#I’m not entirely happy with my votes

[youngerfrankenstein]

I was going to throw Lucius my last vote but… c’mon, it’s her Birthday.

[fingertipsmp3]

Would it be stupid of me to request time off on the day after the Eurovision final

[how-gross]

This election’s about to make me fucking relapse.

[honestsycrets]

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

[legobiwan]

For the drabble prompt list

"none of this is your fault" mario and luigi

Drabbles, they said, Ha! I answered. Anyway, I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy this barely-edited not-drabble. I am apparently incapable of concise writing right now :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“None of this is your fault, Lou.”

Luigi scoffed, pushing dampened sleeves up both arms, smearing dark, sweaty grease across his skin in wide, impressionistic lines.

“You tell that to Toadsworth in three days. I’m sure he’ll be happy to believe you,” Luigi groused, tightening a stubborn, thick bolt with a violent twist. That should keep the engine boosters from flying off at speeds exceeding thirty miles an hour. (Or as they were counted in the Mushroom Kingdom, five hundred and two mycelia per second, a measuring system so opaque - and infuriating - that Luigi had sat through an entire five-hour Toad Council meeting just so he could petition the government to introduce a bill to launch a public vote on switching to any other quantifier that made a modicum of sense. The notion, of course, was voted down in a manner of seconds. Tradition, Mister Luigi, Toadsworth had sniffed, rapping his long-handled gavel with an imperious gesture, closing off all debate on the matter).

Snobby old toad could stuff it up his spore holes.

“He’ll get over it,” Mario said. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Make us sit through another boring state dinner?”

Luigi poked at a serpentine belt that resembled some slices of old cheese he once found in the back of their fridge in Brooklyn. How these guys managed to stay competitive with equipment in this condition was a complete slap in the face to basic physics.

“You like those dinners.” Luigi crawled out from under the dented chassis, sitting back on his haunches as he gestured at his brother with a ratchet-wrench, making curly patterns in the air as if he were a Magikoopa casting a spell.

“I hate those dinners as much as you. They’re hot, stuffy, and the food is an insult to the entirety of Brooklyn. It’s not my fault I get to sit next to Peach and you’re always stuck with Lady Maitake and her hundreds of onion bulb-pup photos for two hours.”

“Don’t remind me. Did you know she’s trying to train them to do circus acts and take them on the road?” Luigi ran a finger down one of the dusty schematics strewn about the stone floor. “Hand me that spanner, will you?”

Mario shook his head, chuckling, handing off the hooked tool to Luigi, who shimmied once more underneath the maroon-and-black kart. “Look, you got hoodwinked into a bad contract. I should have looked over the fine print before you signed.”

“You’re not my keeper, Mario,” Luigi grumbled, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “And it’s not even the contract that I care about. Frankly, I’m impressed Bowser’s been able to get these things to do anything beyond cough up smoke and crash into the nearest palm tree. It’s a good challenge to get them running again.”

“So what’s the issue, then?”

Luigi stilled, his hands guts-deep in a mess of wiring and cables that looked like an earthworm graveyard. After a moment, he sighed, letting the spanner tool clatter to the floor with a bright, metallic jangle. 

“The issue,” he began, staring up at the internal electronic system of one of Bowser’s so-called best racing karts. “Is that he’s probably going to win. Bowser, that is. And everyone will make nice about it at the awards ceremony and Bowser will get too drunk on elderflower wine and get kicked out of the post-race party.”

“That happens every race, Lou.”

“Yeah, but you know Bowser. He’ll let it slip that I was the one doing repairs on his karts. And then in the morning, there will be a meeting. And Toadsworth will go on about the standing of the Kingdom being compromised and it being a diplomatic catastrophe that we allowed Bowser to win and that,” Luigi adopted a whiny, pompous voice. “Mr. Luigi has once again strained his credibility within the Mushroom Kingdom.” 

“Look, that stodgy old Toad has no chance of making those charges stick. You were exonerated, Weeg. Nothing that happened with Bleck - “ Mario clenched his fists, hissing through his teeth. “Nothing that happened in that place was you. That wasn’t your fault, and neither is this.”

Luigi reached towards one of the dangling battery coils, playing with the violet and yellow wires between his fingers. “Sure,” he breathed. “Not me.”

“Not you,” Mario insisted, his voice steely. “And besides,” he continued, a hint of humor creeping into his words. If you’re so concerned about Toadsworth, why don’t you sabotage Bowser’s fleet?”

Luigi pushed himself out from under the kart, snapping up to a seat in wide-eyed horror.

“And ruin my reputation as an engineer? No way, bro. I’ll risk the treason charges, thank you very much.”

Mario guffawed, ambling over to take a seat next to his brother, the two coming shoulder-to-shoulder, backs set against the passenger door of the Koopa Coupe. “I think your reputation is beyond reproach, Lou.” Mario gave a small, uncertain smile. “After all, you did build two killer robots in the span of two weeks.”

It was a huge step forward, just being able to talk about the whole incident in Flipside, no less joke about it - the ordeal with Bleck and the jester and Luigi’s brainwashing. Mario had stayed tight-lipped about the entire debacle for weeks after they had gotten back, much to Luigi’s aggravation, until things came to a head one night due to a series of ill-conceived plans on the part of the Toad Council, the most brazen of which featured a misserved cup of tea laced with a dubiously legal truth potion.

Luigi sniffed out half a chuckle, nudging his brother in the shoulder. “Well, I can’t let Bowser think I’m slipping, right?”

Mario eyed his brother carefully, his features brightening as he caught the note of mischief in Luigi’s voice. Grinning, he clapped his brother on the knee. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you? The Old Koopa King doesn’t know what he’s got coming.”

Luigi straightened, composing himself into the picture of innocence. “Dear brother, I am a man of my word. Bowser will win the race, just like the contract stipulates.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” Luigi drew out the word, schematics and thermodynamic equations taking shape in his mind. “Let’s say the engine modifications I’m making happen to engage a set of rocket boosters at a certain speed threshold. Bowser’ll like that. But then maybe the activation of those boosters, given a certain location and time input, temporarily cede control of the brakes and steering to a pre-programmed route of the engineer’s choosing.” Luigi paused for dramatic effect. “All after the race is finished, of course. No injuries. No harm. Just a little post-race joyride through the forest.”

Mario gave a joyous whoop, bringing his brother into a tight, side-hug. “They’ll hear him screaming all the way in Rogueport! Ha! You know he’ll threaten to invade during the after-party! No one will care if you worked on his kart once he shows back up breathing smoke!”

“He’ll do that regardless,” Luigi laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “But you know how these modifications are. Always a chance of overburdening your circuits.”

“And at least it’ll be a while before he tries to trick you into doing his dirty work again,” Mario added.

“I hope so.” Luigi placed a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Mario.”

Mario beamed back at his brother, playfully flicking the brim of Luigi’s hat. “Come on, Lou. Show me how to build a sentient robot race kart.”

~~~~~

Drabble writing challenge: Make me sweat!

[hot-take-tournament]

Nothing annoyed a younger me more than opening ao3 to look up my favourite character only to find so many fics that were so contradictory to how he’d actually act (mostly for the sake of shipping, but the way fandom sometimes treats m/m parings and feels the need to shove them into certain roles and traits is a completely different conversation that I will not be getting into)

I think a lot of this is because of people wanting these characters to fit into tropes and stereotypes that they were never made for, so they end up stripping them of all defining characteristics so they can fit the perfect mould, which is more of a bigger issue with fandom as a whole rather than a couple people mischaracterising my blorbo

But honestly? Good for them, it may be annoying, but they’re doing something creative that makes them happy and there is nothing more beautiful than that

I’m all for people doing whatever they want forever and if that means wildly mischaracterising my favourite guy, then go ahead and have a blast I’m genuinely happy for you, even though I can’t stand it and it makes me die a little on the inside

Something I will never get though is people trying to explain away/ justify/ just comply ignore any bad thing a character they like has done. That’s the best part of them! You’re allowed to like villains, can you really say you love them if you can’t accept them, war crimes and all?

Conclusion: make bad, cringey art. It doesn’t matter if it’s entirely self indulgent you made it for you anyway

(I still voted yes on the pole though, at that point they are just glorified oc’s, but who cares? I don’t have to read those fic’s or interact with those people at all)

on this blog we're big believers of "doing what you want forever"

but to be honest when it comes to mischaracterising i'm probably the worst for it, i'll just pick one character trait and just latch onto it permanently

like i don't even remember anything about sae niijima but whenever i put something in the microwave i still slam the table like YOU REHEATED LASAGNA YOU MUST HAVE HAD THE HELP OF A MICHELIN STAR CHEF

[personne-reblogs]

AUTISTIC SWEEP

The shouts of the crowd are fading into white noise. 

The curtains are closing. 

The lights are dimming. 

The air still feels filled with static, though. 

This is a fight Donatello had known he couldn’t win, logically. The competition had been all fun and games, but this challenger was another story. No amount of support or hype could make up for such a gap; the bone deep certainty didn’t leave room for hard feelings. 

Struggling to catch his breath, battle shell against the wall, Donatello looks up from where he’s been getting some rest - not passed out rest, mind you. More like a beauty nap.

He lets out a genuine chuckle. 

Shigeo Kageyama is simply standing there, as he has been for most of the fight. 

“Sweet Marie Curie,” he puffs, keeping his voice level. The roar of the crowd hasn’t entirely died down, but he knows he is heard. “You don’t even have a scratch.”

The one they call Mob is giving him a stare. He still seems a little out of it. 

“You fought well,” he states calmly, and Donnie giggles. 

“Oh, please. I’ve been losing tournaments at home for as long as I can remember. You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

At that, Mob flashes a grin. “I’m not sorry,” he says bluntly, coming over in lazy steps. “But it hasn’t been easy, either.”

He sits down, legs stretched out in front of him, and Donnie can now see that his breathing is a little heavy. He feels himself get cocky. 

“Well, I wasn’t about to just let you win. If I had to go down, might as well give ‘em a show, right?”

Mob sends him a sideway glance. “You really are all about dramatics.”

“What can I say?” Donnie sighs theatrically, proving his point. “This whole competition is about being swag. I could hardly disappoint.” 

“I don’t think you could," his opponent utters. “You’re very expressive.”

Donnie raises a perfectly drawn eyebrow. This is something he hasn’t often been told. He looks over to Mob, and the tension in the boy’s shoulders makes him hum in thought. 

“I don’t know who’s next, but you are going to crush them,” he provides. When Mob gives him a nonplussed glance, he goes on. “And even if you don’t, it’s still the last one. How good does that sound?”

“... it has been getting a bit much, to be honest.”

“Yeah, this is wild,” Donnie agrees. “Anyway, what are you gonna do with your trophy once you get it?”

Mob’s smile is a little shy, but he seems happy with the distraction. “I don’t know, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one. What would you do?”

“Well, you see, there was this one time I won the Lair Games…”

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

In the next room, a very proud sensei and three worried brothers are getting impatient. 

The student and the sibling don’t seem to care at the moment. 

The crowd is gone. 

The curtains are closed. 

The lights are off. 

For now, making small talk with a former rival is just enough.

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

EDIT: there is now a sequel!

YOOO IT'S BEEN SUCH A WILD RIDE

Disclaimer: I have never read/watched mp100 and I deeply apologize for making him probably very ooc. Just wanted to celebrate this beast of a match in my own way, which is wishing I could draw and deciding to heave words on a doc instead lol

CONGRATS ON MOB!! The final match between mp100 and undertale is gonna be soooo funny but I think Mob's gonna win this thing like it's nothing tbh (he has my vote at least)

@autismswagsummit thank you for reblogging all that Donnie propaganda, I genuinely think he never would've made it this far without the signal boost!

All my thanks to the Rise fandom for these past few days! You guys have made such powerful content and there's been so much hype I'm shocked. SHOCKED I TELL YOU

[mamirhodessxox]

Pass The Test

Older!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Desc- Reader & Leon are out grocery shopping & recently you have discovered a trend going around where girls test their boyfriends on what they would do if another woman approached them. So. You thought it would be funny to put it to the test!

Small little blurb!

Contents- Fluff, Pet Names, Modern era (basically now), Cursing?, Just very sweet content today :)

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) Votes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

It was an easy going day, Leon & You were getting your Daily Duties out of the way now that he had came back from a 1 week work trip so you guys decided to get some responsibilities out of the way and that involved and that was Grocery Shopping!

As of right now you & Leon were standing in the middle of the fresh veggie isle in Target & he had to have a tight grasp on your hand given the fact that whenever you two are there you wind out putting the most unneeded items in the cart known to man kind, but little did he know you had a DIFFERENT plan. “Hey Leon?” You chirped out and got a hum of curiosity as a response “I wanna test you on somethi-“ “Baby if it’s that ridiculous worm question again I’m not answering.” You lightly laughed while shaking your head which made him sigh with a smile and set a small bag of lettuce down to give you his full attention “What’s your test pretty girl?” You cleared your throat trying to ignore the nickname.

“I wanna pretend to be some random chick here trying to talk to you & I wanna know what you’d do okay?” He hesitantly nodded “Okay…” You smiled and made him look at the vegetables while you started testing him, you tried rubbing your hands down his arms but the entire situation was so unserious that he set down whatever vegetable in hand and laughed before looking at you “Baby what woman is gonna go up to me & stroke my arms?” “Me? Now focus why are you letting her touch your arm” Leon sighed and quickly set down the vegetables and smacked your hand making you laugh until you started to focus again.

“Excuse me sir can you tell me where the cereal isle is.” Leon didn’t respond instead he shoved his hand in his pockets looking around as if he were completely unaware of his surroundings “Sir?” You tried again but still no reply so eventually you just gave up and let him have the pass “I better see you keep that same energy with random women in public” Leon smiled looking at you and kissed your head “Of course I will angel face, your my only girl.” He planted small kisses around your entire face while holding your head in his hands

“Mine?” He smiled nodding his head “All yours sweetheart.” You smiled as your tummy felt like it was doing backflips “Now c’mon we need to finish grocery shopping.”

You quickly nodded your head and continued walking around the store with your beloved husband.

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

🏷️ list: @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen

[infamous-if]

I am so deeply in love with this updated prolouge, the entire time im like- "I can do that??" and being able to have my mc react to different stuff and having entirely new thought processes is just so- AHHHHHH (in a good way)

me too! I’m really glad readers suggested what they suggested, before it felt like MC had no way to express their development when talking about all of the issues that happened before the story started and in turn it made MC seem a little cardboard-y and underdeveloped. These new changes definitely breath life into MC as their own character and helps establish a solid “before” and “after” in regards to the vote and everything so im super super happy about it and excited to implement more and add more story to reflect these changes ! I think the prologue and story has been vastly improved so thank you everyone :)

[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call Chapter 2 Part 2

Happy WIP Wednesday! So last week, we had a tie between Bring Me Home and Answer My Call. The tie breaker didn't come in until Monday after I'd already finished the entire Bring Me Home chapter and half the Answer My Call one.

So y'all will be getting two fic upates today then I'm going to sleep. I'm tired after a full day of work with a call out. XP

If you want a say in next week's update, vote in the poll!

Story Summary: Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

Chapter 1: AO3 (user locked), Tumblr

Chapter 2: Part 1

Word Count: 1.3k

-----

After the performances—an odd mix where the main band yielded the stage to a poet or an accordionist when they needed a break—Jazz and Todd continued to mingle.

Jazz waited until about fifteen minutes had passed before reaching into her bag to search for her phone. “Todd!” she cried.

“Jazz? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my phone! Shit, what time is it?”

Todd pulled out his. “Eleven fifty. Did you have it when we arrived?”

“I don’t know! I haven’t checked it. Where could it have gone?”

One of the other attendees broke into the conversation. “Lost your phone? What does it look like? We can help you look.” She was a woman in her forties or fifties. Next to her was another woman who nodded her agreement.

“Thank you, that’d be great.” It didn’t take much effort to bring tears to her eyes—all she had to do was remember that Danny was still missing. “It’s a Samsung in an unfortunately standard black case. The lock screen has picture of and my brother. My name’s Jazz, by the way. And this is Todd.”

“I’m Mel and this is my wife Jayden. I’m sure we’ll find your phone soon enough.” Then, in a voice loud enough to cut through the chatter, “Oi! Anyone see an unattended phone lying around? Jazz here misplaced hers?”

Even Mel, though, had to admit defeat after half an hour of searching through the entire apartment yielded nothing.

Jazz sat down on the floor and let herself cry. “And by now we’ve missed the last train. I’m sorry, Todd. What a disaster.”

“Hey, no. None of that, now. Tonight’s been a blast. This sucks for sure, but I can get us an uber or something—”

“How far are you kids going?” asked Jayden.

“Too far,” cried Jazz. “I live out of the city. Parked at Alewife and took the red line in.”

Jayden winced. “Well, we parked nearby. Is there somewhere close we can drive you?”

Jazz blinked up at them. “You’d do that?” She turned to Todd. “I just want to go to sleep. Is there a motel nearby we could stay at?”

Todd pulled out his phone and searched. “Looks like there’s a Holiday inn just down the street or a La Quinta that’s a little cheaper just a bit further out.” He smiled ruefully at the women who’d been helping them. “If you could get us to either place, we’d be more than grateful.”

One of the residents, an older man named Rob, took a seat next to them. “Hey, kiddo. What’s your email? We can contact you if anyone finds it.”

Jazz smiled at him gratefully and gave it. If it wasn’t so necessary, she’d feel bad for lying to and worrying all these people. But they were in so much danger. To the women, she said, “Would the La Quinta be too far out of the way? If I end up having to get a new phone, I’d like to save as much money as possible. Thank God I still have my wallet.”

“Sweetie, it’s totally fine,” assured Mel. “We’d take you all the way home if we didn’t live on the opposite side of the city.”

“Thank you, but that’s really okay. I just want to go to bed and worry about it tomorrow.”

“Come on, dear.” Mel reached out a hand to help Jazz up. “Let’s get you cleaned up then we’ll be on our way.”

Jazz thanked Rob for his help before Mel led her towards the bathroom with an arm around her shoulder.

Less than forty minutes later, Todd and Jazz were alone in a hotel room together. She pulled the blinds shut and finally let herself relax.

When she turned back to the room, Todd was looking at her with one eyebrow raised. “Want to explain to me what all of”—he threw out his hands—“that was about?”

Jazz glared back at him. “You didn’t tell me you died! Damn it, if I’d known in advance—!” she cut herself off and took a deep breath. “Never mind. What’s done is done.”

Todd was deadly still. “How do you know that?”

Jazz threw her hands in the air. “It’s obvious to anyone who knows how to tell. Including the Guys in White who I told you are dangerous to ghosts and liminals! I had plans for what I’d say when they found us, but those won’t work if you’re dead!”

“Wait.” Todd held up his hands. “You’re saying I can be persecuted under those Anti-Ecto acts?”

“Yes! You’re more ghostly than me, and I am watched every minute of every day.”

Todd narrowed his eyes and stared at her for a moment before asking, “Have you heard of Lazarus Water or had any dealings with the League of Assassins?”

“No! I have no idea what you’re talking about. Quit changing the subject. My brother is the only thing that matters and you and Red Robin promised to help me find him.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Jason’s eyes flashed green, and Jazz glared right back at him. “The League of Assassins are the ones who brought me back to life with Lazarus Water. I need to know if you and your brother are mixed up with them because that would change our approach. If it’s a rogue government agency, that’s one thing. If it’s also the league, we’ve got a whole set of other problems.”

Jazz sat down heavily on one of the bed. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t— It’s been a long few months. After a long few years.”

Todd sat down across from her and nodded for her to continue. “Tell me what happened.”

“It started three years ago. My parents, they’re ghost hunters. Been building weapons to detect and hunt ghosts since before I was born. But three years ago is when they finally finished their life’s work: the ghost portal. Only it didn’t work at first. Then my brother Danny and his friends decided to be stupid. They went to check it out. I wasn’t there and the three of them don’t talk about it, but something happened down there that day.

“My brother died and the portal was working. Only, he didn’t die all the way. He became half-ghost, half-human. And that would have been bad enough, but with the portal open, ghosts came through from the Infinite Realms, sometimes called the Ghost Zone by humans. Some were benign, but many of them came to cause problems or hurt people. Danny stopped them.”

Todd held up a hand to stop her. “Your brother became a supehero? How didn’t the Justice League hear about this? How old was he?”

Jazz shrugged. “I don’t know about the Justice League. It could be that no one ever contacted them. It could be they didn’t believe us. And it could be that no one cared. Danny felt responsible though, since it was his fault the portal turned on. And he was the only one with the ability to stop the ghosts, so…” She held up her hands in a what-can-you-do gesture.

Todd closed his eyes and let out a careful breath. “I can guarantee you the JL didn’t know about your town. A fourteen-year-old would never have been left alone to monitor an interdimensional portal if we had.”

Jazz had no idea what she thought of that. Danny had done it all alone. So finding out he could have had help? She shook her head. What-ifs were a waste of time. “Well, he did. But the government didn’t like that a ghost was the main defense against ghosts. So the Ghost Investigation Ward, more commonly called the Guys in White or GIW was formed. At first, they were as incompetent as any other ghost hunter. But they didn’t stay that way.”

“What happened to your brother, Jazz?” asked Todd.

-----

Next

Sorry to end it there. But it's the right length and I need to go to bed. XP

Hope you enjoy!

I no longer do tag lists, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want notifications when I update.

Not much to say about this one. When I went to the event at this location, my friend and I very nearly missed the last train. It was pulling into the station as we entered. If we'd been 2 or 3 minutes later, we would've been stranded so far from my car, I don't even want to know what that uber or cab would've cost.

Luckily Jazz and Jason had a few good Samaritans nearby.

Next up: We learn more about what happened to Danny!

[turtletaubwrites]

A Good Catch ~ Part 2

Thank you so much for all of your support! This was part of my 600 Followers Celebration, and I am so happy y'all voted for Shanks. I adore him 🥰

Pairings: Shanks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5030

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 (End)

Ao3 Link

Summary: You've got a few burning questions for this charming captain, but soon you'll be answering his. Is it really safe to trust a pirate?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Teasing, Flirting, Alcohol, Brief Discussion of Family Trauma, Hair Pulling, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Be safe out there), Birth Control, Aftercare, Shanks is such a fucking tease

A/N: I just love this hungover pirate 😅

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

A key pressed into your palm. A gentle hand on your lower back. A whispered demonstration, keeping your secret. 

Shanks stared at you through the doorway, looking down the hall before grabbing your chin with his thumb, another slow smile on those lips.

“Sweet dreams.”

His eyes crinkled as all you could do was nod, watching him walk away down that lantern lit hall. 

The key still held the warmth of his skin. 

Fuck. 

The metal thumped onto wood as you tossed it on the desk, shoving the chair under the doorknob, just like he’d shown you. 

Exhaustion pulled you down, and you rolled yourself into soft blankets, grateful that your mind only had the energy for a few more conflicting thoughts before sleep took you. 

He’s done everything he can to make me feel safe.

He’s a pirate.

His crew are all so kind, it feels like they’re a family.

He’s a pirate.

He’s gorgeous, and funny, and sweet, even though he’s annoying as fuck.

But he’s a pirate. And he’ll be leaving in three days. I’ll never see him again. 

Dreams of life on the high seas left you foggy in the morning, panic running through you until you remembered where you were. 

Thank gods there’s a bathroom in here. 

The guest quarters didn’t have a shower, but the toilet, mirror, and sink were a godsend. Cringing at your hair, you got to work, managing to tame it before you climbed back into Shanks’ clothes.

They smell like him. 

Resisting the urge to sniff his shirt took more willpower than you’d like to admit. 

Quiet. 

There was hardly a sound on the entire ship as you struggled to remember the way out. 

“Mornin,” came a gruff voice on the deck, waving from his perch on the railing. The light of the sunrise made his brown skin and dark blonde dreads seem to glow. 

You would have thought he was attractive if your eyes hadn’t gone wide at the two large pistols on his hips. 

“You’re up early,” he continued, tilting his body and moving his hands away from his weapons. 

“Fisherwoman,” you choked out. 

“That’s right,” he laughed, standing to take a few slow steps toward you. “I’m Yassop. I can bring you down to the beach if you’d like, but I'm sure everyone’s still snoring like sea lions.”

“Is the captain down there?”

“Oh, he’s down there,” Yassop teased, his smirk making you clench your teeth. “Yours might be the only face that could wake him up this early.”

“And why’s that,” you growled, following him across the deck. 

“Oh no, I’m not getting into the captain’s business.”

You scowled at the chuckling marksman all the way down to the beach.

~

“Wake up.”

Shanks whined, weakly batting away the driftwood stick you were poking into his chest. You definitely weren’t getting distracted by the pull of those muscles as he stretched on his makeshift hammock. 

The camp looked just as it did last night, except that every mug, plate, and pirate was now on the ground, quiet and still besides the orchestra of snores that Yassop hadn’t exaggerated. 

“Get up.”

Shanks rubbed his hand over his face, somehow managing to look stunning even as he struggled to get his eyes open.

“Ugh, fish girl,” he yawned, keeping his hand over his eyes now, blocking out the light. “Are we under attack?”

“What? No. I need to talk to you.”

He peeked through his fingers at you, the hint of that teasing smile already showing. 

“If you wanna spend time with me, all you have to do is– ow!”

Another quick jab to those lovely pecs had Shanks rolling out of the hammock, hanging onto your shoulder as he wobbled on his feet. 

The driftwood stick fell to the ground as his pretty eyes, heavy lidded with sleep, came so close to yours. 

“Sorry,” he rasped, letting his hand trail down your arm before letting you go. “Somebody woke me up too early.”

“I guess pirates are just lazy degenerates after all,” you said flatly, holding in the shivers his touch had caused.

“Degenerates,” he laughed softly, rubbing along his brow as he took in the sight of his hungover men sprawled across the sand. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Groaning, you picked up the stick, gasping as his hand gripped yours. He trapped your fingers around the dry wood, tracing his thumb along your knuckles as he prevented you from poking him. 

“Please, fish girl, have pity on an old–” he cut himself off at your frown, “on a handsome, young, very hungover pirate.”

He chuckled as you tried to wrest yourself from his grasp, and he didn’t let you go this time. 

“I can’t think this early, love. Not without breakfast, or a shower at least.”

“Fine, let's go take a– I mean you! You take a shower! You’re all sandy…”

His laughter followed you as you stomped your way back to his stupid ship.

~

Shanks’ laughter had been replaced by more whines as he held his hand over his eyes, getting you lost in the ship on the way to the bathing room. 

Finally at the large door to that tiled room, the shaky captain spun to face you. He managed to catch himself on the door frame as he stumbled, then leaned against it as if it were on purpose.

You rolled your eyes as he pulled a scarf from his pocket, dangling it in front of your face.

“Guard the door for me?”

“What? Why?”

“Guess I’ll just go back to slee–”

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, grabbing the scarf as you slid to the floor. “Aren’t you too tired to be this annoying?”

“Not in the slightest.”

You could feel him crouch beside you, and saw his feet beneath the blindfold.

He traced around the scarf to check your work, rubbing his thumb along your temple before tugging the fabric further down your nose. 

“No peeking,” he purred, and you hoped he hadn’t seen your toes curling, your feet still bare without clean shoes.

“Like I’d want to.”

“Lying is bad for the soul, fish girl,” he teased, tapping the tip of your nose with a finger before heading inside. The sound of his satisfied laughter made you want to crawl out of your skin.

Sitting there, listening to the rush of water as this man showered on the other side of the door, was making you absolutely insane.

He’s a pirate. He’s here for a reason. I can’t get distracted.

“Sorry, I forgot to bring a change of clothes,” his deep voice poured through the door. “Someone interrupted my beauty sleep.”

“So?”

“So, I’m in a towel, we’ll have to stop by my quarters. You can keep the blindfold on if you like.”

“You’ll get us lost again,” you complained, pushing yourself to your feet as you pulled the scarf from your face. “Besides, your shirts show practically your whole torso anyway, so it won’t be much different.”

The door opened wide, Shanks’ smile even wider as your lips parted. 

“You really like my shirts, don’t you?”

You managed to frown at him as he grabbed his sandy clothes and shoes, holding them against his hip, just a towel around his waist. 

And that line of dark, red hair. 

“Mind closing the door for me, darlin’?”

You jolted out of your stupor, shutting the door before following him down the hall. 

Some water still dripped from his hair, slow rivulets flowing down the muscles of his upper back, some trailing even further…

“What,” you chirped, trying to remember what he’d just said. 

He clicked his tongue a few times, shaking his head to let more shining drops of water dance down his skin. 

“Waking the captain up early just to ignore him? Did all your manners fall off your boat with your missing oar?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, standing to face him in front of the door to his quarters. 

Shanks was not doing well at suppressing his self satisfied grin, and you were having trouble focusing on anything at all. 

“Will you get the door for me, love?”

“Why,” you countered, still trying to keep your eyes glued to his face.

“You really argue about everything, don’t you?”

He shook his head, then dropped his clothes and shoes to the floor. The sound of the shoes startled you, bringing your eyes down. 

Just in time to see his towel slipping, more of that dark red hair traveling down before you squeaked, turning around and clamping your eyes shut. 

Shanks brushed past, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, so close. He paused behind you as he opened the door, and you couldn’t hide your small gasp as he breathed that deep, dangerous voice along your neck.

“Guess you should have kept the blindfold on.”

You held your breath as you tried not to shake, listening as he moved away. Soft chuckles teased you through the air as he shut the door. 

Breath came back to you, heavy, and too loud, as you turned to find his clothes and the damp towel on the ground. 

It had just happened, but the memory of him breathing on your skin with nothing on his own sent heat twisting in your core.

He’s a pirate. He’s leaving. I’ll never see him again.

Shanks came out with a smirk, the shirt he’d chosen today not tucked or buttoned at all, just the sleeve tied off at his missing arm. 

“What’s the point of wearing a shirt at all,” you huffed, taking the change of clothes he offered.

“Because you seem to enjoy it so much,” he called through the door as you changed. 

It felt like your head was about to explode with all the shit he was doing to you. It was embarrassing, and you had to focus. 

You crossed your arms when you faced him in the hallway, trying to shut down every part of your brain that wanted to fucking giggle when he looked at you.

“What are you–”

“That color looks good on you,” he hummed with a crooked smile, tugging the rolled up fabric of his shirt at your elbow. 

You stuttered, but he turned on his heel.

“W-Wait!”

“Let’s talk over breakfast.”

That stupid red hair walking away almost made you scream. 

~

The Red Hair Pirates were in various stages of wakefulness now, but many were already drinking, laughing, and singing as if the night had never ended.

Shanks moved through them with an effortless joy, clasping hands, patting backs, laughing and joking with every crew member that wasn’t still passed out. 

That dingy table. Mismatched chairs. Surprisingly good food. 

A knee that kept brushing against yours, rubbing along your thigh everytime he turned to talk to you.

He was pushing all the boundaries. And you’d let him. You pulled him in last night, and now he was playing, testing, torturing you.

But you knew he would stop if you asked. 

How can I trust someone so fast?

“You wanted to talk about something,” he asked, leaning back after his last bite. 

His wicked grin made you regret asking to speak in private. 

~

Warm sand slowly shook from your feet as you crawled over rough stone. Shanks whined a few more times after you led him away from camp, but soon he was walking beside you, with another breathtaking smile. Now and then over the gentle waves, you swore you heard him humming the notes to a song. 

“Y/N, look at this one,” he laughed, pointing to another tide pool. 

You sat on the rock beside it, the hint of a smile on your lips as he joined you. 

So close.

“So what did you wanna talk about,” he asked, voice still soft like those soothing waves. He reached out to hand you a little stone he’d picked up. 

The warm stone fell into your palm, helping you stay present as you rolled it between your fingers.

“What are you doing on my island,” you questioned, finally meeting those pretty eyes. “You said you have business here, and I need to know that you aren’t endangering my home.”

“Endanger–,” he cut himself off with a laugh, his brows furrowing as he shook his head at you. “You didn’t need to make up excuses if you wanted to spend the day with me, fish girl.”

“Shut up,” you growled, fighting not to let his annoying charms distract you this time. “You’re pirates. You said you had business on this side of the island for three days. What are you doing here?”

“I did say ‘business,’ didn’t I,” he mused, nodding to himself before looking across the beach.

“Well,” you pushed, struggling as he met your eyes, his face so relaxed, amused.

“This is it,” he gestured vaguely, his crooked smile giving you a headache.

“What do you mean? You mean your business is here, at this beach?”

“No, Y/N,” he rasped, grabbing your hand and squeezing it, the little stone pressing into your palm. “This is it.”

He nodded toward the camp, and let out a sigh.

“We’re on vacation.”

This smile of his made him look like a little kid that got caught stealing sweets. You blinked at him.

After a long pause, he took his hand from yours, bringing it to your chin to push your mouth closed.

“Don’t fucking mess with me.”

Your voice came out rough as you pushed yourself back, almost slipping into a tide pool as you stood.

“I swear I’m not messing with you,” he let out with a small groan as he stood. He moved in close before he wobbled his head back and forth. “Well, I’m not messing with you about that.”

“Fuck you,” you seethed, head going foggy with the overwhelming flood of emotions from the last day.

Shanks moved in slowly with his arm outstretched as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal. Or a child.

And you acted like a child, frustrated tears burning in your eyes, hitting your fists against his chest as he got too close.

“Stop lying to me! Please don’t hurt people here, please don’t–”

“Shh, shh,” he hushed you gently, somehow managing to hold you against him with one arm, your hands shaking between your warm bodies.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. I swear on my life, and the lives of my crew. All we wanna do is relax until we have nothing left to drink. Then we’ll buy up all the booze your village has to sell, and be on our way. Plus food and whatnot, but–”

Your ragged breaths brought that spicy scent of him into your lungs, your forehead falling against his chest as you started to calm. A bit.

“Are you telling me,” you growled against his skin, “that you took me hostage while you all go on a three day bender?”

You felt his laugh as he held you to him, resting his cheek on your head for a moment before releasing you. 

“We didn’t take you hostage. You paid for a ride.” He held up his hand as your mouth opened, itching to argue.

“Besides, fish girl,” he teased gently, “after hearing your story last light, it sounds like you could use a vacation too. When’s the last time you had any fun?”

“I have fun, asshole. Quit changing the subject.”

“Lying’s bad for the soul,” he hummed, touching the tip of your nose again. 

The energy drained from your body, and you left him to climb off the rock, falling onto your back in the sand. 

“So what do you do for fun?”

Shanks’ husky voice rolled over you. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he’d sat behind your head, leaning over your face as he spoke.

“I’ll have fun once I get off this shitty island.”

Finally, the pirate stayed quiet. Waiting. Until those rough fingers smoothed the hair from your face.

You didn’t stop him as he traced along your skin, letting relaxation wash over you. He moved from your temples, your cheeks, your jaw, behind your ears. Making sure to move his hand to both sides, evening out his slow caresses. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you confessed, fighting the heat of tears rising in your throat. You rolled that little stone in your fingers, the motion soothing your nerves. 

“Why’s that?”

“... Because I’m ‘Fish Girl.”

Shanks paused, and you wondered if he’d stifled a laugh. 

“What do you mean,” he asked, voice like the gentle waves just a few paces away.

It all came spilling from your lips. He listened to everything, fingers still tracing your skin. 

All the pain. Your mom leaving you with grandma, never coming back. You were so young, and it didn’t feel that bad at the time. You didn’t understand.

Grandma would tell you stories, you’d sit together on her boat for hours and hours. She taught you how to fish before you were strong enough to reel anything in. 

“That sounds wonderful,” he said, his voice somehow telling you there was a smile on his face. 

“It was. But kids are mean. I didn’t know we were poor until I went to school. I didn’t know I stank all the time until they called me ‘fish girl.”

His fingers tensed on your skin, a guilty pause before he kept up his soothing touch. 

“I never relax. I’m always working because I want a better life. All those mean kids grew up with me in our shitty little village. A few have tried to connect now that we’re older, but I don’t feel like it. I’m still 'fish girl.”

Shanks started to speak, but you cut him off. 

“I know they were just kids, but they were brutal. I was a kid too, and I could never imagine hurting anyone the way they hurt me. I don’t want to be friends with those people.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

A heavy sigh left your lips, then a small gasp as his hand moved to the side of your neck, the touch of those fingers more satisfying than anything you could remember.

“Fishing used to be something I loved. But since grandma’s been gone, I can only bring in half of what we used to. It’s not enough to save anything. I wanted to sell that stupid fish so bad,” you admitted with a laugh, a deep hum coming from the listening pirate. 

“Where do you wanna go,” he asked, his fingers trailing into your hair.

“I want to go somewhere where I can love fishing again. I want to live stories like grandma did. I want to be a fisherwoman. I don’t want to be ‘fish girl’ anymore.”

The loss of his touch was heavier than you expected. 

“Come on.”

You opened your eyes to meet his, shining at you over his outstretched hand.

Tucking the stone in your pocket, you let him help you up, surprising yourself with a laugh as he shook the sand from your hair. 

“Well, I’d say you deserve a vacation. What do ya say?”

Laughing at his silly wiggling eyebrows, you nodded, giving a breathy “okay,” as he took your hand. 

He leaned over you as you walked, sending shivers across your skin as his breath touched your ear. 

“Fisherwoman is a mouthful, so I’m gonna keep calling you ‘damsel.”

“No, you won’t,” you commanded. You cursed at him as he giggled, dropping your hand to run toward the camp.

“You sound like you’re in distress, do you need help,” he yelled back.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

You chased his laughing form until he slowed, grinning at you as he started to walk backwards. 

The look on his face when you launched yourself at him would be seared into your mind forever. You both grunted as he toppled onto his back, his arm hanging onto your waist as you fell together. 

The look on his face with you straddling him in the sand was even better.

Your hands had planned to slap him, but those eyes, those lips, and that look of joyful surprise did you in. 

That gentle hand fisted roughly into your hair as you crashed your lips onto his. A quiet, needy moan left your throat, and his answering growl made your eyes roll back. 

Thunderous cheers erupted from the crew, and you almost looked up at the camp until his fingers gripped your hair tighter, making your thighs clench around his waist. 

He pulled you away gently, his parted lips and near frantic eyes matching yours. 

“You sure,” he checked in, voice barely audible over the singing and shouting pirates. “Let’s get away from the crowd.”

Shanks kept looking over at you, that crooked smile following you back to the ship. He kept asking what you’d like to do, where you’d like to go.

“These clothes are sandy,” you noted, your voice low. “We should go to your room to change.”

He came in for a kiss, his deep voice rolling over you. 

“We’re sandy too. We should probably shower.”

“Okay,” you agreed, melting under his dark eyes.

He pushed your sandy hair aside when you reached the door to the bathing room, kissing and nibbling from the crook of your neck to your ear, holding your waist as your knees went weak. 

“Should we take turns guarding the door,” he rasped while your hands smoothed over the muscles around his waist and lower back. 

“No.”

Practically stumbling through the door as you tried to keep touching each other, you stood in the center of that tiled room, and tore the clothes off of each other's skin. 

There were no worries in your mind right now, just the electric touch of his hand and lips over each part of your body as it was revealed. 

You cried out as you felt the hard length of him through his pants before you'd freed him from the fabric. 

“You want me that much already, sweetheart?”

The urge to bicker was overridden as you pulled his pants from his skin, his thick cock springing up toward his stomach. 

The need to touch him overwhelmed you, and you wrapped your hands around him, loving the moan he let out at your touch. 

“Let’s shower, damsel,” he choked out as he kissed your cheek. “I need to bring you to the bed, now.”

That delicious smelling soap coated your skin, giving you an excuse to explore as you washed each other’s bodies. With as much of the sand and soap gone as possible, Shanks pushed you against the wall, his fingers traveling up your thigh.

“I thought you said you’re bringing me to the bed?”

“Just a minute,” he pleaded, teasing fingers until you nodded. 

“Still this wet after washing it all away?”

Those rough fingers rubbed along your clit, his name dropping from your lips in needy moans. 

“Mm, keep saying my name like that, beautiful,” he rasped, plunging in one finger, then two as your back arched against the cool, tile wall. 

“Shanks, please…”

“Please what? What does my damsel need?”

“Take me– fuck. Take me to bed.”

You gasped as his fingers left you, finding his mouth as he sucked the taste of you off of his skin. 

He tossed you a towel, kicking the clothes into a corner.

“Come on.”

“Wait,” you called, rushing to that pile of sandy fabric.

His crooked grin made you blush as he watched you grab that silly little stone. 

“Come on,” he whispered onto your lips after pulling you into a deep kiss.

A trail of water followed your path, practically running and gasping with laughter all the way to his quarters.

He didn’t get you lost this time.

Now he was the one calling for you to wait as your hand reached for the door.

“We don’t have to do anything, Y/N. We can still relax and have fun together. Please, tell me if you’re not comfor—“

“Take me to bed, Captain,” you demanded, walking through the door before him.

The only answer he gave was to slam it closed, then wrap himself around your back, kissing your neck until you moaned. 

“Shanks…”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said before licking and nibbling at your earlobe.

“I don’t know,” you laughed, arching against him. “I just wanted to say your name.

The deep rumble that came through his chest had that pressure building in your core. His hand grasped yours, until you opened to give him the stone.

You stood smiling with your eyes closed until he pressed himself against your back again.

He pulled at your damp towel, then trailed that perfect hand down the front of your body, feeling everywhere he’d touched under that warm water and delicious soap.

Those fingers found you again, slipping easily in the dripping mess he’d already made of you. 

“Mm, so wet. So good for me, aren’t you, beautiful?”

All you could do was whimper as he circled your clit, until you cried out at the towel covered press of him along your ass.

“Please…”

“What darlin’? Tell me what I can do for my damsel?”

His raspy voice was too much, and you gasped as he palmed your needy pussy to hold you up as your knees went weak.

He chuckled in your ear as he kept grinding the meat of his palm against you. 

“Please, Y/N, please tell me what you need. I’ve got you.”

His whisper brought desperate tears prickling in your eyes until you could finally speak.

“Fuck me now, Shanks. Fuck right fucking now, or I’ll never forgive you.”

He grabbed you, easily moving your weight with one hand until you fell back onto the edge of the bed. 

He left you then, digging though his desk, tossing things out of drawers in a frantic search.

“I said right fucking now,” you demanded, still breathless.

“Yes, but—“

“I’m on birth control. Now hurry up before I find another pirate—“

Your sentence ended in a yelp as he pounced on you, his thick cock rubbing through your folds as he ate your moans. 

“Don’t go saying shit like that again,” he rasped as his dark eyes bore down on yours.

“You’re the one who keeps calling me damsel. If you’re not going to help me—“

A filthy moan left your lips as he guided his tip to rub circles over your clit. 

“Oh, I’ll be helping you plenty, don’t worry sweetheart,” he promised, this dark smile of his going in your list of favorites.

“What was that you said about ‘right fucking now,” he taunted, giving you no time to brace for the press of him.

He worked his way in slowly, putting your leg over his shoulder while he watched your face. 

“How’s that sweetie,” he teased, his own voice breathy and desperate now as his hips finally met yours. “Is this what my girl needed?”

“Fuck, Shanks. Fuck me please.”

“You are a very demanding woman, you know that?”

Any retort you would have had died in your throat as you screamed, his deep thrusts making your toes curl.

“So fucking gorgeous. Gods, Y/N, you take my cock so well.”

Shanks gripped your thigh against his chest, pressing it to him until he locked you into place.

“Oh right there, sweetheart? I’ll help my pretty girl right there, just say my name again.”

He hit that sweet spot inside you over and over as if it belonged to him, claiming it, taking it back. Every word from his lips felt like vibrating pleasure down your skin, and in no time at all, you were screaming his name, arching your back against those red sheets as you fell apart.

He fucked you through your orgasm, sweet praise almost impossible to understand as your mind disappeared.

“You feel so good coming on my cock, you made such a beautiful mess. You're gonna go again for me now, okay?”

He chuckled at the pathetic whine from your lips, but never stopped his rhythm. 

“Please, pretty damsel? I helped you out. Now let me watch those dainty fingers on your clit. Let me feel you milk my cock one more time before I fill you up.”

He moaned along with you as your body clenched around his. 

You couldn’t argue with that heated smile. His hungry eyes watched your fingers slide over your clit, scraping his lip between his teeth as he tightened his arm around your thigh.

“Just like that. Let me see my girl come on my cock again. Fuck... You feel so good, so fucking good for me, baby.”

“Shanks, you feel… I’m close.”

“I know, sweetheart, can you feel me too? Come for me, I’m gonna— fuuckk…”

Shanks leaned over you, shoving himself as deep as he could go. Pleasure ripped through your body as you clawed at his back, more screams filling the air.

The sensation of both of you coming at once, your body milking his as he spilled ropes of heat inside you, had your mouth slack, body limp and useless as you twitched together.

Shanks leaned his forehead against yours, staying hilted within you as he caught his breath.

You gave him a droopy smile as he lifted his head, and he laughed before covering your face in kisses while you squirmed. 

This made both your bodies twitch again, moaning as he pulled himself out of you. 

He grabbed one of the damp towels as he knelt at the foot of the bed, kissing your thighs as he gently cleaned your sensitive skin.

“Stop,” you begged weakly as his soft touches across you body kept your aftershocks going.

The mattress shifted under his weight, bouncing you lightly until he pulled you up the bed onto his chest. His arm wrapped around you, still leaving lazy circles of touch across your back and hip.

“Now what,” you whispered, fighting to keep the real world from invading your brain.

“Anything my damsel wants,” he hummed, leaving a soft kiss against your still damp hair. “Your vacation’s only just started.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Hi, I have once again gone INSANE over another One Piece character. I need help. Someone please lock me away.

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @nothing-but-brass | @honeyoru | @onlyseob | @constawrites | @gingernut1314 | @i-am-vita | @laurelthesimp | @therealsatorugojo | @jadeddangel

Part 3

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

[vendetta-if]

Jess, honestly, why are you doing this to me?! I - not my MC, no - I AM DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH JACKAL! Now, I would never want to go between Luka and Jackal. They're a super awesome, wholesome power couple... But could you imagine writing a small interactive snipped, where we could play as Luka? I completely understand if you can't. However, I needed to ask. I'm sure I'm not the only one who likes Jackal and many of us would greatly appreciate a short story, no? *puppy eyes* Fyi, I have save slots currently unavailable because I need a save for all Jackal appearances to reread them whenever. You honestly made me a little obsessed with him. I want to be Luka so bad. T-T Also, have a nice day! .. and thanks for the Rin update. Great job as always! Much love, anon

Ayy, I’m always happy to see some Jackal love 🥰🤭 He’s definitely really fun to write and I have like an entire huge backstory about him 😭 Kinda sad since I can’t really fit more than a drop of it in Vendetta. The sequel spin off, where you play as Jackal’s and Luka’s kid, might reveal some more though.

And speaking of side stories and interactive side stories featuring Jackal… I think I have two side stories currently featuring him and I’m pretty sure both are available to public 😁 For those who haven't checked it out, I made a masterpost containing the links to all the public side stories so far and you can check them out here.

First one is three part on how he first met Luka from his POV [Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3] and the second one is a two part on the moment he and Luka finally became official couple [Part 1 | Part 2].

I’ve been thinking on writing a series of side stories on Jackal’s backstory including his early “relationship” with Luka. I’ll definitely do it whenever I have free time, maybe chipping away at it bit by bit in addition to working on the main story and the patreon voted side stories and spicy side stories 🤭

And funny you mentioned an interactive side story because I already have an idea on the story, just need the time to actually write it. I think I’ll focus on that first before the big series of stories on Jackal’s backstory 🤔 So many things to do with such limited time per day 😭

Also, I saved this video because it’s giving off Jackal vibes (also works for Ash since they are both motorcycle enthusiasts):

[skriblee-ksk]

“I checked the drinks… Princes’ outfits are up to code… Grimmy’s with Ryoko right now… I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

“Okay. Ready as I’ll ever be…! Let’s make this ball a success!”

Set to Home Screen: Are you ready? I’ll wait for you, if you need me to.

Home Transition:

1: Woah��� The chandeliers are so bright and sparkly… 12 arms from the bottom bowl, which are four more than the one in the Mirror Chamber, but the top… Ah, sorry!

2: Deuce called me Lady Kiyuu earlier, which really made me happy. I would have worn a pretty dress, but these clothes are a lot warmer and comfier. I think I managed to make myself look feminine either way!

3: Kalim’s really enjoying talking to the attendees. He seems to be getting friendly with everyone, including people from RSA! Must be because he’s familiar with hosting parties.

4: So many attractive people are here… I wonder if I’d be bothering them if I said I wanted to take a picture of them…?

Home, after Login: This ball is really fun! If I lean back on this wall and squint, it just looks like a blur of blue, white, and gold. I think it’s nice that there’s a time these schools can merge like this.

Tap Home:

1: I’m excited to vote for the Belle of the Ball! Huh? Oh, no, I never had any intent to participate. I just enjoy seeing pretty people.

2: Ah, what? Oh, I’m just reviewing my notepad to make sure I’m not forgetting any etiquette. I’m doing perfectly well, so far! I reviewed it before I entered too, but just in case, you know?

3: Oh, no, wait, Grim’s gonna devour the entire table of finger foods at this rate. I’ll be right back!

4: I know I’m supposed to be helping the princes out, but I’m not sure if I’m doing a proper job here… Hm? You think I’m doing pretty well? Mm… Hehe, thanks!

5: It’s a little bit harder than usual to catch the attention of the attendees here since there’s so many people… Well, I guess I just have to find better ways to make my presence known!

Glimmering Soirée is a twst fan event hosted by: @starry-night-rose!!

Groovy Lines: Unlocked

Notes and stuff under cut!!

Groovy art coming soon!! maybe. hopefully. i have the sketch done so hopefully i can finish lol. I slightly tried imitating the twst shading style, but idk.

I searched up men’s victorian era clothing and ended w making this design. few obvious design changes in the end (color) result, mostly the gloves.

Here’s the pic without the SR thing! And the sneak peak for the groovy (which i rlly tryharded on so maybe i should’ve listed it as an ssr but whatevs i’ll leave that to my friend + ryoko because ryoko deserves that ssr title)

And tag list for my friend who rlly wanted to be tagged in Kiyuu stuff (if you wanted be added, just tell me!!): @kathxrat-01

[thestarkerisobvious]

Warmth

based on a prompt by @awesomestarker

story by @thestarkerisobvious and @mrstarksbaby

moodboard by @mrstarksbaby

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

Best.  Vacation.  Ever.

It was silly, but ever since that one year that the electricity had gone out, Peter insisted.  One entire day without electricity.  Except for the refrigerator, of course.  And the hot water heater.  But that was all.  As little device use as possible.  Even to look up information.  That’s what books were for.  During the day they would read or play chess or play card games with the tarot deck or just sit and talk in the sunlit rooms and enjoy the day.  Then, at night, sleeping, bundled up in the living room by the fireplace.  Just like they had done that first winter.

Peter shouldn’t be happy the electricity went out that one year.  Shouldn’t be thankful.  Should acknowledge, at least, some of the danger they could have been in (if it weren’t for the generator.  And the backup generator, of course…)

But he couldn’t help it.  Right now, he was glowing.  Even in the cold cabin, he was glowing.  He should at least go wrap up in the fuzzy blanket again - and he would soon - but for now he stayed where he was.

Watching the Sexiest Man Alive chop wood.

And he was.  Officially.  Voted Sexiest Man Alive.  More than once.  And Peter, now sitting in the seat closest to the window, almost shivering with the cold, couldn’t have agreed more.

He had sat there with the cup of hot cocoa Tony had made for him at his feet.  He had been sitting at the kitchen table, reading in the sunlit room.  He had found an old Llewellen book (“Charms, Spells and Formulas”) that he had bought ages ago at a used book store but never got around to reading.  He was now pouring over a chapter about “gris-gris bags” and scribbling out lists of herbs to look up.  One list to check against Tony’s fully-stocked spice rack, one to check against his collection at home, and one to check against the internet as soon as they allowed themselves back on line.

Tony had only rolled his eyes and groaned at the idea of ordering MORE spell ingredients, but didn’t interfere with the new project until he noticed Peter was shivering at the table, tucking his hands under his legs when his fingers got too cold to write.  

“Humor me,” Tony countered when Peter insisted “I’m fine!” through chattering teeth.  The next thing he knew he was sitting in the living room in front of the fire, warming his hands on a mug of hot cocoa.  

“Are these cinnamon for my protection?” Peter asked with a grin.  “Maybe,” Tony said with a sideways grin.  “Someone has to protect you from yourself.”   

Peter smiled, silently stirring in the intention.  Then noticed that Tony was rolling up his sleeves.   

“And what are you doing?”

“We need more of this,” Tony replied, kicking a pice of firewood with his boot.  “I’ll be back.”

And now here they were - Tony outside chopping firewood, Peter sitting at the couch closest to the window so he could watch.  Watch and wonder.

What was it about that man, Peter wondered, watching those powerful arms move, the iron muscles flex as Tony raised the ax above his head over and over again.  It wasn’t the muscular build, not that alone.  It couldn’t have been.  Captain America had bigger biceps, and much bigger pectorals.  And Thor, well, Thor was a god.  Who towered above all of them, making even Cap look like a short man.  There were more muscular men in Peter’s life.  And as for strength…

…Peter lay back a little in his seat by the window.  Smiling wistfully.  

The truth was, Peter was stronger than Tony.  Stronger than most of the Avengers, actually.  Possibly as strong as Captain America, although Peter never set out to prove it.  Never needed to.  He knew what he knew.  Besides, it didn’t matter.

Peter never thought much about being so strong.  Never thought about the muscles he had built up just swinging across New York City every day, or lifting vehicles off of each other in pileups.  In fact, whenever he thought about being “strong” the only thought, the only memory, that came to mind was holding a splitting ferry full of people together on his own.  He wasn’t strong, not compared to fracturing ferries, or collapsing concrete buildings, or crashing airplanes.  So he never really thought about how much stronger he was than Tony.

Oh, but in Tony’s arms at night, it felt so good to feel weak…

“Enjoying the view?” Tony asked as he brought in the first load of firewood. 

“Very much so,” Peter acknowledged.   

Tony headed outside again, closing the door firmly behind him to keep in the heat.  Peter shivered a bit, grinning to himself.  Tonight was going to be sweet.  When Tony was done chopping firewood he would probably want a shower - a good place to warm them both up, certainly - and then they would have to figure out another way to keep themselves warm.  Although maybe not.  It was barely afternoon, maybe too early in the day for that.  Peter would get up from his seat and, after finding a warm sweater, find some way of making Tony a meal.  As a reward for all this wood-chopping.  They had a whole list of dishes that could be made with the use of the battery powered hotplate or the fire  - some sandwich melts, probably..  And maybe even some hot coco.  Yes, certainly some hot cocoa.  Definitely.  As a reward for all this wood-chopping.

Peter would do that.  Get up from his chilly seat by the window and do that.  But not just yet.

Because right now, Peter just wanted to watch.

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

This has been a

production. Follow the tag #MrStarksBabyIsObvious Series to find out what ELSE we have hidden up our sleeve...

[the-barricade]

voted most likely to run away with you

rook hunt x reader.

rumours of you two being in a relationship are spreading like wildfire around NRC, how will rook respond?

p.s the reader’s gender is intended to be nondescript, however there is the use of “mon cherie” in this fic because french. sorry.

—————————————

the world was ending.

you were avoiding Rook. How could this ever happen? Well, he had an idea or two. After all, putting in some distance after almost the entire school had started not-so-subtly whispering about you together, wasn’t that unreasonable.

But it was absolutely unfair! And he’d have to put a stop to it, one way or another.

Perhaps he’d just show up to your dorm room at about two in the morning - it’s not like you could avoid him then.

The loud knock on your door scared the life out of you, considering the uncharacteristically early hours. You just had to check the time, and questioned if you should even answer the door, considering it was 1:58. AM. But after a short pause, the knocks continued, so you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and got out of bed.

Oh. Shit.

Rook was there, standing at your door way. And you had a feeling it was going to be awkward, since you hadn’t seen him in a week. Purposefully.

“Hi… what’s up?”

“Just my spirits, mon cherie, seeing your face again has lifted them greatly!”

he was eccentric as ever, but you were pretty used to that. “Oh… thank you. So, did you need anything? You know, it’s kind of late. Or, early, I guess.”

“Ah, yes. I need you.”

“What?”

“I need you to come with me.”

…

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you, it’ll spoil the surprise.”

well, you were already awake. “Okay, I guess I can go with you.”

“Wonderful! You might need this, it’s quite cold at this hour.” He handed you a black jacket, that had your name embroidered in gold on one cuff… and his on the other.

Your cheeks certainly warmed up fast, before you continued on your mystery adventure with Rook.

You had been walking for awhile, in comfortable silence, but when you could no longer keep track of the sheer number of tress you’d counted on the way, you had to ask where you were going. Or if you’d be there in a reasonable amount of time.

But Rook didn’t really give you answer, which made sense within the next few minutes as your walk came to a halt.

You were at a beautiful lake, with water so clear it seemed to glow even in the dark hours.

“Wow, it’s beautiful, how’d you find it?”

“I’m glad you like it. And a hunter must know his hunting grounds.”

“hm, I have to ask through, why’d you take me here at two in the morning?”

“I thought it was the right amount of romance for our first date as a couple. Just us, here, late in the night.”

date? couple?? “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“We’re dating, haven’t you heard, mon cherie?”

“But those are just rumors!”

“They don’t have to be.”

“…are you asking me out?”

“I’d love nothing more than to be yours, if you’ll have me.”

Once again, you started to flush. This was something you’d dreamed of, and now that it was happening you could barely get the words out of your mouth.

“Then I’m yours.”

Rook smiled, and he stared at you for a moment like he was just happy to be there, and then he spoke again. “Perfect. You might want to check your pocket then.”

confused as you were, you put your hands in both pockets of your jacket to check them, and from the left, you pulled out a small promise ring.

He was in it for the long haul.

[hogans-heroes]

Ok so. The Bikeriders.

First of all, it’s very different than we thought, in a good way. It’s not an action or drama or crime film. It feels almost like a documentary because it’s shot in a journalist’s style with simple camera work and interviews and the story is told through the narration of Kathy and the journalist. It revolves around the snapshots of these people’s lives, who they are, why they’re here and do what they do, and it’s so beautiful and intimate and makes you fall in love with humanity like you’re in a anthropology class. You see how they see and love what they love. It’s so fucking powerful.

Ok side track to what we’re all really here for. FUKN BENNY.

Your life will be ruined by Austin within the first 10 seconds and you NEVER catch your breath afterwards. He doesn’t say too much and isn’t even on screen quite as much as I expected but he’s the heart of the whole film and oh boy what a beautiful heart. A TALL DAMN DRINK OF WATER THERE IS NO OTHER WAY TO PUT IT. I got lightheaded whenever he appeared. Plus we get him in a totally new look which I loved and am sure will be seeing in fandom. I literally have no words for his looks and voice and absolute badass behavior while also looking like a little kitten the entire time boy you out here ruining lives. One scene absolutely BROKE my heart I wanted to hug him so bad and it was a powerful moment in the narrative. But it was really hard to watch him get so beat up consistently over the movie.

The last SMILE we get from him??? Will kill all of us it will be the apocalypse I’m typing from the GRAVE you hear??? I’d vote the best smile we’ve ever gotten from Austin and THAT’s really saying something. I can’t say enough good things about the ending in general.

Tom Hardy is the ABSOLUTE mvp of this film, he knocked it out of the park.

(Mild spoilers under the cut)

I was so terrified Benny was going to die the entire time and the way the movie goes it really makes you think he will but he DOESNT DIE and I was SO GODDAMN relieved. That ending was so perfect and sad and poignant.

It REALLY IS a love triangle??? Like I was also shocked that there is zero sex scene or even a single kiss at all in a film like this, but the dialogue and chemistry whew boy….was very intrigued and happy to have things thus way even though it turned out sad.