#i wanted to do more with lighting but I think I’ve wrestled with these long enough for a hobby level project

[longhands-the-second]

Behold: approximately 4 hours I should have spent doing laundry.

(I hope to hell those post in the right order lol i do NOT use this app for this)

EDIT: got these from the overhaul website, credit where credit is due

[myluvrrhea]

Wrapped in your arms | D.Priest

Request — Can you write an imagine about reader and damian priest being friends to lovers where they are forced to share an hotel room and she ask him shyly to cuddle and he agrees and he plays with her hair and caress her cheek

Pairings — Damian priest x Fem!Wrestler!Reader

Warnings — None just fluff

Song for this fic — Light Shower — Melanie Martinez

I felt the exhaustion hit me as I entered my dressing room. I sat down on a the couch , steadying myself and gulping damn near my whole bottle of water. I soon heard a knock at the door thinking it might have been liv, or Iyo . So I responded.

“Come in!” 

But what I didnt expect was one of The Judgment Days members to come walking in. The archer of Infamy, Damian priest. He wore his classic Senor Money in the bank T-Shirt , with black leather pants and a black belt to match. I felt confused as Damian never really cane into my dressing room. Sure we were close, but he knew his boundaries and I knew his. We cared about each other’s privacy. That was That.

“Oh, Damian what are you doing in here?” I asked. The confusion evident in my voice.

“I know I never go into your locker room , but this is important. We have to room together. I mean we haven’t in the past but Hunter said something about “getting to know each other” or whatever . So why not just share right? Plus who knows maybe you’ll join the judgment day,”Damian replied a smile forming on his face after the last sentence.

I giggled a bit , trying to hide the blush that creeped onto my face. My nervousness was now clear as day as I began to fidget with my fingers. But nonetheless, I replied back.

“Hey if you want I could drive you there,” Damian spoke. 

“Oh yeah..sure,” I felt my hands sweat up as I spoke.

Damian gave me a smile and nod as he left my

Dressing room, phone in hand. I sighed as I thought aboit the interaction. What did he mean when he said we fit together? Discarding the thought, I changed into more comfortable clothes ,and began to pack my stuff and head to Damians rental.

Location - At the hotel

As me and Damian had arrived at the hotel , I found his presence to be comforting and soft. So unlike his onscreen character. It was safe to say we had gotten to know each other way better than we had before. Sure we had been friends for a little over a month , but that didnt mean we knew each other like we thought we did.

Our laughs got quieter as Damian parked into the hotel driveway. That was also the point where I got into deep thought. What did he mean when Triple H said we had to get to know each other? were already friends so why? And what did Damian mean when he said I might join TJF. I cleared my thoughts as I hopped out the car, leaving Damian in a confused expression.

When we arrived to the lobby , I found one of my good friends Rhea to be sitting on one of the couches. Once she spotted me a smile formed on her face.

Me, Damian , and Rhea talked for a while but me and Damian found ourselves giggling and laughing while talking to each other. I felt my face grow hot as he mentioned how well I was at wrestling. Telling me how he loved my gear and it made my beauty stand out. 

“Alright you two stop flirting with each other,” Rhea said with a smile.

“What I-” 

“No we weren’t-“ 

Me and Damian spoke over each other. 

Rhea giggled and began to get her stuff together.

“Whatever just check in. I’ll talk to you both later” Rhea spoke as she grabbed her keycard and headed to her room.

Next up was me and Damian. I was about to put my bags down when they slipped out of my hands. Into Damians. I looked at him for a quick second seeing a sly smile on his face, before checking in for our room and grabbing our keycard.

— In the hotel Room 

It had only been about 15 minutes since we checked in and unpacked our stuff, picking our beds and chatting a bit. Although it hadn’t been long, I had felt safe and comfortable with him. Telling him more about my past and things I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone. I felt safe.

I felt safe with him

“Hey Im gonna take a shower we can talk after, yeah?” Damian spoke. In which I nodded in response.

After he finished up in the shower, gotten dressed and ready for bed, we found ourselves i found myself zoning out as i looked at his features.

“Hey Y/N you there?” Damian asked. Small giggles leaving his lips.

“Oh yeah I’m fine.” I responded.

Damian tried believing me, but it was the way I looked at him which made him think differently.

“Whats on your mind chica?” He asked. 

“I was wondering if we could sleep in the same bed, I know it might seem weird but-“ I was cut off.

“So you wanna cuddle?” Damian asked with a sly smile.

“Yeah if thats fine…” I trailed off scared of him rejecting me.

Instead of answering, he stood up and laid facing my front. His arms wrapping around me. I felt my heartbeat pound faster as he got comfortable.

“Relax mariposa,” he spoke in a whisper.

For the rest of the night, I felt calm and safe as we laid with each other. One of his hands playing in my hair as he started falling asleep. Me softly snoring after him.

[live-laugh-legolas]

Do you have any headcanons on the fellowship and their sleeping habits? Who snores/kicks/drools etc? Blanket hogs, always wakes up on the floor? Is anyone unlucky enough to sleepwalk? I'm guessing poor Sam probably needs like 10 pillows to fall asleep comfortably (he works hard though he deserves it)

You always send in such fun requests! Some of my favorite headcanons I’ve done were ones you sent in <3

The Fellowship’s sleeping habits

Aragorn:

-He sleeps like a log

-Actually more like he’s dead in a coffin

-Always on his back

-Snores softly sometimes but only when he’s fully laying down

-He often sleeps propped up though to avoid this when he is in the wild

-Can’t be drawing too much attention to himself while he’s unprotected

-If he ever is sleeping on his side though he will drool

-Not a morning person by choice

-He can get up when he needs to but when he’s in the comfort of Rivendell or somewhere nice he will sleep in

Legolas:

-I think it’s so funny that elves canonically sleep with their eyes open

-And they can be walking around while doing so

-Very spooky and possibly has caused rumors among men that elves are actually possessed

-A very light sleeper because of this; but won’t wake to little sounds because he knows it’s nothing of importance

-He possibly sharpens arrows or something while “sleeping”

-Once again, very creepy

Gimli:

-He snores

-But it’s not so much loud as it is low and drawn out

-Could be mistaken as growling

-His snores also aren’t always consistent so it leaves you worried he just took his last breath before you hear him again

-Snort/grunts when touched in his sleep

-Pippin and Legolas may have made a game of lightly kicking him or throwing pebbles to see how long it takes to wake him and who can get the loudest snort

-Sometimes he sleeps on his stomach and his face is buried in a pillow and you don’t know how he hasn’t suffocated

Boromir:

-He is not good at sleeping

-And by this I mean he can never fall asleep and when he does it is interrupted

-He is very used to running on just a few hours of sleep

-That’s what coffee is for; which he drinks a concerning amount of

-He runs warm in general so he definitely sweats in his sleep

-He sometimes sleeps naked because of this but he always at least starts the night in pajamas

-Goes to bed late but also always wakes up early

Frodo:

-Can and will sleep anywhere

-Maybe this headcanon comes from the fact that apparently Elijah Wood is like this and would fall asleep if you left him alone for a few minutes

-If it’s his little cat naps he is very peaceful and just curls up

-However when he sleeps in a bed he takes up the whole thing

-Starts curled up but wakes up a starfish with his feet at the top of the bed

-Doesn’t have a consistent sleep schedule

Sam:

-Definitely needs a very plush bed if you don’t want him being a little grumpy and sore in the morning

-The type of person to judge a hotel room by the comfort level of the bed

-He sweats in his sleep but won’t leave his cocoon of blankets

-He does not move in his sleep but he definitely mumbles

-Rarely is it anything understandable

-“mmhmmmsms blueberrys hhmmmgggmmm *smacks lips*”

-Always ends up holding something in his sleep; could be a teddy bear, could be another person, could be a rabbit that just happened to hop over and get unconsciously grabbed

Merry:

-He definitely talks in his sleep

-Can vary between little mumbles to full conversations

-He occasionally sleep walks but never does anything too crazy

-More just creepy if you happen to see it

-In modern day he would sleep shop online

-He doesn’t think to check his charges to his card ever so he just gets packages of random things he doesn’t remember getting

-He always sleeps soundly and wakes refreshed and it’s annoying to everyone else; how rude of him to be so perfect

Pippin:

-Moves a lot in his sleep

-Cannot just roll over; it has to be an aggressive almost wrestling like jump

-Often falls off the bed

-Also doesn’t make his bed ever; if he grabs a fitted sheet that is too small he will just have half the bed covered

-Major blanket thief

-Will kick, slap, and lay on top of you in his sleep

-Drools a lot

Gandalf:

-He has no problem falling asleep but unlike Frodo he doesn’t get a good sleep just anywhere; he needs to be in a bed to get a good nights rest

-Scary to wake up

-Once when I woke my dad up from a nap for dinner he jumped awake and very sternly said “that was VERY rude” ; and to make it worse he listening to a movie and literally Gollum was talking in his ear; so this is where I get the “scary to wake up” from

-Anyway

-Gandalf doesn’t startle awake often but his eyes flash open and he stares into your soul

-Pippin especially is afraid to wake the wizard

-He doesn’t really snore but his nose does the little whistle thing

-Likes to cover his eyes to keep it as dark as possible; his hat, a cloak, or a fancy silk eye mask

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: separation, John being John.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10 - part 11 - part 12 - part 13 - part 14

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

“Oh my god i’ve missed you!” your sister says as she gets into your car at the train station and although a piece of home has left it also feels like a piece has come home.

“Thankyou for coming.” you smile pulling her into an uncomfortable hug over the center counsel. 

“Coffee and a good movie that perhaps includes phone time?” she says as you pull away.

“Good god you mastermind.” you two laugh while  backing out of the busy parking lot. 

“So tell me everything, like what the hell this is?” she asks while grabbing the photo strip of you and john you keep on your dash.

“That day we went to the winery and they have a really popular black and white photo booth.” She smiles at the way your eyes light up when speaking about him.

“You complement each other well.” 

“Thank you, you’d love him, maybe when he gets back you could meet him.” The suggestion isn't one you'd ever see yourself making again after your last embarrassment of a boyfriend.

“Of course.” she says with a soft smile.

—-----------------------

“Do you think she’s okay?” John asks Simon who sits next to him on the foreign base.

“I do.” 

“I wish I could call her already, just to be sure and shake this feeling.” He was told calls weren't permitted until clearance that the location they’re at is secured.

“Captain, she can handle herself, she's going to be fine and if this goes to plan we’ll be back in no time.” John just sighs, his breath making a cloud into the cold air. By no time Simon means a month, a whole thirty days without you, he might just die from heartbreak. 

“You think you'll marry her?” Simon has always been one for deep conversation but it’s always random and spontaneous.

“Jesus son it hasn't even been seven months.” John says with an awkward laugh knowing he has an answer to the question.

“That's not what I asked the captain.” Simon replies.

“I'd be lucky to, I'd give everything to make that woman my wife, it’s just too soon, I don’t want to scare her off.” he says with a hopeless sigh.

“Time is an illusion, captain, don't wait forever.” 

“What are you, A fucking poet?”

“Yeah.” They both laugh as Simon opens a pack of cigarettes offering one to John and grabs one from the pack for himself. 

“Like I said if I'm lucky.” 

“I think the perfect woman falling into your hands proves you're as lucky as it gets, i mean look at those idiots.”he says gesturing towards johnny and gaz who arm wrestle on a wobbly table.

“You're right.” 

—----------------

The days have been stretched long, you think to yourself. It was good though, the distractions of shopping and hanging with your sister was nice and relieving but now it's four in the morning and she's fast asleep beside you and your eyes won't even shut for more than five minutes before the anxiety becomes too much.

It's been a long time since you’ve had a night like this and you don't wish to have many more but while johns away you most likely will. 

You get out of bed quietly and head to his room to grab a shirt of his, anything to feel closer. Walking in you realize you and john are very rarely in here and dust collects on the clothing drawer you open.

“I've missed these.” you say pulling your favorite pair of undies from the bottom of his pajama shirt drawer wondering when he could've gotten them then it hits you, these are from the night of your first date, you laugh quietly before putting them back.

You pull the shirt over your head right then and there, discarding the one you had on before, leaving it somewhere on John's floor before heading back to bed.

“Where'd you go?” your sister mumbles, scaring the life out of you.

“John's room real quick sorry for waking you.” you reply in a whisper.

“Yeah I thought a man got into bed with me.” you figure you've become a little blind to how strong his cologne can be and apologize. 

“Night.” you say before sliding under the duvet.

—-------------

“That was close too close, almost got caught.” John says very sternly to his task force who just returned from their first outing in this foreign country.

“But we didn't.” gaz says, and it's true was it close yes but there've been many other occasions just like it.

“But we were close!” The captain's booming voice makes them all fall silent.

“Next time I say to pull away you listen, do you understand, let me expect more from you.” he pointed at simon.

“Understood.” he says with a nod. 

“I'll see you all in the morning.” the captain says before walking away and into his tent. The boys all spare eachother side glances before Johnny starts.

“He needs to get laid immediately.” 

“He just has something to live for now I think and it's scaring him.” the ghost replies and it's troubling him, because although he understands his captain has to get his emotions under control before this mission blows up in their faces.

“Go talk to him Lt.” Gaz says pointing towards where the silhouette of John is visible through the tarp of his tent. Simon gets up without another word walking to the tent asking if he could open it.

“What do you want?” John says to him, still agitated.

“Captain i understand your emotions are high right now you miss her and you're not allowed to call yet but understand we are soldier and as a team we understand each other-”

“I'm captain and I'm glad you understand each other but it's my job to understand the situation.” 

“You're trying to understand the situation here and at home though, and it's going to get us killed.” Simon says before leaving. John realizes then he has had his mind in two places and he can't afford that. Swallowing his pride he approaches the team who's still sitting where he left them.

“I apologize for my outburst, let's reread some files and figure out an action plan for tomorrow.” 

—-------------

It's been nearly a week and not a sound from John, you're worried sick and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Your sister has a life to return to and you'll be alone with these thoughts for however long.

“Alright babe till next time.” she says hopping out of your car back at the same spot you picked her up from. You get out to help her get her extra bags that she acquired from shopping. 

“I love you, call me when you get home.” you say giving her a big hug trying not to cry.

“Will do, love you.” you watch her board before leaving. You're back home before you know it, getting back basically on autopilot.. You decide to call it a night at six, the emotional baggage of the day and the possibility of going another day without speaking to John is enough to get you to sleep heavily. 

And sure enough not only another day passes with no contact but another week goes by.

—------------

“Good job out there today, that was beyond successful.” John says, patting everyone on the back as they all file back into their temporary base.

“Hey captain, have you spoken to the little lass?” he was cleared his fifth day here to call home but simply hasn't.

“No I haven't.” 

“Why not?” it takes soap by surprise, the captain went from being worried sick about you to not even mentioning your name.

“It's a distraction I can't handle right now.” Simon's ears pick up on this and he just shakes his head in disappointment, that man only ever hears what he wants to. 

“Okay, she probably misses you though.” soap continues.

“Don't johnny.” the captain demands sternly leaving him to just walk away.

John misses you he does, so much so it makes him sick but he can't afford to think about you more than a little before it consumes his thoughts, what're you doing?Where are you?How are you?It's all too much.

He stares at the phone he was issued long enough to the point where he picks it up and dials your number and of course you answer first ring.

“John, good god hon i've missed you.” he doesn't say anything just listens to your voice fill his ears.

“John hello you there.” he stays silent trying to hold in this rush of sadness he hadn't expected.

“Johnnnnnn hello, i think your connection is bad or maybe it's mine.” he feels guilty for doing this to you, just like he gets the comfort of hearing you again you deserve that too but he just can't bring himself to speak, so he hangs up and sets the phone down leaving his tent to drown himself in work and whatever else there is to do.

—------------

The confusion and uncertainty that followed with the click of the phone was immense but there were no tears left to cry by now. You've just accepted the fact that he couldn't talk right now reminding yourself that you knew what you were getting into when he asked you to be his girlfriend or as he says it his partner.

—------------

Another week, then another passes

“He hasn't called, I'm just worried.” you say while on facetime as you fold laundry.

“Maybe it isn't allowed.” she says trying to comfort you by making that stupid face people make when they don't know what to say.

“But he told me he could, so I just don't get what changed you know, but maybe you're right, I just miss him.” 

“And that's okay, it's healthy.” Since she's left, her phone is full with nothing but you and your rants about life, your day, how much you miss john.

“How long has it been now?” 

“Four weeks going on five.” you sigh while getting up to put some clothes away in your closet.

“Well he'll be back soon hopefully, I got to go when my break is over.” she says while blowing you a kiss through the phone.

“Okay bye.” —--------------

You're woken up at four in the morning the next night from your phone buzzing under your pillow, excitedly thinking  it's John. You quickly grab it looking at the number and although it's similar in area code some numbers are different but nonetheless you answer.

“Hello.”

“Hey it's Johnny we’ve met. I'm a friend of johns.” soap says into the phone simon and gaz next to him listening.

“Hey is everything okay, is john okay?” you say in a bit of a panic.

“Yes yeah everythings okay we’re or I’m just calling to see how you are, make sure you're okay?”

“Yeah I'm fine are you?” You say a little mind boggled that Johnny is calling you before your partner.

“Yeah I’m well actually.” He says as if this is casual conversation.

“Johnny, why isn’t John the one calling me?” You finally ask, he doesn’t know what to say he looks at the two other men who shrug and are obviously thinking of what to say. 

“I don’t know.” Gaz rolls his eyes and Simon pushes the side of Johnny's head at the obvious lie.

“Oh okay. If you can tell him I miss him and that I love him.” All their heads fall into their hands as the choke in your words is obvious.

“I will.” 

“Is he avoiding me?” This hadn’t even been a possibility in your mind until right now.

“No, I'm sure he’s just um he’s just busy.” They hear the captain tent start to unzip.

“Okay lass got to go stay safe and do not ever tell the captain about this.” He says before hanging up without another word.

—————

“Who were you talking to?” The captain mindlessly asks as he approaches them sitting down beside Johnny. 

“A little lass I met not too long ago.” Not a lie but not the truth.

“Okay, anyways Tomorrow should be our last day. We've got to secure one more piece of information then we’re out of here.” 

“Excited to get home?” Gaz asks.

“Yeah but I’ll probably stay at the base a little longer to do these files.” 

“Why?” Simon questions, wondering what childish excuse his captain will come up with. 

“I’ll be distracted at home.” Simon stands without another word leaving into his own tent.

“What’s his deal?” The captain asks the other two remaining.

“Just being himself.” The captain nods even though there’s definitely more to it. 

——————-

Thank you for reading, comments and reposts are immensely appreciated<3

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving @maladptivedaydreaming

[wearethecyclones]

JoshEddie part 2????

(Now that's what I call hyperfixation. This one is Eddie's POV, from the diner... turns out writing things for little tumblr fic moments is good for my little shriveled up writer brain. y'all were very nice to me about the other one [LINKED HERE], thank youuuu)

//

It’s been too long of a night and morning for Eddie to bother second guessing himself about this. He taps his thumb against the steering wheel at a red light and ruminates on the memory of seeing Josh and his fake mustache from an aisle away. His first thought had been “that guy’s cute” and his second had been “wait, that’s Josh.” Something to add to the list of things to unpack in therapy. 

He’s been spending a lot of time third-wheeling Buck and Tommy is all. Not that he’s claiming queerness is catching, he’s just been in a space where openness is fine. Better than fine, openness is good. And Buck has always been surprisingly non-toxic in ways that absolutely have been catching. Or at least, encouraging. Eddie hadn’t ever found it all that hard to be soft and sweet with his son. Never struggled to make friends. Never wrestled with empathy or sensitivity, at least not since escaping his parents’ direct influence. 

But anyway, he thinks finding another man to be attractive is just… non-toxic of him too. 

Right?

Josh had told him to look for street parking and luckily downtown is still a bit sleepy at this hour so it’s not hard to come by. He parallel parks behind Josh’s efficient little sedan, Josh watching as he pays at the meter. He’s glad he pulls of a smooth parking job under his watchful eye.

“That thing is a monster truck,” Josh says, walking to stand at Eddie’s elbow while he puts time on the meter. He eyes Eddie’s truck judgmentally. 

Eddie scoffs, sliding his credit card back into his wallet. Josh leads the way. The diner is on the ground floor of an old, stately building nestled into a block full of newer high rises. The stone stairs up to the door are worn smooth. 

“You’re a walking firefighter stereotype,” Josh says without any indication of heat. “Mustache, huge truck…” He holds the door open for Eddie. 

“Yeah? Very curious to hear what other stereotypes I fit.”

“Hot. Cute with kids.”

“Uh huh, nice swerve.” He is very determined to ignore the “hot” part there. 

A waiter seats them and leaves them with sticky plastic menus. Josh peels his open and lifts his eyebrows at Eddie over the top of it. “What, are there negative stereotypes about firefighters or something?” he asks, faux innocent.

“That they cheat,” Eddie says easily. His heart twists, guilty. He’s pretty sure Josh doesn’t actually know about that but what if he does? 

To his surprise, Josh rolls his eyes. He looks back at the menu in front of him. “Firefighters don’t cheat any more than anyone else in any other career does.” He flicks to the next page. 

“I guess.” Eddie glances at the menu for something to do but he already knows what he wants. 

Josh closes his and sets it down. The waiter comes by to set down water and coffee cups and take their orders. 

After he’s gone, Josh makes a thoughtful sound. “Oh, I’ve got one. Do you have a weirdly specific tool in your pocket?” 

“Or am I just happy to see you?”

“Jesus, Diaz,” Josh laughs.

Eddie smiles. He shifts to reach into his pocket and pulls out his keychain, featuring a multitool for breaking car windows and cutting seatbelts. 

“There it is,” Josh says, laughing. “Though, honestly, I should probably have one. Where’d you get yours?”

“Here, I’ll text you the link, what’s your number?” Eddie asks, pulling his phone out from under his thigh.

“Oh, so you don’t have my number saved, huh?” Josh teases. “We’ve been on many a text thread together, Eddie.”

“Sure have been,” Eddie teases back. He doesn’t mention that those text threads are usually group chats related to traumatic events, most recently Chimney’s disappearance before the wedding. 

“Petty,” Josh says, holding out the final syllable, trailing off into a smile. “I don’t have your number saved either.”

“Petty,” Eddie mimics back at him. 

“You know, bitchy really does work for you, I kinda love it.” 

“Gotta match energy.” 

Josh’s mouth drops open and he holds his hand to his chest, playing at offended. And then he gives him his number. 

Eddie makes a show of saving his number too. “J… O… S… H… Russolini...”

“If that’s a Mussolini joke, it’s game over for you.” But the light of an unexpressed laugh is in his eyes. 

“It’s just because you’re sooo bossy.”

“I’m actually not even that bossy, you were just a little wounded by a man asserting dominance over you.” A coy smirk twists his lips. 

Eddie’s surprised at how light he feels broaching this topic. Eddie hated Josh when he was at dispatch. He knew they’d probably exist in similar enough circles for a very long time despite that hatred, so he’d chosen a path of disinterest and avoidance since going back to the 118. But if he’s being honest with himself he’s pretty sure Josh was just a tributary, an off-shoot of negative energy that branched off from the river that was Eddie’s mental breakdown. It had just felt somewhat stable to dislike him. 

Distantly, even then, he’d known Josh was right. And that he was good at his job. None of the people Eddie befriended at dispatch ever had any complaints about him as a manager either. 

“I don’t mind a little dominance,” Eddie says. He punctuates it with a sip of his coffee and watches something complicated flit across Josh’s features. He sets the coffee down and hits send on the link. 

Josh’s phone, face down on the table, vibrates seconds later. Josh picks it up. “I’m failing to think of a mean way to save your number. But I reserve the right to change it later.”

Eddie shows him his phone, Josh’s contact page open. Josh squints at it and huffs a laugh. Eddie had just written his name, simple enough, but adorned it with an emoji of a mustachioed man. 

“Alright, you get the same treatment then.” 

When their food comes, they descend into comfortable enough silence. Josh was right, the French toast is great. Eddie doesn’t mean to observe him too closely, but he does note that Josh is meticulous. He had carefully laid out the silverware included in the paper napkin roll and had folded his straw paper into a little puffy star. He slowly and methodically cuts his French toast into even bites. It’s at this point that Josh looks up at Eddie with a wrinkle between his brows and Eddie realizes he’s been staring a little.

He clears his throat and takes a bite of food to shake the moment off.

“So,” Josh says. “Can I ask why your kid is in El Paso or is that none of my business?”

“You can ask,” Eddie says. He takes another bite and lets the silence stretch on.

“You are such a brat, oh my God,” Josh laughs. 

Eddie swallows his food and flashes him a smile. 

He feels like this must be what it’s like to play chess. One little move after another, carefully placing pieces to coax someone into a position you want them to be in. Eddie’s not sure what position he wants Josh in, exactly. But he wants to see how he’ll respond. Quip for quip, tease for tease. 

“He uh, well…” Eddie says, showing a little mercy. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“You got somewhere to be? Because I don’t.” 

Eddie doesn’t either. And Josh’s face is open, kind. Eddie knows it’s optional, that he doesn’t have to get into it here or now or ever with Josh. But he kinda wants to. 

“You know what, I don’t,” Eddie says. So he starts from the beginning.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: OCTOBER 1996

MOMMY? Is the Mystery of Mankind Beginning to Unravel?

A Special Report By the Informer

IS GOLDUST MANKIND’S MOMMY?

You read that right! I’m on the verge of breaking the hottest scoop of the century… I think!!! Even though my reputation may be on the line, this is just to JUICY to pass up!!!

OK, are you ready? My eyes and ears have told me, the Informer, that not only is Mankind living in the basement of Goldust’s Hollywood estate, BUT the “bizarre one” actually has the “dementated soul” under his complete control! How you asked? Perhaps by having him convinced that he is… his long lost… MOMMY!!! NORMAN BATES, MOE OVER!!! This situation makes the relationship between you and your deceased mother look like Mrs. Cleaver and the Beav!!!

I must say that at first I, the Informer, didn’t even believe it myself. Goldust and Mankind? RuPaul and Hannibal Lector? COME ON!!! Can you imagine the conversation over a cup of expresso?

“Mankind, what do you think  of my new wig?”

“Oh, I think it’s lovely. But, it would look even better… WITH THE HAIR PULLED OUT OF IT!!!”

Talk about an odd couple? They would make Feliz and Oscar look like the Olsen twins!!! But wait, let’s not be so hasty with our judgments. Let’s stop and ask ourselves this question: Beneath it all… are they “really” that different? Is it possible that there might be more similarities than they would want us to believe? Let’s look a bit more closely, shall we?

First and foremost, it is a fact that Goldust and Mankind are loners. They have no friends… nor do they want any. As a matter of fact, much of their companionship actually takes place “inside” the ring, rather than “outside”. True, Holdust does have Marlena, but first of all she is of the opposite sex… we think. And second, their relationship is of a business nature, not personal…. We think. Mankind, on the other claw, is definitely friendless. That is unless you consider George, his rat who by the way I’ve heard died recently. However, just because he’s dead doesn't necessarily mean that he’s not still Mankind’s best friend, by any stretch of the imagination! Now the psyches of Goldust and Mankind are comparable in various ways. Both are masters of the mind game… in their own “special” way, of course. Where Goldust likes to frolic within the psychologically bizarre realm of sexuality, Mankind takes a more strait-jacketed approach. He likes to come off as being just plain nuts. Both live in fantasy worlds–Goldust in the lights, camera and action of La-La Land… Mankind in his safe haven known as the boiler room. They both offer very unique and mysterious backgrounds. The truth is–we know very little about either individual, largely due to the fact that neither has told us anything! What “really” makes Goldust tick? Did something happen in his childhood that sent him to super-bizarredom? Does he have any legitimate acting experience? If not, how the heck did he get himself on the red carpet area on Oscar night? And Mankind? Now here’s a jigsaw puzzle that lacks a straight border. The music, the claw, the mask, the cellar, the… MOMMY?

MOMMY… here’s where the mystery begins. If you don’t already know by now, Goldust and Mankind wrestled as a tag team at some house shows back in the late summer, early fall. The Bizarre and the Demented. OK, nothing wrong with that. Sometimes wrestlers do team up even though they may have nothing in common. Case in point–the opponents of this troubled team were none other than the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels and everybody’s favorite dead man, the Undertaker. Now here’s the wacky part–weeks prior to the match, Goldust and Mankind were cutting a couple of interviews talking about the upcoming matches. Keep in mind these interviews only ran in the markets where the matches were taking place. In other words… only a few people saw them. Anyway, through the entire cuts, Mankind was referring to Goldust as… MOMMY. You got that? MOMMY! But wait, it gets even sicker! The three of us–me and my own two eyes–witnessed Mankind actually BURYING HIS HEAD IN GOLDUST’s BOSOM in search of some peace, love, and understanding!!!

Now you tell me, kitty-cats, what the H-E… double toothpicks is going on here?!!! Has Goldust outpsyched the psycho into believing that he’s his… MOMMY?! OR is this just another chapter in their well-scripted psychology handbook? What do you think? Do you think I know? WELL, I MIGHT!!!

The following day after this goose-bumping incident, my top informer informed me, the Informer, that SON has moved into MOTHER’S mansion!!! That’s right! They share the same CELLAR!!! Now this shocking detail has in no way, shape or form been confirmed yet. HOWEVER, I was told just last night by the GREAT (his opinion, not the Informer’s) VIC VENOM, the next month… in this very magazine,,, he plans on bringing you inside the mansion of Goldust in his exclusive “Lifestyles of the Rich and Filthy Rich”! So now the question is will Venom be the reporter he says he is and take us in the cellar of the Goldust estate so that we can find out the truth for ourselves? OR will snake breath slither out of the entire situation by keeping the basement door LOCKED?!

Tune in next month!!! Until next time…this has been the Informer.

THIS JUST IN!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!!! AS OF PRESS TIME, I HAVE JUST LEARNED THAT GOLDUST MAY HAVE COME CLEAN WITH MANKIND! A SOURCE INFORMED ME, THE INFORMER, THAT GOLDUST MAY HAVE RECENTLY EXPLAINED TO MANKIND THAT HE INDEED IS NOT HIS MOMMY, BUT… SABLE IS!!! 

THIS STORY JUST GETS WEIRDER BY THE MINUTE!!!

STAY TUNED!!!

[finisnihil]

Minor Luocha and Firefly analysis+Penacony Spoilers read at your behest

If Firefly is a Kallen Expy like I’ve seen some people suggest I hope she and Luocha stay 2747388274383774744747 miles away from each other forever.

Their dynamic in HI3 is certainly something and as somebody who doesn’t play HI3 I’m quite fascinated by Otto’s religious adoration of her where he seems to love her in the sense of somebody worshipping a god or saint probably due to the religious setting he was raised in and her role as his “savior” (I have no idea what I’m talking about I have Vague Understanding and that’s it) but also I like how HSR is treating their characters right now individual of each other.

Seeing Luocha act the way he does feels so much more fulfilling with the current understanding that Kallen isn’t impacting his decisions. He’s kind because he wants to be, because he likes being kind, because he’s a healer and healers make people’s lives easier and better quality and not because he’s upholding somebody else’s ideal. Plus, his relationship with Yaoshi, immortality, and rebirth and being disgusted by it is so much richer in my opinion. When Jingliu says he has a void in his heart that can’t be filled, with how he’s trying so hard to insist he’s normal and human, how he’s got serious parallels to Jesus but he’s turning against his god because he does not want to wear this crown of thorns, he does not have to in order to save those who need saving.

And Firefly, a girl who’s living on borrowed time, who’s losing her body and is desperately trying to cling to any sense of freedom, who seeks the warmth of the Trailblazer’s Stellaron heart because it’s better than the cold clinic she’s alluded to be being stuck in. Fireflies only live for two months and they use that precious time frantically sending out little bursts of light to find company in a responding signal. A shooting star is only there long enough to be wished on for something greater before it’s swallowed by the night again. Isn’t it only natural to ache for more time? To hide from Death in the arms of its brother, Sleep? To remain in this Golden Hour just before the reset of the clock reminds you that you are fading and a hour is just that, a hour, no matter how golden?

In a way, their roles have reversed. Firefly is now the one scared of death and desperately seeking a way to circumvent it even if it means hurting or deceiving while Luocha is doing his best to be a good person while also wrestling with the opposition of people who hate him on the principle of his circumstances.

I don’t think Luocha could ever be Otto. They share the same looks and the same traits yes, but they seem to have gone down completely different paths. Same thing for Firefly and Kallen if they are alternate versions of each other.

And if they ever do meet, I hope it’s a sparse glance, an eye contact, and then they merely pass each other on the street and think nothing more of who the other might’ve been.

[mangoshorthand]

Hii againn, first off I seriously love love LOVE the lucky fucking pillow you did from my first request thank you 🫶 I think this counts as my second request? (I hope it's okay to req again🥺) fluff rather than a smut hehe, this happens after five retired and they live together and reader comes home with a senior cat she decided to adopted (bc it reminded her of five) then he soon comes to love it so much, and up to you! pls a bit of angst. THANKIEE SMM I really enjoyed my first request!! 🩷🩷🩷

You're welkiee again! You can request as often as you like (but I am on hiatus after posting this to work on one or two longer projects). I've saved this one for a bit because I really wanted to do it justice. Sorry it took so long.

Two Old Men | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader Words: 3.3k, rated G

At last, retirement suited him. 

He tried first when he was fifty eight and his body was in its teens, but destiny pulled him kicking and screaming back into the chaos. After all that was all done, he tried again, but it didn’t take.

As it turned out, people don’t retire just because they’re mentally tired, they retire because they’re old, and Five’s body and brain tissue being physically young had left him too full of energy to live a life of idleness.

But now, with his body in its early fifties and his consciousness well into its nineties, he felt the body slowing down enough to allow him to take it easy

So, a year ago, you and he bought a few acres of land in Tompkins County. Five was someone who didn’t like to gush- in fact, he tended to find fault if there was any- but even he had to admit it was perfect: it was near enough to Ithaca to access all the restaurants, shops and bars you enjoyed together, and rural enough to satisfy him in his insistence that you retire somewhere where nightfall brought a view of the cosmos unspoiled by city lights.

The farmhouse was small enough to mean it would be easy enough to keep clean as you both aged, but commodious enough to play host to two or three family members at a time.

For New Year, you actually managed four, but that had involved Klaus staying on a blow-up. He'd insisted that his powers kept his body in tip-top shape but it became apparent the following morning that he'd been talking out of his ass: his elderly back could no longer tolerate such treatment, and Five had wrenched his own in pulling him off the mattress.

No, Five couldn’t complain: he had a couple of project cars to tinker with in the barn, and next year you were planning to try planting a little orchard and vineyard to try your hands at making organic wine. His days were filled with pleasant walks, naps and hobbies, and his nights were spent warm in bed with you: what more could a man want from his retirement?

Now, he stretched out on the veranda, hat shading his eyes and sun warming his limbs. He wondered vaguely whether it was worth adding just one more bedroom. He sort of missed having a house full of guests. Or, even better, maybe he could build himself a better place for the cars (his precious Corvette was vulnerable to rust in the barn right now), and then convert the barn into its own little self-contained-

“Five?”

Your shout came to him on the breeze. He put down his book entirely and squinted at your approaching figure, returning from your afternoon walk. He’d left his glasses inside, so he could only see an indistinct shape in your arms. Your gait seemed unusual. Were you hurt?

“What’s up?” he called back, ignoring the slight twinge in his pelvis as he stood. 

“Look what I’ve found!”

Not hurt: just slightly urgent. He approached curiously, walking off the little stiffness caused by the twinge. He knew there would probably be a point when it was easier to blink to his feet than heave himself up- he could sense it coming the last time his body was in its fifties, but he was damned if he’d do that until his joints were at least pushing eighty.

You came into view.

Apparently, you were wrestling with your sweater.

It writhed in your arms, wriggling and snarling so fiercely that you nearly dropped it on a couple of occassions.

“What the hell?”

“Open the door for me. I found a cat.”

“A cat?" he said, as if he'd never heard of such a creature.

And, sure enough, a pair of bright green eyes glared out from where their owner was bundled up in the sweater: a tightly- wrapped burrito with murder in its heart.

“I don’t want that thing in the house!” he said, as the burrito gave a threatening growl.

“He’s ill, Five.”

Thirty years together had taught him when you meant business. Your tone was conclusive, so he reluctantly opened the front door.

“Put it in the laundry room,” he said, resentfully, “I don’t want it pissing on the furniture.”

“He, Five.” you said, pointedly.

“Yeah, wouldn’t wanna misgender a goddamn cat,” he mumbled, but he opened the laundry room door and stood aside so you could enter before closing it behind you both.

“Okay- stand back,” you said, lowering the writhing sweater onto the tiles. 

Five did step back. He liked dogs, but cats he had no interest in. Let alone one that sounded like it intended them both serious bodily harm. Its constant growls and furious yowls made him feel like he was in the presence of a live grenade. 

For a moment, the bundle wriggled, throwing itself around until the cat finally extracted himself. His long fur was a dark gray black, and those jade eyes peered out threateningly from underneath weeping mange-sores. Immediately, he backed off into a corner, fur all on end and spitting at you both with hackles raised. Though he was doing his level best to appear larger, he was rather small and skinny.

Five looked at you, incredulously. There you were, eyes glistening in adoration as you looked down at the brewing hurricane of claws and teeth. It was the same face he fell in love with. You were slightly older than him physically, but you didn’t look it, especially now that your eyes were filled with an excited gleam: you looked young again. 

“Look at him, Five!”

Suppressing a loving smile, he looked back at the cat, now growling again.

“He’s kinda gross.”

“No he isn’t!” you said, indignantly, “he's an old man and he’s sick.”

You paused for a moment. 

“A bit like you, actually. You’re a sick old man if ever I met one.”

You eyed him knowingly with a little twitch of your eyebrows. Five scowled, but you continued, laughing, as the parallels came upon you one by one.

“He is like you! That must be why I had to bring him home! He’s tiny and old and grumpy and-”

As you said it, the cat let out an indignant, snappish ‘Nyaah’.

“-and he even sounds like you!” you finished, grinning. 

“I’m not tiny,” Five said, grumpily, “I’m only an inch or so shorter than average.”

“Look!” you said, pointing between him and the cat, “you’re pulling the same face.”

“God, I married an idiot,” Five replied, schooling his expression back into neutrality. He looked back at the cat with its teeth bared in a silent hiss.

“It looks like it wants to tear our throats out.”

“I know!” you said, rapturously, “he’s so cute!”

Five shook his head at this absurd non-sequitur.

“Whose is it?”

“I found him near the old Montgomery place. I think he must have belonged to Judy.”

His mouth pulled downwards. Five had known Judy to wave to. She was a nice old lady who lived a few farms over. He’d been sorry to hear of her death.

“That means he’s been surviving on his own for two months,” you said. 

He looked down at the cat, looking rapidly around itself for a route of escape and finding none. It seemed to try to line up a jump onto the counter, but looked wobbly on its back legs as it did so, so it gave up and went back to eyeing them with those lamp-like eyes.

He really was old.

“Well,” Five said, begrudgingly, “you’re gonna have to take him to the vets. See if he’s chipped and get that shit on his face sorted out.”

“Okay!” you said, brightly, looking around the laundry room with a thoughtful look, “can you blink and get me some twine from the kitchen so we don’t have to open the door.”

“Twine?”

“You just watch.”

***

With many claw marks on your forearms but still smiling like an idiot, you drove the cat to the vets with it trapped in a plastic laundry basket with an identical one on top secured with twine. Five watched you down the drive with a fond shake of the head and returned to his book. There was still a good hour or so of warm, early-afternoon sun before he’d have to go inside and get a jacket.

He spent the afternoon peacefully, sipping a cold beer and occasionally letting his book rest on his chest while he watched the thick cirrocumulous cloud cover crawling gradually by.

When he was forty, he only barely lived through the worst apocalyptic winter. Fuel was low, and he'd been prevented from finding more or seeking shelter elsewhere by the deepest snow drifts he ever experienced.

Out of one of these, he’d dug himself and Dolores a little snow-shelter. He distinctly remembered trying to dry his soaking gloves over the smoldering embers of his last burnable supplies and looking down at his red fingers.

'If I survive this,' he thought then, 'this will all be a memory one day. I can look back on this when I’m warm and comfortable. I can sit in the sun and remember how lucky I am to be there. This is good, actually, because it’ll teach me to be grateful.'

And, although he’d only thought that way to get him through that night, it had actually worked, because Five remembered it now. He remembered the pain in his joints from the physical labor and the burning of his frostbitten fingers and toes. He took a moment to glory in the contrast between then and now.

Back then, he’d only been thinking about surviving until the thaw or the following summer, but now he had more happiness and more comfort than he ever dared to imagine then. He was warm, he was safe, he was home, and he would fall asleep tonight held tight in your arms. 

With a warm feeling in his chest, he closed his eyes. 

He only awoke from the slight doze at the sound of the car pulling up.

“Hey,” he said, without opening his eyes, “is it all done with? Cat at the shelter?”

“Nyyaaahhh!”

The truculent noise was more than enough to answer his question. Damn cat couldn’t even meow right.

He opened his eyes to see you standing there with the cat in a brand new carrier and a huge bag from the pet store in another.

“Woah, hey!” he said, dismayed, “We didn’t talk about this!”

“Please, Five,” you said, wheedling, “he has nobody else. They read his chip and he was Judy’s. The vet said he’s too old to get adopted and he’d probably die at a shelter.”

“No, I am not keeping that thing in the house,” he protested, “I got this strange liking to having both my eyes!”

He relented slightly at the sight of your pout.

“Fine. He can stay, but he can live in the barn.”

“You go live in the barn,” you said, resentfully, taking the cat and the supplies into the house despite his protestations.

An argument ensued, an argument that didn’t settle down until you both turned in for bed.

When the cat was shut downstairs for the night, fed, bedded and given the run of the kitchen and laundry room, you slid into bed beside Five without acknowledging him. 

Five sat there for a minute or so with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. At last, he spoke:

“Fine,” he said, “he can stay in the house, but I got two conditions.”

You gave a small squee and kissed him full on the mouth, squashing his mustache with your fervor. You knew that the thin end of the wedge was embedded. Whatever Five’s conditions were, the cat would find his way around them in time.

“All right, all right,” Five said, from between your hands on his cheeks. Though he was trying to sound stern, suppressing his smile was difficult.

“Number one,” he said, holding up a finger, “he doesn’t get to go beyond the kitchen. I don’t want him ruining our stuff. We’ll get a cat door and he can go out and do whatever cats do during the day, and he can sleep and eat here.”

“Okay,” you said, though with no intention of sticking to this agreement. 

Five put up a second finger.

“And two, I get to name him.”

“He already has a name,” you said, bemused, “Judy called him Mr Cuddles, I think.”

“That’s a dumb name,” Five grumbled, “I’m calling him Timothy.”

“Timothy?”

“Timothy.” he said, decisively, “take it or leave it.”

“Can we call him Tim?”

“Nope,” Five said, obstinately, “Timothy.”

***

Timothy didn’t like to be touched. It took him six weeks to tolerate you petting him without tensing up, though it was clear he didn’t really enjoy it. Being picked up was still an absolute no-go, as that would necessitate touching his tummy. That, you were learning, was a guaranteed bite. 

Despite this, things had improved for Timothy since he arrived. His mange was gone and he’d grown in confidence, greeting you each morning with a polite ‘Nyah’, and even conferring the odd friendly chirrup upon you now and again.

You spent hours in the kitchen with him, just sitting there, drinking tea and tempting him towards you with treats. You were getting on fine, and Timothy clearly already felt like he owned the place, coming and going as he wished and sunning himself on the veranda.

You were besotted, and Five was happy for you, (anything that made your eyes light up that way was fine by him), but mostly he ignored Timothy, carrying on just the same as ever. 

One afternoon, however, Five was in the barn, lying on his mechanic’s creeper under his jacked up 1967 Pontiac. There was a worrying leak coming from somewhere, and, having got so far fixing her up on his own, he was hoping to avoid having to take her into the shop in town.

So intent was he on inspecting the engine bay, he didn’t notice that he wasn’t the only one beneath the car until Timothy was less than an inch from his face. 

“Nyaaah?”

Five startled, dropping his flashlight and cursing. 

“Shit!”

Timothy’s ears flattened against his head, and he backed off rapidly, stopping a few feet away before hissing at Five, ill-naturedly.

“Stupid cat,” Five muttered, composing himself and returning to the job at hand. 

As he continued to work, he stayed aware of Timothy stalking around the car. At one point, he heard a small flump that meant he’d jumped through the Pontiac’s open door. 

“Watch the the interior,” Five grumbled, “that’s the original naugahyde. You know how much I paid for her?”

“Nyah.”

“Yup,” he said, “and if you scratch up or pee on any of it, I’ll replace it with catskin. Understood?”

“Nyah,” Timothy repeated.

“Good.”

He became absorbed again, listening to Timothy’s paws pattering around on his precious upholstery. The leak was hard to identify. He chewed at his lower lip and considered before muttering to himself.

“It was brown, so that’s gotta be transmission fluid, right? Maybe brake fluid? Hell, maybe it’s just oil.”

“Nyah.”

“Could be a lube oil leak, I guess,” he said, as if Timothy had suggested this, “but it doesn’t smell bad.”

Timothy landed with only a slight stumble when he jumped down. Five felt the cat butt up and rub himself against his feet where they stuck out from underneath the car. 

He tinkered for another fifteen minutes to no avail. He could feel his joints starting to stiffen, so he wheeled himself out from under the car to find Timothy watching him, sitting neatly in a shaft of sunlight at the barn door.

He gave Five a slow blink. 

Five wasn’t au fait with cat communication, but the gesture seemed friendly, so he nodded slightly awkwardly at him in acknowledgement. 

***

Over the next week or so, Timothy honored Five with his company whenever he worked on the Pontiac.

Five supposed it was a hangover from his life with Dolores, but he found he worked better when he had a presence with him to talk to. Verbalizing his thought processes nearly always helped him problem-solve.

It took him a few days to identify the problem and, just as he was starting to fix it, a sound like an idling Harley Davidson made him look around confusedly for the source. He thought for one, wild moment that the key had been turned in the Pontiac’s ignition but apparently not: as it turned out, this was just how Timothy purred.

He was sitting a few feet away, watching Five work under the car and purring in the warmth of the sunlight. When he saw Five looking, he gave another of those contented slow blinks.

That night, Five didn’t shut Timothy in the kitchen when he went to bed.

***

It was a balmy summer afternoon. You and Five were sitting on the veranda on the twin loungers, drinking iced tea and talking in an idle fashion about building another bedroom. 

You favored converting the attic, while Five wanted a full barn conversion.  He talked convincingly about how nice it would be to have his niblings and their families over to stay for a few weeks at a stretch, but you suspected it actually had much more to do with the opportunity to build himself a proper mechanic’s shop on the property. He talked about how nice it would be to spend more time with the kids, but you could see the ghost of a hydraulic vehicle lift behind his eyes: there would be no more lying uncomfortably on the creeper then.

But, the decision left unmade, Five had talked himself into a nap. His hand had long since dropped from where you’d been holding it between the two loungers, and he was now sound asleep with his hat over his face.

You were engrossed with a book, relaxed and listening to Five’s soft little snores. It was good he was having a nap now, you thought. Tonight, you’d planned to wait up until it got dark out and stargaze on a rug spread in the back field, like you did when you were younger.

“Nyaah?”

Timothy padded into sight, piercing green eyes x-raying you with assessment. This was another similarity to your husband: even after all these years, Five regularly looked at you as if he were still making up his mind about you. 

You patted your thigh, hoping to encourage Timothy onto your lap, but he declined the offer and wandered over to sniff Five’s empty glass instead. Apparently finding nothing to his liking, he looked up at Five.

You watched, shocked, as Timothy first gauged the jump, then decided it was within his capabilities and finally shuffled backwards to line himself up. In a mildly ungainly fashion, he made the leap and walked confidently along Five’s chest until he reached the softer padding of his belly. There, Timothy kneaded him gently before he settled down, turning around and around in a circle before curling up neatly.

This was just typical, you thought, as Timothy began to purr loudly. You’d worked your ass off to get this cat to like you and he still barely tolerated you petting him. All the while, Five had treated Timothy with indifference bordering on dislike and this is how he responded?

As you watched, trying hard not to feel slightly offended, Five stirred and muttered something in which only the word “cat” was discernible. His arms came sleepily up, his fingers laced together and his hands laid themselves across the cat’s abdomen. 

Timothy stiffened and made a small, slightly unhappy noise at the unexpected touch, but, after a moment of evaluation, apparently decided to tolerate it. He lay his head back down and closed his eyes.

For a moment, you shook your head and watched the two crotchety old men sleep. Then, smiling, you returned to your book.

Request masterlist >> HERE

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage, @nevbrooke-555

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[menacewithawolfcut]

a pastoral short story, or a confession between lovers near a fishing village in the summer

pairing: taigen x transmasc!mizu

rating: mature (16+) [non-explicit sexual content]

tags: third-person pov, he/him pronouns used for mizu, headcanon, plot? don’t know her/kicked her straight out of the window, aftercare, odaxelagnia/biting kink, author’s sleep schedule is fucked up so don’t mind him mildly losing his marbles progressively

a/n (post-upload): so, i apologise, but i'm a dumbass, and it has just occurred to me that events in that episode were taking place in spring, but i'd prefer not to change the title and the setting, so yeah, sorry again

summary: post-wrestling scene, but it went *slightly* differently

word count: 729 words/4127 characters

“Hey, Taigen…”

Mizu spoke softly, reaching out his arm, almost touching Taigen’s shoulder. “May I?”

The latter silently nodded, still looking away.

After the moment of quiet and Mizu’s gentle, comforting strokes across his companion’s back, Taigen cleared his throat and faced him.

“I think I must tell you something.”

“Hm?”

“I think I might find you… attractive.”

Mizu’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat and started pounding, and he slowly reciprocated the eye contact.

“How long have you been feeling this way?”

“For quite some time.”

The temporary silence was filled by the call of a cuckoo bird from the sunny forest outside.

“I’ve been thinking about you, too, Taigen. Quite a lot, actually. So, I think you should know that the feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh…” Taigen felt heat rising to his face and looked away.

“So, what do we do about it?”

“That might be the craziest thing you’ve heard from me so far, but,” Taigen looked into Mizu’s piercing blue eyes, which had already been looking at him intensely. “What do you think if we… *wrestle* a little bit more… To release some pent-up energy… But please, don’t feel pressured, though, I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable in any way.”

The heat radiating from the fireplace near them became more intense.

“I would love to. But then, you should close the door first. Unless you want to look awkwardly in the villagers’ eyes tomorrow as you go there to buy some food, and mind you, Kohama is a little bit far from here,” a smirk ran across Mizu’s face.

He took a moment to take a sip of tea, soothing the dryness in his mouth, as he watched his now slightly bashful rival fulfil his request.

“And I have only one condition: my clothes stay on me. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” Taigen nodded.

“Good. And I think I already have an idea of how we can work with that,” Mizu tilted his head to the side while meeting Taigen’s gaze as they both laughed light-heartedly. “I will wipe that smug grin from your pretty face and replace it with something else; you know that?”

***

Taigen collapsed on the floor, desperately trying to catch some air. A warm, soft hand touched his cheek as he continued panting, his eyes looking love-drunkenly and tiredly at the man before him. 

Soon, both Mizu’s hands explored his upper body, taking regular stops to caress and take a better look at hickeys and bite marks all over him. Finally, they moved down and rested on Taigen’s stomach.

“Perfect. Do you feel like your body is the most beautiful painting in the world right now?”

His chest rose and fell sharply as he let out a chuckle. 

“Oh, quit with your lovey-dovey shit,” Taigen raises his hand to stroke Mizu’s cheek. 

He cupped it with both hands, carefully guiding them towards his lips and kissing it. After that, Mizu leaned above him, gave him a few short-lived pecks on his lips, cheeks, and neck, and finally embraced him.

“Are you feeling all right? Maybe you’d like to drink some water?”

“Yeah…” I’m feeling *more* than all right... But I think I could use some water.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

Taigen laid back in the same spot he had before, listening to the occasional muffled sounds of the leaves against the winds and some birds exchanging their songs. The afternoon heat was finally vanishing. 

Mizu eventually came back, carrying a small bucket. He kneeled down, scooped some water with a ladle, and, by carefully holding it, helped Taigen quench his thirst. Then he put the ladle down and started examining marks over the latter’s body once again. 

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

Taigen shook his head.

“Not that much.”

“Hmm,” he was inspecting for any signs of broken skin and failed to find them. “Seems all right.”

Mizu leaned in and kissed Taigen once again before helping him put his clothes back on and getting up.

He walked up to the door and took a peek. The peaceful, pastoral-like evening outside the house was nearly quiet.

“I think we’ve still got some time,” Mizu closed the door, returned to the previous spot and laid down. “Come over here.”

Taigen joined him, and the other one cuddled up to him, hiding his face in the crook of the former’s neck.

. . .

I'm not good at writing in prose but I wrote this anyway, and now you have to suffer with me /lh

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

you know, I’m about 30 hours in — almost to the end of Act 1 — and I think I’ve finally pinpointed what’s been really bothering me about Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

Light spoilers up to end(ish) of Act 1 below.

A little after I got Davrin and dealt with the Minathros vs. Treviso dilemma, I told my gf that this game was a fun RPG, but it didn’t feel like a Dragon Age game and I was having a hard time pinpointing what it was, because there are a lot of things I really love or understand about design-wise why certain choices were made.

The battle system is fun and dynamic, and I find myself switching my builds often when I’m stuck on a fight. The accessibility options have been great for my and my gf’s needs, including the difficulty scalers. I love the return to DA2 style maps except like, even better? The verticality is INSANE and the various environmental puzzles feel like the right amount of difficulty. I enjoy the characters and their interactions (mostly, more on that in a second).

And I understand the decision not to carry over EVERY SINGLE CHOICE since DA:O, and I actually think it’s smart to use a system that carries over specific choices — although I think they could have done more — and my gf even suggested the brilliant idea of a future DLC model that has you pick certain DLC-specific past choices that flesh out the impact of past choices as DLC. Which I think is a brilliant option for combating choice creep, because let me tell you — it becomes a LOT of writing and alternative dialogue lines for things that ultimately don’t have to have a direct impact on Rook, and I’d rather not have to feel the urge to set three games worth of choices every time I do a run.

And I can even handle either a little handwaving or just outright rewriting some past canon to make certain choices all wind up with a consistent outcome. I’m a Kingdom Hearts fan! I’m used to it!!! Whatever.

But it finally hit me what IS bugging me — DA:TV is the most sanitized, depoliticalized Dragon Age ever. It’s like Bioware read all the criticism of DA:I’s plot and the choice to make the Elvhen gods slavers over their own people and went, “Oh people didn’t like that, so we’ll stop doing that. We won’t mention the Antivan Crow’s history of training child slave soldiers, we’ll relegate the social discrimination toward the elves to a single Davrin line, children aren’t ripped from their parents under the Qun, and we’re going to show you all these ~*vaguely bad groups*~ without really giving any context of what makes them so truly awful. You’ll get the idea, because your groups are the good guys and the Big Damn Heroes.”

And I’m over here slamming my hands on the table shouting NO! It wasn’t that we didn’t want the politicized stuff! We wanted you to do it better! We wanted to feel conflicted working with the Antivan Crows, needing their network but despising their methods! We wanted to see the roots of an uprising in Minrathos lead by the escaped elves with Magisters like Dorian on the inside! We wanted false gods who could be slain to return the Elvhen parthenon, the gods the elves had always worshipped, but who had been prisoned and replaced — we wanted to find how much of Solas’s tales were truths versus lies! We wanted a goddamn nuanced look at the non-soldiers within the Qun, the ones who truly feel at peace knowing they have a purpose!!!

Not knowing what’s happening is an intentional choice, because if they spelled it out — set the conflicts within the larger geopolitical tensions that have brewed over three games — they’d have to acknowledge a long series of questionable narrative choices the games and supplemental material have made in the past. And from where I’m sitting, it looks like they chose to ignore and handwave 90% of it instead of actually wrestling with it and trying to bring some nuance to it. And that’s just disappointing.

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 8 Matsuribayashi pt. 28

Long ago, back around late Onikakushi, early Watanagashi I wondered if there was a website similar to howlongtobeat. I was informed by @ggren-mainz that there are indeed websites for that. I had kind of forgotten about this until just now. And now I'm envisioning someone with their copy of A Dance With Dragons in one hand, and a stopwatch in the other.

An accident at the Shirakawa park

This particular fragment demonstrated to me the hazard of writing down notes, and theories before the section ends.

There is a case in Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney where the defendant for the case is accused of killing a man with a .45 revolver. The problem is that the defendant is a small blind child, and the idea that this kid was able to overpower someone who towers over them, wrestle the gun away from the victim and then not just shatter their bones by shooting the victim point blank is kind of ridiculous. Of course this being Ace Attorney the judge, prosecution, and everyone agrees that yes this small blind piano prodigy totally killed this man this way. The accusations being thrown at Satoko, that she was able to overpower and kill both her mother and her stepfather reminded me a lot of this case.

I can’t imagine that being accused of murdering both of your parents is a particularly light mental strain at the best of times. I can only imagine that it would make your terminal mental condition just a hair worse.

What I was not prepared for was the visual novel just going “why yes Satoko did indeed kill her parents.” I imagined that at best it was going to be left up to speculation about whether or not she actually did the deed. Which thinking about it might have been for the best to confirm it outright, because even though there was the red paranoia text in the original Satoko Houjou fragment enough time has passed that it’s entirely possible for the reader to have forgotten it.

My earlier comparison with the Apollo Justice case, I kid you not, was written just one sentence before the visual novel confirmed Satoko was the one who killed her parents. I had a slightly longer thought typed out but the sentence “I’d assumed that her parents’ accident triggered her terminal symptoms.” occurred and so I felt kind of foolish and simply deleted it. Which is a shame because it was a delight to have written out, and I wish I had saved it regardless. I think I’ve demonstrated multiple times throughout the playthrough that I have no problems posting my blatantly incorrect theories and speculations. Oh well, c’est la vie.

I wonder if this thrilled the Mountain Dogs to be able to actually do their assigned duty? It doesn’t really get into the day to day minutiae of the institute’s operations, but I imagine a lot of them were just sort of dying to do anything related to their actual job. Cause outside of the kidnapping in 78 they probably haven’t had much to do.

I will try my best to quit bringing up the same points over and over again, but I once again have to wonder if these Irie narrated fragments were made entirely to try to course correct with his character. Was there a particularly vocal dislike of Irie to the point that Ryukish07 felt the need to try to win back the crowd over his silly lolicon doctor? Circling back all the way back to Tatarigoroshi I wonder if Irie was just putting on an act in front of the various villagers and Keiichi by acting like he wanted to actually marry Satoko. Like he was purposefully being a goofy annoyance to her in an effort to see how she is in terms of her Hinamizawa Syndrome. I freely admit this is probably just my own head canon fanfiction crap, but I just wonder about this more serious buttoned down characterization Irie’s received this chapter.

[brzatto]

i remember distinctly at some point i promised myself i would finish blue chicago moon before my birthday (lmfao) and now it is my birthday .. and unfortunately it’s been weeks since i’ve touched a google doc in general much less that fic but to celebrate i’m posting an excerpt from a later part in the fic i’ve had written out for a while now. enjoy ^_^

They’re laying in bed together, after, the way that’s become more casual as of late, more natural; they take turns taking drags from the same cigarette.

Carmy’s telling some story, “And then Pete—”

Richie interrupts him with an exaggerated scoff, rolling his eyes, and Carmy smacks him on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “I know, I know, stop it—but Pete’s not bad. Really. He can be cool, sometimes, like actually cool—”

Richie groans, rolling away from Carmy, except the bed’s too small for him to go anywhere, so he really just turns onto his other side—Carmy rolls after him, propping himself onto his elbows so he can wrestle Richie onto his back, stubbornly crossing his arms over Richie’s chest and leaning his weight onto him to keep him there; he reaches over to crush the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray. “I’m serious, Pete’s not that bad, and maybe if you’d actually give him a chance or opened up to him a bit more Sugar wouldn’t hate you as much—”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that Sugar hates me? When have I ever given a shit about what she thinks?” Richie gripes, and Carmy rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t actually, you know. You just have a tendency of being a complete and utter piece of shit—”

“What, is she still fuckin’ mad at me for that one time—”

“You mean when you said women shouldn’t run for office,” Carmy interrupts him flatly.

“That was a fucking joke! And it was, like, twelve years ago! I love women in office! I fuckin’ voted for Hillary in 2016—” he ignores when Carmy snorts in his face, incredulous, “—and maybe if she actually had a sense of humor sometimes she wouldn’t have ended up marrying that goddamn fucking narc. Has the personality of fuckin’ wet tissue paper. You know how many times he’s tried inviting me over for a fuckin’ family barbecue or some shit like that? Like I’m the one who actually needs an invitation. Probably just trying to trick me into making friendship bracelets with him while watching Paw Patrol or some other fuckin’ propaganda—”

Richie’s rant continues, and it’s so ridiculous that Carmy can’t help the genuine laughter that bubbles out of him at the mental image of it, ducking his face into his arms to hide his smile; except Richie’s caught on and started laughing, too, chest rumbling beneath Carmy’s weight, and it honestly surprises him, how at ease he feels. Naked under the covers, lying on top of Richie of all people, and he’s actually laughing.

Carmy doesn’t really use the word happy to describe how he feels because he thinks it’s too loaded, too precarious, too complex. He doesn’t want to say he’s happy because the notion is difficult for him to pinpoint, and even when he does it usually doesn’t last too long anyways—but he feels… light. All of his usual heaviness absent for once. He feels good.

When he brings his face back up he finds Richie already looking at him, focused on his face, the trace of a smile still present in the curve of his lips, and Carmy can’t tell what the emotion in his eyes is but it looks a little bit like—marvel. It’s the same way Marcus looks at the pages he’d printed out of Carmy’s cookbook, carefully and lovingly taped onto the wall of his station, the fascination of discovering something new, of resonating with it; and Carmy doesn’t know what to do with that.

But then Richie’s eyes fall a bit, fixing themselves on a specific part of his face—Richie’s hand comes up to cup it, nothing unusual by now, but Carmy’s overcome by the warmth he still feels in his chest at the touch, this simple intimacy. Richie’s palm is familiar and calloused around his cheek, and it makes Carmy want to lean into it.

“What’s this from?” Richie murmurs questioningly, running the pad of his thumb gently down the skin of his cheek, just below his right eye, and it takes a moment for Carmy to realize he’s talking about his scar. “Fall into a barbecue again?”

Carmy huffs, half amused. “No. No, uh… it’s stupid. Happened while I was drunk, years ago. Back in New York, when I first left.”

Richie raises his eyebrows at that. “What, you actually got into a fuckin’ fight? I mean, sounds dope, but having a sick ass battle scar on your face isn’t really in character for you, no offense.”

Carmy rolls his eyes. “No, it wasn’t a fight—I… was drinking, and it was kind of just something I did, in the very beginning, I guess. In my downtime, by myself in my apartment because it wasn’t like I had any friends or anything better to do, and it was just supposed to be a way to keep myself occupied. Get me to fall asleep faster, if anything, so I wouldn’t fucking lie awake in bed all night thinking about shit. Except that time it backfired on me, because I got—” Carmy breathes out through his nose, an almost amused, self-deprecating laugh, “So drunk, and all I could think about was—Mikey.

“And I was just so fucking upset. I felt hurt, you know. Had been hurt for the whole past year, and I’d deleted Mikey’s number off my phone months ago so I wouldn’t do anything monumentally fucking stupid like call him while I was drunk or something. And I think I was just… fed up, at that point. I was so fuckin’ angry, at Mikey, at myself, at everyone that I just… kind of had this meltdown. Nearly trashed my whole fuckin’ apartment. Was breaking shit, throwing shit around, and when it was over I found myself in my bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror for the longest time. And I hated what I saw, because it didn’t feel like me. I never felt like myself back then. Didn’t know who I was supposed to be without Mikey and Sugar and everybody else around, and I hated that about me.

“And eventually all I could think about was—” Carmy cuts himself off, thinking about the words. How to say them. “How much I needed… a change. How much I wanted to. But I think I took that a little too literally, or maybe I just wasn’t fucking thinking at all, because I just… slammed my face into the mirror, as hard as I could. Like I was in a fuckin’ movie or something, you know. And there was all this fuckin’ glass, blood everywhere, my face totally fucked, all that shit. It was a mess. I could barely fucking see.”

Richie watches him recount the story with quiet intensity, and even though Carmy doesn’t look back at him he can feel Richie’s eyes on his face, gaze intent. But it doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable, or awkward, or exposed, the way having someone’s undivided attention usually makes him feel. In the moment, he simply just feels listened to. Richie’s watching him, but Carmy doesn’t feel watched; just seen.

“So what happened after? Just bled out all over your fuckin’ floor?”

Carmy huffs. “No, I, uh… had to take myself to the hospital. It was, like, three in the morning. Got four stitches out of it, and still showed up to work the next day.”

He’s expecting Richie to make fun of him, honestly. And why wouldn’t he? He thinks it might just be because of the good mood he’s in, but Carmy’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel any residual bitterness recalling the memory. Thinks if he were anybody else he’d laugh at himself, too.

Richie doesn’t make fun of him, though. “That might actually be the most hardcore shit you’ve ever told me.” Richie sniffs. “Almost as hardcore as walking off a stab wound, anyways. You’re getting there.”

Carmy actually laughs, the memory of it amusing now that it’s all behind him. It seems fucking ridiculous, looking back on it now. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like a lifetime ago; when he tries to think about it now, he feels like a spectator of his own life, watching the events unfold from someone else's perspective, or like standing from the outside and looking in. He gets that feeling a lot, Carmy thinks.

“You know, I never actually asked you about that. Were you good? Like, was the wound deep, or…”

“Gee, thanks for the concern. Not like it happened, like, six fuckin’ months ago. Glad to know I mean so much to you.”

“Shut up and just tell me. And you probably really did fucking deserve it.”

Richie scoffs. “Couldn’t fucking tell you. Hurt like a goddamn bitch when it happened, though. Got Ebra to patch me up. Couldn’t sit right for a couple weeks, but it was whatever.” He sniffs. “At least it was somewhere people don’t see it. Not sure if that’ll make for a cool scar story in the future.”

“What, like mine was?”

“Nah, yours is just depressing. Do me a favor—next time somebody asks, just tell them you got it in a bar fight like a normal person.” Richie says, and then after a pause, “That why you don’t drink?”

It’s this question that finally makes Carmy feel embarrassed for some reason, glancing up at the ceiling. “Something like that.”

“Damn. And I thought Mikey was the one who was fucked up.”

Carmy laughs a little again, in spite of everything, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. Guess it runs through the fuckin’ family.”

“They call you guys the Bears for a reason,” Richie says simply. But he still has his hand on Carmy’s face, running his thumb over his scar absentmindedly, like trying to soothe away pain that hasn’t been there for years. It’s a subtle sort of intimacy, quiet and tender. It’s Richie’s touch and not the recollection that makes Carmy’s chest prickle, and he wonders briefly if this is something he ever did with Mikey: lying in the dark, listening to each others’ stories, touching without thinking about it.

He wonders if this is how Richie treats those he cares the most about, or maybe if he’s just gotten close enough to be able to experience this side of him. If this is what it’s like to be Richie’s best friend, to trust someone wholeheartedly, sharing moments that are quiet and intimate and vulnerable.

“Alright,” Richie continues, making Carmy glance up. “Your turn.”

Carmy looks at him quizzically. “My turn for what?”

“Ask me something. Nothing off limits, everything on the table. You shared something about yourself so it’s only natural for me to do the same.”

Carmy frowns a little at this, if only because the notion is strange to him. It’s not like he’s never been open and honest with Richie before—in fact, those moments have been occurring more often than he’d honestly like to admit—but it feels different, this way. To be given the opportunity, no holds barred, because usually Carmy refrains from ever prying too deep; not just with Richie, but with everybody.

He rolls off Richie’s chest back onto the bed, lying on his side with his head propped in his hand as he considers. Richie is surprisingly patient for once, offering him the silence to think, and the whole thing honestly just makes Carmy flustered.

“Is there…” Carmy starts uncertainly, hesitating, but continues when Richie turns to him, expectant. “Is there a reason why you keep your ring?”

Richie stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before glancing down at the golden wedding band on his finger, like he’d forgotten that it was there, like he didn’t even know he was wearing it. Then his expression twists, incredulous, like he can’t believe that out of all the things Carmy could’ve possibly asked him about it’s his goddamn wedding ring.

“Why, does it make you jealous or something?” Richie teases him. “Does it make you feel like you’re my mistress?”

Carmy’s face turns hot, but he tells himself it’s out of annoyance rather than embarrassment. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

Richie chuckles, running his knuckles over Carmy’s side placatingly. “Nah, nah, I’m kidding. Uh… if I’m being honest, it’s, like, a distraction. Something for me to worry with. I stopped wearing it after me and Tiff split, but I started wearing it again after Mikey. I dunno. I guess after he died it felt like… nothing was right. Just everything gone to complete shit, and the ring just felt familiar. Like, having it there reminded me of this time in my life where I kind of, sort of had things together, and I guess I just wanted to feel that way again somehow, even if in reality it’s the complete fuckin’ opposite.”

Carmy nods slowly. In a sense, he thinks he gets it. Clinging onto that sense of familiarity; needing the illusion of stability in his life. He understands him.

[nextstopwonderland]

Family gatherings with Bryan and Zack. If it inspires

Timestamp sequel within my gotta have faith series

Become a part of me (766 words)

Its been a busy year, as Bryan expected, and seeing one another hasn’t been the easiest. When Bryan takes time off in April and May after his match with Will, he almost immediately hitches a ride to Japan with Mox. 

“You know, Bry, if you weren’t so allergic to winning titles this could’ve been you. Would’ve seen your boyfriend all the time then.” 

Bryan just laughs and shoves the IWGP belt out of his face. It’s a little ironic that there’s a member of Blackpool Combat Club who will be getting to see Zack all the time and it <i>isn’t</i> Bryan, but he’s happy for Mox and besides, he has a lot still to do in AEW this year.

But they make the most of their six weeks together. And then he gets to see Zack for Forbidden Door, and then their own rematch at a small venue in England (not a pub this time).

Zack comes to Wembley, watches him face Nigel and lose. The rematch is set for the Tacoma show, which is as close to a homecoming as he’s going to get, even more so than Wrestledream a year prior. 

 Bryan thinks about that night last October, the night everything finally changed for them for real. 

This time Bryan’s family is here and Zack is nervous. 

(“Not good with the parental units,” he said the night before as they were laying together in their hotel bed. 

“They’ll love you,” Bryan reassured, pressing a kiss to Zack’s shoulder. “Just charm them the way you did me.” 

Zack laughed. “It took you over fifteen years to come around, darling, not sure that’s the best advice.”

He ran a hand up and down Zack’s chest, kissing his skin once more. “C’mon, you know you had me earlier than that.” 

“Mmm yes, just playing hard to get like the ponce you are.”

“Maybe don’t call my sister a ponce.” Bryan pauses. “And maybe don’t say cunt around my mom.” 

Zack groans. “This is going to be bloody torture.”)

Zack is trying to hide it but Bryan knows he’s still nervous today. He’d invited him to watch out in the crowd along with his family, but Zack opted to stay in the back.

When Bryan wins, streamers fall and he and Nigel hug and he knows this isn’t the end-end (has unspoken plans already to be at Wrestle Kingdom in January) but it does feel like something. 

He embraces his mom, sister and niece at ringside and thinks about Zack backstage. 

It’s a whirlwind of handshakes and hugs and speeches and people. When he gets to the back, Zack is right in Gorilla, standing with Will and looking happy. His eyes light up even more when he sees Bryan and then they’re walking toward each other and embracing tightly. 

“Magnificent.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck off. Bloody masterpiece and you know it.” 

Bryan smiles as they pull back. The urge to kiss him is strong, but Tony claps him on the back and Will is talking to him and it’s back to being a whirlwind. 

His family comes back a few moments later and Bryan feels Zack stiffen beside him. 

“Is this the young man I’ve heard so much about?” His mom asks. It’s so cliche Bryan nearly groans.  

“In the flesh,” Zack replies, reaching down to squeeze Bryan’s hand while shaking his mom’s with the other. Introductions are had. His sister winks at him discreetly and his niece is fascinated by the fact that Nigel, Zack and Will all have different English accents.

Bryan finds himself getting a little nervous as well, not needing but wanting approval. His family is quiet, kind, and easy to please. But it’s also been a very long time since Bryan actually brought someone home.

When they make their way back to the dressing rooms and Bryan emerges, freshly showered, it’s to Zack telling a story about his childhood and making everyone laugh. 

They catch one another’s eyes and nod, a silent check in. 

Bryan has to abandon them all to do press, but then looks over to find everyone lingering off to the side of the media scrum as he answers questions and reveals which books he’s currently reading. 

It feels right, seeing Zack along with his family. It’s what he’s become. 

Later, in the parking lot while they say their goodbyes, his mom hugs him tightly.

“Seems like a keeper,” she says in his ear. 

Bryan looks over at where Zack is standing, looking on with a fond expression. Zack meets his eyes as he replies, “Yeah. I think so too.” 

[writing-reaper]

Hi! could you please do wrecker meeting the parents for the first time?

Thank you for the request <3

I am so sorry this took me so long :,)

Meet the Parents

Wrecker x Reader (established)

Description: After dating your boyfriend for a few months, you decide that it’s finally time to introduce him to your parents. With his squad on medical leave, what better time than now to do so?

Note: I don’t know why this took me so long, it was fun to write, so thank you again for the request. Also I’m sorry if this reads a little awkwardly, I kept it gender neutral

Warnings: fluff, gender neutral, scary introduction moment, and Crosshair

“Wrecker! Relax, I’m sure they’re going to love you!” You exclaim, kissing him on the cheek for the fiftieth time that day. “We’re just going for dinner, it’ll be alright.”

“But what if they don’t? What if they make you break up with me and I’ll never see you again?” He questions for the sixth time. You could understand his panic, seeing as dating wasn’t approved of on Kamino and if you had ever been introduced to a kaminoan as Wrecker’s significant other you would probably be thrown into the raging ocean. Or, more appropriately, positioned elsewhere.

“I would never break up with you just because my parents disapprove of you. I love you too much to care what they think.” You remind, booping his nose. “Just be respectful and I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll be right here with you.”

“Thanks, mesh’la. But I’m still worried. I want them to approve of me. If they don’t think I’m good enough for you—”

“Wrecker, you are perfect for me. Don’t talk like that. You make me so happy, I’ve never been with anyone who’s made me as happy as you do.” You inform him, holding his face in your hands.

“Right, I’m sorry. I can do this.” Wrecker reassures himself, gripping your shoulders lightly.

“Good, because dinner’s in an hour and we’ll be leaving after I drop my stuff off at the bunks.” You answer before walking off.

You both met at the cafeteria ten minutes later and began to venture into the city. After thirty minutes of walking (and prying Wrecker away from all the trail mix stands) the two of you finally arrived at your parents house.

Wrecker looked a mess, sweating and frowning, his excited, bubbly self now swept beneath the figurative rug. It made you sad to see him so nervous and discouraged. You knew how nervous he was and could only silently pray that your parents wouldn’t treat him like a criminal. That’s how they treated all your last partners and you had begged them not to act the same way with Wrecker.

You knock on the door, hoping it would be loud enough for them to hear. However, the second you stopped knocking, the door swung open and you were abruptly embraced by your mother.

“Oh my baby!” Your mother coos loudly, making your face light up red in embarrassment.

“Mom!” You exclaim in embarrassment, watching Wrecker stifle a laugh.

“Well, would you look at this big guy.” You hear your father say, his cold, unchanging stare running over Wrecker. You see Wrecker automatically tense up.

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you sir, m-ma’am.” Wrecker greets, suddenly the most awkward person on Coruscant. Gently wrestling your mother’s arms from around you, you place a hand on Wrecker’s forearm.

“Mom, dad. This is Wrecker, he’s my boyfriend.” You quickly introduced, giving your father a glare. He’d done this so many times before to you as a teenager, scaring off any of your significant others with his mean stares and snide remarks.

“You know, you got some nerve showing up to my house in that big clunky armor like you’ll get any respect from me.” Your father announces, your breath catches in your throat in disbelief at your father’s words. You look to your mother for support before the two of them start laughing. “I’m just messing with you! Welcome to our home, it’s so nice to have you!”

“Euh… wh-what?” Wrecker questions, looking absolutely horrified and confused.

“Boy, you should see the look on your faces! I got you both real good!” He continues to laugh. “It’s been so long since my baby’s had a boyfriend that makes them so happy! Come on in, I want to meet the man who’s been making my baby so happy.”

Soon enough the three of you were around the table as your mother finished with dinner. Wrecker, despite your parents welcoming energy, was still sweating bullets. You tried your best to be reassuring, but knowing what was coming next, you just had to hope he didn’t answer anything weirdly.

“So? A Republic soldier, how exciting!” Your father exclaims, trying to be open minded. You had already explained the difficulties of your relationship due to the dehumanization of clones and rules and regulations, but the clone thing was still a little difficult for your parents to wrap their head around. “How’d you meet my wonderful kiddo?”

“You already know this!” You interject, not wanting Wrecker to be put on the spot.

“Actually, it’s funny you ask cause we met once before she got assigned to our squad.” Wrecker chuckles, somehow a little more relaxed than he was five seconds ago.

“We— we did?” You ask, taken aback.

“Hah! Now this is a story!” Your father laughs. “Dear! Come here!”

Your mother approaches and Wrecker begins, telling them all about the mission they had been assigned onto with the 104th battalion and the snappy medic who left him head over heels ever since— you.

“— so me and my squad get back from taking out the tanks that were headed toward the village, when we came back, one of regs who had helped us was injured so I carried him to the medical tent. As soon as I had laid him down in one of the beds, they’re yelling at me, telling me to get the medical supplies off the supply ship.”

“I genuinely don’t remember this.” You comment, surprised by this new information.

“Ah! I don’t blame ya! There was a lot going on!” Wrecker laughs. “Besides, it was before our armor got completely painted and before I got my scar.”

“Dinner’s ready!”

Dinner was pleasant, Wrecker would tell them about some of their missions, he tried his best to leave you out, but there were a few stories you were just too cool in for him to leave out. You’d scold him later for outing you to your mother, who gave you wide eyed stares at every irresponsible act he described.

Finally, you felt relieved as you were saying your goodbyes. Your parents were important to you, and you didn’t want this to end in a fight due to Wrecker being a soldier, nonetheless a clone.

“Well, as long as you promise to protect my baby and never break their heart, you’re welcome here any time.” Your father declared, putting out his hand which Wrecker gladly took.

“Yes sir.” Wrecker answers, beaming happily.

“You be careful out there!” Your mother tells you, visibly fighting off tears having to send her baby back to war once again.

“I’ll be ok!” You answer, sucking in a deep breath when she finally let you go.

“If you ever have time off here, visit us again!” Your mother exclaims as the two of you begin your walk back to base.

“Bye!”

“I’m stuffed! Your mom’s a great cook!” Wrecker declares excitedly. “We should visit them again!”

“You’re supposed to compliment the chef, Wrecker, not me!” You giggle.

“Oh.” Wrecker turns around, ready to fix his mistake before you pull him back. “What?”

“Not now! We’re almost back to base! You can compliment her next time.” You scoff, laughing.

“Oh.”

“So, did the civies actually like him?” Crosshair asks, a tease in his voice, flicking a fresh toothpick at Wrecker’s head.

“If they didn’t, we would’ve come back a whole lot sooner.” You answer, crossing your arms as Wrecker responds by hitting him in the face with Lula.

“Haha! You should’ve been there! Their mom is a great cook! They said I’m welcome back anytime!” Wrecker laughs proudly.

“You should take me home to your parents next.” Crosshair jokes, smacking Lula out Wrecker’s hand. The doll was quickly forgotten as Wrecker scooped you up with a kiss on the cheek.

“No way! They’re all mine!”

[flyingspacewhale93]

After the tree is pruned (Jing Yuan x Reader) 1.2 SPOILERS

NSFW MINORS STAY OUT NSFW

Reader can be read as Dom or Switch if you want. CW: mentions of death. Also angry sex (only one person is angry tho)

Word Count: 610

Jing Yuan returns from fighting Phantylia and kisses you, his beloved. “I’m back safe and sound, my love.”

“Welcome back, my dearest husband.” You say trying to keep as prim and proper as possible. “I have something to discuss with you in our chambers.”

“Well whatever it is, I’m sure I won’t get very much rest.” A warm smile lights up his face. “Lead the way.”

When the two of you are alone together you kiss him passionately, tongues wrestling for dominance. “...mmm, I missed you.” You murmur running your hands through his hair.

“As did I, dear. But I said I wouldn’t be long-” You shove Jing Yuan down on your large shared bed and unbuckle his pants, a growl escaping from your throat. “My, someone’s eager today.”

“Shut up.” You hiss. “I’m gonna ride you until I cum. Those hands of yours will do what I tell you to do, do you understand?”

He nods, that fucking irritating Cheshire cat smirk still on his smug face. “Did I mention how sexy you are when you take charge?”

You huff. “You said you wouldn’t fight anymore!” You slam your hips against his, fucking him at a fierce pace. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when that beast tried to turn you into a puppet?! For fuck’s sake, Fu Xuan showed me everything!”

“Well I survived, didn’t I? Honestly, you’re more threatening than she ever was.”

“Do you think Fu Xuan likes showing people live scenes of battle? I had to beg her to show me because we were all worried!”

He chuckles. “An old friend and our honored guests were with us. We weren’t in any danger at all.”

You glare at him with lust in your eyes. “You are never leaving my side again! I’ll keep you in bed filling me with cock!”

“Oh? Now that sounds like a good idea. Just let me tell Fu Xuan that I’ve been unfortunately taken prisoner by a fierce and gorgeous lion.” You leave little hickies and bites on any bit of exposed skin.

“You are an arrogant general.” You roll your eyes. “How dare you make me feel so good? Just what would I do if I didn’t have this cock taking care of me, these hands to pleasure me just right?”

“I’m certain you would have a parade of suitors at your beck and call. Of course, whether or not they could handle the fire burning brightly within you is another question entirely.” Jing Yuan lays back, his hips matching your fast pace.

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close. I’m gonna take all your cum as punishment!” Your legs begin to shake.

“Go ahead. I have no need to give my seed to anyone else.” Jing Yuan says. You let out a groan as the two of you release together, your bodies joining in bliss.

You lay curled up on Jing Yuan’s strong chest as you sob, relief and ecstasy wracking your body. “I-I was afraid I might lose you.”

Jing Yuan shushes you softly. “It’s alright, darling mine. I didn’t want you to worry but I knew you’d pry. Just have a little faith in your husband, alright?” His lips gently kiss your bare skin while he lets out the occasional purr. The next part of his speech comes out in a soft whisper. “If she had known about you and turned you into an Arbiter of Destruction, I would have gone mad with grief. I have lost many things in my long life, but I cannot lose you.” His arms clutch you tightly as you both fall asleep together, letting tomorrow bring what it may.

[anarkissed-ao3]

Galladay (Sunday x Gallagher HSR) fix-it mini-fic

V.2.2 SPOILERS!!

Teaser:

"That's good. Hatred is good. Better than being empty. I think you've been empty for a long time."

"You don't know me."

"Don't I? I told you, we're alike, you and I."

“You’re close to death, aren’t you?”

Sunday looks up, surprised, the watery tomb of his elysium flickering like static, as if rays of light distorted by choppy surf, displaced by darkening storm clouds.

It’s empty, save for him.

Gallagher.

“I don’t know.” He admits, simply, from where he’s sitting, left in a crumpled heap after his puppet strings (though whether he was holding them or wearing them is impossible to tell,) were so brutally and ruthlessly cut. He is at Gallagher’s feet until the man moves, crouching down to look into his eyes.

Sunday tries not to let him, to turn his head, but it’s as if Gallagher is everywhere he looks.

“Must be, if you’re seeing me.”

Sunday stares into his eyes- they’re harsh, but calm. He hates it.

“You’re meant to be my reaper?” He asks, almost childishly.

Gallagher laughs, mean and quick, but almost sort of amused, friendly, shaking his head, “As much as I might like to be, nah. We’re the same, little birdie. Two steps from ceasing to exist.”

Sunday bows his head, but Gallagher finds him again, anyway, meeting his gaze.

“It was all for naught.” He breathes, and the elysium shivers, on the verge of collapse.

“Some things are.”

Gallagher's chestnut hair falls into his face, and he pushes it back idly. Sunday wants to bite him, to attack him. Sunday never wants to move again. He is at war with himself.

“How can you be so care-free? As if nothing matters?” It’s bitter- defeated. He is the bird that climbs high into the sky and plummets to the ground. He is watching as the forest floor gets ever-closer. He is watching himself fall.

“Because nothing matters, and ‘cus of that, everything matters. Even a fiction like me knows something as simple as that.”

“I hate you.” Sunday spits, vitriol spilling from him, righteous and hot, a strength of emotion he hasn’t felt in lifetimes, “I hate you.”

“That’s good, birdie.” And Gallagher cups his face, brushes away a lock of his hair, and Sunday, previously bereft of any will to move, snarls at him, baring his teeth, lunging forward. They struggle for a moment, but Gallagher is strangely weak, more man than beast, and he wrestles him to the ground with his hands around his throat.

Gallagher watches him, and then, tilting his head back, he laughs, soft and slow. Breathy as if he’s endlessly tired, deeply exhausted.

“That’s good.” He repeats, softly, “Hatred is good. Better than being empty. I think you’ve been empty for a long time.”

“You don’t know me.”

Gallagher raises an eyebrow, lifts his hands to rest on Sunday’s, still locked around his throat, but not applying any deadly pressure, and he squeezes, as a threat, but Gallagher doesn’t move to remove them.

“Don’t I?”

Sunday freezes, then, his eyes locked to Gallagher’s. He realizes he’s askew- his hair is falling into his eyes, his suit jacket is torn, his vest is broken, half open, held shut only by his wing.

He is not himself, and yet he’s also more honest than he’s ever been.

“You don’t.” It is almost a plea- almost a prayer.

“I told you. We’re alike, you and I.”

“You dog.” Gallagher just smiles.

“A dog, a bird- I wonder if, one day, we will be able to be ourselves rather than what people made of us. You might. If you manage to piece yourself together, turn back toward the living. It’s a bit late for me, I think.”

“If I will be forced,” and he grabs Gallagher’s wrist, one hand still on his neck, nearly bruising him, shock ripping across the man’s features, “-to live- who says that you can die here?”

“I’m no more than a memetic daydream, these days. I couldn’t escape this place even if I wanted to.”

“Then why would you force it upon me?”

Gallagher sighs, his lip twitching with frustration.

“You don’t get it, do you? I’ve made my peace- I’ve done all that I was meant to do. The memory of myself, the memetic concept of Gallagher- it can’t persist further.”

“So seperate yourself. Do you think the construct of Sunday can continue to exist after this? I am what I was made to be. When I leave this elysium, that man will not be allowed to exist further.”

“You’re not listening-”

“No.” And Sunday, fiercely, interlocks their hands, squeezes his fingers so hard it’s just shy of breaking them, digging his nails into his throat. He places Gallagher’s hand on his own neck, squeezes his own throat, “You’re not listening. I will not be forced to persist by a man who would not do the same. If you’re going to disappear, then leave me in peace so that I might do the same.”

Gallagher curses, almost like a dog’s bark, his expression pinched in irritation. He runs a thumb almost gently along Sunday’s trachea, presses his fingers into his thrashing pulse.

“Fuck you.” Gallagher hisses, “I’m done- I did what I-”

“And I’m not? What do I have left?”

“You have your sister- your people- those damn trailblazers-”

“They knew me the way the Family knew me. They knew a person I constructed. I am not that man.”

“Damnit. Damnit.”

“Come with me. Or leave me in peace.”

“You’re fucking insane.” Gallagher snaps, and then, pushing Sunday back, but interlocking the hands that had once been around Sunday’s own throat, rises to his feet, hauling him to his own by their joined hands, “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I think we’ve enough room for another regret, you and I.”

“Then don’t make me bear it alone. Understand?”

“Likewise.”