#anyway. i hope he looks back at that time in his life and isn't bitter or sad and instead sees it as something that helped him grow

[yangjeongin]

i swear i love lovestay so much but i will either cry or come close to tears Every time i hear it i have  problems

[lost-in-fandoms]

I love your writing so much!! If you are taking prompts (no pressure!!!!): daniel doing something cute for max’s bday while they are together in Perth after Singapore ❤️

Hello, I love you!! You are SO nice and I appreciate you sending a prompt! This was probably not what you were envisioning, even if there are cute things happening, but I hope you like it anyway. I wanted more birthday stuff but it sort of ran away from me. Also, this is about 2k oh god.

Daniel figured out in the early days, even before they were actually together, that Max doesn't care much about his birthday.

He will never say no to cake (unless his trainer gives him really mean looks), he appreciates gifts, and he loves a good party, but he has no real feelings about it being his birthday.

Daniel had asked him about it once, wondering if maybe there was some sort of deep rooted trauma behind it he didn't know about, but Max had just shrugged, easy and relaxed. It is not important, Daniel, when I get old, if I am getting older every day.

He knows that this year Max has no plans for it, and knows that neither of them minds, both just wanting a quiet day with each other.

It's been...a lot, lately.

Even here, away from the crowds and the hungry world that has just recently spit him out, like a bitter and unwanted bite, it's not been easy to let everything go.

The first two days after landing they had barely left the bed, sleeping and kissing lazily, too drained to even have sex. The third day they had spent with Daniel's family. The fourth, the one when the news had become official for the world, he had gotten horrifically drunk, in a way he hadn't done in years, Max being the one providing glasses of water for once and hands on his forehead while he was crying over a toilet bowl. He doesn't have many memories of the fifth one, spent nursing the worst hungover on this side of thirty.

And then he had tried to start his new life.

He doesn't know yet how that will look like, which makes it harder, but he's taking one step at a time, like his mom has been telling him.

Yesterday's step had been joining Max for some training, because he doesn't want to actually become a couch potato, and looking into finding a new internet provider after Max's numerous complaints.

Today's first step is going to be the farmers market.

He considers waking up Max for it, but it's barely seven a.m., and he doesn't actually want to be threatened with bodily harm this early in the day, so he leaves him with a kiss (Max doesn't even stir) and a post-it note on the bedside table.

It doesn't take long for him to decide that the farmers market isn't for him, at least not yet. Maybe it's an acquired taste, but there's just too much going on, bustling people pressing around him, vendors loudly calling out prices, colorful things attracting his attention everywhere, making his head spin.

He manages to get what he wanted and then flees, back to the safety of his car and towards the quiet of the farm.

It's only when he's halfway there that he realises that a few years ago he would have loved all of it, and then has to force himself to not have an existential crisis over it, wondering if it's just a result of getting old, or if something about the last few months has irrevocably broken him.

When he pokes his head into the bedroom, he finds that Max is awake, sitting up against the headboard, phone in hand and blankets pooled around his waist, looking soft and sleep-mussed.

"Good morning," Daniel says, stepping inside and feeling the warmth of Max's smile wrap around his lungs. "Happy birthday."

Max, impossibly, seems to soften further, his ears growing pinker.

"Thank you," he says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He reaches for Daniel, but he holds up a hand, taking a step back towards the door.

"Hold on, I have something for you. Don't move."

He watches as Max makes a show of settling back against the pillows and stilling there, beaming at him when Daniel laughs, retreating in the other room.

He comes back holding a paper bag and a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other, offering both to Max with a smile, refusing to feel self conscious about it.

Max blinks up at him, fingers just a touch away from Daniel's hand, surprise and confusion mixing on his face.

"For me?" he asks, soft and amazed.

Daniel nods, not really trusting himself to speak, and Max finally closes the distance, wrapping his fingers around the bunch of stems and taking the flowers from Daniel, pulling them close to his chest and burying his face into the colorful petals.

Daniel doesn't really know what kinds of flowers they are, he just chose a few that looked pretty, but he doesn't think it matters. Not when Max looks up at him again, cheeks red and eyes bright, smiling wide wide wide, happy and lovely.

"Thank you, Daniel," he says, so earnestly it cracks something open in Daniel's chest, unwanted and unexpected, making him feel like everything is too much once again.

Luckily, Max seems to notice, because he always notices, and he settles the flower gently on the blankets, uncaring of the wet stems, before tugging Daniel down in his lap. His hands are solid weights on Daniel's hips, and for the first time since he woke up that morning, Daniel feels like he can breathe fully, settled and steady, the feeling of being adrift that he had refused to acknowledge pushed away for a little while longer.

"What's in there?" Max asks, thumbs rubbing circles on Daniel's hipbones, gesturing with his chin towards the paper bag still in Daniel's hand.

The smell of baked goods has for sure given it away already, but Daniel makes a show of it, extracting a croissant as if it was a bunny from a magic hat, wishing Max's laughter could seep right into his bloodstream, weaving itself around his cells.

Max bites into the croissant cheerfully, not minding the flaky crumbs that rain down on the sheets, thanking Daniel again and humming his approval.

Daniel's chest feels warm.

"What's that?" Max asks again while he chews, pointing at the orange juice.

"Orange juice," Daniel tells him, untwisting the cap and offering the bottle to him, missing Max's hand as soon as it's gone. "Watched Marco squeeze it fresh myself."

He does his best to keep his face straight as Max hesitates, bottle halfway up to his mouth, eyes narrowing.

"Marco?"

"Charming guy, yes," Daniel teases, unable to keep himself from smiling any longer, amused by Max's frown, "about sixty years old."

The frown disappears as fast as it had formed, and Max smirks at him, finally taking a sip.

"Forty years too old for you," he says once he has swallowed, laughing at Daniel's outraged squeak.

Max makes it up to him by offering him the middle bite of the croissant, sweet custard oozing onto his fingers, and then again by kissing Daniel thoroughly, sweet with vanilla and sugar.

"I have something else," Daniel tells him some time later, when they're all kissed out, pushing away from Max's chest and clambering back onto his feet.

Max follows him without question, tugging on a pair of shorts abandoned on the floor, and grabbing the flowers from the bed, taking them to the kitchen counter before joining Daniel outside.

Daniel grabs his hand, because he can here, away from prying eyes, and guides him around the porch to a cardboard box peeping quietly.

Max gasps, immediately crouching in front of it and opening it, letting out a surprised laugh when he sees what's inside: four little chicks, fluffy and pale yellow, tweeting up at him.

"You said we needed them to have a real farm," he says, carding his fingers through Max's hair, "and mom said I needed a project."

Max has his fingers in the box already, trying to pet the chicks without startling them, but he leans back to beam up at him, eyes crinkling.

"I love them," he declares, steady and unashamed, before turning back to the box.

This time, he manages to scoop two chicks up in his cupped hands, taking them out and cradling them against his chest, humming happily.

"I think you're their mama now," Daniel jokes, "you'll have to come back for them."

He knows he's said the wrong thing as soon as it's out of his mouth, Max's shoulders tensing, even as his hands stay gentle around the chicks. He doesn't know how to backtrack though, doesn't really want to, so he watches as Max puts them down again and gets up, knees cracking.

He goes to make a joke about that too, something about Max getting old, but the words get stuck in his throat at the sight of Max's unhappy expression.

"Of course I'm coming back, Daniel," Max says with a frown, steely certainty behind it. "Did you think I was going to leave and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence, crossing his arms and looking away, blinking rapidly.

"I..." Daniel swallows, picking at a cuticle on his thumb. "I'm sorry."

It's again the wrong thing to say, Max turning back towards him, eyes shiny and thunderous expression.

"I love you, Daniel," he snaps, forceful and determined. "I love you, Daniel, not the you who races. I am not going to fuck off and leave just because..."

He shakes his head, reels himself in. Daniel doesn't know if he's breathing, but if he was, he stops when Max steps closer, bringing his hands up to cup his cheeks.

"I will have to leave, because I need to finish this season, and maybe the next, I don't know, but I am always coming back. Any time I can find time, I will be here. Or in LA, or wherever you will decide to be."

Max swipes his thumb along Daniel's cheekbone, leaning forward to gently thump their foreheads together.

"I wish you were racing with me," he whispers, a confession he hadn't let Daniel have yet. Daniel's heart is split open. "Always it is better, to race with you. I thought we would be racing until we both retired, but I don't care that it is different. I will miss you, when you're here and I am there, and then I will come back."

Max's fingers are damp with Daniel's tears now, and Daniel lets himself be tugged closer, wrapped in the safest arms he knows, hiding his face in Max's neck.

"I'm sorry," he croaks again when he finally finds his voice again, twisting his hands on the back of Max's sleep shirt.

He feels Max's take a deep breath, letting it out against Daniel's hair.

"I wish I could fix it," he says slowly, measuring his words, "but I don't like when you say that I will leave. I have never left. I will not start now."

And he's right, Daniel knows he's right, but it's been hard to remember what he still has lately, after everything went down.

He nods against Max's skin and then lets Max hold him, gently rocking side to side, the chicks peeping softly at their feet, until he doesn't feel like he's going to break with every stuttering breath anymore.

"I was thinking we could go down to the trail," he murmurs, lips dragging against Max's damp shirt. "Take some food, have a picnic. I bought bread rolls."

Max squeezes him tightly once more before putting some distance between them to be able to look at his face, smiling gently.

"I like that. You can make the food while I take the babies to their new coop."

Daniel freezes.

"You have bought a coop too, right Daniel?" Max asks, eyebrows raising. Daniel can feel himself blush.

"I...didn't think about it?" he tries to justify himself.

For a second Max just stares at him, and then he starts laughing, dropping his head against Daniel's chest.

"Stop laughing at me!" Daniel whines, hitting Max's shaking back, but making no move to step away.

Max hits him back, then straightens himself, laughter still etched in the lines of his face.

"Alright," he says, slightly out of breath, "we are going to buy a coop instead. Or build a coop, I don't know what is better, we'll have to call your dad. And we'll do the trail tomorrow, or the day after."

Tomorrow, or the day after.

It seems to hit Daniel all at once, that this is the start. He has tomorrow, and the day after, to do anything he wants. To go on hikes with his boyfriend, to think about new projects, to pick up old hobbies and interests, no schedules to stop him. And he will have tomorrow, and the day after, even when Max has to leave to go racing again, because Max will come back, to have more tomorrows, and the days after, with him.

He surges forward, crashing his lips against Max's, who gasps in surprise but eagerly kisses him back, until all that's left in his brain is tomorrow and Max.

Only then he lets Max go again, stepping back with a smile.

"Let's go get a house for the babies, baby."

And in the lines of Max's smile he can almost see it already: tomorrow, and the day after.

[pickingupmymercedes]

“watch it. seriously.” “take another step towards me and watch what happens.”

hi can we have one where it is the 1st time lewis ever hurt her deeply with his words after days of giving her silent treatment without any explanation? and then reader just decided to stop trying to talk to him bcs she has tried everything b4? and then maybe decided to sleep separately or smth. HEAVY ANGST and SFW please. also, congratulations on the 500 followers!!!! i love you 🤍🤍🤍

Hi lovely, thank you for sending your request ❤️

Also, I changed the timeline of your blurb a bit (mainly because I kind wanted to give this one a happy ending). Hope it's okay

“watch it. seriously.” and “take another step towards me and watch what happens.”

Y/N slammed the apartment door shut behind her, the sound echoing through. Lewis stood frozen in the middle of the living room; the remnants of his half-packed bags scattered around as they were both supposed to be packing for Singapore.

"Seriously, Lewis?" Her voice was tight, laced with hurt and anger. "It's not even a special race, and I’m going to be with you in the very weekend anyway!"

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Lewis ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mirroring hers.

"It's more than just the race, Y/N," he finally spoke, his voice strained. "Everything lining up just right."

"I can’t leave my team right now Lewis." she spat, the words bitter on her tongue. "My work and my life is just as important as yours, your know!?"

Lewis's jaw clenched. "Watch it. Seriously."

But the warning only fueled her fire. "No, you watch it, Lewis!" she shouted, tears stinging her eyes. "You fly all over the world, chasing glory, and then expect me to drop everything on a dime because it might be a 'good race'?!"

He flinched, and the hurt in his eyes momentarily stopped her tirade. But the silence stretched, and the unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Then, in a low voice laced with frustration, Lewis spoke, “This isn't working, Y/N. Our schedules just don't..."

The words cut her deeper than any argument ever could. Without a word, she turned and started to walk away. Lewis caught her hands, trying to turn her around but she flinched at his touch.

"Don't," she warned, her voice surprisingly steady. "Take another step towards me and watch what happens." He froze, hand hovering in mid-air. "Y/N," he started, frustration battling with concern in his voice.

But she cut him off, the fight momentarily drained out of her. "I'll… I'll talk to you later" she mumbled, needing some space to cool down before she shredded their fragile peace even further.

 She knew she was being unreasonable. She knew Lewis just wanted her with him for support, especially on race weekends, but her own hectic schedule made it impossible for her to be there for every race, and he had always known that. Yet, the sting of his words wouldn't fade.

Hours later, when the anger had subsided and only a dull ache remained, Y/N found her way to the music room, the most likely place to find him. The door was slightly ajar, and the soft strains of his favorite playlist filled the space.

Lewis sat on the worn leather couch, his head hanging low as he tried to write something on a notebook. He looked up as she entered, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by a heavy sigh.

"Can we talk about it?" she asked, her voice softer now.

"I'm here when you're ready" he replied, his voice gruff.

She crossed the room and sat down on the other end of the couch, gazing out the window for a moment before turning back to him. "What's so important about Singapore, Lewis?" she asked, the question heavy with unspoken hurt.

He hesitated, then met her gaze. "It's… the car feels good this week," he finally admitted. "The data, the track��� everything's lining up." He paused, then added softly, "And I would really like you to be there with me, if that victory is really possible."

The air hung heavy for a moment. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Maybe, just maybe, your team could catch up virtually.

"Alright, Hamilton" she said, her voice teasing. "Looks like you get your lucky charm this weekend then."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf @priopp123 @jajouska

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[posallys]

I want the pjo tv show to do posally right. Give me the ridiculously powerful god of the sea with a pained look in his eyes when percy mentions his mom because he still loves her and would still be there if the circumstances allowed for it. Give me a sally who talks to percy about his father in a longing way, where she's not bitter or angry or resentful, just sad because she's remembering all of the good about their time together, because she knows and maybe wishes things were different but understands that they're not and this is how things were always going to be. Give me poseidon watching over them anyway, always allowing sally to make her own choices but he can't physically restrain himself from being that added layer of protection---Percy's powerful, and there's a reason he never got seriously attacked until he was 12 when he only lived with and was covered by gabes smell during the summer. Give me a sally who has a shoebox of old pictures that never fails to make her smile. Give me sally, who knows she could have had anything she wanted, that she would've had a god willing and ready to give it to her, but also knows that she's not divine, that the life he wants to give her isn't a life that's supposed to be hers, and so, when it comes down to it, she decides that this is how it has to be even though she wants more than anything for it to be different. Give me poseidon sneaking in at night and putting percy back to sleep before sally can wake up---percy remembers his smile, after all. Give me poseidon on his knees, begging sally not to marry gabe---she deserves so much more than that, and he cant bear to watch her subject herself to it---begging her to come with him, to come somewhere he can watch them and keep them safe. Give me sally, who's so close to saying yes, because it would be so much easier, really, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t, she doesn't, she doesn't, and it hurts them both, but it's better this way (that's what she tells herself). Except she always thinks about how things could have been, even all of these years later, and Poseidon had never stopped looking out for the two of them and so when he sees percy for the first time he tries desperately to tell percy, to make him understand that this isn't how he wanted it to go, that he wanted to give percy a different life, that he would've given anything to be there and to do the things percy dreamed about, and that he’s sorry this is how it happened but he hopes percy understands. And maybe percy does, when he's back in his apartment with his mom and her eyes get all misty and she knows that poseidon had tried to tell percy. and percy is a little to angry and bitter and beaten up by life at such a young age to really get it, but that he sees the look in his moms eyes and knows there's a past that he doesn't understand but that doesn't make the words untrue, doesn't make the feelings that were once there, are still there, different.

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

HI OKAY SO IM THINKING LIKE VOX X READER AND VOX OWNS READERS SOUL AND THEN HE GETS JEALOUS OR ANGRY ABOUT SOMETHING SO LIKE WE RECREATE THAT SCENE WITH HUSK AND ALASTOR WHEN ALASTOR HAS HUSK ON A CHAIN BUT INSTEAD OF ALASTOR ITS VOX AND INSTEAD OF HUSK ITS READER IF U KNOW WHAT I MEANN TYYY

Guess who's baaaaaaaaack~

Lock and Key [Vox x Reader] - Part 1

It had been weeks. Three fucking weeks. Three weeks since the Radio Demon tuned back into the spotlight of Hell. Three weeks since Vox had been anything more than a vengeful shell of himself fueled by broken memories and spite. Three weeks since he'd so much as looked your way. You walk into his surveillance room, smiling softly at the sharks swimming in the inky depths far below the path. They'd made you a bit paranoid at first, but you've come to grow fond of the cyborg creatures. Your smile dims as you look up at the silhouette of Vox crouched over his dashboard, his eyes flickering as he obsessively drums his claws against sleek metal.

It had been ages since he'd even acknowledged your presence, let alone addressed you directly. His attention had been entirely consumed by his revenge fantasies and bitter recollections of the past.

“Vox, you should take a break,” you sigh, putting a hand on his shoulder as you try to get enough of his attention to at least warrant a glance. Vox's fingers pause in their drumming as he looks up at you, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face as he shrugs your hand off him.

"I don't need a break," He mutters, his tone as sharp as his clawed fingers. "I need Alastor dead."

His eyes are fixed on one of the screens displaying Alastor's image. He's been obsessively watching his every move ever since the Radio Demon's return. "Besides," he adds, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "Why would I listen to you? I didn’t take you on as a babysitter.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath as your worries are confirmed. Ever since his descent into obsession, he'd become sharp-tongued. He was always like that with the Vee's or his assistant Reef. But not you. Never you. Not until Alastor appeared.

"Vox, it's been weeks. I can watch the monitors for you if you're that worried about missing something. Just sleep. Eat. Go for a walk. Something," you plead. As you speak, Vox's jaw twitches slightly, his gaze flickering over the cameras trained on the hotel and Cannibal Town. "You don't understand, do you? This isn't a game." He taps a clawed finger against the screen, frustration growing in his voice. "You have no idea what this fucker is capable of. He's got something planned with that Morningstar bitch. I just know it.”

He turns away from the screen to fix a cold glare on you.

"And I don't need you to tell me how to handle MY business." You look to the side with a hurt frown, no longer bothering to hide the way his sharp tone makes you flinch. You'd fallen for him and there were times you wondered, hoped that he felt the same. But before you'd ever been able to find out, Alastor returned, destroying any hope you had left being crushed in the process.

"The other Vee's still need you Vox. The company still needs you."

I still need you.

Left unspoken. Because you didn't have the right to say it. You were a lowly employee he had taken an interest in and swept out from under Velvette with a deal after he grew fond of you. He kept you by his side like some sort of pet. You didn't have to work. In exchange for your soul, your only purpose was to stay by his side. 

As you bring up the subject of the company and the Vee's, a flicker of something almost akin to regret crosses his face. He knows that his current state is taking a toll on his work life.

But he shoves it down with a sneer of irritation.

"The others can manage without me for a while," he says dismissively. "And the company practically runs itself anyway. I've got everything under control."

He glances at you again, his gaze lingering on your hurt expression. Despite his efforts to push you away, a pang of guilt shoots through him. However, it's gone the second he thinks he hears a sound from one of the drones watching the hotel. His head whips around and he curses as he reviews the missed footage. The drone footage shows nothing but mundane scenes of the hotel, with no sign of Alastor or any suspicious activity. This only fuels Vox's irritation, and he slams his fist on the dash in frustration.

"Damn it!" He hisses, his gaze darkening. "I knew I shouldn't have let my guard down."

He stands up abruptly, turning to look at you with an accusatory glare.

"Out. Now." Your eyes widen and you hold up a hand as you try to calm him. "Wait. Just hang on a second, there wasn't even anything on the-" "I don't care," he snaps, interrupting you mid-sentence as his eye flares. "I told you, I can't afford to have any distractions. And you, with your endless nagging, are the biggest one of them all."

He steps closer, towering over you and giving an icy glare that cuts off any further protests.

"I said OUT. Now." You're teleported out of his lair and fall on your ass in the shared penthouse lobby of the Vee's upstairs. Valentino blinks, looking mildly surprised from where he lounges on the couch. Val watches curiously as you stumble, a sly smile spreading across his face. He rises from his place on the couch, slinking closer to you with a lazy grace.

"Looks like Voxy is getting a little bit cranky again, hm?" he teases, his voice low and sultry. "What'd you do to get on his bad side this time, darling?" "I had the audacity to suggest he take a break," you laugh dryly as you flop into the chair beside the couch. Val chuckles, settling back into the couch and taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Big mistake there," he muses. "Vox gets prickly as hell when he's on edge, and right now, he's on edge 24/7. Ever since that damn Alastor got back."

He gives you an appraising look.

"Though I gotta say, you do seem to have him in a bit of a twist."

A small chuckle would leave Valentino’s lips upon hearing that as he reached over and patted your head a few times.

“I just wish he’d get Alastor’s cane out of his ass,” you groan as you drag a hand down your face. “He’s a fucking mess.”

“Oh, you sweet summer bitch. This is nothing compared to how he was when the Radio Demon first fucked off,” He remarked as he picked up his bottle again, taking a swig of his vodka.

"He wouldn’t eat, go to work… Wouldn’t even leave that stupid bunker he made for himself back in the day. All the dude did was obsess over Alastor. I nearly ditched his ass, but then his obsession took a new turn. Being better than the old prick. Now we have the Vee's."

Valentino’s eyes softened with a distant look as he spoke. It was the most contemplative you’d seen him. But it’s gone as he takes another swig of his bottle.

"So... what? Just wait it out?" you ask as you take in his experiences, opting not to comment that instead of breakfast, Valentino was nursing Vodka like it was his morning coffee.

Valentino chuckled. “Pretty much. He’ll either run himself into the ground or eventually snap himself out of it. He won’t bend for you. He wouldn’t bend for me. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for me… Doesn’t have to be for you, either,” He said as he frowned at his empty bottle before tossing it to the side.

“If anything, consider it as time off. Let loose. Make the most of it,” he shrugs as he snaps and Kitty brings him a new bottle. 

“If he's not giving you dick then go get some fucking dick. I can't remember the last time I saw you anywhere but at his heel."

You sigh as you lean back and consider it. You and Vox weren't exclusive... Even if you wish you were. Sure, there were the occasional moments of something more. Something real. But he's Vox. And you're... just you.

Ultimately, there's no reason for you to be so devoted to a man who probably sleeps around just as much as Valentino. Especially when he obviously cared so little for you now.

Valentino watched as the gears in your head seemed to turn, a small smirk making it’s way across his face as he watched you. He didn’t need to ask what you were thinking. He knew exactly what was going on inside that pretty little head of yours.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” He teased, the smirk on his face only growing.

"Not with you, if that's what you're hoping," you say as you stick out your tongue at him.

A small chuckle left Valentino’s lips upon hearing that as he shook his head.

“You know me so well~” He remarked before pausing for a moment, resting his head on his hand as he continued to watch you. “But seriously, do it. It’ll do you some good. Want me to set you up with one of my whores?"

"Maybe nothing that direct," you wince. It wasn't that you hated the idea. You preferred things to happen in the moment, rather than schedule getting bent in half. "Got any club recommendations, though?" -----

And that's how you found yourself in a loud club, sitting at the bar and regretting the life choice of listening to Valentino of all people. The club was loud, your skirt kept riding up your thigh, and the drinks were overpriced as fuck. This had sounded like a fun idea at the time, but now you remembered why you never really did this.

You're just about to call it a night when a sinner comes up next to you and waves down the bartender.

"Two shots for me and the pretty lady who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here," he says before grinning at you with a wink.

You hadn’t even noticed this man’s approach to the bar, let alone that he was now sitting beside you as he called over the bartender.

As you listened to him order two shots for the two of you, your eyes rolled a little as you found yourself internally groaning at the prospect of needing to talk to someone new. You’d much rather be sulking at home, staring at the wall as you waited for your boss to finish up with his obsession. Yet, here you were.

"That obvious?" You chuckle sheepishly as the bartender puts two shot glasses down and pours a glowing blue liquid into them.

He chuckled alongside you as he watched the bartender pour the shots before turning to you, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Pretty obvious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so unhappy in a club before and trust me, that's saying something." He commented with a wink as he picked up one of the shot glasses, offering it to you.

You hesitate for a moment before taking the shot glass with a small smile and a nod.

You both chuck back the drinks, though the stranger does it with far more ease than you. You cough and sputter as you feel an icy hot feeling rush through your chest as you put down the glass. "Oh, wow. That's..." you laugh as you try to adjust to the feeling and hit your chest.

The stranger chuckled as he watched you struggle to handle the shot, clearly amused by your reaction to the drink.

"That's a strong drink, sweetheart," he remarked. "First time in a club? You seem a little out of your element."

"Just a bit," you chuckle before sighing and turning to lean on the bar and watch all the people on the dance floor.

"An... acquaintance suggested I come here and try to get laid to get over this dick I've been pining over,” you hum. “He's too busy obsessing over someone from his past. Plus, he's my boss. Unrequited doesn't even begin to cover it."

The stranger chuckled once more as he listened, his eyes roaming over your form for a moment before resting his head in his hand on the bar. He took a moment as he watched you before speaking up again.

"Let me guess. You're the secretary to some important and well-known Overlord and you're a little too fixated on him, huh?"

Your eyes widen before you throw your head back with a groan. "Oh my god, Valentino sent you, didn't he?"

The stranger laughed as he watched your eyes widen and your head fall back in frustration, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"He didn't 'send' me, per se. He just mentioned how miserable you've been lately and how he suggested you come here and get lucky."

He paused for a moment, his eyes raking over your form once more. "Although, I can definitely see why he'd want you to get laid."

You sigh and open your mouth to reply when your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket. You hold up a finger, asking for a moment as you pull out your phone and see who texted you.

There's a single message from Velvette that reads, "You owe me for this."

You quirk a confused brow at the lack of context, shaking your head and pocketing your phone before turning to face Valentino's employee again.

"Tell you what," you hum. "Two more of those shots, and I'm yours."

His grin widens. "Now that's something I like to hear," he remarked as he leaned in a little closer to you as he motioned over the bartender again.

"Two more shots of the good stuff. And make them both a double."

Everything becomes a blur after downing the alcohol. Hands on your body, lights flashing, music pounding in your ears as he grinds against you on the dance floor.

It's supposed to feel good. In a way, it does. But as you close your eyes, you can't help but find yourself wishing the soft fingers brushing over your skin were cool metal claws. That the sweeter smelling cologne was the sharper scent of your boss's. That it was him instead of a stranger.

The stranger's hands continued to roam your body as his lips found their way to your neck, littering your skin with kisses and small nips with his teeth. His hands grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you closer to him as he ground against you.

As you closed your eyes, your mind was filled with thoughts and memories of your boss. The way his claws felt against your skin, the familiar scent of his cologne, and the way he looked at you like you were a rare piece of art. It was a stark contrast to the current situation.

Is this really supposed to make you feel better? If so, why does your stomach feel like it's tangled in a knot? Why do you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes despite the heat pooling in your core?

Despite the pleasure you were feeling from the stranger's touch, you couldn't shake off the feeling of emptiness and disappointment. Every moment that passed felt more and more wrong. It all served as a cruel reminder that the person you truly wanted wasn't the one touching you.

Your stomach was in knots, and tears were threatening to fall as the stranger's lips trailed along your neck, leaving small marks in their wake. You clenched your fists as you fought the urge to push him away and run out of the club.

And then suddenly a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you to the side. Your eyes widen as you drunkenly stumble into arms that only take a moment for you to register as familiar. 

The stranger's eyes widen in surprise as Vox suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you roughly towards him, his claws digging into your skin leaving small impressions in their wake. His glare towards the sinner who had just been feeling you up was sharp and deadly, his eyes fixated on the man as he held you tightly against his chest.

"Your services are no longer required. Beat it." He growled, his voice low and filled with anger.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest as you found yourself pressed against Vox's chest, the feel of his claws still digging into your skin. He held you tightly, possessively almost.

Before the sinner can reply, you and Vox suddenly disappear with a flash of cyan light. He takes you back to his office in the Vee's tower and you're only given a small moment to reorient yourself from the electric buzz in your veins.

"You," Vox's voice broke the silence, his tone filled with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn't quite place. His claws dug harshly into your arms as he forced you to look up at him.

"Ẃ̴̡ĥ̵͚a̸̗̎t̷͕͌.̶̻̐ ̶̰̃W̸̹̅e̴̡̅r̸̬͝e̷͎͘.̶̤̎ ̴̻͠Y̴͎̋ō̵͎ủ̸̯.̷̬̈́ ̷̬̾T̸̛͍ḧ̸͉́i̴̭̅n̸̞̆k̷̡͐i̶̦͝n̷͉͐g̸̱͝?̴͚͋"

Later on, you'd blame your bold honesty on the alcohol. But in the moment, there wasn't any rational thought or self-preservation left in your mind as you frowned and pulled his hand off of you despite how much you had been craving his touch.

"What does it matter to you? Shouldn't you be in your little stalking cave trying to watch the Radio Demon? It's all you ever do anymore."

Vox's eyes widened slightly in surprise as you pulled his hand away from you, his expression hardening at your words. The tone in your voice was bitter and laced with anger. But he didn't miss the underlying note of hurt underneath.

"So you go and throw yourself at a stranger instead? How is that better?" He shot back, his tone sharp and laced with irritation.

"Maybe it is!" you lie as you throw your hands up. "At least that guy looked at me. It was one thing when you would blow me off for Valentino. That was something I already knew I was getting into when whatever this started," you say as you gesture between the two of you.

"But you never so much as mentioned Alastor. The guy reappears and suddenly he's all you care about," you huff as the tension builds. "If you can't be damned to so much as look my way, then it isn't your business if I find someone else to fuck me, now is it?"

Vox's eyes darkened at your words, his jaw clenching as he took in your words. He could feel the tension between you growing, the air in the room thick with anger and hurt.

"Oh, is that what this is about? You're jealous because I've been focused on Alastor?" He questioned, his voice low and sharp. "Did it ever occur to you that this is important to me? That there's a reason I've been so preoccupied?"

"Of course it did!" you snap. "You think this is just about sex? I tried to be there for you! I tried to ask! I tried to understand! Tried to pull you away from your obsession long enough to at least sleep! But it was like I was invisible."

You pinch your brow, trying to keep yourself from crying angry tears. You didn't want to look weak. "Look. I got the message. Okay? Valentino and Alastor. You clearly have priorities and as your little fucking pet or whatever, far be it for me to get in the way of that."

You turn on your heel to walk away and to your credit, you make it a few steps before the air charges with electricity. Your breath catches in your throat as a collar made of his signature cyan plasma materializes around your neck, linked to a chain that suddenly goes taught as he pulls.

You yelp as you're spun around and forced to the ground, just barely catching yourself with your hands as he seethes above you.

He had almost felt guilty. The burning in his chest told him that he still did. But then you tried to walk away from him and he found himself unable to let you leave. As soon as you turned, something in him born of all the exhaustion and frustration of the past month made him snap. He yanked at the chain, his eyes focused and intense as he glared down at you.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else. His hand gripped the chain tightly as he pulled you closer, forcing you to stay on the ground at his feet.

"You don't get to just walk away like that. Not after all this. I own you. He pulls on the chain, looping the excess length around his hand. “If I say you're not fucking around with other lowlifes then you're not. If I say you will sit at my heel every day for the next week to make up for this insolence, then you fucking ŵ̶͔i̵͕͛l̵̖̓l̸̩͠.̴̙̋ You whimper as he yanks harder, making you choke and stumble forward.

He continues with a feral edge to his grin as he pays you no sympathy. “Because you're mine, damn it. You don't get to vanish on me. You don't get to leave me for a dumb w̸̩̍h̵͔̕o̷̡̓r̸͍̃ȅ̷̹," he grits his teeth as he pulls the chain taught. Memories of Alastor and Valentino race through his mind. He wouldn't be second place to someone else. Not again.

"I won't allow you the luxury,” he says with a quiver in his voice as his screen dims temporarily.

He shakes his head, the light returning to his face as his grip tightens. "You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else.

The anger in his voice and his rough treatment of the chain around your neck surprised even him. He was possessive, that's no secret, but he had never acted like this before. The idea of you slipping away and finding comfort in someone else's arms made his blood boil.

His hand gripped the chain tightly, forcing you to look up at him as he stood over you. His eyes were intense, one spiraling with his unbridled emotions.

You instinctively crawl forward as he tugs on the electric shackles, wrapping the length of it around his other hand in a way that really shouldn't be doing things to you the way it is.

He leans down and takes your chin over his claw. "Even if my attention is pulled away temporarily, that doesn't change our contract,” he hums with an almost bored expression as he tilts your face this way and that before tightening his grip. “You're mine,” he growls as he lifts you off of your knees by your face. He ignores your yelp of pain, opting to revel in the blood blossoming across your jawline. “If I say you're to stay by my side, then you stay by my side. That is your only purpose and you'll fulfill it. Do you understand?" He hissed, his voice low and filled with two opposing fires of frustration burning away at the core of his very being.

"I tried to be by your side, but-" A scream cuts off your protests as the chain sparks to life and shocks your entire body. Your head drops down as you pant heavily, squeezing your eyes shut tight as stars dance across your vision.

Vox's eyes darken further as you try to protest again. His irritation only increases as he remembers the scolding he got from Velvette. She was the one who told him about Valentino’s plan to send you to a club to meet one of his employees. Valentino had been waiting for a way to get back at Vox for something else and he’d found it. 

It took Velvette’s lack of tolerance for his shit to finally snap him out of the dickish headspace he’d been in. She sat him down and forced him to watch the footage of his behavior the last week and to look at the business’s declining numbers. He knew he had been short with you, but he didn’t realize for how long he’d neglected and snapped at you.

He never did know how to deal with the feeling of guilt.

Without warning, he gives the chain a sharp yank, causing the chain to spark to life, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your head drops down and your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out in surprise.

"I don't want excuses. I want you to o̵b̶e̷y̶,” He growls, pushing down the squirming shame in the depths of his synthetic chest. “You do what I say, when I say it. You will not go behind my back and do whatever the hell you want."

A grin worthy of a showman like himself spreads on his screen, displaying the nature of his rage as he uses the tip of his boot to lift your chin. "Now. Let's try that again."

to be continued...

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter One Preview

A/N: hi everybody!!! I am super duper stoked to present u all with the first 2k words of Of A Feather, aka the "what if Jason's bio mom didnt SUCK" fic. Im hoping to have the full chapter ready for publishing in the next week or two! Big thanks to everyone who's talked to me abt this fic so far, and an ESPECIALLY big thanks to @jayladfanpage for basically being my jaybin encyclopedia while i work my way through this fic!!! This warning will be more applicable in future chapters but it should be noted that this fic is NOT canon compliant and does significantly change/recontextualize a couple things about Jason's background, but you the audience get to find out about all that in real time alongside Jason lmao!! Anyways, without further adieu, please enjoy this preview ❤️

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well, that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part, you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty box pizza in the oven. This will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days, food brings you little, if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning, you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place, too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your spare blankets. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of tv static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then, you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you dare to touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens, and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your tv, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the tv on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shakey as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him is. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during that first trimester, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed. Despite his size, he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost form the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice crackling. And then, in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

SO. What do we think folks. Are you hooked? I hope youre hooked. Please be hooked. I wanna talk to people about this fic so damn bad. Please send anons or dms or literally anything. When the chapter is complete I'll be putting it up here as well as on my ao3, which I'll link to! Thanks so much for reading and i hope yall are enjoying yourselves so far! Send me an anon or a dm if you'd like to be included on the taglist for this series!

TAGLIST: @leirobles

[bokettochild]

Thank to rub salt in the wounds, Twi.

Not only your timeline was perfectly FINE, not only the hero before you isn't DEAD but he left you a sword in a perfect condition.

Twilight didn't have to fight, as a child, to survive in a cruel world. The hero before him did'n't fail, he didn't leave the sword in a horrible condition.

I wonder if Legend has guessed that the hero before Twi was Time, seen Twi's smile. (it's kinda obvious seen how close they are)

Did he guessed that Time was the hero before him too? And he chooses to stay silence to not hurt anyone? Time has never been the hero of time in his timeline after all and is probably died as a child.

But outch Legend's face....it's a mix between "Yep you are a lucky boy" and "if only you knew about the hero before me or maybe "thank to remember me how much a tragic mess my timeline is"

Because Legend is too nice and patient to say "how nice for you, the hero before me died against Ganon, his sword was in a horrible condition with still his blood on her, so much that i have had to reforge her myself! As a CHILD."

No Legend is too nice to take his bitterness on Twilight who did nothing wrong and didn't know. He'll shallow it and says nothing about the sword's condition in his timeline.

I think that's a big part of who Legend is actually! He comes off as really bitter and cold, at least as far as Twilight is concerned, and I wish there was more focus on that interplay.

Twilight met Legend and, based off of a few limited interactions, mentally labeled him as a bully and a jerk and thus treats him accordingly. Not without reason of course, he's drawing mental parallels to actual bullies and Legend is unintentionally checking the boxes, but I think it's sort of sad that until this point, Twilight has still not bothered to get to know Legend at all beyond his initial observations .

But the fact remains that Legend IS from a world that was in shambles, a world where everyone is a threat, if not to everyone else than at least to him. Legend is a prey animal trapped amongst predators with little to no guidance. The cards of fate are stacked against him as far as his world is concerned, and while the goddesses may have granted him additional blessings and favor to make up for that, his world is still magically a mess, physically a mess, and just generally a mess.

The vet has no legacy of proud heroes to look back on. The First Hero died. The Hero of the Four Sword is a raging lunatic who tries to murder children and is sealed beneath the castle. The Hero of Time died in combat. This is the legacy he gets to follow in. Legend doesn't have the hope of becoming like those before, he has the fear of meeting a similar fate because life is never kind to heroes.

Legend's world was left in shambles, and he's had to be the one to help rebuild it, only to watch it get torn down again and again as enemies undo all his hard work. But on a more personal note, Legend has tried again and again to establish himself in the world just to have all the people he loves hurt or harmed on his account.

His Uncle died, and even though he was brought back, he disappears from the timeline shortly after, leaving a kid hero alone in the world. Legend's grandparents have high expectations and aren't the best at listening when he says that their wishes make him unhappy or uncomfortable, and instead push him to follow them anyway, only to themselves disappear from his life once the Oracle adventures are over. Din, Ralph, Raven, Nayru, Moosh, Ricky, Dmitri, all these are people Ledge befriended and was close to and had to say goodbye to again for one reason or another.

Marin.

Legend is always losing the people he loves most, watching his work get thrown in his face and receiving little to no thanks for his work. He's still actively treated like a nuisance and a threat by some people in his kingdom and no doubt there are others who simply don't believe him.

The whole world is against him, and yet the only thing it's done is made him defensive. Ledge isn't cold or cruel, you can see that he actively cares for and worries about the other heroes, he's just guarded more than they are about it. Still, in times of high emotion the walls fall and he's his true self: that kid who's got a heart too big for his own good and is going to get it broken again.

And Legend knows this. Legend actively knows that Twilight isn't fond of him, and that the other heroes regard him as an ass, but rather than correct them, stand up for himself, provide even one of the thousands of reasons he has to guard and defend his heart like he does, he just lets them have their peace because what good would it do to tell them about the losses he's suffered? The world he grew up in? The legacy he has to bear? The terrible fate he no doubt expects to one day meet? What good would it do to make them love him if that will just make their inevitable parting all the harder?

It's hard to lose those you love, but it's easier if you convince yourself they never actually loved you, so you're better off.

So yeah, Twilight is over here unintentionally rubbing salt in the vet's many wounds, but Legend keeps his mouth shut because it does no good to speak up, and in the long run, at least as far as he thinks, it's better to let it be.

I kinda hope Twilight will come to understand the vet better though, and maybe get a peek at what has hardened up the younger hero enough that he comes across the way he does. I'm pretty sure his whole outlook would change if he did, and his respect for the vet would definitely increase.

[jujutsubaby]

🩷 sex drive 🩷

☆ pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader ☆ summary: you go to a valentine's day blood drive at work. maybe it's just that you've been single for too long, but isn't the volunteer drawing your blood kinda...? well, let's just say you wouldn't mind exchanging a few other bodily fluids with him, too. ☆ tags: modern au, workplace au ☆ warnings: 18+!! MINORS DNI!! dirty talk, oral sex (f!recieving), slight exhibitionism, daddy kink ☆ a/n: happy valentine's day (again)!! another quick little treat for u all hehe...inspired by my real life experience of going to a valentine's day blood drive (except for the fun parts ofc lmao).

you knew you should have made up an excuse and stayed home today. you hate to be a cliche bitter ass single woman who's not getting any younger on valentine's day, but it's hard not to play to type when the whole office is decorated in cutesy pinks and reds. it definitely doesn't help that your boss, suguru, keeps getting visits every 15 minutes from his boyfriend satoru.

"ugh, what's with the pda?" you grumble at what feels like satoru's 30th visit to suguru's open cubicle. "haven't you two been together for, like, a thousand years already?" your coworker utahime helpfully makes gagging noises to emphasize your point.

"hey now, y/n, you KNOW that i'm the head of marketing and suguru's the head of sales! i can't help it if he and i have lots of important things to discuss," satoru protests with puppy dog eyes.

"i didn't realize important marketing meetings involve sitting on coworkers' laps now," utahime mumbles, and the pair of you giggle conspiratorially.

however, as the day goes on and utahime keeps receiving increasingly elaborate flower arrangements delivered to her from her doctor girlfriend shoko, you find yourself feeling more glum than ever. you decide to go out for a stroll, hoping the cold february air will slap some sense into you.

unfortunately, not even five minutes after you set out, droplets of threatening rain turn into a torrential downpour. you curse; in your mopey mood this morning, you totally forgot to check the forecast!

you really don't want to go back into the lovefest of your office right now, so you start looking desperately around for a rescue — an underhang to stand under, anything.

that's when you see a bright red sign advertising a blood drive for valentine's day being held at your neighboring building. that could be an interesting idea. at least this way, you can tell yourself you did a good deed on valentine's day instead of just complaining the whole time. even more appealingly, you see that it'll take about an hour, which is one less hour you'll have to spend around satoru's soppy nicknames for suguru. after shooting a quick text to your team's group chat informing them of your last minute appointment, you decide to brave the rain and head over, hoping there's an opening for a walk-in.

you enter the room where the blood drive is taking place, praying you don't look too much like a drowned rat. your self-consciousness melts away and you smile brightly when you see a familiar face.

"shoko! you're volunteering here today?"

"oh, hey y/n," your quiet friend replies, giving you a small smile back. "yeah, utahime and i have a date nearby this evening, so i thought i might as well sign up. what time was your appointment for?"

"well, uh, i didn't exactly make an appointment..." you say awkwardly. "are walk-ins ok?"

"no problem, we got a lot of no-shows today anyway," shoko replies with a subtle roll of her eyes. she then hands you a clipboard and a pen. "just fill this out, and i'll get you screened and set up and everything."

you gratefully take the clipboard and head into the tiny compartment curtained off at the side of the room, presumably to give donors some privacy as they get screened. you fill out the form (trying not to think of your stupid ex boyfriend when you encounter the questions about your sex life), and once you're done, you poke your head back outside of the compartment.

"i'm ready now, shoko," you call. when your friend doesn't answer, you crane your neck around to the desk where she had been sitting. "shoko?"

"she just went on break," a husky, masculine voice replies from behind you. "i'll be taking over." you look back and are immediately floored by what just has to be the finest specimen of the male form you've ever seen, clad in obscenely tight scrubs that emphasize every bulging muscle. focus!!

"oh thanks doctor...um...fushiguro," you read from his nametag. he's so tall that it happens to be at your eye level, giving you quite a nice eyeful of his firm, muscular chest. what business did men have being this tall, anyway?!

"just call me toji," he says casually, grinning down at you. he takes the clipboard from your outstretched hands and jerks his head back towards the compartment you had been waiting in. "let's head back there so we have more...privacy." maybe it's just your imagination, but you could have sworn he smirked when he said that. you take deep breaths to suppress the unholy thoughts you're having, and you follow him back into the side room.

when you push the curtain aside and go in after him, you see he's already settled into one of the two chairs crammed into the tight space that he's clearly a little too large for. as you daintily resume your position in your own chair, he shifts and splays his long legs out, brushing your thigh with his knee. you inhale sharply.

he clears his throat and pulls out a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket before reading your questionnaire. he nods at your answers (although you can't help but turn beet red as his eyes scan over the section about when you last had a new sex partner).

"looks fine to me. let's take your blood pressure now...y/n" he says, positively purring when he sounds out your name. "beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he says with a roguish wink, making you turn even redder than you ever knew was possible. was he making you uncomfortable on purpose?!

"mind taking your top off?" he asks, rummaging around in the drawer in front of him.

"i'm sorry?!" you choke out. that was a freebie! happy fucking valentine's day to you!

"oh, sorry, i meant so i can put the bp monitor around your arm. i don't know if you can roll your sleeves up in that blouse," he says, looking up from the drawer. you notice his eyes on your breasts, and you realize that you of course had worn your white button down over your lacy black camisole on the day mother nature decided to get you soaking wet. you must look like such a hussy!

you quickly unbutton your blouse and show him your arm to wrap the thick velcro band around, trying hard to avoid eye contact. it doesn't matter, though; you can feel his eyes boring into you like lasers. why does he have to be so hot?! you hope being in his presence won't throw off your blood pressure reading...you can feel your pulse going a little haywire.

As he tightens the band and starts the measurement, toji starts making small talk.

"so, you doing anything for valentine's day?"

ugh. anything but this topic.

"no," you reply simply, hoping not to broker further discussion.

he presses on, not taking your cue (or if he did, he ignored it.)

"no? what, your partner doesn't celebrate?"

toji reads out your bp measurement to you, but you don't even pay attention to it as you notice his hand brushing the side of your breast as he unwraps the bp monitor's band from your exposed arm. you gulp as you realize only the thin satiny layer of your cami is keeping his hands from touching your tits.

"uh..ah.." you say, hoping he doesn't notice the effect his one brief physical touch had on you, "n-no...my ex-boyfriend and i broke up a few months ago already." you don't mention how you saw him in your bed on your birthday in the arms of another person.

toji looks up at you from darkly hooded eyes.

"his loss...i know i'd treasure valentine's day with a pretty little thing like you."

just like that, toji snaps back into professional mode again, leaving you reeling once more from his flirtatious behavior. he was way too handsome to be acting like this on a dime! a girl like you could get ideas...

"i'm going to do a thumbprick now to get a quick reading on your blood. is that ok with you?"

you nod, and he grins at you.

"that's my girl," he hums in a low voice.

then, before you're even able to process what's happening, he takes your hand and engulfs it in his own. he then begins rubbing your hand back and forth, and you feel a small frisson of pleasure at the sensation of his callouses against your small, soft fingers.

"noticed your skin was a little cold, so i thought i'd warm your hand up before taking the sample," he explained, but you're hardly able to even listen to him as you enjoy the blissful sensation of his hands rubbing yours. his fingers were so long and thick, and so dextrous... how would those fingers feel somewhere else...no! stop! what are you thinking?! you've definitely been single for too long.

"all right, y/n," toji murmurs gently. "you're just going to feel a small prick...sorry about that..." he takes the sample and puts it into a machine for processing. he then reaches back into the drawer and withdraws a digital thermometer.

"while we're waiting for that to finish, let's take your temperature." you nod and extend your hands to take the thermometer from him, but he ignores you and instead roughly takes your chin in one of his huge, warm hands, tilting your head up towards his chest.

"open up for me now, y/n" he purrs, your name sounding like the sweetest and most beautiful sound you've ever heard when it's coming from his mouth; you can't help but comply. he gently inserts the thermometer under your tongue, and you note his eyes lingering on your lips for much longer than they have to. embarrassingly, you notice heat pooling between your legs, and tension twisting by your belly button. you could get used to this...all too soon, though, the thermometer beeps, and he takes it out. toji clicks his tongue as he reads the small display.

"99 degrees even," he reads out. "now that's a surprise."

"what? why's that?" you ask, confused. how could a body temperature be surprising?

"well, our cutoff is 99.5, and i was sure you'd be way too hot," he says with a laugh and another wink. you giggle back demurely; you can't help but act all girlish and coquettish with someone like him. you've never seen a man in real life wink so much, but you find you don't mind. it suits him.

"all right, y/n, let's go get some blood drawn!" he says enthusiastically, rising from his chair. you follow suit. he reaches around you (did his arm just brush your breasts again?) and opens the curtain for you. "after you, princess."

you used to hate when your ex called you "princess"...but when toji called you that, it sounded like the doors to the heavens opened and angels were singing. you'll definitely be thinking about that for awhile. probably before bedtime, and probably while touching yourself. you sigh and exit the small room before hopping up onto one of the cots that were brought to the building for the blood drive.

toji pops a small stress ball into your hand. "now, make a fist for me," he says, using his fingers to close yours, "and start squeezing that." he squeezes his fist around yours. it wasn't so confusing of an instruction that you needed a demonstration, and you're beginning to suspect that toji's making excuses to keep touching you. not that you mind, exactly.

you keep squeezing, and he examines the tender inside of your elbow. "that's a gorgeous vein you've got there, princess. this'll be easy for me," he murmurs seductively, and you blush. you've never been complimented on a vein, of all things, before.

soon, toji pierces your arm (pursing his lips sympathetically as you emit a sharp gasp, which of course makes you stare at his lips), and your blood is pumping merrily into a bag. you decide to make conversation with him, this time.

"how about you, toji? i'm sure someone like you has big plans for valentine's day, right?" you ask, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

"oh, yeah," he chuckles. "if you count getting high and watching magnolia for the millionth time big plans. i don't really go for that stuff," he says.

"i love paul thomas anderson," you say huskily, trying to flutter your eyelashes at him. it's been a long time since you've flirted, and you're probably embarrassing yourself. "you know what the perfect film of his for today would be, though?"

"what's that, princess?"

you smirk. "there will be blood."

toji lets out a huge laugh in spite of himself, and you smile proudly. flirtation successful!

soon, your blood has filled the small bag, and toji removes the needle, pressing gauze to the wound. the feel of his hands pressing into your arm is one of the most blissful things you've felt all week. he asks you to continue maintaining the pressure, and you feel like whining that it won't feel as nice as when he does it before remembering where you are and complying. you watch as he picks up your sample and sorts it in with the others; you feel a bit shy, seeing him manhandle your little blood bag like that. it feels so intimate.... you gulp as you imagine him manhandling you like that.

"all right, y/n, now you just need to rest for twenty minutes, and you'll be good to go." you start climbing out from the cot, feeling a little disappointed that your short, exciting interaction with toji is coming to an end. oh well. some excitement is better than none.

"we have some cookies for the donors in the seating area," he continues. "lucky you...i'd love a little taste of something sweet right about now..."

ok, it definitely wasn't your imagination — he positively growled that last sentence, and he was eyeing you. as you get up, you notice you're a little shaky on your feet; you realize that you actually hadn't eaten lunch before coming, since you'd been in such a rush to get away. you list and sway dangerously to one side, but a pair of strong arms braces you. you let your head fall back onto a perfectly firm, taut chest.

"careful, there, sweetheart" toji whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive skin as he lifts you up. you try not to think too much about how your back is pressed into him right now. "i think i'd better keep an eye on you." he walks you over to the front of the room, bracing your back against himself the whole way over. he leads you to the front of the room, where there are folding chairs and a card table with a small platter of supermarket cookies as promised. as shoko had alluded earlier, the blood drive was not busy at all. in fact, it was completely empty currently; just you and toji, alone in this room... you feel yourself getting faint again, but not for the same reason.

"y'know, princess..." toji says, sitting again with his legs splayed out over the chair across from you as you nibble a chocolate chip cookie. "my shift's ending right about...when your observation period ends."

you tilt your head inquisitively at him, hoping you knew why he was saying this. he leans forward, the flimsy plastic chair creaking under the weight of his solid muscle. what you'd let that muscle do to you...

"i don't think that i, as a medical professional, can let you go back to work today..." he continues. "i think you'd better go home after this." then, he smiles deviously. "and i think i'd better take you back, just to give you a...full examination."

it takes all of your restraint not to fling the rest of the cookie down and jump his bones right then and there. instead, you reply,

"i think i'd appreciate the house call." you do your best to make your voice ooze with suggestion so he knows you're picking up what he's putting down.

after what feels like the slowest fifteen minutes of your life, it's finally time to leave. just as toji's shift is about to end, shoko returns from her break, and you take the opportunity to ask her to have utahime bring your things back home from the office for you. since they're your neighbors, you can pick them up later tonight. or perhaps, tomorrow morning...just in case tonight gets a little too busy.

"something came up," you explain to her breathlessly, but you know shoko notices toji's hand creeping up the small of your back.

"have fun," shoko says to the both of you, only slightly judgmental but mostly encouraging.

since you took the bus to work that morning and toji refuses to wait a moment longer than he has to to commence your "examination," he insists on driving you back in his car. you both practically sprint through the parking lot, and he breaks at least three traffic laws zooming back to your apartment in the rain as you yell directions. for a doctor, he sure is awfully reckless.

finally, finally, after an agonizingly long wait, you're at your building. you're about to climb out of the car, but toji is way ahead of you, opening the door for you. you are about to climb out and jokingly thank him for his chivalry when he unceremoniously scoops you out of your seat and swings you over his shoulder. you shriek with laughter.

"toji! put me down!"

you're also all too aware that you're wearing a pretty short skirt that day.

"sorry, princess," he says smoothly. "it's protocol. i can't have you walking back in just in case you pass out, or something."

you're about to ask if he's even been to medical school when he shoves your key into your apartment door, slams it open, and, equally roughly, slams your back against the wall. the breath is shoved out of your lungs as he immediately captures your mouth with his, swallowing any potential protest you might have had (which you didn't, you absolutely didn't. not even close.). he carries your entire weight easily as he shuts the door behind him with his foot; you're hardly paying attention, though, as you're too busy widening your mouth and entangling your tongue with his. you greedily bite down on his lip, and he growls in response.

"let's get you to the examination table," he groans. you wrap your legs around his narrow waist, and he carries you haphazardly to your dining table, crashing into and knocking over furniture along the way. carrying you with one arm, he carelessly clears the table with his other before plopping you onto the tabletop. he kneels before your legs and tears off your tights in one swift motion.

"i hope you're planning to help clean up—" you start, but your breath hitches in your throat as he begins kissing up your ankle, then your calf...then your thigh...he gets slower and slower as he gets closer to where you most want him to go. you try to shift forward on the table to bring your throbbing center closer to him, but he holds you firmly in place with two powerful hands clamped on your hips.

"patience, princess..."

you close your eyes and start taking deep breaths, but the moment is disrupted by an annoying loud vibration against the wooden tabletop.

"who the fuck is 'ryomen sukuna?'" toji scoffs, "and why do you have a heart next to his name? you been lyin' to me, princess? have you been naughty?"

"no," you breathe, and it comes out as a whine. "no, daddy, i've been a good girl, promise. please..."

"'please' what, princess? help daddy out here," he purrs with a wicked grin. just then, your stupid phone vibrates again, and you're about to pick it up and throw it out the window when toji wrests it from your grip.

"your idiot ex, i'm guessing?" he asks. all you can do is nod, the words robbed from you.

"well, my professional recommendation is...for you to tell him to fuck off."

"i will, toji, i promise," you pant. "please, just ignore him, i promise, he's nothing to me."

"you're not listening to me, princess..." toji says in a low, dangerous voice. "i want you to tell him to fuck off. right. now." he slides the answer button on your phone and hands it to you before you can protest.

"h-hello?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "sukuna?"

"heyyyy, y/n....missed hearing your voice, boo," sukuna coos, clearly inebriated. you scoff in disgust; it's only four in the afternoon. sukuna was such a mess.

"what do you want, sukuna? i thought i w-was..." you start out assertively, but your resolve is breaking as a practiced tongue once again starts swirling its way up your legs, alternating between your left and right thighs. you clench your toes and grit your teeth before continuing.

"i was ... clear...that ... that we're o-over," you say, the last word coming out as a moan as you feel a set of teeth pulling off your panties ever so gently.

"baby, i told you!" sukuna whines. "uraume's nothin' to me, babe! they're just a friend! you're my one and only, baby!"

even in the midst of the sensory overload occurring in your bottom half, you still roll your eyes. yeah, "just friends" made out in bed naked all the time, right?

"i want you to...to...s-stop.." you pant, as sukuna finally picks up on your strange manner of speech.

"hold on, y/n, is someone there with you?" he snarls, his famous temper rising to the forefront. "you whoring it up with another guy already?"

at that, toji grabs the phone from you and growls into it, "seems like she finally decided she needs a real man, not some cheatin' asshole who can't appreciate her properly!"

the moment he finishes talking, toji leans back into your thighs and finally plunders you with his tongue, raising the phone to your mouth in time for you to moan sinfully into it as sukuna is arguing back. toji doesn't even bother hanging up as he throws the phone across the room.

toji grips your thighs tightly enough to leave bruises as he feasts on you, and you wrap your legs around him, tangle your hands in his short hair, and squirm in delight. it doesn't take you very long to come undone under his practiced mouth.

he rises back to his feet, licking his lips.

"finally got to satisfy my sweet tooth today," he says mischievously. you grab the v-neck of his shirt and tug him closer to you aggressively.

"take me to bed. it's your turn next," you declare authoritatively. then, you kiss him fiercely, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.

"your wish is my command, princess," he replies with a dark chuckle, before lifting you, bridal style, to your bedroom.

this was shaping up to be a great valentine's day after all.

[writingmysanity]

Missed it

happy birthday my friend! I hope you enjoy this, and that I did your man some justice!! @sordidmusings

Pairing: Buggy x reader

TW: none, buggy is an idiot. We love him anyway.

A/N: This is my first time writing the fool of a clown, so I am sorry if he isn't quite himself. Growing pains and all. You understand. Thank you @fanaticsnail for reading this over for me. You're an angel.

“You’re sure?” you do little to hide the hope in your voice. Buggy doesn't try to hide the smile that twitches at his lips, a small soft thing that has only ever been just for you. 

“I am sure, Doll,” he hums. “Your day is your day – you will be the star of the show.”

“I just want it to be you and me,” you admit quietly. A small thing – quiet, personal, private. He nods. 

“You and me.” 

=====

The rise and fall of voices lulls into a single sound, clashing cheers mixes with the distant shatter just beyond the line of sight. Each of them nearly shouting over the others with various overly indulged tales of their plunders earlier in the day. Sighing, you down the rest of your drink, shaking your head when yet another one of your crew mates offers to refill your mug. 

“I think i'll call it a night,” you mumble when Cabaji tries in vain to refill it anyway. He looks at you oddly. You have never been one to turn down a celebration. Yet, he doesn't stop you as you start to walk away. He misses the way your eyes flicker to the familiar mop of blue hair as his laughter rings out above the rest, calling for another round of drinks. 

You should have expected this, he is always the life of the party. It doesn't stop the sting. 

Just one day, you sigh, biting back your bitterness as you flop back against your bed. Am I not worth him remembering just one day? 

It isn't as if he doesn't care, you know he does. He just tends to be forgetful, too wrapped up in the limelight to keep dates at the forefront of his mind most times. Another island, another haul, another celebration. Another day. 

Head lulling to the side, you spot the cupcakes you had made last night. Just two, one for each of you. The time you spent calculating and recalculating the recipe to make just the two tiny cakes took you much longer than you are willing to admit. 

It took so much longer than if you had just made the original, normal amount in the first place. But you wanted to be selfish, you didn't want to share. Not your cake, your birthday or your man. 

The flashy fool you grouch to yourself as you roll out of bed. 

You refuse to let your day waste away because he forgot it. 

Settling in at the small table, you reach for the pack of matches you left off to the side this morning. Shaking it, you huff at the weight. You'll need more soon. There is only one left. Shrugging it off, you light it, watching the fire flicker for a moment before leaning it towards the candle.

“Happy birthday to me,” you sing weakly, choking back the disappointment as you close your eyes. Huffing, you rub at your thighs, feeling silly. You're much too old for childish wants and wishes. Nothing will come of it. 

And yet, you make a wish. 

The whispered request settles into the silence of the room, almost drowned out by the distant celebration. By his laughter. 

You can't help the way the wave of emotion hits you at the sound. Your hand lifts to cover your mouth, to muffle the sob that wretches from your chest. Curling in on yourself, you rest your head to the table, letting the tears fall. Laying there, you watch the candle flicker, shuddering from the force of your hiccuped cries, the flames blurring slightly from the tears as you sit up again. 

Taking a deep breath, you whisper your wish again before leaning forward to blow out the candle. You sit there in silence, letting his laughter ring out around you for a while longer before you pull yourself to the bed. Tomorrow will be better. You can forgive him tomorrow. 

Hell remember, right?

=========

The night is nearly over, the dull tug of dawn lightening the shadows from the sky, when Buggy finds himself stumbling back into your shared room. No matter how hard he tries, the drunken tilt of his steps thunder against the floors. Somehow, the sounds do not rouse you. 

Pausing for a moment, he stops to stare, watching the way your chest rises and falls in your sleep. He lets himself smile, leaning heavily against the wall as he takes you in. The moment doesn't last, the thick smell of something sweet hitting his nose. The scent rams against his senses, making his head swim and his vision cloud slightly, making him nauseous. Looking around, he frowns. 

Where is that coming from? 

His eyes glaze over the room, becoming increasingly agitated when he can't find the source, until his eyes fall to the table beside him. He freezes as his eyes fall on the two delicately decorated cupcakes resting there. His gaze flickers between the cakes and the bed, swallowing hard. 

That's tomorrow… right?

He eyes the burnt out match beside the cake with a candle in despair, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry. 

Fuck.

==========

Shifting in bed, you wince at the distant clatter followed by a curse. Buggy’s voice echoes harshly against the thin, wooden walls. Sighing, you sit up, half convinced that you had only fallen asleep for a few hours. Blinking slowly, you stare – the gentle wash of orange and red lingering on the panels of the window seat just on the other side of the bed, golden rays lighting the rest of the room. 

It's only then that you realize that there is no sound, none other than Buggy. 

Without thought, you’re to your feet and out the door when there is a slam followed by muffled curses. You wince at the distant chill of the wood against your bare feet, finding yourself leaning into the kitchen. Brows furrowed, you watch him as he rummages around. 

Ingredients are tossed about like he does with loot when he is looking for something specific, a total disregard to anything but what is currently plaguing his mind. He is unharmed, from what you can see, so you stay there watching, resisting the urge to yell at him for last night. When his head pops up again, you see it in his eyes. 

Panic. 

Frowning, you almost speak up, until you hear the words spilling from his lips. 

“You damn fool” he grouches to himself, picking up and moving things from one place to another. He is pacing around the kitchen, eyes wide as they flicker over everything around him. “You forgot you forgot you forgot.” He chastises himself over and over. 

It is only then that you tear your eyes from his fumbling form, blinking in surprise. There are balloons, the plastic spheres littering the ceiling, bobbling along as he rushes by. The kitchen is completely decorated, your favorite color splashed along every surface haphazardly. You can't help but eye the various bags cluttering the table top – each decorated to peak bedazzlement, bright and shiny papers glinting back in the early morning sun. 

“Why does it look like that?” He mourns out loud. Your eyes snap back to him, finding him with his head in his hands standing before what you assume is supposed to be a cake. The cake itself is crumbly, falling apart. He had tried to plaster it back together with frosting, but it seems that that had only made the cracks more obvious. Again, it looks as if he had tried to hide it, large clumps of icing half smeared around it, all of it melting before he is able to spread it properly. 

Pausing to take him in again, you soften. He is a mess, and not in his usual over dramatic way. His hair is tied back in a rush, half of it falling from the band he had used to pin it back. His brilliant red nose is nearly white, smeared with flour and icing. His clothes are covered in it, splotches of white, blue and green. 

“You iced it too early,” you answered him, your voice still heavy with sleep. “And from the looks of it, you took the cake out of the pan before it had cooled.” he jumps, his head literally twisting from his body as he jerks, eyes wide as it plops back onto his neck. 

“You’re awake,” he breathes as he fumbles to stand before you, trying in vain to smooth out his clothes. “I, uh…” you frown, the anger bubbling up again, seeing him avoid your eyes and the silence seems to linger more. Just as you're about to open your mouth, he begins again. 

“Please, just.. Let me…” he swallows, taking a breath. “I'm sorry.” he begins again, wringing his hands. “I was a fool, I let myself get so wrapped up in the celebrations that I forgot our – your – celebration.” he whispers out, wincing. “You deserve so much more, and I understand if you hate me–” 

“I don't hate you,” you cut him off sharply, eyes narrowing at him. “I am mad at you,” you correct him. “Those things are mutually exclusive, Buggy. I am allowed to be upset with you, it doesnt change the fact that I love you.” he nods his head so quickly that you are sure it will come bobbing off again, his eyes wide and pleading. 

Sighing heavily, you shake your head while rubbing at your eyes. You kick yourself for finding that you have already forgiven him, that you had forgiven him well before this. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you have yet to decide, you can't seem to stay angry with him for long. Especially after seeing what he's done to try and make it up to you. Smiling to yourself, you lift up to press a chaste kiss to his lips, a silent indication of your forgiveness. Automatically, his lips chase yours as you start to pull back, but he stops himself. 

“I truly meant to spend your day with you,” he says quietly, his tone almost begging you to believe him.  He looked around quickly, as if making sure that everything was still there. He wanted it to be perfect, and it had started out well, but things seemed to have quickly fallen apart as he started the cake. Literally. “I uh, I baked you a cake.” he motions to the baked goods, watching in despair as a large chunk slides from the side and down onto the plate with a distant thwap. 

“I… can't bake.” he admits, making you laugh. He relaxes some, lips twitching at the sound. 

“I know,” you agree, stepping towards the sad blob of icing. “Is it edible?” he shuffles over, staring at the offending item as if it had personally betrayed him. 

“I can't promise that.”

========

tags list because requested @short-honey-badger

[middlingmay]

WOTA Halloween Event 2024 Fic

Long Kiss Goodnight (8K)

Bucky isn't the only one losing himself inside Stalag Luft III. When Gale realises Bucky has resolved to die there if it's the only way to make their imprisonment end, it feels like relief. Because it means he can, too. But he doesn't want to wait and see Bucky suffer for longer than he has to. So he tries to give him the push he needs, so they can finally escape the camp the only way he knew how and be together.

Read on AO3, or read below.

Content warnings: suicidal ideation, alcohol poisoning and vomiting, battery. Potential character death. Themes of murder-suicide.

John had been drifting.

Further than he'd ever gone from Gale over any seas or above any clouds.

The elation he'd felt when John had staggered into their Stalag had withered and died after a few short weeks. Right about the time John realised they were there to stay, and their time in the war was over. They were stuck. Captured and contained. Utterly impotent.

Gale wanted to choke him. To grab his face until the skin purpled under his fingers and bloodied under his nails. He wanted to squeeze that thick neck hard until the veins stood out. He wanted to scream and spit in John's face for coming back—for daring to give him the hope that they were still in this together—when he was just going to leave him here anyway.

Because John drifted. He watched the guards with too sharp an eye. It made the goons nudge each other and look back with narrow eyes. As soon as John's distinctive size and gait loped outside, day or night, they watched him. It worried the boys so much that Brady and Crank took it upon themselves to break that stalemate whenever they saw it happen.

John liked to flirt with the fence line, too. Had figured out, quicker than any of them, where the line was. That point between the bark of a guard and the crack of a gun. And he liked to press up on it real close. Like pushing on a bruise.

Gale was the only one who could pull him back from that line. But sometimes, more and more often, Gale just watched him.

He watched the bright light of the 100th, Major John C Egan, dim and darken. The cheek-splitting happy grin sharpened to a sneer. The glint of mirth in his eyes spoiled to bitterness and desperation.

But never defeat.

Because Gale knew John better than anyone else in the world. Let the others think John was cracked, losing it, most of them putting it down to whatever had landed him on their doorstep black-blue and a few others colours besides, bones cracked and blood crusted and a meaner streak than he had ever possessed in America and England.

But not Gale. He knew when John was plotting something. And he knew what he was plotting, besides.

His Plan B. Or C or D or whatever they were on. If all else failed—continued to fail.

Maybe, in another life, Gale would have been afraid. Frantic to save his best friend's life. But in this one, where he was so dog-tired trying to keep the 100th going all by himself; where the thought of home tasted like ash if it meant going there alone; where he found himself pleading to a God he didn't believe in to just let this end: in this life, John's plotting was a relief.

Only two pilots left in the sky.

We're gonna get through this. I need you to keep believing that.

John wasn't a liar, even to his detriment. He was right: they were getting out of this together. And if John was plotting the quickest way for release if liberation and escape failed, that meant Gale finally could, too.

Because John would have to go first. Gale wouldn't ever leave him behind. He'd see John off, then he'd jump straight into that void after him.

John couldn't know, of course. He'd take it all wrong. He'd take it as Gale trying to get rid of him. Even worse, he'd take it as Gale trying to make things easier on himself with one less person to worry about, one less threat to his happy reunion with the lovely Marge.

He was self-deprecating like that. He wouldn't see it for what it was: Gale trying to keep the promises they'd made to each other and get out of this together. Even if it was a little unconventional.

So, as much as he didn't want to cause John any more suffering, he'd have to give him that little push to tip him, so Gale could follow. Right on his six.

He started by making it clear there were no viable options for escape, cutting Bucky's dwindling hope down even more swiftly. The Brits helped in that regard. Gale resented the fifty souls that got out before him and Bucky, but it served the purpose of sobering any discussion about escape.

Gale caught John's eye in the fading light of a candle as they, together with Ham, Crank, Brady, Benny and Murph, contemplated what this meant for their future at the camp.

"It means," Gale said low and clear and commanding. Like the Major he had been, once. "That escape is off the table. You want out so bad, you may as well walk right up to that fence and ask a Kraut to shoot you."

The boys muttered and filed off to bed, defeated and angry. But John? He sat and started at Gale, and those midnight eyes glittered with fury.

Gale thought it was a beautiful burn. He'd always been in awe of how much and how readily Bucky felt things. How he embraced those feelings so easily, good or bad. Next to him, Gale felt like a moth, butting into the light and the warmth even though it was scalding.

Glowering darkly, John left him there. Despite the pull that had tethered them together all these years, Gale didn't climb into his bunk after him. He didn't want to take John's stewing off the heat.

Bright and early, when the sky was still grey with a coming morning, Gale was woken by the creak of thin wood and the rattle of a door opening and closing.

It was time.

He dressed, thick socks and boots and his overcoat over the clothes he slept in. A quick glance out of the window confirmed it: John was up and prowling already, heading straight for the fence.

"Buck?" Brady's voice, scratchy and thick with sleep called out behind him. Brady: John's devoted co-pilot, like Benny was his. Their perfect balance. Their counter in the cockpit. He'd seen Huglin blanch once when someone said he and John should pilot the same fort together, and he understood it. They fed and nurtured each other's worst impulses. And whilst neither of them would endanger their men, that was about the only line they wouldn't cross.

They needed men like Brady and Benny to keep them level.

But that wouldn't do at all, today.

"Go back to sleep, Brady," he said softly. "Just couldn't sleep is all."

Brady might have listened, if he hadn't cast a habitual glance over to Bucky's bunk and found it rumpled and empty, the covers thrown back like he hadn't been able to bear staying in bed one more second.

Brady's eyes got round and worried and he grabbed a fistfull of his own ratty blanket, ready to launch himself out of the door and track down his errant Major.

"Brady." Gale clipped the order. "I said go back to sleep." He nodded to the window. "I've got him. He's doing fine."

Brady slumped back onto his cot. If he had it in him, if Gale had anything in him anymore, he might have felt guilty about the lie. But it wasn't really a lie. John had strode a whole half-foot over the invisible line separating him from a look from a guard and a beating. He was doing real good. So close to where Gale wanted him to be.

Gale meandered out of the hut. Wouldn't do for Brady to wake up again and get any bright ideas.

The guards were shouting at John, gesturing with flat, gloved hands, jabbing their guns in his direction without touching him. Yet. The few others who were up this early didn't know John well enough to intervene. But just in case, Gale slowly started to drag his feet in Bucky's direction. Even outside of the 100th in this camp the Buckies came as a package deal; it would look strange if Gale didn't throw himself into any scene of John's making. Besides, it was down to Gale to perform the encore.

He didn't think it would be hard. Getting them to shoot him after John. He didn't think he'd have to act like he was out of his mind with grief. It would be real.

But the guards, or one of them in particular who'd been frothing to go toe-to-toe with John for a while, was still and silent and staring. He didn't curl his finger around the trigger of his gun. Instead, he flipped it, the thick butt a gleaming stripe in the bleak landscape.

A flash, and he'd smashed it into John's face.

John didn't go down, and Gale picked up his pace.

The guard lifted his gun again and cracked it on the fleshy rounded tip of John's nose. Gale could see the blood. He heard John laugh, high and cracking. Gale started to jog.

The guard lifted a leather boot and planted it into John's ribs, finally getting him grounded. Between the butt of his gun and the stamp and swing of his foot, he rained hell down on John Egan.

Gale was all out sprinting now. This isn't what he wanted. He wanted it quick and clean, not like this. John had been beaten down enough; Gale couldn't tolerate seeing any more of it. Christ, that was the whole point of this whole thing.

"Hey! Hey!" Gale bellowed and it rang out into the quiet morning, and the guard stopped his boot on the upswing. The look he gave Gale was vicious and displeased.

"Stoppen. Mischen Sie sich nicht ein."

Gale ignored him, ignored the other guards starting to come closer, and threw himself over John when he finally reached him.

"He didn't do anything! He was just standing there!"

The guard spat on the ground. Flecks hit Gale's face on the way down.

"Nimm ihn. Und sag ihm, er soll es nicht noch einmal versuchen. Oder das nächste Mal werde ich nicht so sanft sein." He jerked his gun in the vague direction of the huts, and Gale pulled John out of the dirt and the mud and slung his arm over his shoulder.

"Buck," John trilled in his ear. "Fancy seeing you here. You interrupted my date. Kinda friend does that?"

Gale steered him back towards the hut. "Don't think your date was going all that well, Bucky. Come on, let's get you fixed up."

Most of the boys were some kind of awake when Gale dragged them both through the door. Sitting up in their bunks, or standing with coats on over the long johns as they stamped their feet and shuffled around and tried to get a meagre heat into them to start the day. When they saw John, bloodied up and dirty, they all sprang to attention.

"Jesus, what happened?"

"I thought you said you had him?"

"Where's the med kit?"

"How did you let this hap—"

With his spare hand Gale grabbed Brady by one collar, and shut him up. "Help Crank find the kit. Now."

Brady loitered for a moment, stared at him like a stranger, but took up his duty and helped Crank search through their pitiful supplies to help his Major and his co-pilot.

Gale dropped John into a chair, and pulled another in front of him. A tiny cup of water was offered up—Hambone—and Gale took a mental note to give him his own rations later.

A thin little square of a rag was pressed into Gale's hand, and each and every one of the boys clustered around them in an arc of fluffed up hens.

John waved a hand at them, frowning. "Alright, nothing to see here. Just a friendly chat with a goon. Scram why don'tcha. Breakfast will be waitin' for ya any minute."

They obeyed, reluctantly and without urgency.

"I'll get yours for you, Bucky," Brady said on his way out.

"Yeah, you too Buck." Benny pushed him over the threshold.

Silence followed. Gale broke it only with the tinkling of water squeezed back into the cup. Bucky huffed out puffs of breath as Gale dabbed at the scrapes and cut on the side of his face. Gale had to make sure were clean. Infection and fever was as nasty a way to go as a beating.

Bucky watched him the whole time. His eyes had always been dark for being so blue. And sometimes when they stormed up Gale had found them difficult to look at. But he'd always forced himself to weather it, and he forced himself now.

Bucky who knew him better than anyone. Could he read Gale's plan on his face? In the slight shake of his hand? Were his eyes shining the truth of his guilt into Bucky's soul?

"Not going to tell me not to do it again?"

No. Do it better. Do it worse. Get shot through the head good and clean instead of beaten, you complete fool.

"I'm done telling you to do anything," Gale said instead, flat and unkind. They couldn't afford for him to coddle John, now. In the end it would be worth it. It would be worth it. He'd make up for it, in whatever awaited them beyond. "You ain't listened to me a day since you turned up here, and you're not going to listen to me now."

John hummed and cleared his throat. "Finally got sick of dragging me outta my own messes, huh?"

John's eyes were more open than Gale had seen them in a while. Like Gale's answer was worth being present for. And Gale was so desperately tired of the both of them being pushed down and down in this place, was so desperate to find some peace for the two of them together, that he couldn't tell Bucky the truth. The less he had to hold on to, the quicker their ever after could come.

He pushed back the chair with a scrape. "Yeah. Something like that, John."

He stumbled when he heard the plaintive, painful wisp of sound in Bucky's throat, cut off as the hut door slammed open and the boys returned with their chow.

Starving to death was too slow, too stressful on the rest of the boys, or Gale would have tried it months ago.

John steered clear of the fence for a while.

Gale had been careful to put distance between then, to stop being the pillar for John to lean on and the force pulling him back down to earth, all whilst trying not to be obvious about it. Just enough for John to notice and to wonder if it was all in his head. To give him scraps of what they used to be without any kind of their old foundations.

Each night Gale went to sleep with cramps in his stomach. He wanted to curl up next to John, to hold him through the night and be the first thing he saw in the morning. He wanted to see a way out, a light ahead that meant they could keep breathing each others air, but there was none. Instead there were tree stumps and calculus and fake baseball games and Gale's heart broke every time he was faced with what this place had reduced his Bucky to. What this place had forced him to do because there was no. way. out.

But even so, John was giving the fence a far wider berth than normal.

Which left them both miserable and stagnant.

Gale would have to give John another push.

The idea came to him on mail day. John usually made himself scarce as names were being called out and envelopes pushed into greedy hands. He already knew he wasn't getting one. He'd told Gale once, in an awful moment of clarity, that no one at home cared to write him a letter, and he wasn't about to stick around for the reminder.

Gale had been meaning to ask Marge if she'd write John, too, but it was a moot point, now. He'd written her a letter, explaining everything. He didn't want her thinking he was some victim of this place. He wanted her to know it was his choice. That with John getting further and further away from him, giving up on any possibility of their freedom, Gale refused to do any of this without him. He had to hold on to him the only way he knew.

She'd never forgive him, but that was a problem for the living. They were only half that, Gale and John.

So the next time letters were being handed out, Gale accepted his slip from Marge and hustled after John as he slipped out the door.

He didn't even have to call out. Bucky turned to walk backwards, giving Gale a queer look.

"What you doing out here? Marge finally give the pen a rest?"

Gale brandished the perfumed envelope with as big a smile as he could manage. Something shuttered behind John's eyes and he grinned sharp and wolfish back.

"Then get. Read your letter, Buck, and leave me out of it."

"We could read it together," Gale announced, generous and jovial and hoping Bucky couldn't see the strain at the sides of his eyes.

"No fuckin' thank you."

John turned on his heel and Gale had to jog to catch up.

"Come on," he pushed. "A little slice of home for you."

John scoffed and sneered at him nasty. "Like I need the reminder that I've got nothin' waiting for me outside of this goddamn camp. Gotta say, Buck, it's not like you to rub something like that in a guy's face. It's almost cruel." That darker side of John sounded almost pleased, like it was proud of him, and Gale's throat jumped to think John saw more of him than he let on.

Their good sides were bonded souls. Made sense their bad sides were, too.

Gale pretended offence. "Don't get snippy with me just because you got nobody."

John drew his lips in a thin line and looked away. Sure signs Gale's hit had landed. A bombsight couldn't have helped him land it better.

"Nobody."

Gale shrugged. Inside, that impulse to grab John and make him look Gale in the eye, to tell him he had him, they had each other and that was all that mattered, reared up screaming. But Gale beat it down.

"You were the one that decided none of the dames in Texas, and none of the girls in England were good enough. Any one of them would have been happy to wait for you. No one to blame but yourself, Bucky. So quit feeling sorry for yourself."

And John gifted him with a face he reserved for Colonels: a blank veneer with only the slightest ambiguous uptick at the corner of his mouth. The one he put up when he knew spilling what he really felt or thought was only going to lead to something bad.

Good. I can't take this much more John. Seeing you hurt. God, end it. End it for both of us.

"Fuck off, Gale. Read your damn letter. Jerk off to Marge baking pies or gossiping to the neighbours or whatever mundane, domestic, pathetic shit she writes to you about. Cry whilst you do it, even. You seem the type. Just fuck off."

John marched off without a word, and Gale swallowed the yell of his name he wanted to chase him down with.

Let him feel it. Let him feel alone. He won't be, when it's all over. You'll be together, out of here at last.

John didn't return after the letters had been read and then read again. He didn't return to taunt the men during their shifts on the stump puller. He didn't return to choke down shitty rations with them. And he didn't return when night fell and curfew was almost upon them.

Gale felt the fear of the boys. But all he could feel was anticipation. Waiting for the knock at the door, when a goon would break the news that Bucky had gotten into trouble after lockdown and they'd shot him to make an example. Gale watched it play out in his mind: he'd finally let himself feel something honest and let his heartbreak feed his anger and attack the guard, and they'd put a bullet in him too. They'd toss their bodies in the same hole. Gale could lie in the cradle of John's legs, over the expanse of his chest, forever.

The knock never came. The door was booted in, instead.

John was limp between two men, unconscious. Brady and Crank leapt forward to take him, and Ham and Murph grabbed the fellas by their patchy, dirty jackets before they could retreat.

"The fuck did you do to him?" Ham growled and the fella in his grasp balked at his nasty scar and gleaming teeth.

"Nothing! He's fine—just drunk!"

Brady and Crank lowered John onto his bunk, and Gale could smell the bitter smell of alcohol all the way from his own.

The men were British, and the one Murph pressed against the wall had the gall to sneer at John. "Arsehole came in a wiped out our stash playing cards. Don't know how he's not dead. Stuff would burn the stomach lining right off you."

With a jerk of Gale's head, Ham and Murph tossed the Brits out on their ass.

John didn't move. Gale stared at him. Disappointment tried to swallow him up. He thought, he really thought this would be it, but John had found a way to extend their misery yet again. Gale pressed a hand to his forehead. He was clammy and cold. His breaths were irregular, too shallow more than not. His pulse was slow and sluggish.

Not just drunk. Dead drunk.

Crank shook his head. "Trust Bucky to find a way to get smashed in a prisoner of war camp, Jesus."

Brady stood at Gale's shoulder. "Someone will need to watch him. Make sure he doesn't choke."

Hope sparked up in him again.

"I will. Rest of you get to bed."

Protest rose up in the puff of Brady's chest.

"That's an order, Captain."

Gale watched John as the others got ready for bed, and his resentment grew with each staggering breath Bucky tried to take.

He waited until the bunk was full of the sounds of snuffling and snores until he let himself drop next to Bucky's side. His eyes roved over the pronounced curve of John's nose, the wide arch of his cheeks, the square of his jaw. That bony structure thrust into sharper relief from hunger.

But Gale still thought John was beautiful. He was beautiful when he was bloated and uncomfortable with alcohol. He was beautiful when he was dripping with sweat and stank to high heaven in their early PT days. He was beautiful when he was all but barking at their commanding officers and egging Gale to indulge his wilder impulses. And he was beautiful now, probably poisoned from potent, raw booze brewed deep in bleakest Sagan.

Gale swept back curls lank with grease and dirt and sweat.

"What are you dragging this out for, hm?" he murmured it into Bucky's ear. In case one of the boys woke up, or wasn't as asleep as Gale thought he was.

"Aren't you tired? Don't you wanna rest, sweetheart? Because I do."

He plucked up John's hand and held it.

"We made each other a promise, you and I. That one way or another, we'd get out of this thing together. And thing is—" He swallowed past the lump and the cracking in his throat. "Thing is I think you're right. I don't think we're being rescued, and I don't think we're escaping any time soon. God, I don't even know if we're gonna win this war. What kind of Major does that make me? What kind of man to lead the boys? I don't want to. I don't want to. I'm so damn tired, John. I'm so tired of being the one the boys look up to. I'm tired of bearing the weight. I'm tired of seeing you hurting over and over, dying here right in front of me. I'm tired of pretending there's a life waiting for me out of here that isn't with you."

He pressed a kiss to each and every knuckle. "So, you can stop fighting now, alright? You go, and I'll go with you. I'm just waiting for you, gorgeous. Let Brady or Benny or Crank lead the boys. They're much more fit for it. Let's you and I get out of here, get some rest finally."

Gale cast a slow, careful look around. Not that there was much light to see by, but silhouettes could be just and damning, and that wasn't how he wanted either of them to go. There was an honourable, clean execution, and there were Krauts murdering the queers. But no one was looking, and Gale pushed forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky's lax mouth. Let just the tip of his tongue dart forward and taste the zing of strong booze that could knock out a man of Bucky's tolerance.

Then he slipped back into his bunk, and watched.

He woke to a wretched coughing.

John. He was jerking and twitching and kicking and—

Choking.

And he still wouldn't wake up.

Gale was out of his bunk and had hands full of John before his sleep-deprived mind could catch up. Bucky's dead weight was nothing to sniff at, even with the weight he'd shed since coming to Stalag Luft III. Gale yanked and pulled, but couldn't get Bucky on his side. His heart hammered in his chest, the only though in his mind running round like a carousel.

Turnoverturnoverturnover. You son of a bitch turn over.

He braced a foot against the board of Bucky's bunk and threw all his wait into trying to get Bucky on his side.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it and the panic and fear overrode everything. Weak, pathetic sounds fell from his mouth that later he wouldn't remember. He couldn't hear anything over the wet gargling from Bucky.

"Come on, Bucky!"

Gale gave one last desperate heave, and hands wrapped around his waist and his shoulders and others grabbed onto John, too. And finally John was hauled over, and the bitter frothy poison tumbled from his mouth onto his bed, the floor, Gale's pants and boots.

And still he didn't wake.

When he was empty, spitting up nothing but tiny white bubbles, Gale left John in the hands of whoever had come to help. Gale hadn't so much as looked up to see who it all was. He simply got up and shoved through the door, curfew be damned.

He got as far as the corner of the hut and bent double and vomited.

He could have let John die. He should have let John die. That was the plan. Then Gale could have gotten himself killed in the morning and that would have been that.

But it hadn't been a thought, in the moment. He'd seen John thrashing and kicking and had nothing in his body or his mind but the need to make it fucking stop.

He was so damn sick of himself. Of his weakness. Of letting John down time and time again.

A hand gently thumped on his back.

"Ay, get it up, Buck. That's it."

Benny. Faithful Benny. Best damn co-pilot in the 100th.

Buck came up gasping. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Benny grabbed onto his shoulders. "He's got it out his system now. He'll be alright. Hell of a head in the morning, but that won't stop us putting that bastard on stump duty for scaring us all half way to hell. Son of a bitch."

Gale shook his head. He couldn't blink. His eyes blurred and stang and he couldn't blink. "I can't…he can't stay here, Benny. It's killing him, I—I have to get him out of here."

Benny's mouth twisted in a pitying line and Gale wanted to throw up again. "S'killing all of us, Buck. Just some slower than others, is all. But us? We can stay one step ahead of that big goodnight with you at our backs, hm?"

Yeah. They could. Because Gale was gonna give that reaper two souls; keep it fed for a while longer and see if he and Bucky can buy their boys some time.

Gently, he pushed Benny's hands off him. "I'm alright. Let's get…let's get to bed."

Benny made Buck go first. The door closed behind them with a tiny thump, and when Gale took his place on his bunk, he saw John was still on his side, but with one knee curled up and a hand placed under his head.

Gale didn't sleep until the sky outside turned grey.

Like storming seas, things crashed and ebbed at the same moment.

After that day, the afternoon really when Bucky had finally awoken with no apparent memory of the night before, the distance between them stretched as far as it could go without snapping. John's low profile, like a belly-crawling dog been kicked around too much, didn't last long. It wasn't in his nature to be so remorseful. John's itching and his wildness and his restlessness, that far off and empty look in his eyes that only ever really sharpened into the present when a Kraut with a gun got close enough, ramped up. And up. And up.

But never seemed to go nowhere.

Gale wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to throw himself at John's feet and beg him to get it over with. He wanted to drag him and drop him at a goon's boots himself and kneel there until it was his turn to eat a bullet.

His prayers to Bucky sick with drink had gone unanswered, and he was afraid he was going to have to watch John waste away here and die slowly, agonisingly far from the man he was at his core.

Gale had failed him so badly, unable to let him go. Two chances they'd had so far, but Gale was so set on a good quick death for his Bucky, he'd had to step in at the last minute, and keep Bucky stuck here with him. Trapped and rotting.

Good thing they weren't getting out of here alive. Bucky would never forgive him for keeping him going for so long. Gale was never going to forgive himself.

He wasn't an overly religious man, and less so now than ever, but he wondered if that was a penance he'd carry with him in death. But it would be okay, so long as he could look at Bucky whilst he bore it. Youthful and vibrant and more alive than he was right now floating around the earthly realm.

"Come on. Skins versus Bones. What do you say? Skins can be the, uh-the away team. Actually, no. No, we’re all away. Pfft. We’re both the away teams!"

Skin and bones. Away, away. Hurry up and climb down into the dirt, Johnny. It's waiting for you and so am I.

He shoved Bucky down, and there John laid back looking more peaceful in the mud than he did curled up in his pitiful bunk. Like it was a suite at the Ritz. He looked up at Gale, like a lover waiting for him to descend down to his level and join him.

King Cleven.

King and God in heaven: that's how John used to look at him. Now he looked at him like a sinner awaiting judgement, desperate to begin their eternity.

Me too, baby. Just a bit longer.

And because he knew John better than he knew himself, Gale knew he couldn't accept a hand up right now. Wouldn't let himself accept the kindness and fraternity of his brothers in the 100th. Wouldn't let himself accept Gale's touch without snapping at his hand.

So Gale offered it. Gave John the perfect opportunity to bite and hate himself a little more in the hopes that this would be it: this would John's final thread and all of this could end.

"Come on. Get up, you loony. Come on, get up. Get up, you loony."

John had always danced so perfectly to Gale's music, and unlike Gale he didn't let his other half down now. A kick and a thrash and a smack and a tumble and John sent Gale sprawling down into the dirt with him.

Gale was so proud of him. It hurt that he couldn't tell him before the end, lest he accidentally stay John's execution at the last moment. Then his rib cracked under John's boot, and John's nose bloodied under Gale's fist, and Gale finally felt it.

Felt something move. Shift. Break. And start to drift away. He felt his eyes sting with the joy and relief of it.

Then clipped, abrupt German erupted over the camp tannoys, and everything Gale had been holding to was upended in the worst way.

"They landed, didn’t they? We're in Western Europe. It finally happened."

That thing that had felt more than improbable but impossible: liberation and freedom. It was marching on them . For them. And Gale wanted to rage and weep.

They were so close. So close to it being over. So close to being together in the dark and the quiet even if they never made it back to America. And now the Allies had gone and ruined it, yanked it all away by starting a slow campaign into enemy territory that threatened to undo all the painstaking, heartbreaking, torturous work he'd done so far so push John over the edge he loved to flirt with so much. Both of them were hanging on by their fingertips and Gale wanted so badly to just let go and freefall. He'd look at John the whole way down, untilt he met the black and the void.

But then John woke up.

He'd found that last morsel of his will to keep going and used it to gain a foothold, to haul himself back up over the edge, even if it was by an inch. And that son of a bitch tried to drag Gale up with him.

That night in the hut, in as private a moment as they could get by their bunks when mostly everyone else was following a high-spirited card game, John found him. Clear-eyed John extended a gentle hand to brush against Gale's cracked rib and whispered,

"I'm sorry, Buck. I'm so sorry. I hurt you, I—"

Gale flinched and bared his teeth. His eyes shone with frustration and sorrow. How could John do this now? How could he approach with with softness and regret and that awful, sickening goddamn clarity when Gale had been scooping out the best parts of himself just to secure their future together, their rest?

And John saw it, and misread it. "Hey, come on. Come on."

He pulled Buck outside the hut. It wasn't lights out, yet, so the goons didn't usually mind a few men loitering at the door of their huts so long as they went no further.

In the dark, in their privacy against the thin wood that made their shelter, Bucky stood up taller than Gale had seen since England and said, "Hit me. Again. I deserve it."

Oh, this old chestnut.

"Fuck you, Bucky."

John grinned to hear it. And for once it was entirely without edge. It reached his eyes and carved well-worn dimples back into his cheeks. Gale couldn't do this. He couldn't have John back in all his glory for a few fleeting moments on the high of the news of the Allied invasion, only to lose him and be back at square one when he realised how goddamn long that would take. They'd still be stuck here for months. And Gale didn't think he had that left in him when John inevitably drifted away again.

They were barely visible in the dark and John took the cover to lean in close. "Not-so Saint Cleven. I missed ya."

Gale shook. He didn't know if it was even anger anymore.

John's hands came to rest on his hips. He ducked his head like he used to do after one of Gale's more harrowing flights.

"You were right, and I was wrong, Buck. We are getting out of here. M'sorry you were left keeping that belief burning on your own. But for what's it's worth and I know I'm not worth much but I'm here now."

For now—

"—and I'm not going anywhere. We're getting out of here you and me. Alive. Like we promised."

Gale was trembling. Head to toe he trembled and it shook some of the water loose around his eyes. It shook sounds from his throat and gasps from his lungs, and John whisked him even further into the dark around the corner of the hut and Gale gripped John's greatcoat so tight he heard a stitch or two pop.

"Fuck you," he hissed wetly. "Fuck you, fuck you, John. I could have—why didn't you come back earlier? Why didn't…I could have—"

He'd thought John was gone. Dead already, but his body didn't know it yet. And Gale was weary from carrying both their corpses. But John had lied to him this whole time. Had been alive and dormant and that Gale could have killed him, could have put them to sleep in the dirt when something in John still wanted to live.

John gathered him close, or tried to, but Gale thrashed back and only let John get close enough to press their foreheads together, and only then because he felt his skin stretch and bruise with how hard John pushed against him.

"Woah, woah, Buck. It's alright. It's alright. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry—"

"I could have killed you, John." His voice shook and his throat and nose clogged, and to Gale's horror and humiliation, the tears only gained a pace and he found himself sobbing like a frightened child into John's chest. "You could have died. I could have killed you," he heaved into the coarse wool of John's coat.

"I know, I've been an asshole."

Gale clenched his fist and aimed for John's kidney and got him good before John trapped his hand. But he had another and sucker punched John's stomach and reigned hell down on his back, but John still wouldn't let him go and Gale still couldn't stop sobbing, furious and shattered in equal measure.

"Shut up. Shut up. You left me here. You left me and I couldn't fucking take it. You and me: we were supposed to be in this together and you left. I wanted us dead John. I wanted us dead. I thought you were dead and I wasn't about to let you leave me behind I—"

John squeezed him so tight he crushed all the air out of Gale's lungs. His breaths came shallow when he could drag them in between his cries which he finally let himself bury into the crook of John's shoulder. John didn't let him up for air. Didn't let him put so much as a half inch between them. Didn't let them separate.

"I'm not dead. I'm not dead," John repeated it in his ear. "And you're not dead, either. We're alive, Buck. We're alive and we're getting out of here."

Gale clutched the back of John's neck until he felt the skin get stuck under his fingernails and John hissed and jerked under him but still didn't let go.

"I don't want to be," he said thickly. "I'm so tired, John. Can't we just—I just want to lay down and die, already. I've been waiting and I can't..."

John scruffed him and shook until his teeth rattled. "Not a fuckin' choice, Major."

Gale moaned and felt thick trickles of snot drop from his nose. "It's not fair—"

"I don't give a shit. You didn't want me to leave you behind? Well you don't get to abandon me, now. You wanna die so bad? You wanna give in? I'll shoot you my damn self, then put one in my head right after. You wanna make me do that? I don't wanna die here, Buck. Too many people have tried to bury me between here and Germany and if I die here, they win. You gonna make me do it? 'Cause I will. You and me. Here or home. What's it gonna be?"

Gale had cried himself beyond wails or sobs and curses. He hiccupped his sorrow in pathetic bursts all over John.

"I hate you," he vowed into sodden, filthy wool. "I can't. I hate you."

John kissed his crown and Gale jerked his head enough to butt against John's teeth. He hoped they left a mark. "Yeah. I hate me, too. But that's not an answer."

John shoved Gale back, and he felt the cold on the smeared mess on his face. John stared him down unflinching. "Where we dyin', Buck? Here? Or back where we're supposed to be? Behind a yoke or in our beds like we fuckin' deserve?"

Gale used the sleeve of his coat to wipe away the slime and sniffed down a throatful of mucus and snot and other pathetic wetness that hadn't made it out. A glimmer of Major Cleven was able to peek back out. Gale rolled back his shoulders and set his jaw that sharp and stubborn way that made the new recruits shift in place like errant children.

And he stared right back at Bucky. His Bucky. Finally back from being AWOL.

"Don't you leave me here again. Do you hear me? Because if you do, if you go back to that, I won't watch it. I'll tell them we're spies. I'll goddamn tell them we're queer if I have to, but I'll make sure we both bite it here, Bucky. I can't do it without you anymore, so don't you fuckin' make me."

John grabbed a fistful of his hair and kissed him bruising and biting and hard. Gale's skin was still sticky. His lips cut against his teeth and Gale made sure to cut John up to match.

When they pulled back, the inside of John's lip was tinged with red. A shining streak of one of Gale's bodily fluids was infused to the strands of John's mustache. "Deal."

It had taken John getting the closest he'd ever gotten to being killed, for them to finally take the plunge.

The P-51s had fired on them, their own countrymen and allies. Only Alex Jefferson's warning had kept their losses low. But John had seen red, like he used to do at a shitty call from a higher up, or when a rookie had made a mistake that could have cost a fort and ten good men. He was all teeth and snarling froth and the Germans were unholstering their pistols, rifles already aimed and pinned on John's chest. Right at the heart.

It took four of them to pull him back.

"Look at me. Look at me! I'm in. We go tonight. Just calm down before they put a bullet in your head."

John sucked in his lips and didn't take his eyes from Gale even as he pushed off his hands. A self-enforced silence before he did something he couldn't undo.

Just a little longer, Gale pleaded with him silently. Just keep it together a little longer, darlin'.

In the night, passing through the sorry carcass of some village or old work buildings or something, George and Billy ran unseen between two buildings and cleared the wall between their column of POWs and the dark protection of the woods.

"Go on," Bucky said before Gale could. "I'll be right behind you."

You goddamn better be, he wanted to say, threaten, and make Bucky promise. But they didn't have time, and the longer he lingered, the more danger he was putting Bucky in.

So with a final look, he ran.

He couldn't hear anything, his heart hammered so loud. Was Bucky behind him? Was that footsteps he could hear?

The wall was so close, now. A few more feet and Gale could hold his arm out and touch it.

"Hey, no! Stop! Stop!"

Gale's feet, his whole damn body, lurched to a stop. Like Bucky had commanded him. He whirled around and there he was, wrestling with a German guard, drawing more and more attention, trying to get the Kraut's own gun off him.

Men had been killed for much, much less. They'd seen it.

"Go, Buck! Get out of here!"

It was the second time John lied to him.

Gale picked up his feet again, but the wall got further away. John was no slight man, even after their time in the Stalag and marching through the dead of night in the cold European winter. But the guards were better fed, better rested, and armed to boot.

And John was losing.

As the guard made to tip John over on his back and turned his gun on him, Gale barreled into him, knocking him clean off John and socking him in his sorry mouth. Hands grasped at him but they were quickly torn away, and he heard John grunting. It wasn't until his fists were bloody from breaking up the goon's teeth that Gale was finally hauled off him and thrown down into the cold dirt.

John was already there waiting for him.

Panting they drew themselves up to their knees. The Germans were screaming at them, and John looked at him with eyes that burned with betrayal.

"Why didn't you go? Buck why didn't you go?"

"You're a son of a bitch, John Egan. You and me, you said. You promised. I didn't take you for no liar, and that's twice."

John's eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment, but when he opened them they were full of the steely resolved he'd carried for weeks now.

They started this together, they'd end this together. However that came.

They sat high on their knees, eyes and chins up.

"What are you doing?!" The Colonel stared at them kneeling at the mercy of the Germans. "General! Release these men this instant!"

It got the attention of their boys from the 100th. Benny. Brady. Crank. Murph. Glenn. Even Alex and Macon and Daniels. They all raised their voices over the barking and the yelling. They pushed against the line of guards holding them back. They snarled and they screamed.

The Colonel called over it all. "You'll have a damn riot on your hands if you kill these men!"

But Gale and John, they knew what was coming. They'd been caught trying to escape. They'd fought with the guards.

They couldn't be allowed to live if their captors wanted to keep control of the line as they marched deeper into enemy territory.

The Geneva Convention didn't mean shit out here.

John reached out and took Gale's hand. Entwined their fingers and held on. Unburdened. Unashamed. Free.

Gale ran his his thumb over the callouses of John's skin. And decided he didn't want his last sight to be the arrogant sneer of an SS lackey.

He looked at John. He was already looking back.

"Here?" Gale asked him.

John shrugged and smiled that closed-lipped smile he reserved for Buck. For when he was being true. "So long as we're together."

Despite all the clamour, they heard the click of several guns being readied, and then the barrells stared them down.

Gale and John stared at each other.

The night rang out with the scream of what remained of the 100th of Stalag Luft III.

[dotster001]

Meeting Their VA's

Summary: Vil/Neige/Cater x gn!reader. You get transported from the world of Twisted Earth, to Twisted Wonderland. And when all hope seems lost, you hear a voice you know!

A/N: Had this idea once I had these three slotted as celebrity VA's...it just took me a long time to write it 😂

Twisted Earth Literary Universe

You were doing your best to hide. After getting transported to a magical world where everyone seemed to know you, you were more than overwhelmed. Especially since you had stepped through a mirror and ended up in yet another world. 

Anyway, you were curled in on yourself under an apple tree, when you heard him.

"What is a stray potato doing in my orchard?"

You knew that voice! That was your friend! Thank God, someone you knew! You turned to face him, and both of your eyes widened in shock.

That wasn't your friend…

That was the most beautiful man you had ever seen….

But definitely not your friend…

After both of you stared at each other for an awkward amount of time, he cleared his throat, and asked if you were, indeed, Y/N. Which, of course you were! 

After that, he offered you a room, and some clothes so you would blend in, and continued talking about things you didn't understand, nor try to.

But, damn, everytime he talked, he sounded like your friend…and you could trust your friend…right?

You'd been transported into what could only be described as a fairytale world, filled with Princes and professors who all knew you by name

It wasn't long before you'd seen they could also use magic, and now you were thoroughly overwhelmed. You ran into the nearby town, scared and stressed, before you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Are you lost? Maybe I can help!"

You groaned. Of course he was here with you. Out of everyone, it had to be your snobby, rich, acquaintance, who had tried to close your school/business so that he could build a water park.

You gritted your teeth and put on a fake smile before turning to look at him.

The beautiful boy's chocolate eyes widened in shock, before he shook himself out of it, and gave you a sweet smile. One thing was for certain. This definitely wasn't him…

"Has anyone ever told you you look a lot like Y/N L/N?"

Once you tell him that that's you, he looks away for a moment, and when he turns back to you his cheeks are super pink.

"You look even prettier in real life…"

You have no idea why…but you can't help but trust this boy with the voice of your nemesis. He seems so sweet, and genuine, and truly kind! Surely his sweet exterior isn't hiding a bitter interior, right?

"Hey babes, can I get a quick pic with you?"

People had been crowding you ever since you woke up in this strange world, and you were very scared. But you were pretty sure you knew that voice…that was the quirky barista at your new favorite coffee shop. You didn't know him very well,  but you had a bit of a friend crush on him. And hey, how better to get to know someone, than getting stuck in a magical other dimension with them?

You turned to him, and…wait. That wasn't him….when your eyes met his piercing green ones, his smile faltered for a moment, before he grabbed your hand and started running.

When you had both escaped from the crowd, he flashed you a grin and a peace sign. 

"That escape wasn't free. I need one pic with you for my magicam! Smile!"

You gave a half hearted smile as he snapped a pic, and the both of you sat in silence as he looked through filters, and added hashtags and a caption. After a moment, his eyes flicked back up to yours.

"Are you alright? You look like you need, like, twelve hours of beauty sleep. My dorm's a single. I can let you hide out there, if you agree to do a q and a with me when you wake up."

It's not like you have any other choice. You can hear the crowd drawing nearer, and, despite his fixation on this "magicam" thing, his eyes were incisive, like he could see right through you, and knew exactly what you needed. You'd have to trust him.

....

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll

[huntersrequiem-if]

how would the ROs react when in the crushing stage they had a very vivid dream that them and MC were married?? like they would 'wake' up in the dream with MC next to them in bed? :)

So! I hope I interpreted the ask right!

 Anyway....

 Astaroth would be relieved to find everything is right and it was just a nightmare. Still, it would taste bitter. Lingers even as he buried his face in the crook of their neck, breathing in. Even as he runs a cold hand over the Hunter's side, feeling their breath, the way their heated flesh moves and stirs.

Listening to their heartbeat - reassuring himself that yes, they're real, this is real.

And just thinks. Thoughts churning and running in his head, doubt gnawing at him until he can't take it anymore.

He would wake the Hunter up with soft kisses, each hand beside their head. Astaroth needs to convince himself. How real is this? How real are they?

Once reality settles in, it leaves him... he doesn’t like how it feels. Yes, he's mortified, embarrassed but disappointed, too. Would be quiet for days or even weeks, trying to decipher the why it affects him so.

He won't outright ignore the Hunter; he's just not as talkative as he is. No more jokes, no more snarking. Hell, he won't even say anything when the Hunter does something stupid (in his opinion)! Each attempt to pry anything out of him is met with deflection or silence until you drop it.

 Astaroth would take the dream(s) to his grave.

 Sorry to say it, but Night would realize from the first moment everything is a dream. Just because of how starkly different it is from their usual dreams. They're never this... pleasant. Content even.

 Night’s dreams are coated with something bitter, heavy. Never are they this… soft, light. Content even.

 They know they shouldn't linger in this fantasy land. But they can't - out of sheer curiosity or novelty? Courage they didn't know they had possess Night. Trying to live it out, see how it is - to love freely and receive it back.

When they "wake up" Night would feel relief. Because it's done and they can finally return to their life, predictable where nothing surprises them. But soft shuffling turns their head to a sleeping Hunter and - oh! The dream isn't done, still sinking its claw in their mind. With a last look at them, Night rises quietly from the bed and stands by the window. Waiting for this to end, stealing glances at the sleeping figure in their bed. Their heart does a funny, painful thing in their chest when the Hunter swipes a hand over the spot Night left, a frown on their lips.

Night's gaze would remain stubbornly on the window, refusing to look back.

She would wake up with a start, heart pounding in her chest. Moon's gaze would search frantically around, before settling on Hunter's sleeping form. She would stare, etch their features to the deepest recesses of her mind.

A part of her knows this is a dream.

She doesn't care, nestling herself deeper into their side. Minutes would pass, just listening to their breath.

Moon would be content, just living in this dream. If only...

In the waking world, her smile would be extra bright and sweeter when her eyes locked into Hunter's.

They would rub at their bleary eyes. The dream washes away from their mind like grime in a summer rain. Only the vague, unpleasant aftertaste remains.

Everything feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. But the figure before them stills any worries that might be lingering and with a sigh, Santana pulls the cover closer to them and drifts off once more.

Once awake Santana won't tell a soul about the dream, fidgeting when the subject of dreams comes into discussion.

With a yawn, they would run a finger over Hunter's face. ??? doesn't remember the dream or nightmare, but they knew it was something silly. Caressing Hunter's cheek with their thumb, ??? would sigh before rising carefully from the bed.

This left them restless, limbs tinging with excess energy. A walk will do them good. ??? would close the door behind them quietly, eager for a breath of crisp air.

When they meet each other in the waking world, ??? would speak without greeting.

"I had a dream of you." They won't elaborate.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Just started Medjed arc of P5R; here are my current thoughts on the characters I know so far:

Joker: Look, I know people say he's a "self-insert" but I really, really see a few very distinct personality traits in him. He's lost in thought a lot. He zones out. He's really goal-driven. He's clever. He's a risk-taker. He's wary of consequences. He takes a little while to trust people, especially adults. He's suspicious and easily annoyed. He's on your side. He wants to help. He's a snarky little shit. His compassion is as much his defiance as his bitter disdain. He's hesitant. He's confident. He's bluffing. His respect is earned. His assistance isn't. He's free. He's chained. He's larger than life. He's a dumbass dork of a teenager. Incredibly fun character to play as, 10/10. I love that you can actually see him becoming more confident as time goes on. His dialogue options also become sillier/snarkier/more teasing as he becomes closer with people. It's just fun. I have a lot more thoughts on him but I'm going to stop here. I'd love to do a bit of an analysis on him once I finish the game - I'd like to go back through his main story dialogue options and his idle and specific scene animations. Plus, they seriously popped off with his character design. There's so much I could say about that alone.

Ryuji: Ryuji, my beloved. I wish you were less horny in uncomfortable ways in some scenes - I think, as well as Atlus not knowing what teenage girls are like, they also have not... spoken to people raised by single mothers, or mothers who got out of an abusive relationship... but anyways, asides from that, I love Ryuji. I think his desire for popularity makes a lot of sense - he's only ever stood out in a bad way. He just wants to be liked, you know? And he doesn't think he's enough the way he is. He's trying his best. I need him to shut up so bad but also I hope he never shuts up, you know. He's genuinely so funny, and he's the most ride or die of anyone. Ryuji gets angry on everyone's behalf when they can't muster up their own anger yet. Everyone say thank you, Ryuji.

Morgana: I do not get the hate for this not-cat; he's so funny to me. He's becoming a little more aligned to the thieves' morality, which is probably for the best since at the beginning he was definitely down with accidental murder and totally open about his pragmatism. He actually encourages this in Joker. It's just funny. I love my emotional support not-cat bestie who sits in my desk at school then tells me to go strike shady deals with random people in back alleys. You can definitely see a change in Morgana though; he's becoming more excited about helping people for the sake of it (like Joker, he too has gained purpose), but he's also becoming more insecure.

Ann: She remains my favourite of the Thieves. If Ryuji is the original drive and Morgana the original method, then she is the original conviction. The strength to stand with victims. The desire to force those who hurt others to understand the feelings of said victims. She has the rawest fucking lines at the end of the Kamoshida arc. She loves Shiho so much, and I really feel like her and Joker are on the same page when it comes to things deeper than their surface level interests. Get you a friend like Ann fr. It's a shame that later scenes have her mostly just getting mad at the guys when they uhhh... act like horny guys towards her. Feels bad man, especially because I love the aspect of her character that wants to be more comfortable with her sexuality and have that be on her terms. <- That's really cool, actually! Why couldn't we do more with that...? As a note though, I seriously love her admiration towards female cartoon villains and that one mean girl model. I think that's so funny and also such a mood. I do not believe for one second that Ann is straight. I hope she becomes the sexy and confidant morally-ambiguous thief of her dreams, and also that she gets a girlfriend. It's what she deserves.

Yusuke: He's so dramatic. Do you expect me not to love him? I really loved his conflict during Madarame's arc - those revelations were absolutely brutal, and Yusuke really handled things well, all things considered. Again, like Ann, there were some raw lines in there. But then, of course, the slump on the other end, when the adrenaline wears off. That Yusuke's painting only showed the dark side of desire tells me that he is still grappling with the effects of all these reveals. He has a lot to process.

Makoto: I just think she's so cute. Her design is adorable. She's such a sweetheart. On the flip side though, while I don't find her as intimidating as the game seems to, I definitely would not want her mad at me. While, as I mentioned before, I found the lead up to her joining the thieves to be a little janky, the actual moment was great. I love that she has a support system now. She really needed that. I hope there are more scenes with her in group settings tbh. While I'm enjoying her one-on-one dynamics with Ryuji and Ann, I do feel like she doesn't really... gel with the group as well as, say, Yusuke did. I think they need to drag her out to more activities lol.

Sojiro: I still don't know yet? He seems like the tough love sort. I do enjoy getting to learn random coffee trivia from him, and it seems like he cares in a kind of gruff way. He also gets a lot of suspicious people coming by. Guess I'll find out more later.

Maruki: Again, I don't know much still. He's endearing and dorky. That salt bae thing still lives rent-free in my head. I feel his frustration with not being able to help more. I get it man. I will say though, the fact that we get to see scenes with the thieves and Maruki, with no Joker present, is... odd.

Kasumi: I... I don't know how to feel. She's too nice. She's too polite. All of her scenes are so weirdly convenient. I like her just fine, but there's something seriously off. I almost feel like she's an outlier on purpose, like she doesn't blend into the world. Unlike Maruki, who is new to Royal but blends into the story quite nicely, Kasumi really stands out, to the point it kind of feels like that was the intention. She is adorable, though, I won't deny that, and I do want her to succeed and all, I just... hm. I don't know how to feel about her.

Akechi: I could fix him (smack him upside the head). <- okay but seriously, he is so obviously suspicious, he so obviously knows about Joker, he's such a smarmy little shit. I would despise him irl, but he's absolutely the funniest character in the game right now. Everything he says has me either cackling or my jaw dropping at the fucking audacity. He's also really interesting to me. Love a character whose every line means three things rolled into one. He feels dangerous and weirdly endearing at the same time. What the hell is his problem (affectionate + derogatory).

Yoshida: YOSHIDA MY ABSOLUTE BELOVED. I love him so far. He's my favourite confidant right now. He just makes me so happy man I love him so much. Yoshida takes the hard road and he's got the conviction, but you need support from people to really turn your life around. Hey, that's kind of what the game is about, yeah?

Takemi: Oh I love her confidant so far. I don't know that she's one of my favourites, character-wise, but I was especially taken with her dedication to that medicine, and Joker's response to her saying that she doesn't suit everyone coming to her for medical help by countering her with an "it suits you". Very sweet. I'm getting close to finishing her confidant; I just need to level up charm.

Mishima: I'm almost done his confidant too! I actually enjoy Mishima's character. I feel like his downward spiral made a lot of sense, and I like that he's both helpful and made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I especially like that he's pulling himself out of that fame mentality by himself, without his heart being changed. We just gave his shadow something to think on.

Kawakami: Idk how I feel about this, but the perks are good. I'm curious about her though.

Sae: She seems dedicated to her job. Forming a confidant with her during the interrogation was something I did not expect and had me going "ohohoho". But man, some of the stuff she says to Makoto is way out of line... I'm glad she's at least aware as soon as it leaves her mouth, and I cannot imagine the constant stress and scrutiny she's under but... still. Girl. :/

Iwai: I'm going to properly start his confidant soon. He's cool. I feel like he's not nearly as scary as he makes himself out to be.

Ohya: Don't know much about her so far, but she's a disaster, and I will always enjoy a good disaster woman.

Lala: SHE'S PERFECT. I wish there was a mechanic where you could get advice from Lala-chan. She's looking out for everybody. She's good. :)

Chihaya: She told me I'm gonna die... :(

[ginmoonnet]

♡ Between Bitter Tea and Sweet Milkshake┇🫖🍓

[Wanderer AU] 🐈‍⬛🤍❕

List

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳Ep. 1 ‘Sleepyhead’

Life is a bit hard at your 17 years old...isn't it? That's probably why you fell asleep in the break room, because getting up at 6 in the morning to work in the cafe and then going to class at 2 in the afternoon was eating you up.

Fortunately, today was Saturday! You would get home after your shift and not do anything productive for the rest of the day, except that apparently they had replaced whoever would take the next shift and since they were new you had to actually wait for them to arrive so you can leave because you didn't know how long it would take approximately.

What difference does it make? A little nap won't hurt anyone, after all, your shift officially ended five minutes ago and it was lunchtime anyway.

Tap Tap.

Two taps on your shoulder and an almost penetrating look woke you up, suddenly your body felt cold despite having slept curled up on the office couch for who knows how long.

—I wasn't asleep!—.

The person in front of you tilted their head with their arms crossed. A boy in uniform, with pale skin, almost as white as sweet whipped cream, eyes of an indigo as striking as his hair that resembled a blueberry...or a jellyfish?

Captivating without a doubt, which was clear thanks to how little concealed your curious but bewildered look was. The boy just snorted with some discomfort before speaking.

—You're Y/N, right? Why are you still here?—.

He didn't say anything rude, however the tone of his voice felt somewhat abrupt and his eyes, which looked at you disinterestedly, made you feel tiny in your place.

—Excuse me but…W-who are you?—.

The bluenette watched you in silence for another good, long 2 seconds that felt eternal in your still sleepy head.

—The new on charge of the afternoon shift, why are you still here?—.

Finally. You understood the situation so you nodded, although was it necessary to repeat the same question twice? It felt like he was kicking you out or something.

Anyway, you didn't have time to overthink…or even think so you just grabbed your things and headed towards the exit.

Before leaving you waved goodbye to your new partner, who reciprocated by raising his eyebrows a little with a still disinterested look and then turned his back on you.

Tsk, what a bitter guy.

List | Next

A/N:

- I thought it was way longer 😞. Hah, anyway. I hope y’all like it, I’ll make sure to write more next time dw!!!

—Moonヽ(^‥^=ゞ). ミ★

[wanderingmoonflower]

a while back i made a post talking about how bede and marnie are perfect examples of foil characters (and also apparently that they were intrinsic??? i dunno where past me was going with that) but i think it's time i finally got around to actually talking about my ideas

tbh, i have no idea where to start, but initially i first came across this train of thought because i was poking fun at how they wore their gym uniforms completely opposite to each other, with bede being completely covered and wearing layers, while marnie shows a bit of skin and also isn't layered. while the layers thing doesn't apply to their regular outfits, bede is still completely covered, and marnie shows more skin than him

i think the best way to understand what i'm trying to say is to also consider their backgrounds too. despite the lack of parents (which is a common thing in pokemon anyway), bede didn't actually have anyone to support him until opal came along, whereas marnie had her brother, and then team yell later on. bede didn't have that. his league card even says that his parents ran into trouble and he didn't get along with the others. he essentially felt like rose changed his life. there's also the fact that bede most likely lived somewhere nicer than spikemuth if he stayed with rose, and ofc, spikemuth is dilapidated, has a shutter to close people out, and doesn't have a power spot

i think another thing might be because bede doesn't understand unconditional love. marnie understands that, as she's had people around her who love and care for her, but bede only knew that he had to work to get rose's affection, and that's when he ended up going to far. opal, despite her harsh training, would be able to teach him about unconditional love

i've also mentioned this to some friends, but marnie, hop, and the protagonist (whether it's victor or gloria) would be able to teach him about unconditional love too. i like drawing comparison to marnie in particular because they have that similarity of being the successor to another gym leader, so it's easy to make the association in your head, although you could probably make most of these points for hop as well

speaking of them being gym leaders, they (essentially) use opposite types to each other, and even their gmax pokemon are considered counterparts. it also their reasoning for joining the gym challenge is similar intially, but ends up differing when you look a little closer. they both joined for recognition but bede' wanted recognition from rose, and marnie rwanted recognition for spikemuth

i also like how marnie, despite her blank expression, is still a little playful, and very in touch with how she feels. bede on the other hand puts up all these theatrics and overall seems just kinda,,, bitter?

and also, slightly unrelated, but bede is pink/white and marnie is pink/black. i also am obsessed with the fact that the BUMP OF CHICKEN music video shows Bede all alone and then IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWS UP WITH MARNIE SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE. cruel. i'm obsessed with it

i'm sorry the post is so long. it got away from me a little bit. i still feel like i had a lot more to say, but take this image to end it out <3 i love bede and marnie a whole lot and i hope you understand where i'm coming from

[bobbydagen24]

a little list of some things I Hope to see if they do a 4th film.

also if you have any ideas of little things you'd like to see in the next film I'd love to hear them.

anyway my list would include.

its gotta still be a Bro zone centered adventure no side-lining them or any of the same crap they pulled with the world tour characters their still very much the focus. on whatever Journey the plot requires Poppy and Branch to go on and this way we see more of them learning abut each other like the other Bros being surprised by Branch's survival skills. and how he came to learn them and finding out just how dorkish Clay has become in his interests and how pampered and sheltered Bruce has been. to the point he's totally out of his element when they have to travel through forests and such. 2. a main villain that Judges Bro zone as a family this is a bit of a petty desire of mine lol but I'd love it if we had a villain who openly looked down on B zone. maybe the main villain is some sorta loner who believes in family being a weakness and nothing else so they judge Branch for letting his Brothers back into his life when he proved he was capable of surviving on his own. and also they just have a bitterness towards the concept of family for personal reasons so they see how flawed Bro zone are yet the fact that their still together as something to be mocked. 3. an actual none comedic mention of Grandma given how TBT sorta used her as a comedic gag in the two scenes in which she was relevant. so I just want her to for once be brought up without a bad Joke ruining the emotions of it like FR I just want one scene where she's brought up. and you actually just let the characters be serous about it maybe Branch finally tells them exactly how she died after refusing to talk about it for ages. and maybe he still blames himself somewhat for her death and was worried the brothers would think the same if they found out. 4. I've said about this one before but I Hope we see other Grey Trolls in the society it doesn't have to be a major plot point just something we see in the opening briefly. like I said before maybe Branch just casually Hanging out with other permanently Grey Trolls from different Tribes or even them having their own little group or something would be nice to see. I think the group idea would be a nice bit of worldbuilding and development as it would kinda show how differently Pop Village handles these kinda things now. where they aren't just about toxic positivity and brushing serous stuff to the side anymore but are actively encouraging people to talk about their darker emotions and such. 5. this one is probably the most unlikely on this list but I'd kinda like it if we saw Branch's colours get worse again and him actually feeling somewhat ashamed of it. maybe trying to hide it from his Brothers out of fear of either being judged or pitied. I just love the angst idea of him being found out and in a somewhat upset and frustrated way saying that he doesn't know why its happening again. claiming he's fine and that it must just be some kind of mistake on his bodies part and that it isn't his fault this time as that isn't who he is anymore. upsetting Poppy and his Brothers seeing him so clearly upset but obviously desperately trying to hide it and also the notion that he's ashamed of his Greyness and he sees it as something other people would blame him for is pretty sad. like I said it probably won't happen but Honestly I love the idea of actually showing his colours get worse again and him being insecure about it. especially in front of his Brothers it'd be emotional to see them see him this way. 6. another one that's maybe a bit out there but I kinda wanna see Peppy die as I feel him dying has some good story potential. for one it gives some angst to Poppy for a change she could blame herself as his death could happen as result of her actions maybe her not listenening to other people again. and trying to solve the conflict with the villain her own way results in them all being in danger and her dad dying to save her. and as a result her actions actually have permanent consequences for a change and she blames herself tho maybe on the outside she tries to slap a smile on her face.

but Branch sees through it and he can actually have a nice moment of helping her through things and even relating a bit given he blamed himself for what happened to his Grandma for years. plus it'd give Viva some heartbreak since she only just got him back in her life after all these years and now she's lost him again. which I feel in the end could bring her and Poppy even closer together. and like I said after TBT and the first film I'm desperate for some Poppy angst to balance things out a tad and actually give us some more scenes of Branch supporting her again. 😅😅😅😅 anyway those are some things I'd kinda like to see in a future film what about you?