#been building the collection for a while so

[bamfkeeper]

All I Want. | K.W

summary: It's so busy, you miss Kurt.

warnings: GN!reader | Fluff | Brief mention of mutant treatment

a/n: I had a handful of requests/ideas I'm going to try to do. I love a lot of them so I'll do my best to pick the ideas that were mentioned more than once. For now here's this little drabble, not long but something cute. Not edited ignore mistakes. ;; wc: 1.3k

The holidays turned the mansion into a whirlwind of endless activity and festive energy.

Every moment seemed filled with purpose as you moved from one seasonal task to another - mixing cookie dough in the warm kitchen while trying to keep prying blue hands away from the dough, building snowmen in the crisp winter air with the younglings, organizing decorations from dusty attic boxes, and carefully hanging twinkling lights along the hallways. The mansion buzzed with non-stop holiday preparations from sunrise to sunset, and while you had help from the other older mutants, the majority of the planning and decorating fell on your shoulders.

Between the constant motion of holiday tasks and the infectious excitement in the air, you found yourself working well past your usual limits, your body finally signaling its need for rest as evening approached.

The cold winter nights grew more and more frigid, nothing brought you more comfort than sinking into the plush embrace of the living room couch, wrapping your hands around a steaming mug of hot cocoa topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and a sprinkle of crushed peppermint and cocoa shavings. The warmth of the dozen bamfs that gathered around you didn’t go unnoticed, creating a cozy cuddle pile with you. Their curiosity and playful nature showed as they cautiously stretched forward, tiny tongues darting out to steal tastes of the sweet cream and minty chocolate garnish that crowned your drink.

Kurt's presence had grown increasingly sparse lately. The holiday season always brought an overwhelming surge of responsibilities for the X-Men, as they encountered a significant increase in cases of abandoned mutants during this time of year. The harsh winter conditions made their missions even more critical, keeping the team constantly engaged in rescue operations.

The majority of mutants they discovered were victims of abuse or deliberately abandoned, left to face the bitter elements alone. The numerous children they found never failed to make your heart ache, young souls who had just begun to manifest their powers and were cast aside by those who should have protected them.

The weight of his absence pressed heavily on your heart.

This year had been particularly difficult, as your relationship with Kurt had been flourishing, you grew closer than you had been with anyone and finally felt comfortable in your own skin. Yet these precious moments of togetherness remained frustratingly elusive. The memory of his enthusiastic promises to share traditional recipes from his homeland lingered in your mind, but his overwhelming schedule had prevented that from happening.

Night after lonely night, you found yourself lying awake, wondering when he might finally return with enough time to dedicate to your shared moments together.

You hated feeling so selfish, but you also couldn't help it.

A gentle hand brushed against your cheek as one of the mischievous bamfs scrambled its way up to perch on your shoulder, its small tongue darting out to playfully lick away the spots of whipped cream that had collected on your lip and the tip of your nose. "H-Hey, hey, I think you've had enough sugar, all of you," you spoke with mild exasperation to the gathering of bamfs surrounding you, their eager eyes fixed on your drink as they continued their persistent attempts to steal a taste.

The sheer volume of cookies, candy canes, and other sweets they managed to consume on a daily basis had become a source of concern, and each night you found yourself anxiously waiting, fully expecting to discover them all suffering from severe sugar-induced stomach aches.

Yet their bellies were made of steel, the hellfire bellowing inside them scorching everything that hit their stomachs.

After what felt like an eternity of coaxing and gentle persuasion, you finally managed to get all of the little bamfs settled into their beds for the night. The last one had been particularly resistant, but eventually succumbed to sleep.

Exhausted from the long day, you made your way to the bathroom to complete your nightly routine. You brushed your teeth and washed your face, taking comfort in these familiar actions, none of it took much effort and was all muscle memory. When you finished, you reached for the light switch, flicking it off before wearily making your way out of the bathroom.

Your body felt heavy with fatigue as you climbed into bed, your mind already drifting toward the promise of sleep. Just as you were about to fall asleep, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around your waist. The unexpected contact sent a jolt of adrenaline through your system, instantly dispelling any trace of drowsiness from your body as all your muscles grew tight. On instinct, you threw your elbow backward in a defensive motion, connecting with something solid behind you.

"Ach - Schei��e!" Kurt's pained voice rang out as he quickly brought his hand up to cradle his nose. The sudden commotion caused several of the bamfs to materialize in your lap, their small forms bristling with protective energy. Their eyes glowed intensely in the darkness as they positioned themselves defensively with their backs puffed up, but upon recognizing Kurt, their aggressive posturing immediately melted away.

"Kurt?? Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," you muttered apologetically, your hand instinctively reaching out through the darkness to find his where it was pressed against his face. Your heart was still racing from the startle. "You completely caught me off guard there...I didn't even sense you in the room at all."

"Heh...it's alright, liebling...I should have let you know I returned from the mission early. I wanted to surprise you but...you had already gone to sleep." He gently rubbed his nose where you had accidentally struck him, before carefully taking your outstretched hand in his and leaning closer to study your face in the dim light. "You seem completely drained of energy, ja? Was it a particularly demanding day?" His brow furrowed with concern, causing his usually neat hair to fall forward in loose curls that partially obscured his worried expression.

Your hand drifted upward of its own accord to brush through his disheveled curls, trying to smooth them back into place. "Yeah I...I had a busy day..." you admitted with a tired sigh.

"Sprechen Sie mit mir." Kurt spoke gently, his voice a soothing whisper as he drew you close against his body. The winter season had blessed him with an exceptionally thick coat, his usual short fur now grown into a luxurious winter covering that was so soft and warm. You nestled deeper into his embrace, his typically velvet-like fuzz had grown into longer, softer strands that were just long enough to twirl playfully around your fingers, particularly abundant across his chest where it formed gentle curls.

His tail moved with gentle affection against your leg as he carefully positioned you both for comfort, creating a cozy space where you could share your stories. With interest reflecting in his eyes, Kurt settled in to hear about your day. He listened intently as you recounted your baking experience with the bamfs, playing outside with the children, and decorating like an expert. You were pretty proud of yourself.

"Ah, I figured you made those cookies... they are absolutely perfect, my liebe. I might have snuck a few when I got back," he smiled warmly, his prominent fangs poking out endearingly as he spoke. His gentle, playful tease made your cheeks flush with warmth and you instinctively shifted even closer to his comforting presence.

"Did you happen to see the special batch I made just for you?" you asked, looking up at him expectantly.

"Ja...I must confess…I ate them all," he replied with a hint of satisfaction in his voice, his lips brushing your forehead as he leaned down to kiss your skin.

"You didn't save a single one??" You looked up at him with a playful smirk, which he couldn't help but mirror on his own face.

"Nein... they were specifically made for me, weren't they? And I am absolutely not sharing," he declared with mock possessiveness. He loved your cookies, and whenever you bakes him anything, he tended to be pretty protective over the things you made.

"Greedy..." You murmured, making Kurt lean down again, his chest rumbling softly as his voice became heavy with drowsiness.

"Stets."

Thanks for reading~

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[captain-hawks]

hi dee! can i request iwaizumi + power outage due to heavy snow storm pls 🎁 happy holidays <3

under the covers 🎀 iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

In which a snow storm, a power outage, and the utter necessity of body heat find you in your roommate's bed.

2.1k — 18+ only, roommate!iwaizumi, roommates to lovers speed run, cuddling for warmth, dry humping, fingering

12:54 am

The numbers glow bright in the darkness of your room as you tap your phone screen, teeth chattering within the bundle of blankets you’re currently burrowed beneath. Despite your best efforts, your own body heat has done little to warm the makeshift cocoon. 

A gust of wind rattles your bedroom window as the snow storm outside rages on, leaving a layer of frozen white crystals stuck to the shuddering screen. 

The power’s been out for a few hours now—and subsequently the heat to your apartment. Any hope that you may have had for it to kick back on tonight is dwindling significantly by the minute. 

Sighing, you glance up at the ceiling before wrenching yourself out of bed with your layers of blankets clutched against you. Your muscles ache from shivering, but you ignore it and slip out into the hallway.

Your roommate’s door sits slightly ajar.

“Iwaizumi, are you awake?” you call out quietly from the doorway. 

The creaking of a bed frame is followed by soft footsteps padding across carpet, and the door squeaks slightly as it opens further. 

If anything could send heat flooding to your gut, it’s this—the sight of Iwaizumi Hajime with pillow-mussed hair and his pretty eyes that look equal parts tired and concerned.

“You alright?” he asks.

He’s wearing his old Aoba Johsai hoodie. The same one, your brain helpfully reminds you, that you were wearing earlier this morning while cooking breakfast. There’s still a tiny splatter of pancake batter on one shoulder.  

You wonder if he saw the drool spot on the sleeve from when you fell asleep on the couch wearing it. 

“I can’t sleep,” you admit.

He nods, rubbing his eyes and dragging a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but find yourself momentarily distracted by the motion.

At this rate, you’re beginning to think Iwaizumi could save you from hypothermia by just gawking at him like a stupid lovesick fool. 

“Me either, the insulation in this building is shit. And it doesn’t look like they’re gonna get this fixed anytime soon.” He glances back over his shoulder at the snow that continues to fall heavily outside, illuminated by the golden glow of a streetlamp. 

Your heart knocks anxiously against your ribcage as you ready yourself to ask the question that you’ve spent the past hour rehearsing in your head.

“I don’t think so, either. But uh…should we maybe try combining our blanket forts in a joint effort to not freeze to death?” You gesture toward the similar pile of blankets on his bed, suddenly feeling more awkward and nervous than you ever have in the past year that you’ve lived together. 

If nothing else, you’ll remain forever smug that your habit of shamelessly collecting throw blankets has finally found its purpose—despite the judgemental sigh your roommate responds with every time you come home with a new one.

Iwaizumi laughs, “As long as you don’t hog them all.”

“I make no promises,” you shrug, aiming for nonchalance despite the lingering trepidation inside of you. 

—

Early morning light creeps in through the window when your eyes crack open partyway, and the first thing you register is warmth. Wonderful, splendid warmth. 

…solid warmth that slowly rises and falls beneath you, two arms snaked around your middle—

Oh.

The good news? Both of you managed to fall asleep last night curled up inches apart atop Iwaizumi’s mattress. 

The other good news? While you’re buried under too many blankets to tell if the power made a miraculous return while you were sleeping, you’re deliciously warm all the same. 

(Warm enough that you apparently kicked off your sweatpants in your sleep.)

The bad news? 

The source of heat beneath you is your unfairly handsome roommate, who’s fast asleep and holding you to his chest with his hands tucked under his hoodie and splayed against the bare skin of your lower back.

He’d unceremoniously stuffed said hoodie back over your head when he turned around to find you shivering after he finished laying out your combined blankets on his bed. 

—before you’d both climbed under the pile with the awkward air of a newly married couple in an arranged marriage preparing to spend their first night together. 

But now—

It leaves you dizzy, being this wrapped up in the familiar scent of his body wash and cologne while his thumb unconsciously presses into the dip just above the curve of your ass. 

And—he’s hard.

Heat freely sparks and combusts in your abdomen, your throat going dry as you try to ignore the tingle of pleasure from the feeling of him pressed between your legs.

Slowly, you try to peel yourself off of him for the sake of your sanity—because you can already feel yourself getting mortifyingly wet. You’re too tired and sensitive and pent up for this.  

But Iwaizumi’s grip on you tightens as he murmurs in a sleep-rough voice, “Don’t hog the blankets.”

A small laugh bubbles up in your chest, and you let a finger skate against his side. “I’m not a blanket!” you protest weakly, trying to steady your voice. 

Forgetting how ticklish your roommate is, your mistake only becomes apparent when his body jerks in reaction to your touch, leaving his erection to press fully against the heat between your legs.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, and Iwaizumi’s eyes fly open, all remaining traces of sleep quickly slipping away as he takes in your position. The two of you stare at one another for a beat.

“I’ll just—”

You go to shift off of him, prickling with mortification, but his grip on you remains.

“Are you warm?” he asks quietly. Calmly. Pointedly. Clearly not on the verge of dying of embarrassment like yourself. 

You nod, slowly. 

“Good,” he mirrors your nod. “Sleep a little longer, it looks like it’s still early.”

He says it matter-of-factly, as if he’s not at all bothered by the fact that you’re plastered against his chest, flush against his hard cock.

But he’s so warm—

And you’re still so tired—

Sliding one hand up to the back of your head, he brushes his fingers against your hair in a way that has your eyelids going heavy again as you let yourself sink into his warmth.

If you weren’t so exhausted in the first place, so comfortable in Iwaizumi’s arms, you may have foreseen your next mistake. 

But as you fall asleep to the near-silent murmur of, “You’re so warm,” that rustles against the shell of your ear—well, consequences are the last thing on your mind.

You’ve had this dream plenty of times before, the hot, slick heat of Iwaizumi’s mouth on yours. The press of his fingertips into your sides, his tongue against your teeth. The deep rumble of a moan in his chest as you nip at his bottom lip, the answering whimper in your own as he cups your face and kisses you roughly in turn.

The thick press of his cock between your legs as you straddle his waist, your panties already slick with arousal as he grabs your hips and groans, pulling you into him even harder when you start to rock against him.

You’ve woken up soaking wet and alone in bed countless times from dreams like this, dreams of kissing your roommate until you’re both panting and desperate. Dreams of feeling the shape of his dick through his pants as you dry hump him until you’re both on the verge of combusting.

You’ve stuffed a vibrator inside of your tight, creamy hole half-awake to dreams of him flipping you over and thrusting his cock inside—

“Shit.”

You jolt awake to the sound of Iwa’s voice, and you find your lips plastered against Iwaizumi’s neck, the skin there already slick with saliva. Your cunt throbs, and Iwaizumi’s fingers dig into your hips as he drags his clothed cock against your panties.

“I—” he cuts himself off when a whine escapes your lips.

“Iwa,” you pant, realizing one of your fingers is buried in his hair. 

“Sorry, I—” he groans when you shift atop him, your folds sliding against your sopping wet panties. “—I was sleeping, and you…”

Gasping at the pleasure that crawls up your spine, you gasp, “Don’t stop.”

Iwaizumi goes still for a moment, though you can feel the unsteady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. “Are you sure?”

You’ll feel a little pathetic for how quick and needy your response comes out later, but for now, you’re too desperate to care. 

“Please.”

He exhales, breath coming out ragged as his hands slide to your waist, pushing up your—his—hoodie and your shirt underneath until your tits are nearly hanging out.

His hands burn everywhere they touch your bare skin.

“You have no idea what it does to me every time you wear this,” he rasps. 

Heat throbs between your thighs at his admission, at the way he drags his teeth against his bottom lip when his thumbs just barely feather against the lower swell of your breasts. 

It’s wholly deliberate this time, the way you drag your hips down against him, and you revel in the way his neck strains as he pushes his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut. 

Even through his sweatpants, the shape and size of Iwaizumi’s cock imprints itself against your pussy with each push and drag, leaving your mouth to water at the thought of him stuffing it inside of you. At the thought of your cunt stretching to accommodate him, sucking him in and taking each inch until he’s slamming against your cervix while you sob his name. 

Iwa’s hand cups the side of your neck, sliding up to stroke your jaw as he brings your mouth to meet his, lips hovering against yours as he finally finishes his previous sentence, “You woke me up like this.”

“Sorry,” you gasp, spine arching as your clit catches the outline of the head of his shaft just right. “—Iwa.” His name is less punctuation to your statement than an automatic reaction to the way he presses up into you harder when he sees the way you shudder in pleasure.

“That’s not what you were moaning in your sleep,” he murmurs, chin clasped between two fingers, his stubble brushing against your face as he presses a slow, hot kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He brings a hand down to the curve of your ass, fingers closing around the lacy fabric that covers it and tugging it into a fist. You keen, mouth falling open as he bunches your panties from the back, leaving the fabric to dig tightly into your slit.

“Hajime,” you choke out as he extends a finger, slipping it past your stretched underwear to stroke the outside of your fluttering, dripping hole. You can almost feel it pulsate under his touch, your walls clenching in anticipation. 

You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed by how wet you are, not after the groan that tumbles from his lips as he feels the evidence of it. 

“Say it again,” he breathes against your mouth.

“Hajime,” you moan, and he abandons his grip on your panties entirely to thrust a thick finger inside of you. 

Later, maybe, you’ll find the wherewithal to giggle a little with a quip about giving him somewhere hot and wet to stay warm. 

But right now, all you can do is writhe on top of him, whining in pleasure as Iwaizumi fingers you while you hump his cock, the dual pleasure turning you into a trembling, needy mess. 

You spread your legs even further as he stuffs a second finger inside of you, his voice a hoarse rasp as he groans about how fucking wet you are before capturing your lips in a messy, heated kiss. 

“Come for me,” he groans, a string of sticky saliva hanging between your lips while he curls his fingers inside of you. “Let me feel it.”

When you tip over the edge, your vision goes white as every muscle in your body seizes with pleasure, your pussy spasming in a slippery, soaked mess while Iwaizumi finger fucks you through your orgasm.

You can feel him press up into you roughly as you ride it out, your name tumbling from his lips in a stuttered gasp as his cock throbs, flooding his boxers with hot, thick ropes of cum that you can feel as it soaks through his sweatpants.

Both of you go boneless, quiet save for the sound of your breathing until you hear the sound of the power clicking back on. Looking up from where your head is currently pressed to Iwaizumi’s chest, you confirm your suspicions when you see the lamp on his bedside table now illuminated.

“How long do you think it’ll take for the shower to heat up?” you ask him coyly.

Iwaizumi laughs hoarsely in response. 

[blue-drink]

He is Baby (Extended)

It was cold, so very cold. As December approached, Fawcett city was covered in a fine sheet of snow.

For the most, it was no problem. But for one Billy Batson, it was one of the most difficult problems of the year.

He didn't really have a place to stay; he didn't trust the Rock not to displace him in time, the train station to the Rock wasn't particularly warm, he couldn't get into a homeless refuge without risking being caught CPS, and his usual hideout (a falling-apart building) was at full capacity by other teens in similar situations.

That was sub-problem #1. Sub-problem #2 was food.

After a few visits to the realms of different pantheons; at least half of agriculture-related deities had determined that it just wouldn't do for a boy with so many responsibilities to barely be able to eat, so they (collectively or individually, he couldn't tell) decided to bless him.

A tree he planted would give him any and all types of fruits, so he could always have a healthy snack. If he could get his hands on some bread, it would be tastier and fill him more than it normally should. And things had a tendency not to rot even after several days, so a single harvest of the mini-garden he managed to create would last him so much longer.

Unfortunately; that didn't work when there were no plants to plant or harvest, and he didn't realize the shortage he was about to experience until it was too late to get more than barely enough for November.

After they noticed; his patrons became restless, trying to figure out a way out of this one. Refuge was out of the question, he wouldn't risk it; so was the Rock, and it's station, for not being safe enough; and he wouldn't throw another child into the coldness so he could regain his spot at his hideout.

"The Watchtower?" One had proposed. But it wouldn't do.

He didn't sleep, for all the JL knew, and he wasn't going to deny or confirm anything if it could lead up to his identity being revealed. Also, could he even sleep in his Champion form?

Solomon answered that, while he couldn't get a full night's sleep, even just trying would help his brain do some of the things it did while resting. Still, he couldn't go three full months without actual sleep.

What to do?

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

It was too cold.

He should've expected it, that soon it wouldn't be safe to sleep outside. They told him, that it was too dangerous, that he should stay as Captain Marvel until he finds a place to stay.

But he didn't listen. He'd just come back from the Watchtower, from a 4-hour meeting, and was tired of not being tired.

"It won't snow 'till next week," he told them, like a fool. "The weatherman said so," who would know more? The weatherman or a weather-god?

He went to sleep, and barely woke up to the voices of his patrons screaming inside his head.

"Too cold!" "Danger!" "Wake up!" But what could he even do?

He felt frozen in place, unable to move. He tried to scream, "SHAZAM!" But it was to no use, he'd probably already caught a cold and couldn't talk, let alone scream.

It was so cold, it was warm. The feeling lulling him back to sleep, if only they'd shut up. It was fine, he'd be fine.

They probably realized he'd no longer understand them, because their voices were replaced by images. Ice cube, crossed fire, danger sign. Hands shaking, multiple 'Z's crossed as well.

It only made him more sleepy.

"Billy!!", he recognized the voice as one of the gods. But it wasn't inside his head.

His body moved upwards, as he noticed someone'd taken him from the snow into their arms. It was warm, actually warm. Another level of warm.

The god said something he couldn't decipher at the moment, but he felt the magic moving from the god's body to his own.

What did it do? He'd no idea, as he once again succumbed to sleep. This time incentivized by his patrons.

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

It would've been so much faster to sent Hermes or Apollo to bring the child to Olympus; but, in their panic, the god king had completely forgotten about them (which was a bit embarrassing because Mercury also was in Billy's headspace).

They completely ignored the infirmary in favor of their master room, Hera'd understand. The priority was rising the child's body temperature.

They made a bee-line for the bathroom, and willed the room to be ready. With a hand movement, Billy's clothes changed to a bathing robe (they had the feeling he wouldn't appreciate being naked even if it was a life-or-death situation).

As they lowed the kid into the bathtub; Hermes, Mercury and Apollo appeared at the door. The oldest of their present children went to their side almost immediately, searching healing items in his bag.

The speed-gods went together to their other side, and slowly convinced them to get out of the bathroom and let the sun god work his magic.

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

Warm.

Billy woke up, and it was warm.

Slowly he managed to open his eyes. To the biggest room he's ever been to.

Where was he?

Solomon gladly answered, "It was far too cold for you outside, you were freezing. So Zeus went to get you, you're in their room."

Well, if this was the room of a god, it was far more colorful that he'd ever imagine. Like, he'd expect it to have more white and gold and not so much purple, blue and pink. The floors were a reddish brown, so cool!

Also, he felt great. Like, actually great, "Wow, I'd forgotten one'd feel this good" levels of great. Well, he did feel a little congested; but nothing else hurting absolutely outweigh it!

He heard the door open, and in front of him was a goddess he hadn't met, tho he didn't need Solomon to tell him who she was. That was Hera, if the crown and the peacock-feather necklace were any indicators.

He wondered if he should vow; before Hercules chimed in, saying it's better to play it safe with her. So he vowed.

"There is no need for that," she said. "You're Billy, correct?" He nodded. "Then know that you're as much mine as you're my husband's."

He didn't really understand what she meant by that. But it didn't matter at the moment.

"They've been anxious to see you; so, if you feel alright at the moment, join us in the conference room." Was the last thing she said before turning around and leaving.

He wanted to ask where that was, but Solomon was kind enough to drop a map of the palace in his mind. A little too much information, but it was useful.

He navigated the halls, Mercury creating an arrow towards the destination inside his mind.

In the meantime; he looked around, his brain trying to register every single detail of the place. He’d been to Olympus before, but only as Marvel. When he had a bigger reason to be there, and he instinctually knew where everything was, nothing could surprise him in those moments.

Now everything surprised him. The halls were more like several open rooms, one next to the other. Ten people could be side to side, and they could still walk comfortably. There are also a lot of trash cans, not sure why they would need them tho.

Before he could open the door to the conference room; Mercury ran out of it, tackling him in a hug. He didn't even notice when he stopped being outside the room, and started being inside it.

In one couch was Solomon, beside him was probably Athena. Both were invested in their respective books, but no doubt noticed him. Hercules and Achilles were in another, playing some type of war board game; he honestly couldn't tell who was winning, maybe neither.

Atlas wasn’t there; an image of him holding the sky was pushed to the front of his mind, so that was probably why. Mercury and Hermes were playing some type of game so fast, it was like they weren't moving at all.

And he was seated between Zeus and Hera. They seemed ok with it, the lighting god picked him up and put him on their lap. “How are you feeling now, my champion?” They asked, petting his head.

“Better now, thank you.” He answered truthfully, he felt so much better.

“Are you going to tell him or are you stalling?” Mercury questioned. The king gave a low growl. “They were getting to that.” Hera answered for them.

He turned to the god with curiosity. They put him off their lap, and moved so they could see face to face. Hera moved so she was standing by their side, and pulled some paper from she knows where.

“Well, ...” They stalled, “we are having a baby.” That surprised him, he was somewhat sure they didn't have children since Diana and Donna, much less with their wife. But it was an eventuality. “Oh, congratu—” He was interrupted by Hera slamming the papers in front of him, “It’s you, sign here.”

It would be silent if not for Hercules, trying and failing to hold his laughter. But he was the only one laughing.

Solomon didn’t even pause his reading; Athena did but wasn’t showing any reaction, positive or negative; Achilles was taking advantage of Hercules distraction to cheat the game; Mercury and Hermes were jumping in place; and Atlas, inside his mind, was looking at the situation bored.

Hera had the same serious face as the moment she presented the documents; and Zeus wasn’t laughing, but blushing. So it wasn’t a joke; or the joke was how they told him and not what.

He probably looked like a fish out of water. “... Why?”

Solomon answered, to Zeus relieve, “Because of your situation, it puts you at risk. And you wouldn't accept being adopted by any ‘normal’ family because of your experiences, so this is the best we could come up with.”

He closed his book, “You won’t have to worry about being a homeless teen anymore. Olympus will always be open to you, for you to rest and for you to eat. You won’t have to worry about keeping heroism from your family, because they already know and support you. You won’t have to worry about CPS, the gods have their ways in the systems; you’ll be officially adopted.”

“And if the Justice League finds out, there’ll be nothing they can do about it.” That last part, admittedly, caught his attention more than the rest.

“Explain.”

“If you stay homeless, and they find out, they won’t stop until they make sure you find a home. Because they are ‘heroes’. If you find a human family, and they find out, they can tell them; about you being Captain Marvel, and get you grounded. Which would be detrimental to your position as Champion of Magic; and, therefore, all Magic.”

They met eyes. “But if you stay, they can’t do anything. They cannot take you away, we’ll always find you. They cannot ban you from heroism, we won’t let them, you’ll be a hero for as long as you want. And if they try to ‘kick you out’ or to put you in a different team or treat you different because of your age...”

Hermes completed the thought, “We have a lot of connections, we ARE connections. If they try to leave you without resources, we’ll leave them without help.”

“Okay, pause.” He stopped them from trying to convince him further, “I’m in with no needing to worry about rest, food, or the JL. HOWEVER,” he continued before Mercury could celebrate, “... The ‘leave them without help’, I’m not down with that. They are still heroes, they need the resources to help more people, so... Instead of ‘make it impossible for them to be heroes’, just ‘not help them if they ask’ and ‘leave them to get the resources by their own’? Please.”

He looked towards the god king, “You are too kind for your own good, Billy.”

“Wasn’t that a requirement for the Champion position?” He pointed out.

They sighed, “Fine. If they terminate your position as a teammate; downgrade you; or act different towards you, because of your identity, the Greek and Roman pantheons will cease any help towards them. Leaving them to their own resources.”

“That’s better. Now, where do I have to sign?”

************************************************************************

Prompt:

Second part:

[directdogman]

Dialtown is the most USA-core game I've ever played. It's so fucking American that it's scary, and I've lived there my entire life! Like, this feels fundamentally tied with the game's themes and narrative, that's how extreme it is. And it's not even alienating OR nationalist?? It makes such genuine commentary? And then there's so much other shit to think about too; Dialtown has a very real identity outside this that anyone could love?

One: I am VERY impressed that you have done the USA and its people this well. I am actually astounded, bewildered, and chuffed. I've never felt so seen by a video game, culturally-speaking. I didn't even know there was a culture to see.

Two: WHY did you do that. Dialtown is like USA Culture Absurdified: The Visual Novel. What drove you to make a game this rich with American culture and ideas???

Hello!

It would've been odd for an outsider (non American) who enjoys reading up on history to make my setting nationalist or alienating. America is a country with a lot of serious issues. You can't really study how America is (and has been) internally run without facing glaring and obvious systematic issues. DT's setting is one of scarcity and most of the main characters you follow in DT are kinda just scraping by without much hope for true mobility/advancement. A lot of Americans (especially younger generations) would agree this sorta encapsulates the national mood of the country right now.

Of course, the systems that run a country don't define its citizens - many of the finest people I've ever known are American and are victims of the whims of those with power, not willing participants in this system. I could be wrong, but that's why I think the setting connected with a lot of people. We all know Randys, Olivers + Karens, people who've fallen through the cracks in some way. To them, America's spirit of self-determination isn't about individual identity - it's more "you're on your own."

Why I chose to set DT in America would be a novel length answer in of itself, but it mainly came down to history + narrative opportunity. I wanted to set the game in the epicenter of where the phone-revolution came from and Crown likely couldn't have pulled his plan off anywhere else and probably not during any other time. It had to be 1960's America.

Of course, some parts of DT are sorta universal and were inspired by the the Great Recession and what followed. I remember there was an area not that far from my house that was full of green fields when I was born and when I was a kid (and when real estate boomed), stuff started being built there. Parts of it looked really nice, not quite like anything nearby. Like the future was coming. Then the economy crashed and stuff was left sitting there, half-built for like a decade. Skeletal, unfinished buildings. DT is much the same.

There's a feeling that the city could've been something better and while things could be more equal, it does feel like there are no easy solutions to fix everything - unless someone very smart and determined somehow bypassed every safeguard that was set up to halt radical change and enacted a genius plan to somehow eliminate scarcity. It happened once and might never again.

I don't think most people understand the intricacies of stuff like global commerce all that well (myself included), but when you're sitting looking at a half built neighbourhood mere hours after speaking to a friend who just kicked out of rented accommodation and doesn't have a stable family unit to fall back on, you'd have to be a real dolt not to understand that things aren't great right now. Most people are scraping by and feel if they could just get affordable housing locked down, if they had maybe one good opportunity - maybe there's hope that things could change for the better.

The end of DT isn't really utopian, things don't massively change for the better and indeed, the town has a lot of rebuilding to do. But, a collection of lonely people are now looking out for each other and through the relationships they have, now feel like they have a place in this world. That no matter how bad things really get - they aren't truly by themselves anymore. Most individuals don't have the means to significantly advance change on their own - but you can live your life, love those around you and support others and plan for when the opportunity to affect change comes about.

I guess that's what life is, in America or anywhere else. Sorry I rambled for so long. Hope this answered the question!

[ghostpebble]

SONIC MOVIE 3 TALK BELOW (SPOILERS! YOU WERE WARNED)

I know there's been a little bit of debate over the Moon Scene and the Falling to Earth Scene. How were they breathing on the moon? How was Team Sonic (and later Shadow) not burning up in the atmosphere upon re-entry?

Explanation: Plotholes!

But I don't like that answer, so here's some coverup options, scientific and not!

1. The Moon Scene

Scientific: First, a little background. Our moon has no atmosphere, but it does have an exosphere. That exosphere is very thin, and contains no oxygen, only small traces of hydrogen, helium, argon, and neon. So, even with that exosphere, we know humans can't breathe up there. But that's just humans. While the gasses up there are thin, they're still present, even spread apart as they are. The fact that Sonic and Shadow are able to breathe up there could be due to their Chaos Energy allowing them to collect gasses nearby and to duplicate enough of the molecules to breathe. Or, alternatively, they're just able to survive on the thin traces of gasses available to them as aliens. At the very least, we can assume they don't need to breathe exclusively oxygen. Do with that what you will.

▪︎ These would also apply to Tails holding his breath. There is no sort of atmosphere, exosphere, or the like in space. There were no gasses for him to breathe, but there were on the station. So he took a breath and jumped out, and was fine until he fell unconscious (which was likely due to his weaker nature compared to the others, despite his experience with high G-forces  and extreme temperatures).

Non-Scientific: Their Super Forms have a grace period after using them, allowing a few extra minutes of invulnerability. This is weirdly less likely, as it sort of makes less sense (read: why would you still have the abilities of the Super Form after you'd stopped using it?), but if this one works for you, I'm glad!

2. Burning Up

Scientific(ish): Alien durability. In the first movie alone, Sonic crashed a tank and Robotnik's jet craft with his body with a Spindash (which is just his body), and survives that small but powerful explosion that he took the majority of. In the second movie, he fought Knuckles (a seasoned, strengthened warrior) and survived numerous battles, survived an avalanche, and (in both Super Form and not) survived the battle with Robotnik at the end of the movie. In the third movie (bear with me, I've only watched it once!), he fights Shadow, gets slammed into buildings, is one of the only people able to move under intense gravity, survives his Super fight with Shadow, and survives (although is knocked unconscious by) the Eclipse Cannon's beam. This isn't even covering Knuckles' durability (surviving hits from Sonic, getting run over by a car, etc) or even Tails' who is a bit weaker (also surviving the avalanche, manages to fly a biplane with no training). So. Alien durability. Tough fur, tough quills, tough skin, tough bones. (Even though Tails passed out, he managed a few seconds on re-entry and was fine overall.)

Non-Scientific: Pure Chaos Energy! Who's to say it didn't activate some sort of strengthening when in active danger, even if it wasn't visible to us? Not much else to say here. This is a very easy answer to come by.

3. Talking in Space

I was going to say "I got nothing," because there's no way for sound that humans are able to hear to travel in space. But the gang aren't humans, so that opens up some (unlikely) possibilities.

Scientific: They can communicate using gravitational waves. I know, that sounds weird, but gravitational waves are some of the only "sounds" we have in space. And they're not even sounds! They're just waves, but scientists use specialized computers to transform the frequency of those waves into sound. The thing is, if this were how they communicated, not only would the mental mathematics likely be far too complicated to be a language, it would also mean that they would be hearing these sounds near constantly! Black holes radiate gravitational waves. Stars radiate gravitational waves. The Earth radiates gravitational waves. All this to say, not only would it be really difficult, it would also be really annoying and loud for them. If you like this one, go for it, as complex as it would be in practice.

Scientific(ish): They're able to communicate on a different level than humans. Or, that is to say, they can communicate telepathically. I don't like this explanation. They would've done that before to communicate private plans, but, if you like this one, there you go.

Non-Scientific: Plot convenience of letting us as viewers hear them talk, but they actually spoke using ASL or some equivalent. Shadow was in an English speaking facility in the movie verse, so at the very least there was a possibility he learned it from someone there, or even from Maria (ignoring any development of ASL over 50 years and any translation errors occuring because of it). Sonic could've learned ASL over the ten years where he had nothing to do on Earth but watch, wait, and entertain himself. So, yeah. Sign language!

Anyway, again, these are just plothole coverups for what was overall a fantastic movie. And if you actually read all that, lmk if you have any other coverup explanations you like! :D

[ken-dom]

Christmas Kisses

↳ with Lars, Driver or Six x gn!reader

⋆⁺₊❅ Total 2k words. Lars 880 words, Driver 670 words, Six 500 words.

⋆⁺₊❅ I’ve been wanting to write some kisses and thought, what better time is there than the holidays? So here’s a collection of festive smooches. Six was written as a little surprise for my beloved @heresthestorymorningglory – merry Sixmas, darling!

⋆⁺₊❅ Relevant content warnings listed under the header of each one shot, but generally these are NSFW.

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅ LARS LINDSTROM — First Kiss

⋆⁺₊❅ Contents: interrupted make out, mention of the uncomfortable side of the history of mistletoe traditions

☾ * ˛ ㅤ ˖ ⭑ ㅤ.ㅤ ❆ㅤㅤ *ㅤㅤ ˖ ㅤ❆ㅤ . ㅤ * _Π______ ˛ * ˖ ࣪ ⭑ * ˖ ࣪ . ❆ /______/~＼ ࣪ ☃︎ 𖢔 ❄︎ ˛╬╬╬╬╬˛ ° . ｜田田 ｜門｜ ╬╬╬╬╬

‘Look, Lars, Mistletoe!’ you beamed, stepping through Gus and Karin’s front door before him.

Lars’s heart always skipped at the way his name slipped from your tongue so easily, but this time his blood ran hot and cold at once, too. He had been hoping beyond hope for the right time to initiate a kiss. He couldn’t do that here, though, could he?

He wanted to. So much that his tongue licked along his bottom lip without him really meaning it to. His breath quickened, he could feel his pulse beginning to race-

No, not in Gus and Karin’s hallway. Not your first kiss together, right here on the threshold of his family home on the spur of the moment. He’d dreamed of your first kiss coming naturally one romantic night, after dinner and dancing at home, or under the fairytale moonlight at the lake, or even in his car after you’d been out somewhere together and had a good time.

Mistletoe was festive at least… this could be kind of romantic given the snow and the season, but all the scenarios he’d daydreamed about shared a common factor: you were in private when you kissed.

Lars offered a tightlipped smile and zero eye contact when you turned to see why he was still frozen to the spot on the porch.

‘Lars?’ you said quietly, coaxing him back to you, watching his eyes squeeze shut and his fists clench tight.

Before he could think up an excuse that summed up his inner turmoil and still let you know he wanted you more than anything right now, Karin unwittingly saved the day.

‘Lars, honey, is that you?’ she called down the stairs, ‘We’ll be down in just a minute, come on in!’

The only thing standing in his way now was the small complication that Lars wasn’t sure how long he could sustain a kiss without pain, but for you he would at least test it, and a whole minute seemed like a good start. A minute was plenty.

His hands unclenched, his eyes locked on yours, and he marched forward until he was an inch from you, where his gaze and his voice dropped.

‘You know what they used to say about standing under mistletoe?’ he said, so huskily you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together at the sound. ‘They used to say it’s bad luck to refuse a kiss. But I don’t believe that, not one bit. If you don’t want to kiss me, it’s okay. Nothing bad will happen.’

‘I’ve never wanted to kiss you more than I do right this very second,’ you breathed, so quickly the words almost slurred together.

Lars closed the gap, knowing any pain he felt from his skin against yours wouldn’t really harm him, that he could do this just the way he’d wanted to for so long. But there was no pain, only your lips soft and enticing against his, the trace of your scent filling every breath he took, the subtle heat building between you both warming his cheeks.

He felt you pull the hat from his head, your fingers threading into his messy hair, and as if that didn’t drive him wild enough, the way your body pressed closer, begging for more ignited something inside, like a fire in his belly.

While the kiss didn’t speed up, it certainly heated up; tenderness laced with desperation. Your tongue slipped along his bottom lip, and you guessed he must have liked it because the hands ghosting carefully at your shoulders dropped and gripped your waist hard instead.

He hadn’t meant to, and he was mortified at the volume, but it felt so good when your tongues met – you felt so good, he couldn’t stop a moan making its way into your mouth, either.

You hummed back and it reassured him enough that he confidently pressed a thigh between your legs. The kiss broke for barely a second, during which you both panted and puffed and sought out the other lips again-

Until everything came to a halt at the sound of a creak, a gasp and a scuffle. 

Startled, Lars abruptly pulled himself completely away to see a flustered Karin and wide-eyed Gus paralyzed on the stairs.

You held your breath and bit your lips together, not sure whether to laugh this off or apologise profusely. Lars opted for the latter immediately, so you settled on hoping the ground would open up and swallow you whole instead.

‘No, no. We should be sorry,’ Karin gushed, while silent Gus’s brow raised. ‘We’ll just let you two finish up- I mean- well, we need to uh- we’ll be back in a moment.’

Karin ushered a reluctant Gus back upstairs, and Lars, beet red, huffed out an awkward laugh.

Letting out a breath of relief yourself, you bent to pick up Lars’s hat and stepped toward him with a smile, thumb delicately brushing over his burning cheek.

‘How about we hang some mistletoe at your place?’ you soothed as you smoothed his hair back into place and slipped the hat back into place on his head.

All the breath left Lars’s body, and he nodded, hurried and eager.

You leaned up to leave a soft peck on his cheek as you reached up and pulled a little off the sprig hanging above you. You knew Karin would only encourage it anyway.

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅ DRIVER — Gift for The Holidays

⋆⁺₊❅ Contents: kissing, blood (from an unknown source), if you’ve read my Driver before you’ll know he has a kissing kink so a big dose of that because frankly I can’t resist and I will write it again, hand job (over clothes)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

‘What are you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?’

Driver never startled, certainly not easily anyway, so he only raised an eyebrow and smiled as he stepped out of the elevator.

‘I could ask you the same,’ he said, coolly sliding the key into his apartment door while he considered you. You captivated him endlessly, but something was different tonight. ‘Waiting for me?’

‘You caught me!’ you grinned, ‘I actually have something for you… a gift, y’know, for the holidays.’

‘I don’t celebrate,’ he said, not intending it to come off as blunt as it might have to someone who didn’t know him. The glittering of fascination in his eyes told you otherwise, though.

‘It’s something you can do anytime of year,’ you teased.

Driver, interest piqued doubly, nodded his head to the side in a signal to follow him inside as he opened the door.

His apartment was bathed in complete darkness except the lights from the street vaguely glowing in through the window. He stood in front of it to face you, and it was then that you saw the splatter of blood, dark against the white of his jacket, and a pleasantly chilling shiver ran through your body as his shadow cast over you.

He tilted his head — You have something for me? — and you realised you’d almost bitten clean through your lip just watching him.

‘It’s not something I can give you, not really. It’s something I’d like to share with you.’

Driver stared at you, willing you to go on.

‘I don’t want to spoil it but I also need to know you want it first.’

His eyes widened, waiting patiently.

‘It’s… a kiss.’

God. You knew him. He swept forward, crushing his lips to yours with bruising precision that turned you dizzy, opening your mouth with his and pressing his tongue to yours.

Your head spun. This was an art form, elegant and needy in equal measure. Driver knew how to kiss, and he knew how he wanted to do it.

He snaked his arms around your middle and pulled you flush to him, somehow deepening the kiss and feeling you shudder against him.

You managed to prize your mouth off his long enough to take a much needed breath, and in the brief moment his lips weren’t sealed to yours, a almost inaudible whimper filled the inch between you.

With an influx of oxygen came enough clarity to realise you could feel his arousal pressed against your hip. You slid a hand down between your bodies and his breath caught in his throat. He nodded when your hand paused at the waistband of his blood soaked jeans, head dropping as he tried to hold back.

When you pushed your hand lower, you could feel that the fabric was wet, but it wasn’t blood you were touching. This was warm and sticky in a different way.

Your fingertip tracing the outline of his length drew another delicious whimper from between his kiss-swollen lips, which he bit closed when you palmed his twitching length over the denim. You rubbed slow and steady; gathering by the way his fingertips were digging into your waist he wouldn’t last much longer and you didn’t want to rush him to it.

You pushed him to the bed in the corner, resuming the kiss — and the touching — the moment you were on top of him.

He writhed in heated silence beneath you until the inside of his jeans was coated in his release, hot and thick and thrillingly uncomfortable against his skin, and he couldn’t even bear to kiss anymore until he’d caught his breath.

When his heart had slowed and his breathing evened, he slipped away to clean himself up, at least you presumed, but not without telling you, ‘Stay there. It’s my turn to give you a gift.’

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅ SIERRA SIX — A New Tradition

⋆⁺₊❅ Contents: making out, dry humping

☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎

‘You know I’m okay with doing nothing and eating Skittles in front of the TV, right?’ Six called through while you unloaded your bags and bags of festive items.

‘Yep, and we’re doing that, but I want to start some traditions with you, too.’

Six wandered into the kitchen where you’d already unpacked a gingerbread house kit, various types of cheese, and cookie cutters in the shapes of trees and stars and holly leaves.

‘Gonna pull a snowman out of there next?’

You ignored him, mid-search for the most important item of all.

‘I’m not really one for baking…’ Six grumbled, inspecting the cutters as you dug around in another bag.

‘Aha! Close your eyes.’

Six did as you asked, although not without a little sigh of protest. A moment later he could feel you standing closer, your warm breath on his cheek as you whispered, ‘Open them.’

You could see him thinking, What? when his eyes locked back onto you, until he followed your gaze up, to where you were holding a little sprig of leaves dotted with pearly white berries and tied up with a pretty red ribbon, and his eyebrows raised.

‘Oh…’ he breathed, and then he was straight back to you, his lips brushing yours.

It was almost chaste. Almost. His kiss was so soft and lingering, so gentle, you dropped the mistletoe as you melted against him instead. 

Six shifted forward, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him in one swift motion. Easy, like he’d done the action a million times before, and who knows, perhaps he had by now.

He could feel your heart racing, your chest heaving for breath, and he chuckled against your mouth. All he’d ever needed to do was take it slow to have you turn to putty in his hands? Noted. 

Also noted was the way it was working for him, too, heat pooling low in his gut as your lips parted.

You sighed when his tongue smoothed against yours, so delicately that your fingers clutched at his shirt tight enough you could have ripped it, and Six moaned. Actually moaned. 

As swiftly as he’d pulled you to him, his hands found their way to the back of your thighs and he lifted you seamlessly onto the counter, sliding between your legs as you wrapped them around him and the cookie cutters clattered to the floor.

The kiss hadn’t broken all but for a brief moment, when you laughed together before his hips rolled into yours and your fingers might have actually torn the fabric of his shirt this time. The gasp you let out at the shudder it sent through you was cut short, his lips seeking yours again like a man possessed.

Six pulled away deliberately this time, resting his forehead on yours when he realised how dizzy all this had made him, but not ever ceasing the slow rocking of his hips.

Managing to retain just a hint of sarcasm betrayed by his own arousal, he cooed, ‘So, how’s this for a tradition?’

[matrixbearer2024]

Also how old are the Stan twins by the time Dipper and Mabel are 12? I’m assuming they’re in college but feel free to correct me.

By the time Dipper and Mabel are 12, the Stan Twins are out of college(technically). If we place the AU in 2024(they were born in 2003) they're already 21, and considering that most undergraduate programs could typically last 2-6 years- their undergrad courses (BSBA[Bachelor of Science in Business Administration] for Stan and BS(CMB)[Bachelor of Science in Biology with specialization in Cell and Molecular Biology] for Ford) are 4 year courses. They haven't been delayed or are late in any educational progress so they've only got a year left of undergrad.

They study in Graviton University Oregon, because I didn't have gravity falls "exist" technically. The town exists and that's where the university is, just more urbanized and without any of the wtf weird creatures that reside in the town from canon.

By the way, the niblings haven't been born yet considering that Shermie isn't even married yet. I plan on Shermie getting married by new year of 2025 and settling down in Piedmont with his girl, and the niblings will be born the year after around the same time the Stan Twins finally finish undergrad.

That's not the last of it though since they both still plan on moving up to masters and Ford wants to get a Phd(he starts with one and then starts collecting them like Pokémon) and it's mostly where they diverge paths as Stan throws himself into more of accounting/enterprenurial and Ford into researcher/biologist.

I don't really think Stan uses his knowledge on business too much at the start however since I do plan on him being scouted for a sports team(Haven't decided between basketball or baseball yet) before he graduates and while building his career as an athlete he finishes his masters(he takes 3 years to do it instead of the usual 2).

Ford had his fun in undergrad, so he fully commits to studying at this point and like in canon is pretty damn advanced compared to the rest of his peers. The curriculum and subject weights have definitely shifted from canon but I still do think it would only more or less take him 7-8 years to get his first doctorate.

By the time the niblings are 12, the Stan twins are 34, Sherm's 42.

Stan's spotlight as an athlete is waning and he's mostly helping run Fidds' family business, he's practically acting CEO in Fidds' place and is very comfortable with the pay he's getting. Stan wasn't really hardcore into sports anyway, he just took the opportunity because it presented itself to him and frankly he's okay with that. He starts drawing comics again as a hobby and with Fidds' help eventually becomes a comic-book artist part time since a businessman is his main gig post sports stardom. Much like some iconic artists and writers in DC and marvel, he ends up joining them when people like the series he puts out and the more "retro" artstyle.

Ford is making innovations left and right in the realm of genetics and biotechnology ever since graduating at 30 and he's got Fidds and Bill to help him with the more techy parts of his work. Ford hasn't stopped studying entirely though and honestly collects honorary PhDs to keep himself well rounded, not to mention he consistently attends seminars or science conferences to keep on top of the newest discoveries or updates to what's going on in the world. It wasn't his dream or intention of becoming one of the "greats" that go down in history but he really might at his pace, it's not something he thinks or cares about though.

You could argue that their life is practically being fast-tracked here but honestly, I think the pace fits them. It's a lot less chaotic compared to canon but considering how driven these two are, I think it's a pretty comfortable pace.

By the way, despite the busy life and all that- Ford tries his best to go to all of Stan's games live even when Shermie or Caryn miss it, despite the fact he doesn't really know anything that's going on just which team his brother's playing and if he's winning. Similarly, when Ford is called to give conferences to explain his findings or research Stan is more than happy to fly out to where he is and sit in just to give his support despite not knowing a damn or understanding whatever the hell his brother is talking about LOL

They're still very close considering that they didn't ever have a fight that tore them apart, they respected each other's wishes and interests and just talked. They always talked. I suppose that's ultimately what makes the big difference.

[pyxrin]

All In Against the House

Aka: A demigod runs into the Task Force 141 while on an undeciphered quest. Unbeknownst to her, she rapidly becomes the only wildcard able to give them the chance to win as the underdogs they have yet to realize they are.

AN: This is my cod/pjo crossover fic I got an itch for, so I started writing this and couldn't stop lmao. Didn't edit, and didn't play the games. This is also my first full blown fic, expect errors. Also haven't decided how long I want chapters to be, but expect them on the longer side. Enjoy! ^-^

4330 words

Chapter 1: Lucky Hates Mexico, but the People Trying to Kill Her are Worse

Not here either.

Lucky has decided that she doesn't really like Mexico. Las Almas at least. It's dusty and brown, but not brown in the way that movies portray Mexico. It's brown in the rotting wood way. In the hundreds of pounds of dirt that coat her already shabby clothes way. In the grimy windows that are barred by similarly brown rusty bars way. However, she can live with brown. Lucky has been everywhere, continental US at least, so she's used to all kinds of colors.

What she isn't used to is not finding what she's looking for. Or rather who. This is the tenth mostly abandoned building she's searched, and her dad wasn't in any one of them. Lucky doesn't know how much longer she can take it. The anticipation of the mostly silent night, broken by the incessant wind, and the knowledge that there are people with guns is killing her.

With every passing minute, she sweats more cold sweat, her hands shake more, and she is this close to crying. This whole town is terrifying and Lucky can't wait to leave, but she can't leave without her dad. She has no clue why that stupid prophecy led her here in the first place!

Lucky has never been unlucky enough to not find something or someone. Normally she doesn't even have to try, so that must mean that her dad isn't here. As such, she should definitely, totally, leave. The gunshots only work to cement her rapidly forming plan to get the hell out of Dodge.

She yelps as the distant sound echoes and crouches down below the windowsill. Lucky's heart pounds as she feels the adrenaline course through her veins. Everything becomes sharper, and the world becomes clearer. Demigod senses and all. 

She takes a moment to collect her very limited nerves before peeking through the window. The coast is clear. Lucky cracks open the door and pokes her head through. She looks both ways before dashing out, instinctively going left. Lucky doesn't need a plan, she just needs to follow her gut, which has never steered her wrong before. Maybe she can steal a car or something. This is as good a time as any to learn how to drive, yeah?

 Lucky sprints through the alleyways, doing her best to be quiet and stick to the shadows. Even if she has weapons, she's never been good at fighting, especially when it's bronze knuckles vs guns. She sees a couple guys down the alley she just turned down. Big fuckers with big guns. Lucky panics. Sure, they're not monsters, but they're just as scary.

She ducks behind the corner of the building. They didn't see her, but if she doesn't do something soon, they will, and they will try to kill her, and Lucky really really doesn't want them to try to kill her. She will cry. And if they kill her, she won't be able to find and possibly save her dad, and if she can't save her dad, whatever stupid fucking cartel that's coming after him will kill him, and they will both be dead and forgotten by everyone who knew them and doomed to spend eternity in the worst, most boring ass afterlife in Hades, who is probably already mad at Lucky because she fully thought he was gray with blue fire hair. Was the other side of the alleyway always as close as it is now? It feels like no matter how deep a breath she takes, she can't get enough air. Shit. She can't be doing this now! Lucky thought she was getting better! That was the whole reason why she thought she was ready to go on this stupid quest! She can't just freeze up and stop breathing every time she encounters an enemy she can't run away or hide from. Fuck! What was that thing that Chiron taught her? Senses! Focus on her senses!

She tastes saliva and dirt, which is wholly unhelpful. She hears the wind whistling through the city, the pounding of her heart, her labored breathing, small chatter, and the crunch of boots on ground that is steadily getting louder. Wait, louder!? Lucky is fucked. So incredibly fucked. What's next? Lucky feels the chill of the night wind, the sweat on her palms, and the roughness of the wall she's pressed up against. Lucky sees very little, but there is a pretty rock right by her feet, about the size of her hand. 

Wait, a rock!

Lucky picks up the rock, leans around the corner where both men are thankfully distracted and not looking, and chucks the rock as far and as hard as she possibly can. It sails over their heads and crashes into some unseen pile of what sounds like metal cans. The two soldiers whip around and immediately race off to find the source. She hears them say something something soap and something something ghost. Are they giving a ghost a bath? Weird.

She doesn't pay it any more mind as she's too busy slipping by into another side street. She takes a moment to catch her breath, leaning against the wall. Her heart rate finally starts going down. That thing that Chiron taught her actually really helped, even if she totally forgot what it’s called. Lucky was actually able to find and solution to her problem instead of just running away. Maybe she can actually do this whole quest thing, even if there's bumps along the way.

Once back to a relative baseline, Lucky stands back to her full height and glances around for an idea of what to do next. She turns to face back just as the soldiers she thought she properly distracted come around where she came from. They look at her. She looks at them. Lucky takes in a large gulp of air.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Soap perks up, dropping the body he just took out. The entirety of Las Almas should've been under military control, and that sounded like a girl's scream. What the hell are civvies doing here? Soap doesn't have time or opportunity to worry about whatever war crimes Graves and his men are committing when he and Ghost were minutes away from joining the list of casualties. Hell, it could even be a trap. Who knows what that wanker's thinking?

The girl will have to be one of the many who haunt Soap after he's gone back to his bed and everything's gone quiet. When he can't help but think about the decisions made and the roads not taken. He grabs anything of use from the bodies before moving in the direction of the church. Ghost is waiting.

He doesn't get far before the girl he was seconds away from abandoning comes flying at him considerably faster than he expected her to. She's just a wee thing. Mousey. Or maybe more rabbit-ey with that pink bandana on her head and the edges of the bow bouncing like that. Certainly a civilian currently being chased by close to a dozen Shadows. It's a wonder she isn't dead yet. All of this passes through Soap's brain in an instant, interrupted only by the girl shouting. “RUN, BITCH! RUN!”

It may be the group of Shadows hot on both of their tails now, but he does exactly as she says.

Lucky doesn't know why she trusts Mohawk, but she does, despite all previous experiences giving her a major distrust in any body that upholds the law. She doesn't know where she picked up the extra soldiers either, but it doesn't matter. They just have to find a place to hide. Hopefully their now bad luck will kick in soon.

She follows Mohawk past a lost car and into the alley just by it. She hears the bullets fly by her to hit the car, as well as a small hissing that she ignores. Lucky glances around and gets an idea, and with how she's slowly catching up to her new friend, she can share the plan too. “Boost me! Left wall!” It's a sheer wall, but the building is low enough that she can scramble up there with a boost.

Mohawk doesn't immediately show signs of hearing her, but he does turn on his feet and interlock his fingers, a perfect jumping pad. Lucky continues her sprint, hopping into his hands and leaping to the edge. The soldier doesn't so much as grunt. She pulls herself up and over in an instant. However, she ain't gonna leave him hanging, so she leans over the edge and holds out her hand.

Mohawk looks suspicious, but the sounds of the rapidly approaching other soldiers changes his mind fast. We'll, as far as Lucky can tell. He jumps and grabs onto her hand. “HO-ly shit! What do they feed you?” This bitch is heavy! With a considerable effort, she is able to tug him up enough for him to grab the ledge.

He's just able to get up there when an explosion echoes in the area, followed closely by screams. Lucky steels herself enough for a peek and finds that that car exploded, the fire and debris blocking the area, as well as a few bodies. An event surely caused by misfortune. She cringes and flops back onto the roof. She didn't think that she would enjoy the feel of shitty gravel digging into her back as much as she is, but clearly a near death experience was enough to give her a fresh perspective on the subject. 

She turns her head to Mohawk who looks like he's buffering. She's used to that look. She sees it a lot when people hang out with her. Demigods or not, none are ever really prepared for her, as Dionysus lovingly calls them, ‘batshit crazy, loony tunes ass shenanigans.’ She can only imagine what a mortal would think. Lucky decides that now is as good a time as any for introductions, if only to distract from the sorta magic she just used.

“Hi, I'm Lucky, well, my real name is Lucille, but everyone calls me Lucky! Nice to meet you. Probably would've been better if we weren't getting shot at, but nothing to change that now. Sorry. I talk a lot. At least I’m entertaining! Most of the time; I’ve been told to shut up a whole lot over the past couple years. It kinda sucks, but I understand, not everyone likes listening to a yapper. Actually, I think I’m gonna take their advice now and shut up. Sorry.” Lucky talks even more than normal when nervous,and the more she talks the more likely she is to overshare. Lucky doesn’t want to give away her life story to this stranger, for a multitude of reasons, so being quiet is definitely the best option, despite how she itches to speak and words bubble just below the surface.

Mohawk decides on what to say, for some reason. Introductions aren't that hard, and she knows that he knows English because he did what she said earlier. Her musings are interrupted when he finally huffs. “Steamin’ Jesus, Ahve ne’er bin on a op this weird. Ahm Soap.”

She takes a moment, asks him to repeat what he said. He does, the last part at least, but that doesn’t help at all. Lucky frowns. She... didn't understand a word of what Mohawk said. Like. At all. She's been in life and death situations before, and her ears worked perfectly fine then, and it doesn't feel like she's having a stroke. Aren’t you supposed to smell toast when that happens? Lucky smells nothing but gunpowder, dust, and the burning car. Not that she knows what strokes feel like, or smell like, for that matter. There's only one possibility left. "Did my dyslexia move to my ears?" She asks herself quietly.

He must've heard her because Mohawk bursts out laughing. It makes Lucky jump and her heart rate spike for a moment before she calms. Mostly. She thinks he's much too loud when there are other big ass soldiers on the hunt for them. He's doing like a full-on belly laugh, and Lucky didn't even make a joke! "Ahm Scottish, ye wee lass!" She stares blankly at him for a full minute before she’s able to figure out what the hell he just said. It dawns on her. Lucky’s eyes widen and her mouth drops. She points at him.

“Oooh! You’re Scottish! Fuck!” She exclaims. This is bad. Lucky is very stupid, and even if her dyslexia hasn’t officially migrated to her ears too, yet, the ADHD that comes with the whole demigod thing makes piecing anything that takes more than a modicum of effort incredibly difficult. Wait. what she just said probably sounds really insulting now that she’s thinking about it, and she really doesn’t want to make an enemy of her new friend. “Wait wait wait! I swear I wasn’t trying to insult you or your heritage. I think Europeans are cool! Not that I’ve met all that many, but still! Really it’s my bad because I’m kinda dumb and really bad at words and shit, so it can be hard for me to know what people say sometimes, especially with heavy accents. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad! Please don’t try to kill me!” She waves her hands wildly in the hopes of conveying her sincerity.

Lucky’s panicked rambling causes Soap to panic. He just got this girl, and they are in an incredibly dangerous situation; he does not need her freaked out and likely to add to the already very high risk they’re in. He puts his hand over her mouth. She quiets and blinks at him owlishly. “Relax. Ahm Soap.” Lucky finds that his accent isn't as thick this time. Thankfully, she can actually understand him.

After a moment, he removes his hand, but not before staring at her intently to make sure she doesn't restart her tirade. She doesn't. Instead Lucky spouts the first thing that comes to mind. “Like the thing you should never ever drop in the prison showers?” 

Soap sighs heavily and holds his breath to keep his chuckles at bay. It is criminal how good Lucky is at disarming situations “Aye.” She nods with a grim expression. Lucky thinks it's a very unfortunate nickname. Poor guy, he seems like a very nice person, and having a silly nickname is an easy way for people to make fun of someone. She could also see people making fun of his mohawk. 

Lucky figures that this is as good a time as any to ask the important questions. “So what now? Do you have a way out and can I come with?” She prays to her mom that he says yes to both questions. She can’t wait to get out of this fucking city.

“Maybe and aye. Ye were coming with me anyway. No place for a civvie.” He seems to say that last part quietly, but it doesn’t escape Lucky’s ears. She doesn't know what a civvie is, but it feels insulting. Whatever it is, she doesn't want to be it. She can ask him about it later, when they aren't hiding from soldiers who want them dead. 

She peeks over the edge. The coast seems to be clear, and Lucky knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. (Are gift horses prone to biting?) She waves Soap over, who pokes his head over the edge beside her. He jumps down and looks up at her, holding out his arms as if he wants to catch her. As if!

Lucky has fallen down larger heights before, imagine her getting help for going down a building that's barely two stories tall? Insulting. Lucky sticks out her tongue at him and jumps down herself. She lands in a perfect tuck and roll. She didn't have to, but she wanted to show off. Lucky has to impress her new friend. They can be hard to find when it feels like every third person who shows interest in her is actually a monster who wants to eat her or some shit.

She dusts herself off and gestures for Soap to go ahead of her. The flaming car blocks the way they came, so the only way is through the maze of alleyways. Soap walks ahead, murmuring something about a lost bird. Lucky couldn't hear him all that well over the ambient noise. Are all military guys this weird? She kinda hopes she doesn't find out. 

Lucky follows Soap, yapping the whole way. “Y'know if every town in Mexico is like this one, I don't wanna come back, but I kinda have to stay in the country for a while until I find my dad. Or I guess I figure out what my actual quest is. I have the prophecy written on a paper, but I'm not very good at figuring out riddles. I think it means that I'm supposed to find my dad. I hope it does at least. I miss him.”

Soap occasionally replies, but his focus seems to be split between her, finding their way, and talking to the demons in his head. He doesn't tell her to shut up though, which is nice. Lucky does earn herself some very weird looks, which makes sense considering that she's talking about demigod stuff, which she really shouldn't, but it's not like it makes a difference. He won't understand. 

“I feel like we totally should've just stuck to the roofs. They're more fun and it's not like anyone looks up anyways. It's safer. Besides, then I can do some cool flips and shit. I know how to do a back-flip and a front-flip. They honestly weren't that hard to learn, but you have to just fully commit to it-” Soap has gotten really comfortable with just putting a hand over her mouth. Lucky is tempted to lick it in retaliation. Not yet.

She learns the reason he did that when she hears the chatter. Lucky freezes. She hopes that Soap knows what to do. She assumes that he does when he pushes her into the shadows, and the wall that is a foot or so inside them. Normally, the brunette girl isn’t quite so happy to be manhandled, but given that she is in mortal danger, she is more than happy to be pushed around if it makes her safer. He gives her a stern look before slipping away.

Lucky doesn't bother to ignore the sounds of flesh being cut into and the soft splatters of blood on the cobbled street. As long as the blood and gore isn't her blood and gore or the blood and gore of people she cares about, she's okay. She comes around the corner, stepping around the bodies with a little “Excuse me. Sorry. Coming through. Good stab? Yeah, good stab, Soap.” She also ignores the weird look Soap gives her. What? Is he not used to fully grown, and most definitely mostly matured adults being desensitized to viscera? Whatever. “So where are we even going? Are we gonna jack a car or something?”

Soap clears his throat and starts walking again, Lucky picking up the pace to keep up with his long ass legs. “Aye, we probably will. We're meeting up with a mate o' mine at the church over there.” He gestures vaguely in the direction they're going in. 

“You were talking to someone!? Not gonna lie, I kinda thought that you were going crazy or something, not that I would've minded. … Okay, I would've minded a little. I just don't wanna get axe murdered! You know what I mean? Is your friend a ghost?” Lucky asks amongst other things. To his credit, Soap doesn't seem surprised in the slightest, and after a moment of what seems to be intense concentration, he replies.

“...Aye, kind of. How did ye ken that?” He stops walking, turns around, and eyes her up and down. Just a quick glance, but it's more than enough to set Lucky’s nerves of edge. She must've said something to upset him. Lucky hopes it's not to the point that he wants to kill her.

“Sorry! Don't be mad! Before I ran into you I heard some of the soldiers talking about finding some soap and a ghost. Since you're the soap, I figured your friend would be the ghost.” She explains hurriedly. Soap nods and resumes walking. Lucky breathes a sigh of relief. She passed the test. She bounces after him.

 In an unspecified amount of time which could've ranged anywhere from five minutes to 45, Lucky has actually gotten Soap to open up to her a little! He even asked about her deck of cards that she had pulled out during that time to fidget with. She said that it's a gift from her dad and her most prized possession, great for magic tricks too! They’re coming up on the church. She can see it over the roofs of some of the buildings, and they haven't even encountered any more of those bitch ass soldiers who suck at taking out two guys and her. She legally gets to make fun of them because they're not here and can’t hurt her

Maybe the real missing dad, and the object of her quest, were the friends she made along the way. Actually… maybe Lucky doesn't really want Soap to be her dad or missing. Soap would probably be one of her older brothers if anything, the kind that would throw her head first in a pool, then Lucky would flail around uselessly, he would immediately panic and jump in to save her. She would bleach his hair while he sleeps in retaliation.

They resume their journey to the unnamed church to meet with Casper and get the fuck out of this shit town. Maybe she can take them with her? Being at camp has gotten her used to having people around and not having people around for the past few months has been hard. No matter what happens, Lucky will follow Soap.

Lucky almost curses again upon seeing the amount of soldiers just idling about. Waiting for them certainly. “Shadows.” Soap murmurs. Lucky wants to correct him because those are people and that's an edge lord ass name if that's what their group is called. He leads her off to the side, they jump over a white car and over a fence. They slip into a shop where Soap scrounges around for… stuff? Lucky doesn't know, but he finds something he likes. She respects the stealing grind regardless.

Lucky watches his piece the stuff together quickly. That look in his eyes really reminds her of the kid who made her brass knuckles. She taps her fingers on her legs anxiously. Even if her nerves weren't as high as they are, she needs something to do. Not even a minute passes and Soap finishes with his tinkering. Oh she really wants to talk right now, to cut the tension which feels electric. She walks over to the side by the counter, drumming on it.

Soap starts opening the door, and her senses sharpen again. The world slows down, and the glint of a gun flashes in the low light. A gun just past the door Soap is opening. He's going to get shot. Cold fear freezes her core. It isn't like her normal fear, which is jittery and overwhelming. That fear causes her to run for her life. This fear causes her to act. Lucky can't lose anyone else, certainly not someone who she's only just got the chance to know. 

Her body moves before her mind does. Lucky drives forward, ramming her shoulder into Soap's gut. With adrenaline, demigod strength, and her own musculature behind her, she has enough strength to tackle him to the side just as the door bursts open. Lucky feels a pressure in her side as a shot goes off. They both hit the ground with a thud. 

Lucky pushes off of his chest and whirls around, digging her toes into the floor to take out the monster before it can take them out. Before she can change her rings into their bronze knuckles form, another shot rings out and the monster collapses. Her chest heaves, but Lucky knows it isn't over yet. Those gunshots surely alerted the other monsters in the area. 

She stands as Soap does. He claps her back with a quick, “Thanks, lass,” but his gaze is sharp and she hears a muffled voice through his earpiece. Before she knows what's going on, he tugs her into a full sprint. They burst out of the door and Soap throws what he was working on. It explodes and smoke billows out.

Chaos erupts. She can't see shit, but she hears every last shout and firing of a gun. Lucky feels Soap's tight grip on her wrist as he pulls her, her legs are pumping and she keeps pace, her head ducked. 

They leave the smoke, dodging and weaving between any cover they can get to. Lucky's luck keeps bullets away, but they still have to be on their toes. Soap fires back some of his own. Lucky looks to their destination, a truck idling.

A bullet whizzes by her and smacks into the truck just as they get in arm's reach of it. Soap pulls the door open and all but throws Lucky in before jumping in himself, shutting the door as the driver peels out.

Lucky looks up at the incredibly large man, larger than Soap even, from her sprawled out, partially pinned state. Even his side profile is intimidating. This must be Casper. Soap turns around to keep shooting behind them, at the Shadows trying to stop their getaway, and Lucky tries to scramble out from under him, only to hiss in pain. She glances down to see a bloody hole in her side only partially hidden by her large unzipped jacket. 

“Fuck!”

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Leave Me Behind

✰ college!art donaldson x f!reader

✰ word count: 1.0k

✰ summary: after a sudden and untimely breakup and weeks of wondering, you come face to face with art to ask him the hard questions.

✰ warnings: language, a breakup (duh), tears, angst, confusion, mentions of long distance, a smooch.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

gif by @andiamofratello

You weren’t supposed to be here. That was for certain. 

The courts were hot; you could feel the warmth of the clay seep through the soles of your shoes. It was almost like the floor was telling you to leave too. You should’ve listened. 

It wasn’t like you’ve never been to the courts, fuck, you spent almost every afternoon here for about a year. There were some instances where you would bring your homework, trying and failing to multitask while Art would practice. 

What you did miss was watching Art show off his natural born skill. He’s always been fast, but studying his movements and how he approached them was something else. 

Your name pulls you from your thoughts as you see Art approach you; a water bottle in his hand, and a towel in his other. Taking a good look at you, his eyebrows furrow, “What are you doing here?” 

You try not to let your nervousness get the best of you as you clear your throat to speak. “I realized that I still have some stuff at your place,” you’re avoiding eye contact as best as you can, and he can tell, “and I was wondering if you could drop it off soon? I know you’re busy right now, so whenever you’re free is good.” 

Art nods along to your words, almost like he is racking his mind trying to think of what you could’ve possibly missed when you initially packed up all your things after the breakup. “Yeah, yeah totally. I’m almost done here, if you want to come with me after? If you can’t, no worries. I’ll figure out a way to get that–,” you cut him off quickly.

“No yeah, I’m not doing anything right now,” nerves are still flooding your body. 

“Great,” he smiles, breaking your heart, “just wait here and I’ll get my things.” You nod as he does a quick jog back to the team. He bids them a quick farewell, packs his things, and is next to you again. Art fixes his hat before looking back at you, “Ready?”

Nodding again, you begin the quick walk towards his dorm room. 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, this breakup has hit you harder than you thought. Of course, losing someone you love hurts pretty bad, but it was realizing how much of Art was missing in your day. 

You’ve dreamt of a moment with him for weeks, but it feels so painful. You were hoping to talk about what happened, but yet, you’ve suddenly forgotten all the words you rehearsed for hours. The only thing you could think of was very abrupt, “Why did you break up with me?” 

You hear Art clear his throat next to you, but you don’t dare to look up at him. It was clear that he didn’t expect your question, especially not in the middle of campus. But regardless, his brain is searching for the perfect response. “Everything was moving so fast,” Art quickly realized that there wasn’t one, “and I didn’t want to drag you through it all.” 

Staying silent, you let his response sink in. After a few excruciating quiet minutes, you finally speak, “You’re joking right?” A huff of a laugh fills the air. 

“Why would I joke about that?”

You thought you could feel steam coming out of your ears, “Because that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m not sorry for saying that.”

Pushing through the main doors of his dorm building, he’s basically chasing after you. You know exactly which door to stop at, and when you do, you’re seething. Unlocking the door, Art quickly closes it behind him before turning to you. Dropping his bag, he turns back around to face you, “But I’m being serious, love! I didn’t like the idea of making you do long distance while I’m out across the world training,” he argues, his hands waving in the air in frustration. 

The belongings that you needed to collect were completely forgotten as your hands crossed over your chest, “Hey, Art? Did you ever think to ask me first before completely breaking up with me? Or did you just assume that I wouldn’t want to be with you because you’re out pursuing something you’ve been dreaming about since you were a kid?”

Art’s mouth opens and closes as his shoulders raise, “I don’t know!” 

He’s getting frustrated, you can even see his eyes start to water. A wave of guilt rushes over your body. “Art,” you slowly walk over to him and place a hand on his arm, rubbing up and down, “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

Grabbing your forearm, he pulls you in for the tightest hug you’ve ever received. His arms are circled around your waist while his nose is buried in your neck. You wanted to hate it, but how could you? 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you hear his muffled apology. 

That was all it took for tears to fall down your face, pulling in the blond impossibly tighter. A few beats pass before you pull away, his arms still keeping you against his body. You hold the sides of his face as you drink in his features again. “I need you to talk to me,” you sigh, “especially when it’s about big things like this.” 

He nods in your grasp, his body becoming mush the longer the feeling of your touch melts into his skin. His brows furrow as a quiet sob leaves his lips, “I will. I’m so sorry.” 

Quickly wiping his tears away, you lean in for a kiss.

The weight off of his shoulders has lifted as your lips move in sync with his. Weeks of pain and hurt are released, along with the feeling of relief that you’ve been so desperately craving. Your hands were strong, keeping him in your grasp as if you were afraid that he was going to leave. That this was a dream. 

But when you opened your eyes again, you were grateful to see your beautiful, stupid, boyfriend staring back at you. You giggle, “Does this mean you take me back?”

Biting his lip, he smiles, “I shouldn’t have let you go in the first place.”

✰ author's note: hi guys!! long time no seeeee!!! for not writing for two months, i am actually kind of loving this one. back in my challengers era i fear. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!!! i'll see you next time, byeee.

[ironlamb]

" THERE IS A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF ISSUES TO WORRY OVER AT THE MOMENT , VARYN . i assure you i am not seeking them out , they are very clearly there ." cersha bites out in response . she refuses to answer his question however , mostly due to the fact that she'd rather chew off her own foot than acknowledge that her brother is right , especially aloud . so instead cersha merely huffs a frustrated, " but of course there are no issues to you . after all , you close your eyes to them ." sometimes cersha wishes she could do the same . what a pleasure it must be to live thoughtlessly . fools must experience so much peace . she would almost envy them if she didn't deeply pity them . cersha can't help but roll her eyes as her brother continues , a hand moving to smack him on the bicep with an annoyed cluck of her tongue . " and you ?" cersha asks with an arch of her brows . " there are equal parts great beauty and great intellect between telessa and i , and yet all you have is grand confidence and apparently abysmal taste to your name . it is a great wonder why your younger sister is betrothed before you with such qualities under your belt ." cersha makes a point of sighing deeply as she looks out into the distance before the stairs , tiredly adding, " whatever will we do with you ?" in all honesty , cersha doesn't mean any of it but that in itself is irrelevant . in a battle of wit with one's brother the best course of action is to go lower and strike harder , and cersha refuses to lose in that respect . she refuses to lose in any respect truly . and perhaps that is what found her in line to be queen , but it may also very well be what led to her being here , sitting in a stairwell with her brother fretting over factors that she cannot control . it is with quickness that her head sharply turns to varyn as he continues , her glare sharp with instant focus . it is with an efficient shift in her seat that she moves to stare him down , her voice lowering into another hiss as she says , " ... varyn . if you dare to bed any of the targaryen sisters whilst we are quite literally here to announce my betrothal to the eldest of their house i may truly have to consider wringing your neck ." cersha tilts her head to ensure their eyes meet , her gaze intense with warning . " do you hear me ? this is not a jest . i will kill you ."

while cersha may not know nearly as much about vaelora as they would like , she knows much still . whispers of their protectiveness of their siblings was amongst the information that she'd collected , and well , varyn of all people bedding one of them surely would be trigger for such protectiveness . for just an instant she pleads with the gods to spare her . but then varyn continues , and it is as if those same gods laugh in her face . perhaps , it is her own fault for leaving herself at another entity's mercy in the first place . " ... what is it ?" cersha's tone is bland in waiting , her expression already twisted into something strained in anticipation . there is so very little chance that whatever is about to come out of her brother's mouth is good news . as she follows him her mood only sours further . she can feel the beginnings of a headache building up , just at her temples . suddenly , just for an instant , she wishes she were an only child . how peaceful would that be . the thought is left behind with the door closing behind them , but cersha is sure it will return again before their conversation is over . " yes , well , i intend to have control of the latter for as long as it suits me ." cersha replies with a tight smile that quickly drops . after all , it was only useful to do so . there had to be things that vaelora wanted , things that they enjoyed . cersha was quite sure she was beginning to gather an understanding of that , and if she had to sheath herself in lamb skin for a few years or decades to achieve her goals , then so be it . after all , it wasn't like she hadn't already been doing so in some capacity for majority of her life . it truly wouldn't be too grand of a transition . but as varyn offers more cersha can only study him thoughtfully , her gaze considering before she's nodding almost gratefully . " ... let me know what you find ." cersha replies in lieu of a thank you . she moves to fill her own goblet of wine as she says, " thusfar , i have a more than a few whispers and telessa , who is quite close to them ." cersha takes a large enough gulp of wine to be impolite that she truly only allows herself due to the current company . it's only after she swallows that she adds , " however , i feel it is not nearly enough now that i've met them once again ."

"Aye, but that's what brothers are for." he spits out almost instantly, like a petty child. He enjoyed riling her up. Ever since they were kids. There was joy to be found in watching her wish she could rip his head off his shoulders. If only she were able to reach it. "I say this with care, dear sister -- but you are always unnecessarily stressed. It is almost like you're looking to find issues to worry over, even when there aren't any. -- When was the last time you...relaxed?"

He will scoff at her her next words, which showed just how alike they were beyond their apparent differences. Neither of them could be told shit when it came to their attractiveness. Though what kind of brother would he be not to knock her down a peg? "I suppose one sister was given the beauty with no confidence, while the other is all confidence with no beauty. How strange a game do our minds play on us." there was obvious mockery to his voice, he did not truly mean it. His sister, though he was not of Targaryen persuasion to find attraction towards kin, was an objectively beautiful woman. "Seems all the stress took toll on your eyes, good for you."

Varyn proceeds to watch his sister squirm to any sign of potential tenderness, her voice remaining firm and factual and task-oriented. She was so very much like their lord father. Calculating, cold, ambitious. It would serve her well, in this game she's adamant on playing. But he wondered, for a moment, if what she desired most of all would ever bring her a sense of peace, happiness...comfort. It did not sit well with him that she should aspire to something that would, once achieved, leave her empty and alone.

But who was he, to judge the paths of others? At least his sister had a path, a purpose. He would never know what that feels like.

"My very best behaviour." he repeats her words back to her, showing he was listening. "So...say I am to fraternise with one of the lovely Targaryen sisters..." he lets the thought trail off, anticipating a concern and sharp look of Cershas eyes. He did not actively intend to do anything outrageous with any of the sisters, what comes later was truly unintended. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Don't shoot." a laugh leaves his throat and he will absorb some of the seriousness she radiated through the air.

"Though, as we are on the topic of my fucking things up --" he bites his lip, looking away not to shrink under the heaviness of judgment which would no doubt be filling her gaze. "I've something to tell you. Not that I believe it to be of your concern, but -- I would hate for you to find out in a manner outside of your control. I know you well enough to know -- you do not appreciate surprises."

With their conversation turning more private with each passing word, it was of all the more importance they should seek a corner where no one would be listening. So he quickened his step, and did not respond to her following words before they entered private chambers, locking the doors while leaving their guards behind.

"See what I mean? Looking for things to worry about." he did not mean to imply his sister was paranoid. He was certain she had been right. But some things only showed with time, and one could hardly pry them out of the person. "People cannot hide who they are for long, that should worry you as much as it should give you relief. In time, you will know exactly who they are, and she will know exactly who you are in turn." it was easy to play pretend, when one only shared moments with the other. But sharing a life gave way to reality to seep through, with certainty, with time.

"There is a way for you to find out...more, I suppose." a mischievous smile spreads across his lips as he sits spreading on a dark wooden chair, pouring himself a cup of fresh wine. "Leave it to me."

[yoosung-ah]

Choose your player: aggressive vs. passive-aggressive round 1/?

[fallout-fucker]

Hancock Headcanons (Including Goodneighbour Headcanons) Part One

Surprisingly a really good cook/baker. Will make 5 Star quality full-course meals when high as fuck. Or at least, as good as you can get in the Wasteland if you don't think mutated Brahmin tastes too different from cow. Man's is making steaks.

He also mass bakes when very stressed. There's been times Fahrenheit has walked into the office and seen the kitchenette, the coffee table, any and all of the free surfaces, really, full of trays of baked goodies. Cupcakes, cookies, brownies, special brownies, you name it. When this happens, Daisy has to organise a massive order to traders to make up for all the ingredients he buys. He always gives her extra caps for the inconvenience of Goodneighbour having less eggs and flour, etc, for sale than usual. He makes sure to never take all the stock, though, food's hard enough to come by, especially produce. His town needs it more than he and his baking sessions do.

He always gives away the goods when he's finally calmed down and the stress has eased.

He takes care in making sure the normal goodies are separate from the 'more fun' ones.

The normal goods go to the townsfolk and drifters. He goes to the kids first, though. If it's during the colder months, he'll also take the time to make hot chocolates or warm milk (Depending on what's available) for them.

Actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Makes sure the kids have all got blankets, coats, hats, scalves, gloves, socks and shoes, and beds somewhere warm.

He regularly checks this. Has a little checklist for all the items kiddies need. He isn't letting any kids die in his streets. As far as he's concerned, those are his kids. He knows Goodneighbour isn't exactly the most PG place, but the majority of children in Goodneighbour (Like most people in Goodneighbour) don't have parents or anybody.

He'll leave a few trays on the bar of The Third Rail for pickings. Lowkey likes to decorate it with cake stands and stuff. Makes him feel weirdly calm. He gets to just take his time with it. It's a breather from the rest of his 'Mayoral Duties'.

If he's feeling generous, he'll give away the fun goodies too to anyone that wants 'em (Within reason). But Chems and produce can be pricey so he'll sometimes give those to Daisy to sell so he's not wasting a good amount of his personal stash, especially if he made a lot of goods.

He considered giving them to Charlie at first because The Third Rail is nothing if not the place for a great time, but many people who wander into Goodneighbour are vulnerable. From experience (Both personal and second-hand), Hancock knows alcohol + easily accessible edibles/hard chems + vulnerable and desperate doesn't equal anything good. So, he decided against it.

He refuses to give them to AJ because the guy is sketchy, and he's heard about the whole 'Chems For Kids' thing. Hancock's been working discreetly on solving that issue. If he wasn't keen on drunk adults having access to edibles, you can believe he'd have a real problem with anyone tryna sneak it to kids, let alone that kinda dirty money making its way back to him, and that's if AJ didn't sneak some into his own pockets. Which he likely would.

So, that brought him to Daisy. Besides, it also makes up for the ingredients and he lets her pocket a good percentage of the profit as chems isn't usually her deal.

Once more, actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Like with the children, he makes sure drifters and such also have warm clothes for the Winter.

Also ensures everyone has clothes suited for Summer heat, too.

Essentially, twice a year (Autumn and Spring) he'll go around Goodneighbour with a survey to see who needs what, at least a few weeks in advance of when the seasonal weather for Autumn/Winter and Spring/Summer usually rolls in. Then, he organises a mass order to all of the trading caravans for suitable clothes, shoes, etc. Then he'll organise a day with timeslots and stuff where groups of people can go up to his office and get what they need.

Imagine a watchman at the entrance of the Statehouse, with a name list and time slots, and a queue outside of the door. In Hancock's office, it's full of cardboard boxes and tables. Him, Far, Daisy, and a few watchmen all giving out the items and checking them off.

Hancock has plans and blueprints to expand Goodneighbour so some of the apartment buildings just outside of the walls can be included in the town. Has a few trading deals on hold and watchmen guards he could use as contractors in mind for the job of converting the Pre-War buildings into livable homes when he is able to.

Unfortunately, with the Warehouse rats and Supermutants settling down just outside the gates, he had to postpone the plans to focus on other issues. All his contractors had to stay as Neighbourhood Watch guards and security just in case the mutants attack. The mutants are on his to-do list, but first is the Warehouse job and making sure people can stay warm in the attic instead of the homes he was hoping to have done before Autumn and Winter.

He predicted temporarily losing more workers in the Winter due to sickness, but didn't necessarily expect some to be rats, unfortunately. So, his options are limited when Sole meets him. Hence sending a stranger to Pickman Gallery and other things.

It's also why he doesn't mind traveling with Sole. Until Spring, his hands are mostly tied when it comes to progress.

Staying in town when he knows he can't do all of the things he needs to makes him antsy. He doesn't like sitting around and doing nothing when he knows his people are relying on him, so it helps to get away from it for a while.

[savage-rhi]

🫂

[habitual-creatures]

HABIT! I was trying to find smth but found THIS INSTEAD!

It’s a fur, pelt, thing (idk what it’s called) of a rabbit!

(LEGALLY BOUGHT)

(IT'S CALLED A PELT)

DAMN THAT'S SO SICK! I FUCKING LOVE THAT.

OF COURSE IT'S AWESOME TO SUPPORT LEGAL PELT COLLECTION LIKE THAT.

(FUCK POACHERS AND ILLEGAL PELT PEDDLERS 🖕 BY THE WAY)

I AM A HUGE FAN OF TAXIDERMY AND VULTURE CULTURE MYSELF. SO SEEING OTHERS TALK ABOUT THEIR OWN COLLECTION OR THINGS THEY'VE FOUND AND BOUGHT IS AWESOME!

[ REGARDS, HABIT ]

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I don’t know if you already said this elsewhere, but did the Zenin ever hurt Megumi in a way it simply wasn’t possible for them to explain? Like being poisoned or bitten by one of the dozens curses? Did Gojo catch them red handed (the red is literally megumi’s blood💀)?

The first time that they hurt him in a way that they couldn’t explain away was the last time they hurt him, because Gojo immediately cut them off and refused to ever let them ever get near Megumi again. The Zenin didn't fully realize this at the time they had custody, but legitimately the only reason why it got as far as it did was because Gojo didn't know.

They weren’t exactly advertising “yeah we beat him when we have him” to him, but it wasn’t exactly because they thought gojo would put a stop to it, per se. They didn’t tell Gojo anything they did to Megumi because they felt absolutely entitled to him. They didn’t want Gojo’s input or interference, and they didn’t like feeling like they had to ask for permission around this with Megumi. But they didn’t think he actually would cut them off from him.

In the Zenin’s mind, Gojo doesn’t love Megumi. He’s never loved Megumi. Megumi’s just a political pawn to him, a way to insult the Zenin and steal their most valuable technique for his own. And he got way more value from letting them see him. He got to have his influence on someone who was very likely to be clan head one day—if Megumi’s cut off from them entirely, he’s not moving towards being clan head. He got a bargaining chip with the Zenin—he could further his own goals by offering them more time with him. Megumi’s a powerful piece of leverage but only if Gojo actually uses him. Him intervening to protect Megumi by severing all contact doesn’t further his own goals, so when it all came to a head, they pretty blindly assumed that he wouldn’t give a shit about what they had just done to Megumi, because at the end of the day, they thought he was going to keep using Megumi for his own ends, which meant giving them access.

Instead, Gojo immediately pulled the plug on the entire situation. They never touched or saw him again. The first time that Megumi saw them after the incident that made them go no contact was when Naoya came to pick him up at his school.

[keeps-ache]

been so bored and the idea-well has been dry, but for some reason i built a two-story house in minecraft with a neat little tower which is nice