#first five are one litter and the last four are the other

[cicadagaze]

king of bringing home giant litters of kits. this is only two litters btw.

[simplyraeblue]

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first times (shoto todoroki x reader)

ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP femreader x virginshoto you've had a crush on your friend shoto for a long time, and unbeknownst to you he's been crushing as well. not only that, he wants you to be his first time; for everything WARNINGS: swearing, smut, mentions of masturbation, oral (m receiving) •◡ ◠ word count: 3,380 A/N: this will be a 3-4 part story, with each chapter building up in smut levels

part one | part two | part three |

part four | part five

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as the night wound down and the loud laughter and clamor of dares faded into memory, the mess left by the boys was evident throughout your apartment. empty cups, discarded snack wrappers, and other remnants of the evening’s chaos littered the living room. one by one, your friends trickled out, their departure marked by sloppy goodbyes and promises to clean up later.  

Shoto was the last to leave, but instead of heading home, he stayed behind to help you tidy up. the two of you worked in comfortable silence, picking up the trash and putting things back in their places.  

as you were clearing the last of the cups that Kirishima and Kaminari had strewn across the coffee table, Shoto's voice broke the silence. “we didn’t finish our seven minutes,” he said suddenly, causing you to pause and turn to him.  

you gave a small, tired laugh. “technically, we did. we went well over the seven minutes, in fact.” you resumed picking up the cups. silently grateful that Bakugo had been persuaded to drive Kirishima and Kaminari home. 

Shoto, now standing next to you with a thoughtful expression, asked, “truth or dare?” 

you put down the trash bag you were holding and placed your hands on your hips. “truth.” 

“did you enjoy our kiss?” Shoto’s eyes were earnest as he awaited your response. 

“yes,” you replied, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “truth or dare?” 

“truth,” Shoto said. 

“did you enjoy our kiss, Shoto?” you asked, returning his earnest gaze. 

“yes,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “truth or dare?” 

“truth,” you said again. 

Shoto almost pouted. “no, pick dare. i have something in mind already, and you picking truth won’t work.” 

you chuckled at his display of frustration. “alright, fine. i’ll switch to dare.” 

“i dare you to let me kiss you again,” Shoto said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. the weight that had settled on his chest since earlier in your room seemed to lift with his confession. throughout the evening, as he chose dare each time on the off chance he could kiss you again, he had participated in various childish dares with this one goal in mind.  

Shoto didn’t give you a chance to respond; instead, he gently cupped your face in his hands and pulled you closer. the sudden proximity made your breath catch in your throat, and your heart raced with a thrilling mix of anticipation and nervousness. as Shoto leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and longing that made you wish you could dissolve into his embrace. 

with a growing sense of confidence, Shoto guided you backward towards the couch, his lips never leaving yours. he maneuvered you both down onto the cushions, the kiss deepening as he settled beside you. this was a moment he had yearned for over a year, each time you worked together as pro heroes, his feelings only intensifying. he was determined to savor every second of this long-awaited connection. 

for you, the kiss felt like a puzzle finally coming together. it encapsulated everything you had felt from the moment you first recognized your crush on him, to the countless times you had called Mina, gushing about his small gestures and acts of kindness. now, it had culminated in this perfect, intimate kiss. 

the kiss was tender and gentle, embodying everything you had hoped for. Shoto’s touch was delicate, as if he were handling something incredibly precious. his lips moved against yours with a natural grace, fitting together like they were made specifically for this moment. 

after a few blissful seconds, Shoto pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. you slowly opened your eyes to meet his gaze, and he could feel his heart swelling with affection. the warmth in your eyes told him that you saw him as more than just a hero, more than just Endeavor’s son.  

“so,” Shoto said, his voice soft but filled with curiosity, “when you talked about the bases earlier, you left one out.” 

you felt a deep blush spread across your cheeks as you realized what he was hinting at. “home base, right?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i left it out because it’s... a significant step. it means going all the way with someone.” 

“making love,” Shoto said, his tone thoughtful. 

“yes, making love,” you confirmed, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. the way he spoke the words made the whole concept feel even more profound and intimate. it wasn’t fucking, or having sex, it was making love in his eyes.  

“how would that go?” Shoto asked, his question causing a warm flush to spread across your body. the thought of the next step made your heart race. 

“well,” you began, your voice wavering slightly as you fidgeted with your hands in your lap, “it would start with what we’re doing now, this closeness and intimacy. then, it would naturally progress to... more intimate things, like touching each other in more private places.” 

Shoto’s eyes darkened with an intense, sincere gaze as he said, “i would like to touch you elsewhere.” the boldness of his statement made your heart leap into your throat. did he fully understand the implications of what he was suggesting? 

“we can take things slowly, if that’s what you really want,” you offered, trying to steady your voice and manage your racing thoughts. 

“i’ve received plenty of advice from the guys,” Shoto said, his tone tinged with uncertainty. 

you chuckled softly, shaking your head at the absurdity of it. “okay, maybe don’t take all the advice those guys give you too seriously. they can be a bit... over the top.”  

Shoto’s earnest expression did not waver. “are you being serious about this?” you asked, wanting to be absolutely certain. 

he nodded; his gaze unwavering as he looked at you with deep sincerity. you couldn’t help but smile softly at him. “and you... want your first time, for everything, to be with me? not someone else you might consider more special?” 

“no one is more special to me than you,” Shoto replied earnestly, his heart pounding in his chest. he had discussed all the right questions with Midoriya, seeking advice on how to recognize true feelings and when the time was right. once he had his answers, he knew deep down that there was no one else he wanted to share these moments with. for him, you were everything. 

you drew in a deep breath, your cheeks flushed with the weight of his confession, the seriousness of the moment settling over you. "come with me," you said, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions. gently, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. with a purposeful but tender grip, you guided him away from the couch and towards the bedroom. 

once inside, you led him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he complied, his expression attentive and earnest. you took a moment to gather your thoughts, then spoke, your voice firm but reassuring. "i want to set some ground rules before we go any further. i’m going to ask for your consent before i do anything, and i’ll make sure to tell you exactly what i plan to do. if at any point something makes you feel uncomfortable, you need to let me know immediately. and if you ever want to stop, we stop, no questions asked." 

Shoto nodded, his gaze meeting yours with a look of understanding. "that all sounds fair," he said, his tone serious but calm. "where do we begin?" 

you sat down beside him on the bed, your hands instinctively resting over your chest as you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. the excitement was almost palpable, making it hard to focus. "kiss me," you said softly, your eyes locked onto his. "right now, just do what feels right for you." 

to your surprise, Shoto’s lips crashed into yours much more forcefully than last time, like he was needier. and he was; if the dare hadn’t been erupted earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to slow himself down. he was touch-starved, a man hungry for more, and he wanted you.  

as he deepened the kiss, you heard the soft moan he let loose, sending heat washing through your body. with his lips parted, you took the chance to gently caress the roof of his mouth with your tongue. he practically melted at the action, leaning further into you.  

you continuously had to remind yourself that this was Shoto, someone who deserved tenderness and love, not just a way to get yourself off. but the way his hands were now gripping your waist and sending hot and cold sensations through your skin… it was driving you wild.  

for a moment, you pulled away, seeing his eyes still closed with his brows furrowed. “for someone who hasn’t done this often, you are very good at making out, Sho.” you tell him while trying to catch your breath. 

“what’s next?” he asked.  

your eyebrows raised in amusement. “what’s the rush?”  

“i’ve been imagining this for a long time, y/n.” when Shoto’s eyes connected with yours, you saw that his pupils were blown out, filled with a deeper desire than you could’ve imagined inside of him. 

while Shoto didn’t show any nervousness, you felt it growing more and more. you usually weren’t one to be shy, but right now everything felt different.  

“if you want to, we can touch each other while we kiss.” you tell him. “anywhere.”  

Shoto placed his hands further up your torso, looking at you for permission before you nodded. he leaned in to meet your lips again, feeling adrenaline rush through him. the feeling he got from kissing you was enough to drive him insane, an emotion he had never felt before beginning to build.  

your hands drifted from his neck to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palms. as you allowed your hands to lazily travel further down, his traveled further up, settling on your ribs and just below your breasts. when his thumb traced the line of your bra, you embarrassingly let out a moan, but to Shoto, it sounded like music to his ears. he took the chance to deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to enter you and caress yours.  

“Sho.” you murmured, breaking away for a moment to catch your breath.  

“tell me what to do.” his voice came out hoarse and low, and his eyes pierced yours with a fierce determination.  

“you’re making it really hard for me to take this slow for you.” you laughed nervously, your body trembling under his gaze.  

“then don’t take it slow.”  

you blinked a few times, trying to register his words, hoping to kickstart your brain into high gear to figure out what to do. “Sho...” you breathed lowly. 

“i trust you.” Shoto interrupted, placing his hand over the one you had on his chest. “take the lead. please.” 

with his plead, the fire within you burned hotter than ever, and you quickly moved to straddle him on the bed as your lips connected with his once more. this time, he kissed you back feverously, like he felt the same hunger you did.  

“are you sure?” you asked, wanting to double check... maybe even triple check... that he wanted to do this. he nodded into your shoulder, a muffled mph coming from his mouth.  

the time passed by quickly, and the kiss grew until you couldn’t take it anymore. you wanted to show him what it felt like to feel pleasure, even downright damn euphoria. selfishly, you wanted to feel it too. you moved from his lips before starting to litter kisses along his jaw and down his neck, working your way down as your hands fidgeted with the bottom of his t-shirt. when he sensed what you were trying to do, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head, almost making you gasp at the sight. 

his body could’ve been the work of a god.  

before you let yourself get flustered, you continued to pepper kisses in a trail from his neck, down his torso. with each kiss, you could hear his breath stuttering. “tell me something, Sho.” you whispered against his skin. “have you ever... touched yourself?” 

you looked up to find Shoto’s face turned pink, but he nodded in answer.  

“y-yes.” he stammered out. Shoto didn’t want to admit to you that he’d never done such a thing until he’d met you, until he’d realized what his feelings meant. he felt dirty thinking about those nights, when you’d visit him in a dream, and he’d wake up to a feeling in his stomach and an erection he needed to solve.  

“good boy.” you smirked up at him, and he could’ve imploded just from the look. he could only watch with anticipation as you worked to remove his belt, then undo the clasp on his pants. “i’m going to touch you here, like you’ve done yourself. is that okay?”  

again, he could only muster a nod in response. you gently pulled on his pants, dragging them down to his ankles and only leaving his boxers behind. you could see the growing erection under the fabric, and the thought of what was underneath made your mouth water. 

before you removed the fabric, you let you palm lay flat across his erection, sliding up it ever so gently. Shoto barked out a moan, and you felt pleased with yourself.  

“tell me to stop if you need me to.” you told him, but with his breathing already labored from one touch you doubted he would speak up.  

you placed a soft kiss on the top of the fabric, feeling his cock twitch underneath at the contact.  

as if on pure instinct, Shoto’s hand went to your head, working his fingers into your hair. he didn’t know what had driven him to do such a thing, but it felt right.  

with his apparent eagerness, you hooked a finger under the band of his boxers before tugging, sucking in a breath once his cock was released from the fabric. of course, shoto was beautiful, it made sense that his cock would be too.  

you felt a warmth pooling in your stomach, travelling down to wet between your legs. you lightly tapped his thigh, getting his attention and having him look down at you before you gently licked a stripe from the base of him to the top.  

his fingers gripped your hair, not so rough, and he hissed. fuck, his friends never told him it felt this good. every primal instinct inside of Shoto was screaming at him to pull your mouth down onto his cock and stuff your face. it took all his strength to restrain himself from fear of hurting you.  

“that f-feels...” Shoto stopped mid-sentence when you pressed your tongue flat against his tip.  

“talk to me, Sho.” you whispered, kissing his already leaking tip and taking his precum into your mouth.  

“don’t stop.” he whined, his hand fisting in your hair tighter than before.  

having Shoto beg in front of you sent dirty, wicked thoughts straight to your brain. you’d never walked someone through sex before, let alone something you deemed as simple as a blowjob, but seeing him coming undone before you drove you feral. 

you were done with the little kisses and licks you’d been giving him, finally deciding to take him fully. he watched with half lidded eyes as you opened your mouth and eased his tip past your lips, using your tongue to caress circles around it. Shoto’s head dipped back in pleasure, leaving you to take in more of him. 

fuck, you hadn’t realized how big he’d actually be. you struggled to lower your mouth over his cock, before you finally felt it hit the back of your throat. Shoto moaned at the feeling of his tip touching your throat. as gentle as he could, he bucked into your mouth, wanting to feel more. 

“holy shit, y/n.” he breathed, trying to keep his body from spasming out of control. the feeling of you taking him was delicious, and it was making his head swim. if he hadn’t been on the bed already, Shoto swore he might’ve passed out from pleasure. 

you worked your mouth up and down, slowly at first, to get all of him wet with your spit. with each bobbing motion you made, more moans spilled from Shoto’s lips. you could feel him twitching in your mouth every time your tongue stroked his leaking tip.  

to give your jaw a break, you pulled your mouth off him with a satisfying pop before letting your hands replace where you were. it took two hands, but with the saliva you’d left behind and his precum dripping, you stroked him gently, working his cock between your hands.  

“i feel hot all over.” Shoto murmured, one hand still on your hair while the other gripped at the sheet.  

“is this what you feel when you touch yourself?” you asked, looking up at him as he panted with every stroke. 

“y-yes. if you don’t stop, i think i might...” he moaned, breaking up his sentence, when you swiped your thumb over the soft spot between his shaft and tip.  

“cum for me, like you do when it’s your hand and not mine.” you instructed, before taking his tip back into your mouth but letting your hands work up and down his shaft, picking up your pace. 

Shoto began to thrust more wildly, unable to stop himself from almost fucking your face. a coil had formed in his stomach, and it was so close to being released. when he’d done this himself, it was pleasurable, but only a means to an end to solve an erection. now, what you were doing to him felt like heaven, your mouth a soft and warm rapture.  

he felt that heat in his stomach grow hotter and hotter, until it felt like it was burning. Shoto gripped your hair in his hand, lifting his hips to drive his cock until he felt the back of your throat, and only then did he feel that band within him snap. he let loose a load moan as he saw stars, shooting his cum deep into your throat and watching as you took every drop, gazing up at him with beautiful eyes.  

when he started to come down from his release, you pulled your mouth off his cock, licking up the last dribbles of cum before placing a gentle kiss on his tip. “how was that, Sho?” you asked, your face flush as you looked up.  

sweat gleamed on Shoto’s forehead and torso, his breathing heavy but his smile unwavering. that familiar grin, the one that made your heart skip a beat, was fixed on you. 

instead of speaking, he cupped your face in his hands, pulling you gently towards him. his lips met yours in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. between kisses on your lips, cheeks, and neck, Shoto panted out, “that was amazing. you’re amazing.” 

you laughed softly into his mouth, your cheeks flushing at the compliment. “i’m glad you feel that way,” you replied, your voice warm and affectionate. 

as you both caught your breath, Shoto settled you onto his lap and ran his fingers through your hair. his voice was a gentle murmur as he nuzzled into your neck. “as much as i want you to show me more, i’m struggling to keep my eyes open,” he said softly. you chuckled, understanding his exhaustion.  

“let’s get some sleep, okay?” you kissed his forehead, before helping him to stand from the bed.  

as you changed into comfortable pajamas, Shoto merely pulled his boxers back on before climbing into your sheets, snuggling comfortably into one of your pillows. you climbed under the covers next to him before he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist and having your back pressed against his chest.  

“show me more tomorrow.” Shoto whispered, kissing your shoulder before letting his head sink into the pillow. 

you blushed, but gave a lazy mhm in response, settling in comfortably next to him.  

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Link to Bakugo x reader here

(word count: 2,328)

Link to Kirishima x reader here

(word count: 902)

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 7

Part seven of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: anxiety, hinting at self-harm, mostly just fluffy

You woke up in your own bed, dressed in your pajamas with the smell of bacon and coffee filtering through your apartment. You lived alone. Scrambling out of bed, you rushed into the living space, sliding on your socks, only to find Simon and Kyle making breakfast while Johnny and John were cleaning up the blankets and pillows they’d found in your hall closet.  

“You’re still here?” you asked, stare darting between the men in the kitchen and the men in the living room. “Well, of course, doll. Didn’t want to leave your door unlocked. Wouldn’t be very safe,” John stated, folding over the last of the quilts. Johnny took the stack of blankets and smiled warmly at you, whispering a good morning before slipping around you to put the blankets back in the closet. 

“But I’m…changed,” you whispered, looking down at the baggy tee and pajama pants with cute little penguins all over. John stepped over to you and took your hands, smiling softly. “That was me, doll. I only changed your pants and top and then put you to bed.” Your eyes bugged as you pulled out the neckline of your shirt and looked down. Yup, still wearing your bra from the day before. Quickly dropping the shirt, you hooked a finger in the bottoms and checked your panties. Yup, same as the day before. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you replied meekly, suddenly very aware that while this man hadn’t seen you naked, he’d seen enough. Saw the stretch marks and the dimples in your flesh. Saw the scars that littered the tops of your thighs, silvery white in their age. Saw everything you tried to hide from the world and he could tell you weren’t keen on it.  “Of course, little one. Anything for you.” 

John nodded and walked away, disappearing into the kitchen for a mug of coffee. You watched him go before Kyle was presenting you with your favorite mug filled with coffee. “Wasn’t sure how you take it, but I saw the mug on the drying rack,” Kyle explained, giving you a soft smile. “Oh, this is fine. Thank you,” you stammered out, looking down at the bitter, brown liquid. 

Lifting the cup to your lips, you sipped and made a face, scrunching up your nose and shaking your head. “Alright, not the black coffee type,” Kyle chuckled, taking your mug and disappearing back into the kitchen. You followed him this time, telling him exactly what you’d like in your coffee while sitting down at your dinner table, a table that until this morning was covered in paperwork from your job. Now it was all neatly stacked and set on the sideboard, out of the way so all five of you could sit around the table. 

By the time you’d sipped your way through half your mug, the table was laden down with all kinds of breakfast foods and a pot of coffee. John sat at the head of the table with Simon on his and Kyle on his left. Johnny sat next to Simon while you found yourself on the other side of Kyle. It was strange to you that your table was being used for something other than work and was now surrounded by you and four men who had apparently adopted you or decided you needed their protection, you weren’t sure yet. 

Everyone ate in silence, the only sound being the cutlery scraping across plates. The silence was comfortable, not the kind where you feel anxious to say something to break it up or being the good host. But where silence was, there was thinking and that always led to you opening your mouth. 

“Wh-Why are you all here?” you asked, looking down at the half eaten plate of food before you. If you’d thought it was quiet before, that had nothing on the silence that now rang through the room as each man stopped eating and paused to look at you. “We like ya, pet. Thought that went without saying?” Kyle answered for them all, watching you curiously. 

“Y-you like me? All of you?”

Probably going to keep this story more fluffy than anything else. Might end it soon, but I'm not really sure where I'm going with it.

<- Part 6 Part 8 ->

[hxney-lemcn]

Late Night Chaos — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: you share your first kiss with Daisuke.

tw: idk, insecure reader?

a/n: this turned out kinda meh, starting to burn out, I'll start with the actual plot in the next one.

wc: 1.4k

Master List

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

You hadn’t meant to peek. You honestly thought it was a book you forgot you brought. Well, that was until you noticed the leather book had no title, which you then assumed was a sketch book your parents gave you in a misguided attempt as a gift that somehow ended up in your book pile. But when you opened it you realized you were sorely mistaken, sketches of pokemon, digimon, and the crew littered the pages. This was Daisuke’s sketch book. Not only was it because no one else on board would draw pokemon (as far as you knew), but the farther into the book you went, the more the pages were just filled with images of you. Whether it be just little stick figures of you and Daisuke holding hands, or full on detailed sketches of your face, all the way to your name doodled on the corners with his last name (or vice versa). 

Oh gosh, you felt like a monster. You weren’t supposed to be seeing these. Daisuke must've left it in your room by accident and here you were paging through it without his permission. You were a terrible partner. Snapping the book close, you squeezed your eyes shut. Why the hell did you keep looking? Damn you and your curiosity, you broke a boundary that you only hoped could be mended. 

With determination to make this right, you marched out of your room, the small book clutched to your chest. Thankfully it wasn’t too late, you had just been getting ready for sleep when you stumbled upon it after all. Honestly, it was surprising Daisuke wasn’t with you already, the two of you shared a room more often than not these days. It wasn’t a far walk to his rooms, everyone's sleeping quarters were close to each other. Knocking on his door, you didn’t have to wait long, the open door revealing Daisuke with his gameboy in hand.  “Hey,” You greeted.

“Hey,” He replied back, glancing up at you before quickly looking back at his game. “Jus’ give me a sec. I’m almost done with this level.”

“Okay,” You murmured, shuffling over to sit on his bed. That made Daisuke paused for a second, glancing at you once again and noticed your nervous expression. Biting his lip, he let out a groan when the game let out the familiar sound of losing, you had unintentionally distracted him and he failed again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tossed the handheld console to the side, plopping down next to you. He needed a break anyways, he had been trying to beat that level for thirty minutes straight.

“What’s up?” Diauke asked, tilting his head to get a better look at you.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, holding his sketchbook out to him. “I didn’t realize it was yours and I looked through it. I should’ve stopped when I realized it wasn’t mine but I kept looking. I am so sorry.”

Taking the book from your hands, Daisuke put it to the side and instead gently grabbed your hands, a small smile tugged at his lips, “Hey, it’s alright. I don’t mind, not that big of a deal.”

You paused, staring at him, eyes wide and slightly confused, “You’re not angry? Aren’t those personal? I went through your stuff.” It was like you were trying to justify your guilt, not able to accept the fact that you had probably over thought the whole ordeal. Not able to accept the fact that you could be forgiven so easily. Why wasn’t he angry? Or annoyed? Sure, he always seemed laidback and carefree, but he was still human. You had seen him insecure, and bummed out, it wasn’t out of the wheelhouse to see him at least peeved as well. 

“It was an accident,” He shrugged, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “And it’s mostly just silly doodles, nothing to get upset about. I’d let you look at them if you asked…or even give you a few.”

“There seemed to be a few personal ones,” You murmured, hands tightening around his own, but your argument sounded weak even to you. 

Letting go of your hands, Daisuke opened his sketch book and flipped to an image of you with little hearts surrounding it, a mischievous grin on his face, “You mean the ones like this?”

You opened your mouth, face warming at how nonchalant he was about it. Glaring at him you huffed, “I can’t stand you.”

“Is it a crime to draw the one you love?” Daisuke asks dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. 

“Yes,” You responded in a deadpan tone. 

With a pout, he replied, “Well, you can’t blame me for wanting to draw something pretty.” 

Giving in to your impulses, you leaned forward and smooshed his cheeks in between your hands, “You can’t just say things like that and get away with it.”

Daisuke merely giggled, grin brightening under your palms. This was supposed to ease your cute aggression, not make it worse, but it seemed you still didn’t have a full understanding of your emotions. Perhaps you never will fully understand it, but what you did know was that you were going to make him pay for his crimes. 

Leaning forward, you place a short kiss on his forehead. Your heart jumped when you made eye contact, his brown eyes shining, watching you in awe. It pushed you to go further, moving your palms from squishing his cheeks to holding his jaw, assaulting his face with fluttering kisses. You made sure you didn’t miss an inch, stomach twisting in knots at how much affection you were sharing, but also feeling oddly content. When you finished, you pulled away enough to make eye contact once more. 

Daisuke felt his heart pound in his chest, his cheeks warm and eyes wide in awe. You had been pretty reserved in your relationship so far, not that he minded. You were clearly out of your depth, unsure how to accept and offer physical affection, but your kind actions and words showed how much you cared. Although he was also new to the whole dating thing, being affectionate with you had become second nature to him. Having you not only act first, but cross a boundary neither of you dared to cross took his breath away and made him feel all melty. 

Sure, you hadn’t kissed him on the lips, but neither of you had done more than hold the other. The feeling of your lips continued to warm his skin, and he couldn’t help but wish you just laid one on him, but he also respected your wishes. If you weren’t ready for that, he wouldn’t push. He wanted you to go at your own pace since you were clearly more uncertain in the relationship. 

“You missed,” Daisuke teased, watching you with a warm gaze.

Pouting Scowling, you smooshed his cheeks again, causing him to laugh. Your blood thrummed in your ears, your heart speeding up and you continued to feel more confident in your actions. You glanced down at his lips, should you…? Was that him giving you the okay? Were you even ready for that?

Apparently tonight was a night of acting instead of thinking for you. Relaxing your hold on his face, you placed the shortest peck on his lips in recorded human history. Daisuke barely felt it, but it still made his breath hitch. You had actually kissed him, lip to lip, the whole smoocharoo. You stared at each other, wide eyed and hearts beating in tandem. Such a simple moment for some was world changing for you both.

“Can…can we do that again?” Daisuke whispered, scared to break the atmosphere.

You nodded, a shaky okay spilling from your lips. It was Daisuke’s turn to act first, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips in a light kiss. You press your lips to his a bit firmer, but your inexperience shows as you're left unsure how to proceed. You felt a bit embarrassed, but it was hard to keep that thought as Daisuke smiled so much you ended up having to pull away. 

“We gotta work on that,” He muttered, his grin betraying his giddiness. 

“I think you just want more kisses,” You murmured back, feeling your heart skip a beat. 

“Can you blame me?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Must be your lucky day then.”

“The luckiest.”

[magicalrocketships]

Daniel is not special!!! I am also fucked up over de-aged max 😭😭

And sometimes Daniel is very fucked up. All earlier parts can be found in this masterpost and on AO3 here (I was planning on putting the outstanding ones on AO3 tonight, but I'll do it over the next couple of days instead, including this part).

This sort of follows on from Waking Up and Max is big again.

It's You And Me (I Know It's My Destiny): In which Daniel is sad, and Max and Daniel go on holiday (this part 2.9k)

"I have sand in my shoe," Max says. 

"You can't have sand in your shoe," Daniel says, because they have been out of the car approximately 36 seconds and the beach is still the other side of the car park. All Max has stood on is the gravel next to the car. His Pikachu trainers are still tightly laced up. 

"I can," Max says. He's not been enthusiastic about this beach trip from the moment Daniel's mum suggested it. He plays with the handle on the car door as if that's miraculously going to unlock it again and let him get back inside. 

"You'll like it when we get there," Daniel says, sounding like his mum and her mum and probably every mum in the history of his family. 

"Hmmm," Max says. "When are we going home?"

There's a strange little pull in Daniel's chest. Home. Max talks about home like it's a plant with Daniel's flat in Monaco the root and wherever Daniel is right now the leafy green. His favourite thing is when they're all together, but he'll take being with Daniel so long as going home is also on the cards.

"Later on," Daniel says. "We've got some fun to have first. We can go in the sea."

Max looks decidedly dubious. "There might be sharks."

"We won't swim if there's sharks," Daniel says. He rifles through his mental compendium of fun things they can do on the beach today. "There's tomato soup?" he offers. He's got a flask of it in his bag. He's learned. "And you can take pictures with my camera."

Max blinks at him. Unimpressed. 

"My mum and dad will be here soon," Daniel says, desperate. "You can tell them all the facts out of your flag book."

"All of them?" Max asks. 

"All of them," Daniel agrees. "Come on."

"Hmm," Max says, but he slips his hand into Daniel's. 

&&&

Daniel finally acknowledges that he's hungry, so he gets out of bed and goes into the kitchen to find something to eat. It has been a week since his last supermarket delivery, and four days since he woke up to find Max gone, big again, disappeared back to a life which doesn't involve Daniel in any real way. There are apples slowly going soft in the bowl. Max likes apples. He likes them cut into slices with the core cut out. Depending on how crunchy the apple is, sometimes he likes the skin cut off. He doesn't like them when they're soft. Daniel can't be bothered to eat them, so he leaves them in the bowl. The fridge doesn't contain anything useful either, and the bread's gone bad. He stands in front of the kitchen cupboard with the crackers in and eats three of them. He follows it up with a packet of dried vegetable snack food for toddlers, significantly out of date, from when a tiny chunky three year old Max came to stay. He drinks a can of Red Bull looking at the empty cat litter trays. He needs to sweep the few remaining bits of litter up and take the bin out. 

He doesn't do it. He finishes his can of Red Bull, goes for a piss, and climbs back into bed again with the covers over his head. 

He hasn't showered in four days. He hasn't eaten a proper meal in five. He closes his eyes, buries his face in the pillows, and ignores the buzzing of his phone. 

&&&

"I'm not jumping in."

"Okay," Daniel says, zooming in on a picture of the pool. "You don't have to jump."

After their relatively unsuccessful beach day, Daniel drops the idea of renting a beach house for his parents and Max for the remainder of their trip to Monaco, and instead, goes for a gîte up in the hills. It has a pool and a pétanque court and somewhere to play badminton. It has two bedrooms up in the attics, which Daniel plans on claiming for him and Max, and one downstairs with a massive bathroom for his parents. The local village boasts two specialist bakeries. Daniel hopes they're specialised enough to do a boring sliced loaf for Max to have buttered on a daily basis. 

"You won't make me jump in?" Max asks, pressing himself to Daniel's side. He's so close that Daniel might require a spatula to get them apart. He's looking at the pictures of the gîte on Daniel's laptop. It's a last minute booking; they leave in the morning. 

"Promise," Daniel says. He hasn't actually asked if Max knows how to swim, so his mum and dad have got floats on their shopping list just in case. They've gone out to buy last minute things for their holiday tomorrow.. 

"There's no sand?" Max asks, leaning over and digging his elbows into Daniel's thigh so he can get a closer look at the pictures. 

"Not by the pool," Daniel says. 

"I don't like sand," Max says, which is something Daniel knows, after Max had refused to touch it at the beach. "I don't like it in my shoes."

Daniel ruffles his hair. "No beach trips. I know. There is a train, though. We can go for a ride on it if you like." 

"At the house?" Max asks dubiously. 

"No, we'll have to drive to it. We can take my mum and dad."

"Yes, please," Max says. "Are the Jimmy or Sassy cats coming on holiday with us too?" 

"They're going on their own holiday." A fucking expensive one too, at a luxury cat hotel. Cat ownership, even of the temporary variety associated with Go Small guardianship, is tremendously expensive. They've got the 'getting the cats into their multi storey cat carrier' experience to have later on too. They cats have clearly spotted the cat carrier and are sitting on top of the cupboards in Daniel's kitchen in protest. Daniel foresees a number of new scratches later on. A little pre-holiday gift.

"Will they poo in the cat carrier again?" Max maintains this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in his life, even beating the noises the camel made at the zoo, which he asks Daniel to imitate about three times a day. 

"Probably," Daniel says grimly. 

"Good," Max says. He leans his face against Daniel's shoulder. "Can we take the night lights? In case you are scared, Daniel."

Daniel kisses the top of his head. "Sure," he says. "We can walk around the flat and you can tell me all the important things we should take."

"Good," Max says. He's a solemn little boy sometimes, quiet and thoughtful and terribly protective of Daniel. Daniel is equally protective in return. "Pikachu won't get lost if he comes, will he?"

"No," Daniel says. "He can wear his own seatbelt in the car."

Max nods. "Good," he says. Then, "Let's pack now."

"Sure," Daniel says, who's never packed anything early in his life. "It'll be a fun surprise for my mum and dad if they come home and we're all ready to go."

&&&

The sound of the key in the lock should rouse him out of bed, but it doesn't. He's not expecting anyone, but if they've got a key it can't be all bad. Anyway, he can't be bothered to care. 

He stays where he is, in bed, and waits for whoever it is to come and find him. To tell him what they need from him. It won't be a seven year old Max come to visit, so it doesn't matter anyway. 

"Daniel?"

It's his mum. She's supposed to be in Australia. She isn't supposed to be here. He would have remembered that. 

She pushes open the door to his bedroom. It smells in here. It's been six days since he showered. He's eaten the remains of the stale crackers and there's crumbs on the sheets and on the floor. 

"Oh, Daniel," she says. 

"Hi, Mum," he says. She looks sad, and worried, but Daniel doesn't feel anything. He's had a hole in his chest for a long time now, and it's grown every time Max got big and left him again, and getting to have a Go Small Max all over again and then losing him like clockwork has just meant the hole has swallowed him up. "Did I know you were coming?"

"You didn't answer your phone," she says, coming over and sitting on the bed. He moves his legs to let her sit down. "We've all been very worried about you."

Daniel hums. "It's okay," he says, although it seems like a long way to come just because she's worried about him. He's fine. "I'm just tired."

"Okay," she says. "Can I get a hug?"

She must have been travelling a long time. Daniel hugs her. He can smell himself, warm and stale and tired. She seems upset. Maybe he should be upset too. He just misses Max. He wants Max back. 

She picks Pikachu up from the floor and brushes cracker crumbs off him. She tucks him up in bed next to Daniel. "I'm going to go see what's in your fridge, and then I'll come back and run you a bath, okay? We'll get you fixed up, Daniel, I promise."

Daniel nods. He just wants to sleep. He settles down into his sheets again, pulling Pikachu in close. He smells like Max. One day he won't, and Max won't Go Small again, and Pikachu will be all that's left of the months Max spent with him, small and serious and perfect. 

His mum leans over and kisses him on the forehead. "Love you," she says. 

Daniel closes his eyes. 

&&&

Max stands on the side of the pool. Daniel's in the water, doing a very stupid dance. He's singing along, making up the words as he goes along. Max tells him he's being very silly. 

Daniel agrees. They've been here two days so far and they've barely been out of the water. They've splashed and played and made up stupid games and done piggy back rides and played water badminton and piggy in the middle and had races where the point was to come last and Max has been happy the whole time. They've blown up stupid floats and ridden a giant flamingo and floated on a palm tree and paddled a boat. He suspects his parents haven't spent this much time in a pool in their lives. 

They've made their excuses now, though, his dad getting the barbecue ready for dinner and his mum reading her book and taking a million pictures and videos of Daniel and Max together. 

Daniel's heart sings. Max is having such a good time. He'd spent about 25 minutes in his own bed on the first night, and then gravitated straight into Daniel's, Daniel coming upstairs to bed to find Max sprawled out sideways, flat out, with Pikachu in one hand and his toy otter tucked under his other arm. The nightlights were on in both rooms. Daniel had resigned himself to sleeping in Max's bed until he'd managed about seven minutes sleep and Max was waking him up because Daniel would get scared if he slept by himself. Max had assigned himself Daniel's protector a long time ago and wasn't going anywhere. So, Daniel had the edge of the bed and Max had the remaining diagonal space, and everyone was happy (but mainly Max). 

And now Max wants to jump in. He's practiced putting his head below the water, which he didn't like the first time and is now better at. Daniel's told him it doesn't matter if he decides he doesn't want to, but Max is brave and resilient and trying his best. And Daniel's ready to catch him. His mum's got the camera ready, and his dad's cheering Max on. 

"Will you catch me?" Max asks. 

"I won't let anything happen to you," Daniel says. "I promise."

Max studies his face. "Okay," he says finally. He puffs out his cheeks and jumps. 

Afterwards, when Daniel's finished parading a cheering Max up and down the pool, his mum shows them the pictures. Max is beaming. Daniel doesn't think he's ever seen a picture of himself looking happier. 

It's scary, if he stops to think about it. But he doesn't, so it's okay. 

&&&

Daniel eats a sandwich and then has a bath. He can barely find the energy to wash his hair. When he gets out, the water's gone cold and his mum's put fresh pyjamas on the chair by the bathroom door. She's changed the sheets too, swapped Daniel's gross ones for fresh ones. She's even folded up Max's Pokemon blanket that Daniel's been hugging all week and put it at the end of the bed. The window's open and the curtains are pulled back. Pikachu isn't on his pillow anymore, because Max is sitting on his bed, holding him. 

He's not small. He's big. He's just Max, normal sized, world champion Max. 

Daniel gets back into bed. He takes Pikachu from Max and tucks him under his chin. 

"Daniel," Max says. 

"I'm tired," Daniel says. Max doesn't ever stay. He gets big and he leaves. He stops needing Daniel and he leaves. 

Max's hand hovers over Daniel's arm. It rests on his elbow. "You didn't say you were not okay, Daniel."

"I'm fine," Daniel says. "Just tired. What are you doing here? You don't stay here when you're big."

Max flinches. Daniel feels it.

"I think I should not have left you," Max says. "But I am here now. Your mum has gone to the shop. You do not have any food."

"I'm not hungry," Daniel says. He doesn't feel anything. He misses Max. Max is here and he still misses Max, his Max, the one who needs him. "I want to sleep."

"Okay, Daniel," Max says. "Then I will stay here with you. So you are not alone."

Daniel nods. He doesn't believe it. Max always leaves. He takes his cats and his things and leaves a big hole behind him, and Daniel's chest swallows it up. He gets emptier. He feels empty now. "You won't stay," he says. "You don't stay."

"I will," Max says. "I will look after you. I am going to help your mum."

Daniel closes his eyes. He's tired. He'll wake up and Max will be gone. It's okay. He's good at losing him now. He'll cope. 

He sleeps. 

&&&

Max jumps in and he jumps in and he jumps in. He's delighted, excited, happy. He jumps in without Daniel holding out his hands to catch him, and lets Daniel float off to the side and just cheer him on in instead. 

Afterwards, still excited, he wears his special robe to sit next to Daniel by the side of the pool and demands Daniel's mum show them both all her pictures. Daniel, in his matching robe, sits through picture after picture of the two of them together, of Max beaming, of Daniel beaming back. Of them beaming at each other. 

Max is happy enough only to complain a little bit when Daniel reapplies sun cream to Max's flushed face. When Daniel's mum goes to help with dinner, Max buries himself in Daniel's side. 

"I love you," Max whispers, like it's a secret. He tilts his face up and kisses Daniel's cheek. 

Daniel wraps an arm around his shoulders. He kisses the top of Max's head. "Love you more," he says. 

Max shakes his head. He's steadfast. He loves Daniel the most. He can't conceive otherwise. But it's okay. Daniel knows the truth: there's no one in this world he loves more. 

&&&

When Daniel wakes up, he knows Max will be gone. He'll have left again, gone home, gone to find his real life, the one that Daniel isn't a part of. The one where he isn't needed. 

Daniel doesn't open his eyes. He can hear his mum in the kitchen. He recognises her tread, the soft sound of the radio. He recognises her. 

If he opens his eyes, Max will be gone. 

"It is okay, Daniel." It's Max. He's here. He's stroking Daniel's hair. "Your mum is here and I am here. I'm not going anywhere."

Daniel swallows. He opens his eyes. Pikachu is still tucked into bed with him, the sheets pulled up over his shoulders. Max is lying next to him. 

"I didn't want you to wake up alone," Max tells him. He's still stroking Daniel's hair. He's not very good at it. He's a little awkward and unsure, but Max doesn't stop something if he doesn't know what he's doing. He just keeps on going. 

Daniel trembles. 

"It's our turn to look after you," Max says. "We will get you better, Daniel. We'll make everything okay. I promise."

Daniel—who is desperate, exhausted, and scared—clutches at Max's hand. 

Max laces his fingers with Daniel's. He leans in to kiss Daniel's forehead, and Daniel—that hollow in his chest suddenly aching, and he's breathless, his hand hot in Max's—abruptly starts to cry. 

&&&

"Are you enjoying your holiday, Max?" Daniel's dad asks. 

Max looks up from his new book of cat facts. He's been laboriously sounding out names of cat breeds to Daniel for half an hour. 

"It's my best holiday ever," Max says in satisfaction. 

He tucks his hand into Daniel's, looks up, and beams. 

(thanks to Zoe @flawlessassholes for her help with the first 7/8ths of this and to Lin @andwegogreen for her help)

[justhereforxreaders]

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part Six: Pieces and Players

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: your party arrives in King’s Landing and the venom of the city begins to take hold.

Warnings: anxiety/panic attack

soundtrack

part one: the oath

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part four: the test

part five: precipice

part seven: the rift

Little was said the morning of your departure to King’s Landing. The sun had not yet risen but a dim light through the morning fog was growing over the waves to the east, indicating that the dawn was not far off. Yourself and the Princes had mustered your dragons and gathered among the cliffs above the docks of Dragonstone to watch as the servants loaded the ship with the royal family’s possessions.

You and Jacaerys sit next to each other in the sparse grass as Tempest and Vermax seem to chase each other through the mist above. During your starlight ride with Jace last night, the dragons effortlessly fell back into rhythm like long lost friends. Watching their lighthearted dance overhead brings a wistful smile to your face.

While the two of you watch the dragons in comfortable silence, Lucerys remains upon Arrax’s back, resting his chin upon his crossed arms, looking on somberly. Seeing as Jace’s attempts to lighten his mood during the walk to the dragonmont had been unsuccessful, you decide it’s best to leave him to his thoughts for now.

Shortly after the first rays of sunlight begin to peek over the horizon, you look down to see the last of the parcels and trunks are being placed onboard the ship. Moments after, the procession of guards and handmaids file down the pathway, followed by the remaining members of House Targaryen. A torch is raised up into the air by a guard from the deck of the ship and Luke commands Arrax to take flight. You and Jace stand and stretch your tired muscles then call for your dragons. As Tempest and Vermax make their approach, Jace turns to you with a grin.

“Ready?” He beams.

You roll your eyes playfully as the dragons land beside each other.

“As ready as I can be,” you smile back at him.

Though the three of you could have easily covered the length of Blackwater Bay and reached your destination within a few hours, Rhaenyra had instructed that you remain within eyesight of the ship so that you could all arrive at King’s Landing together.

What began as mindless circles above the vessel, quickly evolved into a race across the width of the bay, zigzagging between the coastlines. Even Luke’s melancholy was not enough to keep Arrax from joining the game. Although distant shouts of protest could initially be heard from the young Prince, they soon become cries of joy as he allows himself to delight in this new experience.

As the sounds of merriment echo through the sky, you are struck by a sudden feeling of nostalgia. Having spent the last three years peacefully on Dragonstone, it had not occurred to you that venturing out into the unknown was something you found great joy in, something you missed even. Only now, you were not alone. Journeying through the sky, alongside the two people you held most dear, was not something you imagined you’d soon grow tired of.

As the day went on, the bay steadily began to narrow as you made your approach towards King’s Landing and a foul stench permeated the air. Though your journey across Essos lead you near many great cities, none of them radiated such a distinctive odor.

Once the ship has docked, you follow Jacaerys and Vermax’s lead over the crowded cityscape towards the dragonpit. The massive domed structure sat atop one of three hills within the walls of the city. It reminded you of fighting pits you had seen littered throughout Essos but far grander than any of them could ever hope to be.

You land in a clearing outside where a small gathering of Dragonkeepers wait, each with large quarterstaffs held aloft. They greet the Princes as they dismount and bow politely to all three of you. Surprised by their cordial greeting, you bow your head in response from behind Tempest’s head. Though as they approach the three dragons, Tempest becomes uneasy and grumbles a warning, eliciting hisses from both Vermax and Arrax. The Dragonkeepers stop in their tracks but stand firmly in place.

“What are they doing?” You ask nervously.

“They escort the dragons inside,” Jacaerys responds, nodding towards impossibly large bronze doors at the base of the dome.

You look down at their expectant faces and gently shake your head.

“No, thank you,” you utter, trying to be stern while remaining polite, “I’ll lead her in myself.”

You urge Tempest forward and the Dragonkeepers make way for her to pass. Upon crossing the threshold, you are greeted by the sight of an impressive stone arena within. You are so enamored by its scale and grandeur that you fail to notice Jace and Luke walking beside their dragons following behind Tempest.

“Spectacular isn’t it?” Jacaerys calls from the ground, a proud grin plastered across his face.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you admit with a smirk.

Vermax and Arrax excitedly rush forward to a ramp leading below and disappear into the shadowy passage. You dismount Tempest with a groan and move around to her face. Reaching your hand to her snout, you look into one of her golden eyes and nod before pressing your forehead into her scale’s.

“I’ll see you soon,” you mutter then move out of her way so she can join the others.

Whatever progress had been made in lifting Luke’s spirits was immediately lost the moment the three of you filed into the wheelhouse waiting outside the dragonpit. He quietly stared out the window while Jace pointed out various landmarks to you.

Although you had seen The Red Keep while flying over the city, it became more imposing as you drew near from the ground, the red hue of its walls felt like a warning to proceed with caution. As you enter the gates, the sounds of the crowded city behind grow quiet and an eerie silence takes its place. A kingsguard greets the three of you as you exit and hastily leads you into the fortress.

A second guard awaits within and moves towards you, offering a halfhearted bow.

“Please follow me to your chambers,” he says flatly and takes a step in the opposite direction of Jace and Luke.

You look to Jace in confusion and his brow furrows as he moves to stand beside you.

“Where are their chambers?” He asks, emulating both Rhaenyra and Daemon with his authoritative tone.

“The servants quarters, my Prince,” he bows fully, “as instructed by the Queen.”

“Nonsense,” Jace scoffs, “there are an abundance of vacant rooms that are perfectly suitable.”

He wraps his hand around your forearm and gently pulls you away from the guard.

“See them moved into the apartments near ours,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes, my Prince,” you hear the guard mumble as you are led away.

“Come with us until this is sorted,” Jace says with a smile, “I want to show you the training yard.”

Despite the unabashed stares that follow as your trio passes by, Jacaerys walks with his head held high. You watch with admiration at your friend’s defiant confidence, imagining what it must have been like to grow up under the shadow of such scornful eyes. Though your skin crawls at their glances and whispers, the idea of someone so young having to endure this treatment day after day makes your stomach turn.

When you reach the training yard, Lucerys perks up momentarily. The sound of combat echoes off the stone courtyard and Jacaerys rushes forward to place his hands on a divot in one of the walls.

“See?” He calls back to the two of you, “I told you this would still be here. And you thought you could swing Criston’s morning star.”

He runs back to Luke and rustles his hair.

“Nearly took your own head off,” he laughs and begins examining the weapons laid out before them.

Upon receiving no response, Jace finally voices his frustration.

“What’s your problem?” He snaps at his brother.

At this, you back away quietly and join the circle of onlookers surrounding the sparing match, giving the Princes privacy to air their grievances.

As you enter the crowd, you watch as a dark haired man swings a morning star at a silver haired figure behind a shield. The morning star sails through the air, missing its mark, and instead finding purchase in the dirt. He quickly pulls it from the ground and swings again at his opponent, this time taking a chunk from the shield on impact. The silver haired man discards his broken shield, revealing an eye patch over his right eye.

With the silver hair and the one eye, you immediately recognize him as Rhaenyra’s half brother, Prince Aemond, the man Lucerys took an eye from. A quiet gasp from behind you confirms your suspicion and you turn to see that the Princes have joined you. You reach out a hand to Luke but are interrupted as a quiet applause erupts from the crowd, bringing your focus back to the finished match.

“Well done, my Prince,” the dark haired man says with a smirk, “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time,” the dark haired man continues.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he utters flatly then turns your direction. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

You puff up your chest defensively, willing yourself to become a wall in front of your Princes. The remaining eye of Prince Aemond shifts to you briefly before the gates fly open and everyone’s attention is pulled to a lord and his escorts as they trudge through the yard. You look back to ensure Aemond’s focus has moved from Jace and Luke, only to find his gaze still lingers on you.

He looks you over, assessing you closely. You adjust your posture slightly, allowing you better access to your daggers, and he takes notice of the subtle shift. He finds your eyes before turning away with the slightest smirk.

You watch as he walks away, not enjoying the idea of having your back turned to him, until Jace places a hand on your arm.

“Let’s find my mother,” he says and you look to see his gaze fixed on Aemond as well.

Your trio departs with the rest of the crowd and continue to pass through endless staircases and passages when you happen upon Rhaena wandering the halls, walking alongside a girl of similar age.

“Baela!” Jacaerys calls and runs forward to meet them, “I’m glad to see you here.”

“You as well, Jace.” She says with a laugh.

When you and Lucerys reach them you bow politely at the new face. You had heard of Daemon’s eldest daughter but had not met as she was at ward on Driftmark.

Jace places a hand on your shoulder.

“This is y/n,” he proudly introduces.

“Well met, Dragon Rider,” she smiles and nods a bow while Rhaena scowls from behind her.

“Have you seen our mother?” Jace asks of both of them, releasing your shoulder.

“I left her not long ago with the Princess Rhaenys in the godswood.” Rhaena mutters, avoiding eye contact with you at all costs.

“Thank you,” Jace says with a small bow and moves past the sisters, walking forward with purpose.

Lucerys follows suit, leaving you behind momentarily.

“Pleasure to meet you, Baela.” You say quietly before chasing after the Princes.

As you run after Jace and Luke, they come to a sudden halt and you nearly run into them as they make way for a silver haired woman storming down the hallway. The woman glares at the Princes as she passes by and, for the first time since your arrival, Jacaerys shrinks back.

You duck your head as she passes and only once she has disappeared around the corner do the boys continue through a doorway leading to a courtyard where Rhaenyra stands alone beneath the blood red leaves of a heart tree.

“Mother,” Lucerys calls and rushes forward to embrace her, shaking her from her quiet contemplation.

“Hello, how was the journey, my love?” She asks, returning the embrace, making an effort to appear animated for her second son.

You and Jacaerys join the two of them beneath the tree as Lucerys regales his mother with his highlights from his first long distance flight.

“Have you gotten settled in your chambers?” She asks, a faraway look in her eye.

“Not yet,” Jace informs her with an exasperated sigh, “Alicent left instructions for y/n to be housed in the servants quarters. I told them to find something near our rooms instead.”

Rhaenyra smiles but it fails to touch her eyes. She then turns to you.

“Have you enjoyed the capital thus far?”

“It is very different from Dragonstone, just as you said, Princess. I imagine it takes some getting used to.” You admit honestly.

She nods and pulls Luke in once again before planting a kiss atop his head.

“Go get some rest,” she says and removes her arm from around her son, gently guiding him towards his brother, “Jace, please see Luke to his room. I’d like private word with y/n.”

Jace looks back and forth between the two of you, concern clear upon face but he nods regardless. Luke scrunches his face in confusion as he’s pulled away and you shoot them both a reassuring smile before leaving you alone with the Princess.

Once they are out of ear shot, she snakes her hand into the crook of your arm and guides you over to a nearby bench.

“I am very grateful for your friendship with my sons,” she begins in a gentle tone. “As you have already seen, they were not treated as they should have been by their peers and subjects.”

She lowers herself down onto the bench and invites you to sit beside her.

“I know that you and Jacaerys are especially close,” she pauses, taking your hand between hers, “which was harmless enough when you were children, but now that you are both grown, I am afraid I must ask that some distance be put between you.”

Her words force you to inhale sharply and it takes everything in you not to pull your hand from hers as she continues.

“There are certain duties required of an heir to the throne. And I fear your close proximity may restrict his opportunities to perform those duties.” She releases your hand and you pull it back slowly, balling it into a fist as it returns to your lap. “He has been the victim of slanderous murmurs since the day he was born and I do not wish my son’s name to befall any further insult or injury. Whether true or not.”

Her hands fold across her growing belly and she searches your eyes, “Do you understand?”

You turn from her to look at the face carved into the bark of the tree in front of you and nod silently.

“I am sorry to ask this of you,” her tone becomes empathetic and she follows your eyes to the tree before continuing, “I do not wish to cause you strife. But the time for us to gain further allegiances may be approaching faster than anticipated and we cannot afford for Jace appear ineligible.”

“As you command, Princess.” You speak with a quivering voice.

“It is not a command,” she corrects but it makes little difference to you, “it is a request. You may choose to ignore it.”

She stands and places a hand on your shoulder.

“But I know that you truly care for my son. And I trust you will choose what is best for him.”

She removes her hand and walks towards the exit. Before passing through the door, she pauses and calls back to you.

“We would be pleased to have you in attendance tomorrow,” she says with a slight grimace, aware of how conniving her words must sound, “we need as much support for Luke as we can muster.”

“As you wish, Princess.” You stand and turn toward her to bow lifelessly.

A tightening takes hold within your chest and you force yourself to breathe slowly and deliberately. Once the Princess has vanished into the darkness of the castle however, you collapse to your knees, clutching your chest. Quiet sobs begin to radiate through your body and you turn around to lean your back against the bench, tears pouring uncontrollably.

As lovely as the picture of the future Jace painted for you just the evening before was, and as hard as you willed yourself to believe it, you knew the part you were destined to play would inevitably be revealed. And though Jace’s words in the cave had given you some glimmer of hope that you would be allowed to remain by his side, Rhaenyra’s command made it clear that your continued presence in the Prince’s life would not go unnoticed, or without consequence. And neither would your growing affection for him.

You had always known his destiny and thus always knew you would not be able to play a meaningful part in it. Which you had convinced yourself was enough to keep any deeper feelings from arising. But in the skies over Dragonstone, that destiny felt far enough away that you had unknowingly begun to falter in your resolve.

It was easy enough to hide those feelings from yourself. Hiding them beneath the friendship. But now that that was also being stripped away from you, an ache tore across your chest like fire.

You pick yourself up on shaking legs and stumble forward, catching yourself on the trunk of the heart tree. Its eyes ooze a deep red sap and you look upon it like a mirror. A dragon’s screech from above breaks you from its gaze. You jump back and wipe the tears from your face, searching the sky for the source but finding nothing. Suddenly desiring nothing more than to run back to Tempest and escape to the sky but knowing that is a luxury you will be forever denied. Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you turn around and return to the labyrinth you have sworn yourself to, now fully understanding the consequences of such a vow.

• @eywas-heir

[novasintheroom]

066. Irritate

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.4k

♡ Warnings - Vash being annoying, he pinches your butt once

♡ Description: Vash is in a mood today, and you have to take the brunt of it.

Now part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Vash is in a mood today.

The others don’t see it. How could they? They’ve only known him for four months.

You, however, have almost seventy years of knowing him.

And you’re on your toes.

It starts in the morning when everyone is still waking up. The light of dawn is gray, casting silver sands across the horizon. Meryl and Millie are packing up their sleeping bags, while Wolfwood putters around with Vash, loading up the heavier equipment. Quiet chatter or grumbles is all anyone can muster.

You’re kicking sand over the ashes of last night’s fire when Vash comes up behind and wraps his arms around you, resting on your chest. “Hey,” he says. His voice has the croakiness of sleep still in it. He moves your hair to the side of your neck to press a chaste kiss at its base.

You warm at the affection and turn in his hold. You want a real kiss. Lips puckering, you whisper, “Hey,” and go on your tiptoes.

Instead of meeting lips, however, you feel Vash’s mouth close over your nose and blow. The air forces your voice to honk out in surprise, and Vash pulls away with a laugh. You give him a glare. He dances away before you can hit him.

That was innocent enough; he’s done that before. What really tips you off to his mood is when you’re walking through town later in the day.

It starts with one bullet casing in your pocket. Easy enough, you throw it away and continue with your group. But an hour later, you find another bullet casing in that same pocket. You look at it oddly, but again, chalk it up to nothing. Then another appears. And another. At one point, you pull your pockets out and five different bullet casings clink to the ground. The townspeople give you looks for littering their space with your junk. Embarrassed, you look to Vash for moral support. He looks away. You see the smile he’s trying to hide, though, and suddenly, you know it was him.

Little punk.

It escalates. When you go to hold his hand, he takes it and shakes it – every time – like you’re meeting for the first time. “Hello, miss, nice to meet you,” and “woah now, I don’t know you like that” are his go-to responses. He pinches your butt subtly when you’re in the middle of talking to someone, letting out a high squeak that makes the other person pause and look at you strangely. Vash also feigns a strange look, asking “Are you okay?” You can only give him another glare, the heat of the suns having nothing to the heat of your face. A hundred other little annoyances build up throughout the day, and by the end of it, you’re tired of his antics and avoid him like the plague.

The camp is set up in relative quiet. Millie’s talking about her family, with Meryl and Wolfwood halfway listening while getting dinner and a fire going. You’re trying to help, gathering sleeping bags and lean-to tents from the back of the car, when Vash comes up behind you and says, “Lemme take those.”

Your wary look has him acting innocent. “What?’

You slam the trunk closed and whirl on him, sleeping bags in hand. “Don’t ‘what’ me, what are you planning now?”

“I’m not planning anything – “

“Ha! Liar.” You hold the sleeping bags close like a shield. “Go away. Shoo. Go help Nico with the fire or something.”

He blinks. “But I want to help you!”

“Oh I bet you do.” Nose turning up, you march to the camp and start handing out everything.

Meryl gives you a strange look as she takes her bag. “Everything okay?”

You look at her, then roll your eyes. “Vash is Vash,” you simply say.

She nods like she understands. Millie frowns to the side. “Are you and Mister Vash fighting, Miss ______?”

A strange feeling settles in your stomach. The last thing you want is for them to think you’re actually fighting. “Nah,” you say, giving her a reassuring smile, “he’s just playing. He gets like this every once in a while.”

Light of understanding comes to her eyes. “Oh! My ma and pa do that! They’re always playing, poking fun at each other.” She shifts her legs to cross them. “Ma gets so annoyed at Pa, but they still love each other at the end of the day.”

“Yeah, that’s what we do.” You laugh, some of the tension of the day dropping off. Looking across the fire, you spot Vash setting up his own space for sleep tonight. You smile at him, and, when he notices, he smiles back.

Later, you’ve taken up a spot on top of the car. A small booksits on your chest as you read, curled up in a blanket, and stars glimmer overhead. Everything is cooling down, and with it, your temper.

The car shakes suddenly. You peak over your book and see Vash at the back end, climbing up the ladder. His eyes light on you, and your hackles rise. “What’cha doin’?”

You give him a look. “Reading…”

His smile is innocent to the unwary eye. You watch him carefully as climbs the rest of the way up. He shirks off his shoes and socks and coat and crawls under the blanket with you. He does not stop moving, flipping this way and that, bumping your elbows and squishing you further on top of the truck, bullying you into the side bar. You let out displeased grunts but try not to react.

When he finally settles, he’s got you pinned, rolled onto his side with an elbow supporting his head. “Hey,” he greets, and you see the mischief in his eyes.

The smile you give is tense. You only hum at him and pretend to go back to reading.

Slowly, he nestles down next to you. The blanket gets pulled up to his chin. He doesn’t give you any more room, but at least he isn’t doing anything. Your hackles settle after a few minutes, and you continue to read.

His legs shift. Then shift more. And more. His hand creeps out and takes a handful of your shirt. You shoot him a warning look. He blinks back. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts your shirt halfway and digs his feet into your side.

“Vash!” You shriek, and the others look over with wide eyes, “Your feet are freezing!” You squirm and kick to no avail; his blocks-of-ice-for-feet stay rooted to your ribs.

Vash laughs, smooshing his toes into your skin, ignoring the slaps you give his ankles. “Aw, c’mon, mayfly! It’s not that bad!” He hums and closes his eyes with a pleased look. “Nice and warm…”

You snarl and sit up, shoving his feet off you. “You’re such a boy! You irritate me! All day! Annoying little sh–”

 “That’s so mean…why would you say that…” He gives a kicked-puppy look, bottom lip wibbling.

You don’t fall for it. Grabbing his cheeks with one hand, you lean down and press your nose to his. “If you do not keep your filthy little ice nubs to yourself, I’ll throw you in the fire. That’ll warm you up.”

His eyes have a certain sparkle in them. Unrepentant, he gives you a quick peck on your lips. Ooo, he’s in such a mood. Your mouth twitches. He knows just what buttons to push to get a reaction out of you.

In the background, you hear the giggling of Millie, the long-suffering sigh of Meryl. Your cheeks heat, embarrassed. With your own feet, you push Vash away. He lets out an ‘oof’ as you push his stomach in, and he scrabbles against the luggage and roof of the car to stop this assault. “Why,” you say, “are you like this?!”

Still, he smiles. “Because I love you.” And with a great heave, he rolls over your feet and tackles you in a big hug, pinning your arms to the side to keep you from resisting. The air rushes out of your lungs in a wheeze. “My mayfly~” he sings, smooching your cheek.

“Get a room,” Wolfwood calls out.

“Isn’t it nice to see two people so in love, Meryl?” Millie sighs across the fire. “I wish I could find someone to be so comfortable around!”

When you have enough air, you reach around and bite Vash on the cheek. Hard.

Meryl smiles sympathetically amid Vash’s howl of pain. “I dunno if ‘comfortable’ is the right word for this situation, Millie.”

[tanyapiankova12]

The One Week Bladder Challenge.

Hello! This is a challenge for people who really want to test out your bladder. I suggest you read the whole thing through first so you have all the things you need in advance!

Objectif: get through the whole week without peeing yourself more than 3 times! Btw even if you lost, you can still continue with the challenge. Also there are ways you can get more lives. Good luck!

Rules:

You have to follow every thing.

Make sure to shower every night so you don’t get an infection from being in your pee.

You have to do the days in the correct order.

As always, if you feel unwell, stop the challenge! This is just for fun!

DAY ONE: This is gonna be an easy day, since we are just starting. Or not. First thing you are gonna do when you wake up is avoid peeing like the plague and drink 1 liter of water. Then you have to put on some nice clothes (which you don’t want to pee on) and make yourself some breakfast. After you are done with the breakfast you can pee. Then you are gonna want to bring 2 litters of water with you and then go out (for work, school, or just to the mall or cinema, doesn’t matter. Just make sure you are spending the whole day out there). You have to spend at least 2 hours there, if you spend 4+ hours, you get an extra life. You have to finish all your water there. You can only pee when you get home.

DAY TWO: This day is gonna be more challenging, so get ready. When you wake up, pee. Yep. Then you are gonna hydrate until your pee turns clear. Want to know the catch? You can only pee once you start leaking ON ACCIDENT. Then go to the toilet and pee for 15 seconds. Then you are going to finish in your pants. Make sure your pee is always clear on this day, so drink water. You have to spend at least 5 hours in public today.

DAY THREE: Today we are limiting your toilet privileges to only once a day. Also make sure you are drinking at least 1/2 litter every hour. If you are drinking for than that, you get an extra life. Even at night. Instead once you feel the urge, hold it until your urge is a 9. Then you have to finish a bottle of water and then pee into it. If you are a girl, things are gonna get messy. During nighttime, you have to drink 2 liters before bed. Same rules for when you have to pee. Good luck!

DAY FOUR: Rest day today, you can use the bathroom as much as you like. What’s the catch you say? It has to be a public restroom. Even at night. It also has to be a new one every time too. No friends bathrooms, hotels, bushes, or family bathrooms. Just public ones. Also make sure to stay as hydrated as during the previous days. Good luck!

DAY FIVE: This day is gonna be bad. Again, hydrate yourself as well as the other 4 days, but this time you can’t use the bathroom at all. You just have to wet yourself. It has to be an accident too. Like you cannot go into a bathroom and wet yourself there whenever it’s bad, you have to hold it doing whatever you were doing before until you lose control. Every time you pee during this day doesn’t go into the total. So yeah you can kinda wet yourself without affecting the score. But you have to spend at least 6 hours in public. If you spend more than 6 hours, you get an extra life!

DAY SIX: Basically, you are gonna hydrate yourself today as well as the other 5 days, and you can pee as much as you want! With one exception, you can only pee for ten seconds in the toilet per 2 hours. Sounds difficult? Good luck!

DAY SEVEN: The last day! It’s gonna be hard. If you haven’t peed yourself yet, this day you will. Just no peeing. 24 hours. You can drink as much as you want, wear what you want, just don’t pee. Good luck!

[asterkyo]

New Years Night

Warning: Pegging, fingering, no mdni blogs, feminine nicknames(princess), gn reader

Kyojuro was sitting on the roof of your house, waiting for the fireworks when the clock strikes 12. He felt lonely, sure he had the others as company earlier, but he felt that there was something missing.

“You here alone?” Kyojuro jolted and quickly turned around to be faced by you- Y/n, who has recently achieved the rank Hashira. “Yeah I guess so” He lowered his guard once he realizes it was you. You were a hard worker, much like himself so you both got along quickly.

“Im on my own as well” You took a seat beside him and you both waited in silence for a while. Rengoku gazed at you with his owlish eyes, his heart beat sped up and he blushed a little when your hand brushes across his own making his blush worsen. He developed a crush on you three months after you became a Hashira and he tried his best to hide it.

“Something wrong?” Of course you knew about him having a crush on you. You noticed the signs when he left lingering touches and hugs that last a bit too long. “Kyojuro?”

He snapped out of his trance when he felt you getting closer with a slightly worried look on your face when he didn't answer. “Im f-fine”

“Your not fine” Rengoku flinched when he felt you getting closer, he could feel your cold breath on his neck making him shiver. “Tell me whats wrong” He could feel a bulge in his pants from your touch and that just made him more embarrassed. But you knew exactly what you were doing. With a coy smirk you started palming his bulge. “W-what are you d-doing!?” He gasped from the friction and started subconsciously grinding down on your thigh.

“Already wet for me, princess?” You could see the wet spot on his pants. It made him embarrassed that he came so quick but your touch just felt so good for him♡. “I-im not!” He tried protesting, but couldn't deny the pleasure you made him feel.

“Follow me” You stopped palming his bulge and got down from the roof. Rengoku was a little confused but followed you inside nonetheless and into the bedroom.

He blushed even more at the possibilities of what you would do to him in that room. “On the bed” You commanded. He immediately complies and gets on the bed, eagerly awaited your touch. “Dont be impatient, princess” He was about to deny the nickname, but he gasped at you suddenly shoving your fingers through the rim of asshole to prep him.

“A-at least w-warn me first!~” He clenched around your fingers like a vice as he squirms. “Relax, princess, it'll feel better soon” You paused your movement so he could relax and continued once he grinded down on your fingers.

“Does it feels good, princess?” You sped up your fingers. “W-wai- AAH!~” He moaned like a common whore when you prodded your fingers against his prostate. It felt so good that his mind went blank as he clawed at the sheets.

A whine left his mouth when you pulled out your fingers, but it was replaced by a gasp when you slid your length/strap inside him. “T-too b-big!!~” He was full on panting once you bottomed out. “You can take it. I know you can”

You waited for him to adjust before you started ramming into his hole as it clenches around your length. “Y/n! Harder!!♡~” His delicious moans and the way his hole fluttered around your length/strap brought you over the edge.

FIVE

“I-i I'm g-gonna!!- Aagh!~” He orgasms for the 4th time with a loud, almost pornographic moan, and spurts ropes of cum all over his chest. You came shortly after him, painting his walls white. You didn't stop, Instead you sped up your pace.

FOUR

“I-i just came! Y-y/n♡!~” He was getting overwhelmed by the pleasure. You were hitting all the right places that made him moan more loudly. But you didn't care, you wanted everyone to know you were the one fucking him this good.

THREE

His body was littered in hickeys and marks that proved he belongs to you. “Cum with me” He felt another approaching orgasm, and so did you.

TWO

The sound of skin slapping in the room picked up as the both of you chased your highs. You let out a groan feeling the knot in your stomach building up. “Y/n♡!!~” He came with a moan of your name and with one last thrust you also came and filled him up again then pulled out.

ONE

The fireworks lit up the sky signifying that New Years had arrived as you both laid there out of breath from your recent activities. “Happy New Year, princess” “Happy New Year, Y/n”

Me rn:

[hrefna-the-raven]

Web of faith

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Chapters: 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Chapter 1

Words: 1062

Summary: Prior being trapped under the spell of the Absolute, Kar'niss was just a normal drow, trying to survive the daily threats that the city of Menzoberranzan held. He thought himself lost until you found him, showing him that there is a beauty to life he thought impossible.

"Come on, Niss!", you exclaimed as you squeezed through a narrow crevice in the rock, "you're getting old and slow!"

Kar'niss rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed, as he handed you a bag and attempted to maneuver through the tight space.

"I'm only four years older than you, besides you're a tiny excuse of a drow", he playfully teased, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as he tousled your long, flowing white hair.

In response, you stuck out your tongue and let out a joyful giggle. Placing a blanket on the ground after lighting up the small lantern, it's glowing white light illuminating the small space like it was dunked in a pale moonlight, you sat down and patted the spot next to you, inviting Kar'niss to join you.

He settled into the blanket beside you, taking a deep breath. These moments spent with you were a source of tranquility, a stark contrast to the daily, often dangerous, chaos of Menzoberranzan that he endured. Trustworthy individuals, those who didn't seek to betray for personal gain, were a rarity in his district of the city. That's why, after meeting you for the first time five years ago, he made it his mission to cherish you like the rare gem you were to him— a shining diamond amidst the toxic darkness that surrounded him.

You had shown him this very spot on the day you first met, noticing the sorrow in his eyes as he wandered the streets of your district, his lip bloodied from a deep cut, his body littered with bruises. Without asking any questions, you simply took his hand and guided him here. He willingly followed, regardless of whether it led to his demise or not. He never mentioned what occurred on that particular day and you refrained from asking. Instead, both of you embraced the fact that you had entered each other's lives and remained together, relishing the tranquil privacy of that small, unknown cave as often as possible. Kar'niss vividly recalled the day it all changed again, two years after your initial meeting, as if it were yesterday. You were both sitting in the same spot on the same blanket when he timidly confessed his deepening feelings for you. His love for you had blossomed long before, but the fear of jeopardising your special friendship had held him back for far too long. To his surprise, you simply smiled at him, your eyes, a radiant shade of light purple, filled with joy as you leaned in and gently pressed your soft lips against his in a tender kiss. No words were necessary to express your answer; instead, you conveyed your affection through this simple act. From that moment on, the two of you became even more inseparable and it felt like nothing could ever tear you apart again.

The pain he had experienced in his past had led him to find solace in your presence - of that, he was certain. He believed that Lolth had somehow tested him before and he must have proven himself worthy, hence why she had bestowed upon him the gift of having you in his life now. And today, one day before officially proving himself worthy in the eyes of his goddess, was the day Kar'niss had chosen to declare his commitment to you. His hands fumbled nervously with the small ring tucked away in his pocket as he gazed at you. You softly hummed a tune, resting your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of what he intended to ask you. His fingers traced the intricate patterns of the diamond-adorned ring, seven delicate star-shaped stones set amidst a web of slender silver strings. It had once belonged to his mother, the last memento he possessed from his family before she fell victim to an assassin sent by another matron, right after he had been sent away to the Tower. However, all of that was insignificant now as he prepared to give you the ring and ask you to be his.

Your humming ceased as you rose slowly and positioned yourself between Kar'niss' thighs. Your gentle fingers caressed his cheeks while you showered his face with tender kisses.

"What troubles your mind, my beloved?", you asked, your nose gently nudging his as a smile graced your lips, although your eyes revealed the concerns that consumed your thoughts.

Kar'niss immediately ceased fidgeting with the ring and reached up to hold your hand, gently squeezing them as his sorrowful gaze met yours.

"Don't worry love", you whispered, pecking his lips, "I know no one more devoted to our great goddess than you. If anyone is capable of passing her test, it is undoubtedly you. I have unwavering faith in your abilities."

He felt his heart crack, anguish coursing through his thoughts as he dwelled on the impending test of faith. It was undeniable that his devotion to the goddess was unwavering, yet he couldn't shake the fear that accompanied the test. The fear of what might be demanded of him, the fear that he might not possess the strength to vanquish his opponent, inevitably leading to the devastating loss of his one true love. Little did he know, you also harboured the same fear, dreading a life without him, terrified that the agony of his absence would shatter your very essence into countless fragments, impossible to piece back together. Your hearts were entwined, your destinies entangled like a delicate spiderweb, but despite the depth of your faith and love, everything felt so fragile in the face of potential failure as Lolth was many things but not forgiving.

Kar'niss tenderly pressed his lips against yours, initially with a hint of hesitation. However, as he heard your gentle moan, his kiss intensified, filled with a growing passion. He leaned back, enticing you to join him, pulling your body closer to his own. The upcoming test and its outcome seemed insignificant compared to the present moment. Even if he were to fail tomorrow, he was determined to fully surrender himself to you, exposing his soul and body in this final act of intimacy as he cherished every touch exchanged between your bodies and he eagerly accepted each moan of praise that you would grant him. And if fate allowed it, tomorrow he, a devoted champion of Lolth, would finally summon the courage to ask you to be his.

Notes: I already apologise for the tragedy and the heartbreak 😅

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (PART 5.5)

one — two — three — four — five — 5.5

notes: since there’s no game until tomorrow, i just wanted to do a little filler piece! if you remember from part two, Y/N wanted a cat…

y/ndevils00

liked by lhughes_06, dawson1417, and 22,474 others

y/ndevils00 everyone say hello to LSH! she’s the newest addition to the Hughes-Y/L/N household!

tagged jackhughes

jackhughes i can’t believe i was talked into this

y/ndevils00 thank you for saying yes <3

y/ndevils00 i love you pretty boy

jackhughes i love you too baby

dawson1417 BRING HER TO THE RINK

y/ndevils00 i’d like to see Lindy try and stop me

lhughes_06 LSH?

y/ndevils00 Lil’ Satan Hughes <3

lhughes_06 does her name reflect her actions?

y/ndevils00 she’s actually a tiny angel

_quinnhughes you bringing her to the lake house this summer?

y/ndevils00 where else would she be while i’m there quinny? the zoo?

_quinnhughes i think you forget you’re not talking to trevor

y/ndevils00 i apologize, huggy bear. the sarcasm was unneeded and that’s completely on me.

trevorzegras @/y/ndevils00 YOU’RE NICE TO HIM?!

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras of course, i am! i love Quinnjamin!

user74 omg she’s so cute 🥹

trevorzegras aww she’s named after you

y/ndevils00 first of all, how dare you?

y/ndevils00 second, HOW DARE YOU?!

john.marino97 so was timo successful in completing your demands?

y/ndevils00 he was! the odds were indeed in his favor

tmeier96 i almost offered to pay him to say yes

jackhughes I COULD’VE GOTTEN PAID?!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes sure, but now you get to know you said yes out of the kindness of your heart and the love you have for me <3

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 nah, fuck that, i could’ve gotten paid!

y/ndevils00 update: LSH will be changing her last name! looking for a new cat dad!

nicohischier i volunteer! i’d love a cat!

y/ndevils00 @/nicohischier GREAT! she comes with a litter box, collar, food, toys, and a y/n!

jackhughes @/nicohischier back off captain. i put in the work to get my y/n and i intend to keep her!

user60 “my y/n” BRB CRYING 😭

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes you need to be a more loving father to our child then

jackhughes she’s a cat

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes she’s our flesh and blood and you’ll act like it!

dougieham aww she’s so cute! but i’m more focused on the pink and floral blanket… don’t you and jack share a bed?

y/ndevils00 how could you ever say that? i’m offended! i am a holy woman and would never sleep in the same bed before marriage!

jackhughes yeah, she remade the bed while i was in the shower and hid all the other blankets

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes why must you always be honest? i promise lying is fun

elblue6 aww she’s so cute! we can’t wait to meet her!

y/ndevils00 hopefully soon!! miss you El!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 65

Clammask gives birth to three healthy mollies not long after Halibutdusk gets greencough. Worried, Clammask decides to name them early.

[Image ID: With Halibutdusk in the background sporting + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH under them, Clammask faces three newborn kits; one red tabby, one white tabby, one black tabby. Under the red tabby, it says NEW PLAYER: POTTERYKIT, 0, FEMALE, SELF-CONSCIOUS. The white kit says NEW PLAYER: MOONKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET. Lastly, the black kit says NEW PLAYER: VERVAINKIT, 0, FEMALE, FEARLESS. Under Clammask, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

Somehow, giving birth to three kits was more exhausting than five. Perhaps it was all the stress of recent moons; Scrubmask’s death, three of Clammask’s four kits coming down with food poisoning, casually seeing Halibutdusk only to become pregnant… that was a lot for one molly to handle! Add in the fact that the moon did not shine over the Clans on the first day of autumn’s third moon when Clammask felt a familiar pain in her gut, and Halibutdusk was stuck in the quarantine den with a loud case of greencough, how could she not be stressed?

This kitting was shorter, thank StarClan. It was still nightfall when Clammask cleaned off her last little kit and helped her snuggle up to her belly. Oilstripe, Tallowkit, and Slushkit had vacated the nursery for a while to give Clammask room to kit, but Lemmy, her belly fat against her thin frame, still slept inside, dreams undisturbed by the new life born to the Clan. The only other cat in the nursery was Troutpool (Clammask simply couldn’t ask her own son to help deliver her kits, it felt so strange!). 

The head cleric carefully examined the three mollies at Clammask’s side while the golden molly caught her breath. The first was red with markings that reminded Clammask of her father. The second-born kit was white, with pale gray rosettes along her back. Although she was still slick from birth, Clammask could tell she would be long-furred in the future. The youngest looked so much like Drumtooth that Clammask was taken aback for a moment.

“They all look very healthy,” Troutpool said, stepping back. She placed her dirty bowl (once full of strengthening medicine for the kitting) and the broken stick Clammask bit into a basket at the den’s edge. “I don’t notice any deformed limbs or other issues. I… I won’t try to predict their future this time.” Clammask licked each kit’s head. None of them looked like her lost golden daughter. Perhaps that was for the best. “Do you still want me to perform that ceremony we discussed?”

“It would make me feel better,” Clammask sighed. Troutpool nodded and stuck her face into her basket. She took out a tiny jar; the gouges carved in for teeth holds left little room on the inside. She peeled off the thin leather lid trapping the contents. The jar was full of dirt. Troutpool sprinkled a bit of dirt over each kitten’s back. Each was too caught up in the shock of being alive, mewing and nursing, to really care.

“Dustfur, Celestial of the Newborn,” Troutpool prayed, setting the jar at Clammask’s head, “you taught the Clans not to mourn the stillborn and those taken before they even got a chance to see the faces of their kin. You were the one who revealed to us how StarClan accompanies litters on their way to the Clans and return to Silverpelt when their time is done. One of Clammask’s kits was one of these StarClan guardians. We do not know what awaits these kits in the coming quarter moon, but we ask you, give them souls of their own. Allow them to grow into strong and proud individuals who will make RippleClan proud. Do not taunt Clammask once more by taking a kit away. Allow them all to live, Dustfur. Give us your celestial blessing.” The ritual done, Troutpool licked the dirt off the kittens, sneering at the taste. 

“If one of your daughters is a StarClan warrior,” Troutpool explained, “performing this ritual so soon after their birth may allow them to become cats of their own, rather than a protector for the others.” Clammask nudged her little mollies back to her belly, purring as they cried outrage at yet another grooming. “When you feel strong enough, we can move you to a fresh nest and get rid of all this dirty moss. Do you need anything else?”

“Maybe a leather pelt over my back?” Clammask asked. “It’s a cold night.”

“I’ll also have Mosspounce build a fire outside the den when he wakes up,” Troutpool promised with a nod. She touched noses with Clammask and trotted off. 

With a few moments alone in the nursery, Clammask stared at her daughters. Halibutdusk’s daughters too. Scrubmask wasn’t one to hold grudges, Clammask doubted she would be mad at her for finding another mate. But was she right for Halibutdusk? Her feelings for them were not a perfect match to her relationship with Scrubmask. Perhaps it was because she grew up alongside Halibutdusk, shared every heartbreak and celebration alongside them. Scrubmask was a whirlwind that pulled Clammask into a new life, a new family. Halibutdusk had just… always been there. They were the ocean, forever licking the shore, something whose absence Clammask could not imagine.

She prayed she would not have to live in that absence soon.

“I’ll warn you now,” Troutpool said, entering the den with a stitched-up pelt thrown across her back, “your sons are chomping at my tail to see you.” Troutpool threw the pelt over Clammask’s haunches.

“Send them in,” Clammask purred.

“We can come in? Finally!” Honeybuzz and Splashtuft shoved their way into the nursery, bumping shoulders to get a better look at their new siblings. Leathermask and Drumtooth lingered behind them, trying to catch a glimpse from the side. Honeybuzz and Splashtuft almost knocked Troutpool over.

“Is that all of them?” Leathermask gasped, squirming between his two boisterous brothers.

“They’re all mollies,” Clammask purred. “How funny is that?”

“Big brothers for little sisters,” Drumtooth hummed, finally managing to get into the den by shoving Splashtuft’s big flank to the side.

“I don’t suppose you can let me out?” Troutpool chuckled, slipping her basket around her neck.

“Sorry, Troutpool,” Splashtuft chirped. He moved to the side and knocked Drumtooth against the den wall. Troutpool left before she became the next victim of the litter’s excitement.

“How do you feel, Mom?” Honeybuzz asked. His clerical eye studied Clammask’s messy nest and the newborn shine on his sisters’ pelts.

“Very tired,” Clammask admitted, “but very happy. And I'm a little nervous if I’m honest.” Clammask nuzzled her daughters once more. “I want to do something, but I’m afraid you may judge me a little, Honeybuzz. I know I should wait to name them, like Scrubmask and I waited to name you four, but I don’t want to do that this time around. I want them to have names now.” Clammask was right; the enthusiasm in Honeybuzz’s face froze as he tried not to let it drop.

“Don’t do that,” Drumtooth huffed, appearing on the other side of the pack and shoving Honeybuzz’s shoulder.

“If you want,” Clammask sighed, “you can help name your sisters. We can keep it between the five of us for now.” 

“Really?” Leathermask gasped softly. “Honeybuzz, let’s name the red kit first!” Honeybuzz squirmed a bit, but joined his brown-furred brother in study of their red-colored sister.

“Could we call her Redkit?” Honeybuzz suggested.

“That’s such a boring name,” Splashtuft scoffed. Clammask couldn’t help but laugh at that. He looked so much like Scrubmask in that moment.

“Troutpool left something behind,” Leathermask pointed out. The small jar with the ritual dust still sat at Clammask’s head. “Huh. The jar is the same color as the red kit’s fur. What if we called her Potterykit?”

“I approve,” Clammask purred. “Let your other brothers name the white molly.” Drumtooth squirmed closer to Splashtuft and they turned their gaze to the long-furred kitten.

“I want to name her Moonkit,” Drumtooth said.

“But our Clan’s guide is called Moonpaw,” Honeybuzz reminded him. “That feels… wrong, in a way.”

“StarClan isn’t going to ban the use of a prefix for the rest of history just because of one cat,” Splashtuft scoffed. “I like it, Drumtooth. Potterykit and Moonkit.”

“But what in the world do we call the last kitten?” Leathermask sighed. All four brothers leaned so close to the black molly, they were practically touching Clammask’s belly.

“I can’t think of a single good name for her,” Splashtuft muttered.

“Nightkit?” Leathermask suggested.

“How many black cats in history have been named Nightkit?” Drumtooth said. “Don’t we want our sister to stand out?”

“Stormkit, Butterflykit, Oysterkit…” Honeybuzz muttered. “Hootkit?”

“Hootkit?” Splashtuft laughed. “Do you want apprentices to make fun of her at Gatherings?”

“Hear me out, hear me out,” Drumtooth said, his soft voice catching his brothers’ attention. “Vervainkit.”

“But vervain is purple,” Splashtuft said.

“And drums are brown,” Drumtooth pointed out. “Vervains are pretty flowers. Something about their color reminds me of her.”

“Potterykit, Moonkit, and Vervainkit,” Clammask declared. She leaned over and nuzzled all of her kits, toms and mollies, newborn and adult. “Welcome to the family.” All four toms purred deeply.

“Do you think Halibutdusk will be upset that we named the kits without them?” Drumtooth wondered. 

“To be fair,” Splashtuft chuckled, pulling back, “we don’t have to tell them.”

“I know you all said you were happy for me,” Clammask said, shuffling tighter around the newborns, “but I want to be sure here. They aren’t a replacement for Scrubmask. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“We know, Mom,” Honeybuzz promised. “We’ll still love the kits. We’re happy to have little sisters to care for.” Clammask’s purrs took over her entire body. Her sons gathered around her and groomed her tired pelt as she soaked in the joy.

(Clammask: 59, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Halibutdusk: 57, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Leathermask: 13, male, warrior, nervous, great speaker, good fighter)

(Drumtooth: 13, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Potterykit: 0, female, kit, self-conscious)

(Moonkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)

(Vervainkit: 0, female, kit, fearless)

Lavendertwist works with the AshClan historians to make a proper record of the Rippling Ashes (Darkkick, Weedfoot, and Paleseed) and their exploits in the Dark Forest.

[Image ID: Lavendertwist and Splashtuft face a black rosette apprentice. Under her, it says NEW PLAYER: MITEPAW, 7, FEMALE, INSECURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE.]

---

“It’s hard to believe our former leader would grow to hate us so much…” sighed Minkshine, an AshClan historian. She and two other historians, Blackmist and Comfreytoe, sat along the AshClan border while Lavendertwist and Splashtuft lounged on their side, sharing tongues with their forest counterparts. It was sunhigh, after all, and if the group was going to spend most of the day describing the official story of the Rippling Ashes, Lavendertwist and Splashtuft were going to relax.

“When you’re stuck in your ways like he was,” Lavendertwist sighed, “friends can quickly become enemies.”

“So Autumnstar used his Dark Forest powers to curse AshClan…” Blackmist muttered, grooming Splashtuft’s long fur as he spoke. “So many of our friends and family died because of him… their names have to be recorded in the story. All of them.”

“Ah, name memorization,” Lavendertwist chuckled, squirming. “My old nemesis.”

“I can handle that,” Splashtuft chirped. “Start listing out names, Blackmist.”

“Actually,” Comfreytoe groaned, glancing back into the trees of AshClan, “we’re still waiting on someone. She should be here before we continue.”

“Who’s our special guest?” Lavendertwist asked, leaves crunching underneath him as he rolled onto his back. 

“Someone who needs a fresh start,” Comfreytoe sighed.

“It’s still hard to believe Eelstar and Barkfur agreed to this,” Blackmist muttered, letting Splashtuft take a turn grooming him, “but if Mitepaw can find some peace from it, so be it.”

“Mitepaw?” Lavendertwist hummed.

“I’m here!” a young voice gulped. While Lavendertwist heard the cat crunching leaves under her paws and panting, he only saw her once she stood in front of a pale bush. She was one of the blackest cats Lavendertwist had ever seen, with even blacket rosette markings. Pale yellow eyes bounced between Lavendertwist and Splashtuft. Bouldersong, one of AshClan’s caretakers, joined the small apprentice.

“RippleClan,” Bouldersong purred, placing his tail on the apprentice’s back, “I would like you to meet Mitepaw. She would like to join your Clan.”

“What?” Splashtuft gasped, sitting up so quickly that his head smacked Blackmist’s jaw. 

“Both of her parents died as a result of the chronic frostbite that kept infecting our older Clanmates,” Minkshine explained as Mitepaw rubbed a paw deep into the leaf litter. “She’s struggled in our Clan ever since. We believe that in order to give her a fresh start, she needs to leave our home for another. Since RippleClan’s developed a reputation for accepting wayward apprentices, we thought she would fit in well with you.”

“Eelstar is letting one of his apprentices join RippleClan?” Lavendertwist scoffed. “I thought he hated us.”

“His opinions are more nuanced than you’d think,” Comfreytoe insisted. “Mitepaw is an artisan apprentice. She has a knack for woodwork and should take to your Clan’s crafts well.”

“You really want to join us, Mitepaw?” Splashtuft asked. He risked crossing the border to approach the small apprentice. Since no one clawed his ears off, he kept going. “This isn’t a decision you can take back.” Mitepaw hesitated, words getting caught in her mouth. She looked at her Clanmates, as though waiting for someone to snap at her. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t like AshClan,” Mitepaw said. “Everyone is grieving. It makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to grow up in a Clan that’s carrying such hurt with them.” The AshClan historians grew lost as Mitepaw explained herself. No one countered her claim.

“I’m sure Downstar will welcome you, then,” Splashtuft purred, touching noses with Mitepaw.

“You can always talk to your old Clanmates at Gatherings, Mitepaw,” Bouldersong sighed. “I hope RippleClan will be better for you than we have been.” Bouldersong licked Mitepaw’s ear. The young apprentice purred softly. She left Bouldersong’s side and joined Splashtuft.

“So you’ll take her to your camp when we’re finished here?” Minkshine asked.

“Absolutely,” Lavendertwist promised as Splashtuft led Mitepaw across the border. “We have just the mentor for her.” 

(Lavendertwist: 31, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Splashtuft: 13, male, historian, adventurous, fast runner, student of art)

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

[Image ID: Rapidleaf, Asterpaw, and Elmsprout stand behind Mitepaw as she listens to Rattlepelt say, “It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members. You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”]

Later that day, as RippleClan buzzed with sunset activity, Mitepaw took in the sights of her new home. The shipwreck was so tall! Despite the late autumn cold, the sand felt warm from the sun. Even the air felt lighter in RippleClan! This was the right choice, Mitepaw was certain of it. There was a glimmer in everyone’s eyes as they surrounded her following her new apprentice ceremony. She soaked it all in as she stood beside her strange and famous new mentor; Rattlepelt. 

“Mitepaw!” A long-furred gray molly made her way to the front of the crowd of unfamiliar faces. A brown molly and a silver tom followed close behind.

“Hello,” Mitepaw chirped softly, bowing to the strangers. 

“No need to bow to your Clanmates in this Clan!” the silver molly said. “You’ve probably heard about me. I’m Elmsprout.”

“Oh, Eelstar’s daughter,” Mitepaw gasped. She took Elmsprout in a second time; she could see Eelstar’s color in Elmsprout’s darker tints. “Your father’s told the kits about you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Elmsprout chuckled. “He and I have… an awkward relationship. I wanted to make sure I could talk to you after your ceremony, because I’ve been where you are. We all have. We’re a bit of a Clan-within-a-Clan, you could say. We’ve all left our original Clans to join RippleClan. This is Rapidleaf and Asterpaw.”

“I’ll show you how to adapt to life in RippleClan,” Asterpaw promised, raising his tail high.

“Leaving my Clan was hard for me as well,” Rapidleaf said with a nod. “Like you, staying in LynxClan would have been too painful. RippleClan has built itself on second chances. Elmsprout befriended me as we both recovered from a bought of food poisoning a few moons ago, and we’ve both looked after Asterpaw since his arrival. If you need help, we promise to look after you, too.” 

“That’s…” Mitepaw purred, her whole body rippling, “that’s amazing!”

“It will be better for you to live in a Clan that is loyal to its members.” Oh, right! Rattlepelt was still standing there! She was so unlike any other cat Mitepaw had ever seen. Who else would have the courage to wear a fox pelt? She looked more like a fearsome warrior than the talented artisan Lavendertwist and Splashtuft made her out to be on the walk to RippleClan. “You’ve escaped a rotten place, Mitepaw.”

“I’m excited to learn under you, Artisan Rattlepelt,” Mitepaw said, bowing once more.

“Mitepaw, we don’t bow here!” Elmsprout laughed.

“Leave her be,” Rattlepelt scoffed. “If she wants to bow and use honorable titles, let her. It’s nice to be respected. Now Mitepaw, how would you like to learn the intricacies of leather-making from a master?” Mitepaw’s eyes sparkled. Learn to craft a leather pelt with the quality and skill of Rattlepelt’s fox fur? Learning in a Clan so bright and welcoming, under a mentor that was clearly wise and strong and clever, better than her old mentor in every way?

“Yes please!”

(Mitepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, quick to make peace)

(Elmsprout: 32, female, caretaker, charismatic, helpful insight)

(Rapidleaf: 84, female, warrior, lonesome, prophecy interpreter)

(Asterpaw: 12, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Rattlepelt: 48, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

Tallowkit reminds himself it will all be okay while Slushkit chews on a stick.

[Image ID: Tallowkit says “She won’t choke, she won’t choke…” as he watches Slushkit. Under Tallowkit, it says + NEW SKILL: SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Slushkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]

(Tallowkit: 1, male, kit, skittish, splashes in puddles)

(Slushkit: 1, female, kit, polite, quick witted)

Scaleripple and Tempestshade officially become mates.

[Image ID: Scaleripple and Tempestshade face each other. Under Scaleripple, it says + MATE: TEMPESTSHADE. Under Tempestshade, it says + MATE: SCALERIPPLE.]

---

Scaleripple couldn’t help but be in awe of Troutpool and Honeybuzz’s skill. When he had found Tempestshade half a moon prior, leg encased in a shimmering silver jaw, he had been certain it would have to come off. Yet there they were, half a moon later and still possessing four legs, even if one was so bandaged and slathered in ointment that it could hardly be called a leg. Honeybuzz had changed the bandages not so long ago, but Scaleripple could already see dots of blood leaking through. Not that Troutpool and Honeybuzz would notice; no, when Scaleripple visited Tempestshade that day, the Clan had a bit more exciting news to swallow.

“Our instincts are never more controlling than when a queen is kitting,” Troutpool explained to Mosspounce, waiting eagerly outside the den as she and Honeybuzz collected a few supplies into a basket. “Lemmy will know what to do with her kits, but she’ll need spiritual and emotional support. We’ll be with her the entire time, Mosspounce.”

“Are you sure Tempestshade can’t join us?” Mosspounce groaned, glancing around Troutpool to Tempestshade, whose nest sat in a quiet, warm corner of the medicine den. Scaleripple sat beside her, ice-faced and observant. “I want my kits to meet all of their kin.”

“Mosspounce, your kits won’t be able to meet anyone for a while,” Honeybuzz laughed. He slipped the basket around his neck. “They’re born with their eyes and ears shut. They’ll get to meet Tempestshade in the future, don’t worry.”

“But I wanna meet them,” Tempestshade whined. They laid sprawled across the nest, mangled leg carefully frozen on the edge. Their dark green eyes lacked some of their usual sparkle, devoured by the pain.

“You will, I promise,” Mosspounce said. Honeybuzz joined Mosspounce outside the den and the two trotted to the nursery. Troutpool, however, lingered, eyes wandering to Scaleripple.

“Will you be okay while we help Lemmy?” Troutpool asked.

“I won’t die,” Scaleripple growled. He laid in a loaf against Tempestshade’s nest, ignoring Troutpool’s gaze. Tempestshade chuckled, a soft, almost feverish sound. Troutpool shuffled her paws about.

“I didn’t want to have that vision,” Troutpool gulped. “I thought revealing it would spare Tempestshade a guilty verdict and protect RippleClan. I wouldn’t use StarClan to hurt them.”

“Did I say that’s what you did?” Scaleripple scoffed, daring to look up, even if Troutpool’s awkward expression made his skin hurt. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You just have to live with making Tempestshade a living omen of death.” Troutpool bowed her head low, closing her eyes. She followed her former apprentice and Mosspounce to the nursery, where Scaleripple could already hear Lemmy panting with the effort of her kitting.

“You showed her,” Tempestshade mumbled, purring. Scaleripple stared at Tempestshade. Why were they seemingly the only cats who truly understood the other? Scaleripple’s family loved him, he was certain of that, but did they know him like Tempestshade? Did they understand the strange way he worked, which separated him from everyone else? And did anyone else in the Clan dare to face the blunt of Tempestshade’s curse just to spend time with them? Did they appreciate their youthfulness, their honesty, their loyalty? From everything Scaleripple knew, two cats who were as close as he was to Tempestshade could only be called one thing.

“Tempestshade, are we mates?” he asked. Tempestshade cocked their head. A little life came back to their eyes.

“Haven’t we been mates since the summer?” they laughed. Oh. Well then.

“Maybe so,” Scaleripple purred. He rested his head on the edge of Tempestshade’s nest, a whisker length from their nose. Tempestshade hummed happily. They stretched and quickly touched noses with Scaleripple.

For once, Scaleripple didn’t mind.

(Scaleripple: 18, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Tempestshade: 26, nonbinary (they/them), caretaker, childish, incredible cook)

Mosspounce wants to be a father with different motivations than his own, and feels proud when Lemmy delivers four healthy kits.

[Image ID: Lemmy and Mosspounce watch four newborn kits; a tortoiseshell, a black molly, a silver molly, and a gray tabby. Under Lemmy, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. The tortoiseshell says NEW PLAYER: WEEVILKIT, 0, FEMALE, BULLYING. The black molly says NEW PLAYER: RAVENKIT, 0, FEMALE, SWEET. The silver kit says NEW PLAYER: SILVERKIT, 0, FEMALE, DAYDREAMER. Finally, the gray tabby says NEW PLAYER: WOLFKIT, 0, FEMALE, POLITE.]

(Mosspounce: 26, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Lemmy: 41, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilkit: 0, female, kit, bullying)

(Ravenkit: 0, female, kit, sweet)

(Silverkit: 0, female, kit, daydreamer)

(Wolfkit: 0, female, kit, polite)

Downstar is almost intimidated by the knowledge Asterpaw has gained in his short time in RippleClan and confidently names him Asterblaze.

[Image ID: Asterpaw, now Asterblaze, is an adult! Under him, it says LEVEL UP! ASTERPAW -> ASTERBLAZE, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS -> CONSTANTLY FIDDLING WITH TOOLS.]

(Asterblaze: 12, male, caretaker, thoughtful, constantly fiddling with tools)

While Troutpool and Honeybuzz are on patrol, Troutpool sees strange shimmers in the distance. They encounter a kittypet who grew up with old stories of RippleClan and wanted to raise her kits in the wild. Troutpool and Honeybuzz help welcome five more kits to the nursery.

[Image ID: Troutpool and Honeybuzz approach a brown and white molly and five kits; one light brown, two red, and two brown, all with white markings. Undee the mother, it says NEW PLAYER: HARVEST, 53, FEMALE, NERVOUS, GOOD FIGHTER. Under the light brown kit, it says NEW PLAYER: ANCHOVYKIT, 0, MALE, CHARMING. Under the upper red kit, it says NEW PLAYER: CURRENTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. The second red kit says NEW PLAYER: ROBINKIT, 0, MALE, UNRULY. The first dark brown cat in the upper corner says NEW PLAYER: YARROWKIT, 0, FEMALE, NOISY. The last brown kit says NEW PLAYER: BILLOWKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY.]

(Troutpool: 26, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Honeybuzz: 13, male, cleric, daring, constantly fiddling with tools)

(Harvest: 53, female, queen, nervous, good fighter)

(Anchovykit: 0, male, kit, charming)

(Currentkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Robinkit: 0, male, kit, unruly)

(Yarrowkit: 0, female, kit, noisy)

(Billowkit: 0, male, kit, bossy)

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Alright, and here's request #2

May I ask for Fives and Fox

with Prompt 14: Last Words

Where Fives is haunting Fox after his death. Where "the nightmares are over" is twisted to "the nightmare has just begun".

Girl, you helped me come up with this, you know what to write, lol

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

In Your Head

Fox

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Pairing: none

Characters: Fox, Thorn, ghost!Fives

Tags & Warnings: character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.2k

Author's Note: First of all, I'm going to apologize for how long it's taken me to write one of these requests. Second, all of the requests are still sitting in my ask box. I haven't gotten rid of any of them and I still plan on writing all of them. It's just gonna take me a bit. To be honest, this fic is more Fox whump than Fives whump, but eh, it's still whump and it still includes one of the 501st boys, so that counts, right? As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

Fox sits hunched over his desk and anxiously raps his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He's read the report five times now and each pass yields the same results. His CC number is littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he can't remember any of it. He looks up at the chronometer again and shakes his head. Time has moved, but he hasn't. He's been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report states otherwise.

It's not just the strange lost time that concerns Fox either, or the fact that his CC number is in a report. That's normal. What bothers him about this report is the fact that it clearly states in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone. And no matter how hard he racks his brain, he can't remember it. He hasn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp puts the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox raps his stylus faster and taps his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he? The Coruscant Guard has stunned countless rowdy and reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even bad clones deserve to explain their actions, but those are few and far between.

It must be a mistake. A typo. There has to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number is in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he has this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not be a mistake. The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company. One of Rex's men. Fox sent a simple comm message to Rex, offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worries him. It's not like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox drops the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaks when he leans back. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and brushes the damp curls out of his eyes. It must be a mistake. There is no other explanation. He doesn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must be a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he doesn't get the best sleep. His caf is cold, so obviously time has passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dings and Fox leans forward to see what the notification is for. He sighs and taps on the icon to open it, and his brows furrow as he reads the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident is now available and has been attached to the report. Fox huffs. This should clear up everything. He taps the icon to play the recording and watches intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'll have a stern talking to later on… but it's not.

Fox's breath hitches and his eyes widen. That's not some random corrie. That's him. That's his armor. He has the fleeting thought that someone stole his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realizes he's still wearing it. He hasn't taken it off since he put it on this morning. Panic rises in his gut and he continues to watch the recording. He flinches at the moment he pulls the trigger. A blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explains why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea, Fox don't, stabs him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed as ARC-5555 – Fives – one of Rex's best. Fox only remembers the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other.

Fox has seen and read enough. It was him, he knows that much, but he still doesn't remember being there. He doesn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It's like he was sleep walking, even though not a single clone out of millions has ever been noted to do so on record. He finds it even more odd that he was on scene for the shooting and then left. It's not like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't even write this report. Who did?

Fox yells in frustration and kicks the leg of his desk. Why can't he remember? How could he forget he shot and killed a brother. How could he forget Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he forget leaving his office and coming back? Fox feels sick. Not only did he kill a brother, he killed one of Rex's. A beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox doesn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he does.

Fox pulls a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserts one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicks and he pulls it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clink as he searches for a specific one. Finding it, he pulls it out of the drawer and places it on his desk. He leans down to grab a glass, hesitates, then closes the drawer without taking it. He twists the cap off the bottle, grabs the neck, and tilts the opening to his lips.

"Fox?" Thorn whispers as he peeks into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groans in response. His torso rests on top of his desk and the side of his face lays on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighs and shakes his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox slurs. His body twitches at the sudden exertion.

Thorn ignores Fox's inebriated order and pulls up a chair to sit opposite Fox's desk.

"Talk to me," Thorn says.

"Nothin'... to talk about," Fox answers.

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn says. He grabs the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and sets it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picks his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggles to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he says, then lays his head back down onto the desk making the room stop spinning.

Thorn taps his fingers against the desk's surface next to Fox's head and Fox flinches at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groans, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox slurs as he slowly picks his head back up to look at Thorn. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirks. "Part of my charm."

"Karking… banthas… have more charm," Fox says, his head swaying as he tries to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolls his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asks. He reaches for the bottle and Thorn leans over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn says.

Fox huffs. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn says. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reaches for the bottle again and Thorn moves it. "I'm… not effective."

"Yeah, I can see that," Thorn raises an eyebrow. "You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox sneers, then reaches for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asks, as he lifts the bottle up out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirks through hooded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn places the bottle back down onto the desk and pushes it towards Fox. Fox grabs it, sits back in his chair, and shoots the last burning drops down his throat, then slams the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn says. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckles. "I don't know."

Thorn's eyes darken. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilts his head to the side and studies Fox for a moment. Even drunk, Fox usually makes some sense, but this particular time he's making zero sense. It's not that hard of a question, but his avoidance in answering it is making Thorn worry. There's something Fox isn't telling him and he needs to know what it is in order to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard is going to get them nowhere fast.

"Fox," Thorn prods.

"Don't Fox me," Fox spits in response. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn interjects. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Fox lazily shrugs.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Thorn asks.

"I don't remember," Fox says.

"You don't remember shooting a vod?" Thorn asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope," Fox says, making a popping sound on the second consonant.

Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox says, his agitation growing at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounds his fists on the desk, making Thorn flinch.

"Easy, vod," Thorns soothes and reaches out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yells with a jerk as he weakly bats Thorn's hand away. "Is not. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realizes he's not going to get anywhere with Fox being this drunk and worked up, so he decides to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he says before getting up from his chair. He looks down at Fox's dilapidated state, shakes his head, then turns to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox demands.

Thorn turns around and scoffs. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabs the empty bottle and throws it towards Thorn, but it hits the wall by the door instead and shatters into a million pieces. "Shabuir," Fox snarls.

Thorn sighs. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turns back towards the door and leaves Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbles and lays his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He's not really angry at Thorn, as annoying as he is. No. He's angry at himself. Angry that he can't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he can't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain won't put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where did his memory go? Did it grow legs and walk away from him? Did it leave him or did he leave it? Is that even possible?

Fox would stay laying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back is beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guesses. He needs to try and make it to his couch where he can stretch out and fall asleep. At least while asleep he won't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then Thorn butted in and ruined it.

Fox tries to peel himself off of his desk, but his body is heavy. He manages to sit up, but then slumps back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groans at the pain and rubs the spot. When he opens his eyes, the room is spinning, and it makes him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckles to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hasn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox plants his hands squarely on his desk and rocks to push himself out of the chair. He tries once and can't get it. He tries twice and still can't get it. He tries thrice and finally he's on his feet, although he uses a little too much force and falls forward onto the desk. Maybe it's better if he crawls to the couch instead of walking there. He lets the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he's sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leans past the desk and turns his head to see where the couch is, but he leans a little too far and slumps over onto the ground. He groans. This was a terrible idea. He wishes he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he has to make it on his own. With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolls himself onto his stomach and crawls towards the couch. Usually, it's closer, but right now it feels klicks away.

Maker, he's tired. Why did he have to put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why can't it come to him? You'd think someone would've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic is too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continues to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scoots closer. With one final push, he makes it, but accidentally bumps his head against the leg. He curses it again.

Now, it's just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he can finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial is causing him grief. Why is it so high up? Why is the floor so far down? Why won't the room stop spinning? He wishes he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body is heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabs one of the cushions, pulls himself up, and flops onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolls off of his stomach and situates himself with his back against the back of the couch so he doesn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He chuckles to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him. He would find some way into the afterlife and kill him again for being such an idiot. Although, to him, it's a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if Fox hates to admit it, Thorn is still his best friend. Some days they absolutely can't stand each other, but when push comes to shove, there's no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together, he figures. Fox releases a wide yawn that makes his stomach churn, but he's happy that his body wants to rest. With a few slow breaths, he lets himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he'll wake up and finally remember or if his memory will still be adrift.

Fox groans as he stirs from his sleep. He slowly opens one eye and sees that it's still dark out, which means either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle. Even more surprising is the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also means Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him. The idiot. He'll need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he sees him.

Fox carefully shifts to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounds from the hangover. He hasn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'll have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was. Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looks around the room, but frowns when he sees the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. Guess he won't be buying another one of those anytime soon. What a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoists himself up off the couch and grabs the arm to steady his shaky legs. He doesn't feel woozy, but his body still feels heavy, like there are rocks in his head weighing him down. He rolls his neck, then his shoulders, and then arches his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae makes a popping sound and he groans. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch-sleep is still not as nice as a bunk. He needs some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbles his way to the refresher connected to his office, and is, once again, thankful for the amenities he has access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would be embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself. Thorn would get a good laugh, though, the jerk. He'd say something stupid just to piss him off. But that's the game they play, because Fox has embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox steps into the refresher without flipping the light switch on, and twists the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cups the rushing water in his hands and splashes it onto his face. The cool water feels good on his hot skin and soothes his throbbing headache. He does that a few more times, and then one last good splash that he smooths over his unruly curls. He pats his face with the towel and stares at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection is… off.

Fox rubs the towel across his face again, thinking he has some water stuck in his eyes making his vision blurry, but the reflection still looks odd. He then uses the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that doesn't clear it either. Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opens the mirror cabinet and grabs the bottle of ibuprofen. He pops a few and swallows them dry, wincing as he feels them go down his throat, then closes the cabinet.

Hi Fox , a voice says.

Fox startles and stumbles back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" Fox exclaims. He turns his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he's not there. "Thorn?" he calls, but there's no answer. He peeks his head out of the refresher to see if there's anyone in his office, but it's still dark and empty. It's just him. He's never had a hangover that made him hear things before… he thinks. Fox's heart races with adrenaline.

Fox , the voice says.

Fox flinches at the sound of his name, and whips his head around to try and figure out who's calling him, but there's still no one there. "Thorn," Fox says. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you."

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice says.

Fox freezes, his blood running cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, but he's still alone in the refresher. His instincts are screaming for him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he's hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't be hearing voices, or at least he doesn't think he should be hearing voices. Fox closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths to calm himself and just hopes that whatever it is will go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know , the voice says. Especially dead people.

Yup, he's crazy. He's one hundred percent certified crazy now. Not only is he hearing voices, but he's hearing voices of the dead . What did he do while he was drunk and asleep? Conjure a demon? Summon a spirit? Invite a deity to chat over some caf? How did he even do that? The other option is that he's still plastered and is hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sound equally as insane, but do they really make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox begins with a nervous voice, "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the refresher door to leave, but it slides shut before he can exit. He stares at the closed door and takes another deep breath, then releases it slowly. He slides his hands over his holsters, but the blasters are missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he didn't notice. He kicks himself for being so absentminded to leave them on the couch, but in his defense there aren't many who'd attack him in his own office.

Fox runs his tongue across his teeth and puffs his chest out before turning around to face whatever it is that's messing with him, but when he does, there's no one else in the refresher besides him. He bites his lip and nods his head. It must be a dream. He's living in a dream and he can't wake up. That has to be the answer. There's no other explanation. Once he wakes up, he's going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this isn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting , the voice says impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox grits his teeth and thinks for a moment. If he answers the voice of the dead, is something bad going to happen to him? It's not like his life could get any worse. He's a dog of the Republic, he's shot and killed a brother, and he's probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There's not much else they can do to him. Fox startles at a sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… killed. Fox's heartbeat pounds ferociously in his ears.

He takes a few steps towards the sink and peers into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came in the refresher that it didn't dawn on him what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right. He stares at his reflection, and tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studies the image, but his eyes grow wide when he realizes that the reflection didn't follow the tilt of his head. He moves in closer.

Boo , the reflection says with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screams and out of reflex he punches the mirror, cracking it. He heaves in his breaths and pulls his fist back from the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighs and side steps into the part of the mirror that isn't as broken. Really? the reflection asks.

Fox is on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline taking control of every muscle in his body. His reflection is talking to him. It's moving without him. But it's not even him. He can clearly see that now. Fox takes a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor is white, like a shiny's, their head is shaven, they have a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw drops. It's him. It's the clone he shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asks, almost bored.

"You're…" Fox tries to speak, but he's still unsure of what he's actually seeing.

The name's Fives , the reflection says while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember, since you killed me.

Fox is speechless and wide-eyed. He feels sick to his stomach. He knows who Fives is, but he still doesn't remember shooting him. He's never met him, and the only images he has are of him in his ARC armor, not whatever it is he's wearing now. Fox thinks back to the recording that was attached to the report, and remembers seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He did find it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox says as he backs away from the mirror. "You're not real! You're dead !"

The reflection snorts. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yells, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touches the hard durasteel wall and he slides down it until he's sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asks. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulls his knees to his chest, clasps his hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yells again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving , the voice says. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox practically screams. "Leave me alone!" His breathing becomes labored and he feels like he's going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox , the reflection chuckles, then pushes out of the mirror and folds its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next rotation has Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror isn't just a voice anymore. It's a full body apparition that follows him around wherever he goes. He can't even take a piss without that thing watching him. He still wonders if it's the actual Fives or if it's just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he feels for killing the clone. He wants to tell Thorn about it, but even Thorn has limits on disbelief.

Hour after hour, the apparition asks if he remembers killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still has the same answer – no. Maker, he wishes it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it's just for a couple of minutes. There's nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watches him from across the room with its dark, cold, dead eyes and smug expression. If this is the real Fives, then he doesn't understand why Rex liked him so much.

Although, today has been strangely quiet. The apparition is nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox is taking the much needed alone time to catch up on the reports he's been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There's always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thinks. Fox looks up from his data-pad when he hears a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn says with a friendly smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nods.

Thorn walks into the office, places the cup down in front of Fox, and sits on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabs the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhales its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorts. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name calling."

Fox winces at the vague memory, then takes a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"So are you," Fox smirks.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asks as it appears next to Fox.

Fox startles and accidentally drops the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startles and jumps off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Fox sighs. "Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walks off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod , the apparition says as it watches Thorn with interest. Is he your best friend?

Fox chooses to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know , the apparition continues. It hops up on the desk to sit in front of Fox, its legs dangling over the edge. I had a best friend once – actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glares at the apparition and snarls. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckles. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reaches out to touch Fox, but its hand goes straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your friend.

Fox continues to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition says. Thorn is his best friend, but this is his issue to deal with, and he's not going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation goes a long way in his mind. He just needs Thorn to see it once, then he can feel safe again, feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asks in concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabs the towel and pats himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn isn't convinced, but doesn't argue.

I'm not fine , the apparition says. I'm dead .

Fox wants to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room makes him wonder. He turns his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asks, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox sighs and tosses the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Nevermind."

"Fox," Thorn begins hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox , the apparition adds. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue . Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaims. Thorn flinches and Fox bites his tongue. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still isn't convinced, but he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't , the apparition says. You shot me .

"Thanks," Fox says. His eye twitches. It's hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it's even harder when he has two people talking to him at once and only one of them is actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn says as he places a hand on Fox's shoulder. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too , the apparition says.

"I appreciate that," Fox says, trying to give him his best fake smile.

Thorn throws Fox another look of concern, but turns and leaves his office all the same.

Fox immediately turns his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No , the apparition says. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox drops his head onto his desk and yells in frustration.

The apparition hops off the desk and kneels so it's face is on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispers. And I'll go away .

Fox clutches the sides of his head. "I'm trying," he chokes out. "But I can't remember."

It's been a week and Fox is on the verge of losing himself. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He can't do anything. The reports are piling up and questions are being asked. Thorn continues to check on him, and he appreciates it, but he wishes he'd stay away from him. Every time Thorn comes into his office, the apparition stares at him like he's a piece of meat. Fox knows the apparition can't hurt Thorn, at least, that's what he's been made to believe, but what if he's wrong?

He can't let it get Thorn, too. It can torment him all it wants, actually, it can even kill him if it wants, but he will not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn is too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hasn't killed any clones. He probably hasn't killed anyone . There's no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It's him that the apparition wants. Its blood is on his hands, not Thorns. Thorn has nothing to do with any of this and Fox will do anything to protect him.

Hi Fox , the apparition says while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox sneers from where he sits behind his desk.

The truth , the apparition says with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox says. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough , the apparition says as it pushes itself off the door frame and approaches Fox's desk.

"I won't let you hurt Thorn," Fox says as he stands up.

What are you talking about? the apparition asks.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox exclaims. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunts. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox yells as he clutches the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunts. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!" Fox yells.

C'mon, Fox, the apparition walks closer. Tell me.

Fox draws one of his blasters and points it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition says, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathes heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirks. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yells, then fires a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watches as the apparition falls to its knees and clutches at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting– Thorn?

Fox pants with exasperation as his senses begin to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipates, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping at the hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted on his face as he looks at Fox. No. No, this can't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he shoot his best friend? It was the ghost. The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasps. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox has done hits him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widen and his voice quivers. "Thorn."

Thorn collapses forward onto the floor and Fox rushes to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambles as he pulls his brother into his lap and applies pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yells. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears begin to well in Fox's eyes as he tries desperately to explain.

Thorn reaches up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabs it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn says weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand drops as his body goes limp and he breathes his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yells, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, vod." He pulls his brother's lifeless body close to his chest and rocks him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appears once again, crouches down in front of Fox, and looks apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shakes its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looks at the apparition with murderous intent.

A vod for a vod , the apparition says with a smirk. At least you'll remember this one.

Event Masterlist

Masterlist

AO3

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[sempiternalmuze]

ms. americana & the heartbreak prince

eddie roundtree/loving x f!reader

description: eddie is your prince, girls are mean, and you love the boy so much that it hurts. good news is that he loves you just as much.

word count: 1.7k

warning(s): none

a/n: erm...hi!! first eddie fic and this man has been in my head for the last month non stop. bit of a fluff/hurt comfort piece. this is the first thing i've finished reading in a long time, and i have some more stuff in the works. please like and reblog, its really helps :)!!

"You know I adore you, I'm crazier for you Than I was at 16...I counted days, I counted miles To see you there, to see you there...Leave with my head hung, you are the only one Who seems to care..."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: . . :☆ﾟ. ─── ➶ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: . . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your hands were traveling all over Eddie's body, pulling at the collar of his shirt, tangled in his hair. His lips were desperate against yours, searching every part of you that you'd let him.

"Baby, I gotta go-" He gasped, breathing heavily as he pulled his lips away from yours. His hand gripped the back of your neck while the other rested against the small of your back. The crowd could be heard echoing throughout the walls of the stadium, their cheers and screams bouncing around the two of you.

You nodded, giving him a smile and one last kiss. "Walk me down to the room?" He nodded, helping you down from the amps you had found your way onto.

Eddie and you had been together for over five years, since the last half of senior year. He was quick to ask you to come with him, and you hadn't hesitated to follow him and the band out west to California.

Eddie swayed slightly as he walked you down to the back room, where the others would be, preparing to take their time on the stage. He was smiling his beautiful upturned, soft smile.

"What's got you so happy? Excited?" You asked, squeezing his bicep.

"Just thinking about how lucky I am, to have someone like you with me. If I could have anything in the world, I'd still choose you." He looked down at you.

Your chest tightened with something, filled with the love and excitement of knowing that you had him. Eddie could be a real hard ass, always getting too mad too fast. But somehow, you could never make him mad. Did you annoy him sometimes? Of course, but not as much as Billy or Graham could. Did he love to goof around with Warren? Duh, but when it came to you, it was like he didn't have anything to prove, anything to leave behind to know you would still be there after a show or a gig in a bar. And you felt great comfort in knowing that despite the drinking, the drugs, and the chance to flirt with another, he would never do anything that left you alone or in pain.

As you two arrived in front of the door you took his hand in yours, giving it a tight squeeze.

"I love you a lot." You smile, kissing his knuckles, running your fingers over the callouses that covered his fingers.

The door swung open and Warren let out a cheer, pointing his drumsticks in the air.

"Let's fucking do this!!" He yelled, a mirage of cheers coming from behind him. "Woah, sorry to interrupt lovebirds, but we have a show to put on." He laughed, pulling Eddie with him.

Eddie rolled his eyes, mouthed a quick love you, and began walking in stride with the drummer, the others quickly following behind, giving you a wave and smile.

You walked into the room, which reeked of weed and alcohol. There were three groupies sitting on the couches and lounging around the floor. They usually stayed around for a bit, went to the show, then came back to freshen up before the band got back. Usually, you and Camila would sit in the corner, talk about life with your boys, and talk about the next show. But Camila was at home, pregnant, and could not stand being around the waves of smells.

So you sat alone, leaning against the couch that was more focused in the corner, just a bit farther from the four girls that littered the room. Usually, they clung to Warren and Graham, but you weren't immune to the looks they would give Eddie, they did the same thing to Billy, whether you and Camila were or weren't here.

You sighed, leaning your head back, hearing the crowd get louder as the band began their set. The cheers were enough to make you excited to see Eddie after the show. He would be full of energy and power, seeing as this was one of the biggest crowds, based on what the sounds themselves told you.

"Hey, you're the one that's always with Eddie, right?" One of the girls called.

You looked towards her, her makeup slightly messy, hair blown back. She was smiling, and for a moment you thought she might be showing you a bit of kindness.

"Yeah, always by his side." You smiled, prideful that you made your presence around him notable.

"Mm, yeah, you should try to do that less." She smirked, her hand lifting another hill of powder up to her nostril.

You looked at her, confused about what she could mean. Your arms wrapped around one another, hugging yourself as you leaned into her words.

"Yeah, that's just like, hook-up 101. You don't want to annoy them, just give them enough to keep it up." She winked, as the girls around her laughed.

There was a sudden ache in the bottom of your stomach, the way she eyed you, the way she had let the words drip off her tongue.

"Well," You squared your shoulders, "Good thing I'm not just a hookup. Eddie and I are together, have been for a while."

"Oh, sure. I'm not doubting that, I'm just saying maybe if you acted like you were just a hook-up, he wouldn't have the need to go find one of us." She shrugged, pouting her lips.

The malice in her voice, in her eyes. There was serious pity in what she was telling you and you had no idea how to react. She could be lying, she could be just playing up a story to try and get a reaction. Why would you give her that and her friends that?

You silently grabbed your stuff and walked out. If you took one last look or said something you weren't sure if it would be with anger or tears. The crowd was still cheering, yelling out as the band began the second half of their set but the only thing you could hear was the pounding in your head.

You made your way out the area's back door, the one nearest to where the bus had parked. Teddy was right outside, smoking a cigarette.

"Hey, darling-" You looked over at him, tears welling over in your eyes. He immediately turned to you, a look of concern splashed over his face. "What's going on?"

"Nothing Teddy. Just um, you know how these girls can be." You gave him a soft smile, wiping away the tears in your eyes. He gave you a nod, saying nothing before offering you a cigarette from his pack.

You took it, lit it, and let out a long exhale as your head rested against the wall of the arena.'

"You know, I don't know how to get, sentimental. I'm not the best with words or anything, but I will tell you this: Eddie would never do whatever those girls in there said."

"It's alright Teddy, I don't need any lies or cover stories. I'm a big girl, he's a big guy, and I'll have that conversation with him." You smiled, taking another drag.

"I've toured with bands for almost fifty years and you think I'm gonna start covering them now? Look, I know how these guys tend to get. I've toured with lots of bands for a long time, and I tell you, that boy is one of the very few that has never even looked at another woman the entire time I've been here."

The tears began to well in your eyes again, that tight feeling in your chest returning. You knew Teddy was right. But there was always a small part of you to doubt Eddie even though he had never given you a reason to. You felt it could be because of what Camila had found out about Billy, and you knew everything he had put her through. You had been the one to hold her at the hospital after Julia came, as Billy was on his way to rehab. You could never see Eddie putting you through that, and for all you cared, Eddie was ten times the guy Billy had ever been.

"All I'm saying is, if anyone is gonna tell you the truth, it's that boy. And he's still going to apologize for even letting you think that way even though he had no hand in it."

So why put yourself through the what if's when you could ask the man that loved you for yourself?

"You're right." You flicked the burnt stub to the ground, and stomped it out, turning to Teddy. "Thank you, Teddy."

He smiled, and grabbed the door, letting you back inside. The show itself was coming to an end, you could tell as the chorus for Honeycomb began. You rush to a bathroom, fix your eyeliner and lipstick, fluffed your hair, then made your way back to the band's room.

As you opened the door you saw that the girls had all quieted down, trying to fix themselves up before the others returned. You weren't going to say a word, just going to let actions speak for themself.

A few minutes later, the band rushed into the room, cheering, and jumping around as the girls got up to greet whoever they wanted. You sat, waiting patiently for your boy to appear.

When he did, his eyes scanned the room, looking frantically for you. When they landed on him he made no hesitation to race across the room, dropping to his knees in front of where you sit.

"Hi baby." He smiled, catching you in a kiss. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his around your waist as he held you close to his body. He gripped you so hard you would think that someone was going to come into his arms and rip you away from him. He shifted around, so his head rest against your lap as you played with his hair.

And all the bad feelings disappeared. Maybe one day you would have the conversation with Eddie, tell him what had been said to you, what you thought she could mean. But for now, you knew that Teddy's words rang true. Eddie was a hothead, but he wasn't a cheater. He was someone whose heart had enough room for one person, and that just happened to be you.

[angelkitty54]

Gasp! What's this? Even more Sonic fankid design even tho I have like half a dozen AUs already!? IDK man, I just like designing characters I guess! :P

Anyways, I learned some facts about hedgehogs recently and apparently during their mating season hedgehogs often take on several mates at a time, and it's not uncommon for a single litter of hoglets to have different fathers. Thus this AU spawned into being! Basically, after an odd out of season heat, Sonic realises his eggo is preggo and has to backtrack to figure who the potential fathers/mothers might be.

Also should mention that Sonadow twins Tempo and Harmony, are also part of this litter too. Look, I drew five kids and ran out of steam. If ya can't tell by the lack of shading, I just wanted this drawing to be done. I'll try to get round to drawing them later, maybe when I don't have four other half-finished pieces to be doing...

Anyways about the kids!

Amber the Echidna: Contrary to what ya might be thinking, Knuckles is not her dad. She came as a surprise to everyone as Sonic knew for a fact he hadn't been with Knuckles at the time, and didn't know of any other echidnas. They would later learn that she was actually brought into existence by the Master Emerald itself. During their last epic battle with Eggman, Sonic used it power up and it seized the opportunity to, well, get him pregnant. This, it turns out, is also what set off his heat, causing this whole mess. No one is really sure why the Master Emerald did this, but there is an awareness that Amber probably has some kind of Magical Destiny ahead of her.

Sparx the Tenrec: The result of a drunken one night stand. Coincidentally, she was conceived on the same night as Cinder, during a victory party hosted by the Restoration. Sonic does not remember much of this night as he may have partied a little bit too hard. He has vague flashes of an angry make-out session with Surge tho, the next clearest thing being he waking up in bed between Silver and Blaze. Surge was very in denial that the whole thing had happened and did not really take the news she'd had a kid with Sonic very well... Sparx is very close with Sonic and has an up and down relationship with her mum.

Cinder the Cat: Silver and Blaze are in a committed relationship, but fully accept Cinder as their kid. He doesn't really find it that weird that his mum and bio dad aren't together, nor finds Silver's presence in his life disagreeable. He gets to have an extra parent after all. It was admittedly a bit weird for the parents at first, but they made it work. Tho Sonic is still a little salty that he can't remember the details of what he thinks must have been a really hot threesome...

Trick the Wolf: Sonic just happen to run into Gadget and, tbh, both were kinda surprised that they ended up in bed together. Sonic had not been aware he was in heat during all this time and this encounter was the first to clue him in that something might have been up. Tho he wouldn't put the pieces together until much later. They were originally called "Trixie" but later changed it to "Trick" to sound more gender neutral after coming out as gender fluid.

Arthur Acorn: Sonic and Sally had a history, so when they happen to meet up and fell into to bed together it wasn't really all that out of the ordinary. Her parents very much do not approve of the fact Sally had a child out of wedlock, and that it's with Sonic of all people, AND that said child has multiple half-siblings to boot! Despite this, they can't help but love Arthur. It's very hard for people not too, he's just got so much rizz, even as a baby.

[puppy-t337h]

EXULANSIS - I

GHOST X READER X SOAP (COLLEGE AU)

AO3 LINK - OTHER CHAPTERS

CW: DEPPRESSION, PTSD, RECREATIONAL DRUG USE, ALCOHOL, COLLEGE PARTIES, ONE NIGHT STAND, MAKING OUT, READER USES SHE/HER PRONOUNS, JEALOUSY, (ACCIDENTAL) HOMIE HOPPING

~~~

Douche.

Would be the word you would use to describe your next door neighbor.

You aren't one to hate people—not without first being provoked, at least. In fact, you usually actively went out of your way not to…hating people for things they said and did before their brain was even fully developed was always such a strange concept to you.

You had better things to do, anyway, than to spend time out of your day thinking about other people, most importantly unpleasant ones. Avoiding conflict like the plague got you through highschool and now—mostly—university. You were very protective of your quiet.

Moving day was the day you first met one of them. You didn't live in the dorms, instead opting for an apartment complex close by inhabited by many other senior students. It was quieter, and the rooms were bigger—the only downsides to it being rent and the commute you had to make back to campus for classes. They moved in the day after you did—and you only noticed after bringing home yet another box of belongings you had neglected in your car. It was late. You had procrastinated long enough.

Of course, he was in the hallway, moving his things into his apartment exactly twenty-three minutes before the semester began.

He was a brawny guy, slightly taller with a tasteful mohawk and kind eyes. Scottish. He was polite enough face-to-face; the kind of guy who was sensible on his own but seemed to lose ten I.Q. points whenever he was under the influence of his friends—carrying on in the hallway and moving four to five boxes like it was nothing. Broad arms corded with veins and littered with little scars…not that you were looking.

“Dropped this,” were the first two words he said to you, waving—to your complete horror—the bluejay stuffed animal you’ve had since you were ten. He had the biggest grin on his face, like he had just caught wind of one of his friends’ deepest, darkest secrets—and in some ways he had. A few other people on the floor turned to look at his declaration over their boxes as they navigated through the narrow hallway, drawn by his foreign accent. You were mortified for more reasons than one.

Immediately, his energy strikes a cord within you.  Something about his smile, his face, brings back memories that sting like hell.  Maybe that's why you hate him---because he reminds you of a past you can't go back to.  A person you can't go back to.

You swiped the stuffed animal from his grasp and stuffed it back into the massive box you balanced on your knee, muttering a strangled: “thanks.”

“Sure you don’t need any help?” Mohawk continues, padding after you a few steps. The request is genuine—you think—but it has that mocking undertone to it that sets off all the alarms in your brain that said he was, in fact, a total douche.

“No, thank you,” your back hits your apartment door and you kick it open with your foot, shuffling inside. “This is the last box.”

He stares after you for a moment, then shrugs and waves you off—opening the door across from you. He has something in his hand—a dog bowl, maybe—but not once does he shed that smug smile.

“Suit yourself, Birdie.” He says.

Birdie. The audacity of this guy.

For the first week or so, nights were peaceful. Or…close enough to it. School starts up as usual and, just like normal, you find yourself holed up in your apartment catching up on assignments you neglected to do until the last minute. The first month or so of school gets to you in that regard---too used to hearing voices of anothers in your space; a facet running, laptop typing, voices speaking. The lonliness is the worst part, you think, but the easiest to adjust to. Whatever angry God above must have heard your anxious thoughts about the quiet because, low and behold, that peace doesn't last long.

Your neighbors like to blast music. Loud. Why nobody else on the floor seems to complain about it is beyond you, but you can hear it loud and clear through the thin walls of your enclosure—shitty metal ringing muffled through the drywall.

Annoying, but not particularly malicious.

Since then, you've only caught glimpses of Mohawk and his roommate after the incident in the hallway; across the dining hall, carrying on at welcome week parties, and only occasionally in classes. Exchange students from Europe, some people say. Others say they're narcs of some kind. More say they don't even attend classes here at all and just show up for the frat scene every now and again which—honestly, would be believable. They’ve managed to wrack up quite the reputation across campus despite it only being a few weeks into the semester. Or, at least, Mohawk has...with blurry fights recorded on Snapchat and tales of hook-ups, flirting, and hilarious drunken rants from your more outgoing friends.

You’d pass Mohawk—or, more commonly known as Soap, for some reason—in the hallways sometimes or catch him in the elevator—occasionally with his roommate, who was an enigma. He stood a little taller than his Scottish friend with sandy hair, a stubble, and dark, concealing clothes. A hood was pulled over his head as he scrolled through his phone—a stark constrast to Soap who stuck to his usual t-shirt and shorts combo. You didn't realize the stranger caught you staring until your gaze raked up to meet his cold eyes already looking at you; piercing straight through your heart like a particularly sharp piece of ice. You immediately avert your gaze.

Fucking weirdo.

Halloween was the next time you had a substantial conversation with either of them—not that that day in the hallway or in the elevator could be considered substantial at all. You didn't initially plan on going out, but after a long-winded argument with a couple of your friends insisting that you take a break and live a little, finally, you cave. You need to let loose, anyway—feeling far too confined within your small apartment and seemingly endless statistics assignments. Maybe social interaction would help you get out of your funk.

Iota-omega-gamma something or other, the three symbols atop the giant house you're dragged to stare back at you as you clamber to the entrance. The inside is bustling with energy, Halloween costumes from niche internet references to the classic witch, vampire, and zombie catching your sight everywhere you look. You've gone a bit over the top—you will admit—with intricate skeleton makeup painted across your face and a tight black dress to boot.

You're a few drinks in whenever your friend group starts mingling with others, laughing and disappearing into the lights and the music and the people. The air stinks of today's beer and tomorrow's regret mixed with a tinge of marijuana that has long since made its home in the drywall; and you're tipsy and staggering to the backdoor. It's exaggerated, of course, all elbows and hands as you bump into your friends, laughing and talking over the noise as you look for somewhere quiet to regroup.

That's when you bump into him—quite literally. Chest to chest, your head hits the bottom of his chin, sending you reeling before his large, gloved hand grabs your wrist; steadying you. His drink spills, watered-down beer splashing against the floor.

"Sorry, sorry," you pull your hand free. Your gaze meets a shitty skull, painted over a balaclava. Grinning, you point to your own face. "Skeleton, right?"

He blinks—eyes piercing, familiar. His hand slides from your arm, noticeably shaky as he shoves it back into his pocket. His face is hidden, but the rest of him is ripped; in a tight black T-shirt and dark jeans, one arm blackened with a faded sleeve of tattoos.

"Ghost, actually," he corrects.

"But that's a skull."

"What about it?"

"Damn, sensitive," you huff, tilting your head at him as if that would help you see him better. Fidgeting, brow furrowed, eyes averting–-he's tense, for some reason, and with your latest psych assignment still fresh on your mind you recognize small signs of distress immediately. "You good?"

"Peachy," he mutters. His voice is gravelly and foreign—almost a growl—sticking out like a sore thumb against the music and the dancing and the laughing of your peers. He goes to shrug past with some lame excuse of: "just here for some friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "Some friends you got…ditching you at a party."

He sighs long and heavy, simply nodding before going to walk off towards the front door of the frat.

You don't know why, but you stop him.

"Wait," you grab his arm. "Let me buy you a drink."

He blinks, eyes narrowing.

"Why?" He draws out the word, his tone almost sounding suspicious of you—like he suspects you have ulterior motives.

"'Cause I spilled yours and bumped into you and I'll feel like shit if I don't replace it," you ramble, tugging him along before he has the chance to say otherwise. "C'mon. We'll find your friends."

Easily two-hundred pounds of muscle, he could pull free and you almost expect to lose him in the crowd—but he doesn't, letting you tug him along through the lights and the people for reasons unknown to you. He seems hesitant at first, resisting a little at before stumbling behind you; sticking out like a fish out of water in the sea of college students that surrounded you. The kitchen, thank God, is devoid of people other than the occasional student drifting in for another drink. For now, it's quiet, the sound of music and people slightly muffled from around the corner—and you swear your new acquaintance visibly relaxes, shoulders slumping and breath slowing, proving your theory right.

"Not a party person, Ghost?" You observe, plucking his cup from his hands again and turning to the counter. "People don't generally come to frats just to linger in corners."

He scoffs, "'Just got somewhere I'd rather be."

You hum, nodding. "Homework?"

He shrugs and crosses his arms indifferently as he leans back against the door. You feel his gaze on you as you turn away, and you don't think it's left once since you’ve met. You don’t think he realizes you can see his eyes through the skull mask and eyeblack. "Something like that."

You hum in acknowledgement, handing him his drink. "I was dragged here, too, if it's any consultation."

He hesitates, but takes it. "You don't seem too upset about that."

"I'm not. I needed a break," now it's your turn to shrug. You look away. "But, y'know, school comes first."

He huffs, loosening up more little by little as he lifts his mask up past his nose to take a long drink. You smile as he loosens up a bit.

"School comes first," he repeats, without an ounce of genuinity. It has you chuckling a little and, friends forgotten—you take to talking to the strange, gruff man you've encountered.

You learn a little about him. Like how he hates beer, and hates parties; but he believes they make eachother bearable. He’s from England; Manchester, to be more specific. An exchange student who needed a “change in scenery” and decided to travel abroad with a few buddies.

“So you came here?” You chuckle, “the middle of nowhere?”

“Wanted to be somewhere quiet.”

“Well, sure, but I highly doubt this school is on any program in fucking England of all places. Nobody goes here.”

He chuckles at that, for some reason; a low, rumbling sound that makes his broad shoulders bounce. He reaches over to grab his drink from the other end of the table and his sleeve rides up past the muscle in his arm. His pale skin is scarred to hell; with a few different kinds of scars dotting his thick arms.

Weird.

Everything about him is strange—contradictory. He hates parties and drinking, but he’s here anyway. He’s built like a brick wall but seems to tense every time he hears any sort of loud noise or anytime anything brushes his skin. His hands are calloused to hell. You couldn’t quite figure him out, but you think maybe that’s what draws you to him—the psych student in you absolutely fascinated.

Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Ghost doesn't seem happy you've latched onto him, but he allows you to drag him around just the same; returning your banter in a way that makes you grin. You think, maybe, he's doing it for the bit—you are matching, after all—but he makes no effort to shoo you away when you cling to his arm, and he stays close in the crowd; asshole friends forgotten. A few drinks in and you have him chuckling louder, steadying you when you lose your balance doing something dumb, talking, and joking like you've known each other for years—despite it only being an hour or two.

Finally, you’ve gotten him to loosen up.

Before long, you're both tired and you find yourself mingled into his group after he finally finds them again: a strange but charming combination of students including but not limited to another, friendlier Brit and—...oh, for fuck’s sake.

Your neighbor.

He's dressed as a zombie, you think. Honestly, he could be anything—shitty fake blood splattered across the front of a torn, white t-shirt and old jeans; quick and just as low-effort as his friend. The mohawk is messy and it looks as if Ghost took some of his eyeblack and smacked him with it; long lines drawn messily across his face.

"There he is!" The Scottsman slurs, nearly spilling his drink on his taller friend as he clumsily lays his arm across Ghost's shoulders. "'Thought you finally got tired of us."

"I did," Ghost grumbles. "But considering Gaz looks like someone fucking pepper sprayed 'em it looks like I'm on baby-sittin' duty instead."

Soap's eyes flicker to you as Ghost shrugs away your hold on his arm. The Scottsman grins, and suddenly it's you he's slouched against, and your heart jumps into your throat from the physical contact.

"See you've finally met Birdie, huh? Told ya' you'd enjoy it here if you gave it a chance."

"You!” you snap, shoving him away. "You’re the dick who keeps blasting music!"

"Aye! That isn't me! That's your fuckin' grim reaper friend over there---Jesus."

Ignoring his friend's jab, Ghost raises an eyebrow and turns to you as you wrestle with your opponent. "Birdie?"

"She's the lass I told you about," Soup juts a finger in your direction. "The neighbor with the bird stuffie."

Your face goes red. "Okay, douchebag, why don't you just announce it to the whole school since you're so fucking fascinated by it?"

Soap laughs, because of course he does. Loud, clear, and unapologetic---it strikes a nerve in you, lighting a familiar fire in your gut that makes anger coil in your chest, through no fault of his own. "Well…feisty. 'Gonna introduce me, Ghost?"

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Ghost seems to shut down again—any ounce of playfulness you've forced out of him vanishes. He grunts, ducks away, grabs another shitty beer from a nearby cooler and flicks it open. He throws himself across the couch lazily before gesturing to Soap. "This pain in the arse is Johnny; Soap."

Then, he juts his thumb beside him where a rather confused-looking man with a baseball cap finally gets wind of the new person in the room, "Gaz."

Then himself;

"Ghost."

"Soap?" You repeat. "Fuck kind of a nickname is that?"

Gaz is the one who speaks up then. "It's 'cause he can clean out a room of armed hostiles faster than—"

"Thaaat's 'nough," Soap lays his hands steadily on your shoulders and you freeze up, slightly, as he guides you to sit with him and the others. He's inviting you to stay. Maybe it's the alcohol, but your cheeks feel warm and you hate how your stomach twists. “Ignore him. Video game talk.”

Grumbling, you stick with who you trust yourself with—sitting yourself next to Ghost who wordlessly passes you his beer to sip from.

If Ghost is tipsy and you’re drunk; Soap is wasted, stumbling over words, swearing, and giggling. You hate to admit it, but he’s a fun drunk—ditzy and crazy without being too out of control. Good looking, too, with a nice smile and a laugh that lights up the room. A smile that looks like his. Meanwhile, Gaz is perfectly content to linger, laughing at all the dumbassery the others pull with you—taking hits from a pen that sits on the side table every now and again and explaining a few inside jokes to you here and there.

Maybe they aren’t as insufferable as you thought.

The night continues on in a blur of lights and music. Your friends have left at this point, and you’re sure your makeup is smeared and your hair tousled—but you carry on anyway. You’re drunk. Wasted, even…irresponsible for the first time since being a teenager and the feeling is fantastic. You should probably take it up with your therapist—your habit of working yourself to death just to crash land into the ground in a flurry of lights and chaos, suddenly unable to do anything but chase that feeling of euphoria that comes with not caring.

You're too distracted to notice how late it is.

Too distracted to care about homework. Or class the next day.

Too distracted to notice how Ghost disappears. Too distracted to notice how the lines between past and present are blurring---and you're leaning a little too close to the Scottsman that reminds you of your late lover. Too distracted to realize that Soap has an arm around your waist, whispering to you, holding your drink, holding you—lifting you so easily up onto the back of a couch. Just as he always did. Soap smiles so bright up at you, and all your mind can see is his face; bright and happy and carefree---and you have to smile back.

You're too distracted to fully realize you never hated him---and that the cord of coiled self-hatred in your gut snaps as your resolve crumbles through your fingers.  You'll feel like shit for indulging in this later---in reliving memories where you were actually happy---but for now it felt like you were seventeen again, before you had to worry about a thing.

You realize how close you both are—giggling near a corner as he teases you with yet another beer. Your head spins with the static of the same alcohol you taste on Soap’s breath as he makes the same realization that you do; that all you had to do was lean in a little closer to kiss his lips. It’s almost like he can read your mind, because a smirk suddenly twitches onto those pretty lips of his as he stares up at you through his lashes. His strong arms tighten around the small of your waist. Warm. Secure. Just like he used to.

Suddenly, you see why he's the talk of the school.

“Careful, Birdie,” he whispers, suddenly stone sober as he smirks at you and God, do you want to wipe the grin off his stupid, douchey face.

You scoff and despite yourself---you're shamelessly looking at his lips. "Or what?"

"Or I might start thinkin' you want to kiss me."

“Do I?” You're still staring at his lips, tilting your head to feign cluelessness. "How do you know you don't just have something in your teeth?"

He chuckles, smiling. His fingers ghost your cheek and the other grazes against the bare skin of your thigh at his side—calloused, scarred hands gentle and feathery; but practically setting fire to everywhere they touch.

"I'll take my chances," he breathes against your lips—teasing, as he looks up at you, hazey and distant. His hand traces up the curve of your hip. "If you'll have me?"

Something in your stomach dips, and before you realize it fully, you’ve guided his face up to catch his lips in yours. It's soft, at first—gentle and hesitant, even—but your hands slide up his thick shoulders and the side of his neck and he seems to melt a little into the gesture.

The rumors are true, because he's good. His hand gropes your bare thigh, teasing at the edge of your dress as his breath gets heavier, pulling you off the back of the couch and out of the view of the public. He's rough, but attentive—breath fluttering across your face as he presses himself flush against your front. The button of his jeans catches the edge of your dress and his breath stutters with your own.

"Been thinking about this since the day ye' moved in, fuck…" He breathes near your ear, his accent and the alcohol making him damn near indecipherable as he presses kisses on that space behind your ear. You lean your head back against the wall with a sigh as his lips migrate down, past your jaw and down your neck.

"Since moving day?" You stammer dumbly.

"Since moving day," he confirms in a whisper.

God. So have you.

"If I do this…" You breathe, reaching up to grasp at the top of his mohawk as he nips your neck—earning a small grunt from him. "You stop blasting music at three in the damn morning."

"Deal," he doesn't hesitate, planting lazy kisses across your neck.

"My apartment or your's?"

"Mm…your's," he slurs. "Something tells me the roommate wouldn't be thrilled 'bout this. Only if you're sure, though, 'Cause if you're too drunk—"

"Jesus Christ, stop talking," you say, pulling him flush against you. Soap hisses at the contact, pressing his hips to meet yours as you kiss him once again—making him forget about the lights. The music. His friends…and whoever might be watching.

Across the room, Ghost's fist tightens around a can of shitty beer.

He watches his friend's hands grasp your waist, tight and sure of himself; hands calloused and rough from years of work and tan from the sun. He watches you smile into the kiss and he watches Soap bite your lip, your lipstick smeared on his face. The same lipstick still stuck to the edge of Ghost's can—gripped by pale hands littered with ugly scars and nailbeds raw from biting; hands a little too big to hold comfortably. He thinks about how soft the skin of your arm felt against the pads of his fingers, how you smiled at him the same way earlier…and God, does he miss being sure of himself. Being confident. He could take another man's life like it was nothing, but one smile and a kind gesture from a stranger and suddenly he's crushing a beer can in his fist—clumsy and unsure of himself.

Jealous.

Simon, for a long time, didn't think he was capable of the feeling. Not until recently. Not until the shift into civilian life had left his mind reeling and confused while his friends seemed to fit back into it like like an old glove. Simon didn't know people---didn't like them. He had never known peace before this, and it doesn't sit right with him.

He likes you because, he thinks, somehow…you carry that same feeling of restlessness with you—that feeling of displacement. A flicker of empathy in your gaze that tells him almost telepathically that you're not like the others. Clumsily navigating through life…running from something. Trying and failing time and time again to feel better—though nothing feels right.

How else could you have known he didn't want pity, just understanding?

He likes to think that's why you stuck by his side. He likes to think maybe you felt that same connection he did, that same solidarity. But, clearly, he was wrong—another thing that didn't used to happen before, but now has become the new normal.

Simon drops his can in the trash, shakes the foul liquid from his shaky hand, and leaves the party through the back door just as you and Soap leave through the front—giggling and stumbling your way back to the apartment complex.