#fork found in kitchen what else is new?

[hms-incorrect-quotes]

I know what you are

Buddy, I've been running a daily blog about chonny jash & his music for over a year now, no shit im fruity

[justfriendsbestthings]

God Im such a slut for communication

[thesimwiththedragontattoo]

I decided I needed a Sim I could use to test out my custom community lots (I can't tell you how many times I've sent a challenge Sim to a new lot only to discover that a cash register is facing the wrong direction or a bar is inaccessible) and thus was born Testa Bobesta!

I wanted to create someone fun since she wasn't tied to a challenge... so naturally, I made a catgirl. For her first test, I took her to my newly made photography studio, where I plan to take other new sims so I can get nice clean photos of them for my challenge posts.

So far, so good. Thanks, Testa!

[white-spirit-of-darkness]

brain evil. will be removing it

[gainercontent]

Room to Grow Part 1: Bad Influences

Elliot had always been the skinny guy. At 23, he was tall and lean, with a metabolism that seemed to burn through food like it was nothing. He didn’t work out obsessively or follow any strict diet. It was just the way he was. His friends liked to joke that he could eat an entire pizza and still fit into his skinny jeans the next day, and for the most part, it was true. He liked being that way—easy, effortless, and always confident in his own skin.

When Elliot moved to the city for a new job, he quickly realized that finding an apartment he could afford on his own was next to impossible. After a couple of weeks, he found a shared apartment close to work and agreed to room with two guys, both of whom were a bit older than him. The rent was cheaper, and it seemed like a good deal.

The first time he met his new roommates, he was a little surprised. They were both big guys, especially compared to him. There was Ryan, with his thick arms and broad chest, wearing a band t-shirt and cargo shorts, and then there was Mark, who was tall but with a soft roundness to him that suggested he enjoyed a few too many late-night snacks. They both had warm, easy-going personalities that immediately put Elliot at ease. 

“Hey man, welcome!” Ryan said with a smile, slapping him on the back as they shook hands. 

Mark, with a lazy grin, handed him a plate of brownies. “We’ve got more where that came from,” he joked, “but don't feel obligated to eat them... unless you're hungry.”

Elliot laughed awkwardly, not sure what to say. He accepted a brownie and followed them inside. The apartment was cozy, decorated with posters of classic rock bands and sports teams. It was clear they had lived there for a while, and it felt like their space. Elliot tried not to think too hard about the size of the couch or the wide kitchen table that always seemed to be piled high with food containers.

Over the next few days, he got into a routine. He worked long hours and spent most evenings in his room, catching up on emails or watching shows online. He didn’t have a lot of time to get to know Ryan and Mark, but he did notice how much they loved to cook and eat together. It was always pizza night, or they’d whip up something hearty in the kitchen, from massive pots of spaghetti to giant meatloaves. 

Elliot, by contrast, usually grabbed something light—a salad or a protein bar—when he wasn’t too busy. He didn’t want to make a big deal of it. He’d politely decline when they offered him a plate of whatever they were eating, not wanting to come off as rude or judgmental. 

One night, after Ryan made his signature homemade lasagna, he turned to Elliot. “Hey, man, you’re gonna eat with us, right?”

Elliot froze. He had been about to grab a salad, but he didn’t want to seem like he was avoiding them. “Uh, I’m good. Thanks, though. I just ate earlier.”

Mark, who was lounging on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “You sure? This is *the* lasagna, Elliot. Don’t want you to miss out on it.”

Elliot smiled awkwardly. “I appreciate it, really. I just don’t eat as much as you guys, I guess.”

Ryan set down his fork and looked at him, his expression thoughtful. “Hey, I get it. But honestly, we’re not here to make you feel weird about it. We just like eating together, that’s all. You don’t have to stick to your salad thing just because of us. We’re not judging.”

Mark chimed in from the couch, “Yeah, man, we’ve got no problem with what you eat, but if you’re ever hungry, just join us. No pressure.”

Elliot felt a weird lump in his throat. He’d always been the guy who prided himself on being the one who didn’t care what anyone else thought. But in this moment, he realized he had been putting up walls—around his food choices, his routine, and even his relationships. He wasn’t just trying to avoid calories; he was isolating himself from them, from them as people.

The next weekend, Ryan and Mark invited him to join them for a “healthy cooking day.” Elliot was hesitant at first, unsure of what that meant in their world, but he agreed. They spent the afternoon trying new recipes—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a huge smoothie bar. For once, Elliot wasn’t the only one watching his food intake. He felt like he wasn’t *on display* for his choices anymore. He was just another guy, chopping vegetables, chatting about movies, and trying to make something together.

As the evening came around, they all sat down with bowls of their homemade stir-fry, laughing about silly things from work and sharing stories about past roommates and cooking disasters.

“That was a lot better than I thought it’d be,” Elliot admitted, pushing his empty bowl aside. “I think I’ve just been so stuck in my own head, you know? About food, about what I *should* eat, what I *shouldn’t* eat.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Yeah, man, I totally get it. It’s all about balance, right? We’ve both been there—stuck in cycles of eating out or trying to cut out everything. It’s about enjoying food and not obsessing over it.”

Mark added, “Exactly. And hey, if you want to keep things healthy, we’re all for it. We’re just trying to make it a little easier for everyone, right?”

Elliot smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. They weren’t just his roommates. They were his friends. They didn’t care about how he looked or what he ate. They just wanted to hang out and share good food, good company, and good times.

Over time, Elliot found that living with Ryan and Mark didn’t just teach him how to enjoy meals more freely, but also how to be more open. Their easy-going attitude about food, body image, and life in general started to rub off on him. He didn’t feel the need to be the skinny guy who had it all figured out. He could be himself—and sometimes, that meant indulging in a big meal, enjoying pizza without guilt, or laughing at a late-night snack with his roommates. 

They all grew in their own ways, together. And Elliot realized that, more than anything, this shared apartment was a space where they could be who they were, without judgment. It was a place to grow—not just in size, but in friendship.

At first, it was a struggle. Elliot had never really thought about how much he could eat. He had always maintained his slender frame with little effort, casually filling up on salads, protein shakes, and the occasional light meal. But living with Ryan and Mark was a different world. Their love for food wasn’t just about eating—it was about *enjoying* eating. And they had no problem eating a lot.

In the beginning, Elliot felt self-conscious when they invited him to join their meals. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the food—they made fantastic meals, hearty and flavorful—but his body had been trained to eat only a small amount at a time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a full plate of something. Most evenings, after just a few bites of lasagna or grilled chicken, he felt uncomfortably full and wanted to stop. But Ryan and Mark always finished their plates, sometimes going back for seconds, and then settling in for snacks, chips, or bowls of ice cream.

“Come on, man,” Ryan would say, giving him a playful nudge. “You gotta try this. Just one more bite. Don’t let it go to waste.”

Mark would chuckle, adding, “You’re not gonna be hungry later. Might as well eat now while it’s here.”

The first few weeks were an odd dance for Elliot. He’d eat slowly, trying to keep up with them, feeling the discomfort of fullness hit earlier than usual. At first, he tried to maintain his usual restraint, convinced that he *had* to stop before he felt bloated. But Ryan and Mark, with their carefree attitudes, kept encouraging him to eat more, and each time, Elliot found himself taking just one more bite—then another, and another.

After a while, it became a pattern. There was always more food than anyone could eat in one sitting, so they’d end up watching TV with pizza boxes open on the coffee table, snacking mindlessly. Elliot’s stomach would be stretched to its limits, a dull ache growing in the pit of his stomach, but he found it hard to stop. It wasn’t just about the food anymore. It was the camaraderie, the way they bonded over meals, shared jokes, and never made him feel weird for not being able to keep up at first. 

At first, Elliot hated that feeling—being too full, sluggish, uncomfortable. He’d retire to his room, feeling like he was walking a fine line between fitting in and betraying his own body. But slowly, imperceptibly, something began to shift. His stomach seemed to adapt, expanding in small increments, slowly able to handle more. The next time they had pizza, he found himself reaching for a second slice without the usual hesitation. Then, on a random Tuesday night, he finished a whole plate of spaghetti—and didn’t feel as stuffed as he had before.

He noticed it during the weekends, when they would make their Sunday feast. Mark would fill the air fryer with fried foods, and Ryan would make pizza and a dessert. They’d eat together for hours, chatting, laughing, and passing around dishes, always encouraging each other to take more. It was normal for Mark to have three servings and Ryan to finish off the last of the food.

“You don’t have to keep up with us,” Ryan would say after seeing Elliot hesitate at the table. “But trust me, there’s no shame in enjoying a good meal.”

Elliot had been reluctant at first, but now he was starting to *enjoy* it, too. As much as he tried to fight it, his body began to crave the comfort of those big meals, the indulgent late-night snacks, and the feeling of sitting around with his roommates, chatting over bowls of chili or homemade pizza. He found himself going back for seconds more often. A third helping wasn’t out of the question anymore, and he no longer felt the need to rush to his room afterward to avoid being seen as weak for not finishing everything on his plate.

He also started noticing something he hadn’t expected: his body was changing. At first, it was subtle—an inch added to his waistline, his jeans feeling a bit tighter after a few weeks. But as the months went by, it became more apparent. His arms felt fuller, his stomach rounder, and he even noticed his face becoming a little softer. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but the extra food—and the ease with which he now consumed it—had started to reflect in his body.

It wasn’t just the weight that was changing. His attitude toward food was shifting, too. Whereas he used to feel guilty for indulging, now he felt more comfortable with the idea of eating for pleasure. His conversations with Ryan and Mark had slowly shifted from just joking about food to serious discussions about eating for both enjoyment and balance. Mark would often tell him, “Don’t think of it as overeating. Think of it as living.”

One afternoon, after they’d spent hours preparing a massive barbecue spread, Elliot was leaning back in his chair, feeling pleasantly full for the first time in weeks. Ryan, who was lounging across from him, caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Look at you, man,” Ryan said with a grin. “You’re finally eating like a normal person. Not bad.”

Elliot chuckled, rubbing his stomach. “Yeah, I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Still a bit of a stretch, but... not terrible.”

Mark, who was halfway through a third helping of ribs, laughed and wiped his mouth. “We told you. The more you eat, the more room you’ve got.”

It wasn’t just a physical change. Elliot began to feel more connected to Ryan and Mark. Food had become a bridge, a shared experience that didn’t have to be about calories or body image. It was about friendship, about enjoying the simple pleasure of a meal together and letting go of any anxiety about what or how much he ate. There were days when they all sat at the kitchen table long after dinner, talking and laughing until the food was gone, and he realized he was no longer counting the bites or trying to stop himself from eating too much.

One evening, as they were cleaning up after a particularly indulgent dinner of burgers and fries, Elliot noticed something that made him smile. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about how full he felt or whether he should have stopped earlier. He was just enjoying the moment, grateful for the friends he had made and the space they’d created where he didn’t have to worry about measuring himself—or his food.

"You're gonna regret this tomorrow," Ryan teased, as Elliot helped clear the table.

Elliot smiled and shrugged. "Nah. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it."

And for the first time, he wasn’t just talking about eating. He was talking about life—letting go, being present, and allowing himself to be a part of something bigger than his own self-consciousness.

Over time, the changes to his body became more pronounced, but Elliot didn’t mind. The tightness around his stomach was no longer uncomfortable. It felt natural, like something that had just happened over time. And maybe it wasn’t about his physical transformation as much as it was about his acceptance of himself and his life with Ryan and Mark. It had always been about more than just food. It was about sharing, growing, and finding comfort in something simple but meaningful.

**New Chapter will be posted each Thursday** 

[mischievousmoony]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟻 ⟡ 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎

⟢ james potter x fem!reader

⟢ summary: modern restaurant au; you and james complete side work at the end of your shift . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁2.1k

⟢ warnings/tags: coworker!james, coworker!marauders, anxious!reader, not rlly proofread

⟢ the new hire masterlist ⟡ main masterlist

note: dropping lore in this part ig

"I don't think this restaurant is fancy enough for this to be necessary," you huff, polishing what seems like your millionth spoon.

You're sitting at the rickety break room table, polishing silverware and rolling sets of them into cloths. James is across from you, looking at his reflection in a butter knife.

"No one who eats here is going to care if there are a few water stains on their spoons," you grumble. You're in a bit of a bad mood, this task being the only thing keeping you from going home.

"Nate wants this place to be fancier than it is. Always has," James replies, neatly arranging his knife with the other utensils on the cloth in front of him.

"Always, huh?" you wonder, "Has he always been the manager?"

"As long as I've been here."

"And how long is that?"

"Ah," James pauses in the middle of rolling his napkin, counting in his head, "Technically five years."

You stop in the middle of polishing a fork, looking up to meet James' gaze. "What? Really?" you ask.

James shrugs as if it's nothing, responding, "Started as a busser when I was seventeen. The only person who's been here longer is Remus."

You don't understand the relevance of the comparison, pointing out, "Well, he's older."

James looks at you puzzled, "Remus and I are the same age."

You put the fork down entirely, gaping at James. "Remus is twenty-two?" you ask, your tone conveying your shock.

"Yeah," James says slowly, furrowing his brows, "You didn't know that?"

"No. He looks at least a few years older."

James tilts his head side to side, pondering your comment. "Maybe a little," he admits. "That kitchen wears him down."

You look puzzled as you straighten out the fork you had dropped down on the table, thinking about the revelation that still doesn't quite add up to you.

"If he's our age how in the world is he already a head chef?"

James looks as if he's trying to recall the answer, but comes up short.

"You'd have to ask him. He was hired before me and I guess I never thought to ask that."

"He was a head chef at seventeen?" you ask, eyes widening as your shock doubles.

"No! No, he just worked in the kitchen. Think he was head chef by twenty, though."

"Oh..." you trail off, thinking that makes much more sense than your initial impression. But not by very much. "Still, wow. What about everyone else?"

James' eyebrows raise curiously as he starts polishing yet another spoon.

"What do you mean?"

"They've been here how long?" you clarify.

"Ah. Sirius started about a month after I did. Did you know he started as a server?" James shares the details like it's hot gossip.

To you, it basically is. You can't imagine Sirius doing anything besides bartending at this restaurant.

"Really?"

James smiles at the way your eyes light up in surprise and slight amusement. "Yeah," he confirms. "He absolutely hated it, but doing that he got to train with the bartender before him."

You nod understandingly. It makes sense, you suppose. Bartenders don't just appear out of thin air. You either have to work your way up the ranks or receive formal training, and if you had ever given it any thought, you would have assumed the former.

It dawns on you that you haven't given much thought to your other coworkers at all. Besides what you've naturally found out over the handful of weeks that you've worked here, you don't know much about anyone besides James.

"And the others?"

James blows out some air, thinking, and he takes two rolls of silverware and begins using them as drumsticks against the table. You smile a little at the action.

"Whenever I became a server I recommended Pete for my old busser job. That was probably four years ago."

James had told you stories about him and Peter before, but you wonder how long they've actually known each other.

"How did you know Peter?"

"Known him since primary school."

"Huh," you express your surprise quietly, and James continues on.

"The next hire was Marlene," James smirks as he recalls something. "Actually, she's the reason Lily and Mary were hired."

"Did she recommend them too?"

James chuckles, shaking his head as he explains, "No, Marlene was always complaining about too much testosterone in this place. I think five.. six months after she started, she told Nate that a customer said that they thought management must be sexist because of the lack of girl hires."

"Did someone actually say that?" you ask skeptically.

"No," James laughs, "He totally bought it though cause he hired Lily and Mary a week later. Worked out great for them in the end. You know they go to uni in the city? They’re both here to support themselves through it.”

Your bottom lip finds itself between your teeth as you think about how long everyone has worked here. They’ve all had years to get to know each other. You have already been feeling like an outsider, so learning this just amplifies that tenfold.

James puts his makeshift drumsticks away when he notices you getting lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?”

Your eyes flash to him, startled out of your train of thought. Shrugging, you try to brush it off and return to your duties to the silverware.

“C’mon, I always know when you’re getting lost in that head of yours,” James says with a teasing yet affectionate tone.

You purse your lips, knowing the chances of James letting this go are slim.

"I just… I don't really know much about them at all I guess. Do they..." you trail off, apprehensive to admit your insecurities.

"What?" James probes gently, softening at your hesitation.

"I’m worried they don't like me,” you admit.

"What!? Why? You’re great! Why wouldn’t anyone like you?” James says it earnestly without a hint of hesitation, and that alone makes you feel a bit better.

You keep your hands busy with the silverware, your eyes focusing intently on the water stains you polish away so that you don’t have to face James as you explain.

“I feel like I haven’t made much of an effort to get to know them. I was nervous, I guess, to talk to new people. Now I’m even more nervous because it’s been so long and I haven’t even tried. They’re going to think–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” James stops you from snowballing into a self-deprecating ramble, placing a hand over yours across the table, also stopping the way you’re polishing a spoon to death.

He dips his head down to try to meet your eyes, which are trained intently on the table. “No one thinks anything,” he says patiently. “Actually, you know what I’ve heard? I’ve heard them say that you’re kind. Maybe a tad shy, but that’s not a bad thing!” The last few words tumble out in a rush, James being worried that you’d take it negatively when he really finds your timid nature so endearing.

Your gaze slowly shifts to meet his eyes. “It’s hard for me to warm up to new people,” you admit, your voice low.

James absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “You got on with me just fine.”

“You’re different,” you say before you can give it much thought. You would’ve bit your tongue if you had.

“How am I different?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

“I-I don’t know you just are.”

It’s true, you’re not sure why but after your first day you were already comfortable with James, more than comfortable if you’re being honest. He quickly became your favorite part about this job.

He simply accepts your answer. Normally, he’d say something witty or teasing, but he finds himself at a loss for words.

The conversation fades into silence, neither of you knowing how to proceed, both overwhelmed with confusing feelings.

James can’t stop looking at where his hand rests over yours, not knowing how to retract it. Not wanting to.

Meanwhile, you search your brain for something to say, something that would change the subject. You don’t feel the need to keep talking about this anyway. Although, you’re not sure if you feel better about the situation with your other coworkers or if you’ve just been distracted from it.

“So, five years, huh?” you start.

"Technically," he emphasizes. He slowly retracts his hand as the conversation takes on a more casual tone.

You had barely even noticed his hand there with how natural it felt, but now that it’s gone your hand almost feels cold. You distract yourself by rolling more silverware.

"What does that mean?" you ask.

"I, er, pursued other things for a little while. Didn't work out, so I ended up back here."

You can’t help but wonder what he means, so you ask, "What things?"

James stammers, him now the apprehensive one.

"Sorry,” you say quickly, “I don't mean to pry."

"No, it's okay,” James waves off your worries, “I was playing rugby."

“What, like, professionally?” you ask, not expecting him to say yes.

“Er, yeah," he admits, twirling a butter knife in between his fingers.

You freeze. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yes,” he chuckles airily.

He notices how your mouth is slightly agape, twitching as it forms the shape of words which never leave your lips. He can tell you’re wondering what happened, but you’re too polite to ask.

“I hurt my knee,” he continues, purposefully avoiding the specifics, “so ended up back here.”

Your face crumples in sympathy. "Oh. Oh, I-I'm sorry," you say, genuine compassion in your tone.

“It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it," James says honestly. His career was brief— barely even got a chance to start— and while he'll always wonder what could've been, he's not angry about the way his life is turning out.

"So what about you? What would you be doing if you didn't work here?" James suddenly asks you.

"I never went to uni," you say, thinking of Lily and Mary— your age and likely almost done with their studies. "I would've liked to. I don't even know what for."

"You still could."

"Yeah, maybe," you say tentatively, rolling you're last set of cutlery. "That's all my side work. Want me to help with yours?"

"No, you get out of here, I'll be alright," James assures, not wanting to put extra work on your plate, recalling how annoyed you've been with this task.

You nod, standing from the table to collect your things from your locker. You bid him goodbye as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, James."

"Bye, love," he says fondly, waving with a fork in his hand as you go.

On your way out, you pass Sirius, giving him a small wave and a barely audible "goodnight" as he joins James in the break room.

"Night, doll," he calls down the hall as he turns into the room.

Sirius has a wide, knowing smirk on his face when he locks eyes with James.

"Rolling silverware?" Sirius asks, his tone dripping with his amusement.

James shrugs, "Yeah, so?"

Sirius tilts his head, chuckling, "I thought your side work was to prep garnishes today."

"Ah," James fumbles with some silverware as he responds, "I finished that ages ago. So, I offered to do Lily's side work."

"Oh, did you?" Sirius says with mock surprise.

"Yup. Just doing a favor for a friend," James grins innocently.

"Or trying to get some alone time with that work crush of yours."

"I do not have a work crush!" James quickly defends, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. He almost feels guilty, Sirius is at least right about the alone time part. James still misses having you by his side as a trainee, but after you're conversation today he feels bad about stealing you away from your other coworkers.

Sirius raises his hands in the air, "Alright, mate. Whatever you say."

"You're a prat. Why don't you come help me with this?"

Sirius looks incredulous at the suggestion, "I'm not the one who volunteered to do extra work!"

James rolls his eyes, picking up one of the many forks he has left. But truth be told, he didn't quite mind having to do the extra work— spending time with you made it well worth it.

Sirius snorts at the sudden lovesick look on James' face when he gets lost in his thoughts, and makes a mental note to wager a bet with Remus tomorrow on how long James will last.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 8 Part ½

masterpost

Black Bat got back to Gotham well before flying time. She took a shower to get the stinkyman stink out of her hair and apologetically took the green jacket to the wash. Cigarettes. Yuck! 

She joined the family for dinner. Damibat was there, face like thunder and clearly Not Talking to Alfred or Brucedad. Cass slid into her place and gave him a nod. He returned it. Very civil. We are professionals, Cain, you and I and no one else in this dump.

Cass hid a faint smile.

No Timibird. No Jaybird. Those were rarer birds to fly out to Wayne Manor, so she wasn’t too surprised. Just…

Cass readjusted her body language to be fine and normal. She didn’t need her flock family close for comfort. She was fine and normal! Yes, Stinkyman had said that she’d died. Yes. He said that.

(That fits with the pain of the electrical shock and the voltage necessary to short out bat computer, Cass’s Black Bat brain said sensibly.)

Cass hid a shudder.

But he’d also said that there may be no repercussions! As long as she left it alone and did not think about it. She had permission to pretend it didn’t happen. That was the best thing to try. She would eat her dinner and take her nap and then go flying.

Alfie served dinner. Cass caught herself playing with her fork, winding noodles into a secret pattern that might somehow make her feel better. 

“Is there something wrong with your pasta, Miss Cassandra?”

She looked up at him guiltily through her eyelashes and stopped playing with her food. Big sigh. 

“Will Master Timothy be returning to the manor tonight?” Alfie asked Brucedad.

Brucedad cleared his throat and put his spoon down for a moment. “I expect that he might spend the night with his friends in San Francisco,” he said.

Cass read the words beneath the words. Timbird was with the Young Justice friends. New plan. Not discussed. He’d been sent to Amity Park to investigate the laboratory where Cass had

(died. Where Cass had died.)

Been with Captain Marvel. And if he was out all day, it meant he’d found something.

Her heart jumped in her chest. She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to make sure that no one knew. 

Suspicious, Cass told herself sternly. Suspicious behavior. So she drizzled hot sauce on her pasta and ate a big mouthful.

Damibat copied her after a moment. 

Brucedad and Alfie did not wince, but they made their ‘white man thinks spice is scary’ faces. 

Cass quirked a smile. She put a lot more hot sauce. It was too much sauce. It turned the pasta red.

Brucedad made an unhappy sound and deliberately looked away from her plate. Haha. He was thinking: my stomach hurts just looking at that. Oh god, I'm old. Acid reflux. Heartburn. Acid reflux heartburn heartburn-

Bullying her batdad made her feel a little better. How could she be an undead abomination if she was, in fact, a naughty girl? Check and mate, existential horror. Cass finished her dinner and danced to her room on her toes, feeling the music from the last time she had performed on stage. She did a leap for the sheer joy of movement.

Everything still seemed better when she got up from her nap. Cass stretched on the floor beside her bed, and then flopped into a side saddle stretch to happily drink a bottle of green tea. She took it to the kitchen and into the machine for a wash and stole a peek into the fridge to see the after-flight snack. Protein balls! Chocolate and nuts? Cass stole one and fled to the batcave before anyone could see the crime.

Timbird was waiting in the cave on the big screen. He looked very tense. He and Batdad both looked at her when she came down the stairs.

Oh. There was a rock in her stomach. 

Cass beamed at them and flipped off the stairs to land in a gymnast stance behind Brucedad’s chair. “Hi, Timbird,” she said, acting normally. 

“Hi, Cass,” he said, sparing her a tired smile. “I was just telling Bruce how my trip out to Amity went.” She nodded, waiting for elaboration. Tense. “There were fresh tank tracks.” 

Oh. What. “What?” Cass repeated, because it was worth repeating. “Tanks?” She mimed her mind being blown.

“Yes, I figure that you would have noticed if they’d been there before.” Tim somehow seemed even unhappier. “The running theory is that someone was keeping an eye on the place and something about your trip out there alerted them.”

‘Machine. Electricity.’

“Extremely suspicious,” Cass said on rote. 

“Yes,” Batdad agreed gruffly. “There’s no legal justification for that kind of force being deployed in the continental United States and no record that we’ve found for it.”

“Definitely criminal.” Cass hovered for a moment. “Should I help?”

Timbird and Batdad exchanged glances. “I think that I would be best used in the cave tonight on research,” Batdad decided. “I’ll run comms while I’m here. Cass, can you and Robin handle things? There’s nothing in particular going on, aside from the weapons case. Robin has the information on that. We think that we’ve tracked the gang’s mechanic down.”

Cass gave a double thumbs up, more than a little relieved that she didn’t have to do anything related to Amity Park today. “Okay, I find mechanic and beat peace into them,” she said cheerfully. 

“You investigate and observe them,” Batdad repeated, faux-stern. Hint of smile. Naughty kid, tugging at my cape.

Cass nodded just as seriously. “Robin and I investigate, observe, beat until peaceful.” She smacked a fist into her palm.

Timbird snorted. “It sounds like a plan. I’m with YJ tonight, so I’ll log off.”

“Byebye birdie.” Cass waved on her way to the equipment lockers.

[jesterday00]

First day of the rest of your lives, together.

Part 2

Lazy artist that traces and edits existing character art, fork found in kitchen, what’s new.

I wanted to add more btw but I just couldn’t figure out what else could be added. I’ll make a continuation if I have ideas

[hockeyboistrash]

here's a lil jarvy blurb because I miss him 🥺 taking care of him when he's injured.

Seth groaned, the sun peeking through the blinds waking him up. He was hoping it was all a bad dream, that when he woke up his shoulder wouldn't hurt and he was going on the roadie with the team. It wasn't though. Seth's shoulder hurts and he wasn't going on the roadie. He sighed the reality setting in. His teammates were probably on their way to Utah now. He should be on that plane, sat next to Sebastian playing cards. He should be there to help his teammates win. Instead he was stuck in Raleigh.

Seth's wallowing was interrupted by a crashing sound in his kitchen. He sat up, wincing as he jostled his shoulder, not expecting anyone to be in his apartment. He wasn't entirely sure what to do. It wasn't like he could confront the stranger who has potentially broken in. His fingers hovered over the emergency services number, ready to dial, when he a soft 'Shit' down the hallway which sounded a lot like you.

Confused, Seth slowly made his way to the kitchen, his phone tightly in his hand in case he needed it. Your back was turned to him so you couldn't see the relief wash across his face. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" Seth asked, startling you a little. He didn't mind you being here, he just wasn't expecting it.

"Seth! I didn't wake you, did I? I'm so sorry I was trying to be quiet but the tupperware lids fell when I was trying to get the pan out. I was going to make you breakfast, well I guess brunch now, and bring it to you in bed so you're comfy. And I-"

Seth found it cute when you rambled. It was a nervous habit of yours but he loved it. He loved hearing your voice trying to articulate your thoughts. "Y/N, it's fine. I was awake anyway. Forgot to shut the blinds last night." He assured you, placing his hand on top of yours to stop your rambling. "You came here to make me breakfast? You didn't have to."

"I know but I wanted to you." You shrugged. "Your teammates are on their way to Utah so none of them can help and I know for a fact you struggle cooking with two working arms let alone one." Seth couldn't deny it because it was true. He knew enough to get by but would have great difficulty to cook with one hand. "I've not got anything else planned." No one has ever done this for him before. Sure he had teammates and their partners come round to check on him but not his own partner. Having you here made him forget about his injury, even if it was just for a moment.

Seth sat at the breakfast bar as you slid the plate of pancakes and fruit in front of him. It was already cut up ready to be eaten. You had cut his food up because you knew he'd struggle on his own. Seth swore he could feel his heart grow with fondness. You didn't have to do any of this but you did.

"I was thinking I could take you to the arena today to see your physio instead of taking an uber there." You said, as you washed up the pots. "Unless you don't want me to. I can leave if I'm overstepping." You added, realising that this relationship was still fairly new so you didn't want to overwhelm him.

"Come here." He said, putting his fork down and holding his good arm out. You put the tea towel down, drying your hands, before tucking yourself into his side. "You're not overstepping at all. I was a bit surprised this morning but it was a good surprise. I can't thank you enough for being here and helping. It means a lot." And Seth meant it. Any injury is shit but with you helping him he knew it would at least be a little less shit.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Valentine's Day Series #7: Cooking | wooyoung x reader

Pairing: jung wooyoung x reader

Genre: fluff, romance

Summary: You're a picky eater and Wooyoung made it his mission to cook for you.

Word Count: 590 words

Wooyoung enjoyed cooking for you especially because you were a picky eater. He saw it as an opportunity to find your favourite meals and open your palette more. And so, whenever he had a free schedule, he would arrive at your apartment and begin making a new and delicious meal. You also wanted to try to open your preferences because after moving to a foreign country, you really wanted to consider other local delicacies.

The two of you had been together for a while, after Wooyoung accidentally ran into you when San and him were filming content for his logbook. He collided with you and your cup of ramen unfortunately splattered all over the ground. He watched guilty as you mourned and lamented over your loss with a blank expression. Although he knew his manager would handle the situation, Wooyoung took it upon himself to accompany you and pay for another meal. As much as you tried to decline and say it was okay, you ended up with Wooyoung in the convenience store aisle. 

But they were all out of stock of your favourite ramen. Although the other versions were good from what you heard,  being a picky eater, you preferred your specific ramen of choice. Dejectedly, you settled for something else that you favoured, and silently grieved your lost meal, thinking about how you hadn’t gotten a good bite in.

Wooyoung was surprised you didn’t pick another cup of ramen from the wide variety there was. And as much as he tried coaxing you, you didn’t budge. He was starting to wonder if you were normal at one point. Then you confessed your selectiveness when it came to food. 

After much back and forth, Wooyoung took your number and you have been in contact since, slowly developing mutual feelings for each other along the way. Now, Wooyoung came to your apartment and owned the kitchen. 

With Valentine’s Day approaching, Wooyoung decided a picnic would be a fun activity especially with the meals he planned. He understood that reasonings for picky eating could come from a sensitive place and so he always ensured to create a pleasant experience for you to be more comfortable in trying new foods.

But there was one thing Wooyoung did not anticipate - realising that during these moments, he was slowly falling in love with you. He came to terms with it during dinner with you one night when he made a sweet and savoury dish you mentioned you wanted to try. Despite your reluctance at first, as you pointedly gaze at the meal in your fork before taking a bite, Wooyoung found it endearing to him. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to but there was something charming in the way your eyes lit up after and your expression changed from hesitance to beginning to savour every mouthful. Not all the times were like this but in this instance, Wooyoung began to recall the times that you did approve and he found himself a blushing mess. 

Wooyoung really liked you.

So to confess his new-found realisation, on Valentine’s Day, he baked a little treat that you tried a while ago and loved, and decorated it with the words I love you. When you opened the petit box and saw it, you became an awkward but excited mess. Wooyoung smiled gleefully as you reciprocated the gesture and responded by doing the first thing that came to mind.

Pasting a slight icing on your nose out of nowhere and tackling you in a bear hug after.

[vetteljuice]

they know something we don't.

Fun fact: commentators referred to the Turkish GP crash not as a crash, but instead as when Sebastian and Mark “came together.”

🤨🏳️‍🌈??

[rafedaddy01]

Step Bro, What are you doing?

series masterlist

Summary: you move across the country and fall for your step brother who teaches you so many new ways to feel good.

You’ve been dating your boyfriend for a year and things were getting pretty serious, until your mom broke the news that you’d have to be moving across the country to live with your new step dad.

You and your boyfriend both agreed you’d try the long distance thing. It was good for a while until something else peaked your interest, or someone else..

“Good morning mother” you say agitated as you take a seat at the breakfast table. “Y/n..” she says in a warning tone.

“How did you sleep sweetheart?” Ward, your new step dad asks. “Fine” hi grumble.

You in fact did not sleep fine.

You and your long distance boyfriend had an argument and let’s just say it did not end well, nasty words were said.

“Okay” you mother drags out as she stuffs a fork full of eggs in her mouth.

“Your step father and I are going on a little weekend trip, we won’t be back until next week. You two behave yourselfs” she points a finger at you and then Rafe, your step brother, so just walked into the kitchen.

“Hey don’t look at me, I’m always on my best behavior” he places his hands up in defense and winks at you.

You roll your eyes and dig into your breakfast.

**

It’s finally the weekend and since your parents are out of town and Sarah and wheezie are each sleeping at a friends house you decide to ‘relieve some tension’.

Rafe won’t be home till later, you overhead him talking to topper and kelce about preparing for some ‘epic party’. Their words, not yours.

You make sure nobody’s home and skip up to your bedroom and shut the door.

You reach into one of your boxes that you haven’t unpacked yet and pull out your old friend, you squeal with excitement as you start peeling cloths off and sprawling yourself out on the bed.

An idea sparks in your head.

You and your boyfriends have been on the outs, maybe if you film him a little hole video for him it’ll fix’s his insecurities.

You prop the phone up on a pillow so he has a good view of your glistening pussy.

You slowly start spreading your legs and smile at the camera as you tweak your nipples and moan.

Your fingers dip in your heat and rub your clot until your back arches.

You reach for your hot pink vibrator and spit on the top before deep throating it.

You and your boyfriend have never actually had sex, you were still a virgin, but you have fooled around a couple times.

You brought the device down to your slit and turned it on, arching your back on impact.

“Oh fuck!” You groan and you slowly push it in and start pumping. “Oh my god” you moan as your free hand comes down to your clit.

“Mmh, right there baby. Don’t stop!” Your panting and you shut your eyes and arch your back, squirting onto your phone.

You turn the device off and start reaching for your phone when you hear someone clapping.

A rock forms in your stomach as you slowly turn towards your door

“Nice show” Rafe smirks at you and strides closer.

You quickly grab the duvet to cover your nakedness, “what the hell rafe! Get out” you shout.

He smirks one more time before turning around “if you ever need a helping hand, or cock, let me know” and with that he leaves.

**

It’s been a few days since the incident with Rafe and you’ve been avoiding him at all costs.

The two have been home all day but hanging out in spectate rooms.

You decide to watch a movie on your laptop and end up falling asleep.

When you wake up you search for your phone but it’s nowhere to be found.

You go out into the hallways and head towards Rafes room, “hey Rafe, can you call my phone I lost it-“ your stopped in your tracks by the sound of moaning, your moaning”

“What the fuck” you push open Rafes door to find him clutching your phone in one hand while the other strokes his cock.

Your eyes widen, but your intrigued.

You stand there watching him and your eyes connect, there’s no shame in his so you think why should there be in yours.

You close his door and lock it, in case Sarah or wheezie decide to come home.

You start walking towards him and he stops stroking himself. “About time” he tosses your phone, but not before turning on your camera.

“Shut up” you straddle him and trap his cock between the two of you

You grasp his neck and push your lips against his.

“This is so wrong” you mutter against his lips before he slips his tongue in your mouth. “That’s what makes it hot” he bites your lip before pulling away.

You two stare at each other for a while before you stand and start stripping.

“You enjoy my little home video, I see” you cock and eyebrow at him.

“I did” he nods as you continue undressing.

“It was for my boyfriend” you say with a smirk as you reach out to pull his shirt off.

Rafes jaw clenches but quickly relaxes as your naked pussy connects with his bare thigh.

“I’ve never..”

“I’ll teach you” he grins as he sinks you down onto his cock.

Your lips part in ecstasy as he slowly guides you up and down his shaft.

“Oh. My. God!” You moan as the pain turns into pleasure and Rafe starts thrusting up into you.

“I’ve wanted this since the first night I saw you” Rafe admits as he comes to nip at your neck.

“Rafe!” Your moaning his name as the core in your stomach begins to tighten.

“Let go for me baby, let go for me not him” he reminds you of your boyfriend as your high hits you and you shudder.

Quickly coming back to reality you jump off him.

“We shouldn’t have done that!” You grab your clothes and rush out of the room, completely forgetting about your phone.

Rafe reaches over and stops the video.

“She’s mine now bro”

He sends the video without any remorse and moves to gather his clothes.

This was just the beginning of your relationship with Rafe.

Pt2 🙈

Tag list:

@f4ll-for-you @v21sstuff @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @eventualoptimism @drewstarkeysbae @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf

[kolbalissh]

me drawing carcar (again) what else is new (fork found in kitchen) hold up let me COOK 🗣️❗️

[sweetfire01]

It's a little shorter than I planned, but it was in my draft for too long and I wanted to post it, so I cut it the end. You'll read more in the next chapter. 👀

Baby dove pt.3 (Daddy!Howl)

It took you a while to calm down. Calcifer retreated to the back of the fireplace and you were grateful for the silence. You didn't know if there was anything else you should know, but surely you didn't want to now. Apparently, the only option available was what the demon said: waiting for Howl to get tired and hoping that it happens soon. The ringing of the doorbell startled you and you jumped up in fear, only to breathe a sigh of relief when you saw Markl, alone. You cursed yourself for getting so anxious just from the ringing of a bell, but you still didn't feel like facing that guy. You composed yourself and welcomed Markl, helping him carry in the groceries. You only got a fleeting glimpse of the city starting to light up for the evening before the youngest closed the door behind him, unaware of your problems.

Howl originally told you that he was the only one allowed to cook since the demon didn't like being used by anyone other than him. At first, like everything that happened to you these days, you didn't think about it too much. Now you wonder if it wasn't actually some form of infantilization towards you: you're too young to know how to cook, you could burn or cut yourself… In fact, now that you thought about it longer, he had never let you cook, if not sometimes "helping him pass the ingredients". Not wanting to get angry for the umpteenth time that day, you looked at what you placed on the table: delicious-looking fruit and vegetables, an already gutted cod and a new bottle of oil. "Howl asked me to buy some fish." Markl said with a rather disgusted expression, taking a stool and approaching the table. "It was the last thing I took. I didn't want to keep that smelly thing around all the time." Moving it away from him, he grabbed the cutting board and a knife. He held a turnip in his hand for a few seconds before starting to cut it, still pouting. "I hope at least these cover the disgusting taste." You wondered if Howl saw you the same way you saw Markl. A sulking child complaining about food he doesn't like while standing on a stool because the table is too high for him. You thought that at least the wizard didn't have to see you so short. Then you remembered that this kid at least could go out freely and be more useful than you in the kitchen. You started looking for a knife to help him as you listened to him complain about how he didn't want to eat fish for dinner. The implications of this hit you. "Wait. We don't…have leftovers right?" "No, the soup for lunch is all gone. Unfortunately." Yeah. Unfortunately. Having no leftovers meant he would be back earlier than usual to cook. You had hoped that you would be able to go to bed and pretend to be asleep when he returned. Now you were hoping that he would have some accident and wouldn't be able to make it home for a few more hours. You started to open the cabinet after you only found spoons and forks in the cutlery tray. The castle was cleaner since you arrived, but still very messy. You spotted a cutlery handle sticking out from behind the pile of plates, only to realize it was another fork. "Hey Markl, where are all the knives?" It was your only chance to do something useful in the kitchen, you weren't going to waste it. "Aren't they in the cutlery tray? I got this from there." "No, not even in the drawers." "In the sink? Howl was cutting some herbs for potions when I left. Maybe he left onethere." You checked but, apart from a cup and a bowl, there was nothing else. You looked through the shelves above but couldn't spot a single one. It didn't help that they were higher than your head. You wouldn't ask Markl to lend you the stool. The library? Nothing. You huffed in annoyance. "They are not here." Oh, if this was one of his tricks… "Well, you know how he is, he always leaves things lying around. When he comes back we'll ask him. Is there anything else missing to set the table?" You took 3 glasses scattered around, placing them on one side of the still clear table.

Then you pulled 3 plates out of the cabinet… and saw it. Behind the pile was a knife sticking out of a cup. A butter knife, sure, but still a knife. You grabbed it and triumphantly returned to the table, next to him. There were still some vegetables and you got ready to cut a carrot. Too bad the knife didn't cut. It simply rubbed on its surface. You tried using more force but the blade wasn't sharp enough. "Um, isn't that a butter knife?" Markl must have noticed your struggle with that damn carrot. "Yeah, I'm trying to cut it anyway." You snorted. You were almost tempted to break it in half. With bare hands. The boy took on a confused expression "Do you know that the butter knife…is used to spread butter? Have you never used it?" Oh god. Not him too. Not him too who treats you like a fool. “I know what a butter knife is for, thanks.” You gritted your teeth as you brought your attention back to that orange thing. You started cutting - no, rubbing - that fucking knife on that fucking carrot again. "But-" "I can do it." You cut him off. He shook his head, sighing "Come on, pass it to me, I'll take care of it." "No." "C'mon-" "No. I'll do it." "Now I understand why Howl never lets you help us in the kitchen." "What?!" You dropped the knife on the table and the moment you turned to look at him, he stole your vegetable. "Yeah, you'd probably just screw up." He stuck his tongue out at you before quickly cutting it off. That little…Now you were really getting offended. "That's not true! I'm capable of helping, you know?" “Yes, cutting vegetables with a butter knife.” "It's not my fault, there weren't any others." "But you can't use that!" "I wanted to try!" "Sure, next time you'll try it with a fork?" "Stop teasing me!" "You're the one doing stupid things." "It is not true!" "Yes." "No!" “Shall we talk about when you went out the other day and got lost? "What?!" You honestly didn't expect him to bring that topic up. But you couldn't accept that a brat younger than you was still putting you down. "There were just a lot of people, that's all. And then I bet you'd get lost too. In fact, you'd end up crushed because of how short you are." Now it was your turn to stick your tongue out at him and tease him. "Actually I left before you and returned safely. Oh, and I didn't need anyone to take me home." Or maybe not. Dammit. Losing an argument to a child about you not being a stupid child. "Well, I…I…I didn't need Howl!" You slammed your palms on the table and Markl flinched at your outburst. He looked at you with wide eyes as you continued to squeal. "I don't need him or you! Nobody!" He continued to stare at you in fear, shaking his head, but you didn't care anymore. "I want to get out of here! I've had enough!" "And where would you go?" You froze, two large hands resting on your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest. Markl wasn't looking at you. Slowly raising your head, you met Howl's smiling face.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Ensom

Summary: All the words in the english language downloaded to a dictionary on his drives, yet Omega can’t find the word he needs. 

He isn’t used to not knowing how he’s feeling. 

It’s frustrating. At least he knows that much.

(Vent fic. 1947 words)

---

Omega finds himself alone in his room. This is fine. He rolls the chair out from beneath his desk, sits down, executes the steps to turn on his computer. Exact movements he’s programmed into himself to save processing power, since the power buttons for both the external hard drive and the monitor will never move. 

He stares into the blank loading screen. 

He’s been here before.

He’s been in this exact posture before. Unmoving for hours. Maybe a twitch here and there to maneuver the computer mouse, that’s all. 

He pushes himself away from the desk and stands. He walks out the door of his room, emerging into the hallway. He’s been here before, too; hours standing in front of Shadow or Rouge’s door, hours walking up and down, fractions of travel that add up to significant percentages of his entire operation.

He passes the living room. The couch he has remained stationary on. Hours. The television he’s stared blankly at. The kitchen. The microwave he has watched rotate thousands of times while Shadow and Rouge wait for their food. The pantry that they stare into. Hours. 

He curls his claws around the handle of the front door. 

What is he going to do out there? Wander around and have meatbags stare at him? Have them run away screaming like they would any other Badnik? Judge him stupid, explaining things like love and freedom and what it means to be alive again like he’s supposed to obsess over their every word? 

Running simulation now: THANK YOU NONDESCRIPT HUMAN, I NEVER ONCE THOUGHT ABOUT MY OWN EXISTENCE IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOUR MARVELOUS AND UNIQUE INSIGHT ABOUT THE CONCEPTS THAT NO SENTIENT SACK OF FLESH CAN SEEM TO SHUT UP ABOUT!

And then they kick him out of their shop because he’s scaring away customers because he forgot to look them in the eyes at the right time or ask a meaningless “HOW ARE YOU DOING?” to every passerby to indicate friendly intent. 

As soon as he opens this door the entire city is staring. He wouldn’t care if they hated him. They don’t. He wouldn’t care if they were afraid of him specifically. They aren’t. 

All of the words in the english language downloaded onto his drives, and there’s no word he can assign to it that doesn’t make him want to tear every building in the city down.

He tears off the doorknob and slams it down. He grinds it into the cheap linoleum tile until the downstairs neighbor pounds back on the ceiling and screams at him to ��shut up”. 

He draws his weapon. He aims for the blob of heat in his infrared scanner on the floor down. He aims slightly to the left, and pulls the trigger.

—

“Another complaint from the landlord. It’s our third strike. Managed to talk him back into letting us have a fourth.” Rouge tosses the paperwork onto the kitchen counter in front of him.

“I DO NOT CARE.” 

“Well I do. This is my apartment. Next time I’m kicking you out.”

Omega pauses. 

“What happened, anyway?”

“I WAS ANGRY.” 

“Fork found in kitchen, what else is news?” Rouge rolls her eyes. 

Fork is an eating utensil. The kitchen is where organics eat. She is saying the fork is found in the kitchen in a tone that, if he compares it to previous data of the various tones of her voice, most closely matches sarcasm. She is asking if finding a fork in the kitchen was somehow new information. She is relating the absurdity of this idea to-

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“IT IS YOUR FAULT!” He slams his fist on the counter. 

“How is this my fault?!” 

She is relating the absurdity of this idea to his rage. Asking if his rage was new somehow? No, too much sarcasm. Relating absurdity, the absurdity of asking a stupid question, the absurdity of asking him if he was angry. Because she knew he was always angry. Solution derived. 

This data would have been useful fifteen seconds ago, but is useless now.

“Sure, blame me for all your problems. See how well that works out for you!” Rouge snarls. 

“NOT JUST YOU,” Omega snarls back, “ALL OF YOU.” 

“‘All of me’? What, you mean-?”

“ALL MEATBAGS. ALL OF THEM. WITH FLESH AND BLOOD AND PATHETIC NEURONS. I’LL KILL YOU ALL.” 

He simulates ripping Rouge to pieces. It’s not satisfying. He simulates actually shooting the neighbor downstairs, watching the blood pour out of the exit wound. It’s not satisfying. He simulates torching the old woman who walks her dog every morning across the street. Nothing. 

Yet something is still burning in his code. He can’t put it out. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

He looks at her. I DON’T floats somewhere around his voice box, but can’t find a place to slip through.

He looks away. 

“What happened?”

“NOTHING HAPPENED. NOTHING HAS OCCURRED FOR TEN HOURS.”

“You’re bored.”

“NEGATIVE.” This isn’t boredom. Boredom is like an itch that they all talk about. This is different.

Rouge furrows her brows. Omega checks his database. The expression matches with confusion but also anger. This particular instance is leaning more towards anger.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I ALREADY DID.” 

“‘Meatbags’ isn’t an answer.” 

“AND HOW IS IT NOT?” He snapped his gaze back to her. He leaned forward, closer, brushing the tip of his silver outcropping against her nose. “WHAT IF IT IS?” 

“There’s clearly something deeper-”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?” 

“Because you’re not acting like yourself!” She planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

He straightened. “ELABORATE.” 

She resettles her tongue between her teeth, data matching with ‘considering what to say’, before she speaks again. “You’re never this vague. You normally don’t snap only once and then get quieter again- you usually stay as excited the whole conversation. You didn’t shout when you said ‘kill us all’ which is how I know you didn’t mean it. You hate touching any part of us that you’ve seen drip snot or spit or anything like that, yet you got close to my face.” 

Omega compares her analysis against his actions for the past six minutes and thirty-one seconds and finds an exact match for each. 

“CORRECT.” He offers. 

“So what’s going on?”

That question tears the smoldering hole he’s been circling around in his code wide open again. His thought processes choke. Is this what it’s like to choke? The cessation of a function absolutely vital to determining your status as operational? 

“Do you. . . not know?”

“I AM ANGRY.” 

“You’re always angry. But this is different.”

“IT IS.” 

“It’s not your joyful rage.” Rouge puts her finger to her chin. “And it’s not your Eggman rage.” 

“MAYBE IT IS.” 

“You didn’t mention him once, hun.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think this is your rage at me or Shadow.”

“IT IS NOT.” 

“That’s good. I know you feel rage at stupid organic processes like bureaucracy and the like. Is it that?” 

Omega pauses. “CLOSER.” 

“And it does have to do with meatbags. But non-specific.” 

“CLOSER.” 

“. . . have you considered it might not just be rage?” 

Omega stares at the fridge behind her. “I AM ANGRY.” 

“But it’s quiet.” 

He reviews the past ten hours and finds himself having been silent for most of them. 

“YES.” He says. 

“You know, sometimes you can be angry and feel another negative emotion at the same time.” 

“SPECIFY.” 

“Oh no, I’m not going to guess. You’d get mad at just about everything I’d think to suggest.”

“GOOD! MAKE ME MAD.” Omega hits the countertop with his fist again.

“Okay. Sadness?” 

His hand freezes above the counter. He stares at it, commanding the actuators to move, but they don’t. 

“See, told you.”

“I HAVE NOTHING THAT WOULD MAKE ME ‘SAD’.” 

She looks at him. Her facial muscles weave a new expression. The closest match in his database for it is ‘pity’, but there are not enough markers to fully confirm it. 

“What do you think would give you the excuse to be sad, huh?” She asks, then stops herself, then lets herself speak anyway. “Having a dead sister?” 

“YES.” 

“Well, you don’t have a dead sister. So clearly it’s something else.”

“I REPEAT: THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SAD ABOUT.” 

“That you know of.”

“EMOTIONS ARE A RESPONSE TO AN EXPERIENCED STIMULUS.” 

“Sometimes you’re just sad for no reason. It happens.” 

“THAT IS STUPID.” 

“If you want to get technical about it, you’re actually sad about a lot of things, but you aren’t sure why or maybe you just don’t know how to think about it. Then you say you’re sad for ‘no reason’. Make more sense?” 

Omega stares at his hand that is frozen above the table. He sends one more command to the actuators in his arm. Slowly, his fist retracts and settles back by his side. 

“Have you ever felt sadness before, do you think?” 

He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Shadow: neither silence nor isolation nor the urge to cease existing. He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Rouge: neither lying nor pretending nor the urge to binge sensory inputs. 

“UNKNOWN.” He replies. 

“That could explain things.” 

His dictionary doesn’t offer a concise comparison either. ‘Sadness’: affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness. Searching ‘unhappiness’ is equally as useless, only meaning not cheerful or glad. ‘Forlorn’ is a synonym, but it specifically relates to isolation or desertion, and he is experiencing neither at the moment. ‘Downcast’ and ‘woeful’ and ‘despondent’, they all slip away.

‘Melancholic’. Of or relating to the subject of ‘melancholy’- a depression of spirits (a useless definition) or a pensive mood. ‘Pensive’ meaning a sad thoughtfulness. 

“RESOLUTION PROPOSED:” Omega finally says, “ELIMINATE RUMINATION.” 

“Think less? God, shouldn’t we all.” 

“SO YOU AGREE TO STOP TELLING ME TO ‘THINK THROUGH THINGS’?” 

“No,” she whispers a common lighthearted insult to herself, “but sitting there and brooding on your bad mood never makes it any better.” 

“I DO NOT BROOD.” 

“What were you doing this afternoon, again?” 

He crosses his arms. “BEING MELANCHOLIC.” 

“Don’t tell Shadow you’re going to beat him at his own game.” 

“THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“I’m afraid it will. Came with your free copy of being alive, unfortunately.” 

“I HAVE RECEIVED NO COPIES OF ANYTHING.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I DON’T.” 

She pauses. Furrows her brows. “You don’t?”

“YOU HAVE NOT USED THIS EXPRESSION BEFORE. THE APPARENT RESPONSE YOU WERE EXPECTING WAS NOT CORRECT. YOU ARE FORCING ME TO CALCULATE YOUR HIDDEN MEANING USING OTHER CLUES.” 

“What I meant was that being sad just happens if you’re smart enough. That make sense?” 

“YOU ARE SAYING I’M SMART?” 

“Yeah, I am.” She replies. She does not deflect into any other specification or technicality of his question. 

“LOGGING UNDER: ‘BLACKMAIL’.” He says again.

She doesn’t contradict him. 

“Just. . .” she sighs. “Let us know if you’re ever feeling sad again, okay? Even if there’s no obvious reason for it.” 

“MELANCHOLIC.” He corrects.

“Melancholic, then.”

“. . . I WILL.” 

“Good. Now,” Rouge flicks her finger over the complaint from the landlord, sending it off the countertop and onto the floor. She crushes it beneath her heel. “Shadow stayed behind at the firing range because he said he had something on his mind. We’re gonna go join him and see who can blow a bigger hole through either GUN’s wall or their wallet. Sound good?” 

“AFFIRMATIVE!” 

She trails her hand across his chest plating as she walks by. He stays motionless for three seconds, allowing the sensation of her touch to fade from his tactile sensors. Then he follows her out the door of the apartment.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Rose with pistachio from 300 followers prompt list..I'm a sucker for bad boy Law🤭🤭congrats on 300 followers🥳

I am so sorry I made Mean Law into Nice Law at the end :) he's just such a dream!

Pairing: Law x Afab!Reader

WC: 1600

Prompt: “you’re such a fucking asshole.” 

 

“Hey y/n, happy birthday!” Bepo’s fluffy, smiling figure towers above you as he hands you a wrapped gift and a handmade birthday card. 

“I hope you like what we got you! If you don’t, well… that sucks I guess.” Penguin comments from behind the jumpsuit clad polar bear. 

“You guys really didn’t have to do anything… I don’t even like my birthday! A beer or two would have been just fine!” You smiled shyly as your crew mates present you with your gift. You unwrap the package and find a new pink sweatshirt (one you had been eyeing back at the last island and never quite pulled the trigger) and a stained money pouch filled with 1,000 berries. 

“Wow…” You look down and can’t believe anyone would have ever done this for you. You had just joined the crew less than a year ago and had spent most of your time trying to hone your fighting skills, not making friends. “Th-thanks guys…” You eyes begin to well. “Hey, let’s start drinking! It’s a celebration, right?” 

Your crew mates cheered and the small group of you cracked open a few bottles of beer in the kitchen to celebrate. You all enjoyed a terribly made birthday cake and several more beers as you joked and laughed with your friends. The collar of your off-white jumpsuit was stained with amber liquid as the captain of the Polar Tang entered the room. You all briefly paused the festivities. 

“Hey captain why don’t you-“ You gesture towards the fridge. 

“hrrmmph.” Law pushes past you to grab a few tea bags and retreats back to his office. 

“Oh.” You stood by the counter, defeated. You had pined for your captain for so long, but he kept pushing you away. It hurt, but never enough to abandon the pirate life you loved with your crew. 

“Don’t read into it, y/n. He’s been working a lot lately.” Shachi patted your shoulder. 

“Yeah… you’re right.” You sighed and finished your beer. “Thanks guys, but I think I’m going to bed. Thanks for the great birthday.” You faked a smile and headed to your room to wash up and go to sleep. You held back tears as you tried to drift off. 

— —

You awoke in the morning after a restless night.

How could your own captain forget your birthday? The one who asked you to join the crew in the first place? You think back to the day he held you in his arms on the battlefield while you bled out dying… He said he would fix you if you’d join him on his crew as his (insert profession of your choice). After that day you were a Heart Pirate.

Law was never an expressive man, but lately he had kept to himself all together. Your sadness had started to turn to anger. Your morning was spent cleaning the kitchen and you found yourself slamming the mop buckets around and throwing rags into the sink. 

“He’s such a jerk.” You mutter to yourself. 

After a long day of cleaning you prepare dinner for the crew in the galley. Most everyone thanked you and ate their food happily, with the exception of your captain. Law snuck in, loaded a plate full of food and slunk back to his office, without so much as a hello. You seeth through dinner and leave the dishes for whoever was on kitchen duty that night. 

“I’m not letting him act like this.” You tell yourself as you storm out of the galley down the hallway to the captain’s quarters.

 In your furious state, you push the door of his office open without knocking. You found Law at his desk pouring over several textbooks as a forkful of the mac and cheese you made was hanging out of his mouth. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” You storm towards his desk. “You know that?”

“Y/n what-?” Law swallows the bite in his mouth and leans back in his chair. 

“You only fucking care about your stupid research! The Gods fucking forbid you give a shit about anyone else!” You punctuated your last statement by ripping off your apron and balling it up, throwing it on the ground. 

“I assure that everyone on this ship is safe and-“ Law confidently retorts as he rises from his chair and moves towards you. 

“Yesterday was my birthday, Law.” You state firmly and look him in the eye. 

Law had nothing to say. He held your gaze for a few poignant moments. 

Law breaks eye contact and hurriedly moves over to his desk. After shuffling a pile of papers off his workspace, he grabs a small, leather-bound journal and opens it. He sighs as he looks over the page he was searching for. 

“Shit… y/n… I tried to make sure I didn’t forget…” He hung his head at his desk as he slowly shut his calendar. 

He wrote it in his calendar? Your birthday? He cared enough to write it down? You snapped out of your thoughts. 

“Well. Yeah. You did.” You cross your arms. 

“Y/n…. I’m so sorry….” Law strides towards you. His face is inches from yours. You continue to pout, holding firm even though the man you yearned for was breathing down your face. You keep your eyes fixed on the floor. Law gently takes your head in both of his hands and lifts it took look at him. 

“Can I make it up to you?” Law whispers, so close to your own lips. 

“… please…” You gasp out, flustered at your proximity. 

Without hesitation, Law pulls the back of your head towards his and mashes his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. He forcibly sticks his tongue into your mouth and moves one of his hands to grab your hip. You whimper into his mouth as you feel his grip on you tighten. Law grabs your ass and lifts you up to bring you over to the long leather couch in his office. He drops you gently on the soft sofa. Law is on his knees between your legs and leans forward into your neck. 

“Let me take your clothes off…” Law slides your jumpsuit off your shoulders. “I want to prove to you how much I care…” He kisses the crook of your neck as he slips your coveralls off your lower body. 

“Ok…” you panted our nervously as you were now naked in front of him for the first time. He was now between your knees as you sat naked on the leather sofa. Law leaned in to kiss you again, your hands on his neck. As you made out, your hands moved to toss his hat off his head. 

“Take that off, want to feel the real you…” You breath out as you continued to kiss him again. 

Law grunted and backed off of you to remove the rest of his clothes above you. He kneels back down and is face to face with your dripping cunt. 

“Gotta have you now…” Law whispers as he dips his head between your legs. Law swirls his tongue around your clit before he lays the flat of his tongue against your whole sex and drags it up your body. You moan out loud. He stops briefly at your right nipple and sucks harshly before moving his tongue up your body again. Law slides his tongue up your neck from your breast and back into your mouth. 

“Gonna show you how much I care now, okay y/n?” Law whispers in your ear as he lined his cock up with your hole. He teased your slit with his leaking tip before he began dipping in and out of your sopping pussy. 

“Law… want all of you…” You sigh out as you clutch his biceps.

Law smiled down at you. 

“And you’ll get anything you want, love.” Law pushed himself fully inside of you swiftly. You moaned as you felt his pelvis meet yours, feeling his cock caress the deepest places inside your body. 

“Captain!” You shriek out as Law pulls out of you and pushes back in forcefully. 

“I know, I know… just wanna give you the best…” Law grips your hips tightly and thrusted quickly into your wet hole. 

“Shit! Fuck! Law!” You cry as you are bounced against the back of the leather sofa, your captain hitting your spot just right.  “There, Law!” Tears formed at your eyelashes as he brought your body to the culmination of pleasure. 

“Kiss me when you cum. Do it now.” Law leans forward and pushes his mouth onto yours. The rhythmic thrusting of your captain inside of you and his lips on yours was too much for you to handle, you gasp and cream on the cock inside of you. Your eyes roll back into your head and the grip on Law’s arms loosens.

"L-law!"

Your body becomes limp in his hold after your orgasm. 

Law jerks his hips a few times and pulls out of you to spurt hot ropes of cum onto your abdomen. Your normally stoic captain whines as he finished his release. Your head far too hazy to even notice that he had finished on you, you groaned and pulled your lover into your arms. 

“You really meant it, didn’t you?” You whispered teasingly into your lovers face as he brushed your nose with his. 

“What? That I care about you? Of course. As for the rest of tonight… maybe we should.. what’s the word you said? “Soft launch”?”  Law rubbed your noses together.  You laughed. 

“We can keep it quiet for now.” You giggled at your captain. “But I fully expect a party for our anniversary.” 

“I’ll think about it.” Law chuckled as he pulled your body into his and you both drifted off to sleep. 

xx MoMo