if he didn’t learn to relax.

Marc all but jumped into the cab’s driver’s seat, nearly losing Jake’s hat in the process. “JAKE, YOU ASSHOLE!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You’re welcome, he responded. You’ll be fine. He likes you. He wouldn’t be smiling like an idiot otherwise. Just talk to him.

“I can’t talk!!”

Steven piped up. You’re talking right now. 

“Not helping, Steven.”

Sorry, mate. Jake was a bit rude—

Was not.

Were too. Anyway, ‘e has the right idea. We’ll be right here with you if you want, bruv!

Marc snuck a glance out the front passenger window. Jim stood on one of the park’s paved paths 15 feet away. Jake was glad to see that Jim had decent social skills; he was looking off to the side while Marc freaked out in the cab.

Silence stretched.

Marc took a deep breath. “All right.”

You got this, bruv!

“I don’t, but whatever,” he grumbled. “Just... thanks. I guess. Fuck.” With a weary sigh, Marc hauled the body out of the cab.

Although Jake was loathe to admit it aloud, he was proud of his brother. This was hard for him, but he was trying. Steven and Marc helped Jake out with the things he wrestled with, too.

Their hands trembled slightly as they strode around the cab to the objectively handsome man. “Hey,” Marc said. “Uh, sorry about that. I had to…”

[The rest of the scene plays out from Jack's POV in chapter 2.]

[davos-allyrion]

Davos stared at Joffrey, his breath unsteady, his fingers clenched so tightly around the hilt of his dagger that his knuckles had turned white. His mind raced. He could have killed a prince. A prince.

Would they hang him? Burn him?

What kind of fool dares to creep up on a man of his reputation in the dead of night, in a place like this, in times as treacherous as these?

For a fleeting, desperate moment, the thought of turning the blade on himself crossed his mind, if only to prove this wasn’t some twisted, fevered dream. But no. Joffrey stood before him, alive and unharmed, though Davos had nearly gutted him like a pig.

He forced himself to breathe, to think. Joffrey Velaryon—Rhaenyra’s son, Alannys’ betrothed, the boy to whom he had written so boldly, so foolishly. He had braced for resentment, for cold disdain, not this: the prince dogging his steps like an overeager pup through the dim halls of the castle.

Davos exhaled slowly, willing his fingers to unclench. With deliberate care, he sheathed the dagger, the motion measured, as though convincing himself that the moment was real.

"Prince Joffrey," he said, inclining his head just enough to acknowledge the boy’s station. "Forgive me. It’s been a long journey, and I’ve had little rest. You startled me."

The apology felt foreign on his tongue, offered to someone who had stalked him through the shadows like a thief. His instincts roared to demand answers, to unravel whatever game Joffrey was playing, but his thoughts were still untangling themselves from the fog of panic.

"I prefer to be alone," he continued, his voice softer now, more restrained, the words measured as he carefully rebuilt the mask that had slipped. "But I suppose solitude is a rare luxury in a place like this, isn’t it?"

His gaze flicked toward the door, half-expecting more footsteps, more unwelcome company. The Keep was a labyrinth of whispers and watching eyes, the kind that sank their teeth into a man without ever drawing blood.

Davos let out a breath, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his lips, though it never reached his eyes. Curious, curious fool. "Perhaps I’m planning to dismember a body, my prince. The kitchens would be a fine place for it, don’t you think?"

He shook his head slightly, as if to dispel the thoughts crowding in from all sides. Davos had never been funny. He felt worn, unraveling at the seams, yet he remained upright. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

His gaze settled on Joffrey again. The boy looked younger than Davos had expected; soft around the edges, untouched by the weight of years. Or perhaps it was Davos himself who had grown old, time carving its marks deeper than he cared to admit.

"I come here because the food in King’s Landing turns my stomach," he said, the words coming easier now, blunt and unadorned. "I cook for myself when I can."

A pause. Joffrey’s lips twitched, his expression flickering with amusement.

What an odd royal, Davos thought.

Then, tilting his head, he added, "Do they not feed you well enough in the royal halls, or have you come to watch me poison myself?"

HOLD YOUR KNIFE AND YOUR TONGUE

( a part of @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood ) starter with @davos-allyrion

Lord Davos Allyrion, Joffrey thought as he watched the young man sneak his way into the kitchens. I've found him at last!

This young Lord of house Allyrion had come to Kings Landing to assist Joffrey's mother, Queen Rhaenyra, and yet, he had made no move to properly greet Joffrey in all his time spent here. The greatest of slights, perhaps, or had he just forgotten? Whatever reason Davos had was irrelevant, as Joffrey was prepared to tell him exactly how he felt.

They had spoken before, although only through writing, but they definitely knew of each other. Davos had been rather... bold in his letter to Joffrey. It had shocked Joffrey into not responding, and he had been waiting for this man to arrive at Kings Landing to give him a piece of his mind. Davos and his betrothed Alannys were familiar as they had exchanged letters, and that thought had warmed Joffrey somewhat towards the Dornish Lord. If he is kind to Alannys I can surely be forgiving of his rudeness.

So now that he was right in the Prince's reach, Joffrey could not pass up this opportunity to talk to him. His feet moved quickly to follow Davos, entering the kitchen and trying to catch up to him as best as he could. Joffrey tried to remember how old this young Lord was. Twenty, perhaps? Of a similar age to Joffrey, they could surely become friends if this conversation went as Joffrey had planned it, he thought.

So, behind Davos, Joffrey called to him. "Lord Allyrion!" Stopping Davos in his tracks, he continued on. He spoke his mind as quickly as he could, the words pouring out faster than he intended. "You've been at Kings Landing for a long enough time and have made no move to greet me yet. Because you were so very bold in your letter to me, I thought perhaps-"

Joffrey's eyes widened to see Davos had pulled out a knife, something the Prince had not been expecting in the least. Am I that intimidating? He scanned Davos, who looked as if he was ready to defend himself from a monster coming to kill him. "Oh! No need for that! My good Lord, put that away! You're threatening a Prince of the realm, you know. You could be in serious trouble for this..."

The look on Davos face had made Joffrey feel almost guilty. He had been the one who followed Davos here, and he had immediately began to scold him... His thoughts went to Alannys and her knife collection. He had been overly familiar with individuals who had a knack for violence as of late, it did not scare him anymore, just made him wonder. He wondered about this boy in front of him, who's first reflex was to act as if he was being threatened with death. What was his life like? Joffrey did not know much about the Lord to house Allyrion, save the fact that he was helping his mother with her pregnancy. He must be kind, he helps my family, Joffrey thought.

Joffrey eased somewhat, hoping his calmer demeanor would help the other boy to calm. The Prince tried to smile. "But you are in luck. I'm a forgiving Prince who seeks your company rather than a fight with you. Let's... start over? I'm Prince Joffrey, as you know. I'm most interested to know what you're doing in these kitchens if you'd be so kind to tell me why. Are you hungry? Would you like to share a meal with me?"

[falling-pages]

Happiest of birthdays to our very own Shadow King, Kyoya Ootori.

-

Kyoya Ootori x Female Reader

-

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Body issues (Reader says she isn't beautiful, Kyoya reminds her that she is)

-

“Are you almost ready, my dear?”

Kyoya fussed with his cufflinks as he heard rustling on the other side of the dressing room door, short nails picking at the thread but not quite able to poke the button through. Damn thing was too small to properly fit, but he messed with it anyways, resisting the urge to take it between his teeth and make it go through.

“Go to the ceremony. I don’t want you to see me.”

At this, Kyoya forgot the link and looked up, still staring at the pale pine wood of the door. His normally punctual girlfriend, who always wanted to dress up and take pictures, wanted him to leave without seeing her? At his best friend’s wedding, of all places?

What on earth had you so worked up that you wanted to stay inside?

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said. “The best man has to arrive with his bridesmaid. It’s bad luck.”

“No.” Your voice was muffled behind the door, but he heard the panic raising the tone an octave. “No, it’s tradition for the best man to walk out with the groom. So go do that, Smarty-pants, I’ll meet you out there.”

Something was definitely up. Usually you wanted to show off on his arm, greet guests as you pass and steal the photographer for a few minutes before the ceremony started. He leaned his forehead against the doorframe, eyes fluttering between grains of wood. “Darling, are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But Tamaki probably isn’t. Go console him before he gets snot on his tux or something.”

Panic struck his core, nearly making him walk away, but he remembered he still had four other groomsmen back in the room to take care of him by any means necessary. It was only by them covering for him as Tamaki wailed into a tissue that Kyoya could sneak out for a few minutes to see you.

“I want to see you,” he admitted. Swallowing his pride was never easy, but he did whatever he needed for you. “I want to see my beautiful girlfriend in her beautiful dress.”

“No you don’t.” He caught the sniffle in your voice and nearly tore the door off its hinges. Why are you crying? Were you hurt? Did one of the other bridesmaids say something to you?

He jiggled the doorknob, but of course you had locked it. “Yes, I do. Please let me in.”

With the stern warning in his voice you finally relented, unscrewing the lock and allowing him inside. To keep out danger and prying eyes he slipped in and quickly shut the door behind him, scanning for what had happened before his gaze landed on you. Remarkably, you were uninjured, perfectly kempt; he could find no reason for your distress.

You took in his eyes on you, perfectly calm, yet his voice betrayed his confusion. And he looked perfect, of course he did, in his black tux and burnt orange vest and cummerbund and tie, somehow taking that drab color and making it look regal on his handsome frame. He had the face of an angel and posture of a king--and here you were, looking like a piece of overcooked fish.

Similarly, he was trapped for just a moment by your beauty, admiring how your hair was pulled back and to the side, trailing over your shoulder, what the sunset orange gown did for your figure, a v-neckline cut deep across your chest, and leaving your arms exposed. What was it they said about not outshining the bride? It didn’t matter, because in his eyes, you did.

“You look…” his eyes snapped back up to your face, taking in the contour of your cheek, the thick, heavy lashes framing your pupils.

“Horrible.”

“Stunning.”

You shook your head, clenching your fists in the skirt of the gown. “No, no, Kyo, I look like a crack whore,” you sobbed dryly, withholding your tears, though you knew if you smudged any of it, there were more layers underneath to catch. “The makeup artist was like, thirteen, and she tangled my hair and it hurts to blink--it shouldn’t hurt to blink!”

He only chuckled, pulling you into his arms as he rested against the doorframe. “You do not look like any such thing,” he chided, nestling his nose in your hair. “You look quite beautiful.”

“She put me in enough makeup to drown a rat,” you continued. “I am going to break out so heavily after this, why did Renge even choose these stupid colors? I know she likes bold makeup looks and fashion choices, but I don’t, and I feel...why would you even want to be seen with me? Why would you to walk me down the aisle with everyone watching and me looking like this?”

He only held you tighter as you ranted, smothering you against his chest and massaging his fingers gently against the nape of your neck. Seeing you sad broke his heart, but because of your looks? Because you couldn’t see the absolute goddess he had the privilege of laying eyes on each and every day? That’s what nearly broke his soul.

As much as you wanted the tears to fall, to wash away some of the makeup, your eyes stayed dry, leaving you nestled in his chest breathing in the scent of his boutinerre and old spice, wondering how you had gotten lucky enough to snag him. He only continued stroking your neck, letting his fingertips crawl down your back to press your spine, calming, repetitive motions keeping you present.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said quietly, and your heart began to race. His deals and propositions very rarely worked out well for all parties involved. “When we get married, you can choose the colors, the gowns, and the makeup.”

When. You liked the sound of that. Digging your face from beneath his arm, you smiled up at him. “I would have thought that would be on the table, anyways,” you said coyly, a tone which he returned.

“You underestimate my father’s standards for Ootori public events.”

However that may be true, all that mattered to you was the assurance in which he said the sentence. It was a promise, a contract, a vow; and Ootoris were not known for breaking their contracts.

“You’d marry me looking like this?”

Kyoya blushed, standing up to his full height and swiftly turning you against the door, pinning you beneath his gaze. “I’d marry you right now, in this room, with no one but a priest,” he whispered, dipping to press a kiss to your lips. “I’d marry you with makeup, without it, in this gown, a wedding dress, or pajamas. I’d marry you with no hesitation at all.”

With each declaration he kissed you, unworried about smudging the mistoned lipstick, or disrupting the frizziness of your hair as he held your face firm, even as you wiggled, trapped between his body and the wall, but kissing him back just as eagerly, knowing that you, too, would marry him in a heartbeat.

“Are you almost ready? We’re about to walk out!”

The knocking and Haruhi’s voice sent you scrambling away from the door, instinctively pushing Kyoya back until he stumbled into the vanity, a brief noise of surprise and disappointment leaking from both of your lips. The wood was thin--there was no way she didn’t hear what was going on--but you turned tried to regulate your breathing as best you could.

“Umm, yep, I’m almost done.”

Her retreating footsteps signaled Kyoya to come back up behind you, warming his hands on your hips. His weight felt nice, reassuring, as did his laugh as his mouth met the back of your neck.

The ridiculous situation had you laughing with him, eventually turning to more kissing as you turned around, before leaving him with a lingering peck and grabbing your bouquet. “A hundred yen says Tamaki’s pulling his hair out looking for you,” you mumbled.

Kyoya took your chin and gave you one last kiss before opening the door. “I’ll take that bet.”

-

Kofi