#I accidently a ficlet

[goddessofroyalty]

So this was based on a silly joke I have in my head about hormonal birth control not working for omega!Sanji for (spoilers) reasons and him and Zoro then ending up with 3 kids on the pirate journey because they keep breaking condoms.

Anyway this is just them finally making it back to the Baratie and having to face up to Zeff about it (from Zeff’s POV)

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg

---------

Zeff will admit he is slightly surprised at the swell in Sanji’s stomach when he showed up again as part of what seems to be the new Pirate King and crew’s Victory Tour.

It’s not that Eggplant had given him no indication of it – he had been getting more and more jittery every damn time he’d gotten in touch as the Strawhats made their various stops before reaching the Baratie. Saying how some things had happened during his travels and that he’d needed to talk to Zeff about them in person. But Zeff had assumed it was to do with his damnable family. Not that his woman-obsessed omega son had gone and got himself knocked up. By an alpha, going by the new layer of scent clinging on top of the one he remembers to be Sanji’s.

And, because wonder’s don’t fucking cease, they’ve only just gotten through their tearful hug when a little green-haired girl comes running over. Clinging to Eggplants leg and staring up at Zeff with curious, familiar, blue eyes.

“I thought you were staying on the ship Princess?” Eggplant says, brushing a hand through her hair. And Zeff is equally sure that actually Sanji told her to stay on the ship as he is that his boy was as much a pushover to his daughter as he had been any woman who had stepped foot into the Baratie before he left.

“You know she wasn’t gonna’ as soon as she found out this was your old home.” And there was the newly minted World’s Greatest Swordsman and apparently sire to Zeff’s grandkids walking in like it had been his home as well and not the place he had gotten nearly cut in half by the former owner of the title.

And, fucks sake, there was another little one resting on his hips as he does it with that same matching green hair.

“I do remember teaching you about the importance of making them wrap it,” Zeff grumbles, because going by the age of the older one the two it hadn’t been all that long after Sanji left that he had gotten himself knocked up. “I know you said you weren’t planning on getting with any alphas but I know you were still listening.”

Eggplant goes red at it before glaring at Roronoa who gives a grin back that is entirely too filthy and leaves Zeff sure that he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Zeff asks more to move the topic away from his kid’s sex life before he finds out more about it than he wants to.

They had been exchanging letters and calls on and off the whole time and never once had Eggplant mentioned that he was going to be or had become a granddad in any of them.

“I did try to but I couldn’t say anything too direct in case it got intercepted,” Sanji explains, resting a protective hand over his middle while the other curls around the girl at his side.

It makes some degree of sense. Best way to keep the two, soon to be three, pups from being a target is to have nobody know they exist in the first place.

Maybe Zeff should have guessed something like this was up when Sanji had asked him how he had dealt with the stress of raising a kid in the dangerous world they lived in. But he had just assumed his boy had finally matured enough to realize how much of an antagonistic dumbass he had been at times.

“I did want to tell you though,” Sanji continues, his voice guilty.  

Roronoa has moved close to his mate’s side, not touching though. Which is probably what Sanji actually wants – always had been a bit funny about any too direct an offer of comfort. Something Zeff’s probably as much to blame for as anything else in his life.

“You have no idea how many times I nearly did.”

“Probably for the best you didn’t,” Zeff says because he can’t have his kid feeling guilty for doing the smart thing. “I don’t know if I’d have been able to keep away if you did.”

Neither he nor his ship these days are made for the journey to the Grand Line. And it wouldn’t have been good for Sanji or the rest of the crew of his to have an old pirate getting underfoot while they were making names for themselves on history’s pages.

“Hell, I’m gonna’ struggle letting you sail off with my grandkids with you now. You better come visit more than you have been!” He doesn’t actually hold it against them and damn well know the reason why this is the first time he’s seen them since Sanji left to join a pirate crew. But he still missed years of his grandkids lives as a result and they had better make up for it.

[blushweddinggowns]

I'm all for the angsty overhearing a conversation trope where it's all sad because of a misunderstanding. But I also love the opposite. Overhearing a conversation where the other person is just singing their praises. Especially with Steve and Eddie.

Like Steve being very aware that he likes Eddie, but way too afraid of rejection to actually do anything about it. So he just pines away, and gets closer and closer to him with the full expectation of it never going anywhere. Until one day, he comes to pick Dustin up from Hellfire too early, and he can hear everyone talking through the door. About him. But mostly it's Eddie, his loud voice carrying across the room. And he's just raving about him, and somehow managing to bring him up in conversations that have nothing to do with him.

Do you remember that time Steve saved my life by shoving my guts back into my body? Yeah, that's the level of skill and luck you're going to need to survive this.

Did you guys know that Steve actually gave me this background music? He's weirdly knowledgeable about classical stuff. Isn't that cool? He's so smart and-oh, yeah, the merchant agrees to the deal.

So uh, is Steve maybe seeing anyone? He isn't right? Like he would tell me if he was, wouldn't he?

And he doesn't give a single fuck at the collective groaning of the group whenever he gets going, never failing to pull out the I almost Died saving the world with you card to get them to shut up. And by the time it actually ends, Steve is a glowing, blushing mess who can't stop smiling.

Or the other way around. With Eddie full on assuming he has 0 shot because Steve's, Steve.

The golden boy who could obviously never be into him like that, or any other guy for that matter. So he doesn't do anything about his feelings, he just hangs out with him more and more and falls for him more and more, waiting for the inevitable day when he gets a girlfriend and his fantasies could finally die. Except one day, he spends the night at Steve's, but he isn't in bed when he wakes up. He goes to find him, just to hear him downstairs loudly talking to Robin. Because neither of them know the concept of inside voices when they're together. And he waits at the top, listening in just for the fuck of it, but mostly because he doesn't want to interrupt.

"I just feel like bed sharing the way you guys do is gay as hell," Robin sighed, "Especially at your age. Also, should we even be talking about this with him in the house?"

And before Eddie has time to freak out over that and the possibility he's gotten caught with his feelings, Steve is already answering, "I know right? And don't worry about it, he sleeps like the dead. But I don't know what to do about it. He still hasn't done anything. Am I just reading this whole thing wrong?"

"Well you could try making the first move instead of trying to trick him into doing it," Robin tried.

"And ruin our friendship incase I'm wrong? Yeah, no. Besides, I go like, full dumbass around him when I'm nervous. He's too hot. I'd probably walk into a wall in the middle of professing my undying love."

"Yeah," Robin sighed, "You probably would."

And Eddie is just having a moment upstairs. A full on I think I may have to jump for joy moment. Or even, I think I'm five seconds away from squealing like a teenage girl moment.

Yeah, I like that shit.

[weird-an]

"Dude, what's all of that?" Billy asks awkwardly when Steve drives him all the way to Indianapolis and finds himself sitting at the table of a fancy Italian restaurant.

He doesn't know half of the dishes on the menu and hasn't tried nearly any of it. He's so out of his depth he can't even behind a charming smile and he's certainly not going to flirt in public. Not with a guy. Even when he's Steve Fucking Harrington.

Steve raises a brow. "Isn't that obvious?"

Billy stares at the candle burning in front of him, at Steve's best shirt and the two sets of cutlery in front of him.

"This is a... date," Steve explains.

Billy chokes on his own spit. "A fucking what-?"

He doesn't do dates. Not really. He tells Neil all about them, but he never really… went to a restaurant. Or to a diner. Or the movies with someone who isn't an alibi. Someone like Steve - but to be honest he never met someone like Steve before.

The candle shines too bright and his throat turns dry. He stares at the red table cloth.

"I thought… it would be too obvious to go somewhere in Hawkins." Steve sounds a bit unsure. "Or would you.."

"No," Billy interrupts. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, but he doesn’t know how. "I'm…"

Overwhelmed? Scared? Not a lot of sexy possibilities to finish that sentence.

Steve grins, cheeks flushing. "Me too."

He leans closer, so that he can whisper in Billy's ear. "Order whatever. I've got my dad's credit card. He won't notice."

Billy inhales his scent, nose full of Farah Fawcett hairspray and so much Steve that his heart stutters.

"Daddy doesn’t care?" he jokes, a lame attempt to distract himself.

"Let’s just say, Daddy's paying tonight." Steve's smile turns hungry.

His words hit the right and wrong place at once. Billy tries not to close his eyes, stares at the menu.

"You bastard," Billy mumbles, his cheeks burning.

He'll choose the most expensive dish. Fuck it. This is a date after all.

[queerweewoo]

“I, uh,” Buck swallows, and Eddie hears it as loudly as he heard that gunshot in the street. “I—I love you, man. Like, just so you know. Y'know? Because it feels like— like after everything—that you get to hear that, Eds. That you, y’know, get to know that.”

Eddie is nodding, and just sitting there staring at Buck as Buck tells him something that's not yet fully registering in Eddie's brain, because Buck has this look on his face that Eddie is feeling sort of incredulous about, or he's maybe even a little annoyed by, which is—honestly, Eddie gets that's kind of a strange way to feel. That it's not exactly normal. He's obviously no Sigmund Freud, but he is astute enough to understand that it's weird to get pissy about not being privy to every single look his best friend has in his arsenal of facial expressions, even if Eddie isn't sure of exactly why it is he feels this way. 

Buck starts chewing on his already-red bottom lip, and Eddie feels something like jealousy over it—which is just another thing he can't quite work out. 

He studies Buck's face as if he should be able to decipher what this new look is. Feels dumb that he can't. Because Eddie knows Buck. He knows him. Like the way he knows each of his sister's secret celebrity crushes; like he knows oranges are the colour orange; like he knows that his body understands how to breathe on pure instinct.  

This look though, he doesn't know it. And him not knowing whatever it is that Buck is currently trying to convey with the over-used muscles in his face and the gentle arch of his eyebrows and the forever-raw emotion behind those blue, blue eyes of his? It's making Eddie feel like he's failing miserably at the other most important thing in his life.  

There is Christopher, and there is Buck. 

“Eddie?” 

Buck just told Eddie that he loves him, and that's just now hitting Eddie square-on in the nose like a suckerpunch wrapped in a neatly tied silk ribbon. 

“Love you too, brother,” Eddie says without really thinking, because he has to say something, and only one side of his face is smiling because the other isn't sure what the hell it should be doing.

Then he's leaning over his kitchen table to try and find the pulse-point at Buck's throat with his thumb pad, thinking Batman and Robin; Guns and Roses; Peanut Butter and Jelly as it nestles safely into the place that gives Eddie the most comfort—Eddie hoping, as he always does, that the touch gives maybe a little of the same to Buck.

Brother. 

That feels—kind of right? Buck is Eddie's partner in crime. The person Eddie's closest to. Eddie's family. 

Only as soon as he's repeating the term in his head, he knows that it is very wrong, even if he can't pin-point why.  

Why are there so many whys? 

Things feel… muddied.

Buck's lips part slightly and he looks as if he might be about to say something else. Then the new look is fading away, mixing seamlessly with the dust motes floating hazily in the balmy air of Eddie's kitchen, now replaced by a much more familiar look, and Eddie is—for some reason woefully—relieved to be back in his comfort zone. Back where he knows precisely how Buck is feeling just by glancing at Buck, even if this next look is all-too similar to one Eddie's seen plenty of times, too many times; one he hates, hates, hates seeing on Buck's face.  

Disappointment.

Eddie doesn't quite understand what he did wrong but knows he's probably deserving of the fate, and half-heartedly tries not to hate on himself more than he already does for pulling the sorry feeling from Buck's bleeding heart. 

He doesn't know the word, “Always,” is going to slip from his lips like a secret before he's finding himself saying it, surprised by the force behind it, and the truth of it, his thumb now sliding back and forth over Buck's collar bone seemingly of its own accord. 

At least, then, there is a hint of something other than unfulfilled growing in Eddie's best friend's eyes, even if they are still, sadly, shining in the exact wrong kind of way.

Buck has an infectious, never-ending supply of hope and Eddie does love him. 

He doesn't pray anymore—hasn't in years—but as Buck manages to find a warm smile for him, just like he always does, Eddie thinks he might find himself asking God for a few revelations later on tonight when the lights are all shut off and the moon is out. 

Like how to do better.

.

(also found HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp)

[fluffypotatey]

evil swk only it's him finally fed up with everyone hurting mk so he kills the latest villain of the week and takes the powers of the Jade Emperor for his own thus: Monster (epic)

oops, hands slipped!

He meets MK on accident. Sun Wukong does not make it his ordeal to wander where mortals are near, but sometimes needs must. his little Suns have chosen to pester him about this specific brand of chips (how they ever got their hands on a bag of chips in the first place is a mystery of itself), so after hours of twisting his arm, Wukong obeyed their pleading cries and whines.

the accident came when Wukong found himself run over by a meager delivery cart. the boy, probably only two decades old, hopped off his death kart immediately, apologies spilling from his lips while Wukong debated throwing his disguise down the gutter and raising this whole block to the ground.

“—you have to understand! The Megapolis Grand Prix has a grand prize of an immortal peach and I thought I could both race and deliver, you know, kill two birds with one stone and all that but—“

“I don’t really care, kid.”

The mortal was quick to shut his mouth and nodded. Another apology was thrown out while Wukong dusted off the spare dirt from his clothes, and he was pretty sure the mortal made sure to follow him back to the safety of the sidewalk. It was a little overbearing, but Wukong was trying to keep a low profile for the sake of a stupid bag of chips. He would rather not bring Heaven or any other celestial’s attention to himself.

The things he did for his monkeys.

-

He met MK again on New Years. Again, his little Suns sent his out for a task— apparently, some idiot decided to teach them what noodles were and Wuking spent months suffering while they bemoaned and cried about it.

There was a plaza full of food trucks, so Wukong figured he’d find noodles over there somehow.

“Oh! It’s you!”

Wukong was startled by the smile, how it spread wide, so easily like a trained soldier (except soldiers were more fixed and lacked the warmth this smile gave). The mortal stood behind one of the windows of a truck, apron tied around him.

Wukong grunted put a hello.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Eight helpings of noodles.”

“Wow, that’s quite the haul! Got a party or something?”

“More like a family of rascals.”

The mortal laughed, quickly writing down the order before placing somewhere near the kitchen. There followed some indignant shouting about the order while the mortal— MK, the cool called him MK— placated and answered all the cook’s questions.

“It’ll be ready in an hour? Maybe longer.”

-

The third time, he found MK through his monkeys. A mortal, they had chirped at him, a mortal on the beach! Color him surprised when it was his mortal he found. How he got past the volcanic mountains was something he figured MK would tell him when he woke up.

And, boy, did he ever.

MK told Wukong of his old sworn brother, the Demon Bull King, and the would-be Spider Queen. Two demons who found it in their heads that Megapolis was their city, and neither were keen on sharing. And both seemed to believe that their solution was a secret weapon hidden in Wukong’s vault.

“And we thought— my friends and I— that if we found it first, then they wouldn’t be able to.”

It was a hilarious story. One Wukong made sure to laugh at in MK’s face. Because really, why would either demon think they had the balls to invade his island?

“I’m serious! We need to find it now or else they’ll—“

“Tell me, MK,” Wukong spoke, keeping a bright smile on his face. It was different from the ones MK would share. Less genuine and more senile. “How much do you truly know about me?”

Finding the terror in the mortal’s eyes shouldn’t have been endearing, but Wukong would argue that after receiving plenty, he was open to judge them all. While MK was slow on the uptake on who he was talking to, he was a quick learner in figuring out just how dangerous Wukong could be.

In the end, neither of the demons stepped foot on his island. And if he had to twist their arms a little to ensure there would be no future attempts of them sneaking in, that was between Wukong and them. The fact that a little delivery boy was included in that clause was neither here nor there.

-

The fourth time was when Azure made his appearance on Wukong’s island, smiling and laughing as if none of the past millennia had ever happened. Wukong played a good host to his old brother even while his skin crawled and his little Suns whined. But that all came to pause when out of Azure’s scroll came MK and more of his old brothers.

“So you used him,” he asked, eyes closely watching the mortal shake and tremble (he was mumbling something too but Azure was speaking too loudly).

“We needed someone on the inside in order to retrieve the rest of our brothers. With all of us here and reunited, we can finally put Heaven in their place!”

Wukong tilted his head. “What of the Bull King?”

He watched MK flinch when Azure scoffed, the mortal clutching his robes tighter. He was still in shock, but it would not last long. The new buzz of magic told him as much.

“He has forsaken the cause.” There seemed to be more but MK finally cracked.

“You said we’d free my friends.”

Wukong raised a brow, watching Azure’s careful sigh and friendly smile.

“And we will, but there is something I must do first. You have to understand?”

MK shook his head. “You promised. I’d go in the scroll and free my friends. You said you’d help me—“

“And I will, MK.”

“No you won’t.”

All eyes faced Wukong. He saw as Peng rolled their eyes, ever the dramatic one, but Wukong chose to ignore him.

“Azure is too set on his goal of overthrowing the Emperor that no other task will matter until that endeavor is complete.”

“And we will complete it. Wukong, you are not one to be so glum.”

“A lot has changed.”

“So much that you would turn your back once more to us?”

Wukong watched as MK’s eyes pleaded at him.

“I would.”

-

Given that he was the last one in possession of the missing memory scroll, the Diyu was quick to point their fingers on Wukong and claim MK as his accomplice. How they came to that conclusion was, quite frankly, insane and stupid of them. Wukong told them as much while they placed him on trial.

“And yet there is no other living soul we can find.”

“Well, duh,” he sniffed, keeping MK behind him at all costs, “I killed them all.”

“So you could have it for yourself?”

“Because they threatened my subjects.”

This one king was starting to get on his nerves. All his questions seemed posed to specifically point all attention on MK and Wukong refused to bring any attention to him. He’s not blind, there was obviously something mystical with the mortal. What exactly, he wasn’t sure. He could just hear Macaque lecturing him about it. As if that shadow monkey knew anything! He just spent most of his time trying to steal the attention of Wukong’s subjects like the asshole he was!

“And so why was this mortal involved?”

Again, the same king. He was a strange one, his magic not exactly the same as the others. Wukong was not liking the look of him.

And it turned out his instincts were right. As the trial continued and he asked more questions, the King began to call MK the harbinger, a title MK seemed to recognize and freeze at.

But in the end, none of their words held any good defense. Not that Wukong expected anything different. In fact, he was excited for it. Both the Diyu and Heaven have dreamed of shackling him down once again ever since his first havoc. So, when the chains came to shackle MK as well, Wukong felt he was excused enough to start a little mayhem.

Or a lot.

Actually, a lot, a lot.

It was only a pleasant occurance that Heaven chose to bring Wukong up to their realm and place him before the Emperor. And if said Emperor threatened to erase MK out of punishment of Wukong’s behavior?

Well.

Who is to say that Wukong is not excused from cutting that old goat down to size?

[andydona-chan]

Katsuki knocked on the door, feeling nervous and trying not to give into the urge to just turn around and go back to... No, it was fien, he was fine, everything was, then, happiness would bloom in his chest, and a genuine smile would keep him grounded. He could do this.

His father opened the door, surprised at first but then smiled widely at him and stepped aside.

"Katsuki, it's been so long, what a nice surprise"

"Hey Dad, is the Hag here?" He said smiling as they made their way to the kitchen.

"Yes, I was about to call her down for a break in a minute. Is everything okay, son?"

"Uhm... yes, everything is fine, just... You know how you told me that I could come talk with you when I had... feelings for some girl...?"

"Oh... is that it?" His father asked, and Katsuki gave a slight nod, ignoring his gaze. "Let me call your mother, why don't you get us some tea started?" Katsuki noted again, looking straight to the floor with his lips pursed in an attempt to hide his blush and expression.

Massaru took only a couple of minutes to come back with his mother while he was looking at the fire on the stove with a soft smile on his face.

His mother went up and sat up next to him, and Katsuki smiled up at her, for once, neither was screaming at the other. However, Katsuki only took a deep breath and prepared to speak once his father sat up on the other side of the table.

"I never thought I would be having this conversation with you. At all. Ever!" He said with his usual tone only to smile and run a hand down his face. "This wasn't something... it was so unexpected, I... It happened so fast I may never recover..." their parents shared a look expectantly.

Katsuki looked at them and then pulled a few recently printed photographs from his pocket. Unable to contain his smile he placed them on the table.

"Her hair is a mess..." Katsuki felt his voice break and his eyes water, his parents took the photographs in their hands and gasped. "She has these pink cheeks that are so... and her eyes!"

"Such beautiful green eyes, Katsuki! No wonder you fell so hard already!" Said his mother slapping his shoulder. They spoke for a few more minutes, during which they drank a couple of cups of tea, Katsuki was being so direct and felt so happy, his parents had rarely seen him like that, by the end of the conversation the three of them had tears on their faces.

"She's beautiful, son. When can we meet her?" Asked his father, wiping his own tears away.

Katsuki laughed and wiped his eyes, patting the photographs on the table to signal they would remain there. "Visiting hours start in about an hour, so we can go now if you want. But I'm pretty sure they'll discharge them by the end of the day."

"Inko must be over the moon!"

"She was surprisingly alright. There was a moment when she and Izuku were crying so much I thought we would have a problem, but right before I left, she was taking care of everything already"

"Congratulations on becoming a father, son. Even if the conception was out of the ordinary, I'm so happy you're both happy."

"Life keeps giving me these f*king surprises, first Izuku, then this... I mean, I'm not complaining because it's bad, it's really good but..." Katsuki felt himself tear up again, and he looked at his mother. "How did I ever deserve this Mom?"

"You love winning, right Katsuki? This is a form of winning, too. We live in a world where everything is possible, but I think you, winning a family, more than triumph is a gift, you deserve happiness, son."

Massaru picked up their empty cups and then stood up. "I guess we need to anticipate the wedding plans, maybe use it for a naming ceremony too"

Katsuki groaned and buried his face in his hands again, but then laughed. Then the three of them stood up and made their way to Katsuki's car.

If anyone had told Katsuki that morning that during his and Izuku's patrol, the nerd was going to be hit with a pregnancy quirk that would create a baby from his current partner within the following 12 hours, he would have punched that person and laugh at the absurdity. But here he was, at the end of the day, suddenly in love with a little girl that was fruit if said quirk...

Life was ridiculous...

[theminecraftbee]

fic ideas, fic ideas- hmmmmm. gonna be honest i'm drawing a bit of a blank. maybe something based on the escape room videos that grian, impulse, n joel did? i feel like grian's specifically would be fun to play around w/

Impulse and Joel look at each other after they get out. Joel makes a face. Impulse shrugs. Joel makes the same face, but somehow even deeper and more insistent. Impulse shrugs again before turning to Grian.

“You wanna talk about it, buddy?” he says, bemused.

“What? No. I mean—”

“Yeah like. There are easier cries for help, man,” Joel says. “Like complimenting Jimmy.”

“You made me do that!”

“Hah. Yeah. We did.”

Grian makes a face. “I didn’t do that to get mockery for it, you know.”

“What on earth did you do it for then?” Joel says. “I mean, geez, man, that’s worse than when I made that toy shop for Jimmy, and like, that was, I admit, a little bad.”

Joel pauses.

“But very funny,” he adds.

“I mean, yeah, very funny,” agrees Grian. “You should put his face on more toys.”

“Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?” Joel says.

“Yeah. Nothing weirdly obsessive about it at all,” Impulse says. Grian and Joel both nod in a way that suggests to Impulse that they perhaps did not catch onto his incredulity. Ah, well. That checks out, he supposes.

“Anyway, that was perfectly normal. I mean, Iskall puts Mumbo mustaches on everything and you don’t ask HIM if he needs to talk about it,” Grian says.

“I don’t know Iskall,” Joel points out.

“Iskall can and would mock me for it,” Impulse says. “He’s so mean for someone who’s so nice.”

“And I wouldn’t?”

“I mean, no,” Impulse says, and sighs. “It’s just… okay, get over here.”

Grian looks suspiciously at Impulse. “You’re going to try to comfort me.”

“I mean, I’ve been there! Having your best friend not be on Hermitcraft with you is rough! There comes a time when you acknowledge you miss them and then go get naked with them and—”

“WHAT,” squawks Grian.

“Oh, wow, learning things about you and Skizz,” Joel says. He pauses. “Hey Grian, do you think that Jimmy—”

“YOU AREN’T NORMAL,” Grian says.

Impulse makes a face. “Grian, pal…”

“There are easier cries for help,” Joel says sagely.

“AGH,” Grian says.

[chronicowboy]

wrote this on wednesday then promptly forgot about it (thabk @danielsousa for reminding me) but there's like a tiny chance eddie could be trapped in that van with someone so the bones of this fic could still technically apply

Eddie makes it out alive. Again. Somehow.

(Except somehow is 6ft2 and looks a lot like an angel when the last piece of rubble falls away and the light filters into what Eddie had thought would be his grave.)

Eddie makes it out alive, but Joel isn't so lucky.

He had been on a motorbike when the first crash had happened, in critical condition before the bridge had collapsed. It had taken them far too long to extract him from the cluster of cars, and then, when they'd finally gotten him ready to transport, the bridge had swallowed both Joel and Eddie whole.

It had been a long two hours of trying to keep Joel from bleeding out, but eventually he'd lost the fight and the man had taken in one final, wheezing breath before going still.

Now, Eddie's staring into a hospital mirror covered in dust and another man's blood. The bathroom door creaks open, and Buck's reflection appears in the mirror.

"Chim's okay," he offers softly. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut in relief, its the most Buck is going to get out of him. "Maddie's just waiting for him to be assigned a room and then she'll go up and sit with him until he's awake." Buck joins him by the sinks, turning the faucet on and grabbing a wad of paper towels. "Hen and Bobby have been checked out too. Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. Karen and Athena are looking after them."

Buck picks up Eddie's bloodied hands with a gentleness that makes Eddie want to curl up in a ball, but he lets Buck wipe away the grime on his skin and doesn't think about Maddie with Chimney, Athena with Bobby, Karen with Hen. He catches the bandage peeking out from under Buck's shirt sleeve and his stomach clenches.

"What about you?" he croaks, voice hoarse from begging Joel to stay with him. Buck looks up at him with earnest eyes before following his gaze down to the gauze.

"Oh, that's nothing." Buck shakes his head. "Chim needed a blood transfusion, and..."

"You're a universal donor," Eddie mumbles to himself. Buck nods.

"How are you?" he whispers, guiding Eddie's hands under the lukewarm stream of water. Eddie fixes his gaze on the pink liquid swirling around the drain.

"Unscathed," he spits.

"Eddie," Buck murmurs. "You did everything you could for him."

"It wasn't enough."

Eddie jerks his hands out of Buck's grasp, pumps three drops of soap onto his palm, turns the heat up to full and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs. Buck shuts the tap off just as the water begins to burn, and Eddie slumps into a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter, squeezing his eyes shut and hanging his head.

"He had a kid at home, Buck." Eddie bites his lip, revels in the gritty taste of dust. "A little girl. Jackie. God, you should have seen his face when he spoke about her." Even in the darkness, even in tremendous amounts of agony, Joel had lit up like the fucking sun when he spoke of his daughter. For a single moment, Eddie had been back in the well, fighting to get home to Christopher.

"And I know that you did everything in your power to try and get him back to her," Buck says with conviction.

"Well, it wasn't enough, was it?" Eddie snaps. "He died in my care, Buck. I let a little girl lose her father."

"Eddie, that was not your fault," Buck warns him, tone stern. "The universe was working against you in every possible way."

"The universe!" Eddie laughs coldly, meets Buck's eyes in the mirror. "The universe has been working against me my whole goddamn life, Buck. But I'm still here." His voice cracks, but he doesn't take his eyes off Buck. Can't. "Why am I still here?" Buck opens his mouth, but Eddie doesn't want an answer as much as he wants to spit in the universe's filthy fucking face. "Shannon died, my convoy died, Joel died. You died." Eddie takes in a ragged breath, cursing the oxygen in his lungs. "Why am I still alive?"

"Because there is a little boy, who's not all that little anymore, waiting for you at home. A little boy who loves you more than anything in the world. A little boy who needs his dad."

"Wasn't enough for Joel," Eddie croaks.

"No, but." Buck sighs. "You made Chris a promise. To always fight to come home to him. You were just keeping that promise."

"He had a wife," Eddie whispers. "A wife and a kid to get home to. And he fought for them. But..." He squeezes his eyes shut again. "Why am I still here, Buck?"

"For Christopher."

"Christopher would be fine." Eddie shakes his head in dismissal. "He'd have you."

For a moment, the only sound in the bathroom is Eddie's ragged breathing and the drip-drop of a leaky faucet. Then, a low and furious noise, like the grumble of thunder -

"Eddie, you are not expendable."

Eddie huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

"Clearly not," he snaps, spinning around to face Buck head on. "Clearly I'm not expendable when everybody around me, everybody but me keeps dying."

Eddie storms out of the bathroom before Buck can say anything else. The itch under his skin turning into a haunting chorus telling him to run. He follows the winding hallways of the hospital in a blind need for air, suddenly claustrophobic trapped in between four walls, just waiting for it all to come crumbling down around him. He doesn't stop until he's outside, collapsing onto the bench just left of the exit as the tears start to fall. He hunches in on himself and cries into his hands for what feels like hours.

Eventually, somebody eases down onto the bench beside him. He doesn't have to look to know its Buck, can feel it in the warmth where their shoulders touch. Eddie braces himself for whatever Buck is going to say, but nothing comes. Buck just. Sits beside him. Sits with him in his grief. And Eddie is so thankful for it that he almost doesn't remember Bobby's words to him in the hardware store.

a motorcycle accident... it was a bad one... I wasn't at my best at the time... I needed to take a minute and she sat with me.

"Eddie, you said it yourself." Buck smiles at him. "Experiences like this they change us, so you're gonna have to make a choice. What's this gonna change in you?"

Oh, Eddie thinks, that's what its going to change.

[home-of-renn]

HC/AU where Danny wasn't wearing his hazmat suit when he died during the accident.

His parents' experiments had always had a fifty-fifty chance of whether they worked or not, and this one was just destined to fail. He'd been frustrated and embarrassed when he'd given into Sam's cajoling. He'd been careless and petty when he'd forgone his safety gear.

Now his suit still hangs there in the storage cupboard in the lab, three feet away from the portal that Danny died in.

A ghost's appearance is often a culmination of many things; the lives they lived and the deaths they endured. Their hopes, regrets, burdens and hardships. Those last agonising moments and all those who'd been involved. Oftentimes, ghosts will look somewhat like they did in life. But most ghosts don't remember who they were or how they died.

But Danny remembers who he was and how he died.

He remembers the feeling of his blood vessels bursting and his bone marrow bubbling and his heart struggling to beat.

He remembers every footstep that echoed on the metal floor and the stench of his own burning flesh.

He remembers the feeling of electricity burning his muscles and collapsing his lungs.

He remembers the way something had been drawn tight inside him. Strained and stretched - loosening and unwinding - so close to snapping.

The feeling of burning. The searing pain, bright and hot, every nerve lit up and scorching.

He remembers being consumed from the inside out.

It happened between the span of a single moment and a never-ending eternity.

But then it was cold.

A fleeting moment of relief - the feeling branded into his core.

So cold that for a moment he felt numb, all the way from his charred fingers tips to his blackened toes and melted sneakers.

It had been cold.

So, so cold - like frostbite - like needles piercing his skin and scoring his nerves. So cold he was burning all over again.

God, how he'd wished he'd worn his suit.

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: One Piece

Going through my One Piece scribbles to do a final clean up before FF7 takes over my life from probably tonight and found this one that was me playing around with trying to match the more silly tone One Piece can get.

Law is used entirely as a convenient outsider POV.

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg, accidental pregnancy

-----------

“Are you kidding me!? Again!?”

Law makes a point of trying to ignore the Strawhats’ antics as he travels with them. Strawhat’s crew is as insane as their captain is and often loudly bicker amongst themselves seemingly just to give Law a headache.

The shrillness of Nami’s voice and way Blackleg practically prostrates himself at her side in pathetic submission has him tuning in.

“What happened?” The Strawhat’s sniper asks as the rest of the crew’s attention is drawn onto the situation as well.

“Sanji’s pregnant. Again,” Nami informs them as Blackleg lets out a pathetic whimper that would perhaps be more worrisome if it wasn’t the exact same candor as the one he gave when the strawberries he was using the previous night for desert weren’t large enough for him to carve into perfect flowers for the girl’s. Law doesn’t try and understand why a man who would happily kick anyone’s head in if they suggested he may be less for being an omega immediately breaks out the keens and whimpers associated with his designation at the first sign of any even slight offence to the women on his ship.

The navigator’s offence is deserved from Law’s perspective. While they had hidden them well the fact of him travelling on the ship with them had necessitated he be introduced to the two other children that had resulted from the unique relationship between swordsman and cook of the Strawhat crew.

“Woohoo! New crew member!” Strawhat himself crows, completely missing the gravity of travelling with a pregnant omega aboard.

Although considering they had already successfully done it at least once before Law supposes the confidence is somewhat justified.

Strawhat rattles off his list of demands following the exciting news. A feast the first, most detailed, and apparently most important, among them.

Not that much attention is being paid to him. Nami still standing with her hands on her hips looking at Blackleg expectantly.

“It’s not my fault my m- the only option I’m stuck with for my heats is a mossy brute!” Blackleg justifies. And Law is sure they all caught the slip in his words. And all know exactly what he was about to say.

Despite the two – soon to be three – children they share and the fact the world knows them as the Monster Mates of the Strawhat pirates, both Blackleg and Zoro’s necks stay bare of a mating bite.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask for,” Zoro says from where he had been napping on the ship. He had had their youngest asleep with him but the boy had woken up with Strawhat’s excitement, running off to join the noise.

Blackleg glares at his not-mate and Zoro moves to quickly block the foot aimed at his gut for it.

“It’s your stupid knot that keeps breaking the condoms,” Sanji says, driving his heel into the sword Zoro has blocking him.

“It’s your fucked up fertility that keeps getting pregnant so easily,” Zoro snaps back, pushing against the food driving down onto him.

“Enough,” Nami says, before they can go into any details of how they managed to conceive three children together. Her hand coming up to massage her temple.

[tennessoui]

ganymede & zeus but make it obikin

been a while since i did a ficlet for tumblr....this comes out of a discord convo about ganymede!anakin and zeus!obi-wan......sort of dark tho gods are horrible beings with no boundaries

(for @jswander ) (2.3k)

Every muscle in Anakin’s body feels overextended and sore. He cries out from the sensation upon waking, instinctively trying to curl in on himself—anything to get away from the pain.

“Hush now,” a voice above him and below him and around him says. “None of that, beloved,” it speaks again when Anakin fights to tear open his eyes. “Sleep.”

There is nothing Anakin wants to do simultaneously more and less, but he’s never submitted under another’s thumb without a fight. With a great push of effort, he arches his back up, off the comfortable surface he’s laying on. And with what remains of his will, he wrenches his eyes open to survey his surroundings.

He cannot see a thing. White fills his vision, so bright and heated that it feels as if he is burning from the inside out, as if his very being is disintegrating the longer he looks at the light. It is blinding. It is everything. He cannot look away, nor can he close his eyes. His mouth has fallen open and he can hear himself screaming from the pain of it all, the radiance of the being in front of him.

“You stupid boy,” the voice snaps, sounding absolutely furious as the light coalesces into one solid shape, something that looks like a chest, then an arm, then a hand reaching towards him.

Anakin tries to scramble back, away from what will surely feel like a brand against his skin—and oh gods, doess he know what that feels like—but the hand extends faster than he can move, and even when he turns his head away, it catches him. It covers his eyes.

“Drink,” the voice murmurs, reverberating around him. Only then does Anakin notice that a cup has been brought to his lips. His lips seel themselves into a firm line. No. No. “You stupid child,” the voice snaps, “Do as you are told.”

It is the sheer power in the command that causes Anakin to open his mouth, to tip his head back. He is the lion among men, the Conqueror with No Fear, the Queen of Naboo’s Chosen Warrior, and yet—he opens his mouth and yields to the voice, to the hand over his eyes that burns. It feels like renewal, not pain, though that may be because every other part of his body still feels as if it is on fire, the aches from the first few moments of consciousness burning to ash under the pain of that radiance.

“Sleep,” the voice commands, and this time Anakin can do nothing but listen.

—---------

When he awakens next, he can tell from the breeze in the air that he has been moved. It is cool, and the breeze brushes against his skin like a gentle friend, running over his body to reach every part of him.

It is then he realizes that someone has stripped him of his clothes, his armor. He had been wearing armor. He had been preparing to lead his men into battle. He had—

The breeze in the air twirls around his chest and neck, caressing his skin until his nipples stiffen into peaks from the cold. Almost distantly, it sounds as if someone is laughing, an exhale over and over again that conveys their mirth, and Anakin can suddenly feel the breeze on his lips like a lover’s breath.

“Eurus, out,” a voice roars from somewhere that is everywhere and nowhere all at once. Anakin quakes from the sound of it, but the breeze withdraws, tosses out one last laugh that sounds almost like a cackle, before seemingly winking out of existence.

Anakin lies carefully still. The fabric beneath him feels soft, slippery. He’d been to the palace of Naboo only once to pay respect to the queen he fought his wars in the name of. Her personal chambers had been draped in a material that felt similar. So soft that it had felt then almost uncomfortable to touch. 

Anakin had been born a slave. He did not know soft things, nor how to languish against them. The queen had tried to show him how, had made such a persistent overture in the name of pleasure that he had sworn his loyalty to her name—but, privately, to her figure against those silks, the line of her throat, the tilt of her chin as she gave ground and submitted to his desires—and yet he still could never relax in the comfort her status and love had offered. He was not made for it.

He was not made for these silks either, though they certainly felt different against his skin. 

“You are too perfect for your own good, my darling,” the voice says quietly, a hand running through Anakin’s hair carefully. The motion is one filled with strange devotion. Tenderness. “Your beauty could start a war amongst the gods themselves, for they would all like to take you, to have you. Yet you are mine.” 

Anakin can feel his heart stutter at this declaration. The touch of his hair is no longer tender. It is proprietary. He opens his mouth, wets his lips. “I am no one’s,” he whispers, voice hoarse and cracking. 

His defiance makes the voice laugh, a rich sound that reminds Anakin of the sounds of rocks tumbling down a mountainside. “You have sworn yourself to me, Anakin Skywalker, of course you are mine.”

“You are not my queen—“

“You would be wise to not speak of your infidelities so casually,” the voice snaps, and the hairs on Anakin’s arms stand as the air seems to fill with electricity. “You have no queen here.” 

Anakin is silent, his mind and heart racing. Has he been captured? Is he a slave again? He would rather die. 

“Open your eyes, darling. Look upon me and allow me to see the reward of my labor,” the voice turns soft again, coaxing, and the hand leaves his hair to trail down the side of his face, thumb brushing over the bow of his lips.

“Hurt,” Anakin manages to say. The thumb takes his parted lips as invitation and presses into his mouth to rest against his teeth. Anakin thinks about biting it, but there is something inside him that screams at him to be careful. To tread carefully around this voice. This man.

“I know,” the voice croons, “and I apologize for it, treasure. I had not expected you to wake so soon after your ordeal and was not prepared. Humans cannot bear to look upon my godly form. Those who have have perished. You have frightened me with your recklessness.” 

The thumb presses down hard before it withdraws.

“Open your eyes, Anakin,” the voice says. “Your king demands it.” 

Gingerly, carefully, Anakin opens his eyes.

He is met immediately with the sight of a man leaning over him. His face is lined with a well-kept beard, short and practical and dark red. His hair too is the same color of russet, pushed up and off his forehead in a rakish cut. His eyes though—Anakin cannot look away from them. They are glittering, electric blue. No—they are the color of the sky before a thunderstorm, whirling points of gray and dark blue. No—they the early morning sky in the north of Naboo, slate gray and bright.

“Hello there, darling,” the man says. He strokes Anakin’s cheek again, resting his broad hand against his skin.

Anakin can do nothing but stare. This man—he is handsome beyond imagination, but there is something in the set of his face, the jut of his lips, his jaw—perhaps something in his eyes that screams danger.

He is so perfect that he is almost unreal.

“I will miss the blue of your eyes,” the man murmurs, looking at him intently. Critically.

Hungrily.

“What?” Anakin whispers.

The man continues as if he has not heard him. “Yet there is something deeply satisfying in seeing your eyes stained gold from my blood. You wear it well, darling, your godhood.”

Anakin shakes his head. The man’s words—they do not make sense though he says them in the manner any sane man speaks. 

“Truly you were born to be mine,” the man whispers like a sacred declaration, and this finally causes Anakin to flinch away.

“I am no one’s,” he says again, shifting off the fabrics and pushing himself to stand. He was wrong earlier—he is not fully nude, though he thinks he’d prefer to be. There is a cloth like a skirt around his hips, though the fabric only covers the area between his legs, held together by clasps that lay against his hips. And even then, it is light and transparent and doing little to protect his modesty. His chest is bare, but his upper arms have been wrapped in gold coils, one short and one extending almost to his elbow.

The man before him has dressed him as a child would dress a doll and it infuriates him. He is Anakin Skywalker, a lion among men, and he will not suffer this.

“I am no one’s,” he declares with a snarl, turning upon the man and striding forward. “Release me at once!”

The man arches a singular eyebrow but otherwise appears completely unaffected. Anakin feels like roaring, like taking his face into his hands and ripping it apart. 

“Where am I?” He interrogates as he stalks towards the man. Though he is handsome and though he appears strong, his bare torso as visible as Anakin’s and just as well-muscled, Anakin is a warrior and broader than this man, taller too.

Anakin can beat him into submission. 

“Why have you taken me? Return me at once, and I will let you live! I am Anakin Skywalker, I am the Resolute, I am the warrior with no fear and the Queen’s intended. I—”

The man, whose face had been unflinching in response to Anakin’s threats, stands at the mention of the queen, beautiful features twisting into a wicked snarl as he suddenly meets Anakin in the middle. The temperature in the room grows cold and the air becomes heavy with electricity. With something that Anakin does not know how to name.

“If you mention your queen once more, I will kill her,” the man bites out, every word weighted with promise. “I will kill her and see her soul damned to Tartarus. I will take her there myself and string her up amongst her kin. Thieves and pillagers and all those mortals who were foolish enough to attempt to steal from the king of the gods.”

Anakin flinches away, some long buried instinct in him insisting that he put space between himseslf and the predator staring down at him. “Who—who are you?” he asks, question catching in his throat. 

The man’s eyes, stormy blue now and swirling in his rage, lighten at the question. His mouth relaxes. He appears to enjoy answering, for he takes his time with it. “I find myself offended that you have forgotten,” he says, moving to touch Anakin again.

Like a frightened rabbit that knows it has found itself in the jaws of a lion, Anakin lets the bejeweled hands cup his face.

“I am the man who bought you and your mother from your masters when you were but a child. And I am the boy who sold you fruits that never seemed to bruise, no matter how you handled them as you walked home. I am the cat that lurked outside the god king’s temple as you prayed to him for strength and skill and riches, promised yourself to him in return, promised to wage every war in his name, conquer in his colors. And I am the old man who trained you in battle, showed you how to fight and kill and conquer.”

Anakin shakes his head, struck speechless at these words. They are the ramblings of an insane man, but…but this man knows too much about him. No one knows that he was born a slave. Even when he fucked Padmé, he had made sure that she could not see the brand on his leg.

He latches onto the last words, shaking his head harder. “Ben was a crippled old man. You are—” handsome, is the only word that comes to mind.

As if the man has heard it in his head, he grins, gifting him with a flash of white teeth. “Yes, he was, wasn’t he? And you were so young then, all of eighteen years old and eager to prove yourself. I thought if I took my most preferred form, this form, you would never pay attention to my lessons. And I knew if you had offered yourself to me then, I would not have turned you down. Nor would I have let you leave.” Anakin shakes his head once more, but there’s no power in the motion.

“I was the eagle that flew above you as marched into battle, and I was the handmaiden who bore witness to your betrayal, when you promised yourself to the queen of Naboo, as if you had not already promised yourself to me.”

The scowl has returned, marring the man’s perfect features.

Anakin swallows, wetting his lips. “I promised myself to the king of the gods,” he whispers. “To Kenobi.”

“And he has made good on your promise,” the man smiles, one hand falling from his face to cup his neck. “He has taken you from your battlefield, delivered you to Mount Olympus. I have taken you as mine, I have taken what is mine.”

Deep within Anakin, he knows that the man before him speaks the truth. That he is no man at all. That—that—that he is—

“Kenobi,” he whispers, and the king of the gods lets his eyes flutter shut as if he hearing his name from Anakin’s lips causes him great pleasure.

“Yes,” Kenobi growls, adjusting his hold on him to tug him closer to his body.

Anakin is touching a god. A god is touching Anakin. The king of the gods has taken him from the battlefield, from the arms of his bride to be, from the mortal realm all together.

And he is holding him like he has no intention of letting him go.

[serenescribe]

Three sentence meme!

Epel has an extremely rough day and just breaks down, Vil is being a soft mum for him the entire time just wanting his little apple to know everything is alright.

[✐meme] three sentence fic meme [✐] ficlet frenzy

"Epel," Vil says carefully, his voice kind, "you know it is perfectly fine to cry, right?"

Next to him, the two of them seated on an elegant couch tucked away in one of Pomefiore's many rooms, Epel dabs at his eyes furiously with the end of his sleeves. Just this once, Vil will not chide him on the improper use of his dorm uniform as a handkerchief, only because there is a time and place for such reminders, and now is not one of those occasions. "Ugh, I know, I just—" Sniffling, Epel shakes his head, muttering, "I jus' hate cryin'," his accent leaking through his words.

"Well, it's a healthy outlet for your emotions," Vil replies, matter-of-factly, stifling the urge to sigh as he packs away another lecture for a better time. Right now, his priority is Epel's well-being, especially considering the dire situation affecting the boy.

There is a lull in the conversation, before Vil says, "Your grandmother will be fine, Epel."

"Ah know," Epel mutters, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again. "If it were real bad, my ma and pa would've told me to come back now... but still! How're they expectin' me to wait till the weekend when Meemaw's hurt?!"

Ah, Vil realises, as Epel rages and rants. The boy is crying now, tears streaking down his face. His heart twists at the sight; such a vulnerable, heartbroken expression, intertwined with streaks of red-hot anger, looks so wholly alien on Epel's petite features.

Wordlessly, Vil wraps his arm around the boy — his apple, a softer part of him thinks affectionately — and pulls him in closer, allowing the dam to break as Epel simultaneously weeps and rages. It's all he can do to be there for him while he lets it all out — and then after, he can take care of him.

[quirkfics]

Could you do tokoyami and bargain please? Thanks!

Tokoyami seizes you by the shoulders, fingers trembling in their grip. He can't even look at you, which you half expected, but you'd hoped-

"What did you bargain away to come back to me?" He demands, eyes full of sorrow when he finally forces himself to look up. "What did you give up?"

"Does it matter?" You murmur, ignoring the quaver of his jaw as you raise your hand, stroking a fingertip over the arch of his beak.

"Of course it matters!"

You laugh, and that seems to leave him speechless. "Does it? We're together again Tokoyami, how could anything else matter?"

There it is. A tiny beacon of happiness, his grip turning to a hovering reverence, head dipping until he's just shy of resting against your shoulder. Your arms slip around him, and Tokoyami finally gives in, feathered face tucking into the crook of your neck. "...this conversation isn't over," he warns you, but his shoulders hitch when you drag your fingers down his spine.

[crumbleclub]

a super short ficlet in the blips universe, told from elizabeth's perspective.

Elizabeth and her little brother huddled together on the carpeted floor of her room, and she lifted her hands to cover his ears.

The muffled sound of shouting made its way through the walls, punctuated by a sickening crack. It was quiet for a moment. Then, she could hear crying. It was raspy and gasping and loud; the kind you couldn't mask no matter how hard you tried.

Evan was crying, too, silent tears dripping down his face and leaving damp spots where they fell onto the collar of his shirt. Elizabeth could feel him trembling in her arms, and her palms pressed even more tightly over his ears. Closing her eyes, she willed it all to go away.

"You don't have to be scared, Evan," she whispered. "You just have to pretend."

Elizabeth was very good at pretending.

[destinationtoast]

I love all of these ideas so much, especially the post-finale bewildering OT3 conversations one and the ~secret identity one (Keeley & Roy both know the same person without knowing it).

When looking to see whether some of these have sprung into existence over the past few months -- tragically, no AFAICT; there are still only a small handful of Roy-at-a-gay-bar fics -- I stumbled across a great little S1 missing scene fic where Roy encounters a drag queen at G-A-Y who looks just like Keeley! XD

The fact that Roy canonically goes to gay bars and hangs out with drag queens is criminally under-utilised in fanon.

Where are my stories about the boys trying to support Colin by going to a gay bar and then being gobsmacked when Roy knows everybody there? Where are the stories where Roy gets caught at G-A-Y by the paparazzi and outed, only for him to insist that he’s straight to the team, who think he’s trying to save face and keep making grandiose gestures to prove their support to an increasingly infuriated Roy. Where are the stories about Roy and Keeley going to a gay bar together (with the yoga milfs) and running into one of Keeley’s ex-girlfriends?

What about Jamie thinking he’s doing super subtle bisexual signalling (cuffed jeans, layers, iced coffee, etc) only for Roy to clock him immediately and start trying to signal his support to Jamie à la Trent’s gay mug, only for it to backfire as Jamie assumes Roy is trying to come out.

Where’s my Roy who’s known he’s queer all his life getting invited to a gay club by his yoga friends for the first time and panicking, (because he’s never acknowledged this part of himself and how can they see it?), only to go to the bar and have it feel like he’s coming home. Where’s my Roy who’s absolutely certain he’s straight (after all, he’s being going to gay bars for years and he would know by now if he wasn’t) having a fucking heart attack as he falls for Jamie and has to reconceptualize his identity at 40. Where are the comedies about Keeley and Roy knowing the same person, but Roy only knows the drag queen and Keeley only knows the man out of drag and so they don’t realise they have the same friend?

What about a post-finale story where Roy, Keeley, and Jamie all show up at the same gay bar without planning it and have a series of bewildering conversations as they try to figure out if they’ve followed each other there (Keeley is like “how many times can I tell these boys I won’t pick between them?”) or if the other person is gay (you obviously can’t just ask).

These are all off the top of my head, so I am sure there are more. But please, please, somebody write this. We can’t let Roy get away with mentioning this once and then never talking about it again.

[stevieschrodinger]

I don't know, ficlet AU sort of thing.

Alpha Steve has a YouTube channel that, kind of, started by accident. Steve is not the most confident reader, like, at all. The words get kind of muddled and he got into a habit of just sort of trying to rush it, figuring he was going to mess it up anyway, so get it over with, right? And then he just sort of stops reading, even though he enjoyed it, because he couldn't get his brain to slow down and the muddling got worse and...yeah.

So one day, his platonic soul mate bestie suggests he read out loud. To someone. If he reads every word out one at a time, knowing it has to be clear enough for the other person to follow, that'll slow him down.

So, he tries it, but only for Robin. And it sort of works, kind of, and then she hits on him using something so he can only see the line he's reading, like a bit of card with a letterbox cut in it, and...Steve is on fire.

The words don't get muddled up so much, and his reading is slow and even, and he needs to read to someone, and Robin can't always be there. It becomes his own pet project, he reads out little bits of books he likes, parts of articles he has enjoyed, poems, whatever, and starts his own little you tube that has like, five followers, and they're all people he knows.

And then suddenly, almost overnight, Steve finds himself with four thousand followers. A very large portion of them are very clearly Omega, from the comments, and Steve suddenly finds himself with a lot of fans who are using his videos for white noise. He's literally reading thousands of Omegas off to sleep.

Which is...nice. Steve likes it. The hits and followers on his videos seem to settle down after a couple of weeks, and then, after having so many comments about how settling Steve's voice is, how the Alpha is relaxing and safe. Steve thinks fuck it.

As a test, he makes a ten minute video directly for that audience. He builds a nest, films it POV. He films the view of someone walking through the bedroom door, of what they would see as they climb into the nest, then resting the camera on his own chest.

Then he starts talking. Tells the omega how perfect they are, how much he cares for them, wants to protect, keep safe. How soft they are as he pets them, how warm and cosy they are in their nest. How snuggles with the omega are Steve's favourite thing.

He deliberately keeps everything as vague and gender neutral as he can. The video fucking explodes. Goes viral. Millions of hits, thousands and thousands of followers. Robin and the kids think it's hilarious, and encourage him to keep going, claiming he's doing a public service.

Hundreds of copycats spring up, but no one pulls it off quite like Steve.

He knows there are Omega out there getting off to his videos, despite there being absolutely nothing sexual about them, but Steve figures, whatever makes people happy.

He gets so many positive comments, omega telling him how much comfort he brings them. He has some regular commenters that he gets to know, too, which is nice. Sometimes he even takes requests, small things, the colour of his shirt, the time of day he shoots his videos, certain words and phrases.

One supportive commenter always stands out though : EdDio86. Steve's pretty sure he's male omega, and he's always so grateful when Steve posts a new video. The guy clearly has a lot of trouble sleeping, and apparently Steve really helps. They have a little back and forth in the comments, learning little bits about one another. Steve likes this omega.

Steve also gets the impression the omega is sorely lacking any comfort in his life. Considering the length of his comments, the guy never asks for anything.

Until he does.

At the end of a comment, always ever so politely thanking Steve, EdDio86 admits he's 'in a bit of a pickle' and could Steve, please, do a video where 'the omega' is with pup? Could Steve tell the omega that the pup is fine, and healthy, and that the omega is doing good and the pup is okay and everything will be okay...but cool if not. Bit of a weird request, I know, sorry to be a bother.

And Steve suddenly doesn't give a shit about the consequences of just,,,dropping his personal email out into the world like that, because he wants to tell this guy these things personally.