#but really this is not my specialty but I might come up with something

[frotees-corner]

Little snippet of chapter 4 (yet to be proofread / edited) of my „what if blighted Treviso“ Rookanis fic.

Bit of an in-between chapter, but you can’t have a slow burn without giving them some time to cook.

—

At the market turned field hospital, Rook made her way over to one of the healers, a sturdy dwarven Warden. Seeing help arrive from all quarters - engineers from Minrathous, supplies from Rivain, and personnel from the Wardens - was a blessing Lucanis had not expected. They would owe a lot of people when this was done, but it was a price worth paying.

“Rook! Got any more of that elfroot for me?” the healer called out, welcoming Rook by clasping her arm.

“I do”, answered Rook with a smile. “Harding’s managed to convince her little garden to grow the Royal variant now.”

“Ohh that should do nicely! Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do without your little deliveries. We’re constantly running low on everything these days. Now if you could clean up those canals for me…”

“Sorry, I’m a little short on miracles right now”, Rook answered with a lopsided smile. “We’re working on it, but our sources haven't turned up any books on filtering blight out of water yet. We’ll keep looking though.”

“The library at Weisshaupt may have something, but considering the first Warden’s appreciation of our presence…” offered Davrin.

Rook winced. “Yeeaaah, that‘s not happening any time soon. Evka and Antoine have some ideas, too, but they said it’ll take time.”

“Can’t have everything. You take care now, and make sure you don’t wind up on my pallet!”

“Will do,” Rook answered with a smile and a wave as they turned towards their destination.

Lucanis looked back, a thoughtful frown on his face. Both Chase and the healer had clearly come to know Rook. He knew she had been back to Treviso since the attack, but he hadn’t known she’d made a habit of it. Maybe he would have noticed, if hadn’t been avoiding her. He wondered what else he might have missed.

“You’ve done this before.” A statement, not a question.

“Yup! I’ve tried to check in on Treviso every couple of days, and sent Harding or Bellara when I couldn’t. When we found that they needed more healing herbs than they could easily source, Harding set to growing more for them. Turns out Fade gardens can be really productive.” She grinned, clearly happy at being able to help.

“Plus we’ve been clearing Blight boils and exterminating darkspawn whenever we visit”, Davrin chimed in, looking smug. “You crows may be trained to kill people, but slaying monsters clearly isn’t your specialty.”

Lucanis glowered.

“Davrin!” Rook chided, driving her elbow into the Warden’s side. “I’m glad to take this off their hands. Too many people keep catching the Taint, trying to cut them down. I’d rather it be us.”

Lucanis ground his teeth, forcing out a breath. “I am thankful for the assist, Davrin. Treviso has lost too much already.”

“Of course”, the Warden responded quietly, momentarily chastised.

Good mystical morning, everyone!

It’s WIP Wednesday Thursday!

Just:

Reblog this post with a snippet of (one of) your current project(s) and I’ll reblog it again with commentary/encouragement !

It doesn’t need to be DA related, you can share whatever you want!

Very chill, no pressure at all! Hope you all are having fun writing/drawing/creating!

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hiii I really love the one with the harbingers where reader calls them words of endearment from their homeland, can you do one where reader cooks for them food from their homeland? pantalone's part was so cute <33

✦ You cook them their favorite home meal, based on their homeland

(Or trying to guess what food the not-yet-playable characters might like based on their region, culture, or language. ) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ It is to no one’s surprise that Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, would easily drop everything to grant your needs. Just blink and the world’s spoils are at your feet, bestowed by your beloved. Expensive clothing, jewelry, art pieces, weaponry, or lavish dishes. With his money and status, plus being a connoisseur of the ancient lores of Teyvat, The Jester can easily acquire anything you require on a silver platter. 

But this time, it was you who tried to gift him something on a silver platter.

On an unsuspecting day, Pierro returned home only to be greeted with a strong scent of baked goods. The smell wafted all around the living quarters, warm and sugary. Glancing curiously, the Jester marched to the kitchen, where he found you grumbling to yourself. You stood with your oven mittens, a tray of voluptuous Kanelbullar presented in front of him; some were cut as you tried to take an analytical bite of the cinnamon rolls.

“Trying your hands at familiar recipes, my cherished?” - The man asked with a welcoming glance while you mulled and judged the taste of your cooked goods.

“Ah, Pierro, you’re right on time. Here, try this one for me. Does it resemble traditional cinnamon rolls?”

When the Jester took a bite, even his icy eye widened for a moment. A wave of nostalgia and warmth lanced his memories, ones he thought were long forgotten. The cinnamon rolls you baked were not the average confectionaries one could easily purchase, as the taste resembled traditional Khaenri’ahn Kanelbullar. A simple treat that all children and adults used to enjoy in their free time.  

“Well…? Oh no, don’t tell me it’s that bad?” - you awaited his response, but Pierro quickly shook his head.

“It’s rich and potent in taste, but not too sugary. Just like the ones in our Homeland… I didn’t think replicating such intricacies was possible. What did you add this time?”

Your eyes light up. Finally, some progress. “Really? I’ve been mulling over it for hours, I thought my taste pallet was going numb. I tried to find any local ingredients that might add the flavor of saffron and cardamon.”

“Like the golden Saffron…? They were a local specialty back in Khaenri’ah. Although some variants exist in Teyvat’s soil, they are not used as cooking ingredients here.” - Pierro pondered, amazed at your ability to combine other local spices to imitate the taste of the past.

As both of you mulled over how to achieve the most accurate results for these traditional Cinnamon Rolls, half of the tray was already gone.

“Although now that I think about it, my divine, I don’t think it would be an issue to send an expedition to obtain that rare spice for you. Especially if the result is such exquisite home pastry.”

✧ In this house, Il Capitano is the master chef. The man is proficient in the art of survival, thus, his skills in outdoor cooking are especially shown. From simple meat and vegetables, the Captain can come up with the best meat skewers you ever ate. Not to mention the topic of sustenance and growth is intertwined with a good diet. A man his size and capabilities puts immense care into outdoor survival and health.

But even a strong Captain deserves some spoiling for his hard work. 

After a wearying day spent honing the skills of his Fatui troops, a group of soldiers that will prepare for an upcoming expedition, Il Capitano was greeted with a surprise visit from you. You arrived right on time for their break, and as always, the Fatui soldiers couldn't help but eavesdrop on the Harbinger’s exchange with his beloved…

“I brought you your meal for today, Bife de chorizo. You need lots of protein.”

“Thank you.” - The Captain stood obediently, holding the lunchbox you brought.

“With Pico de Gallo and avocados. I also put some almonds and walnuts as a snack.”

“I understand.” 

“You are preparing for another important expedition. You must take care of your body after such intensive training, Cappy.”

“You are right, you are right.”

“And I don’t want to see anything left from the lunch boxes. Make sure to eat all of it, okay?”

“Understood!”

It sure was a sight. One would think the Harbinger was the student as he stood nodding vehemently while you scolded him. With one hand on your hip, you gave him an earful as you checked up on him, generously providing him a full-course meal neatly packed in a mealbox.

The Fatui soldiers were slightly jealous. Even they could easily tell that behind that pitch-black helmet, Il Capitano was absolutely joyous to have his beloved visit him and provide such mouthwatering nourishment. 

✧ Today, you were ready to tackle and kill Il Dottore. Why? Because that man barged into your kitchen and confidently announced himself as the culinarian for today’s dinner. A simple and kind gesture, right? You would rather starve than have The Doctor implode your kitchen again.

“Stop exaggerating as if I let your Serenitea Pot house crumble. It was just a little fire.” - Dottore defended himself, watching closely as you made him stand back from the stove. 

“I had to replace the whole walls, Zandik!”

The two of you stood in the kitchen, with the Harbinger peeking from behind your shoulders as you claimed dominion over the frying pan. The whole day, he was made watching you prepare Sumeru Kibbeh meatballs, since the last time he decided to dabble in the art of cooking, your house was put at stake.

He was a scholar, not a chef, unfortunately. But The Doctor is not ashamed to admit his impatience and lack of skill in the kitchen. Hence, he helped you as much as he could while you diligently taught him how Kibbeh is properly made. He remained silent but pleasantly subservient. The sight of your sleeves raised, hands tactfully molding the Kibbeh was oddly amiable. Especially when your face was so focused on the task, he couldn’t help but stare. 

Yet every time you fried the meatballs and set them aside on a pan lined with paper towels to drain, a sneaky hand would try to steal some. You’d slap his hand away.

“Nope. Hands off! Wait till dinner”

“They’ll end up being consumed anyway. I’ll just have a small tas-”

Slap!

And it continued for a long while, all the way to the end once you finished cooking. When the two of you finally sat down and began eating, Dottore would often remain silent. You were too busy relishing the dish, unaware of the Harbinger’s appreciation for your home-cooked meal. Sustenance is just a waste of time that the human body must go through to gain its energy. But it’s not the same when he is sitting with you casually, the warm afternoon sunlight wrapping the dining table, and the warm food steaming with an appetizing aroma.

For him, eating with you was different. It was simple, but it was home. 

✧ Scaramouche may huff and scoff all he wants, but when it comes to appraising your Unagi Chazuke, no master can compete with you. Perhaps because he is a puppet, but Scaramouche has a delicate pallet. He despises strong flavors and always preferred simpler dishes, to appreciate the unique flavor of a singular ingredient. He would never admit it vocally, but he would often crave your chazukes, and it was easily written on his grumbling face.

“Come on, just say it.”

The Balladeer lamented.

“Say it. My home cooking is the best, and you just want me to cook for you today.”

“...I won’t. I don’t have use in consuming any human meals.” - he mumbled in response, arms crossed. You sighed and with a wide smile, you turned away.

“Oh well. Guess you don’t want any, huh…? And here I thought I could prepare your favorite Unagi Chazuke today. But I guess it’s foolish-”

“No, Wait-!” - The Harbinger wished to bite his tongue but it was too late. He already called out to you in a moment of weakness, and your goofy grin only widened with his desperation. 

He gave up. With reluctant embarrassment, the Balladeer admitted your victory - “If you may… Can you prepare another one of your signature Chazuke? Please.”

And that’s how you two ended up by the dinner table. You couldn’t just deny him after such a heartfelt request. You prepared the unagi meat and rice diligently, showing him how to prepare green tea to add mild bitterness to the salted rice. Topping off with some dried Nori leaves, and sesame - two bows of Unagi Chazuke were ready and looking artistically grandiose.

Light and sublime, that’s what Scaramouche thought. A true definition of soul food, as he held his bowl and chopsticks close. A rare but sincere smile would always grace his features whenever he ate your cooking, but he of course would conceal it by clearing his throat.

“Hm, okay fine. Maybe your cooking is adequate after all. Especially when you don’t make it too sweet.”

You’d laugh at his reaction. At the end of the day, it was you who taught him how to cook what later would become his signature dish, even if his identity as a Harbinger was wiped away. 

✧ Being the richest man in Teyvat like Pantalone means dealing with lots of bureaucracies and business. Sometimes, after a prolonged day in the office, the sight of stacked papers becomes dreadful and negotiations with the Snezhnayan elites may go fruitless. Thus, The Regrator would often slum by his desk, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sigh in exhaustion.

Now what would the richest man in Teyvat do to relax after a bad day at work? Go to the most expensive five-star restaurant? Perhaps purchase a fancy drink that costs more than his subordinates' monthly salary? No. He would head straight back home, where he knows you are awaiting him with open arms.

A single look at him and you would know he is fatigued. Leaning up to embrace him, you plant a tender kiss on his cheek - “How about I make us a quick snack, hm? You can go and take a shower in the meantime.”

Pantalone would try to conjure up a faint smile and nod. As he winds down for the day, subconsciously he knows your home cooking is like a balm to his soul. No matter how many exquisite restaurants he tried, he’d easily sacrifice all of them for a bite-full of your culinary.

And here you are, merrily handing him his childhood favorite - Mora Meat Roujiamo. A simple meat sandwich, but a staple street food in Liyue’s culture. That’s all the Harbinger desires after a tough day at work, as he gobbles the sandwich wrapped with a paper towel.

“Made your favorites. I added some extra meat since I know you like it juicy.” - you gave Pantalone soothing pats on the back as he ate up.

“You’re a lifesaver, honey. You would not believe how frustrating work has been today,”

Pantalone would rant and confide in you about his work. He would rather do that than delve into the nostalgic feeling that Mora Meat sandwiches gave him. It was indeed his childhood favorite. Yet it also reminded him how in the distant past, when food or money was scarce, starvation and desperation were his only companions as a lowly child. Thus, on better days when he acquired some change just to purchase simple Mora Meat - these sandwiches felt like a king’s feast.

Such an unadorned dish, but one that brought warmth and sustenance to a starved child, telling him that everything would be okay. Today, this starved child is the richest man in Snezhnayan. Nevertheless, he still relished these sandwiches from your hands like divine wealth, telling himself once more that everything would be okay. 

✧ Tartaglia was bedbound for some while, bandaged heavily after a massive battle he faced during one of his missions. The young Harbinger would never tell his family where his scars hail from, except for you and his father maybe. But after an earful of scolding, you took care of your reckless boyfriend and sighed.

“You made me worried, you know. I don’t want to see you move a muscle around the house these days, are we clear? You must recover first.”

“Y-yes, captain.” - Childe chuckled humorously, suppressing the soreness his cuts provided around his body. “It’s just… there is only one remedy that could save a fallen soldier like me.”

“Hm? What is it? Do you need something, Ajax?” 

“Please, dear… come closer.” - he said with a pained expression. 

You did so he could whisper to you what he wanted. Your concern was only heightened, oblivious that his dramatic words were playing you - “The secret to my healing… is…”

“Yes?” - you leaned even closer.

“... Some yummy food.”

You blinked at him, and Tartaglia immediately gained a comically “passed out” expression on his face, as if your cooking were his last death wish. You let him plop to the pillow and gritted your teeth - “Why you little-...! Ugh, you’re lucky I am worried about you. You just want me to pamper you.”

“Oh, come on, is that such an unrealistic request? You told me not to move a muscle and I would receive your scolding no matter what. Please, sweetheart, just anything you would like - cook it and I would happily gobble it up!”

You crossed your arms. You hate to admit it, but his puppy eyes were working effectively and if his appetite was returning, that means he is on a good path of recovery anyway.

“Fine… I’ll make something nutritious and easy for your stomach.”

Tartaglia's eyes lightened up in an instant. He was a simple man - if you cooked him something, he would drop on his knees for you instantly. That day, you pondered whether you’d make him some Piroshki or Borscht, but he needed something light. His health was your priority, after all. Even though Childe fancied himself a master at concealing his painful whinces, you are no fool. You always notice them.

Thus, your beloved was presented with Ukha fish soup. A warm bowl with fresh herbs, imported calla lily, and nutritious fish.

“Easy now, I know you like Calla Lily Seafood Soup, since you often had it in Liyue… So I decided to go with the local version of it. Now make sure to eat all of it, or you won’t feel better.”

Like an obedient child, Ajax felt pampered and delighted. Lunch by the bed? His sweetheart feeding him? The injuries were worth it as he happily ate the Ukha fish soup.

“If getting injured makes me taste food more worthy than the gods themselves, maybe I should get wounded more often, haha- Ow!”

Your response was another fistful nudge to his shoulder.  

Kanelbullar - in Swedish, Cinnamon Rolls Bife de chorizo - in Spanish, Argentinian beef cut Pico de Gallo - in Spanish, Mexican salsa/dip Kibbeh - in Arabic, bulgur parcel stuffed with minced meat filling (in Genshin, they just called it meatballs lol) Chazuke - in Japanese, green tea poured over a rice meal (Scara's signature dish)  Mora Meat - had to look this one up, apparently Genshin is referencing RouJiaMo (肉夹馍) meaning “meat in a bun". Ukha fish soup - in Russian, also known as fisherman’s soup. Childe’s signature Calla Lily Seafood Soup is probably a variation made with Gēng found in Chinese cuisine. But there is a Slavic variation that reminded me of his signature dish. 

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away. 

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known. 

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering. 

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready. 

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

How would Platonic! Yan! Batfamily react to Reader with Narcolepsy?

A/N:Thank you for requesting. I hope I did okay with this, please respectfully correct me if I got anything wrong or unintentionally offensive with this as I do not suffer from narcolepsy.

Warnings: Toxic and abusive family dynamics, infantalization, medication tampering, worsening issues

Masterlist

Requests: always open

Oh my gosh that would be the worse thing to deal with in a Yan! family. Especially with one as affectionate as them.

Can you imagine trying to avoid Dick or Tim but just falling right asleep in their arms from the stress...then when you wake up moments later, they aren't allowing you to leave their grasp...oh how terrifying that'd be.

Anyways, they are rather attentive to your needs and observant. If one of the siblings notice that you are showing signs that you will abruptly collapse, they will rush over and quickly guide you to a safe area where you can rest.

The family is very strict on not giving you certain tasks that may be hard on your body. Especially if you deal with cataplexy. If you need help with moving something, or completing a task, just ask someone. They will be very upset if you get yourself hurt.

The down side of not having great muscle control or overall weakness is the constant babying. They treat you as if you were made out of glass. It can be quite annoying when you need to strengthen your muscles even if it's very difficult for you. They also might enjoy keeping you weak and vulnerable because you have less of a chance to escape and no real ability to fight back. You are far to precious to not be in their care.

Your family is strict about not allowing you to hang out with friends and staying only in the home. Occasionally they'll allow you to have a supervised visit. They even may force you to take up schooling at home and you're not allowed to work. It's all far too dangerous when they aren't near to assist you. You cannot trust anyone outside of them.

If you suffer with hallucinations, whether that may be audio or visual, they will be very understanding. You aren't the only one in the family to suffer with symptoms like such. Many days Jason and Bruce are struggling with those things. I can't imagine anyone would poke fun, they'd just redirect you.

But his can kind of suck given that sometimes you cannot tell if something that happened was real or not. Your family may say that you were just having a hallucination but you swear that you heard them talking about tampering with your meds.

Speaking of such, they most definitely do. The medicine that is supposed to help with your EDS seems to have the opposite effect on you. Some days it seems like you've been sleeping for weeks. You swore that you feel asleep in the living room...why are you now in an entirely different sect of the mansion..???

If you suffer with memory issues, that will be a huge problem because so many things they get away with or manipulate you about and because you have no recollection of any events..you are just forced to go with it, even if your gut says something is wrong.

Sometimes the family can get a bit worried if you are up all night..they worry you might wonder off or get hurt while they are either on patrol or sleeping so one designated person must be up with you at all times.

Even when you're sleeping. Someone is monitoring you and your health. Usually Alfred or one of the siblings if they are free.

Often Tim will take the shift since he is usually home and doing work anyways. Too many times have you randomly woken up in his dark room with him in the corner watching you.

Your constant fatigue is an excuse your siblings may use to just carry you around without your consent. Yes, you were struggling up the stairs. but no. you didn't really want Dick to just come and pick you up and carry you around the house like a pet. It's worse when it's Jason because he throws you over his shoulder...he's working on it.

Alfred has a specialty diet for you, which kind of sucks sometimes when the others are eating your favorites. But it's for the best he tells you. It's supposed to help with your symptoms but...every time you eat his cooking, you just feel sick then super drowsy..Alfred says it's the adjustment period to the new diet..but you can't shake the feeling that the food is worsening your conditions

[10holmes]

fluff with fake dating

tag your results!

[denwritesandcries]

Dating Tara having a scary dog HCs

Pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You didn’t expect your girlfriend to act like that around your dog, but it's still pretty funny though.

Word count: 1,4k.

Content: cursing, fluff, tara being dramatic and a caos gremlin, author never had a dog, mentions of scream V.

Note: Still don't think I'm really good at hcs but I had fun writing these!

English is not my first language.

- Tara could admit that she didn’t know much about you when you first started to go out, which probably would have caused Sam to have a meltdown if she’d found out about it, but, well, making impulsive decisions was her specialty.

- One of the things Tara had come to learn about you — details, mere details — was that you had a dog, after hearing you mention it once or twice.

- Tara, who had never had a pet before, was immediately excited with the prospect of meeting and having one in her life, wondering what it would be like.

- You hadn’t shown her any pictures, and on your Instagram there were a surprising amount of different dogs for her to be sure which one was yours, so Tara tried to guess. Would it be a puppy, happy and gangly? Or even an older, relaxed and well-behaved one, a childhood dog maybe? Would make a good cuddle buddy.

(Whichever one it was, she hoped it to be a short-haired; her asthma and allergies would be very grateful.)

- What she hadn’t imagined, however, was to come across her girlfriend smiling and waving brightly, with a damn hound on a leash on what should have been a perfectly romantic and uneventful date.

“What is that?”

“Hi, baby!” you greet, oblivious to her incredulous and apprehensive tone, “That’s Cujo.”

“Cujo,” she echoed, hesitantly, “Like… the rabid, murderous dog from the movie?”

“No, not the movie, the book,” you corrected. “Don’t worry, Tar, she’s a sweetie.”

“Your Cerberus is a she?”

“It’s just a doberman, babe.”

Great.

- Tara’s definitely scared of your dog at first, but she won't admit it. She's faced crazy killers before, for God's sake! A little pet was nothing.

- You know she's scared from the start. It's honestly kind of funny how she tries to act all brave, especially since you know Cujo wouldn't hurt a fly if she could (and she could), so you do your best to make her relax.

- Trying to get her used to it at first by asking if she'd like to hold the leash on walks, even though she always refuses it, “If it decides to start running I might get dragged across town until I fall down some drain. Would you dare do that to your poor asthmatic girlfriend?”

- Trying to avoid situations where your dog is involved doesn't work for long, though, it lives with you, after all – duh, Tara, really? – and your house is the only place you two can have some privacy without Sam hovering like a hawk all the time, so she has to get over it, like, urgently.

She stops you at the door the first time she comes over:

“So, is there any more… unexpected pets I should know about?”

You shrug, “I have some sea monkeys too.”

- She’s completely dramatic about it at first, as she always is when things don’t go her way. But it’s endearing, and it’s one of the reasons you fell in love with her anyway.

- So… Tara, who has staring contests with your dog every time she comes over for the night or to just hang out, because she can’t stop squinting suspiciously every time she gets too close to the furry form you idolize so much.

- Tara, who gets upset and sullen when you’re gonna cuddle and the dog is faster, taking up your entire lap, the place she should be.

“You can just lay or rest on her, baby, I swear she won't bite.”

“No freaking way! Here, just hold me closer.”

Well, she swears that your dog would have laughed at her if she could.

- Tara, who's sure your dog has something against her and chases her around for the pure pleasure of it, no matter how much you argue about projecting, dark eyes making her jump in fright whenever they're in the same room.

- Tara, who huffs and whines when you go to sleep and the dog follows you, sprawling at your feet in the bed like she's its owner.

“Oh man, even here?”

“Tar, she's sleeping. It's a dog, it's not planning something against you.”

“She's threatening me on purpose!”

“She probably knows that you dislike her, you know, it's pretty obvious.”

“Whatever, I'm not apologizing to a dog.”

- Tara, who actually finds it pretty comfortable sleeping next to the furball, who keeps the bed less lonely and stops the heat from escaping when you get up early to make breakfast.

- Tara, who warms up and attaches quickly afterward, even if she doesn't want to admit it out of sheer stubbornness.

“Awn, I see you guys are getting along. You're petting her now! That’s so great, honey!”

“I'm not! I'm just checking to make sure she didn't bring any dirt from the park earlier.”

- Tara, who turns into an absolute menace once she and your dog bond and you honestly don't know if that's a good thing or not, but it's chaotic anyway.

- Tara, who struts around, holding on to the leash to save her life and still managing to look completely smug like a damn small gangster, laughing at those who stray from their path or get scared by the sudden barking.

“Ha, look at them! Scared of such a little pup, losers.”

“If she ever gets up she'd be literally bigger than you, Tar,” you sigh, “And you acted just like them too.”

“Liar! All lies!”

- Tara, who spends her money on thousands of clothes and accessories that she thinks would look good on the dog, even though your pet already has a lot. Most of them are silly costumes from movies she likes, and one day you come home to find your dog on the couch wearing a cheap Michael Myers costume and you can barely breathe from laughing when she comes running up to greet you by the door.

- You definitely notice your dog wearing a big colorful bow that conveniently matches your girlfriend’s shirt and teases her shamelessly. All you get is a ‘she looks like a princess, leave her be!’

- She calls the dog by cute pet names and talks in a baby voice – which she denies to death – when she thinks no one is listening. Sometimes you even get confused about who the ‘hi baby!’ is for when she walks through the room.

- You're a little jealous when she prefers to snuggle with your dog instead of you, but you end up finding it so adorable that the problem is solved by cuddling them both together and that way everyone’s happy and content.

- Sam almost has a heart attack the first time she sees Tara with the dog, as do Chad and Ethan; Mindy’s a little hesitant and Anika’s the only one genuinely excited and happy about everything, wanting to pet it as soon as she sees her lying on the carpet.

- With that, Tara also defends your dog from anyone who dares to open their mouth and say something bad about her, whether they're your friends or the Karens you meet when you're out together (you have to stop her from throwing hands with them occasionally).

- Teaches the dog to purposely bark to scare Ethan every time he says something stupid and inappropriate and you're left wondering when the hell she had time to do that without you knowing, completely ignoring your claims of 'being a bad influence.'

- Protects the dog from absolutely any of your scolding, no matter what the reason, dramatically covering its ears and looking personally offended by your complaints. You can never stay mad for long with the sight of your girlfriend trying to cover up a dog who's clearly more intimidating than her and literal puppy eyes staring at you with intensity, letting go even if your couch or plants have been destroyed.

- You end up with a happy little family before you finish college without even realizing it, which ends up being the best thing that ever happened to you.

- Tara's favorite part of all of this is the slow and warm mornings when you two don't have to be anywhere and can sleep in, feeling your arm around her waist and your dog curled up between you – under the covers too because it got cold during the night – when she can sigh contentedly and enjoy what you have without any more fears about the future.

“You know, remembering how scared you were of Cujo in the beginning, I never would have expected it to end up like this.”

“That name still doesn't fit,” she says stubbornly, “And I’ve never been scared of our dog, I just wasn’t a pet person.”

“Our dog?”

“Oh, shut it.”

She would never admit it anyway.

- Tara could admit, though, that you were right: your dog really is a sweetie.

[feyascorner]

wish you would look at me

summary. convinced that you’re in love with another, when you approach him with a serious expression, he readies himself for the inevitable—rejection. but is it ever that simple?

pairing. astarion x GN!reader

warnings. light angst, fluff

a/n. this is inspired by the ppl who have love triangles w gale and astarion in act 2 and what he says if you pick him bec when I saw that I almost cried pls let him be happy

If you asked him a few weeks ago, he’d laugh at the mere suggestion that he could ever be jealous of someone like Gale. That blasted wizard couldn't go four steps before begging for a magical shoe or pathetically limping his way behind the rest of the group while you frantically searched for the said shoe. And when he found out the wizard was a few errors away from exploding, somehow Astarion felt even more pity (not really) for the lad.

Yet here he was.

He’s not sure when the hell you and Gale had gotten so chummy, but it rubbed him the wrong way. Even if his expression would never show it. He sips at his wine while Karlach and Wyll continue to chat about God knows what, too busy peering from the corner of his eyes as you lean into Gale’s shoulders to look closer at the book he was holding.

Perhaps the tadpole had finally made you lose your mind. He'd almost dropped his goblet when you denied his invitation to his tent tonight, spouting the excuse that you'd asked Gale to help you with something, and now this?

God knows why you ever found the wizard charming. If Gale could do something, he could too—much better, in fact. He was sure of it.

His grip tightens around the goblet when he hears you laugh.

Sure, his original intentions for approaching you had been less than noble…and he might have seduced you for more selfish reasons than you originally knew, but as much as he hated himself for it, he'd grown rather fond of you. In his own way, of course.

He’d only realized that the anxious squirming in his stomach was not of fear but of affection when you'd defended him from that vile drow at Moonrise Towers. He'd half expected you to ask him to throw himself at her, yet you stood your ground, showing nothing but respect to his own boundaries while you failed to realize that he'd deceived your own.

He truly had no reason to feel this way. He was selfish, he knew, for feeling so possessive because not once had the two of you established being exclusive. Though you'd respected him, you saw him for just that. A friend to respect, and nothing more. Sure, you'd spent a few nights together, but it was a mindless night of passion and he knew he'd continue to be your fling until you found another to truly love. He had just hoped it wouldn't be someone like Gale, of all people…or Wyll…or Shadowheart…or anyone for that matter.

He shakes his head. The wine must be getting to him. Serious relationships aren't a luxury he can afford, he reminds himself, relaxing his shoulders. He’s perfectly okay with being your ally—nothing more or nothing less. Ecstatic, even.

But when Gale flips a page of the book and both of you lean closer again—this time dangerously close—he feels a sharp pain shoot up his hand.

“Uh, Fangs, you alright there?” Karlach stares at the cracked glass in his hand and even he blinks at it in disbelief.

Apparently not.

He sighs irritably, dumping the glass elsewhere. “I’m quite alright. Seems I just need a nice comfortable mattress than a thin bedroll on the ground, but it’ll do for now.”

“Need help patching that up? You're bleeding.”

He almost laughs, if it weren't for the giggle coming from your direction. “Blood’s my specialty, darling, remember?” Without another word, he paces into his tent, closing the flap behind him for the universe signal that screams ‘don’t bother me.’

So when half an hour later, when he no longer hears the crackle of the campfire, he sees your shadow emerge from the other side of his tent flap, he squints.

“Can I come in?” He fails to respond, and hears you shuffle. “Ah, are you asleep?”

At this, he can't help but snort. You instinctively peek inside, and he runs a hand through his hair, sighing in defeat. “If I'd been asleep just how would I answer that question?”

He motions you closer and you take it as a sign to step inside, careful to avoid stepping on any of his belongings before situating yourself in front of him. “It was rhetorical, obviously!”

“Of course,” he doesn't seem convinced, lips curling into a teasing grin. “Now tell me, what brings you to my palace this late at night? Surely not for a cuddle. I'd thought you declined my offer earlier?”

Usually, you'd smile, but instead you only look down at your clasped hands, seemingly in thought. “I needed to talk to you—without everyone else watching.”

The usual brightness to your tone is missing.

Oh, he thinks. You've come to end things with him.

“Ah,” is all he says. He can tell his smile hasn't dropped, but it doesn't feel that way. “I hear you've found a new lover. Perhaps you want to keep yourself for this one, true love? How romantic, darling.”

You frown at this, and he wonders if he’s done something wrong. But it does little to stop his defense mechanisms from springing into action, because he’s immediately slipping into his usual mask, grin stretching wider but never reaching his eyes.

He hates the words coming out of his own mouth as if they taste of poison. Still, his voice is steady, almost teasing. Perks of the 200 years spent shamelessly lying, he supposes. “So, is this the end of our late night trysts? Even though they were an awful lot of fun?”

He doesn’t think he could stand watching you with that damned wizard. He doesn't even want to think about it quite frankly, because all he feels is his chest tighten when he imagines someone else holding you the way he does. And gods, if had to watch Gale’s poor attempt at flirting one more time…

But then again, you'd be with someone who doesn't manipulate you. Someone who doesn't toy with your feelings, or someone who doesn't seduce you for protection.

His smile twitches, and he just braces himself for your response.

“I’d rather be with you.”

He stares at you, eyes wider than its ever been since he'd gotten this damn worm in his brain.

“What? Why?” he blurts, embarrassingly so, before he composes himself again and clears his throat. “I mean, well, I know why—but I thought you'd had something more…with Gale.”

As much as he despises the idea, he'd seen the way you'd laughed with him. And while it was a new experience for him to be fond of another person, he'd found that these feelings had led him to rather you be happy than dragging you down with him. If it meant you wouldn't regret your choice, he’d been willing to deal with it.

So why?

“I want something real with you, Astarion,” you say softly, eyes meeting his. “I don't know if you feel the same way, but Gale and I are better off as friends, and I told him before I came here. And besides, it’d be cruel of me to lead him on while my heart is with another.”

He thinks he might have died again just now. For the first time in decades, he’s actually at a loss for words. “I—if that's what you truly want—we can try. Be lovers, I mean.”

You finally smile at his words, and Gods above if that doesn't lift the excruciating weight of the past few weeks off his shoulders. He feels the warmth of your lips when you lean forward to give him a peck on the cheek, everything happening so fast that his mind is spinning. He snaps back into focus when you pull back.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

You could have—should have, done it earlier. With a smile of his own, he leads you back to him, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips. It’s short, and not nearly enough, but it’ll do for tonight.

“Well then, consider yourself wholeheartedly taken then, my dear.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Would love to see something on possesive/protective Alex Keller if you're up for the challenge! Otherwise let's go Soap! 😍

While I know Alex Keller from the game, I’ve never written for him, but I have written for Soap (a lot!) so I’ll be talking about Soap’s possessive/protective behavior.

Most of these headcanons are with gn!reader with one or two exceptions. Enjoy!

Content & Warnings (MDNI): possessive/protective behavior (obvi), suggestive themes, one brief NSFW headcanon at the end

Word Count: 536

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 1k follower event masterlist

Of all the 141, he’s not really one to hide his emotions or be silent about something that he doesn’t agree with. He’s fairly upfront, but in private, I can see Johnny being more protective/possessive with his significant other.

In public he might put an arm around his partner to show that they belong to him, but behind closed doors, Johnny is marking them. Loves bites are his specialty, and he always puts them in spots where no one will see them but him and his partner.

Johnny prefers it when you wear his clothes because it leaves his smell behind on your skin. It’s just another way for him to mark you, and while you might notice, Johnny does, which means others do.

While out shopping, running errands, etc., Johnny likes to act as a buffer. While he’s good about giving you plenty of space, he is also good about picking up on when others might get to close to you. Johnny is really spot on about making sure others respect your bubble. They can get in his, but not yours.

When it comes to social gatherings, events, and parties, Johnny is the life of the party, and he knows that you’re there to have fun too. While he will genuinely leave you alone to spend time with others, he is always keeping a close eye. If someone is being overly friendly, Johnny will step in but he’ll always be polite the first time. Second time? Not so much.

Sometimes Johnny can’t help himself when the two of you are out. If the two of you are at a party, he might insist that you sit in his lap.

Johnny’s protective/possessive instincts skyrocket if you’re pregnant. While he’d usually never outright act on these tendencies in public, he’s more likely to do so when you’re carrying his child.

Johnny would absolutely lean down to inhale your scent when its been too long.

Maybe it’s the stresses of his work, but sometimes Johnny can’t help but see danger everywhere. He doesn’t always fall into this headspace—and it can often be difficult for him to get out of it—but it certainly activates those instincts. He’s more likely to stand close to you, to give the people around the two of you the “stink eye” if he thinks they’re far too close (they usually aren’t).

Touching you in public is a show of possession. This could be something small like an arm across your shoulders but could also be his hand planted on your butt.

PDA is another way Johnny shows possession. He might hug and kiss you openly in front of others, and if he’s feeling really bold (especially after a few drinks) he might even smack your ass.

In public together, Johnny keeps tabs on you, making sure you’re always in his line of sight. Otherwise, if you’re going out somewhere, he’ll keep a close eye on his phone’s “find my” feature, making sure you’re safe and where you should be.

For a more NSFW headcanon: Johnny loves nothing more than finishing inside you, knowing that you’ll only do that for him. Might even pull your hair and call you “mine” during the act.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess @enfppuff @berarenado

@saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

@sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @dakotakazansky

@talooolaaloolla @hantheconqueror @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

[multi-fandom-imagine]

You're beautiful || Gregory House ||

A/n: I've been wanting to write a fluffy moment for House.

Warnings: self doubt, body insecurity

It had been a long day. You were sitting on the edge of the bed wearing one of House’s old T-shirts, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your son was finally asleep after a bout of fussiness, and the house was quiet for the first time all evening. Yet, your thoughts were anything but peaceful.

You tugged at the hem of the shirt, frowning as it clung to your soft stomach. Your postpartum body was a daily reminder of how much your life had changed. Stretch marks lined your hips, your waist wasn’t as defined as it used to be, and you couldn’t help but notice the weight you hadn’t quite managed to lose.

The insecurities that had been building since the birth of your son, it now felt overwhelming. The logical part of your brain knew that these changes were normal, that your body had done something incredible by bringing your son into the world. But another part—the irrational, emotional part—kept whispering that you weren't the same woman House had fallen in love with. That maybe he didn’t find you attractive anymore.

Your thoughts spiraled further as you remembered the women House interacted with at the hospital: slim, confident, and effortlessly beautiful. The idea of him comparing you to them sent a pang of jealousy through your chest. You felt ridiculous for thinking it, but the feeling lingered.

You didn’t hear House come in until his voice broke the silence.

“Y/n?” he called out, his tone softer than usual. He leaned against the doorway, his cane in one hand. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet all evening.”

You glanced up at him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It's nothing....just tired."

House tilted his head, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “You forget who you’re married to? I can read people, remember? You’re radiating ‘something’s wrong’ vibes from across the room.”

You sighed, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s stupid," you muttered out

House stepped closer, limping slightly as he made his way to the bed. He sat down beside you, his presence solid and grounding. “Stupid is my specialty. Spill it.”

You hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. Finally,you whispered, “I just… I don’t feel like myself anymore. My body’s changed so much since I had our son. I don’t look like I used to. And I can’t help but wonder if you… if you still think I’m attractive.”

House blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then his brow furrowed, and he let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

Your face warmed for a moment, as you turned away from him, embarrassed. “See? I told you it was stupid.”

“Hey,” House said, his voice gentler now. He reached out, cupping your chin and turning your face back toward him. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you met his gaze, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“You just carried a human being for nine months and then brought him into the world,” House said, his tone serious. “Your body changed because it did something amazing. And for the record? You still look hot. Like, really hot. I mean, I’d jump you right now, but our kid might wake up.”

You couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “House…”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, his hand moving to rest on your knee. “Do you honestly think I care about a few stretch marks or a little extra weight? You’re gorgeous. You’ve always been gorgeous. And now, you’re the mother of my son. That just makes you even hotter..."

Your lips trembled, as you looked away, overwhelmed by his words. “I just… I see the way other women look at you at the hospital. They’re all so… perfect. And I feel like I can’t compete.”

House scoffed. “Perfect? Sunshine, those women are boring. They don’t have half the wit, charm, or spine that you do. You’re the only one who’s ever managed to keep me in check, and you think I’d trade that for some airbrushed fantasy? Please.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “You really mean that?”

House rolled his eyes dramatically, but his smirk softened into something tender. “Of course, I mean it. You’re it for me. You always have been. And if you ever doubt that again, I’ll have to remind you in more… physical ways.”he muttered as his hand slid underneath the hem of his shirt you wore, fingers brushing your belly.

You let out another laugh, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he shot back, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s go to bed before our son decides he’s done with sleeping.”

You lent into him, a small smile playing on your lips. For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace. House might be a pain, but he was your pain, and he loved you exactly as you was.

[perlukafarinn]

Usually when Claire works the closing shift at Rocky's, she and Dean will wind down with a couple of beers at the end of the night. It's a nice little ritual Claire looks forward to every time she comes around, though she'd never admit as much out loud.

Tonight, Dean has mixed up a batch of one of his specialty cocktails - The Queen of Moondoor. It's bright, a sort of red-orange color, and has a sweet and sour taste that makes Claire's jaw ache.

"Do you like it?" Dean asks, like Claire's opinion really matters.

She nods. "It's good."

She's not lying. Dean isn't really a cocktails kind of guy but he's put a lot of effort into every detail of Rocky's. From the various pride flags carefully hung behind the bar, to the salt painted into the windowsills, every inch of the place is meticulously planned out. Rocky's isn't officially a hunter's bar - though it is explicitly a gay bar - but it's become an unofficial gathering place of queer hunters across the continental US.

Even the cocktails on the menu are Dean's own invention. All of them have a backstory, some of which Claire isn't privy to. She knows enough to understand why the Queen of Moondoor is Dean's personal favorite, though.

It also packs a surprising punch. Two drinks in, and Claire already feels herself tilting from tipsy into full-on drunk. She slows down her pace.

"How long are you planning on sticking around now?" Dean asks, because free booze is never just free booze with him. There's always the interrogation. He's almost as much of a mom as Jody is.

"A few days," Claire answers vaguely. "Maybe longer, who knows. I don't have any hunts lined up right now and you pay pretty well."

She knows for a fact he pays her double what he does his other bartenders. Neither one of them ever mentions it, though.

"Weren't you heading back to Jody's?"

Claire shrugs, uncomfortable. She had been, before last night's call with Kaia. They're good most days, even with the strain of Claire being on the road half the time, but sometimes when they talk, they'll hit on a sore topic for one of them and things will get stilted.

The anniversary of Mom's death is coming up in a couple of weeks. Kaia wanted to join Claire for her visit to the cemetery.

"What's on your mind, Strawberry Shortcake?"

Claire is supposed to roll her eyes now. Tell Dean to fuck off and mind his own business.

She doesn't really want to do that. But she doesn't know how to explain to Dean what she's feeling, either.

"It's stupid," she says. "I'm being dramatic."

"You? Never."

Claire scoffs, and Dean's eyes soften.

"You can talk to me, you know."

"Yeah," Claire says, because she does. He gets her, weirdly enough. They get each other. It probably doesn't say great things about either of them. "I just... I feel like I'm making up problems."

Dean takes a sip of his drink. It's difficult to look dignified, drinking out of a straw, and he does not remotely manage it. "Let me be the judge of that."

"Kaia wants-" Claire stops herself, because that's not the point of it. "I - we're good. Me and Kaia. I don't feel ashamed about it."

Dean waits for her continue.

"I'm a lesbian," Claire adds, even though, duh.

"Congrats," Dean says, and it feels like it could be sarcastic but it's not. He means it.

"I don't think -" no, that's not right. "I know my parents wouldn't be okay with that."

The statement lands heavily between them. It feels bitter on Claire's tongue, an ugly truth held at bay for far too long. She feels awful saying it, like she's failing her parents. Speaking ill of the dead. But it's the truth.

Mom and Dad would make these... comments. And Claire remembers each one with perfect clarity, because she's known something was different about her for a very long time. She knew those comments were aimed at her, even if her parents didn't.

They were wonderful parents in every other aspect. Up until they abandoned her, that is. Claire still can't help but feel like she's failing them, sometimes, being who she is.

"They might have changed their minds," Dean offers. "If they'd known. It's different when it's your own kid."

Claire eyes him, curious. "Was it different for your parents?"

Something crosses over Dean's expression, too quickly for Claire to catch it.

"No," he admits after a beat. He runs his hand over his face. "Maybe - Mom might have been fine with it. She didn't know."

Claire swallows. "But your dad did. And it wasn't different."

She feels cruel, pushing the topic. But there's some perverse part of her that needs the confirmation. Dean reminds her of herself, in a lot of ways. He'd say it was the other way around. If he experienced the rejection that Claire feared as a kid, the one that still scares her even if it's purely theoretical now, then that proves something.

"It wasn't," Dean admits. "But Jimmy Novak was no John Winchester."

Claire's chest aches. There's some hollow triumph at the abstract confirmation of her worst fears. Mostly, she just feels like shit.

"For what it's worth," Dean adds, "I think you're perfect. No notes."

Embarrassingly, Claire's lower lip wobbles. She clears her throat, looking off to the side as she tries to regain her composure.

"You think you're my dad or something?" she asks, voice rough.

Dean shrugs, looking embarrassed himself. "I kind of think of you as my kid, yeah. If that's okay."

Claire crosses her arms, feeling warm and aching and off-kilter. "I - yeah. Yeah, that's fine."

[srslyblvck]

the devil you know, avengers

pairing: avengers x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader

synopsis: the avengers seem really desperate as they come to you—the person who went under their skin like no one else to help them win against hydra. while they are walking on eggshells around you, you are having fun causing chaos.

warnings: mentions of y/n (maybe), blood, violence, gore

word count: 2.1k

chapter: 2/?

author's note: i had so much fun while writing this chapter :)

series masterlist

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE QUINJET HUMMED AS it soared through the night sky, carrying you and the rest of the Avengers toward the Hydra base. You were seated across from Natasha, who had given you a black tactical suit to wear. The material was sleek, flexible, and perfect for slipping into shadows—fitting, considering your abilities. Still, you made sure to comment on it.

"Nice touch, Romanoff," you said with a teasing smile, adjusting the snug collar. "It’s almost like you dressed me yourself."

Natasha rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. She hadn’t spoken much since the briefing, and you could feel the tension in the air—more specifically, the tension around you.

The cuffs around your wrists clinked lightly every time you moved, and you'd spent the entire ride making sure everyone was reminded of your presence. You shifted, tapped, and stretched, leaning back with your arms out, just enough to get on everyone's nerves.

Tony groaned, eyes narrowing. “Would you knock it off? You’ve got five minutes left with those things—can’t you just sit still?”

You smirked. “You know me, Stark. Sitting still isn’t really my thing.”

Bucky, sitting near the door, watched you closely, his arms crossed. He hadn’t said much either, but his eyes never left you for long. You could feel the distrust radiating off him like heat from a fire.

When the quinjet finally touched down on a remote hillside just outside the Hydra base, the cargo doors hissed open, revealing a dense forest bathed in darkness. Everyone moved quickly, preparing for the mission. The Hydra base was hidden beneath the ground, concealed by a thin veil of technology and nature, but you could feel it—the faint flicker of light inside, fighting against the darkness you so easily commanded.

Bucky approached you as the others stepped off the jet. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved to unlock the cuffs on your wrists. His metal arm gleamed in the low light, the sound of the release mechanism echoing faintly in the night air.

“Don’t do anything stupid that you’ll regret,” Bucky said, his voice low and gravelly.

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile as you felt the cuffs release. The rush hit you instantly—like blood returning to your veins, like slipping into an old coat that fit perfectly. Your power flowed back, and you felt the shadows around you flicker and shift, reacting to your presence. The darkness was yours again.

“Oh, Barnes,” you said, flexing your fingers, feeling the cold night air against your skin. “Stupid’s kind of my specialty. But regret? Never.”

He didn’t look amused, but then again, Bucky never looked amused. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned to join the others.

You took a step forward, rolling your shoulders, testing your limbs now that you were free. It felt good, like stretching after a long sleep.

Natasha stood near the front of the team, her eyes on the base. You walked up to her with a casual stride, glancing at the weaponry strapped to her hips.

“Got a spare firearm?” you asked, nodding at her holsters.

Natasha turned, giving you a skeptical look. “You’ve got powers. Why would you need a gun?”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Powers are great and all, but you know what really matters? Aesthetics.”

Before she could respond, Tony chimed in from behind you. “Romanoff, give her something. If this goes sideways, we might as well let her feel like she looks cool while screwing it up.”

Natasha hesitated, then, with visible reluctance, pulled a shotgun from her stash and handed it to you. “Try not to shoot yourself with it.”

You grinned, slinging the shotgun over your shoulder with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, Natasha, you do spoil me. Thanks, darling.”

She gave you a withering look but said nothing, turning back to focus on the mission.

Tony approached next, handing you a small earpiece. “Here,” he said, his tone exasperated but professional. “If you need backup, just call for it. Don’t try to play the hero.”

You took the earpiece, but instead of inserting it right away, you examined it like it was some sort of toy, twirling it between your fingers. Then you smiled up at him, that same teasing grin you’d perfected over the years. “How cute. I didn’t know you cared, Stark.”

Before Tony could reply, you slid the earpiece into your ear and turned on your heel, walking toward the treeline. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You didn’t wait for a response. With a snap of your fingers, you let the shadows rise around you, blending into the darkness like it was second nature. The shadows welcomed you, embracing you like an old friend as you slipped into them, disappearing from sight in an instant.

The Hydra base lay ahead, hidden beneath layers of security, but you could already feel it pulsing in the distance—a flicker of light surrounded by the dark. And you? You were the storm coming for them. You let yourself smile as you moved through the trees, becoming one with the night.

Behind you, the Avengers might’ve been watching, ready for you to betray them at any second. But tonight wasn’t about them. Tonight was about you and the game. You were in control. And Hydra? They had no idea what was coming.

As you approached the perimeter, the lights from the base seemed dimmer, weaker. You reached out, letting your power flow through the air, extending your reach into the heart of the shadows. The guards posted around the base were oblivious to your presence as you slid past them, their own shadows swallowing them whole.

Inside the base, you could feel it—the pulse of energy Hydra was harnessing. The faint whisper of something dark and powerful hidden within their walls. It tugged at your senses, calling to you, daring you to dive deeper.

A shotgun over your shoulder, shadows at your command, and a grin on your face—you moved forward with purpose.

The Hydra base was dimly lit, cold, and sterile, like something out of a bad spy movie. You were barely inside when the first agent spotted you. He didn’t even get the chance to yell. The shadows wrapped around him, pulling him into the darkness, muffling his voice. By the time his partner turned to see what happened, it was already too late.

You stepped forward, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare come to life, and grinned at the remaining guard, his eyes widening in horror.

“Boo,”

He reached for his gun, but you were faster. A flick of your wrist sent the shadows curling around his legs, tripping him before he could fire a single shot. You stepped over him with a casual stride, hands in your pockets, barely breaking a sweat.

The base was crawling with more agents, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you were counting on it.

Two more Hydra goons rounded the corner, guns raised, but the lights above them flickered once—then went out. When the darkness swallowed them, you grinned, letting the shadows dance around their feet. They fired blindly into the void, but the bullets only hit walls and air.

“Really?” you called out, your voice echoing through the corridor. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

One of them screamed as you appeared behind him, yanking his feet out from under him with a tendril of shadow. He slammed into the floor with a satisfying thud.

“Seriously,” you continued, stepping over him, “I was expecting more from Hydra. What is this, amateur hour?”

The second agent started running, which only made it more fun. You sent a wave of darkness after him, snaking through the corridor like a living thing, wrapping around his ankles and dragging him back toward you. He struggled, but it was no use.

“Don’t worry,” you said, leaning down as he thrashed in the shadows. “I’ll make this quick.”

You knocked him out cold, giving him a pat on the head before continuing deeper into the base.

A few minutes later, you found the room you were looking for: a small, unassuming office with a row of computers humming softly. Hydra always made things so obvious. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you, and pulled out the little USB drive Tony had given you.

The computer’s interface glowed as you inserted the drive, and the transfer began. A small progress bar appeared on the screen, ticking upward at a frustratingly slow pace.

“Well, this is thrilling,” you muttered, leaning against the desk, tapping your fingers on the wood as you waited. You clicked on your earpiece. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Focus,” Steve’s voice came through, clipped and serious.

You smirked. “I am focused, Rogers. I’m just multitasking. But I’m thinking Chinese takeout would be a good call. Just not Panda Express, okay? I know a better place.”

There was a long pause, then, faintly, you heard Tony mumble, “Yeah, I’m with them on that. Panda’s overrated.”

You grinned to yourself. “See? Stark knows what’s up.”

“You’re supposed to be downloading classified data, not planning dinner,” Steve’s voice cut in, clearly irritated.

“Right, right,” you replied, waving your hand even though no one could see you. The download bar hit 100%, and the drive ejected with a satisfying ping. “And, done. That was almost too easy. You guys could’ve handled this on your own. But, noooo, you had to drag me into it. Starting to think you’re all just being lazy.”

You pocketed the drive and headed for the door, feeling pretty good about yourself when you suddenly heard footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

Your grin widened.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Clint’s voice came through your earpiece, a bit cautious. “What’s with that tone? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said, your heart picking up pace with excitement. “There’s just more Hydra agents. A lot more. You know, enough to make it interesting.”

Steve’s voice was all business, as usual. “Get out. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing the door open and stepping into the corridor. “Oh, come on, Capsicle. Don’t be such a buzzkill. I’ve been so good all night. Let me have a little fun.”

“Don’t push it!” Steve barked.

But you ignored him, slipping back into the shadows as the agents came barreling down the hallway toward you. This was what you lived for. The thrill, the chaos, the rush of power as the darkness around you stirred like it was alive.

Cut to the quinjet, where the rest of the Avengers were waiting. Clint sat in his usual seat, casually spinning an arrow between his fingers, while Sam and Tony stood near the back, discussing strategy—or at least pretending to. Steve paced near the front, arms crossed, clearly agitated that you hadn’t followed his orders.

“I told her to get out,” Steve muttered, glancing at Tony. “Why won’t she ever listen?”

“Because she's a pain in the ass,” Tony replied with a shrug, leaning against the wall. “We all knew that when we brought her in.”

Before anyone could respond, you suddenly appeared out of nowhere, materializing from the shadows in the corner of the quinjet, covered head to toe in blood.

Clint jumped, nearly falling off his seat. “What the hell?!”

Sam, startled, took a step back. “Jeez! A little warning next time, maybe?”

Even Tony, who prided himself on being unflappable, blinked in surprise, his eyes widening for just a split second before he regained his composure. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance.”

You grinned, casually wiping some blood from your cheek as you tossed the shotgun over to Natasha, who caught it without a word. “Thanks for the loaner. Worked like a charm.”

Then, with a smirk, you pulled the USB drive from your pocket and handed it to Tony. “Here’s your data. Told you it was easy. Seriously, you guys need to stop being so lazy.”

Tony took the drive but didn’t respond right away. The rest of the team was still staring at you, processing the sight of you standing there, nonchalant, drenched in blood, like you’d just walked out of an action movie.

You plopped down in one of the seats, kicking your feet up onto the table in front of you, clearly satisfied with yourself. “So… about that Chinese takeout?”

No one said a word. The quinjet was silent as the team tried to wrap their heads around what just happened.

You just smiled, closing your eyes as you leaned back, perfectly at ease.

Mission accomplished.

dividers by @dollywons

[mindless-existence1]

Hello beautiful personnn. I hope you are doing well! I have a request (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠).

So, it's a simple thing. If you'd like, I'd love the idea of you writing something soft and romantic with Rise!Leonardo (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠) Only if you want of course.

It would be simply beautiful. Reader and Leonardo cuddling, whispering amongst themselves comfortably, saying romantic things and making a few jokes! (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

You know, an innocent teenage love.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I wish you a nice day or night. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Thanks for the request! I love Leo sm and I love this prompt so hope you enjoy this short little fic!

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND! REQUESTS FOR FLUFF AND KINKTOBER OPEN AS WELL!

Authors note: Gn reader with no specified physical traits. Enjoy!

Leo loved to take you on huge grand amazing dates, it was his specialty in fact! And while you loved those, days where you stayed inside and just snuggled on your bed together might be your favorite dates.

Leo was the kind of turtle to constantly be doing something. Wether that be gaming, skateboarding, watching movies, or just doing random nonsense, he's always doing something. But all of that must come to a close when at least once a week you have a lazy day.

For you two lazy days are where you spend time at either of your places- the lair or your apartment- and just hang out and do nothing. Well almost nothing, you have cuddle dates.

During these cuddle dates you get in a comfy position and either fall asleep together or play on your phones. For both you and Leo this is heaven. Physical touch is one of Leo's love languages making this the perfect set up for him.

That brings you to today, you and your boyfriend are tangled in a way that makes no sense what so ever. One of his arms is under you with his hand softly massaging your hair. Hi other lays atop you and his holding his phone behind your back.

You have one arm curled up at your chest and the other lightly scratching and massaging your boyfriends shell. You are slowly falling asleep while Leo plays some game on his phone.

"Did I tell you about what happened in the hidden city yesterday?" Leo's voice is quiet and soft, like it's just for the two of you. You hum out a no and Leo goes on to tell you a short story about an adventure him and Mikey had the other day.

"Mikey really almost got into a fight?" Your question is slightly muffle from it being snuggled into Leo's neck. "He really really did." Leo chuckles.

"I forget, what did you do yesterday?" You talk about whatever you did the day before, your boyfriend humming every so often in response to what you say. "Sounds exhausting." His response is short and paired with a yawn.

"Not as exhausting as what you did." You laugh quietly into Leo's plastron. There's silence for a few minutes before Leo breaks the silence once more. "Hey babe?" His voice sweet and gentle. "Yeah Nardo?" He smiles at the nickname. "Did you know that I love you a lot? Like a lot a lot?" You feign suprise, letting out and over exaggerated gasp. "What really! I had not a single clue!"

Leo laughs and kisses your forehead before setting down his phone and shuffling slightly. After a minute, his voice slurred with sleep, leo says. "You know y/n, I would love to be payed to sleep." You hum in acknowledgement, half asleep and extremely comfy in your cuddled up position.

Leo yawns and right as you both start to fall asleep he says "Yeah it would be my dream job." With a chuckle the two of drift into a deep slumber snuggled up in your lovers arms.

[weskie]

Does Albert have a high alcohol tolerance? How does he behave with reader when he gets really drunk?

(it will be great if we have some smut😭😭🙏🙏)

ah, my specialty. i serve alcohol for a living and have to re-learn this stuff for my recertifications every two years lol

i imagine he could tolerate a bit more than the average person pre t-virus, but after is definitely something to consider.

wesker is definitely a guy with muscle even if he's not a brick shithouse like how chris ended up. that said, muscle mass does impact alcohol's effectiveness and so does body weight.

(90kg = 198.4lbs) jesus christ i need him to lay on me like a weighted blanket

plus, amab people tend to have more of the enzyme dehydrogenase which contributes to the rate at which alcohol is broken down, they typically have greater body-water content, and so on, all of which affects alcohol's impact on a person.

these things considered, i'd say pre t-virus wesker could probably knock back a couple drinks (depending on the type. wine vs beer vs liquor) before really feeling the effect, but it's also going to depend on the rate of consumption and if he's perhaps eating anything as well.

i would wager his tolerance grows after mutating. i absolutely think he becomes even more tolerant after uroboros enters his system given he grows significantly larger in the final fight (hot).

smut headcanons below the cut:

drunk wesker can end up a few ways: lamenting his choices, giggly and/or sleepy, or intensely horny.

should you be lucky enough to end up with the last of the three, expect him to be quite unlike himself.

precise touches become fumbling grasps. he's less methodical, simply going along with whatever his alcohol addled mind decides is the best path to sate his need.

depending on how intoxicated he is, he may end up on his back insisting that you ride him. he'll grip the sheets and give weak thrusts into your heat. wesker becomes downright needy.

he'll be much more vocal. every sound that would typically be a suppressed moan or a simple groan is now a full whine and whimper. fuck him right and he'll sing for you.

the best, though, has to be how he'll look at you. there's always some degree of reverence in his eyes when you two have sex, but he'll look at you like there's a halo over your head while you take him apart. there might even be a weak smile or two that tugs at the corner of his mouth before you wipe it off his face with a particularly languid movement of your hips. your name will fall from his lips like breathy prayers until he's curling up to cling to you while he rides wave after wave of pure bliss.

expect plenty of kisses and snuggling in the afterglow. maybe even a lazy bubble bath to get cleaned up. by the time you two are dry and back in bed, he'll have come down just enough to tug you into his arms as if to take back the reins he'd so happily handed you earlier.

[entomologistt]

What do they give you for Christmas?

Featuring: Emma Woods, Orpheus DeRoss, Victor Grantz, Vera Nair, Anne Lester, Frederick Kreiburg (Identity V)

Contains: Holiday gift giving, fluff, seperate romantic headcanons, gender neutral reader

Ento note: Happy Holidays! And good day to you if you don’t celebrate 🙂‍↕️ I don’t even remember what I spent all my spyglasses on, but now I can’t afford Melly’s christmas B tier… sighs. Next year she will be be mine, trust 🙏

Emma Woods “Gardener”

Emma has to think outside the box this time. She always gives you the prettiest flowers and all of the best, most succulent fruits and vegetables from her garden… Plus, it’s wintertime.

So she reverts back to her old roots of handiwork… Knitting! She spends a while working on a huuuuge knitted sweater of your favourite color(s), each woollen row a sign of her unwavering commitment to making the coziest sweater. 

When she finally gifts it to you, it’s really warm and comfy, perfect for the holiday season. She even made herself a matching green one!

Orpheus DeEss “Novelist”

If you share a similar interest, such as reading, he’d give you books of your favourite genres and authors.

Actually—he’d probably write something just for you, a story he knows you’d enjoy, one that gets you more intrigued with each turn of the page. Maybe even some poems for just you.

He’d also get you a locket necklace or a watch, a piece of pretty jewellery for you to wear. You can put whatever you want in it. Will you keep him close to you?

Victor Grantz “Postman”

He’s a sweetheart, that’s for sure. He shows up at your door with a smile on his face, a bouquet full of poinsettias and red roses held out for you to take. Of course, Wick is with him too, her tail wagging as she barked excitedly behind him. 

Victor is a good listener, so he always takes mental notes on things you like or things you might need. He gifts you various things, including supplies for any hobbies you partake in. 

He also gifts you a new notebook that you can keep, so you can keep his written words and conversations with you! 

Vera Nair “Perfumer”

Vera makes you two special perfumes. One is a pretty bottle full of scents that remind her of you, and she’s an expert at assigning people their recommended fragrances, scents that fit them. In this case, it’s a scent that’s so… you! 

The other is a bottle of euphoria, but she only recommends it for when you need to ease your mind. 

She also gifts you things you’d find in a gift set, full of luxurious bath and skin products. You’re dear to her, you deserve the best, after all. 

Anne Lester “Toy Merchant”

Although her specialty is wooden toys, she has another thing in mind for you. When December comes, she spends a lot of time in her workshop, crafting the perfect gift for you. 

Matching dolls! That’s right; she makes two little dolls, one that’s you and one that’s her. With the paid help of a certain prospector, the little hands are magnetized, so whenever they’re close, they connect! 

Now with these “mini-yous” in the picture, sometimes you both switch dolls. You take mini-Anne wherever you go, and mini-you sits happily on Anne’s shelf with other stuffed animals and toys. 

Frederick Kreiburg “Composer”

Of course, only something special and meaningful would suffice for his muse. At first, he thought of composing another beautiful piece for you on the piano… But let’s just say he’d never be done in time with how many times he’d restart, throwing crumpled papers to the floor. 

But a bright idea flickers in his mind, and he believes it to be possible. So when Christmas Day comes, he charmingly hands you your nicely wrapped gift. 

It’s a music box. When you twist the hand crank, a familiar tune comes in little bell-like notes. It’s one of the first composed pieces he’d ever written for you! Not only can you listen to the nostalgic melody whenever you want, you can also store your pretty jewellery and accessories in the velvet music box. 

[asliceofzosan]

in which Zoro takes the blame for not paying for the food at the Baratie (sequel to Sanji witnessing the riceball incident in Shells Town)

Ribeye steaks piled one on top of the other, a massive helping of mashed potatoes with boatloads of gravy, salads, soups, and fancy dishes with names Zoro can't pronounce — all made up the massively long order list that he knows Luffy has not a single Berry to his name to pay with.

Zoro looks around the place, tuning out the story of the giant goldfish that Usopp has told them before, his eyes resting on the blonde waiter flitting about and flirting with every woman at every table.

Sanji was his name. Zoro didn't recognize it. But when he arrived to their table and saw Zoro, it looked like their resident waiter recognized him. Zoro's reputation in the East Blue is not a laughing matter, so it didn't bother him at first. But the way Sanji stared at him, wide blue eyes and with a touch of a smile on his lips, told Zoro that there's something a lot more than recognition swimming in that man's head.

He can't put a finger on what it is exactly though. It's driving him crazy.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?"

Sanji turns to him and nearly steps back in shock. Zoro quirks an eyebrow, confused and a little annoyed. He wore his best clothes today (Captain's orders). And he's pretty sure he even took his mandatory once-a-week bath before they went inside (Nami's orders). Still the waiter looked at him like Zoro had grown a second head. Like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Maybe there really is something wrong with your eye," Zoro muses, crossing his arms as Sanji quickly straightens his posture and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Got a problem with me, waiter?"

Sanji coughs out a laugh. Zoro notes with narrowed eyes that there is the slightest tint of pink coloring his cheeks. Is he blushing? The fuck?

"None at all, sir. I think I was just seeing things." The look in the waiter's eyes betrays his statement but Zoro chooses to say nothing. With a practiced smile, he turns back to Nami and asks her how she'd like her water that makes Zoro stare at him this time like he's grown a second head.

"And um..." Zoro is surprised Sanji hasn't left yet and is once again directly addressing him. "We have a few specialty riceballs not on the menu today. I'll bring them out... on the house."

Without even explaining what the fuck that meant, Sanji turns on his heels and beelines straight for the kitchen.

"I think Nami's boyfriend might be yours too, Zoro." Usopp teases him with a snicker and the glare he gives him is sharper than the blades of his swords.

Now, here Zoro is, letting Ussop's words affect him more than they have any right to as he downs his third bottle of beer.

The specialty rice balls haven't come out yet. Zoro's starting to think it's just a sick joke. But he doesn't let it get to him. Or tries to. Why offer free food when you can't deliver on it? Fucking ridiculous. And no, it's not like he suddenly craved rice balls when the blasted waiter mentioned them. That's not it at all. Bullshit.

"Didn't the waiter said he's coming by with rice balls?" Zoro finally snaps and the conversation his crew was having died down immediately at his statement. Ah fuck. He probably should have just kept his mouth shut because Nami was now looking at him with a shit-eating grin not entirely unlike the one he gave her when he teased her before the meal.

"How would you like them, oh great swordsman?" She teases with a glint in her eye. She cups her cheeks with her hands in delight at the irritated snarl Zoro gives her.

"With or without seaweed?" Ussop chimes in.

"Cubed or crushed?"

"Fuck off," Zoro hisses between his teeth. Nami and Ussop share a look before bursting into laughter. Zoro looks over at Luffy who was swinging his feet and obliviously sipping his milk. When Luffy makes eye contact with him, he just tilts his head with wide blank eyes and it makes Zoro question all his life choices.

"You wanna ask him?" Luffy says, already clamoring over the booth and waving at the object of Zoro's unexplained irritation. Zoro sinks into the seat as Sanji approaches with the bill for their meal.

"Your bill, sir."

"Zoro's asking if you're gonna bring the rice balls you promised." Zoro just stared up at the ceiling and thought of a million different ways to cut a hole into the floor so that the ocean could take him.

There is a headache inducing silence that follows Luffy's question. Zoro can't help but finally look at the waiter and he doesn't know how to explain the feeling that bubbles up when they make direct eye contact. Maybe it's indigestion. It's probably indigestion.

Instead of bringing up the damn rice balls, Zoro just grabs the tray with the bill from Luffy's hand. Just as expected, his annoyingly endearing captain put down an I.O.U for the ridiculously long list of food they ordered. Several possible scenarios could happen from this. And Zoro doesn't want to think about Luffy wreaking havoc in someone else's kitchen.

With a deep sigh through his nose and a knowing look at Nami, Zoro wrote down his own name in place of Luffy's.

"Zoro, what—" Luffy almost took the bill back when Zoro stood up and handed it directly to the waiter, who looked just as dumbfounded as the rest of them.

"If your head chef's got a problem with that, he can talk to me directly. Tell him that for me, won't you?" Sanji takes the bill, reads what's written, and there's a phantom lurch in his chest that happens when Sanji looks up at him and smiles. Zoro doesn't want to describe it. He'll allow himself to firmly believe that it's a side effect of eating too much food. It's indigestion. You're just constipated. Never mind that the feeling is most prominent in his chest and not his stomach.

"Of course, sir." Sanji purrs and the sound runs like a cold river down Zoro's spine. There's a hint of mischief in the gleam of his visible eye. Every instinct in Zoro tells him it's dangerous. He should take his crew out of here, onto the Merry, and run.

But he stays rooted to the spot, wrist limp on the hilt of his sword, as he watches that damn waiter walk away from him.

"WHO THE HELL IS RORONOA ZORO?!"

The steady routine of washing the dishes helps quiet Zoro's racing mind.

It's a very welcome distraction. The clinking of the ceramic against metal utensils provides a cacophonous symphony that helps drown out all of Zoro's waking thoughts. The sooner he starts to think, the sooner he starts to notice how that stupid fucking waiter has just been sitting at the table behind him, cursing Zoro with his mere presence.

Scrub scrub scrub...

"You sure you don't want any help?"

Scrub scrub rinse...

"No."

Scrub rinse dry...

"I really have nothing better to do."

Zoro's eye twitches.

"Good for you."

A long silence follows this and Zoro thinks the waiter finally gave up. That was until...

"Are you still mad about the rice balls?"

"Oh my god!" Zoro nearly slams a pile of dishes onto the floor. He turns to Sanji, who is just casually smoking at the table, and stomps over to him. Once he was right in front of him, Zoro snarls at him, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Talk about those damn rice balls one more time, I'm gonna chop your head clean off for them to use in tomorrow's ramen stock."

Sanji blinks, then turns his head to the side to blow smoke away from Zoro. Zoro tries to convince himself that he isn't staring at the way Sanji's lips purse around the cigarette in the process.

"I can still make you the rice balls," Sanji says without a single ounce of fear in his body. "I just couldn't do it while the old man was around." He then stands up and steps around Zoro with a practiced grace. "Are you willing to wait ten minutes?"

"I'm not hungry," Zoro hisses but his stomach betrays him with a loud grumble. He's been washing dishes for so many hours. He probably missed dinner.

Then, as Zoro straightens his posture, Sanji does it again — he smiles and Zoro doesn't know what to do.

"Sit." Sanji gently nudges a chair out with his foot. It lands perfectly in front of Zoro at a perpendicular angle. "I'll have them out in five."

"You said ten minutes." Zoro found himself saying, only to be contradictory. Sanji laughs this time and the resulting smile pierces Zoro's heart with a million cursed swords.

"When someone's hungry, I feed them." Sanji says simply and that's the statement that ends their conversation. Zoro still refuses to sit on the chair, instead finding himself gravitating towards the counter that Sanji was preparing his ingredients at and leaning against the marble.

Before Sanji found them at their table, he brought down a marine and a fearsome pirate with just his feet. Zoro was fascinated by his fighting style even if he didn't want to admit it out loud. But he's always been curious. Especially now, with Sanji whipping out the sharpest knives and using them effortlessly as Zoro would wield the Wado Ichimonji.

"You're good with knives," Zoro says before he could stop himself. Sanji chuckles.

"Of course, I am. I'm a chef. Best one in the East Blue."

"What's a chef doing waiting tables, then?"

"Cause I was kicked off the line this morning. It's a weekly occurrence, nothing special." The way Sanji scrapes his ingredients into a bowl betrayed how he felt about it despite his nonchalance. "I can cook better dishes than everyone in this damn kitchen but Zeff refuses to acknowledge that. It's always 'your food is crap', 'slice those carrots thinner', or 'needs more fucking oregano—"

Sanji throws the knife onto the cutting board, its tip now embedded neatly straight down the middle. It stood perfectly still, like it was afraid of what Sanji could do if he added more pressure. Zoro raised an eyebrow, looking up at the now irritated cook with a smirk.

"Sorry," Sanji mumbles, taking the knife and cleaning it carefully with a cloth. Zoro says nothing. He just props his elbow on the counter and places his chin into his hand as he watches Sanji in his element. Eventually, it's down to just shaping the rice balls with his hands and Zoro asks the question that poked at his mind during Sanji's mini outburst.

"If you're so dissatisfied cooking here why don't you just leave?"

Sanji pauses. His head is down, his blonde fringe obscuring one eye as his fingers twitch against the rice ball.

"It's not about that."

"Yeah?" Zoro leans as close as he could get with the counter between them. Sanji still refuses to look up. "A hot-headed cook who claims to be the best in the East Blue settling down here — where he is not head chef — is as contradictory as it gets."

"You don't know–" Sanji snaps but stops himself immediately. He looks up to glare at Zoro through narrowed eyes. "You don't know why I still stay."

"Enlighten me then, cook." Zoro leans his hip against the counter. "Because really, someone as good as you claim to be has got to have some ambitions. Dreams." Zoro holds the man's gaze. "Do you hate the old man?"

"No!" Sanji counters immediately. "The man fucking raised me. I owe him my goddamn life!"

"Owing him your life isn't the same as giving up your life to work at a restaurant that barely lets you cook."

"You don't know shit!" Sanji nearly slams his fist down on the counter, pointing a finger at Zoro with his face beet red. "This restaurant was his dream—"

"But is it your dream?"

Silence. Total utter silence.

Where color is nothing but a dark void of black and grey, a sea of blue greets him from the pages. Vivid pink skies and tangerine mangroves burst to life. All types of fish swim in his mind's eye but if he reaches out to touch them, it certainly should be real. A phantom breeze kisses his cheeks and water laps at his feet. He's drowning but he swims in delight. He's falling but he feels the clouds cushion him with warmth.

There is a vast ocean out there, one that contains delicacies and species from all four seas. Creatures of every kind, spices that have never been tasted.

The All Blue.

In Sanji's world of black and white — he strives to find the one place that's in screaming color.

There are tears in Sanji's eyes before Zoro could comprehend what was going on. But he wipes them away before he can get a good look at him. The kitchen was quiet around them. The only sound peeking through was the faint music from the bar outside. Though Zoro's heartbeat was louder in his ears than his own breathing.

But he could hear each footstep Sanji takes, the scrape of the plate as it's pushed in Zoro's direction, and the click click of Sanji's lighter as he helps himself to another cigarette. Zoro looks down and sees the rice balls presented in front of him — three heaping helpings, all coated in a different topping, all different flavors.

Zoro takes one.

And it's the best rice ball he's ever had in his life.

"I have a dream," Sanji murmurs, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. One glance and Zoro could see that whatever his dream is... it still burns like molten lava in the heart of this chef. "I'd just rather give up on it than die searching for mine."

Zoro swallows, turns around, and takes the cigarette from Sanji. The ashes fall into his palm, its embers dimming as he squishes it between his fingers.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Zoro says, looking up to make eye contact with Sanji. He can see it almost immediately — the longing for something that seems near impossible to achieve, the acceptance that it's hopeless — but Zoro sees it, clear as day, that the flickering flame of hope still shines in Sanji's eyes. That he's just waiting for his sign to let it once again consume his soul in a roaring fire, brighter than even the sun could be.

Zoro wants to see him shine.

"Come meet my captain," Zoro instinctively wraps his hand around Sanji's wrist. Surprisingly, Sanji doesn't pull back. "I think he'd really like to get to know you."

Sanji doesn't protest.

Zoro takes the rice balls to go.

Never waste food.

[darkcircles4lyfe]

To Build Something Else

Whenever I read a fanfiction that takes place in the future where the hero kids continue their schooling as normal and emerge as pro heroes into the existing system, I always kinda view it as like, “AU where things weren’t as bad” or “AU where everyone is still pretending that this is the way things should be” or “AU where good and evil are morally uncomplicated.” I’m not trying to call anybody out—I’ll still read and enjoy these sometimes—but that’s how I’ve always looked at it. I’m starting to notice other people feeling it too. I’ve read fics where they point out how redundant and unfair it is to go back to being students after saving the world (remember how many pros straight up quit and left a bunch of kids to keep fighting?). I’ve seen people acknowledge how trauma will affect their ability to keep going. Perhaps the trickiest thing to wrap our heads around is how the villains will fit into it all if not through death, punishment, or imprisonment. What about all the other trappings of society? The heavily regulated quirk use, the government-funded pros aiding police control and contributing to cover-ups that maintain the illusion of peace. Hero idolization, quirk counseling, civilian helplessness. Judging a person’s worth or character based on their quirk…

It would sound too obvious and cheesy to simply point out that society isn’t “just the way things are,” that change is possible. We all know this, and yet we struggle to pinpoint exactly where to aim our sights, find the source, make any meaningful progress. The other day I read some articles from my university’s student newspaper around 1970, and it made me feel sick wondering if progress is really an illusion. Fact is, it’s easy to intellectually deconstruct society, but very difficult to imagine how to build something else.

In this fictional world, heroes have offered a mythical vision of safety and triumph. When All Might arrived, everything was going to be okay. But let’s not forget how this story began: with a moment where All Might paused, like a bystander, and in his place, a desperate civilian kid hurtled forward without any common sense. If you ask me, it wasn’t that Izuku was so good and pure and selfless, it was that he disregarded everything.

And so the person who “saves the world” (if we can even reduce it to such a concept) is not the person who puts everyone at ease and makes crowds cheer. It’s the person who makes everyone hold their breath, with a feeling in the air like the pressure changed, and it smells like rain. It is natural to be worried about the future. It’s honest. It means you can see what’s really going on. Hero society has never felt this exposed, but the people are held back from the edge of despair because there is also so much potential brewing. Electricity about to strike. The world will NOT go back to the way it was, no matter what. That much is certain. But what if we still live to see the dawn? What then? What if one person’s courage to break the mold makes all the difference?

I’m not just talking about Izuku, you know. I’m talking about Horikoshi.

To an extent, I’ve given up on predicting how exactly things will play out, because if nothing else, I can tell he’s planning something big—so big, I can’t quite picture it. I’m watching and waiting for the one person who can. I just know where he’s coming from. I think about how he’s never come this far before because his other stories were snuffed out. I know he used to struggle to see the future of his career. I relate to his stubbornly rebellious resolve to do what he wants anyway. To keep dreaming. I know that emotional sincerity is his specialty. And now he’s even directly breaking the fourth wall, having characters talk about what’s supposed to happen in comic books. Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, we’ve been shown how something else can happen. He’s not done yet.