#Lifts him up like a disgruntled cat

[stealingyourbones]

Tall Jazz DP X DC where the batfam is all at a fast food place and so is team Phantom but Jason is standing in front of the only working self checkout kiosk and jazz picks him up by the waist and puts him to the side like an inconveniently placed cat.

The entire batfamily saw it happen and Jason's just blushing like fucking crazy bc tall woman???? Red hair???? STRONG????

Jazz thought that was her brother. She messes with him like that all the time.

A combination of being both very tired and the similar cats eye light reflection off the self checkout kiosk screen and the hair made her assume it was Danny.

When she realized it wasnt, she became absolutely mortified.

Luckily for her, Jason isn't thinking about that too hard. He's too busy blue screening.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

[meowmeowriley]

Simon was not a morning person.

Johnny was.

He'd never have guessed it, Soap and Ghost were up at the crack of dawn on base, barking orders at their men and running themselves just as ragged. Had he never followed Ghost home for leave, he could've lived his entire life not knowing that tiny personal detail. Johnny had come to realize that perhaps some of Ghost's hard-ass personality came from him being grumpy after waking up too early.

That first morning in Simon's flat Johnny had gotten up before the sun, same as he did on base. He brewed coffee and waited for a bit, waiting for Simon to rise, but the other man hadn't moved from the heap of limbs and duvet he had contorted himself into in the bed. Johnny went for a run and returned and still no movement from Simon.

Eventually, at nearly noon, Simon sauntered out of his room and into the kitchen, duvet cocooning him. If Soap drew a very tired caterpillar and a butterfly with a skull mask in his journal later that day, that was between himself and God.

The second day Johnny made the mistake of attempting to wake him. He rose, but he was gruff, short tempered, and as the two went for a run together passers by gave them a wide berth, as Simon's glare could curdle milk.

The third day was when Johnny happened upon a stroke of pure genius. He woke Simon as he rose, unintentionally, and earned himself a few choice words that he couldn't discern as they were vehemently growled into a pillow. Johnny brewed his coffee, boiled Simon's tea, retrieved a packet of biscuits from the cabinet, and left it all on the table in the living room. He then returned to his sulking boyfriend, who hadn't yet gone back to sleep.

"Up, c'mon, tea's gonna get cold."

Simon grumbled and rolled to face him, squinting like a displeased cat. Later, a disgruntled black cat with a white face, flicking it's tail would be drawn below the butterfly. Any relation to real world events was purely coincidental.

"I'll carry ya if I have to." Johnny meant it as a tease.

"Like you're gonna carry my heavy ass." Simon rolled his eyes.

Johnny was never one to back down from a challenge, and scooped the larger man up from the bed, holding him bridal style. He didn't even try to keep himself from laughing at Simon's indignant squawk.

He carried him, blanket and all, to the couch and deposited him before his breakfast, which he promptly handed over. He noticed, later, that Simon didn't glare quite so hard at the old birds power walking the opposite way they'd been running that day.

The next day he carried Simon over his shoulder, the next fireman's carry, and the day after Simon wrapped himself around Johnny's front.

His favorite, and it seemed to be Simon's favorite too as he kept positioning himself for it every time after, had been when he'd turned away from the bed to glance out the window, and Simon had risen of his own accord. He draped himself across Johnny's back, wrapping the blanket around them both and nuzzling into Johnny's neck.

John had reached back, one arm up to thread his fingers through Simon's bedhead, and the other down, so that he could pinch Simon's ass, earning him a nip to his carotid.

Laughing, Johnny had slapped gently at Simon's thigh, "Up, I still have to make your tea.

Simon dutifully lifted that leg and then climbed up, arms bracketing Johnny's head, legs secure around his navel, and chin nestled into Johnny's mussed up mohawk. The man fit there perfectly.

From that day on, Johnny carried his overgrown koala of a boyfriend around the flat as he carried out his morning routine of keeping them both caffinated and fed.

Even after returning to base, and hiding Simon and Johnny away behind Ghost and Soap, Ghost would find Soap in the rec room and climb up to wait for his breakfast.

No one dared question the Lieutenant's slight change in behavior, as they enjoyed not having their heads ripped off.

[mytheoristavenue]

Aki, Denji, & Power Period Comfort!

Summary: Having four roommates in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment is complicated enough, but it's even worse when you discover you're the only one to have a period.

Warnings: All platonic, fem!reader, period comfort, fluff, takes place just after season one, just three idiots trying their best

🌸 None of you were very enthralled when Makima ordered you to move into Aki's apartment, seeing as it was already overcrowded. He had half a mind to pile you in with Denji and Power, or make you sleep in the living room but Makima convinced him to accommodate you properly. To his dismay, that meant sharing his room with Denji and letting you share with Power.

🌸 As much as you hated the arrangement, you adjusted. Luckily, Power tended to end up sleeping on the floor in a nest of blankets and dirty clothes, cuddled up with her cat, which gave you the bed to yourself most of the time.

🌸 That came especially in handy in times like these. This was the first period you'd had since moving in and it was especially bad. You'd been in terrible pain all morning, curled up with a hot water bottle like it was your lifeline. Luckily, Meowy had sensed your discomfort and came to cuddle with you for a change.

🌸 "Cat thief!" You heard from your roommate as she stirred awake to find her beloved companion's betrayal. "Unhand my darling Meowy!" Yeah, you definitely weren't in the mood for her crap today, lifting the cat, much to it's dismay and setting it on the floor.

🌸 "It came to me, jeez," You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. "Not trying to steal your cat, you psycho."

🌸 Before you knew it, the feral girl was pressing her nose into Meowy's fur in pursuit of something, turning her face to the air, sniffing it as well. "The scent of blood is in the air, did you hurt my cat?" She asked accusingly before giving a smug grin. "I see, you tried to take him and he scratched you, is that it?"

🌸 "No, dipshit, I'm on my period." You groaned, patience already thinner than trace paper. Power gave you the most condescending look she was capable of, explaining that a period was a grammatical symbol of punctuation, not a physical thing you could lay on. You paled, staring at her blankly. "Power, do you not have a menstrual cycle?"

🌸 "Of course not!" She huffed. "Fiends are incapable of organic reproduction! Such is a human weakness!" Great, the only other girl in the house had no clue about girl problems. You went on to explain a few things to her, such as what a period is and why it had you so disgruntled. "Ahh, so that explains your paler complexion, you're suffering from blood loss!"

🌸 If there is only one thing Power understood, its blood and how a lack there of can affect the performance of the body. She thought to herself before getting an idea. "Iron, you need iron!" She decided, scrambling to her feet, darting to the kitchen.

🌸 You couldn't help but laugh. She wasnt not the brightest, especially when it comes to human affairs, but it warmed your heart to see her so eager to help solve your probelm, even if she didn't fully understand it. Just as you were about to get out of bed and see what she was up to, you heard a voice that makes you cringe.

🌸 "Yo, stop pullin' everything outta the fridge, dumbass!" Your shoulders slumped, knowing Power would surely explain her antics to Denji, who you were certain would be disgusted.

🌸 "Unhand that contianer, I'm on the hunt for red meat!" Your roommate shouted, sparking an altercation. "(Y/N)'s life hangs in the balance! She's bleeding out, she needs iron!" Her words seemed to quell his irritation and before you knew it, he'd barged into your room, panic written all over his face.

🌸 "Holy shit, are you dying?!" You couldn't hide your annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose as his eyes scanned you worriedly.

🌸 "I'm not dying, I'm not bleeding out, and my life does not hang in the balance." You grumbled, brow twitching. "I'm just on my period."

🌸 "Oh, gross," The look on your face told Denji he'd made a mistake with that comment and he was quick to backtrack. "I-I mean, uh, it's cool, it's totally natural! I-I think..."

🌸 "You're an idiot." You deadpanned, pointing out the door to usher him out. To your dismay, he came right back with a stale pillow and blanket. He nervously fluffed the naked pillow and shoved it behind your back, spreading the blanket out on top of you. You couldn't stay mad at him, he was trying.

🌸 "Oh shit, periods like- hurt, right?" He thought aloud, leaving again and returning with a bottle of generic painkillers. "Oh wait, you need a drink, uh, hold on." He tossed the bottle at you and scrambled back to the kitchen, before bringing you a soda.

🌸 "Can I have some water instead?" You asked politely, trying to hide your amused smile. He looked between you and the soda can, puzzled.

🌸 "I mean, I guess," He accepted suspiciously. "What, you don't like soda anymore?" Before you can explain to him the link between the pain and the caffeine in the drink, Power bursted into the room, shoving him to the side and pushinng a plate of raw red meat into your lap.

🌸 "You dumbass, humans can't eat raw meat, it's bad for us!" Denji scolded, grabbing the plate and handing it back to her. "You have to cook this shit!"

🌸 "I don't know how to cook!" Power argued back childishly. "Besides, the bloodier the meat, the more iron it will restore to her bloodstream! It has to be raw!"

🌸 "Listen, humans can't digest raw shit like that! If (Y/N) eats that she'll probably die of salmonella or somethin'!" You didn't have the heart to explain that that's not how such a bacteria was passed on, but you did agree that, knowing Power's hygiene habits, she could give you salmonella.

🌸 You groaned, letting them bicker until the front door opened, slamming shut. "Why the hell is my kitchen in shambles right now?" Aki bellowed prompting both of your 'care takers' to scurry away.

🌸 "(Y/N) is dying of blood loss!" Power informed him, urging how dire the situation is.

🌸 "Nuh-uh, dipshit, she's just on the rag." Denji rolled his eyes at her concern.

🌸 "And that means you destroyed my kitchen and piled all the raw beef we had on one plate, why?" Aki narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Mind explaining further?"

🌸 "She has to build up her iron levels!" She growled, irritated that nobody is listening to her expertise. Denji continued to argue, thinking surely, she's full of crap.

🌸 "No, that's actually true," Aki admitted with a heavy sigh, already beginning to clean up her mess. "Red meat contains iron and when you lose a lot of blood, you develope an iron deficiency. Eating iron rich foods help replenish your iron levels faster." He explains, finally putting Power's words in a way the boy would understand.

🌸 "But she just can't eat a fuck ton raw meat!" Denji huffed, more irritated that he was wrong than anything else.

🌸 "Also true," Aki sighed, taking out a skillet and setting it on top of the stove, pulling the plate closer. "Look, I'll take care of this. Denji, go run a hot bath, Power, you go see what kind of products she uses and what snacks she likes."

🌸 Power came back and asks you what you prefered for this time of the month. After both of their tasks are completed, Aki sent them both to the nearest corner store with a specific list of what to buy.

🌸 After they left, he peered into the room calmly. "Denji ran you a bath, go ahead while I make you some food." He suggested kindly tilting his head towards the bathroom. You thanked him, relieved to have someone who sort of understands.

🌸 By the time you got out if the bath, you were much more relaxed, muscles no longer as sore. To your suprise, your fuzziest pajamas were sitting on the sink along with a warm towel. Exiting the bathroom, you realized Denji and Power were back, bags still in hand.

🌸 Aki waved you over to the table, inviting you to sit down with them all. When you did, he served you a portion of broccoli and beef. After lunch, he took the dishes, giving the other pair a chance to pass off what they bought you.

🌸 You didn't miss the pink in Denji's cheeks when he handed you a specific bag, tied off at the top. You correctly guessed that it was the one containing the products you'd asked for. Aki walked back over and sits back down as Power starts to hand you snacks.

🌸 She piles your arms with junk food, decaffeinated drinks, and dark chocolate. "Aki forbade us from buying anything with caffine!" She explained, annoyed, as if the idea was inconvenient for her specifically.

🌸 "Caffine will make you feel worse than your already do." He explained, passing over a still packaged electrical heat pad and a small stuffed bear. "These are just for comfort."

🌸 After spending a bit of time them, thanking them for their help, you decided to curl up in bed and test out the heating pad. You most definitely didn't expect to find your bed with many more blankets and pillows than you'd left it with. It had effectively become a nest of comfort and Meowy was already waiting to do its part in helping you recover. The sight made your eyes water a bit.

🌸 Power had tried to cuddle with you as well, reasoning that her body heat would also help, but Aki quickly shut her down, banishing both her and Denji to the living room. To ensure they left you alone, he sat on the balcony, watching them while blowing through a pack of cigarettes. Though he'd tried not to let on, he was a bit worried about you, texting you frequently as the day drug on. He'd seen you take bullets with less trouble so it was hard to imagine what kind of pain had you doubled over in bed.

🌸 'You okay?' 'Need anything?' 'Idiots being too loud?' He'd silently check up on your throughout the day, never going to physically check unless you'd left him unanswered for longer than an hour. He wanted to let you sleep if you could.

🌸 When you felt better, you were sure to wear your mood outwardly to show them how well their caretaking had worked. You thanked them endlessly in the next few days, always willing to spend time with them to show your gratitude. Power was happy to have you at full strength again, and to once again be the center of her cat's attention. Denji was glad he would no longer be subjected to your mood swings, at least for a while. (also that Power would sneak him some of your snacks after she deemed them unnecessary due to your period ending.) Aki was just relieved to see you felt better, being the 'dad friend' of the house.

🌸 Ranking of how they handled it:

🌸 Power: 7/10

Very willing to help, just clueless of where start. She feels a kinship with you, being the only other girl in the apartment. Blood is her area of expertise, so she knows a surprising amount about what will help on a logical level, she just doesn't really get how to safely put that knowledge to practice.

🌸 Denji: 5/10

Doesn't really care as much as the others, but they're freaking out about it so it must be important! He's mainly concerned with your pain. Knowing he's seen you take some serious blows that left you with little change in demeanor, it makes him a little nervous to see you so pale and dizzy. He doesn't really know how to help, but he's not opposed to learning. He secretly does think it's pretty gross, but when Aki explains he'll have to know this stuff if he ever wants to get a girlfriend, he's a over it.

🌸 Aki: 10/10

Knows exactly what you need, thanks to his experience with the women around him, especially Himeno. She definitely overshares with him enough for him to understand what to do. He knows the fundamentals and is able to steer the other two in the right direction. Very knowledgeable and level headed, but a bit of a worrier. Will text you if you are in the bathroom too long and will remind you to pack products before you leave for work.

Let's face it, me writing for Chainsaw Man was only a matter of time, I've been cooked since the first episode.

[revelboo]

Everything is Alright pt 9

Starscream x reader- sulking

• You have no idea what to make of your visitor or the way you’re being stared at like an especially frustrating puzzle missing pieces at the very end. Still cradling you in a huge hand, that helm tilts down to look at your cage. A slightly disgruntled rumble buzzes through his big frame as he turns toward the door as if in expectation.

• Exhausted, Starscream rolls his shoulders to work the kinks out. It wasn’t that patrolling was hard- if anything it was processor meltingly boring. Letting himself in his quarters only to rock to a stop, because Soundwave is right there. Holding the human in a hand. Waiting. That faintly glowing visor staring in accusation as Starscream’s wings flick up aggressively. This isn’t Skywarp and lashing out will have repercussions, though. Dragging his optics away from the small form in Soundwave’s grip like he doesn’t care less, he stalks past the other mech. “I hope you have a good reason to be in my personal quarters,” he sneers.

• What? You’d honestly expected another violent outburst, but your captor doesn’t seem to care that this mech has you. Making that low, non-sound, the boxy mech drifts over to the desk Starscream’s settled himself at. You’re gently deposited on the surface before Soundwave points almost accusingly at your cage. “Inadequate.”

• And with that, he just leaves. Starscream stares, waiting for the door to close behind Soundwave before hooking a servo around your waist to tug you closer. It’s the same cautious, worried examination as when he’d rescued you from Skywarp and your heart softens a bit more, because he’s worried. Even if he’s never going to admit it. You lay a hand on his servo, again amazed how someone so huge and dangerous can be so gentle. “I’m okay.”

• He draws back slowly almost seeming embarrassed at being caught caring, optics flicking to your cage then away. “I just don’t like for my things to be broken,” he says, voice gruff as those wings lift even higher. Defensive and maybe annoyed at himself.

• The words are a reminder to not just him, but you it seems. You’re- what? A pet to him? Definitely not an equal and you’ll never be. Not a friend. He only cares because he’s decided you’re his. His possession. It hurts all the same even as you blame that ache on Stockholm’s. After all, he’s hardly your friend, he’s your jailer. You push his servos away, backing away and turning your back on him because your eyes are burning now.

• Surprised, Starscream’s hand freezes still outstretched as you pace to the far side of the desk. Turning your back on him. Ignoring him. His fingers slowly curl into a fist as anger trickles in. But he doesn’t move and neither do you. Slowly, the fury drains away to leave only that awful silence that weighs him down. Why does he even care? You belong to him, his little, trapped bird.

• But he prefers you smiling, agreeing with him, and asking about his day. Growling, he reaches to snag you, feeling your little hands grab at his servos. Your face whips around to stare at him and there’s anger there with the fear. Denta grinding as his jaw works, he sets you down again in front of him, laying both arms on either side of you in the pretense of using the keyboard embedded in the top and effectively trapping you.

• Well, then. You can’t even sulk in peace, apparently. It’s almost tempting to try and climb over his arm to retreat back to the far side of the desk just for spite. Or walk across his weird, alien-glyph keyboard while he works just like the cat he thinks you are. Annoyed, you sit down crosslegged and wait.

• Still ignoring him. Attention divided between his console and the human now partially sprawled out, their chin propped on their fist staring anywhere but at him, he vents. “If you’ll stop acting like an entitled sparkling, I might consider taking you outside to see the stars.”

• It’s almost comical how quickly you twist around to stare up at him. Even as he fights to keep from smiling, there’s a feeling of almost guilt that makes him look around and really see his empty, gray quarters. It’s never bothered him, because he doesn’t dwell on it, but he remembers making things just for the joy of working with his hands. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find you something to do when you’re left alone. “But I swear to Primus if you try and run off, I will put a leash on you,” he adds with a growl, punctuating the threat with a thump of his fist against the desk as you grin up at him.

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[forlorn-crows]

𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 1: 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏

pairing(s): aeon/swiss words: 656

✿

He’s barely visible under the fuzzy gray blanket that’s pulled around his body. With his legs tucked up against his chest, fabric cocooned around him, he looks like a kit drowning in a terry cloth towel after a bath. Only Aeon’s round face, screwed up in concentration with the ends of his hoodie strings between his teeth, and knobby hands, plunking away at his new basic smartphone, are visible to Swiss. 

In simple terms, he’s too cute to handle. Swiss’ fingers itch to grab and poke, squish the cuteness right out of him. Aeon grumbles something about the tiny keyboard, big pointed ear twitching as he stabs at the screen, and the multi ghoul cannot stand it for another second. 

“Whatcha doin’, bug?” he calls from his chair opposite the couch. 

Aeon chirps, peeking up from the screen. His hair sticks up on top when he lifts his head. “Hm?”

Swiss is going to scream. “I said ‘whatcha doin’’?”

“Well,” he spits out the hoodie strings, shifting a bit. “I’m trying to figure out this . . . texting thing. But Dew keeps sending me funny little faces after I accidentally send him random letters. The keys are so small, how do you do this?”

“You’ll get it, just takes some time. At least you have smaller thumbs.” Swiss wiggles both of his in Aeon’s direction. “That’ll help.”

Aeon huffs, corners of his mouth turning down, lower lip sticking out; he pouts. He’s pouting. Why must Copia always summon the adorable ones? And why can Swiss just never keep his hands off of them?

The frown remains in place even as Swiss hops out of his seat and sits down beside the newbie quint. Swiss shakes his head and chuckles. “Why���re you so damn cute?”

Aeon side-eyes him. Scoffs a little and rolls his eyes. “Cute?” he accuses. 

“Have you seen yourself?”

“I mean, yeah, I look in the mirror everyday—”

“No,” Swiss laughs, “right now. With your blanket and your little phone and that pouty face.” The multi ghoul pokes him right in the cheek, emphasizing said frown. 

“You make me sound like a child,” Aeon grumbles and flinches away, sticking his tongue out as he locks his phone and shoves it into the couch cushions. He pulls the blanket even tighter around himself. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips, even as he continues to side-eye Swiss. 

Once again, he is going to scream. “You make me crazy,” he admits stupidly, shaking his head. “I just wanna,” he makes a vague grabby-hands motion, indicating his frustration, “ugh, I just wanna scrunch you up and put you in my pocket, baby.”

“Front pockets are preferable, please.” Aeon grins suddenly, showing off his fangs. 

Swiss blinks. Momentarily stunned to silence—an incredibly rare feat for this ghoul.

“You little—” He springs into action, leaning close and poking his thick fingers everywhere: his neck, behind his ears, the dimples in his cheeks. Aeon squawks in protest, but that does nothing to stop the onslaught. He growls playfully and grabs his cheeks, squishing and smushing and squeezing. 

“‘wiss,” the quint attempts to complain—keep it together, really—through pushed-together cheeks. “‘top, bhat’re you—”

“I’m sorry, but you’re too adorable to live,” Swiss explains. “Gotta stop you before you reach mach cuteness or everyone’ll die.” Aeon whines, removing his arms from the blanket to swat at him to no avail. Swiss is quick to release his cheeks, grabbing his wrists instead and pinning his arms to his chest. 

“Gah, what the fu—” Swiss cuts him off with a cross between a snarl, a growl, and a weird noise a disgruntled-slash-scared cat would make, completely dramatic and unserious, diving in to his neck open-mouthed so he can graze his skin with the front of his teeth repeatedly with fake bites. Aeon can only toss his head back and giggle ferociously and against his will. 

“Gonna eat you,” Swiss growls. “C’mere.”

“Why are you like this?!”

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (family)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: runaway

- Next part: peace is a Targaryen illusion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

The descent toward Casterly Rock had barely completed when Tyland spotted his brother, Lord Jason Lannister, sprinting across the courtyard with a look of sheer panic on his face. Tyland knew that look all too well—the last time he’d seen Jason like this, it had involved a stolen cask of Arbor Gold, a mysteriously missing tapestry, and a sheep that had somehow found its way into the main hall. But this? This was dragons. And three of them, no less.

As Silverwing, Viseron, and Grey Ghost settled on the grounds in front of Casterly Rock, Jason came to a halt, looking between Tyland and you, his hands spread in a mixture of disbelief and distress.

"Tyland," he panted, eyes flicking nervously to the dragons, "we... we don’t exactly have... room for these... guests."

You smiled warmly, giving Jason a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry, Lord Jason. The dragons are quite capable of managing on their own. They’ll just... stretch their wings over the Westerlands for a while. No need for stables or anything like that."

Jason’s face paled. "You mean they’ll be... loose?"

Tyland patted his brother on the shoulder, trying not to grin too much. "Think of it as a form of... security. No one will dare approach Casterly Rock with three dragons in the sky."

Jason shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "Security? What about the... cows? Or... the villages?” His voice dropped to a mutter, “I’m not even sure our shepherds are going to sleep tonight."

A deep rumble came from Viseron, Daemon’s dragon, who had now lifted his head to peer into the castle entrance. Tyland winced as he noticed Daemon standing beside Viseron, looking positively thrilled.

“Viseron wants to come in!” Daemon declared, completely unbothered by the dragon’s lack of... indoor etiquette.

Before anyone could stop him, Viseron took a few bold steps forward, his massive head pressing against the doors of Casterly Rock with all the casual disregard of a cat trying to push its way inside.

“Absolutely not!” Jason cried, throwing his hands up in horror as the dragon’s snout nudged the entrance, causing the heavy doors to creak ominously. “You can’t... he can’t... he’ll break the whole castle!”

Tyland groaned, stepping forward to try and wave the dragon back. “Viseron, no,” he said, doing his best to sound authoritative. “This isn’t the gardens of the Red Keep—you’re not coming inside.”

But Viseron, ever the loyal companion, let out a low, disgruntled whine and pressed harder, stubbornly wedging his head between the doors. Tyland watched, wide-eyed, as the dragon’s horns scraped against the stonework, sending dust and bits of masonry crumbling to the ground.

“He’s... stuck,” Alyssa said with a tone of dry amusement, standing next to Grey Ghost with an expression that suggested this was just another Tuesday in her life.

You stifled a laugh as you approached, placing a gentle hand on Tyland’s shoulder. “He’s still got that habit of following Daemon everywhere, doesn’t he?”

Tyland looked skyward, muttering a quick prayer for patience before turning back to the scene. “This is not exactly the time, Y/N.”

But it was too late; the situation had already escalated. Viseron’s hindquarters were wiggling as he attempted to back out, only managing to wedge his head in further. A handful of castle staff and guards had gathered, staring in a mix of awe and terror at the sight of a dragon trying to make himself at home in Casterly Rock.

“Daemon,” Tyland said through gritted teeth, “get your dragon unstuck.”

Daemon, however, was far too amused, hands on his hips as he watched the spectacle with a grin. “He’s just saying hello to everyone!”

Jason groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Hello? This is a disaster.”

Tyland tried again, this time with a bit more desperation in his voice. “Viseron, move!” He flapped his arms in what he hoped was a convincing display of authority, but Viseron only blinked at him, still wedged stubbornly in the doorway.

You, clearly finding the entire scene more amusing than concerning, leaned in close to Tyland and whispered, “If he doesn’t move soon, you might have to join him out here.”

Tyland shot you a look, though he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Very funny.”

A Dragonkeeper stationed at Casterly Rock (as a precaution since the last visit), who had been watching the whole ordeal from a safe distance, finally stepped forward, waving his arms in a series of complex gestures and calling to Viseron in Valyrian. With a grumbling noise that could only be described as dragonish pouting, Viseron managed to wriggle his head free, giving the door a final, reluctant nudge before retreating a few steps.

Jason exhaled in relief, looking as though he might faint from the stress. “Finally,” he muttered, casting a wary glance at the dragon, who now stood sulking outside the castle like an oversized, scolded puppy.

With Viseron finally settled (or as settled as a dragon could be), you turned to Jason, giving him a warm smile. “See? All under control.”

Jason threw his hands up, still looking frazzled. “If this is what you consider under control, I dread to think what happens when things go wrong.”

Tyland chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “Welcome to life with Targaryens, Jason. Dragons and all.”

Jason sighed, looking resigned as he muttered, “This is the last time I’ll be surprised by a dragon at my door. Next time, I’m locking it.”

As you all turned to head inside, Viseron gave one last hopeful nudge toward the doorway. Tyland gave him a pointed glare and muttered, “Not. One. Step.”

With a low, defeated rumble, Viseron sat back, clearly accepting that his dreams of castle life would have to wait. For now.

After the dragons were finally settled (or as settled as dragons could be, with Viseron still casting occasional, longing glances at the door), Jason Lannister led you and Tyland to a quieter chamber, where he could finally get some answers. The whole situation was enough to put even the most patient of men on edge—and Jason Lannister was not exactly known for his patience.

Jason poured a generous goblet of wine for each of you before leaning against the table, his eyes fixed on Tyland and you, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “Right,” he said, cutting to the chase. “I think I deserve an explanation. Why, in the name of all the Seven, have you shown up here with dragons, your children, and a very sour expression?”

Tyland took a long sip of his wine, as if bracing himself, before he spoke. “It’s... quite a story, Jason. But to put it plainly... King Viserys is dead.”

Jason’s goblet nearly slipped from his hand, his face going pale as he absorbed the news. “Viserys is... gone?” He shook his head, clearly stunned. “Seven hells, Tyland. That’s... well, that’s no small matter.”

You nodded, your expression somber. “No, it isn’t. But it’s what came next that forced us to flee King’s Landing.”

Tyland set his goblet down, his jaw tightening. “The Hightowers seized the opportunity. The very night Viserys passed, Otto Hightower and his lot crowned Aegon as king. And then they made it very clear that my family—your family, too, Jason—would face consequences if we didn’t publicly denounce Rhaenyra.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening in disbelief. “You’re saying the Hightowers... threatened House Lannister?”

“Precisely,” Tyland replied, crossing his arms. “Otto expected me to fall in line, to pledge myself to Aegon’s cause without question. After all, he’s the one who matched me with Y/N, so I suppose he thought I’d be more... pliable.”

Jason let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “So, Otto Hightower thinks he can intimidate House Lannister because he arranged a marriage? That’s rich. Very rich.” He paused, looking between the two of you, his brow furrowing. “So, they’re threatening Rhaenyra... and your family if you don’t turn against her?”

You nodded, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “That’s about the size of it, Jason. Otto gave us a choice: denounce my own sister, or face the wrath of the crown.” You glanced at Tyland, then back at Jason. “Needless to say, we didn’t take kindly to being given ‘choices’ like that.”

Jason let out a low whistle, reaching for his goblet again. “Well, you certainly didn’t pick the quiet option, did you? Showing up at Casterly Rock with dragons is hardly a subtle way of saying you’re staying neutral.”

Tyland couldn’t help but chuckle. “Subtlety has never been a Targaryen strong suit.”

Jason shot him an amused look. “Or a Lannister one, apparently.”

He glanced toward the door, where he could still see Viseron’s shadow looming, the dragon’s curiosity clearly not satisfied. “So... the Hightowers think they can get away with strong-arming my family. All because of this business with Aegon.” Jason shook his head, looking half-amused, half-indignant. “The arrogance of it. As if the lions of the Westerlands would sit back and let the Hightowers pull our strings.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Jason. Speaking out against Aegon and Otto like that could get you in trouble.”

Jason snorted, crossing his arms. “Trouble? Please, the Hightowers know nothing of trouble until they’ve tried to bully a Lannister into submission. They’d do well to remember that lions don’t take kindly to being leashed.”

You shared a smile with Tyland, feeling a surge of relief at Jason’s response. “Then you’ll help us?”

Jason gave you a grin that was all teeth, his expression fierce. “If the Hightowers want to play games, I’m more than happy to show them how we play in the Westerlands.” He took another sip of his wine, then muttered, “But don’t expect me to put up with your dragons roaming free forever. I have a feeling I’ll be explaining their presence to half my bannermen by morning.”

Tyland chuckled, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “You wanted to know why we’re here, Jason. Now you know. House Lannister isn’t so easily cowed. Not by Otto, not by Aegon, not by anyone.”

Jason raised his goblet in a toast, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Then let’s make sure they remember it.”

It was a morning like any other—or so Tyland thought, until one of Jason’s guards came barreling into the hall, red-faced and out of breath, stammering something about another dragon.

Jason, who had just taken a sip of wine, promptly choked. “Another dragon?” he sputtered, clutching his goblet like it might provide some magical answer. “Seven hells, Tyland, did you invite the entire Targaryen family here?”

Tyland, who had his hands full keeping the dragons they already had in check, raised an eyebrow. “I most certainly did not. We’ve barely managed with the ones we brought along.”

But before Jason could respond, young Daemon practically leaped out of his seat, his eyes wide with excitement. “Caraxes!” he cried, his voice filled with wonder. “That’s Uncle Daemon’s dragon! He’s coming!”

Jason’s face went pale, and he shot a horrified look at Tyland. “Another Daemon. Another dragon. I was just starting to sleep again.”

“Well,” Tyland replied dryly, glancing at the door, “perhaps it’s best if we go and greet him before he decides to make his own introduction... with fire.”

Within moments, Jason, Tyland, young Daemon, and an entire entourage of guards and retainers were gathered in the courtyard, all staring at the sky as the unmistakable form of Caraxes descended. The Blood Wyrm’s red scales gleamed in the morning sun, his wings casting a formidable shadow over Casterly Rock. Tyland could feel Jason practically vibrating with dread beside him.

With a graceful yet terrifyingly powerful descent, Caraxes landed in the courtyard, his long, serpentine neck stretching out as he surveyed the scene. And there, perched on his saddle with all the nonchalance in the world, was Prince Daemon Targaryen, looking entirely at ease.

As soon as Caraxes’s claws touched the ground, young Daemon took off, sprinting across the courtyard toward his great-uncle. “Uncle Daemon!” he called out, practically bouncing with excitement. “You’re here!”

Prince Daemon dismounted with a grin, catching young Daemon by the shoulders as he approached. “My little namesake!” he said warmly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Look at you, growing bolder every time I see you.”

Jason, watching the scene unfold with an expression of pure exasperation, muttered to Tyland, “Great. As if one Daemon wasn’t enough, now we have two.”

Tyland bit back a smile, giving his brother a sympathetic pat on the back. “Welcome to my life.”

Once Prince Daemon finished greeting his young namesake, Tyland stepped forward, doing his best to maintain a polite but cautious tone. “Prince Daemon,” he said, inclining his head, “we weren’t expecting you. To what do we owe this... honor?”

Prince Daemon’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous light as he looked around the courtyard, his gaze lingering on the three dragons that had made Casterly Rock their temporary home. “I came to see for myself where House Lannister stands,” he announced, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Three dragons here, and yet no word of support.”

Jason shot Tyland a panicked look, his voice a hushed whisper. “Does he mean to suggest we’ve picked a side already?”

Tyland forced a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep his expression calm. “Prince Daemon, it’s... complicated. We have come here to secure our family’s safety. As you know, the Hightowers left us little choice.”

Prince Daemon smirked, clearly enjoying the tension. “Oh, I understand the situation well enough. Otto Hightower never could resist using his claws to force people’s hands.” He cast a pointed glance at Tyland. “Or hearts, as it seems.”

Jason, his nerves evidently fraying by the second, let out a long sigh. “So, what exactly are you here for, Prince Daemon? Besides... checking on our dragons?”

Daemon flashed a grin that was all teeth. “Simply to remind you that House Targaryen never forgets its own. And to ensure that House Lannister remembers where true power lies.”

Tyland managed a respectful nod, though he couldn’t help but feel the unspoken message behind Daemon’s words: the Targaryens were here to stay, and any alliance with them would mean loyalty through thick and thin—and perhaps fire.

Young Daemon, still beaming up at his great-uncle, seemed utterly unaffected by the tension in the air. “Uncle Daemon, are you staying for dinner?”

Prince Daemon chuckled, casting a mischievous look at Tyland. “If your father and uncle don’t mind, perhaps I’ll stay for a while. I’d love to see how House Lannister dines.”

Jason let out an almost imperceptible groan, muttering, “Great. Just wonderful.”

And with that, Tyland gave his brother a reassuring pat. “Welcome to the family politics, Jason. Just remember, it’s all part of the... charm.”

Jason shot him a glare, grumbling, “Charm? If this is what Targaryen charm looks like, I’m moving to a mountain.”

But even through the chaos, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a thrill at having his family—dragons, Daemons, and all—united in purpose, however complex that purpose might be.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was abuzz with an unusual energy as you and Alyssa swept in, both of you clearly eager to greet Prince Daemon. Alyssa, always fascinated by her great-uncle’s stories and dragon lore, had practically flown through the halls at your side, her excitement radiating from her.

When you entered, Prince Daemon stood near the hearth, looking entirely at ease in the lion’s den. His eyes lit up when he saw you and Alyssa approaching, and he greeted you both with a warm smile.

“Uncle Daemon,” you said, inclining your head with a grin. “You won’t have to wonder any longer about where we stand. I will support Rhaenyra—no matter what Otto Hightower threatens us with.”

Daemon’s grin widened, his gaze gleaming with something almost feral. “Good,” he said, clearly delighted. “It seems the Hightowers have underestimated the Targaryens—and our allies.” He gestured expansively to the hall around him. “We have dragons on every side now. Let Otto try to control that.”

Tyland, standing nearby with Jason, managed a slightly pained smile as he overheard. “Yes, let’s... keep the burning to a minimum, shall we?”

Daemon chuckled, clapping Tyland on the shoulder a little too heartily. “Fear not, Lord Tyland. I don’t intend to burn anything today.”

Dinner was quickly arranged in the great hall, and it wasn’t long before everyone was seated: you, Tyland, Jason, Prince Daemon, and the two young dragons in human form—Alyssa and young Daemon—who seemed to be practically vibrating with excitement.

Of course, the dinner was anything but quiet.

Prince Daemon was regaling everyone with tales of dragon riding, his hands gesturing wildly as he described the time Caraxes had decided to swoop so low over the Stepstones that Daemon could practically taste the sea spray. Young Daemon was listening with wide eyes, occasionally nudging his sister and whispering, “Did you hear that? We could do that!”

Tyland, catching this, shot you a slightly panicked look, leaning over to mutter, “Let’s keep their dragon-riding ambitions grounded for a few more years, shall we?”

Jason, meanwhile, was doing his best to maintain some semblance of order, which mostly involved looking horrified as Daemon described close calls in dragon battles. “And you... you survived that?” Jason asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and something akin to mild terror.

Daemon smirked, clearly enjoying Jason’s discomfort. “Survived it? I thrived on it.” He cast a sidelong glance at you, clearly enjoying the drama of the story. “Nothing like a little fire and blood to remind you that you’re alive, wouldn’t you say?”

You chuckled, raising a glass. “It certainly keeps things interesting.”

Jason, however, didn’t seem so convinced. “Interesting isn’t quite the word I’d use. Maybe... terrifying?”

Alyssa, who had been quietly observing her great-uncle with fascination, piped up. “Uncle Daemon, when will I get to ride Grey Ghost like that?”

Jason’s eyes went wide, and he nearly choked on his wine. “Absolutely not,” he said, casting a desperate look toward Tyland for support.

Tyland sighed, patting his brother’s shoulder. “Welcome to Targaryen family dinners, Jason. Just wait until they start hatching their own plans.”

“Gods save us,” Jason muttered, rubbing his temples.

But despite Jason’s fretting, the children were enraptured by Daemon’s stories, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride watching your family—dragons and all—bond in a way that transcended any differences between houses.

At one point, Daemon leaned over to Tyland, his grin mischievous. “So, Lord Tyland,” he said, voice low but filled with mirth, “I hear you’re still reluctant to fly.”

Tyland managed a polite but strained smile. “I’m quite content to keep my feet on the ground, thank you. The last thing I need is another... surprise flight.”

Daemon chuckled, clearly enjoying Tyland’s discomfort. “Pity. I was thinking it’d be quite the sight to see a Lannister on dragonback.”

Jason muttered, mostly to himself, “Over my dead body.”

“Noted, Lord Jason,” Daemon said with a wink, clearly relishing every bit of Jason’s unease.

As the night wore on, the wine flowed freely, and soon the hall was filled with laughter and occasional shouts as the conversation grew louder and more boisterous. Alyssa was practically asleep at the table, her head bobbing as she fought to stay awake, while young Daemon kept inching closer to his namesake, clearly hanging on every word.

When dinner finally wound down, and the candles burned low, Daemon raised a glass, his gaze sweeping over all of you. “To House Targaryen,” he said, his voice carrying a note of defiance. “And to House Lannister, our allies in fire and blood.”

Tyland raised his glass with a slightly forced but sincere smile, murmuring, “May it be a peaceful alliance... eventually.”

Jason, though weary, clinked his goblet with a resigned sigh. “If peace means dragons at my doorstep, so be it. Just... maybe not every day.”

And as the toasts echoed through the hall, you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the strength of your family beside you—each person, each dragon, and each impossible, unforgettable story.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Still Pretty

Sirius Black x fem!reader

[1K] drunk sirius, something cute and fluffy that I stopped too soon ‘cause toothache got to me sorry

Sirius was wearing half the clothes he’d left with by the time you walked into the Potter’s home.

He was lazing on the couch, half on Remus, dark hair a mess, white shirt rumpled and sleeves rolled to his elbows, three - no four - buttons undone, tie lost, sweater missing. The party had long wrapped up, the usual suspects left with the music low, butterbeer and firewhiskey bottles almost empty.

Lily had called, sounding too relieved when you answered, not long home from work. She’d murmured a soft apology, hoping you weren’t too tired, but your boyfriend was taking up residency on her couch and her own husband was only encouraging it.

You’d laughed, fond and knowing, telling her you’d be over soon to collect what was yours. So you fed your cat, scratching him behind his black fur ears as he curled around your legs in thanks, leaving the living room lights on low for your return. You switched out your work shirt for a sweater Sirius had left at yours, a faded thing that was once black but always soft, shoving your feet into some tennis shoes and setting off to the Potter’s.

You didn’t knock, didn’t have to, walking into the familiar house that smelled like pumpkin spice and honey. You found your friends in the living room, sprawled over loveseats and armchairs, talking quietly, laughing loudly. Remus smiled lazily when he saw you, tapping at Sirius’ legs which were slung over his lap. Lily waved from the armchair she was squished beside James on, her husband half asleep with his head on her chest.

“Pads,” Remus whispered, “your taxi is here.”

Disgruntled, Sirius slapped blindly at his friend, his head hanging off of the couch, hair wild, silver earring dangling against his temple. He was all flushed, pink and tipsy, eyes closed and lashes fanning over cheeks. “Fuck off,” Sirius moaned, sleepy sounding. “M’staying here. This is my bed.” He slapped the couch cushions, indignant. “You’re in my bed, Remus.”

Lily rolled her eyes and Remus tried not to laugh as you crept over, bending to smooth your hand over your boyfriend’s forehead, brushing back the stray hairs that were curling over his eyes, around his temples. He grinned before you could even speak.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” You mused softly, voice teasing.

Sirius’ eyes opened, dark as always, warm with butterbeer and wine, warmer from seeing you. They crinkled in the corners, sticky sweet. “Hi, darling.”

“Hi, pretty boy,” you murmured back, smiling when Sirius lifted his head, neck craning to bump his nose against your cheek, kissing you a little off kilter, clumsy but sweet. You hummed, pleased with his affection, even if Remus pretended to gag from beside you both. “Would you like to come to my bed instead?”

Sirius gasped, scandalised, eyes wide and flashing dangerously at you. His grin was wolfish. “Christ woman, are you flirting with me?” He leaned up again, pushing a kiss to your jawline, snickering into your skin when Remus finally shoved him off.

“I’ll flirt with you more if you let poor Lily get to her bed,” you reasoned, helping the boy right himself on the couch, carding your fingers through his hair, smiling when he caught your palm and pressed a kiss there too.

“You’re both awful,” Remus mused, standing and stretching, readying himself to leave too. He was full of affection as he said it, bending to press his own kisses to your and Sirius’ heads, doing the same to Lily and a sleeping James before he slipped out the door.

“I’m not awful,” Sirius responded a beat too late, frowning at the closed door. “M’the best. Aren’t I, darling?”

You snorted, nodding placatingly as you dragged Sirius from the sofa, groaning as you tried your best to heave all his long limbs up from the cushions. He finally stood, heavy boots keeping him rooted to the spot despite the way he swayed a little, his wide hands warm on your waist, silver rings glinting in the candlelight.

He smiled down at you, sleepy and soft, a little lovesick and it made your heart jump in your chest. He was too pretty, full lips, dark features, strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, wild hair.

“Nice sweater,” he hummed, voice dropping to a level you recognised all too well. Low, raspy, too warm. “Suits you.”

You burned under his attention, forehead butting against his chest as you ducked away from his heavy gaze, murmuring a quiet warning into the bare strip of skin between his open buttons. “Sirius, behave.”

He didn’t. He never did.

Sirius misbehaved all the way home, hands sneaking around your waist mid walk, catching you just to bring you against his chest to tell you how pretty you looked, how nice you smelled, how much better his shirt looked on you than him - but wouldn’t it look even better on the bedroom floor?

“You’re drunk,” you told him, pleased with his attempt at flirting all the same, flushed and flustered, ‘cause even after years, Sirius Black knew how to make you weak in the knees.

He hummed, kiss over your neck and the skin he made appear on your shoulder, greedy hands tugging at your collar. “That I am,” he agreed. He swayed a little again, a hiccup leaving his lips as you unlocked your front door. “But you’re pretty. And when I’m hungover and suffering in the morning, you’ll still be pretty.”

[vic-draws-sometimes]

Sad wet cat

In which Soap takes care of his bf

Ghost hasn't slept in days. They're stuck on base, waiting for the signal to just go on a fucking important mission. They have at least one more week of waiting, and Ghost is actually going feral. He can't sleep, lest he thinks about the ongoing mission and everything that can go wrong, or worst, past missions gone wrong.

And everyone knows it, because he can't stand still. He barely eats his food, yells at anyone dumb enough to talk to him, and he keeps training. Exhausting himself on the bench, then on the treadmill, and when his muscles are trembling he goes to the shooting range and shoots until it's nighttime.

Obviously, Soap is one of the people that first noticed. He tries to spend time with Ghost, ease his mind, but nothing works. Alcohol just makes it worst. He's too worked up to get a boner to have sex. Sleeping is out of the question. He can't focus on a movie. So he just goes about his day and checks up on him once in a while, making sure he eats every day.

One day Soap doesn't see him for breakfast, not unusual, but still concerning. Maybe he finally went to sleep and just didn't wake up? But his room is empty. His office too, and Soap can actually see how much of a mess it is.

So he goes to the gym and sees him running. He decides to let him be. Except he doesn't see him at lunch either, and when he goes to the gym, he sees him on the same machine running like his life depends on it. That can't be good, but maybe he took a break while Johnny was out?

It's only when he comes back in the evening and Ghost is still there, running, that Soap decide enough is enough.

''Ghost'' Soap walks up to him, no answer. Ghost barely acknowledge his presence.

''Ghost!'' Once again, he's ignored.

''Simon!'' the man finally flinches and when he sees Johnny finally stops the machine.

''Don't call me that.'' his voice his rough, out of breathe. But he's still breathing quietly, which is eerie.

''It's your name.'' at that, Ghost shakes his head.

''Simon has been dead for years.'' Johnny can't help but roll his eyes. That bit again... He understands that Ghost is disassociating, but he sounds straight out of a movie.

''You look quite alive to me.'' he says, deadpan and folding his arms. Unsurprisingly, Ghost snaps at him.

''Don't play dumb with me!'' he steps off the machine and Soap steps back, ready for a tackle. But Ghost's legs tremble under his weight. He seems genuinely surprised by that.

''Oh, you're a little weak in the knees? '' Johnny says with a fake baby voice. This only flames Ghost's anger. He tries to grab Soap but he steps out of his range easily.

''You're a bit sloppy too. '' It's almost pitiful to see Ghost, usually so feared, try to attack Soap while he's just standing there. Good thing it's late enough that no one is here. It goes on for a bit until Ghost is angered enough to actually attack him.

''There it is! Time for me to act like I'm actually scared!'' it earns him a disgruntled yell as he starts running, more like jogging to the exit.

They run through the base in a simili game of tag. In which Ghost is out to kill and Johnny is leading him to his own room, where he has the privilege of a personal shower.

''I know what you're doing Johnny and it's not gonna work'' Soap is opening the door to the small bathroom and while he's smiling, he's actually starting to get scared. They're in a small space and he can't really escape anymore.

Out of breathe, but still angry, Ghost corners him on the counter. He grabs his jaw without any kindness and lifts him up, or rather tries to. His arms a weak.

''You are out of line. I could get you discharged for this.'' Johnny is grabbing his arms and feels just how drenched they are from sweating so much.

''You love me too much for this'' he says, cheekily, then pushes Ghost into the shower. It was surprisingly easy. Before Ghost can get up he grabs the shower head and quickly sprays ice cold water on his lieutenant.

It earns him a scream, Ghost putting his arms up to try and shield himself. But Johnny easily shoves them out of the way and spays his head.

Finally, he hears a loud gasp.

''That's it, breathe through it.'' he says gently, still getting his CO nicely covered in cold water. He can finally hear his breathe, taking in all the oxygen he's been depriving himself of. Johnny turns off the shower and for a minute they sit in silence. Ghost doesn't seem to be calming down.

Soap decides then to take off Ghost's shirt, who weakly tries to fight it off. He's trying to tell him something between gasped breathes, but Johnny can't figure it out. When he's in his underwears, mask off, Johnny sprays him in water again. He could feel how hot his skin still was. So he makes sure to spray water in every crease, and pays special attention to his head. He himself is all wet, but he doesn't care.

After a minute he turns it off again, and Simon is finally back to reality. His breathing is back to normal and he seems to finally register his exhaustion.

''I'm sorry...'' Johnny feels a bit guilty when Simon apologizes to him, sitting on the floor of his miniscule shower, drenched to the bone.

''It's okay, you're here now. Let's get you dry. '' he helps him up and dries him with an old towel. He has to help him walk to his bed. He took off his clothes to sleep with him, but Simon stopped him.

''What is it, m'eudail?'' he holds his cheek and Simon leans against it.

''I don't want skin... Please... I don't want to feel my body. '' Oh poor kitten. Or that's what he would've said if he didn't have a death wish. Instead he just agreed and took out clothes for Simon and himself. He got into bed and only once they were all settled Simon tried to fight it.

''I don't want to sleep'' he said weakly, but Johnny held him firmly in his arms. He talks to him in a low voice, a hand in his hair, and against his wishes Simon fell asleep in a matter of seconds.

When he woke up, Johnny was still with him and he felt like absolute shit. His whole body hurt and he was pretty sure he couldn't move. But his mind was calmer than before, and for this day he let his Johnny pamper him. They went walking, watched a movie and spent time with their team.

[doublekanble]

Orpheus and Eurydice

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 3.3k

i want to go to bed. (deleted this without copying it by accident, its past midnight, if theres any grammar mistakes, no there is not) at some point wedding is mentioned, but this can be platonic, i am just a very touch-staverd thing.

“Al?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you know the stories about Eurydice and Orpheus?”

(some say that he journeyed on his own to find Apollo, the Olympian god, reigning over sunlight and all things beautiful and pleasant. others would say that after Orpheus have his fill of travelling with the Argonauts and finally ending their search for the golden fleece in joy, he’d returns home. it was both, as far as you concerned.

but in every version of the story, Orpheus, who was depicted as a gifted musician, personally tutored by beautiful and enchanted Apollo himself, deeply fell in love with Eurydice, an Auloniad nymph, and she would love him all the same.)

He looked down and away from his book, tilting his head to meet you with a glance, ears flickering while you’re stretching across his lap with that dammed electric box still in your hand. You continue.

“It’s a Greek mythology about a man losing his wife and him looking for her in the underworld. I couldn’t find the original, but most of them still have the same meaning for me.” You turn on your stomach and lift yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with a delighted grin. “It’s a really good story, I think! Do you want to hear one? I can read them out to you, just pick one.”

“’Pick’ one? Pray tell, how many is there for me to pick?”

“You tell me~”

You exudes nothing but warmth and content as you grin, Alastor held himself back from squeezing your face.

(one story described how, on their wedding day, to the happy couple on their happiest day, a present in the form of an omen was granted by fate.

all the candles and lamps of the temple gifted them with black and oily smoke, coiling in the lungs of guests and stick to their skin.)

“I see, now what a dilemma… Which one of these unknown stories should I pick?” Alastor hums coyly, his book left on the side table unmarked. Oh well, it’s close to your bed time anyway, when you’re off in your dream land, he can resume. “More importantly, how did you learn of all this, dear? Doesn’t seem quite like the sort of thing you’d naturally pick up on…”

“You’re calling me stupid, again.” Dropping your expression in an instant, your delightful demeanor only drives him to take you less seriously.

“Am I now?! Why, how utterly despicable of me! My most sincere apologies~.”

"You-"

You try to swat at him like a disgruntled old cat, only for Alastor to smile as he catches your wrist with no trouble. Immediately, you gave up and turn back to your thing as he pleasingly pecks your imprisoned hand, knowing you can’t do anything about it.

(some say that she was simply bitten by a sly snake. some said she was chased by a satyr into the forest first. in all of them, Orpheus find his wife, whom he haven't even the time to love fully, lying amongst the green. with the poison already spread through her veins and choke her heart, he held her cold body in his arms as he wept.)

“Anyway-” Alastor pats your head, ears perk up while refusing to let go of you, not that you bothered to take your hand back, already satisfied with lazily draping yourself across his sofa and in his lap. He silently felt your pulse as you snidely remarked, “I learn about it online, idiot. Something an old coot like you wouldn’t know how to navigah-owowow I’m sohry yor noh ouh!-“

This, he somewhat find annoying. You’ve been actively learning more words to try and keep up with his “flowery compliments” and “verbose vocabulary” (he would’ve taken sweet and articulated, but c'est lavie). It would’ve been sweet, if not for the fact you only and exclusively learn insults. Your pleas would’ve fallen onto deaf ears, but there’s still a story you need to tell, so he let go of your cheek and lean back.

“I will have to say, if this story is as popular as you boasted, there would surely be a book somewhere about it.” You open your mouth, then just as quickly, you close it and stare up at Alastor who plucked your device off your hand and all but threw it onto the side table. You looked like you’re considering the consequences of trying to fight him head-on while he gives you a cheeky grin filled with sharp yellow teeth. “You were saying~?”

(some described the nearby nymphs and deities grieved alongside Orpheus. moved by the love that he lost, they tell him to look for a way to the underworld, to meet the God of Death and all things misery and to beg for his wife’s life. some said he find his own way down with a lyre in hand and play a song by the river of forgetfulness, with water almost as oily and black as the smoke from his happiest day, he would find himself singing all the way to the palace of Hades.)

Glaring at empty air and refusing to meet his eyes, your expression wavered as you seethe through you teeth, determined not to be distracted and tormented by him. He chuckles as you clears your throat. It’s good that you’re getting better at picking battles when it comes to him, Alastor can’t risked you realizing the actual hold you have over him, yet.

He watches as you stumbled through your words at first, chasing thoughts too fast for you to catch as they come. Your stories overlapping with one another, but eventually, you’d find your pace, and the images you’ve been trying to paint with clumsy colors and bristle brushes come to life as he plays with your hair. Your free hand motioned along all while.

Orpheus comes back home from an expedition, Orpheus married Eurydice, in haste and in love. One day later, depending on the story, he would either give his beloved Eurydice a funeral first before he finds the river, or he would leave straight for the underworld.

One way or another, Orpheus would find himself in front of Hades and his wife Persephone with a near endless line of phantoms and one giant three-head dog following him. In front of Hades, he plays a melody with all of his misery and grief. His fingers nimble and skilled despite the long travel, his voice lamenting and steady, he all but begged senses into the Gods and for him to be able to live his life together with Eurydice, for just one life. The Gods, then, moved by Orpheus love, allowed him to take Eurydice back, but under one condition.

“Eurydice will not go in front, not even for a single second. And Orpheus will pass through the gates without looking back, not even one glance. Until they returns to the land of the living, together.”

You said it with such longing in your eyes, the pain vivid in his mind. Nevertheless, you continued.

“Some people said the Gods are nefarious and thought of Orpheus as a foolish mortal, coming to their door and demanding his wife back without the bravery to follow her into the dark, they gave him a shadow and tricked him into looking back and let him rotted in his despair.” You look into his eyes and he can see himself in yours, “I don’t like those one that much, but it doesn’t change the meaning of the story.” You looked away before he can decipher his own expression, he wondered what he looked like to you at times.

“Then what about the others?”

“Arguably, they’re much more heartbreaking.”

Orpheus would walk on, away from the hallway filled with the coldness of the dark and the warm of the fire. On and away into the path leading back to the earth, all on his own at first. Then somewhere along the way, his lone footstep was joined by another. Soft pitter-patter right behind him.

Sometimes, it would falter, stopping for a bit, as if it have something to say. Sometimes, it’s chased his heels, a breeze by the nape of his neck, as if wanting to touch. But she never talks, and he would never touch her.

“There’s also version where he hears her calling for him too, but Orpheus stayed strong.”

You pulled a piece of paper on the coffee table, but unable to do anything else, you tear it into small pieces with the end of your nails as he laughs and nuzzles your still-imprisoned hand.

Loving Orpheus walked through the dark tunnel and sat on the boat as Charon paddled them back to the opening, holding strong. Until they’re at the gate, Orpheus at the front, Eurydice walking behind. He would be right there before the end of his journey, and then,

“-one way or another, he looked back.”

You stop to contemplate, then with a heavy heart, you sigh. “Some said he doubted himself at the last minute, some said he never trusted it in the first place. I don’t mind any of them, but there’s also one where Eurydice stumbled and he couldn’t help himself from turning around and catch her in his arm. That and the one where he forgot she also needs to walk out the gate, not just him.”

He huffs. “What a fool he is. I sure hope you’re not telling me all this just to call me a twit, darling.”

At that, you sprang up, “Hey! You say that because you’re cynical! The point isn’t that Orpheus is an idiot!”  Alastor briefly mourned your warmth as you wildly gestured and sputtered. “Orpheus looked back and in every one of them, he saw her for a single split of a second before she disappeared!” you all but bemoaned, as if crying to Zeus himself for justice. “He'd try to go back to the underworld, but no mortal is allowed in even once, let alone trying to come back again!”

Deflating next to him, you flopped down and loses all your fight and bites, ending it with a solemn, “In all the stories, he got torn to pieces by women. That’s how his story end.”

You sink into the cushions and turned to Alastor as he clapped and cheer for you, “That was a fantastic recounting! You truly have a way of commanding attention from the audience! I should really get you on one of my broadcast some day!”

Alastor wasn’t fibbing at all, he really does love your story. Your passionate nature for things you hold dear, to the point where you can’t ever properly capture them in anyway -albeit juvenile at times- was, and always will be his most favorite trait of yours (especially since it’s often about him. Alastor is nothing but a prideful man, one who’s proud to admit he'd preened like a peacock at your attention); but he might as well call it all a bore to your face, with how your brows drawn together and your one visible eye squinted at him. He can tell your energy for the day is running low, alongside the fact you’re somewhat miffed by something he can’t wrapped his head around, so he pulls you close.

“Now, why so quiet, dear? Did Hades took your voice along with that fool's beloved muse? You know yours truly would never dare to make a mockery of you or your stories.”

You dissected his ever-lasting smile, as if looking for any hint of a lie. Which, admittedly, bruised his pride a bit. But his jest did go on for a bit too long in the beginning, so he relented. When you’re satisfied with your conclusion, you turned away. Thinking deeply to yourself for mere seconds before you ask, “What do you think about the story though?”

“Is this one of those quizzes where there’s a wrong answer?” he grinned as you lean a bit closer, silently asking for permission before setting yourself into his side.

“If there’s one then you would’ve failed Al.”

“Ah, what a pity it would be~.” He set his arm around you and close his eyes. “What do I think of it…Why-”

With a snap of his fingers, he cheerfully exclaimed, “It’s quite the tale. Quite the tale if I have to be frank! Such a wonderful and tragic story with such wondrous derivations too!" He waves his arms in the air, "I can see why you would be fascinated with this! The romantic you are. Orpheus love for his dear Eurydice is truly admirable, truly. Though, I’d recommend him to be more careful next time. There were black smokes running from the candles, for crying out loud!”

Seemingly satisfied, although with the slightest hint of disappointment, you nodded along. “I don’t think there’s going to be a next time, but it was really silly. If black smoke starts to come out of my candles at my wedding? The wedding would just turn into baptism for the day. But I also get them though.” You nudges your head under his chin. “I mean, if you die of a snake bite right after our wedding, I’d also go to the underworld for you.”

Never mind the irony in the fact you two are in Hell, or the fact that his rotting heart beats just a bit faster at the idea of your casual tone while admitting you would go so far for him. He slyly chides, “Why, you want me to die by poison in a forest alone? How bewitchingly heartless of you~.”

“Hey! you wouldn’t be there alone…the snake should still hang around for long enough!”

Throwing his head back and shaking it left to right, his cackles fills the room as you hit him square in his shoulder while clamming your mouth shut.

“Ah, yes, yes. I won’t be alone at all, would I?” he sigh, “After all, even in the underworld, you would be right there, looking for me! Charming thing as you are, putting everyone in a trance with your words as you walk through the path leading to that grandiose fire palace!”

You opted to settled back into his shoulder afterwards, sounding more and more drowsy as the time catches up to you. “And then when I walked out of the place, you’ll be right behind me, right?” He grips you just a bit tighter, even when your voice are this quiet, he still wants to keep it to himself.

 “I will be right behind you~. And I will do everything I can just for you to turn back and look at me.”

Alastor would be slightly concerned for your silence, if not for the fact that when he cranked his head to peak at you, you looked like the saddest little rodent in the world, head lulling back and forth as you try to keep yourself awake and formulate any slight resemblance of a respond.

“…You know, dear? I wouldn’t mind you resting here for the night. If you don’t mind sleeping on this couch that is.”

“Hm?…Oh. Oh! Thanks! You can drop me here once you’re done with whatever you’re doing then…” He choose to not mention the fact that he’s also going to be on the same couch for the rest of the night, you don’t need to know he’ll be sitting here until morning comes.

“Al…” As he’s reaching for his book, assured that you were dozing off, you suddenly call out to him, voice weak and droning.

“Yes, dear?”

“Which version of Orpheus mistake do you like the most?”

His claws weaves through your hair as he tries to recall the page number, knowing he’ll returned to it in just a bit. “What a delightful question! Personally, I find the idea of the fool forgetting about the rules and turning around because he just couldn’t hold himself back oh-so amusing!” he find it amusing, because not in a million years would he ever made that mistake. “What about you, dear? What do you think?”

“I think I like all of them. Because in all of them, Orpheus failed because he love Eurydice so badly.”

With ears pricked up and hand held in the air, hovering above your head just before he shake the feeling off and resume. “Hm, I didn’t quite catch that-” Laughing, just a tad bit taken aback, he look at you again, “Care to explain your thoughts?”

You yawn and nestled yourself against him, he can hear the sound of his own heart in his throat. He can feel his left ear flickering against the top of his head.

“Orpheus wasn’t ever going to get Eurydice back, either by interference or by normal circumstances. Because he go to the underworld and made a deal due to his love for Eurydice.”

It's a tragedy in the making, a mistake set to happen over and over again. Because Orpheus is a fool, and he loved Eurydice with all of his heart.

“He find his way to the underworld for Eurydice after losing her, only to then lost her again despite the trouble he went through. If he really is a coward, then he would’ve just live on without her from the start.” You shivered, a wandering breeze ran from the inner swamp to your spot. The fire place burns just a bit hotter. “But he made Hades and Persephone listened to his mourning, walked all the way to the gate, and then tries to go back and do it all again.” With eyes knitted shut, you mumbled to yourself, “He must’ve been so relieved and happy to finally have her back after everything …”

“To the point he would forget, and Orpheus looked back.”

"Yeah... you got it..."

Your head back in his lap, like how this silly story time began, except this time Alastor feels beyond unnerved by the churning in his stomach. It’s not exactly unwelcome, but he finds himself utterly exasperated by the fact he can’t properly recall what he was supposed to be doing.

“Alastor?” He thought you would’ve fallen asleep by now, but your eyes are still ever so slightly open, staring at him while your muttering something barely comprehensible, “Do you think you would’ve looked back?”

Just as easily as you said it in your hazy state, he's at a lost for words. Unable to properly be acquainted with the taste of honest word just yet, Alastor bend down just enough to placed a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose and try to find his voice as you hummed.

“Let’s us hope that we won’t ever have to find out, will we?” It’s unbecoming of himself, but he’s placing his all on you not remembering his wavering expression. “How about you then?” he whispered, Alastor don’t pray, but he hope you’ll forget the pain in his voice. “Will you promise me you’ll look back for me, even if it means we will never meet again until you rotted away?”

“I will.”

As your breathing finally evens and falls into a rhythm underneath a red duvet, Alastor find himself smiling a near unfamiliar smile, claws tapping in rhythm as he take a moment to himself.

“How very cruel of you, mon Chéri.”

He started from the beginning, already forgotten most of the plot in a night. He would look back, he thought to himself, eyes scanning a story about an old man beloved new coat. If looking back means he loved you more than the air he breathes, then Alastor will always look back. But unlike the foolish Orpheus, he will be the only mortal that entered the underworld more than once, as many time as it will takes him, as long as it means he can find you again.

(some say that at the end of his life and the beginning of his death. Orpheus would find himself amongst the phantoms, lost and wandering. and as Persephone see his wandering shadow, she plucked him from his misery. when he open his eyes for the first time again since his death, Eurydice is there, as beautiful as the day he lost her.)

[websterss]

THE STRAY FROM ARIF'S  — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

SUMMARY: You have a hard time listening to Lockwood, especially when he tells you not to do things. It only makes you want to do them more...like bringing a stray home.

WARNING(S): fluff

WORD COUNT: 1,480

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You hadn’t planned on bringing him home when you saw his cute little eyes glance up at you. You had a leftover doughnut in your bag that you pulled out and fed to the poor thing. Knowing it must’ve been days since it had eaten properly. You kept watching your six, looking for the tall brunette who repeatedly told you to stay far away from the creature before you. There was Mrs. Wick to consider though, when she took in a stray cat that took shelter in her home. She often called about some form of screaming in her attic, but after you had checked it out with Lockwood once, it only appeared to be a cat. A harmless one at that, which she adopted. Now you were sitting in the kitchen feeling like a little kid hiding a big secret, and you didn’t exactly feel like getting scolded by your parents. Well, rather Lockwood in this case.

“What’s with the eye exchanging? What aren’t you telling me?” He gazed back and forth between the three of you. Then his eyes fell upon your figure trying to hide itself by sliding down your chair. “Y/n...” He eyed you warningly.

“R-Remember that dog. The one that loiters behind the dumpster of Arif’s?” You grimace seeing his eyebrows almost touch together. His eyes closing, not wanting the next predictable words to escape past your lips. He pinches the bridge of his nose, slouching back in his chair.

“The stray...” He sighs, then sits up straight. His hands gestured towards you as he said. “…I tell you not to feed because it will follow you home?” He didn’t even need you to verbally say it. The cheesed smile you cast at him causes his face to fall onto the tabletop. The loud thud causes George and Lucy to stifle out a laugh. You wince as he lets out a disgruntled groan. “Don’t tell me. Please don’t say it...”

“It followed-” You begin.

“It followed you home, wonderful!” He lifts his head back up. “You specifically did that one thing- one thing I tell you not to.” He chews on his bottom lip contemplating his own death or rather yours. His left eye twitched. You shrink in your chair scared he’d reach across and strangle you.

“It was hungry!” You turn your palms face up. You shrug in your defense. 

“It’s a stray, Y/n. Of course it’s hungry. It lives on the street!” He emphasized.

“Not anymore!” You boast, sticking a finger in his face. You rise from your seat. 

“What?!” 

“What?” You looked around to the others. “Did you hear something Lucy?” You scratch the back of your head. Avoiding his perplexed expression.

“Come again...” He scoffs out a laugh. You hum, chewing on your bottom lip as you face him confused. “You just said-”

“I have said nothing. You’re delusional. Are you feeling okay? Wake up on the wrong side of bed this morning?” You reach across the table to touch his forehead. “You are a little warm-” You barely touch his skin before he smacks your hand away. You flinch away trying to stifle your laughter. 

“- that it no longer lives on the street. Implying that it’s no longer on the street.” Dread washes over his face. He slowly stands to his full height. “You haven’t. You didn’t...” Your eyes widened, trying to look at Lucy and George, who did not appear to have your back at this very moment. You cursed.

“Shit...”

“You brought it home didn’t you? Where is it?” He starts letting his eyes wander across the room. He moves around towards the door only to have you block it. 

“Where’s what?” You shrug.

“I told you there was to be no animals in this house. They’re messy, and loud, and you have to clean up after them. This is a business, hardly a place for a dog!” He listed off. 

“Then there’s the door.” You smile at him. You hold back your laughter watching him gape at you, offended. “I’m sorry.” You chuckle, hand over your mouth. 

He pushes past you. His coat that he had on swaying with his movement. 

“Where is it?” He repeats, looking through all the rooms, under furniture, and throws back throw blankets. You don’t follow him as he walks up the stairs onto the second landing. When he descends, he catches you standing in front of the kitchen door. There was only one place that he had yet to check. Your pleading look gives him the answer that he needs. He pushes past you, as you begin to pull against his arms.

“No, no. Anthony please. Please, he’s been well behaved. Hardly a peep from him. I-I taught him to sit!” You revel in your success, but your smile falls as he scoffs.

“Did you teach him how to pay the gas bill? Perhaps the phone bill too? No? Thought so!” He throws open the basement’s door and walks down the steps with a hurried pace. As soon as his feet touch the floor, a loud bark is immediately heard. The poor dog is tied up. Though the wag of its tail displays his excitement. You run over to it, scratching its fur behind its ears. You chuckle as it licks a stripe on the side of your face. 

Lockwood stands there, hands at his hips. “No, no, no-” He begins.

“You haven’t even given it a chance.”

“I don’t need to give it a chance. My answer is still no. We can’t afford a dog, Y/n. We barely make enough to cover the expenses. We can’t keep him.” He reminds you. Your heart sinks, but he was indeed correct. The jobs you received were enough to keep the roof over your heads, but to add on additional fees for a dog. There’d be other things to pay for, to be cautious of. You four were hardly ever home to begin with. “He can’t stay.” He walks over and crouches down to pet him. He smiles nonetheless as the dog licks his hands. “You’re cute...but you must go. We don’t have the room for a fury friend.” He coos at it. You look at him through your eyelashes. Your doe eyes relaxed and softened, as you cast a faint knowing smile his way. Lockwood catches you, and starts shaking his head. “No. Do not give me that look.”

“What look? There’s no look.” You deny with a coy smile.

“Yes. There is. You’re doing it right now, and it’s not going to work this time.” He side eyed you.

“It’s worked before.”

“Because I allowed you to have that leverage over me. This time is different. There’s a living breathing animal involved.”

“You’re gonna cave.” You say confidently.

“No, I’m not.” He turns his head to meet your eyes.

“Yes, you are...” You lean in and capture his lips with your own. You pull back, tugging his tie slowly, knowing he’d chase after them to get in another kiss.

-

He really hated the power you held over him. One plea, beg, need, want, he was on his knees ready to give you the entire world. You were Lockwood’s entire world. He just didn’t think that your whole world was the mangy mutt that was disrupting his blissful sleep. Lockwood had made him take the blanket you had laid out for him on the floor, but after you had bathed him and brushed his fur. He had wiggled his way between your bodies. Now Lockwood was left staring at the mutts head lulled back onto your pillows, snoring. 

He didn’t even know dogs could snore. Yet as he casted his eyes onto your sleeping form. He couldn’t help but accept his faith. He moved the dog, slowly to the foot of the bed. Then slid towards the middle, pulling you into his arms. You sighed as you relaxed against his touch. Still sound asleep. The whine of the dog, had him lifting his head to look at him. 

“What?” He asked it, as if he was going to respond back. “Your beds down there...” He gestured with his head. “No...What is it? You need to be let out?” The dog was up in an instant. Anthony let his head fall back onto his pillow. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes before getting up, slipping on his slippers, and grabbing his gray zip up. “Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He opened the door and followed the dog out. Once his footsteps could no longer be heard. You peek one eye opening, a megawatt smile falls on your face as you nestled deeper into the covers. Sleep overcoming your body with a clear conscience of your victory. Anthony was already growing attached to the new addition whether he wanted to believe it or not.

[starryybugs]

There's a man staring at them from across the room. More specifically, there's a man staring at Roier from across the room.

Roier doesn't need to turn around to tell, he can feel the eyes on the back of his neck, and he can see Cellbit's eyes looking over his shoulder. It's fine, Roier is more than used to staring at this point.

What he's not used to, is his date looking so upset over it. It's kind of cute, Cellbit's brow is furrowed and he's clearly trying to hold back a scowl. He looks almost like a disgruntled cat, and Roier's sure he'd be growling if he could.

He reaches forward over the table, taking Cellbit's hands in his own and wrapping his tail around the other's leg.

"Hey, gatinho, look at me," he smiles as Cellbit's attention snaps back to his face. "It's fine, relax."

"He's looking at you," Cellbit mutters, hands clenching in Roier's own. "He's staring at you."

Roier blinks at the way he says those words, as if the man across the bar is committing some great crime. Cellbit leans over the table to plant a kiss on Roier's head, right between his horns, unlinking their hands and gently removing Roier's tail from his leg.

"I'll be right back, guapito," is all he says before he slides out of the booth and makes his way across the bar to the man.

Roier's ear flicks as he hears Cellbit speaking, his voice low and dangerous as he asks what the hell he thinks he's looking at. His voice makes him shiver in his seat, resting his cheek on his hand as he turns his head to watch his boyfriend.

He's heard that tone only a handful of times, Cellbit's usually a pretty relaxed guy. But gods does Roier wish he wasn't as collected sometimes, especially if he gets to hear him like this more often. It's making his heart flutter and his tail thump happily against his seat.

He lets out a soft, dreamy sigh, his finger tracing small hearts on the table as he hears the man stammer under Cellbit's cold stare. If only he could see his face, he's sure he looks beautiful right now. He always does, but his anger is something else to behold.

Roier looks up as Cellbit walks back to their table and slides into the booth next to him, humming as he wraps his arms around his sexy, pissed off boyfriend.

"That was hot," Roier comments, snickering as Cellbit flushes.

"You heard that?" he asks, turning his head to look back at him.

"Sí. Muy hot. Sexy," Roier grins, nuzzling into Cellbit's neck and scraping his fangs against his skin to feel him jump.

Cellbit grumbles, but leans his head back against Roier's shoulder anyway. He lifts his arm off of Roier's briefly, allowing him to wrap his tail around it just the way he likes.

"Guapito."

"Hm?"

"You're purring," Cellbit looks at him, eyes soft and curious. "Did you like it that much?"

"Sí. Me gusta cuando soy tuyo."

"Bem, você é meu. E eu sou seu."

And isn't that a nice thought? It makes Roier purr even harder.

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: “Do you want to put the star on the top of the tree?”

Pairing: Mozus Trein and GN!Reader/Yuu/Prefect (Familial)

Genre: Fluff

TW: NA

AN: I don't really have much to say about Trein lol. Hope you enjoy!

"Oh, come here lil' guy," you hummed, gently scooping Lucius from his place on the bay window seat. The cat let out a disgruntled meow, signalling his dissatisfaction as he looked at you with judgemental eyes. You just smiled at him innocently, cradling him like the furry little baby he was.

"Just gotta... there!" Anna smiled, decorating the bay window with tinsel and fairy lights. Delighted by her own work, she took a moment to take it all in. Turning to you, she said, "Well, that's the last of it done."

"Anna! (Name)! Come help decorate the tree if you're done with the rest of the house!" Ella called out to the two of you, making you gently let down Lucius from his perch in your arms. The feline sauntered off, out the door of the library and into the hallway as the two of you followed.

When Professor Trein found out that you were going to stay alone at Night Raven College for the winter holidays, he extended an invitation to you to spend the holidays with him and his daughters. Mozus Trein had grown fond of you, to the point where he regaled his daughters with stories of your adventures in the academy through the letters they exchanged regularly; Anna and Ella had been worryingly happy to show you the letters, much to their father's embarrassment.

You had grown used to the cosy house that Professor Trein called his home in no time, mixing with his family like you were always meant to be a part of it. Anna and Ella were a delight to be around. The women had taken one look at you and declared you their sibling, spoiling you and Grim both throughout your stay.

Ella was the older, calmer pillar to the absolute bouncing-off-the-walls energy that Anna brought. Both women loved and respected their father immensely, refusing to let him do anything they deemed too strenuous while they were there (which was most things).

It was endearing to see the way both of them would intently watch their father whenever he moved through the house, eyes narrowing when they saw him trying to lift something, no matter how light. Ella's gentle taking of the object from his hands would be coupled with Anna's playful scolding, after which you'd be roped in to monitor the elderly man who'd be placed into a 'timeout' on the couch.

These 'timeouts' would lead to the two of you sitting peacefully on the couch, your respective feline companions dozing off or resting on your laps as Professor Trein regaled you with stories from his past, of trips to faraway places and beloved friends. You grew close with the Professor, soaking up his retelling of stories with such eagerness that for a moment Mozus Trein was reminded of days when he'd read stories to two young girls before tucking them into bed.

If he hadn't thought of you as family before, he did now.

Once you reached the living room, you paused to admire the Christmas tree that was being decorated by an enthusiastic Grim and a slightly exasperated but fond Professor Trein. Anna immediately bee-lined to the two with the aim of helping them, while nudging you to go and help Ella, who seemed to be dusting some pictures kept on the marble mantelpiece. You obliged with her wordless request, making your way to the older woman.

You spied her holding a photo with gentle hands as you came to a stop next to her. It was a photo of a younger Professor Trein and a woman. The woman held a baby in her arms, carefully lowering them so a young girl could look at the baby with curious eyes. You recognized the young girl as Ella, so the baby must have been Anna. And that would mean...

"This is my mother," Ella spoke, her voice softer than usual. "I think this is the last photo we have of all of us together. All other photos of Mother before she left us only have we three girls," she glanced at you, a soft smile on her lips. "Father isn't one for being in pictures himself you see, though he likes to take them," she explained, fingertips gently grazing the cleaned glass.

"... She was really pretty," you said, looking at the woman in the photograph. She really was. Her long and luxurious hair was the same shade as Ella's, and her eyes the same colour as Anna's. The way she looked at her two young daughters interacting with each other was kind and motherly. The younger version of Professor Trein in the picture seemed unaware that a picture was being taken, his attention fully focused on his three girls as he stood close to his late wife.

It was a beautiful picture of a perfect family.

"That she was," Ella hummed in agreement as she placed the picture back on the mantelpiece. "Father used to tell us that Mother was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. That, along with her beautiful face and agreeable nature, ensured that she had plenty of suitors back in the day," she smiled, then continued, "though he refuses to tell us how he managed to woo her. Anna believes that he serenaded her one night under the stars, and she fell for him. And that he's just too embarrassed to tell us that."

You laughed as a vision of a young Professor Trein, singing his love and admiration to his wife danced in front of your eyes, and Ella chuckled along. "Ridiculous, isn't it?"

"What is ridiculous?" Professor Trein asked from behind you, and your laughter increased. Ella looked at you in amusement, a hand on your shoulder to stabilise your laughing form as she gave her father an innocent smile, "Nothing father. Have you finished decorating the tree?"

Professor Trein looked behind him, where Grim and Anna were arguing about Grim wanting to eat the popcorn used to decorate the tree and sighed. He looked back at the two of you.

"Only the star remains. (Name), would you like to put the star on the tree?"

You look at Professor Trein with a slight surprise on your face. "Me?"

Professor Trein raises an eyebrow at you, the faintest hint of concern on his face, "Why, does the thought not please you? If so, then Anna or Ella could place the star; no need to fret."

You shook your head, "No! No, there's no problem. Uh... It's just that, back in my world... putting the star on the tree was kind of a big deal? It wasn't anything symbolic just... I remember fighting with my cousins to be the one to place it," you chuckled, trying to ignore the way your heart squeezed at the reminder that you didn't belong to this world. Your loved ones were not miles away, they were in an entirely different universe; who knew if you would ever see them again?

Professor Trein's eyes softened, and he placed a fatherly hand on your shoulder. "(Name). I would be happy if it were you placing the star on the tree," he said, giving you a smile you had only ever seen him give his daughters. A lump seemed to grow in your throat at the care and fondness in his gaze.

"Besides, if you require someone to fight with you for the position of honour, I'm sure Grim and Anna both would be more than willing opponents," he remarked, a side glance to the two who were still arguing about the popcorn.

You gave him a grateful smile, feeling the tell-tale burning in your eyes that signalled the coming of tears. Blinking them away, you said, "Thank you Professor Trein."

"You're welcome, kid."

Back to Masterlist...

[birdsaretoddlers]

OKAY SO. first chapter got an overhaul and i finished the second chapter, so i'm reposting both to. more or less gauge interest? thank you to everyone who's been so nice

Red Vixen Returns! After what appears to have been a two year hiatus, famed cat burglar ‘Red Vixen’ has struck again, this time taking a stab at Overeasy Industries! Newest reports claim that the Phosphoril Rose was stolen last night out of its exhibit at the Museum of Earth Sciences. The CEO of Overeasy Industries has promised that any information that leads to the recovery of the artifact will be rewarded handsomely-

“Turn that off, would you, Vette?”

The television cycled off the news and on to a different news station, then more news, and finally, a gossip tabloid that, again, was covering the news. With a disgruntled hock in her throat, the bartender tossed the remote onto the countertop, unable to escape chippy newscasters with dead eyes and fake cheer. “If you can find any channel not showin’ that, you’re welcome to it.”

The remote spun over the scarred and heavily-lacquered wood. The man at the bar stopped it with the hand not currently holding his glass, tapped the channel buttons a few times, and eventually settled on golf. The tournament lasted for all of fifteen seconds, but then the breaking news bled overtop of it, too. He finally turned the whole system off instead.

“Don’t know what you were expecting, Mars. It’s Overeasy. They’ve bought almost every station we get out here.”

“Mm,” said Mars. “Can’t hurt to try.”

“Awfully hopeful, coming out of you. Careful, someone might just try to steal that off ya.”

Knocking back the remnants of his drink, he set his empty glass an inch over the invisible line on the bartop, begging for a refill. “Welcome to it. Not sure who I lifted it from myself.”

Vette smirked and pulled a pair of dirty bottles from the rack behind her, grey hair tied out of her face with a black leather cord. “Probably the Valentines, if I had to guess. Julio’s always got some to spare.”

“Julio’s full of spare parts. His brother and his sister in law aren’t much better.” Mars waited patiently as Vette offloaded old stock into his cup, then took it back with two fingers. “Dunno why you let your boy run around with ‘em. Gang types, through and through.”

Vette shrugged her shoulders and replaced the liquors to the shelf, sending up a puff of dust as she did. “Who cares where they came from? Keeps him out from underfoot. Better he go knocking over trash cans with them three than the neighborhood boys. At least the Valentines know how to handle a weapon.”

Mars gave his head a slight, acquiescent tilt. “Just thought you’d stay away from cats that reek of a family, that’s all.”

Vette leaned over the bar with one arm, gesturing at the establishment, as much as it could be called that, with the other. “Hey, here at the Dog, everyone’s family as long as they leave their guns at the door. Doesn’t matter who killed who, what corp fucked over the next, anyone that wants a drink or somethin’ to eat can get it. As long as they have the money to pay and don’t spill bad blood within two feet of the doorstep, that is.”

That was true. This dive was the only place that was truly neutral in the entire town. The bartender, her husband and the entire waitstaff looked and acted like they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you, so nobody dared cause any trouble within the doors of the Sighthound. Otherwise called ‘the Dog’, by anyone who had been here more than once. The walls, floors, even the tables were stained with the arguments of generations of enemies who had come together to dine as strained equals, along with a hefty dose of grime. Smoke hung low in the air, mixing with the rank scent of desperation. The opened front door only did so much to clear it out, but hey, if having health insurance was mandatory, why not get your money’s worth and take a deep breath of the carcinogens?

Mars removed his hat to fan it under his nose. He couldn’t smell the ethanol of his drink through this haze. Vette rolled her eyes, made a comment about his failing constitution, and wandered off without waiting for him to bite out a retort. “Sure, sure. Have to be the one born this minute to start anything here. You’d have ‘em cozyin’ up with a colander in a second.”

“Damn right.” Vette turned the television on again, though Mars hadn’t seen her swipe the remote out from under his sleeve. The ‘breaking’ nature of the news bulletin had faded, golf proceeded apace. She pulled a face and started scrolling for anything else. Mars sipped his highball and did not, though tequila rose was not a proper ingredient no matter what old swill Vette was trying to cycle through the inventory tab. “That’s why we say two feet away from the door. Gives us enough time to close it before we start gettin’ stains on the hardwood.”

With a subtle glance behind him, Mars studied the floors. It was hard to tell there was wood under the inch of grit and mud, but he’d take her word for it, as there was nobody else to ask. They were almost alone here. The ‘enforcers’ that were the Valentines were playing babysitter, the owner of the bar was shut up in his office, and who drank at two o’clock on a Tuesday? Other than him, of course.

Vette leaned around him, blue eyes a-blinking as the watery light in the windows grew dark with the shadow of a car. “Oh, that’s gotta be the lunch order. Hold that thought, Capone.”

Him, and the guy that just walked in the door.

“Loooonng gone, sweetheart,” he hummed, in a tone that might have been sing-song if Mars had the capacity for that. Instead it approached something like a half-assed croak, which was good enough for his purposes. It had been a long time since he’d sang anything, and the rust shaking off his vocal cords caught in his throat, making him cough up an ah-hem! to clear it.

The lunch order stranger that wandered in didn’t say anything, which wasn’t unusual. Most patrons of the Sighthound tried not to acknowledge the others, like a gaggle of cats sharing a particularly small bedspread. He wore a plain, unmarked suit, a hat pulled low over his eyes, devoid of any personality. Walking with an economical gait that was silk-smooth and too precise, he went to post up in the corner under the long since faded ‘ORDERS’ sign. Like any good customer who was interested in a lead-free liver, Mars ignored him utterly.

Vette had disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the doggy boxes herself. With the Valentines gone, off to play with Thompson, extra hands were in short supply. No waitress to ferry orders from the back, no pair of whackouts on the stage, doing an absurdist comedy routine or noodling around on an instrument or three. Such was the price to pay, when a small prince took a liking to someone. And in this city, the Vicinatos were royalty.

Well, maybe more like small, local lords, but the sentiment was the same.

Mars rested his head on his fist and circled his finger around the rim of his glass, mouth revolting at the idea of drinking another drop of the wallpaper paste Vette had poured for him. Drinks were half price, as long as he was fine with getting the overstock, or the specialty liquors that nobody wanted past the special occasion they were ordered for. That was how he ended up drinking vile concoctions such as ‘tequila rose’, which sounded nice on the surface until the liquid that poured out of the opaque bottle was pink rather than, oh, any other acceptable tequila color. Clear, for example. It looked like and had the mouth feel of a melted strawberry milkshake mixed with paint.

But, half price. Mars braved the chalky waters again and tried not to taste them. Not having a great sense of smell helped with that. If he added actual chunks of strawberry to it, the drink might not have been half bad. Chilling it would’ve really been a swell idea, too. Vette came out from the kitchen and Mars watched her hand over the towering stack of brown paper boxes to the stranger, who gave her a little nod.

He picked up his glass as she trotted back over, happy to while away the hours with him, as long as he kept drinking garbage. Mars gave it a little wiggle, ignoring the not-water consistency of the liquor. “Shouldn’t this be in the fridge?”

“Why, you gettin’ picky now?” Vette turned, plucked the bottle off the shelf, flicked her reading glasses down over her eyes from atop her tight, fluffy curls. “Hmm… Yeah, refrigerate after opening. You’re right. Guess you’re taking it home with you. Don’t have space back there.”

He did not want to take this home with him. “Whatever I don’t drink, dump it.” Mars rolled his tongue in his mouth, felt a film on it, grimaced. “Scratch that. Dump it now. Not even I’m gonna go back for another round.”

Whistling, Vette rolled her eyes. “You are getting picky! Can’t afford that out here, buddy.”

“I know that.”

“I’m sure you do, Mars.”

Mars leaned back on his barstool. He was going to try for something snide, slick, along the lines of what he might’ve said a decade ago. Instead, he opened his mouth and felt his shoulder get caught and yanked aside. Alarmingly, the chair screeched as it threatened to capsize and dump him out of it. In a scramble, he grabbed the bar and pulled himself upright, nails clawing the layers of varnish off in yellowing spirals. Something crashed wetly behind him, and Mars sank down into his shoulders, ears heating as he peered around to see what had happened.

He’d tipped into the poor guy who was just trying to get his lunch. The stranger ended up eating splinters, laid out flat on the floor, nose to the so-called hardwood. The doggy boxes had gone up in smoke, or rather, a myriad of pastas and sauces. Vette started cursing about her precious hardwood again, how hard the tomato paste was going to be to clean, that it would never come out. Cringing, Mars slid out of his seat, his arm smarting from the impact. The other man was silently stewing in the puddle Mars had accidentally created. His suit was ruined. His meal was ruined. His afternoon was ruined.

If Mars made it out of this without getting punched, it would be a happy day for all. Crouching and feeling his knees pop in protest, he offered the stranger a hand.

“Sorry, pal, I didn’t see ya there. Let me pay for your food, it’s the least I can… Oh.”

Oh.

He’d been right. That guy didn’t move right because he wasn’t a guy. The cold, dead eyes of an automaton peered up at him from under his stiff-brimmed hat. Mars felt something inside of him twist, under all the boozy cream.

“Quit your yakkin’,” he tossed over his shoulder at Vette, who stopped the instant she heard his tone, just as flat and lifeless as the machine. “We’ve got a bot.”

“A bot?” Neck craning to get a better look, Vette popped her lips. “Well shit, so we do.”

Mars helped the automaton back to its feet. It whirred and clicked, head jerking on a neck only made for minor motion. Not one of the especially lifelike ones, then. Its jaw worked but did not open, suggesting a lack of capacity for speech. Or emotion, though it was doing its best to pantomime dull confusion, like a dog seeing a magic trick. Completely at a loss for a situation outside of its programmed, day-to-day operations. At least it didn’t immediately resort to violence, like some of the crasser ones. Its outfit probably cost more than the bot itself, and bots weren’t cheap to begin with.

Most of them possessed basic learning ability and problem-solving skills, so in the interest of fair communication and a hefty dose of belief in miracles, Mars set both of his hands on its shoulders. He spoke slowly, clearly, enunciating his words so they would be easy to parse for a language model that was caught in the stone age.

“I’m going to pay for your meal,” he told it, indicating the splattered boxes all over everything in a five foot radius. Including him, he’d gotten ala vodka all over his slacks when he kneeled down in it to get the robot up. “Your bosses’ meal. Whoever’s it is. Where is he at.”

It stared at him blankly, the words stringing together into a sentence, then being fed into whatever neural networking it had. One piece of information, one command, two things that weren’t relevant to it. After a moment of processing, fake eyelids making a soft tik sound as they moved on an interval, it raised an arm to point straight outside. Mars nodded and released the bot. “Thanks.”

He turned to make good on his promise, but Vette rapped her knuckles on the bar to get his attention. “Don’t,” she hissed when Mars looked back. “You don’t want anything to do with what’s out there.”

“Why?” Came the question. He looked to the door again, trying to pick up what had spooked her through the small sliver of natural light it provided. There was a simple black limousine, idling in the street, and… That was all. Mysterious black limos were essentially part of the biodiversity in Tos Vardens. As natural as a pigeon, and just as plentiful. Nothing to be afraid of, most of the time. Mars arched an eyebrow. “Just another car, Vette. And the bot isn’t all that nice. Sorry,” he apologized to the bot.

The bot, incapable of feeling offended, did nothing.

“Why?” Vette repeated angrily. “Because I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. The whole setup reeks of a corp, Capone. Just send the bot back out there. I’ll refund the bill and call the number they used to order, tell them the kitchen’s overworked. Hopefully they’ll just go away.”

Pulling his lapels to secure his overcoat, Mars retrieved his hat from where it had been set on the countertop. “Yeah, well, maybe you can just sit by, Vette, but I’ve got enough morals left to fix my fuck-ups.”

He ignored her scathing, worried stare burning a hole into his shoulders as he ambled to the exit, pausing just outside the square of dim light where the pale sun shone in. “‘s what I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years, anyway.”

Then he set his trillby back on his head and braved the world outside, off-putting black limousines and all.

—

Emerging from the lusterless, muted world of the Sighthound, the outside seemed like a flashbang being fed directly to him on a mirrored plate. Mars squinted. This was why he tried to stay inside during the daytime. Even through the perpetual cloud cover, the sunlight still hurt his eyes. People smarter than him claimed it used to be brighter, that it wasn’t meant to be so dull. In his opinion, it was still plenty bright enough. He wasn’t sure how he spent days at a time in the great outdoors in his youth. He’d been out here a scant few seconds, and already craved the comforts of his barstool.

Tos Vardens was an old town, even by today’s standards. A monorail rattled in the distance, the scaffolding that held up the tracks curving over buildings of dubious habitability. Everything here was covered in a fine layer of age and silt, reflecting its citizens. The mayor eight years ago had tried to start an initiative to clean up the town, then run off with the donations and tax money collected for the job. 

Nobody had been too put out by it. Or shocked.

The mayor in power now at least pretended not to be corrupt, but his grift was more well-hidden than most. It wasn’t cynicism or nihilism to say so, merely experience and enough time spent in reality. Everyone in Tos Vardens used whatever power they had to grab for more, an ouroborus of taken advantages and burned bridges. Made the tourism push more laughable than most, unless a guided tour of brick squares passed for sightseeing in the current climate. Mars wouldn’t know. He hadn’t left the city since he’d moved in.

The engine of the black limousine gave a short cough. Mars rubbed his nose with his hand, hunched his shoulders, and walked towards it. Slowly though, presenting himself as non-threateningly as possible, keeping his fingers well away from his pockets much as they wanted to jump in. People in this town tended to be tetchy, quick with their triggers, and he’d like to buy himself at least a minute before whoever was inside capped him for the audacity of being alive too close to them.

Unsurprisingly, the car had black-tinted windows, too thick and dark to see through. That proved Vette’s theory that it was a corp car. Most common folk couldn’t afford bulletproof glass, but Mars could pick out the layers of laminate sandwiched between the vinyl in the frame. Mars leaned down, hands on protesting knees, and knocked his knuckle against the window, twice.

“Hey, pal, I kinda knocked into your bot and spilled your food. Real sorry. I’m gonna pay for it, but you might have to wait a while for the order to get remade.”

Nothing. No movement from inside the car. Mars could see his reflection in it, and he hoped the circles under his eyes weren’t really that dark, though it wouldn’t improve much if they weren’t. At one point, he might have been roguishly handsome. Nowadays, he needed a shave and a solid night’s sleep. Maybe several. Couldn’t hurt. The only thing that stood out about him were his eyes, flat chips of amber that were wasted on a guy like him. A girl deserved those.

The car remained silent. Mars shifted his weight on his ankles, not quite anxious, and too disinterested to be unnerved, but decidedly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Uh… Hello? You hear me? I said I was sorry-”

The window began to lower, with a soft, mechanical chirring sound. Mars wasn’t quite sure what he expected when it got to the bottom-

But a pistol in his face was woefully high on the list.

His heart jammed up into his throat, but was promptly snuffed out by the tequila and too much experience with this kind of thing. The gun was nicely made, well cared for and shimmering in the light. Pearl handled and connected to a slender arm, covered in a silk glove and linked to a woman who wasn’t even looking at him. A corp, forever shackled to the phone in her hand. The driver was another bot, who’s lack of attention was less insulting.

Right. Mars used the back of his pointer finger to push the barrel aside, not roughly, telegraphing his intent even if its owner wasn’t paying him any heed. “Rude,” he said, without thinking. “I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here, lady, so couldja put that away so we can talk like adults?”

The redhead in the passenger seat blinked. Unaccustomed to that tactic not immediately sending an annoyance screaming for their lives, she looked up. She was pretty, in a vintage way, like she’d strut straight off a theater screen and into this car. A cigarette stick was clutched in her pinkie, under the phone, and her hair was streaked with gray. Her eyes were so pale as to be transparent, only blue at the right angle. Black lipstick, red eyeshadow, the very picture of a woman who had better places to be and better things to be doing. 

For a moment, she just… Stared at him. Mars wondered if she was a bot, too, one of those nicer ones that were almost impossible to pick out as inhuman, but eventually her mouth split into a grin that wouldn’t have been out of place on a shark.

“Why, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Mars Capone?”

He barely swallowed the grimace, but he couldn’t stop the tightness forming around his mouth and eyes before it took root. “Ma’am, your food?”

The woman let the gun swing downwards, the muzzle now pointing away from where it had been aimed somewhere soft. “It is you! What’s a man of your renown doing out in this backwater?”

He would not call the fifth largest city on the continent a backwater. Mars did not say so out loud, though. “I’m doing nothing and I am no one. I’m going back inside now, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, no, no! We have so much to talk about. Stay.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he caught movement glinting in the silver of her pistol. His body swept sideways without conscious thought, and the robot that had followed him outside stumbled clumsily into the space he’d been occupying not a moment ago, arms lancing through empty space. Finding it had grabbed nothing, it stood upright, head pivoting to face him. The woman in the car had the grace to look mildly abashed.

Mars put his hands into his pockets, arching one eyebrow. It would’ve been sarcastic if he wasn’t so fed up.

“Okay,” he said dryly. “Does it involve me getting into the back of that limo and going to a secondary location? Because I’ve got a drink inside I’d like to get back to.”

Subtly, he flicked his head at the bar’s windows. Both an indicator of destination, and a signal to Vette to put her own weapon down before things got complicated. She’d break the two foot rule for him, but he’d handled himself into this mess. He could handle himself out.

Waving her hands, the woman snapped her fingers and shook her head. The robot, dutifully, opened the door of the backseat and clambered inside. “No, no, Mister Capone. Sorry, old habits,” she offered with a sly grin. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. In fact, I’d like to help you.”

This day kept getting weirder. First a cream based tequila, then an all-channels news bulletin, and now this. “Corps don’t help anybody,” he stated flatly. Mars stayed where he was, a nice five feet down the pavement. The robot shut the car behind it. 

The woman puffed her cigarette stick, blew a smoke ring out of the window and laid her arm over the edge. “Who says I’m a corp?” She asked innocently. “You know what they say about making assumptions.”

“You know what they say about ducks.”

She laughed. If he didn’t think she was dangerous before, which he did, now she definitely was. A laugh like that, so charming and musical, was practiced. Deadly as any piece of iron, and infinitely more versatile. Mars would not be moving any closer. Pouting, the woman beckoned to him with a single finger, like she was reeling in a fish.

“Come on now, don’t play hard to get. Give me your ear for two minutes, and I’ll forget all about the little bill. You can’t be doing too hot in the cash department, Mister Capone. Not after you cut your wings.”

Mouth writhing into a deeper frown, Mars flared his coat back and put his hands into his slacks pockets. She had him there, his wallet was light on a good month, and as of late, a good month was a distant memory. At the same time, he didn’t like how much she knew about him already, and how well she was twisting it against him. He weighed his options. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “Two minutes. And I’m counting.”

He approached again, though kept the edge of his overcoat well out of grabbing range. The woman smirked, eyes knowing under the red eyeshadow. Mars still saw a glimmer of teeth under her lips, barely contained. “Good man.”

“Minute forty five.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Minute forty.”

Sighing, the woman placed her gun into the passenger door and ran her fingers through her hair. Even mid-rumple, it was styled in just the right way to flip effortlessly over her forehead, voluminous and beautiful. Even if she wasn’t tied up in a corporation, she had enough money to buy the Dog outright eight times over. “Oh, Mister Capone, would it kill you to lighten up a little? Don’t answer that.”

Mars swallowed the sardonic comment he’d had perched on his tongue. She rolled her eyes and took another drag, blatantly wasting time she should’ve spent on her pitch. “Thank you,” she continued. “Now, I’m certain you’ve heard the news today? I will be quite amazed if you haven't!"

Her tone was indulgent, breezy, voice smoke-damaged as to be low, but not yet rough and grating. Mars gave her a stiff nod, already afraid of where this was going. “I heard. Phosphoril Rose stolen right out of its case by the Red Vixen. Classic robbery for them. Nothin’ new.”

“Excellent! I want you to find them.”

What. “What.”

“The Rose, Mister Capone. And the thief both! A man of your skills could-”

“No.”

Mars stepped away from the vehicle. Mid-speech, the woman in the car paused, mouth open, looking up at the sunroof. She glanced to him, a small smile playing out over her features that did not reach her eyes. “You didn’t let me finish,” she cooed.

“No need, ma’am. I’m out of that game for good.”

“Aha, Mister Capone,” she began, but he didn’t give her time to continue to wheedle him. He turned away. “You’re making a grave mistake, Mister Capone!”

“Answer won’t change no matter how much capital you put up, lady. Mars Capone is firmly retired. Go ask someone else.”

Grumbling, and quite accustomed to getting her way, the woman in the car called after him again. “At least take my card? You’ll need to know where to route the payment for my meal, as that was not two minutes, and I paid with an encrypted account.”

It had been a minute and fifty seconds, but Mars could play the petty game with the best of them, so he slid around on his heel and marched back. It was quite impressive, really. The smug, triumphant expression she wore managed to ignite an emotion he didn’t know he could still feel: rage, incandescent and sparking. It was muffled, years of a stone-cold front didn’t melt off so quickly, but it was something. 

The woman held out the card between two fingers. It was glossy, white and black, professional and understated. He plucked it out, stuck it in his hatband with an appropriate amount of force, and spun back to head for the door of the Dog. 

She was laughing behind him, even as the car started to pull away from the curb, gravel crunching beneath the tires. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you, Mister Capone!” She sang, leaving behind a small pile of ashes from her burned out cigarette to mark her passing.

Leave it to a corp to wrangle his heart out of the box it was put in, only to mash it into a quivering, angry paste. Mars hunched his shoulders in and removed the card from his hat, infinitely curious at to what it said. He just wasn’t willing to give that woman the win she’d take from seeing it As she’d now left… He took a peek a the card, the identity of his would-be benefactor.

ELODIE FAUX

COO OVEREASY INDSUTRIES

ROUTING NUMBER 61524

Mars tilted his head up to the sky. While he’d been getting his chain yanked by the most powerful woman in the country, the sun had pulled the blanket of clouds over itself and hid. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, said the only word he could think of.

“Fuck.”

[chiskz]

▶️ Stray Kids | CHICHI being Lee Know's favorite victim

♡𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @alyszaen , @smh-anon , @neohyxn , @stealanity , @alixnsuperstxr , @kimcheon-sa , @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs , @qtnoaly

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intro from author: video was made for humorous purposes, don't take everything seriously. we know how much Lee Know and Chichi love each other, our favorite main dancers duo ♡

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skz-talker. Lee Know is looking through the bags with take-out food that just arrived on the backstage.

"Which one comes with extra cheese?" He asked, raising his head slightly.

"Probably mine." Chichi pulled her food out of the bag and showed him her box. "Why?"

Lee Know approaches her with chopsticks and takes the box, walking away. Chichi blinks a few times until she finally crinkles her eyebrows and looks into the camera, living her The Office moment.

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skz-talker. Han holds the camera and records Chichi talking about their previous performance.

"Aegyo! Aegyo for STAAAAAAAY!"

Chichi croaks for a moment.

"I'm terrible doing it tho!" She groaned loudly, but Han continued to press on.

Chichi rolled her eyes and puffed up her cheeks slightly by touching them with her fingers. Lee Know stepped into the frame, raising an eyebrow.

"Disgusting." He placed the hood over her head, covering her entire face, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

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variety show. members walk toward the stairs to go to the next floor of the building. Lee Know looks at them.... and then slowly at Chichi.

"Chichi-yaaaa..."

Chichi directs her gaze at him, slooooooowly.

"Hmmm?"

Lee Know raises his hands in the air.

"Too high. Carry me."

"You've got to be kidding me! Not a chance, you have legs, you can go by yourself, and above all-"

Here a cut is made and the next scene is shown, in which Chichi carries Minho up the stairs on her back, and he smiles like a happy cat.

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interview. Stray Kids were asked to draw their self-portrait. Each member briefly describes the drawing, but when it's Chichi's turn, Lee Know, sitting next to her, covers her sketchbook with his work.

"Nothing good to see there, let's talk about me!"

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one of Lino's VLives. Minho orders his take-out food and takes the first bite. He eats, making a very disgruntled face. He puts down his chopsticks and ponders for another moment, continuing to think.

"Not good... too much cheese..." He wrinkles his forehead even more, pushing the box away. "It's nothing. Chichi will eat it."

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skz-talker. Han and Hyunjin and talking to the camera, while Lee Know and Chichi in the background drink coffee with foam from cups. Chichi draws something on the foam, but before she can finish Minho dipped his spoon in her coffee, ruining the drawing. Chichi looked at him wrinkling her eyebrows, then put her licked spoon in his coffee as revenge. Minho wanted to do the same, but Chichi covered the cup with hand. The shoving went on for a while until finally they both broke their cups loudly......

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MV behind the scenes. Chichi is sitting next to Han, reading a book, Han is talking to Changbin. Minho walks up to them and points his finger at Chichi.

"You took my seat," he says.

"Your sit? It wasn't signed, was it?"

"Actually it was."

"It wasn't!"

"Oh well... You leave me no choice."

Lee Know sits comfortably in her lap, preventing her from reading any further. Chichi just sighs loudly, accepting her fate.

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video from the concert, recorded by STAY. Chichi walks on stage, waving to STAY, when Lee Know spawns next to her unbeknownst to her. He taps her on the shoulder to make her look back, and when she does it he stands in front of her and lifts her shirt, showing her abs to STAY. Chichi covers up quickly being shocked, but she quickly goes on the attack and starts dragging him by his shirt to the backstage.

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skz-talker. Chichi walks around the fitting room in the background, looking for her phone. She asks every person she meets about it, but eventually gives up and leaves for another room.

A few hours after this episode was published, Lee Know sent on Bubble few selcas in the mirror taken with her phone, with the caption "This is what you were looking for, Chi-yaaa? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ".

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CASE 143 MV behind the scenes. Chichi takes selfies that will later become photocards. At one point, Minho stands behind her and also starts posing. Chichi resignedly lowers her hand with the camera and looks at him.

"What is this?"

"What, you should be grateful to me, now your photocards will have some value."

Chichi looks slowly into the camera with a life-weary face (editors' note: a crime will be committed in a moment...).

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Give Me Your TMI Video MAKING FILM. Lee Know strokes the bunny with which he appears in the MV. Felix walks up to him and also strokes the bunny with his finger.

"They say animals can sense good people," he says.

Lee Know raises his head and finds Chichi with his eyes.

"Oh, that's why Chichi has been hanging out with me so much lately!"

Chichi hears this and starts walking toward him, rolling up her sleeves.

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one of the fanmeetings. Chichi, busy with one of her toys, forgets to sing her part, then laughs nervously when she sees Lee Know looking at her with deadly eyes. He walks up to her and puts her over his shoulder, carrying her out to the backstage. Members follow them away with eyes, stopping to sing themselves, bursting into laughter. Minho returns after a long moment and takes his microphone back from Han.

"I'm sorry to announce this, but member Chichi had to be removed," he says.

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one of Lee Know's VLives. Lee Know is in a car, reading comments.

"Ah... Once... I saw Chichi in my sweatshirt, she stole it from me. So I, as revenge, went to her room and took something for myself too. The next day I went in the sweatshirt from her room to our schedule activity, and I purposely walked past her so she would see it. But she didn't say anything. Instead, Seungmin came up to me and asked where I got his sweatshirt.... Apparently he had been looking for it for a week..."

Minho laughed briefly.

"Revenge didn't work out.... Since that day I've simply locked the door of my room. I wonder how long that will help..."

《♡》

[pinkpastels113]

two is a party

a bechloe + a cat drabble

“Mrowww.”

Beca groans, rolling over in bed and opening her eyes to see Chloe’s cat yelling at her girlfriend’s face. She glances at the bedside table where the digital clock blinks 3am. “Dude.” She untucks her hand from under her chin to pet Danny’s back. “It’s three in the morning.”

Chloe stirs, a sleepy sound leaving her lips even as she snuggles her face further into Beca’s neck. “What does he waannt,” she whines.

Beca chuckles. For all people say about how Chloe seems like a morning person, Chloe is actually just as bad as Beca; sleeping late and waking up late and having a persistent scratch in her voice until she’s had her morning coffee. Chloe’s just drifted off for a half hour, and now her cat is giving her a hard time. Beca shifts her attention to Chloe’s red locks. She kisses Chloe’s nose, laughing at the way it wrinkles. “I think he’s hungry. Or bored.”

“I filled his bowl before I came to bed.” Chloe huffs, her eyes still refusing to open. Her arms tighten around Beca’s middle, the moonlight dancing in from their partially curtained window reflecting off the few freckles on her skin. Beca breathes in Chloe’s sleepy flowery scent, her heart content with the way they currently are. As if feeling left out, Danny meows again. “Becs, make him stop please. I wanna sleep.”

Beca looks at the cat again. Danny stares at her, and then slow blinks, perfectly innocent in all his troublemaking mixed gray tabby glory. “Maybe he just needs some attention.” She reaches across the blue comforter to play with his white socks. “Are you bored, baby?” When Danny chirps low in his throat as if in agreement, Beca coos. “Awww.”

And Beca doesn’t know if it’s because she’s become soft now that she’s in a relationship with her long-time crush or if she’s practically adopted Danny like one of her own, but the sympathy she has for the small thing now pawing at her fingertips prompts Beca to sit up. This proves to be a bad idea, because seconds after she’s detangled from Chloe’s arms, she’s quickly reminded that she’s naked. Goosebumps erupt up her spine and on her chest, and Beca curses, gripping the comforter to her skin. Chloe’s also realized that her warmth is no longer there, which causes her to grumble and sit up as well.

“What the hell,” Chloe says, her face all scrunched. She glares at the situation, her blue eyes narrowing surprisingly more at Beca than Danny, even though it was Danny who started this stupid thing. “What was that for?”

Beca gapes, appalled. She doesn’t mean to be defensive but it’s not her fault Chloe was woken up. She’s confused as to why Chloe’s more irritated at her than at her cat. “What do you mean? He needed us! What am I supposed to do? Ignore him?” She crosses her arms, clutching the bedsheets closer. It suddenly feels chilly. “I would never do that.” Beca looks to Danny for support. “Right, buddy?”

Danny meows his affirmative. He makes a show of getting on his hind feet and rubbing his face on Beca’s hand.

“You didn’t have to leave me like that though.” And those words, combined with the disgruntled tone of Chloe’s voice, allow Beca to truly understand what the problem was. “You could’ve given him his attention from here.” Chloe pats the space between them.

Beca bites the smile spreading across her mouth. Something flutters in her chest, settling dense and deep into her lungs and blood. “Wow.” She leans into Chloe’s pout, scooping up Danny along the way, cuddling him against her cheek, “You’re just as needy as him, aren’t you?”

The accusation is met with a heated kiss, Chloe’s tongue flirting with hers. Her weight tries to push Beca down, but with Danny’s protest, Chloe changes course. She switches their usual position, lifting Beca and the cat up until they’re both in her lap. Chloe then scoots them all down, laying on her back with a nip to Beca’s lower lip. When she’s done; when Beca is tracing a trail down Chloe’s neck and Chloe is gasping and Danny is happily kneading biscuits into the mattress beside their heads, Chloe answers.

“Maybe. You are mine after all.”

*****

fin.