#if you don’t like a ship someone is posting about then take a deep breath

[starsofleo]

my brother in christ, why are we still arguing about which ships are most realistic in the year of our lord 2024? you can just not like a ship and move on without telling the poster they’re delusional. you can do that.

[peachsayshi]

can I just-

if you don’t like someone’s blog? unfollow them. 

If you don’t like someone’s fic? stop reading it. 

if you don’t like how somebody is characterizing your blorbo - ignore/block. 

If you follow someone you like, but notice they post things that you don’t like? block the tags. 

If you see someone tag something incorrectly/don’t tag it at all? kindly inform them. 

If you see somebody make a mistake, do not attack them. human error is a thing, and most of the time people are super apologetic about it. 

You’re absolutely allowed to be passionate about what you love, but your experience engaging in fandom is entirely your own. 

And honestly, if the experience feels overwhelming or is making you miserable, just log off for a few days...take a deep breath, go outside, bathe in the sun or sit under a tree... but follow and engage with others who make this joyful for you (that's the whole point here!)

because there is literally zero reason for you to send hate messages, fight with people online, or get angry over fictional characters or ships. 

[penkura]

last forever [4/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: I DID IT, IT'S DONE IN TIME FOR MONDAY POSTING. This has been waiting to be finished for MONTHS. I feel so bad about that. uuuh but I'm setting up a little bit, introducing Reader's older brother, a few other things for later down the line. Hope you enjoy it.

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3]

Arriving in Loguetown felt almost like a dream come true, finally being able to get off the ship and stretch your legs. You'd not seen such a busy, bustling town in years. It put even Shells Town to shame with how many people were going about. The stalls of food and trinkets, you were excited to go around and look at everything before you'd all board the Merry again and be on your way to whatever was next. Nami immediately took you to shop for clothes, but you ended up distracted by some of the trinkets at the shop while she got an employee to look at everything she tried on.

The main thing to catch your eye was a sword on the wall, wondering if you should go find Zoro to bring in to see it.

“Oh,” one of the shop clerks smiles seeing you looking at the blade, “That’s from Wano, allegedly! Dad says he brought it back from a trip, but he’s not gonna sell it. It’s just decoration at this point.”

Your jaw clenches and you flinch the tiniest bit hearing Wano, but the clerk doesn’t say anything if she notices. Quickly you turn it into a smile, thanking her for the information and simply stating your friend would like to see it, you’ll try to bring him by, slipping out of the shop before Nami sees you leaving.

You take a deep breath and try to shake off the dread you feel hearing Wano, pushing out thoughts of your higher up fiancé who had every intention of taking you from your family there after the marriage was finalized. You’ve done your best to keep it a secret, it’s not like you’d all end up there anytime soon, if ever, so there’s no need to worry your crewmates about something and someone so far away, right?

Right.

So no need to say anything.

You try to convince yourself of that while looking over the trinkets at a stall you’ve found, not like you really need any of the items you see, but there’s something about the box you’ve been taking glances at constantly that leads the owner to pick it up and bring it over to you.

“It’s a set of wedding bands,” the older woman opens the box, showing you the two silver bands that are obviously meant for a man and a woman, a husband and wife, “Bought them from a jeweler in the South Blue years ago, no one has taken a shine to them yet. Are you in a relationship?”

Blinking, you feel your face grow warm as you smile nervously and shake you head.

“W-Well, I wouldn’t call it a relationship but…I…I have someone I like…”

“Oh I see! What’s this person like then? Must be special if they have your heart.”

“Um, well,” scratching the back of your neck, you don’t really have to think too hard, but it does feel a little weird telling this stranger about Zoro, “He’s really strong, an amazing swordsman, he taught me a good bit of what I know now. He's loyal to all of us, he fought to protect our friend and he…he saved me, I suppose is the biggest thing…”

The older woman smiles as you speak, seeing a shine to your eyes she wasn’t fully expecting. Whoever you’re talking about seems to have more of a hold on your heart than even you realize, she believes. Almost reminds her of herself when she was younger. She doesn’t ask anything else, instead waving you over with her as she starts to package up the ring box and hands it to you in a small bag.

“I won’t charge you for these, I’ve had them so long. Please, give the one to the man you’re so smitten with, maybe some good will come of it.”

She all but forces the bag into your hands, refusing to take no for an answer, even as you offer to at least pay for the bag or buy something else. She makes the excuse that she’s closed now and won’t accept even one berri from you, turning you around herself and sending you off. You felt bad that she just gave them to you, but she was so persistent, you think Nami will believe you haggled with the woman until she gave them to you for free.

Once you’re far enough away from the stall, you stop to take another look at the rings that were essentially forced on you. You don’t know why you wanted to check the box so badly before the woman brought them over to you, maybe some strange sense of what the box was, some weird hopeful part of you just somehow knew what it was.

They were pretty rings at least. Plain silver bands, the thinner one having a small clear jewel on it, you wonder how no one had ever bought them before when the woman said she’d had them for years. Part of you wonders what it would be like to wear the ring and actually be happy about it, and not feel like tearing it off and throwing it in the sea.

Not like it matters, it’s not a real marriage.

Sighing, you close the box and slip it into your pocket, starting to walk back towards the Merry before you hear someone say your name, shouting it a few times with excitement in their voice.

Wait. Wait, I know that voice.

You quickly turn around and have to will yourself not to cry when you see the person calling for you.

+!+

Once Zoro finally has three swords again, his next plan is to find a tavern before you all take off from Loguetown. He’s passed several places that he assumed some of you would be at, but just ducking his head in and looking around briefly showed no signs of any of you.

Mostly he’s been looking for you, to make sure you haven’t gotten yourself into any trouble. Since the day you’d met, Zoro knew you had the ability to put yourself in less than ideal situations, your home life did very little to make you skeptical of strangers, likely almost having it beat into you that you should be ready and willing to help anyone who asked for it. The one and only time it took to get it into your head not help anyone without asking questions was when you’d nearly been kidnapped, if Zoro hadn’t shown up in time and dragged you away. You sure got an earful from him later that night, with the threat that maybe he’ll just let a human trafficker take you next time if you’re that stupid again.

Zoro does realize that’s probably why you stay by his side, clinging to him like glue, but when it was just the two of you, it was the best way to make sure you didn’t get left behind or taken from him.

Part of him wonders how well that actually stuck, now that he sees you on the other side of the road, looking like you’re near tears as some guy talks to you with a bright smile on his face. He looks older, definitely taller than you but still shorter than Zoro, but not by much. He’s almost as blond as Sanji, and seems like he knows you very well. The angle he’s at doesn’t let Zoro know if you’re happy or upset, just that you’re wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, and he feels the need to hurry over to you, especially once this new person pulls you in for a hug that you can’t seem to return.

This guy.

He isn’t your alleged fiancé…right?

No, he’s too young.

“I’m so glad you’re doing well, who are you with right now?”

You sniffle a bit and give a smile before responding.

“I’m with—”

“She’s with me.”

Zoro surprises you by speaking and putting his arm around your shoulders, making you look up at him.

“Oh, Zoro, where did you—”

“Zoro?? So this is him?!”

If it weren’t for his previous status as the pirate hunter, Zoro would be questioning how this guy knows his name. He doesn’t even look at this other person, looking down at you to make sure you’re okay, even when you smile at him.

“Zoro, this is—”

“Hey, nice to meet you finally,” the blond holds his out for Zoro to take, but your swordsman is still wary of him, setting his free hand on his swords to maybe scare him off if he’s upsetting you, “Thanks for taking care of my little sister, man.”

“…little sister?”

Nodding, you move from Zoro to beside your brother, still smiling.

“Zoro, this is Elias, my older brother. He’s the one who helped me runaway and gave me his sword. Elias, this is—”

“Your husband!” Elias gives you such a bright grin that he doesn’t notice how you turn red and start trying to correct him. “I know already, mom and dad were pissed when your letter came. They’re still not sure what to do, you know.”

While he laughs, you sigh a bit, figuring that was why you hadn’t heard anything from them. Your parents must still be expecting you to come home, to say you’ve ended your marriage and they were right the whole time, you’ll just marry the man they chose for you.

It's not going to happen, but you think that’s probably what they want from you. To be a good daughter and do as your told.

It makes you want to throw up, remembering how they treated you.

“You’d think they’d be glad you and I both found people we love, but, you know mom and dad.”

“Since you married Amaya, I thought they’d leave me out of it all but, mom and dad of course.”

You keep up conversation with Elias for several minutes, Zoro barely listening as he just wants to make sure you’re really okay. You’ve never had a bad thing to say about your brother, he knows this, and truthfully, Zoro is happy to see you at least had someone from your hometown who cared about you. He does make note of how you aren’t trying to correct Elias regarding your relationship with him, but it’s likely so he keeps thinking you’ve found someone to keep you safe and away from your parents, even though you’re whole crew has promised that at this point.

Eventually Elias notices Zoro still staring at you both, looking like he’s getting antsy and wanting to leave, and your brother grins just a bit.

“I should get going. Amaya and our parents are expecting me back home in two days.”

“Oh,” your happiness suddenly drops, but you still nod, even when Elias hugs you again and you’re able to return it this time, “It…I was happy to see you, Eli.”

“I was even happier to see you doing well, princess,” Elias ignores you protesting him calling you that, while he turns to Zoro after releasing you, sticking his hand out again, “It was good to meet you too, Zoro. Thanks for taking care of my sister. I’m happy to know she found you.”

For a second you wonder if Zoro’s even going to bother shaking your brother’s hand, until he finally does you feel relieved.

“Yeah, no problem.”

You wave Elias off until he shouts something about you two having a child one day and letting him know immediately, causing both of you to blush fiercely as he laughs until he’s gone, and you look back to Zoro.

“S-So…where do you wanna go now?”

“Let’s…let’s find everyone else. Or at least Luffy.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Zoro turns and starts walking away from you, until you grab his wrist and start dragging him back the other way.

“No, this way.”

“…I knew that.”

He really didn’t, he fully believed that the best way would be back towards the docks, but when you giggle at him and start heading back into town, Zoro tries his hardest not to look at you too closely. Not to dwell on what your brother said, he was just messing with you both, since he doesn’t know the reality of your marriage.

So the fact Zoro’s suddenly wondering what your kids might look like makes him avoid eye contact, ignore the fact you’re still holding onto his wrist as you look for your crewmates. He’s so tired of this, of having people believe your marriage is real, and the thoughts that come with it every time someone brings it up.

Your annulment can’t come soon enough.

+!+

For all the time you’ve spent traveling and the people you’ve met, the strangers from Whiskey Peak were the weirdest ones. You should’ve expected something was up with how accepting they were of pirates, anything except them being Baroque Works members, so it was a shock when you found out that’s exactly what they were. You’ve only heard of the group once or twice from Zoro in the past, normally when you’d lost a bounty target by mere minutes due to their quick work.

So once you found that’s all that inhabited this place, you weren’t surprised to hear Zoro had already taken all of them down by the time you woken up from your nap on the Merry. You’d chosen to stay behind and watch your ship, your home, while the rest of your crew went to the island. You’d been woken up by their sudden return and new members on the ship in the form of Vivi and Karoo, who you’ve taken a quick liking to as you all make your way towards a place called Little Garden.

Although, you have noticed Sanji treating you differently from your other female crewmates.  While he openly flirts and falls over himself for the two, when it comes to you, he’s much more subdued and less extravagant, still treating you with respect but in less of a romantic way, it’s more friendly than anything.

But you still feel nervous when you bring it up to him, hoping you haven’t done something to make him like you less since you really do want to be his friend.

“Hey, Sanji, can I talk to you?”

“Of course!” Sanji gives you a grin while you sit at the table, smiling back, as he dries his hands and comes over to stand in front of you. “How can I help the lovely lady today?”

“Why do you flirt with Nami and Vivi but not me?”

You almost instantly shut your mouth when you finish speaking, biting your tongue before groaning over how you just blurted your question out. Sanji doesn’t respond right away, tilting his head as he thinks about it, and you continue to fight the embarrassment you now feel over even bothering to ask. It was a stupid question, Sanji could flirt with whoever he wanted, it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean you weren’t wanted, he just didn’t feel anything romantic towards you, that’s all, you reason.

It still hurts to think that though, you’re just making yourself more upset as you wait for Sanji to say anything.

“Well,” he scratches the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to word it in a way that won’t offend you, “I can’t rightfully flirt with a woman who’s heart is taken, can I?”

“…huh?”

That isn’t what you expected from Sanji, of all people. You expected him to apologize that you felt left out, fall at your feet because that’s what he does, groveling and begging tour forgiveness for not showing you the same attention as the other girls.

But this makes you feel better about it, really. You think it’s a testament to Sanji’s character, that he won’t go after someone who has feelings for another, even if you’ve yet to confirm to any of your other crewmates the feelings you have for Zoro.

“I’ve seen how you look at that mosshead of ours. I know you guys said your marriage isn’t meant to last forever, but you really like him,  right?”

Nodding slightly, you smile a bit as Sanji continues to grin at you.

“He might piss me off, but if you like him, there’s something good there.”

“I could tell you how we met one day.”

“Sure, might help me understand why you like that shitty swordsman so much.”

Sanji’s constant nicknames for Zoro actually make you laugh, and he keeps up conversing with you as he does the dishes, allowing you to help him bring drinks around to everyone a few minutes later. You two talk and laugh on your way out of the kitchen, you don’t even notice how it’s caused Zoro to watch you again, or how his jaw clenches after you bring a drink to him with a smile, before following Sanji back into the kitchen.

Now seeing you with the damn cook was making chest ache, what the hell is happening?

All of this needs to stop already.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Obligation [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader who is 52.

Tags/warnings: Throwing up, unplanned pregnancy, angst, Joel doesn't take it well but is soft, implied abortion.

Summary: You've been fucking Joel Miller for a couple of months when you realize that you're pregnant - which you didn't think possible because you thought you were post-menopausal. How does one get an abortion in Jackson - and how are you going to tell Joel?

Words: 4,267

A/N: For all my old gals out there, as well as those who don't want kids.

My masterlist

I think I may be pregnant.

The realization reverberates through you, bringing with it another wave of nausea. You barely have time to stick your head down the toilet before you throw up. The acrid taste of bile fills your mouth and nose, and tears stream down your cheeks. You grip the toilet seat as you continue retching, your stomach hellbent on emptying itself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. No. No, no, no, no, no, how can this be?

What an idiot question. You almost laugh at yourself in the midst of this misery. How does one become pregnant? Well, fucking someone like Joel Miller on a regular basis is a good start. He fucks you deep and good, the bed and his body creaking in unison as he has you pinned underneath him, his broad, heavy body a welcome weight on you, his cock balls deep inside your wet cunt when he finishes and leaves you full even after he's pulled out. His thick, creamy cum dripping out of you when you fall into blissful sleep, sometimes with him staying over.

You know how babies are made, for God's sake. You just didn't count on you still being able to make them. You're past 50,  and your period stopped years ago. This is new to you, you’ve never been pregnant before or even had an interest in trying, but you’re not stupid. You’ve been feeling tired lately, out of sorts, a dull nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach like just before your period, and last night when Joel grabbed your breasts, you almost punched him. Even now they’re so sore even the weight of them hurts.

And now this. Morning sickness. You haven’t eaten anything strange, you were okay last night, and paired up with everything else that has been going on… you must be pregnant.

Thank God Joel isn’t here, you think dimly. He didn't stay over last night, quoting an early morning today to go on patrol. You didn't mind. What you have together is casual, and you're not the one who needs to be cuddled – or coddled, for that matter. You like it when he stays over, but don’t care if he doesn’t. It has worked out well for a few months now.

And now this. You draw a quivering breath, and slump against the wall. It seems like your stomach has settled, so after a couple of minutes, you carefully stand up and bend over the sink, rinsing out your mouth with cold water before splashing some in your face. Straightening your back, you meet your tired gaze in the small mirror above the sink. There is nothing different there, except a lack of energy, but nothing that could reveal the fact that you are carrying a growing clump of cells in your belly.

The thought makes you nauseous again, and you step back to the toilet, expecting to be sick, but there is nothing else to expel, so you flush the toilet, and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Despite being sick, or because of it, you’re hungry, so you take out what provisions you have, and sit down at the table. You usually take your meals in the dining hall, but you don’t want to show yourself right now. God knows what will happen if anyone asks you how you are. And what if you eat, and then throw up again?

Slowly, you gnaw away at a slice of bread with cheese on it, while trying to get yourself together and think over your options. But no matter how you try to think about it, there are no options except one: you have to get rid of it. The reasons are many, but the two most pressing ones are the simple fact that you have never wanted children, and this is not a world into which children should be born, as far as you’re concerned. The more you think about it, the more certain you are. But how in the hell are you going to get an abortion? And while you may not be shy, how the actual fuck are you going to tell the doc that you, a 52-year-old woman, didn’t think to protect yourself? Or that you know your own body so badly that you didn’t even know that you’re, in fact, not post-menopausal?

You stopped crying years ago because tears have no function in this world, but now your humiliation makes your tears well up. You sniffle wetly, put down the piece of bread, and angrily wipe at your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter, but there is no stopping the tears. When the first one runs down your cheek, you bang your fist to the table and scream.

“FUCK!”

You let the tears fall, confident that there won’t be too many. When you’re done crying, you finish your meagre breakfast, wipe your face, and get dressed. A day of work awaits you, and maybe if you work hard enough…

You shudder at the thought. You may not have any experience in this department, but you know that your age is a liability. Things could go wrong, and you could die. You don’t want to die. You didn’t survive for all these years just to get taken out by a goddamn unwanted pregnancy.

Fortified by your sheer will to live, you open the front door, and get to work.

During your lunch break, you slip into the Jackson library, which is only just one room in the schoolhouse. The collection consists of whatever has been found during raids, as well as works that the residents have brought with them. The stacks are neat, though, thanks to the teacher who also doubles as a librarian. The collection is divided into main classes, and you quickly find the small section for Biology. There is a middle school book with a chapter on human reproduction, but that’s just the basics. You check the Medicine section, finding nothing. You leave the library, mentally chiding yourself for thinking that you’d find anything there to help you deal with the fact that you’re geriatric, pregnant, and in need of an abortion, with no hope of having one because there are no hospitals, only one doctor who operates out of a simple cabin with barely any equipment or drugs.

Anxiety rises in you again, bringing bile with it. You slink in behind the nearest house and bend over. What little breakfast you had lands before your feet, and you spit away the taste.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?

You take a steadying breath before reappearing back on the street, aiming for your house. So purposeful are you to get away from people, that you don’t notice the tall man next to you before he puts his hand on your arm.

“Hey.”

You start, jerking back before you recognize Joel’s frowning face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, casting your eyes down as you continue your walk. “Just didn’t see you there.”

“Going to lunch?”

“I already ate.”

“All right.” His hand is on your arm again, now effectively stopping you in the middle of the street. He stands in front of you, broad, tall, and smelling of horses.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is lower now, so as to not have anyone overhear him. “You look a little pale.”

Joel Miller has been nothing but good to you. He doesn’t talk much, and what little he talks, happens in the darkness after you’ve fucked, when there are no barriers left between the two of you. He keeps to himself, to the girl who was with him when he arrived, to his brother. To you, now. You may not be able to make him laugh as Ellie does, but he saves soft smiles for you. He’s loyal, kind, and helpful. And despite all that, you’re going to lie to him.

“I didn’t sleep well.” You look into his eyes, even giving him the ghost of a smile. “You wore me out, but I still couldn’t sleep.”

His face softens visibly, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he leans in and whispers: “I’m sorry, darling. Just have to try harder next time.”

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, but it doesn’t translate to the usual heaviness between your legs. Instead, you just feel sick for having lied to him.

Joel’s hand travels down your arm to your hand, thick fingers quickly squeezing years before letting go.

“See you later?”

You hear the question, know what it means.

“I think I better get a good night’s sleep?”

Joel flashes a sympathetic grin. “Good idea. See you around.”

You watch him stride towards the dining hall, broad back squared, head held high in constant vigilance, even here within the walls of Jackson.

He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s smart. He’ll know something’s up.

You shake your head to get rid of those unwanted thoughts, and then you return to work.

The next morning starts the same way the previous one did: with your head down the toilet bowl. This time you feel even more sick because you didn’t get much sleep, and when you finally emerge out of your house, you run into Joel, who’s halfway up your porch.

“Morning,” he greets you, then stops as he sees your ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” you shrug, stacking another lie upon the previous one.

“Maybe you should stay home, get some rest,” he suggests, and even if he’s wearing his customary frown, you can hear how his voice is laced with concern. Managing a smile, you brush your arm against his.

“I’ll just get antsy. I’ll take it easy today, I promise.”

He’s happy with that and doesn’t question you when you don’t go to communal breakfast.

For the next few days, you do what you can to avoid Joel. You don’t want him to know that you’re sick in the mornings, don’t want him to touch you and find out how tender your breasts are, don’t want to talk to him or even see him because it only reminds you of the solution you inevitably have to find soon. You’re going to have to come clean to the doc at the very least –  unless you try to deal with the situation by yourself somehow. But you have no idea how to do that without hurting yourself, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Finally, it’s Joel who takes the first step. You have declined his visits for a week when he surprises you by knocking on your door one night. His face is backlit by the porch light that creates a halo around his ragged, curl-prone hair.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m tired,” you mumble, but he speaks your name, and you realize that there is no running away anymore. So, you step to the side to let him in.

He stands before you, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stares at the floor between the two of you. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the same spot. There’s dirt from his boots there, but you don’t care.

“Listen, I…” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know nothing’s been explicitly said here. About us, I mean. It is what it is. But I thought we had a good thing going, and now it seems like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore?”

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you fear that you’ll throw up your dinner as well as you did your breakfast.

“Joel…”

“I just want to know if I did something wrong, so that I can apologize and then leave you be.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself to prevent the slight trembling that’s starting to travel through your body. Your nerves are shot, and you press your lips together to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Then what is it?” Now he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burn into you.

Does he have to sound so fucking gentle? It would be easier if he yelled at you, or stormed out, or hadn’t come at all, but you should have known that Joel Miller would be so fucking gentle about it.

You take a deep breath, then finally look up into his eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel stares at you, his face blank. There is just nothing there for several breaths before his brows rise and his arms fall to his sides.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

He still looks at you like he doesn’t understand.

“But… how is that possible?”

You lean your head to one side and give him a come on kind of look. Joel scoffs, scratches his head, then shakes it.

“Aren’t you too old?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You didn’t know?”

You don’t like the hint of accusation in his voice.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen my healthcare provider in a while!” you snap, now irritated. The change in tone causes in a change in Joel as well.

“If you weren’t sure, then why the hell weren’t you more careful?”

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice is now raised, and your hands come to your hips. “You took one look at me and thought, ‘Oh, this old hag surely has no eggs left’, and then you happily stuck your dick in me, to hell with any other consequences?”

“You should’ve said something!” he growls, now visibly upset. If you weren’t so intimately familiar with just how soft he could be, you’d be afraid of his dark storm cloud demeanor. But you’re not afraid: you’re pissed off.

“I didn’t know,” you articulate. “I haven’t had my period in years, and I’m over fifty! How the fuck could I have known that I could get fucking pregnant!”

“Is it even mine?” Joel retorts, and for some reason, that’s what makes you snap. Before you know it, your palm has connected with his cheek, and you’re pointing at the door.

“Get out. Get the fuck out, now!”

You don’t need to tell him twice: the door slams only a moment after. You’re no longer feeling nauseous, or trembling. You’re just empty inside.

He's back the next morning. You did not expect that, and eye him with apprehension where he stands in the doorway, shame etched into his features.

"Can I please come in?" he asks quietly. You're nauseous again, but you don't want to be a bitch. He's a good one, you know that, despite everything. He deserves a chance.

You let him in, gesture for him to go on through to the kitchen. Following him, you swallow down the nausea, and hope that you won't have to throw up. It would be so humiliating.

Sitting down, you nod to him to do the same. He perches uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, sincere gaze searching for eye contact.

"I'm really sorry," he finally says, his voice low but earnest. "I handled myself poorly."

You give him a Ya think? look but say nothing. He gets the message.

"I didn't expect... or think..." He falls silent, looks down at the scratched surface of the table. You stare him down relentlessly, waiting for him to speak on. He's slowly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, like they're itchy or in pain.

"I had a daughter, a long time ago. She... I lost her on the first day."

Your heart could break from the choked agony of his voice. Swallowing hard, this time to fight the lump in your throat, not nausea, you reach across the table to put your hand over his.

"Joel..."

He looks up at you, now with a new fire in his eyes.

"It was a long time ago, but I've lived in that pain every day, until Ellie took me out of it. And now... this feels like a second chance."

He raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. You stare at him, suddenly wary.

"What do you mean, second chance?"

"To have a child with you."

You stare at him in bewilderment, barely even sure you heard him right. He hurries to elaborate.

"I'll take my responsibility. I'll help you raise the child. You won't have to do it all alone."

You quickly pull your hand out of his, like you burned yourself.

"Joel... I'm not going to keep it?"

Before Joel can say anything, your stomach revolts, and you shoot out of your chair, only just making it to the sink before you throw up. Spitting and turning on the water to wash away the vomit, you cup your hand under the stream of cold water, and drink to eradicate the sour taste in your mouth. Barely having swallowed the water, you throw up again.

Joel's warm body pushes gently against you, and his hand is on the small of your back.

"That's it," he murmurs, "deep breath, you're okay."

"I'm fine," you gasp, trying to breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell that seems to penetrate everything.

"I know," he replies calmly, reaching for a glass and filling it with water before handing it to you. "Here."

You drink carefully, hoping it'll stay down. The cold water chills your entire stomach, but you do feel better.

"Thanks." You glance up at him, hand holding the glass shaking a little. Joel notices, and takes it from you.

"You're welcome. Wanna sit down?"

You nod mutely, and he leads you back to the kitchen table. You can walk by yourself, but it's comforting to have his hand on your back. You're no longer alone in this, and it's a bigger relief than you thought.

You bow your head and hide your face in your hands for a moment, steadying yourself. Hearing the other chair scrape against the floor, you finally look up at Joel.

He looks sad but resigned.

"How far along are you?" he asks quietly. You shrug.

"No idea."

"Probably over six weeks."

You shrug again and draw your hand through your hair.

"I meant what I said, Joel." You try to sound gentler. "I'm not keeping it. I can't. I don't want it."

He casts his eyes down, and for a second you think you see a tremble in his lower lip. Then he sniffles with a grimace and looks up again.

"Okay."

You raise your brows. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"It's not my decision, sweetheart." This term of endearment is new, and you're not sure what to make of it.

"You're not going to try to convince me to keep it?" you dare him, but without vehemence. You're just tired.

Joel shakes his head, but you can see that he has something on his mind.

"Joel?" you prompt, and he finally sighs deeply.

"Are you sure you won't regret it?" His voice is eerily toneless, like he's trying his best not to sound accusatory. You rub your forehead with both palms in an attempt to suppress the headache that you can feel building up behind your frontal lobe.

"I've never wanted kids," you tell him in the same, dispassionate voice. "Not when I was younger, and surely not now. Not in this world, not at my age. Not at all."

He flinches, like your words hurt him, but then he nods solemnly.

"Okay. What are you going to do?"

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, because the question faced you with the fact that you have absolutely no idea how to deal with this.

"I don't know."

Your voice breaks, and the first tears well up in your eyes.

"Fuck." The tears spill down your cheeks, and you hide your face from Joel, embarrassed by this sudden display of desperation.

"Hey..."

He's around the table in a heartbeat, crouching by your chair and collecting you into his arms.

"It's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out. We'll talk to the doc."

The tears multiply, and you sob audibly from sheer relief of having someone else take charge. You haven't lived with the knowledge of your condition for barely a week, but it has weighed you down more than you knew. And now Joel knows, and he is telling you that it's going to be all right.

"I - just - feel - so - stupid!" you whimper between the sobbing, and Joel strokes his hand down your back.

"Not as stupid as I feel. It's okay, I promise you it'll be okay."

You draw a deep, quivering breath, and square your shoulders. They feel lighter, and you wipe your eyes and cheeks before smiling weakly at Joel.

"Thank you."

"I got you," he smiles back, a dimple appearing in his cheek. You haven't seen it before. It feels like a promise.

Carl, Jackson's doctor, is a GP, but has had to deal with a variety of emergencies over the years. He doesn't bat an eye when you, seated next to Joel, tell him of your predicament, and that you want a termination. He asks for a urine sample, handing you a cup that you, frowning, take with you into the bathroom, do your business, and leave it on the counter, as per Carl's instructions. Coming out of the bathroom, Carl asks you to come back in the afternoon. You agree on a time before you and Joel step out. He squeezes your hand before you part to go to work.

Returning later to Carl's office, you find out that you are, with a seventy percent accuracy, indeed pregnant.

"It's the best test I have," Carl explains. "If a thin film forms over the urine, pregnancy is likely. If not, there is no pregnancy."

"And it couldn't be anything else?" Joel asks, surprising you. Carl looks pained for a moment, and you realize what a difficult question that is. Your hand moves on top of Joel's on the arm rest.

"Given the symptoms; breast tenderness, morning sickness, light cramping... I can't think of anything else to explore."

 "How do we stop it?" you want to know. "Can we even?"

"A surgical abortion is technically possible," Carl nods, and you feel your shoulders relax. "I've done it a couple of times before I came to Jackson, even."

"Well, good."

"Is it safe?" Joel's voice seems tight. "Is it doable here, in these conditions?"

Carl hesitates for a moment before leaning forward to rest his forearms on his desk.

"The procedure itself doesn't take longer than fifteen minutes, but our conditions are, as you probably understand, not ideal. I can sterilize the equipment, but our biggest concern, apart from post-surgical infections, is pain relief."

He lets the information sink in before he adds: "I simply do not have the means to sedate you or give you the pain relief that you are going to need. I wish I could tell you this in any other way, but I can't: It's going to hurt a lot."

You swallow tightly. Joel's thumb passes over the back of your hand.

"Okay," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't have a choice. I'm not going to have a kid in this world. There's no way. We have to do it."

Later, after an extensive talk with the doc, you step out onto the main street of Jackson, Joel right behind you. Without words, the two of you slowly walk towards your house. Not until reaching it, do you sit down on the porch steps. Joel sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"That's a hard question to answer," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. Joel sighs as well.

"Yeah."

You sit in silence and watch people go by. Ellie passes further away together with a friend, waving hello to you but not coming over to chat. You and Joel wave back.

"What does she know about us?" you ask quietly. Joel grunts.

"She knows we hang out, that I like your company, but I haven’t told her that we… you know.”

"I’m sure she knows. She's a smart girl."

"That she is."

You wet your lips. "Listen, Joel... I just want to say... thank you, I guess. For being there for me."

"Of course," he replies softly. "And I really am sorry for how I reacted."

"I'm sorry for slapping you."

"I deserved it."

"Kind of." You shoot a quick grin at him, and he grins back.

"Don't think about that," you shake your head. "And I want you to know that you don't have to be involved in what comes next."

"I'm not going to - "

"You wouldn't mind having a baby," you cut him off, "so I'm not going to have you watch me take one away."

"It's not a baby yet," he reminds you pragmatically. "And I said we'd figure this out together. I'll be there, every step of the way. I'll make sure you get through this."

He speaks with a quiet, gentle confidence that makes you want to cry again. You never knew how much you have longed for someone like him.

"You don't have an obligation," you try one last time. Joel turns towards you and cups the back of your head with one large hand.

"I want to be obliged to you, sweetheart."

He leans forward to let his lips brush over yours.

"Let me," he whispers, and you wrap your arms around him, accepting both his offer and his kiss.

[marc-spectorr]

come alive

pairing: poe dameron x reader

kiss prompt: #22 …in a rush of adrenaline

warnings: 2.0k wc. mentions of violence, shooting, weapons. curse words.

notes: thank you to the lovely anon for submitting this prompt! i decided to make this its own post bc i wrote quite a lot. also i haven't watched star wars/written for poe in a hot minute so pls be nice to me lol. hope you like it!

—

“What’s the escape plan?”

At the question, Poe shoots you an odd look that is quite concerning. “Escape plan?”

“Yeah, the escape pla—oh my god,” you say in a hushed whisper, blinking at him. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something quick and then—”

“—and then we get captured, locked up behind bars to rot or until they decide to—”

Your ramblings are cut short when Poe puts a hand over your mouth, gently shushing you. Three stormtroopers approach the stack of oversized crates, shrouded in darkness due to the absence of sun at this late hour.

You freeze and hold your breath, waiting for them to pass. Fortunately, they march right by without problem, oblivious to the fact that you two are hiding behind them.

As happy and relieved as you were when Poe first showed up to free you, you’re now back to thinking that you will die at the hands of the First Order. It’ll only be a matter of time until someone realizes their imprisoned Resistance spy has escaped. You’ll never get out of here, especially without a plan. You’re doomed.

You swallow thickly and try to distract yourself from the dread and panic clawing inside of you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating. Glancing around wildly, you need to focus on something else. Anything.

Eventually, you have no choice but to settle on having your attention on the pilot’s stupidly handsome face. You keep your eyes on him, inhaling and exhaling deeply to gather your composure. All the while, you wonder— has he always been this good-looking up close? You have never realized how pretty of a shade his dark eyes are or how much they sparkle in the low light. You’ve never seen such thick and curly hair like his, and you have the biggest urge to card your fingers through it.

“Sweetheart, hey—relax,” Poe murmurs when you grow quiet on him, his watchful gaze flickering every now and then to check your surroundings. “Breathe. We got this.”

Poe has long dropped his hand from your mouth, but it remains on your face, cupping your cheek as he assesses you for any injuries. You feel your pulse pick up a beat. You’re sure it’s mainly from the threat of danger you’ve found yourself in. Certainly not because of Poe, your good friend, and crush ever since the day you joined the Resistance.

No, it definitely cannot be that.

“Okay,” you sigh out, nodding. You take a quick glance at the perimeter yourself this time, mostly to hide away from his gaze. “Now what? We can’t stay and hide here forever.”

“You’re right,” Poe agrees. He steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your back as he scans the area with you. “My ship’s past the tree line. Best course of action is to sneak out without alerting anyone. But if things don’t go our way, we use these.”

Slipped into your hand is a blaster. You take a deep breath and tighten your fingers around the grip. You hope it doesn’t come down to a shootout between you, Poe, and the dozens of armed guards patrolling the place. Violence isn’t really your strong suit. That’s why you preferred missions that involved laying low and gathering intel. Too bad your cover got blown on this assignment.

(And yes, you are still sore about that).

“I’m a shit shot, just a heads up,” you warn Poe. You turn around and bump into him, forgetting that there’s barely any space between you. He doesn’t make an effort to step away, and surprisingly, you don’t either.

Poe’s lips curl into a smug grin. He holds up his own weapon in his hand. “And I’m very much not. See, we’re a perfect match. On a scale of 1 to 10, how’d you rate my spur-of-the-moment escape plan?”

You bite back a chuckle and shake your head. Leave it to Poe to distract you from your worries, even if it only lasts a minute. In all seriousness, you have faith in him. He can be overly cocky sometimes, but he’s smart and skillful. You’ve seen and heard what he’s capable of. There’s a reason why you and plenty of others admire the hell out of him.

“I’d give it a 7.5, mainly ’cause I trust in your confidence too much. Plus, it’s not like we have other options.”

“That’s the spirit,” Poe beams. “Sorry if I worried you about not really thinking this through earlier. Once I found out you were being held out here, I kinda just... went for it, y’know? I didn’t have time to waste. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile at him, ignoring how your cheeks are warming up against the crisp nighttime air. You’re touched by Poe’s statement. Grateful that you’ve crossed paths with someone like him. Who else would be this reckless and determined to dive into an impromptu rescue—or insane enough to risk their life to save yours?

The thought has your heart feeling tender, but you can’t get caught up in it at this moment. You and Poe need to make it out alive first. Fuck, now the nerves are starting to creep back in.

“Thank you. If we come back to the base both in one piece, dinner’s on me.”

“You mean when we get back,” he corrects. He holds his hand out for yours. “Deal. It’s a date. Alright, you ready?”

Poe’s question almost doesn’t register in your head after he refers to your dinner offer as a date. He doesn’t seem to be joking around. He sounds serious, and you don’t question it. You find yourself more than okay with calling it that.

Clearing your throat, you give Poe a slight nod, ready as you’ll ever be. Both of you have to get out of here alive. Your date depends on it.

Staying undetected as you move through the shadows was easy in the beginning. Few are out on patrol this evening, and when you do encounter someone, Poe manages to evade them. Surely this isn’t his first go-around at something like this.

You do your best not to allow your anxiety of getting caught to cause you to lose focus. The warmth of Poe’s hand in yours helps soothe you, an assurance that if anything goes wrong, you’re not alone.

When you spot your way out, relief floods over you. You tell yourself you’ll be home soon. That you’ll be back in your bed in no time, tucked under the covers, safe and sound. No longer would you be fearing for your life in the way you are right now.

You’re nearly there— the clearing is just within sight. Less than a hundred yards away more and…

Sirens suddenly blare. So loud that they ring in your ears and leave you disoriented for several seconds. The quiet of the night quickly descends into chaos as guards pour out from every which way. The radioed orders your ears pick up are clear and bone-chilling: they are searching for you, and if found, they want you gone permanently. 

“There you are, scum,” a trooper snarls from behind, weapon pointed at you. They’re about to pull down on the trigger, but Poe reacts much quicker. The blaster in his hand fires, and the man instantly drops to the ground.

You barely have time to process what happened when Poe grasps your hand tightly, holding onto it uncomfortably tight, but his touch is grounding. The two of you share a knowing look as the sound of distant voices and heavy footsteps grow closer.

“We gotta keep moving. Shoot anyone who’s chasing after us, got it?” He says, his voice a blur over the erratic pounding of your heart.

Poe doesn’t wait for your acknowledgment. He makes a mad dash towards the gate leading out of the compound. He wasn’t lying when he said he was not a shit shot, taking down a few men with such ease— they were no match for him.

Luck seems to be on your side tonight. The moment Poe tugs you past the gate, you run across the field and into the woodlands as fast as possible, the fastest you’ve ever moved. Your muscles are sore, and your head is dizzy. It feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

Still, you run. You run and run, even if you’re starting to think that your legs will give out at any moment. You have to get as far away as you can from the place that has kept you captive. It’s your best bet if you want to survive.

Finally, Poe’s ship comes into view. He glances behind you, and you mirror his action, seeing that the guards have lost track of you in the dark. The relieved smile on your face remains for only a split-second, however. As soon as you turn your head back, you see the stormtrooper emerge from the thick bushes, aiming to shoot at an unsuspecting Poe.

It’s like everything is in slow motion. From you realizing that Poe is in imminent danger to the way you forcefully push him out of the line of fire and draw your blaster.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You steady your hand even as it fights to tremble. Without thinking twice, you fire your weapon. The first shot narrowly misses the enemy, but the following two blasts hit them fatally, and they slump to the ground, unmoving.

Luck truly is on your side tonight.

You gasp a breath in surprise when a pair of solid arms suddenly wrap around you, your nerve endings still on high alert after all that has transpired. 

Poe’s gentle voice saying your name cuts through your foggy mind, and you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat continues to drum sharply against your ribcage as you stare at him for several moments, tracing the deep, worried lines etched on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you after. You’re unaware of what you’re doing until you’re right in the middle of it.

One second, you’re holding onto Poe—feeling some of the tension in your body seep out upon seeing that he’s okay, he’s unharmed— and the next, your lips are on his, soft and warm. Exactly the way you had imagined they would feel.

Poe doesn’t kiss you back right away; it is the only thing that snaps you out of this haze. Have you misread him all this time? He’s a major flirt, but you thought he was genuine with you. A knot of confusion and embarrassment forms in your stomach. How could you be so wrong? How could you have fucked things up?

You immediately pull away, taking a few stumbling steps back. Poe looks at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, but he doesn’t say a word. You glance down at your feet, not wanting to see his expression as you fumble out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t know… I was just—”

You are interrupted when Poe lets out a breathless chuckle. He closes the short distance you had put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face, fingers stroking your cheeks ever so gently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that. It did feel very nice, though.”

Poe’s breath fanning warm over your skin causes yours to hitch. Before you can respond, he slowly leans in and recaptures your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart stutters and skips for a whole new reason now. Something more electrifying replaces the fight or flight sensation surging within you, making you light-headed in the best possible way.

The kiss abruptly ends at the sound of dried leaves rustling and branches snapping from different directions. You notice faraway lights becoming brighter, no doubt more stormtroopers closing in on you and Poe.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, but we gotta go,” he laughs, nodding towards the ship. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go on our date.”

You grin in agreement and place your hand into Poe’s hand. Being with him makes you feel alive, like you can handle almost anything the universe throws at you. You could get used to this.

“Take me home, flyboy.”

[zoromuse]

cw. post-timeskip! luffy, fingering, semi public sex? (risk of getting caught), finger sucking

Thinking about luffy, and sitting between his legs when he’s sitting on the head of the thousand sunny, and everyone looking from the ship just sees his back and the top of your head leaning against his shoulder; they don’t see the way his fingers were toying with your clit, tracing circles on the most sensitive part of your body.

You’re holding back your moans with a hand to your mouth, hoping no one is close enough to hear your heavy breathing and your barely there voice whining his name over and over.

Luffy usually likes to have your moans all to himself, in the privacy of his room, but this time, when you were both cuddled up on the head of the sunny, he couldn’t help taking the risk and sliding his hand down your shorts.

“Shh, you need to be a little bit more quiet” he whispers against your ear, his breath shuddering against the skin of your neck, and it’s so unexpected that it makes you buck your hips into his hand. His fingers travel further down, until he’s feeling how you clench around nothing from the stimulation to your clit, and decides to help you out with one of his fingers.

The sudden stretch is welcomed when you accidentally moan under your breath, promptly followed by putting your bottom lip between your teeth.

“‘s too much… luffy!” you say, immediately regretting your mistake and how loud you were being. He glances behind him, where seemingly no one heard anything.

You’re a mess of held back moans and restricted whines when you finally feel like you’re close, bucking your hips and trying not to make it look obvious to the people behind you that you were shaking in what was almost your orgasm, trying to stay still before they started questioning what you were doing up there, because you wouldn’t know how to face them with a blushy face and luffy’s fingers buried between the heat of your legs.

“Luffy… i c-can’t, i’ll make noise” you all but whisper in his ear, holding back another whimper from leaving your lips, and you’re hoping no one else can hear the sound of his fingers against your dripping core, the wet and downright lewd noises he causes with the same calloused fingertips he’s forcing into your mouth, while his other hand keeps doing all the work between your thighs. You can taste yourself in his fingers, and it’s so dirty and raw and obscene, but you can’t help but want more, you crave the sweet release he’s coaxing out of you with each stroke to your sweet spot.

When you finally feel the cord snap deep inside of you, you hold onto his arm while you feel the high take over you, squirming under his hold as you gush around his fingers. It’s so euphoric, the way you’re clenching around him, how your tongue is sucking his digits to hold back more of your lewd sounds, the added risk of someone hearing something, it all makes your heart speed up and pound in your head at the same pace his fingers are pounding you through the ecstasy of your orgasm

[the-bi-space-ace]

Not Yet, Anyway

Summary: Echo wakes in a panic. Thankfully someone is there to soothe his racing thoughts.

Warnings: discussion of panic, brief mention of blood.

Based off of this post I really couldn’t help but write something for it.

@saturn-sends-hugs this is a gift for you, friend <3

Echo woke with a gasp, a gut punch, almost a garble. For a second he thought blood was in his throat, skin burning as flame licked him, a scream right on the edge of his tongue. Then the rumbling of a ship’s engine reminded him of where he was. The Marauder. Clone Force 99. Safe. But why didn’t he feel like it? With a grunt Echo pulled himself up, hammock swinging precariously while his lungs tried to pump air through him. The dreams wouldn’t leave him be no matter how hard he tried. Days of waking up near panic left him fatigued, wanting for sleep but rarely letting it take him. Echo swung his legs out of the hammock and dropped onto the floor. He grabbing the side of one of the bunks for balance and tried to steady his heartbeat. Everyone else should be asleep - Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair all dozing peacefully - but Echo needed something. What that something was he wasn’t sure but he had to get out of that hammock. He couldn’t go to the cockpit, not while Tech was on watch. Maybe he could switch with him, take over the night watch so he could stay awake. Anything to keep those images away. Anything to make the night pass by without his heart beating out of his chest.

“Gonna keep standing there or are you going to sit down before you topple over?” Without meaning to Echo flinched. Crosshair was awake - apparently - and was staring at him passively. He was sitting on a lower bunk, back against the wall with some sort of flimsi pad in his lap, a pencil held between his fingers. How did Echo not notice him?

Echo shook his head. “No, I’m-” He took a second to swallow the rough feeling in his throat but nearly choked on it. Crosshair’s eyes flickered away from him and to the book in his hand.

”Sit down before you break something. I won’t be peeling you off the floor when you pass out.” Crosshair said, voice low. Echo bristled at the insinuation but couldn’t quite argue. His head was starting to feel light and that tight ball of panic hadn’t lessened in his chest. After a few gulps of air Echo moved until he could sit on the edge of the bottom bunk, scooting back until he was mimicking Crosshair’s position, head tilted back against the wall.

Silence spread between them and Echo’s mind spun. Sitting was a bad idea. Nothing to distract him meant more racing thoughts and those thoughts meant more constriction in his lungs, and if he couldn’t breathe then what was he supposed to-

“Look,” Crosshair urged with a tap of his pencil on the page. Another instruction didn’t come, instead he waited while Echo blinked the stinging emotion out of his eyes and tilted his head until he could see what was being pointed out to him. On the page was the beginning stages of what looked like their ship. There were a few spots where it was clear Crosshair had to erase and redraw but the lines were strong and confident, details already littering the page. The entire drawing was about half way done but he wasn’t sure if Crosshair liked to do more than sketch. Crosshair used his pencil to trace along lines he’d already created, pointing out what he wanted. “It’s more cramped than I’d like it to be but I finally got the whole ship to fit on one page. See, there’s the window to the cockpit and the partial view of the gunner’s mount.” He put the lead to paper again and started adding some details to the wings. A few lines were added to detail the little dent on the wing facing them. Echo took in a deep breath in time with the pencil and let it out, feeling the ache in his gut lessen.

Echo pointed to the page with his scomp. “It looks good. Don’t forget to add the paint splatter from Wrecker’s mishap.” His voice came out scratchy, as if sandpaper was wrapped around his throat, but Crosshair paid it no mind. He hummed, adding the outline for the splatter, then moving on to shade in some of the underside. Echo watched and his fear drifted by. There was something hypnotizing about that pencil, the way it sounded as it scratched along the paper. The panic gave way to frustration and Echo had to wrap his arms around himself to attempt to soothe it away. He’d inserted himself without thinking enough about it and now he was intruding, already making suggestions, why couldn’t he just-

Crosshair let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Your brain runs as much as your mouth, huh?” He asked. Rude. Echo rolled his eyes, looking away.

“I’m sorry. It was just…” The dreams. He should go back to bed. No, not back to bed. Going back to bed would be a bad idea. He should… he should leave Crosshair alone at least, do something else.

”No need to spill your guts.” Crosshair stretched, shifting until his leg was resting firmly against Echo’s. “Not yet, anyway.” Echo swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and tried to focus on the constant pressure instead. Crosshair went back to drawing confident lines on the page, tipping the book towards Echo to ask about how it looked every so often. It was kind of odd, sitting in the dim light watching Crosshair draw a damn good sketch of their ship, but that feeling was less discomfort and more adjustment. He didn’t close his eyes again, not that night, but he considered it when fatigue yanked at his bones once more. He preferred to be up anyway, watching, whispering suggestions, anything to keep his thoughts from spiraling back to the darkness that lined them.

Crosshair did a good job of that.

[intuitivemoonbaby]

Who’s coming towards you?

Hey Moonbabies! Welcome or welcome back to another tarot pick a card reading. Today i’ll be asking tarot “who’s coming towards you”. Man exes are all over these readings so be prepared.

Remember, to pick the pile you most resonate with. Ground yourself, take a few deep breaths and pick your pile. Trust your intuition! Don’t second guess yourself. Please just take what resonates and leave the rest :) If pile(s) don’t resonate, then this reading may not be for you. Now scroll for your reading.

Pile One {Tom Holland}

The person coming towards you is an ex. They could’ve juggled you with someone else or put their work above you. They also could be a Taurus or have fire placements (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius). This person seems traditional or comes from a traditional family. They want to rush in with an offer. They are very passionate about you. I’m picking up a lot of sexual energy. You guys could’ve been in a situation-ship or a sneaky link/friends with benefits type thing. They miss you. They’re grieving you. I’m picking up LGBTIA+ energy. Hello fellow gays :) Going back to the traditional family thing. They could’ve left you because of their family and/or friends? homophobia? This person may have been in the closet. They definitely want to rekindle this connection. If they chose someone over you, that relationship crumbled or is going to. They feel lost with you. I’m hearing lost with you. Listen to “Lost without you” by Robin Thicke. Gosh, I haven’t heard that song since my childhood.

I don’t know if you’ll actually take this person back. Seems like you are focusing on yourself and your goals. You’re definitely stepping into your power. You’re raising your standards and not taking anyone’s shit. You could’ve gone through a glow up since the last time you’ve seen this person.

Pile Two {Rihanna}

Okay first off, you need to trust yourself more. You’re intuition is strong! I think you’re seeking clarity on something. Rest, relaxation, and meditation will help you find it. Once you do that, things will start to make more sense. Maybe something to do with your past??

This person coming towards you is either brand new or someone from your past (not necessarily an ex, but could be a childhood friend, classmate, ex-coworker, mutual friend). Take what resonates. This person could be a water sign (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces). They don’t know if they want to come towards you or not. They have a lot of doubts, anxieties and fears. They’re working through them though and when they do they’ll come towards you. This individual is emotionally mature. They’re also grounded, loyal and dependable. You could’ve manifested this person or vice versa. They see you as someone who is independent and has their shit together. They feel like they could bring more balance and harmony in your life.

Pile Three {Angelina Jolie}

The person coming towards you is either an ex or a past life relationship. I’m picking up both energies. This individual is in solitude and they’re going through some type of loss or grief. From you, if it’s an ex. Once they heal and release this pain, they’ll come in. This person could be an earth sign (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) or a fire sign (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius). They are free spirited, charming, passionate, fearless, and reliable. They view you as a star; a wish come true. This is a fated connection. I mean the 2 of cups with the 10 of cups and 4 of wands?? If you don’t read tarot that’s very positive cards. Y’all are meant to be together! This relationship has marriage potential!

Right now, you could be working on yourself. Going through awakenings and becoming the best version of yourself. It seems like you’re pouring a lot of love into yourself. You’re going to take a leap of faith into this connection and you won’t regret it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. I hope your reading resonated! Have a great day! <3

ɪɴᴛᴜɪᴛɪᴠᴇᴍᴏᴏɴʙᴀʙʏ☽

[rainbowtransform]

I fear nobody on tiktok reads my captions so I’m just going to start posting them on here for fun

***

“I don’t know why you’re going back there,” Kenjaku says. His nose is in the air and his back is turned, arms crossing like that’s going to stop Suguru from packing.

“You’re not my husband,” Suguru snaps, patience thin after seven years of being trapped with someone who twists and turns his words. Someone who gave him children, just to pull them away, to try and tighten their hold on him so he wouldn’t keep building the raft that took him years.

“Oh I’m sorry, oh great King of Ithaca,” Kenjaku hisses right back. His form shifts rapidly, switching between their real face, Satoru, and Suguru’s own. “I just thought after seven years you’d fucking take the hint.”

Suguru closes his eyes, and counts back from ten. Kenjaku used to love waking Suguru up in Satoru’s form, smile blossoming along his face and crooning a “good morning.”

He used to love watching the joy Suguru drain when he realized that he wasn’t home, and Kenjaku wasn’t his husband.

“I’m taking the kids,” he says. His girls are packing now, their little faces absolutely glowing when Suguru told them that they were coming with him.

Kenjaku laughs bitterly. “Sure,” he says. “Take them away so I can never see them or you again. Oh and don’t forget to tell Satoru how you got them exactly. Don’t leave out any details.”

Suguru clenched his teeth. Nanako and Mimiko will be an amazing addition to their family, at home, he reasons with himself. Satoru and him have no children, nobody to lay claim to the throne. Since his girls are his blood, they have two heirs.

And Suguru doesn’t want to leave them in a place where their parent would be too angry to focus. He doesn’t want to leave them at all, in fact. He taught them to walk in the five years they have been alive, taught them words and where their home is and knows that Satoru would love them.

Suguru sucks another deep breath in, and then bids goodbye to the god that kept him stranded. He packs his boat tight with supplies and packs the girls’ things in while they say goodbye to the beach, and the waves, and the sun and the moon and the trees and the chickens and the orchard.

And then they set sail. Nanako and Mimiko sre are curious children, and they watch Suguru with bated breath and laughs at the water that sprays into their mouths and giggles at the way that Suguru messed with their hair.

It’s so perfect, Suguru doesn’t believe it when Mimiko screams in horror, one of her hands disappearing into dust. He thinks she just got a power from her other parent and laughs before Nanako suddenly misses a leg.

“Daddy?” They cry in unison and Suguru rushes over, almost tips the boat in his hurry. He reaches his arms out for his girls, waits for the warmth of their body to hit him so he can make everything better before—

There is nothing but dandelion tuffs floating in the wind. Winding their way back to Kenjaku’s island. Suguru watches in horror as the dandelions twist and turn to settle on the green grass at someone’s feet.

He raises his eyes to look at Kenjaku, who is smiling smugly at him. One of his hands are raised, one finger crooked as if to call for someone. Or someones.

Suguru holds strong until the God’s island is out of his sight. And then he breaks into sobs, huge wretched things that take his entire lung span.

He wonders if this is what Poseidon felt when he came from the water to view his son blinded.

(In Ithaca, a husband unweaves a shroud and tells a story about a king’s adventure to a black-haired little boy, and a brown-haired little girl. The girl says she’d rather stay home. But there’s a shine in the black-haired boy’s eyes, a hunger for travel and adventure. There is the same look in the husband’s eyes, eyes roaming the sea every day for a glimpse of ships on the horizon.)

[daddyy333]

Overworked | CW!Bucky Barnes x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.5k

warnings: reader isn’t really taking care of themselves properly, exhausted reader, fighting, reader is stabbed, mentions of blood, reader almost dies, reader has surgery, ?

summary: You haven’t been able to catch a break for weeks, and know all the stress has caught up to you and one mistake almost got you killed, putting the man who harbored a massive secret love for you through absolute hell.

doesn’t feel like my best work to be quite honest I’ve just been so busy these last couple weeks so I’m trying to do what I can

You groaned, slamming yourself against a wall to miss the bullet being shot at you. This was the third mission you’d done this week and you were exhausted. Your hearing was slightly muffled in your right ear and you can’t see that clearly, probably from being hit with the handle of a gun twice.

You kept being put on missions so frequently these last couple weeks because of your skill, and you didn’t think you could say no so you had no choice but to do your job. It was killing you though. You were tired, you were hungry, and you were in so much pain.

You yelped as the asshole hydra agent tried to grab you, to be fair you were standing there with your eyes closed completely out in the open like a dumbass but you couldn’t help it. You whimpered and kicked your leg back, making his knee buckle as you turned around and twisted his arm before slamming him against the wall, assuming that knocked him out,

You gasped as you felt his knife enter your stomach, the pain making it hard to even think. That’s what you get for assuming. “God damn it! Seriously??” You said, punching him in the face. Why did he have to do that?

You grabbed the knife and pulled it out, stabbing him in the dick. You groaned as you kept moving, taking down 5 more agents before it was finally clear. You winced, leaning against the wall as you panted harshly. You sniffled, gulping as you reached down to rip part of a man’s pants off and try to stop the bleeding with it.

You covered it up with your vest so no one would be concerned before you rigged the place with bombs and blew it up. You got back on the small ship they sent you on and headed home, finally.

You talked to Steve and Nat for a bit and spoke with Fury briefly before you finally got to go up to your shared floor with Bucky and relax. Bucky was still awake, sitting on the couch with a look of worry on his face.

You didn’t see him, though, because it was almost completely dark except for the lamp in the living room but you were struggling to see in general. You whimpered as you sat down, groaning softly.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice shaky and you gasped, standing up and throwing the remote at him. “Shit! Bucky, what the fuck?” You said, sitting back down and letting out shaky breaths.

You sighed heavily, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What happened?” He asked and you cleared your throat. “That sorry excuse for backup was knocked out in a minute so I had to do the entire mission with no help” you said, realizing that you must’ve bled through your “tourniquet” because he was looking at it.

You took a deep breath and stood up, mumbling something about getting sleep. You breathed shakily as you made your way to your room. You were sweating like crazy, and your heart was thumping in your ears.

You worked your suit off with shaky hands, realizing the tourniquet fell loose. You whimpered and grabbed a towel off the rack pressing to your wound as you took off the tourniquet. You nearly screamed in pain, biting your hand to stop yourself.

You felt dizzy, so you had to trade your hand for your bottom lip if you wanted to keep standing. A tear rolled down your face as stars filled your vision. You blinked a few times as you tried to stay awake, breathing becoming harder.

Everything was going black and you groaned. “God da- mmh” you said before you passed out, falling to the ground.

Bucky was already in the hallway where your bedroom was, paranoid that something was wrong. Your breathing was irregular the entire time and he could hear your erratic heartbeat, not to mention you looked as pale as a ghost and you were sweating buckets.

As soon as he heard that thump he ran inside your bedroom, knocking on the bathroom door furiously. “Y/n! Y/n? Are you alright?” He asked and he got no answer.

He opened the door and was stopped by your foot. “Christ, why didn’t you say something damn it” he mumbled, moving your legs so he could get in. He moved the towel and his eyes widened, he didn’t understand how you were walking and managed to keep talking earlier with a wound like that.

He wrapped the towel around your waist, tying it to try and slow the bleeding before he picked you up and ran to the elevator, willing it to go faster than the speed of light to get to the medical floor.

He’d never admit it but he was totally in love with you. You’ve supported him through everything since he escaped Hydra. You’ve taught him everything that’s new in the modern world and never once made him feel stupid or less than for not knowing. You even moved into the second bedroom on his floor without hesitation and would stay with him when he had nightmares or couldn’t sleep.

You were soft and gentle with him, something he hadn’t experienced in decades. He adored you, and it hurt to see you so weak and so close to death. He would never let himself love you, but that doesn’t mean he can survive without you.

As soon as the doctors started taking care of you and he couldn’t do anything else for you, he felt tears fill his eyes. His throat felt tight and it hurt as well. He didn’t understand what was happening, he doesn’t cry. He’s never been allowed to.

He ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He fell back against it, a whimper escaping his lips. He groaned, the tears falling down his cheeks before he could stop them. He’d seen you overwork yourself these last few weeks, he’d seen how exhausted you were and how you just needed a break. He knew he should’ve stopped you and he should’ve taken care of you like any good person would but his dumbass was too stupid to do what he should’ve done weeks ago.

It took him almost an hour to calm down, he just couldn’t get that image of you on the bathroom floor out of his head. It scared the shit out of him and he knew you already killed the person who did it but he wanted to do it himself. He was so angry and so scared all at the same time.

He asked the nurse what was going on and they had to send you to a hospital because it required surgery. Surgery.

He went back up to your floor, breaths shaky as he saw the blood on the floor and the little bit that got on the couch and he scoffed. He sat down on the couch, letting his head fall back and staring at the ceiling as he tried to get that image of you out of his head.

This was his worst fear, truly. He worried every time you went out on a mission if you were going to come back to him. It never even crossed his mind that he could be the one to find you dying or dead.

He was checking his phone every 5 seconds, begging to get a call from someone telling him you were okay. He felt nauseous thinking about what life would even be like without you.

He let out a shaky breath and stood up, going to your room. His shaky hands cleaned your blood off the bathroom floor, picking up your room for when you got back.

He then showered himself, as there was blood on his arm and on stomach from it leaking through his shirt. He was exhausted by the time he got out so he tried to sleep and instead spent 3 hours watching the alarm clock, willing it to be time for his morning workout.

He couldn’t take it anymore and got up around 4am and headed down to the gym to train. It took him entirely too long to get through his regular workout with him running to check his phone after every set and nearly tripping over his own feet if there was a notification of any kind.

He made himself breakfast, only being able to stomach half of it. He still felt nauseous and it had been hours, he knew the feeling wouldn’t go away until you were back on this floor of the tower, preferably in his arms, safe and sound.

He busied himself with cleaning the house top to bottom. He did all of the laundry, including yours. He didn’t realize so many hours had passed when he passed by the clock in the living room, his heart dropping when he realized he’d been cleaning non stop for 4 hours.

He ran to the couch, quickly feeling through every cushion to find his phone. He groaned when he finally grabbed it and saw no texts saying you were safe or calls from anyone either. He laid down for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

The exhaustion was taking over and he couldn’t help it as he dozed off. Not that he knew it, but he needed the rest. He needed it so bad that even 7 messages and 5 calls couldn't wake him up.

He heard the door slam and instantly shot up, looking around. He cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes and standing up. He yawned as he turned off the T.V, his jaw dropping and eyes widening as he saw you coming into the living room, leaning against Steve mostly as you stumbled into the apartment.

He nearly tripped and ate the floor with how fast his body flung itself to get to you, squeezing you into a hug. You hissed, squeezing his waist. “Bucky- ow!” You said and he instantly backed up which almost made you fall forward.

“I- I’m sorry, I just- I was really worried about you” he said and hugged you again. He couldn’t help it. At least he was gentle this time. “Bucky, I’m fi-” you said before he interrupted you.

“Don’t you dare. I’m the one who found you on that bathroom floor, you certainly weren’t fine” he said and you sighed. You were still so exhausted, but the safety you felt in Bucky’s arms made it better.

Bucky looked over at Steve, who was smirking. “I’m just gonna leave your stuff here. Take it easy, alright?” He said and you hummed. Bucky held onto you for a few more moments before he pulled back. He sighed and brushed your hair out of your face as he asked “can you walk?”

“Yea. I just have a small limp, apparently I sprained my ankle at some point but it’s fine” you said and sighed, disappointment evident in his face. He helped you to your bedroom, sitting you down and quickly checking your stitches.

“You shouldn’t have been out on that mission,” he muttered as he stood up, grabbing your phone for you so you could check it. You took a deep breath, run your hand through your hair before you said “I have a duty to fulfill, I can just say no”

“There’s an entire group of other people who could’ve done it right upstairs” he said, arms folded as he leaned against your dresser. He shook his head and said “I should’ve stopped you,”

“Bucky, what- why do you care so much?!” You said and he groaned. He ran his hand over his face, trying not to snap at you. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I care about you and I have feelings? I’m not blind, y/n, I see the exhaustion in your eyes. You’ve gotten more injuries these past few weeks than you have in years, I checked your file. You’re overworked and it’s going to get you killed. You got really damn lucky this time, who knows how it’ll go next time?” He said, voice shaky and chest heaving.

“God, you sound like you’re in love with me or something-” “maybe I am!” He yelled, throwing his arms up dramatically. Your breath hitched, your head shooting up to look at him.

He closed his eyes with a heavy and regretful sigh, his shoulders dropping. “What did you say?” You asked, your voice shaky. He licked his lips, a nervous habit he had. “I…I am. I have…feelings for you” he said quietly.

You could tell he obviously didn’t mean to say that and wasn’t ready in the slightest to admit this. You stood up with a soft grunt and he looked up, about to make you sit down again but you were already walking towards him.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in close. His heartbeat was fast and his breaths were shaky and uneven. He placed his hands on your waist carefully, not expecting you to hug him at all.

You didn’t care that he wasn’t hugging you back, you needed this from him. He trusted you. He trusted you and he loved you and he just opened up to you and told you something huge. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“F-…For what?” He asked and you sighed. You took a deep breath and said “for trusting me” He chuckled nervously and wrapped his arms around you, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

You could tell he was still really tense, and you wondered if he was uncomfortable. “What’s wrong, Buck?” You asked, looking up at him. He looked down at you and said “it’s just…do you feel the same?”

“Absolutely. I’m sorry- I-I thought I already told you” you said and giggled, of course you were that stupid. He blushed slightly, a small smile creeping onto his face. You’d seen so many emotions from the otherwise stoic Bucky you knew and it made your heart flutter.

He pulled you into his chest again, the tension slowly leaving his body. He closed his eyes, taking in this moment. He felt a warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt in decades, he felt like he was home.

You were ready to spend the rest of your days loving and taking care of Bucky. You’d never felt for anyone else the way you did for Bucky. You knew you’d always love him no matter what happened. You’d always love the subtle ways he shows how he cares for his friends, the way he remembers even the tiniest things about you, the way he tries to pretend he isn’t bursting with joy inside even with rosy pink cheeks.

He pulled away carefully and that smile was still there, you felt like you had butterflies all over. “I love you, Buck” you said softly. He had a new life in his eyes as he said “I- I love you too”

He never thought he’d actually admit his feelings to you, and it’s the scariest thing he’s ever done but he felt so relieved at the same time. You were it for him. Even if he lost everything tomorrow and everyone turned on him, as long as he had you it was all he needed.

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Ari Levinson

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[berenwrites]

A Small Thing - Stranger Things - Steddie

Rating: T | cw: none | tags: post season 4, eddie lives, steve has terrible parents

Prompt: Love is wanting to know everything about what makes up the person you're in love with, even the difficult stuff.

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 4. Y’know how Stranger Things kind of has a different 80s movie feel for each season? Well I grew up in the 80s and I have some very fond memories of 80s sci-fi movies, and this was inspired by several of them. It started off as a silly fun idea in my head and then got way deeper than I expected once on paper. I hope you enjoy it.

Also on AO3 | All my other Stranger Things Fic

A Small Thing: The Truth Hurts

“Stevie, I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” were the words that killed any desire Steve happened to be feeling.

He’d forgotten, and now he was cursing himself. It was a tiny thing, right on the upper inside of his thigh. He had to spread his legs and someone had to be up really close to see it. Unfortunately for him, Eddie had been slowly taking him apart, bit by bit, which included kissing and nipping up his inner thigh.

“Is that a barcode?” Eddie asked, looking up at him and smiling.

His expression must have given him away, because the smile dropped off Eddie’s face almost instantly.

“Hey,” Eddie said, climbing up him until they were face to face, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Looks like it comes with baggage. Did someone force that on you?”

Steve took a deep breath.

“Not exactly,” he said, looking down and away, but unable to lie to his boyfriend.

“Stevie, hey, sweetheart, can you look at me please?” Eddie asked, gently taking his hand.

Instinct told him to climb out of the bed and leave, to get as far from Eddie as possible, but he couldn’t. Slowly and oh so reluctantly, he lifted his eyes.

“I love you,” Eddie told him as soon as their eyes met, “and I want to know everything about you, but what you tell me is up to you, okay?”

It was so sincere that is made Steve’s heart thump in his chest. All the love he had been trying to keep locked away in case he frightened off his boyfriend ripped through him like a fire.

“I’m not the real Steve Harrington,” he confessed as the need to be really seen blew apart his defences. “Well, I am, but I’m not the original.”

Eddie said nothing. Not a usual state of affairs at all unless Eddie’s mouth was occupied.

“That’s not a joke, is it?” Eddie finally said after agonising silence.

Steve shook his head.

“I think you’re going to have to explain that, Stevie,” Eddie added, and he was tense against Steve’s side.

“I’m a replica,” he admitted quietly. “The real Steve died when he was two of a congenital heart defect. My parents paid to have me recreated in a lab, their baby, but perfect this time. I was grown in an artificial womb. The barcode identifies me as theirs.”

“You realise that sounds insane, right?” Eddie said, although his tone was not accusatory.

He nodded.

“I know exactly how it sounds,” he said, “but it’s true. Rich people live in a different world, Eds, and my grandfather is super rich.”

“So why didn’t he just pay to have his grandson’s heart fixed?” Eddie asked. “If they can grow clones, why couldn’t they do that?”

“They could have,” Steve replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “But they didn’t want a child with issues, they wanted a perfect baby, so they grew one. If the original Steve had lived, he would have been shipped off to some special school and I would have been his twin.”

“And they told you all this?” Eddie sounded incredulous.

“My whole life,” he said, voice going quiet again. “And they let me know exactly how much of a disappointment I have been since 83 after all the money they spent to make me perfect. The only reason they haven’t thrown me out is because it would reflect badly on the family name.”

“Holy fuck,” was all Eddie said.

Steve went to pull away, grabbing the sheet to cover himself up.

“Look,” he said, “I’ll understand if you never want to see me again. I know I’m not quite a real human…”

Eddie knelt up and put a hand on either side of his face so he couldn’t get away.

“Stevie,” Eddie said, looking straight into his eyes, “you are as real as any of us. You think El’s not a real girl because she grew up in a lab?”

“No!”

“Then what makes you not a real boy?” Eddie challenged him. “You’re the only Steve Harrington I’ve known, and you’re the only Steve Harrington I love. The more I learn about you, the more I love you, and the more I am amazed what an amazing human being you’ve turned out to be. Does Robin know about this?”

Steve shook his head as well as he could with Eddie’s hands still on his cheeks.

“They said if anyone found out they’d have me recalled,” he said, feeling the tears burn at the back of his eyes.

Robin was his best friend, the other half of his soul, if he had one, but she didn’t know the truth. That Eddie did and still loved him, blew apart everything he had been brought up to believe.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispered, still staring into his eyes. “And recalled means what I think it means?”

“Just like a malfunctioning washing machine,” he said.

“How long? How long have they been threatening to have you recycled like rubbish?” Eddie asked.

“Since they let me out of the house and told the world I was their little Steve,” he confessed.

“They don’t deserve you, Stevie,” Eddie told him firmly, “they never did. And now you’re mine and they never get to hurt you again.”

The first tear fell as Eddie leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, so gentle and so loving that it broke him.

“We need a plan, Sweetheart,” Eddie told him as his boyfriend infolded him in a loving embrace, “just like the one we all have to keep El safe. No one gets to hold this over you ever again. No one.”

And Steve believed him.

All my other Stranger Things Fic

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

i know the easiest way to resolve my two wolves dilemma about the near miss notfic is for buggy to be the one in disguise, okay? i know. i just haven’t been able to figure out why he’s in disg—okay, no, i’ve got it now.

(another self-indulgent “shanks/buggy post-roguetown, pre-luffy” encounter below the cut)

buggy, lately called “the clown,” is not usually a pirate given to subtlety or discretion. he wants word of his wicked deeds to spread far and wide! if people are afraid of him, they’ll give in faster, so he won’t have to work as hard to get what he wants!

but usually, there aren’t rumors of monkey d. garp in the area.

buggy’ll thumb his nose at most any marine, but garp is an exception. that guy has a monstrous strength on his old captain’s level, plus he’s equally famous for his incorruptibility and his bullheadedness. all in all somebody buggy absolutely does not want to deal with.

and sure, his bounty as it is probably doesn’t warrant a vice-admiral’s involvement, but garp’s been around a long time. he might recognize buggy as “one of roger’s brats.” and while they never had bounties of their own back then, surely the marine still want their heads. they went after tom, for fuck’s sake, there’s no way buggy is safe.

so until he hears from a reliable source that garp has left this particular corner of east blue behind, buggy is not leaving the sanctuary of his ship without a thorough disguise.

he’s gone without his distinctive makeup, of course. his hair he’s tied up and tucked away under an old knit cap, which he’s sewn an ink-black wig to the lining of to better conceal his identity. he even rubbed a bit of ink into his eyebrows to be doubly sure. and, last but hardly least, he’s chop-chopped his nose off, sticking an ordinary-looking prosthetic in its place with spirit gum that will be very annoying to remove later—but better a little adhesive rash than prison.

looking in his mirror at a stranger, buggy sighs, clapping his hands together. “right!” his ship needs a resupply, and buggy sailed his favorite little skiff here to take care of it so he doesn’t have to explain this disguise to his crew. “rope, sailcloth, gunpowder, food,” he mutters as he heads out. just a few essentials for any sailing vessel, nothing obviously piratical about it. a perfectly safe supply run.

a squad of marines go thumping past, and buggy can’t hold back a flinch at the sight.

he breaths in deep. this will be fine. all he has to do is not draw attention to himself, and…

“hey, you!”

buggy freezes, and fights the urge to turn around. freezing is bad enough, that would make him look super guilty. and anyway, with a call like that how could anyone possibly know who the marines are after?

“you in the hat!”

ah, fuck. buggy can’t lose the hat, that’s half his disguise gone right there. he glances back, curses under his breath when it sure looks like that squad of marines is coming for him, and makes a break for it.

“this is navy business!”

“stop!”

“like hell,” buggy mutters, rounding a corner into an alleyway. he blinks when he hears his own words doubled, and realizes there’s been someone else running from the marines the whole time. ah, shit, was he even their target after all? has he been running for his life for no reason? he turns to give the guy what for and just about chokes on his tongue, because—

well, because it’s shanks.

same stupid, distinctive hair, same stupid, distinctive hat. a cape, which is more style than buggy would have expected shanks to develop, but which is also stupid and distinctive. a pretty nasty scar over one eye. buggy takes his first reaction to that—i wouldn’t have let that happen!—and violently shoves it down into the bottom of his soul, where stupid thoughts go to die. what-ifs don’t matter, what matters is this entire guy is stupid and distinctive.

shanks gives him one of those soft-hearted, empathetic looks buggy always hated. “ah, sorry, i think i got you tangled up in my business.”

…he doesn’t recognize buggy.

good! this is good, this is—salvageable, anyway! buggy clears his throat, tries to throw his voice a little higher, speak a little more politely. anything to avoid that soft look becoming one of recognition, or that awful heartbroken look from all those years ago. “that’s okay! anything to inconvenience the marines.”

as the rhythmic sound of boots thumping gets closer, an idea occurs to buggy. “speaking of…” he grabs hold of shanks’ cape, pausing only when shanks puts a hand on his wrist and gives him a wary look. right, shanks doesn’t know him from adam like this. “sometimes it’s better to fight smarter, not harder.”

shanks considers him for a moment. he lets go of buggy’s wrist.

permission granted, buggy moves quickly. goodbye, stupid hat! flip the cape around, the lining’s a different color so that will do nicely. adjust the closure so the fabric that’s supposed to be the top hem instead functions as a hood, all the better to hide that hair and scar… sure, it probably won’t hold up to a close inspection, but who needs it to? low-level marines are idiots.

buggy leans back against the alley wall and spreads his legs wide to make himself shorter and easier to hide. when shanks doesn’t seem to get the memo, buggy rolls his eyes and tugs him closer, until shanks is standing almost too close for propriety, his cape hiding both of them from view.

hands pressed to the wall above buggy’s shoulders, shanks stares at him intently, an eyebrow going up as they hear the marines run past without giving their hiding spot so much as a first glance, let alone a second. “impressive,” he says.

buggy snorts. “naturally.”

something about this response amuses shanks, who smiles, drops one hand on buggy’s shoulder, and squeezes. “thanks for the save, gorgeous.”

buggy’s mind goes blank.

well, mostly. “gorgeous?!”

shanks frowns, though his eyes are still smiling. “don’t tell me nobody’s ever called you ‘gorgeous’ before.” buggy doesn’t react—has no idea what shanks is doing—as that hand slides up his shoulder, his neck, to cup his cheek. shanks leans just that little bit closer, taking the lack of space between them from the appearance of improper to actually improper. buggy still has no idea what shanks is doing until his thumb starts to rub small circles near the corner of buggy’s eye. “that’s just not possible. i mean, your eyes alone are stunning…”

he knows that move. shanks told him about that move, about the barmaid who’d used it on him the first time, using a compliment about shanks’ eyes as an excuse to touch his face, right before she—

it’s a very sweet kiss. probably the kind of kiss buggy would have expected of shanks, if he’d ever let himself think of things like “shanks” and “kissing” at the same time before. (face hot, it occurs to him that maybe the way he’d always violently shut down such thoughts might mean something. he violently shuts down this line of thinking.) shanks pulls back after a brief moment, a curious look in his eye that buggy takes to mean ‘more?’

whatever look happens to be on buggy’s face must say ‘no’ for him—though probably not in as insistent a tone as he’d like, his mind is still pretty fuzzy—because shanks steps back, casually giving buggy space. like of course after… that… all he wants is to fix his cape and retrieve his hat.

“wh…?” is all buggy can manage.

an eyebrow goes up, and shanks smiles a little smugly as he slides that stupid hat back into place. “like i said. thanks for the save.” and with that, he’s gone.

buggy’s knees give out.

he spends ten minutes sitting in that alleyway, definitely not remembering anything that just happened in particular detail, or wishing he’d answered an unspoken question in a different way. eventually he remembers that he has duties to attend to, and he’d better attend to them soon if he want to get off this island today.

which he does.

he certainly doesn’t have any reason to want to stick around here.

no sir.

“rope, sailcloth… limes?” suddenly buggy can’t remember the last thing on his list. well, it can’t be that important if it was the last one, right? right. surely they can go without… whatever… until after garp’s gotten tired of this part of east blue.

because buggy is never going out in disguise ever again.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

You'll Have to Go Through Me (Hidden Scene)

Part (7) of You'll Have to Go Through Me, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

So... shortly after I made that posting requesting Unhinged Asks, I got a bit caught up with this scene. Loads of things happen outside of Doc's viewpoint that I know about, but y'all don't, and I felt like this was worthy of it's own mini chapter. (Plus, it's been too long since I've written Echo) - gonna go play with all your fun prompts now! Thank you!!

also, this was written mostly on my phone at night when I couldn't sleep, soooo apologies if it reads a bit different, I guess?

Warnings: Just some standard guilt, angst, and regret, along with a little sprinkling of profanity.

WC: 1,172

She hadn’t seen him. Crosshair had needed only that split-second flash of black cloth stark against pale skin as Echo ducked behind a tree, but the woman beside him had merely kept walking forward in obvious ignorance to the arc’s presence. He so nearly ignored the man, but some relentless annoyance, a nagging thought that had tormented him since those words left her lips forced him to fall back, encouraging her to continue on with a teasing quip before retreating into the blessedly dim halls of the Marauder.

“Don’t tell Echo what I did.”

His lips twitched into the beginnings of a snarl as that broken plea reverberated through the silence, hands clenching into fists against the way his chest twisted, revolting from the consuming shame he’d failed to chase from her tormented eyes. Suppressing that ache that he refused to call guilt beneath the familiar veil of anger, the slender clone leaned against the durasteel wall near the bunkroom door, hand thoughtlessly bringing a toothpick to his lips in the vain hope that it might offer some fleeting distraction as his gaze settled on the open ramp before him; waiting.

There was a heavy resignation in the droop of his shoulders as Echo finally entered the ship, brow just taut enough to hint at a crease. He stopped after taking only a few strides into the cabin, allowing himself a mere handful of seconds before turning to meet Crosshair’s narrowed eyes.

“Felt like gloating some more?” Whatever guilt threatened to haunt him at the nearly hopeless defeat vainly hidden with feigned impatience in Echo's scowled greeting vanished as the memory of that quiet request struck him once more. He said nothing for a long moment, arms looped across his chest as he seemed to be sizing up the older man.

“If I wanted to do that, I would have dragged her in here with me.” He retorted, knowing the image of him pressing their coveted medic flush against the metallic walls would only send the arc further into that torturous spiral.

“Then what the hell do you want, Crosshair?!” He finally growled, hands clenched into fists as his entire body tensed.

“Figured it was time someone told you to quit moping about.” He answered, purposefully tilting his head back to look down at his newest brother. “She’s got enough to deal with without worrying about whether or not you hate her now.” The flash of wounded horror on Echo’s face rekindled that flush of guilt, but the dread that darkened his brother’s eyes gave him pause. It took only a beat for understanding to wash over him, and his arms slowly fell to his sides.

“Who told you?” he asked, voice dropping into something just shy of a whisper as though there were still some point to maintaining an air of secrecy. Body deflating beneath a deep, mournful exhale, Echo looked toward him with an almost desperate regret.

“Tech.” He answered quietly before letting his gaze fall. “She… dammit, she shouldn't have…” His voice failed  him, breath too near breaking to risk anything more. Crosshair pulled the sliver of wood from his lips, gaze blindly watching it roll between his fingers as he let his own guilt rob him of that façade of anger.

“You think she'd be any better off if she just stood back and let them take you?” He asked, but there was no venom in words that could so easily have been filled with malice and blame. Still, Echo's eyes slid closed beneath a weariness the sniper knew too well, weighted by the futility of a regret neither could fix with useless if-only's.

“Doesn't matter…” Cross muttered with a sigh. “It’s done, and you avoiding her like this is only making things harder.” A glint of that earlier annoyance returned to his sharp gaze.

“I know.” Echo barely whispered the broken murmur, head hanging to his chest. There was no gentle comfort in the seconds of quiet that lingered between them, but the sympathy Crosshair couldn't help but feel silenced further rebukes.

“What's your plan?” he asked instead. Echo let out a deep breath, gaze shifting to stare blindly at the paneling above them.

“Probably something stupid.” Despite the tension filling the small room, Cross let out a huffed chuckle, lips just twisting into a smirk.

“Watch yourself, arc.” He warned, but the warmth in his raspy voice robbed whatever threat might have otherwise sharpened the retort, and Echo responded with a half-hearted grin of his own.

Shoulders rolling to ease the residual stiffness from his muscles, Crosshair slipped the rifle from his back and set it carefully in its case before thoughtlessly beginning the process of stripping himself of his armor.

“You coming?” He asked once his gear was safely tucked away. Echo's jaw tensed, gaze shifting to the door just behind him.

“Not yet.” The unspoken plea in his words, the guilt laced through a sorrow the hardened soldier made no effort to hide was enough to still whatever sharp insult bated on Crosshair’s tongue. “Tonight.” He offered by way of some forced compromise. “I'll talk with her tonight… just… I need a little more time.”

Cross said nothing, fighting back the initial urge to bully the man onto complying if only to avoid the look he knew he'd see in Doc's eyes the instant she realized he wasn't there, but the devastation was still too raw in Echo’s voice for even him to dismiss it. Slipping the toothpick back between his teeth, Cross turned toward his supply crate once more and pulled the skintight shirt smoothly over his head. His brother looked at him with something dancing between confusion and skepticism, but he merely tossed the fabric onto the lid of his tote before starting toward the ramp.

“Figure I'll give her something else to think about if you’re still too chicken-shit to look at her.” Even Echo couldn't help but scoff at the haughty boast, stunned into silence just long enough for his brother to reach the sand.

“Crosshair.” He finally called, forcing some hint of a smile on his lips as the tall man glanced back to him. “Take care of her.” There was something more to that feigned order, some trace of denial that even the arc couldn't let himself acknowledge.

“I don't need you to tell me that.” The snarl that just touched his words withered as their eyes met, and Crosshair remembered how useless he'd felt watching Doc break as Wrecker held her through the night. “I'm trying.” His gaze fell as the strained words flitted past tense lips, and neither spoke again as the depth of his own insecurities threatened to drown him.

When he finally looked back up, he wasn't surprised to see the arc mirroring his own uncertainty. With a knowing nod Echo turned, vanishing into the ship. Fingers tensing in and out of an nervous fist, Crosshair hesitated just a moment longer before releasing a short breath and beginning the long trek to the beach.

Next Chapter

(Btw, I did my first series of trimming down the taglist today. Those still included, thanks for all of your support and love!! And if I overlooked someone who still wants to be included, feel free to let me know!

- Also, anyone that's filled out the form and isn't getting tagged, that's because Tumblr won't let me tag you... apologies, but I don't know why or how to fix it.

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @kixs-husband @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @isthereanechoinhere96 @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @wanderneverlost @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl

[tgmsunmontue]

Another Time (Chapter 1/14)

Summary: Jake wakes up in Rooster's body about ~30 or so hours post-Mission and they have to deal with it. They're adults. Apparently.

A/N: There seems to be a lack of body-swap in this fandom, so I thought I’d give it a crack. It’s one of my favourite tropes. I am from New Zealand but I write with lots of ‘z’s and remove a lot of my ‘u’s. However I don’t in my author’s note. Hopefully I caught them all – apologies for slip-ups. (I also type with wrist braces on so my finger mobility can be a bit screwy – that said I’m also a fandom old (but not an elder) so while this isn’t my first fic, it is my first in the fandom and after I’ve taken a break.

Jake’s POV for odd chapters, and Bradley’s POV for even chapters.

Also, obligatory note that I have no knowledge of the US Navy (and that whole ‘girl, what were you doing at the devil’s sacrament?’ thing applies here as well in terms of military propaganda).

(Posting on Tumblr, chapter a day until it's complete (currently 12 chapters in), after which I will post it on AO3 once a day until it's complete).

CHAPTER ONE 

               Jake wakes up in the sick bay, his breath coming in gasps as his dream fades into mist. Why is he in the sickbay? He doesn’t remember getting here and that’s never a good sign. There’s only half-light, the room has no portholes just some lights left on the dimmest possible setting; he can tell he’s still on the ship. The last thing he remembers though is falling into exhausted slumber in his rack, Javy below him and Payback and Fanboy opposite. He doesn’t feel right though, body aching all over, skin tight in places it shouldn’t be. He holds his hand up in front of his face and squints. Blinks.

                That is not his fucking hand.

                Okay.

                Deep breath.

                In.

                …

                And out.

                …

                Again.

                 …

                He tries to sit up and needs to slow down the movement, body stiff and he’s not in his own body. Or there’s something very wrong with his head. Or both. He’s staring at mostly bare feet that don’t belong to him (one is wrapped in a bandage and is slowly throbbing in time with his heart – it doesn’t feel like a good idea to test bearing weight on it) when the door to the sickbay opens abruptly and he just stares. He guesses he knows where his body got to.

                “Thank fuck! You okay?”

                “I… Rooster?” He’s hazarding a guess, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He has no idea where Mav is, the other bed is empty. And he’s somehow in Rooster’s body, and not in a way he previously imagined was ever possible.

                “Yeah. Fuck this is weird. You’re in my body.”

                “Yeah, no shit. You’re in mine. What the hell happened?”

                “I don’t know! I woke up in your rack and promptly whacked my head because I thought I was here…” Rooster says, putting his hand to his (Jake’s) forehead where a bump is already forming.

                “Be a little more careful with the goods there…” Jake says, and he feels like throwing up a little, although honestly he’s not sure if that’s in response to seeing himself through someone else’s eyes or if he’s feeling Rooster’s concussion. This is already a colossal mindfuck and he’s only been awake for a few minutes.

                “Yeah, you too. Are you feeling okay? I was feeling pretty shit yesterday.”

                “I can confirm this body still feels like shit.”

                “Okay, here, drink some water. I’m allowed to take some ibuprofen. That’ll help.”

                “We need to report this?”

                “No! Fuck. No… I mean, maybe it’s just a short 24 hour thing?”

                “You think it’s like a stomach bug? You think people just change bodies with someone and it goes away overnight?”

                “You have any smarter ideas? I want on the next transport off, and if they think I’m not stable enough to travel… or if something is wrong –”

                “There is something wrong!” Jake hisses, because he is not okay with this. Maybe if he wasn’t feeling like he’d ejected and then crash landed he’d be more… relaxed. Fuck if he knows. He can’t argue with wanting to get back to shore though.

                “Okay, there is. But let’s get back to shore, RTB and then… figure out a plan of attack.”

                “Oh, I cannot wait to hear what you think might work.”

                “Shut up.”

                The door to the sickbay opens again and they both turn to look at the corpsman entering the room.

                “Morning lieutenants. Any reason you’re here Lieutenant Seresin? Not bothering my patient I hope?”

                “Not at all, I just needed, uh, wanted to check on him…”

                Jake watches his own neck flush in embarrassment, and hmm, that’s interesting.

                “He can, uh, stay, while you check me over,” Jake says, because he has no clue what Rooster was like last night, over than alive. He’d been fine on deck right after Mav had (crash) landed, but he suspects adrenaline had been carrying them both forward for the most part. Now it’s been over 24 hours and he’s pretty sure Rooster’s ankle might be broken, given the sharp increase in pain as it dangles freely. He has no idea where Mav has fucking disappeared to, but he’d been here yesterday when he’d popped in for a quick check-in with some of the others.

                “Well, okay. Let’s look at your ankle first. I hope you weren’t seriously considering walking on it after what I told you last night.”

                “Sorry, forgot. Really need to piss,” he states, which is partial truth and lie. He couldn’t forget something he didn’t know.

                “Hmm. Here then.”

                Jake takes the container and chances a quick glance at Bradley who is fucking smirking at him with his own damn face. Unbelievable.

                “Nothing I ain’t seen before sailor…”

                Jake feels heat flood his face for no good reason and that’s mortifying, he’d take his own neck flush of embarrassment over this any day. Of course Bradshaw means it because it’s his fucking body, but the look the medic is giving them is amused, clearly having drawn their own conclusions and Bradshaw is looking completely unrepentant. Asshole.

TWO

[ashsostrange]

i’m (not) sorry to say, but miles is better off by himself.

idk if i’ve ever written a post this long, but i got energy tonight. y’all have been sucked into the black hole of shipping, so let me ground you and remind you of this amazing thing called being single. i’m gna talk ab margo and gwen, but mostly gwen bc she’s obv miles’ (main) love interest. i’ve said more than enough about why miles and gwen don’t work/make sense. if you wna be enlightened then feel free to click the links.

thoughts on ghostflower: here!

reblogging a moot's post w/ added thoughts: hereee!

i love ranting so let’s get it! 😛

i don't have much to say about margo bc sadly, she's barely there. what i will say though is that as cute as miles and margo would be together, there’s one more movie left lol. the third movie’s gna be busy as hell. there’s literally no time for romance, and to rush miles and margo (two people who just met) into liking each other in, like, a three hour timespan would just be terrible writing. plus, we all know she’s there for some bs having to do with miles nd gwen, which is literally soooooooo very lame, words can't describe. one, where are you finding the time to cram in jealousy/all this angsty romance mess when miles’ dad is ab to die and the universe is ab to collapse bc of a nigga that looks like the lovechild of a cardboard box and a cow?? two, is this really all margo is here for?? to make gwen jealous or “help miles realize he’s in love with gwen” ?? shameeee, like summer said. 😐 i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: margo could be SO much more than a disposable love interest!!!

gwiles/ghostflower fans, i’m going to tell you something that will make you upset. i said i was coming for you and i meant it 🗣️‼️

before you yell at me and push smoke out of your ears, i need you to put your right hand on your chest and close your eyes. you feel your heartbeat? good. now, count to three while taking deep breaths and remember that none of this shit is real so you’d look stupid af trying to attack me. 🙃 some of y’all are getting TOO comfortable being unnecessarily disrespectful and ion like that lol. don’t try it here bc i’m on another level of not gaf!

listen, even if (when?) gwen and miles team up to save his dad, it won’t change the fact that gwen was keeping some hefty info from miles, yo. she was smiling in jeff’s face and cracking jokes like she didn’t know he was bout to die. y’all gotta be so very real with yourselves. you wouldn’t wna date, let alone be FRIENDS with someone who kept something that big from you, regardless of the circumstances or lack of ill intent. one of the most important people in your life concealing the fact that you’re about to lose another important person in your life is insane.

i’m aware that gwen didn’t tell miles about his dad because she genuinely thought it’d cause mass destruction if he saved jeff. thing is, even if miles knew that, i think he’d still feel betrayed. that’s 100% valid because this is his dad we’re talking about. he just lost his uncle not too long ago, too. i wouldn’t blame miles if he never wanted anything to do with gwen again. i wouldn’t blame bro if he got sick to his stomach every time he saw her. it’d be justified, bc if he never followed her that night, then he wouldn’t have had the chance to save jeff.

my point is that you can be a “good person” and still fuck up bad enough to make someone never wna speak to you again. miles is a sweetheart so he’ll probably forgive gwen. my thing is, miles forgiving gwen doesn’t mean the two of them are obligated to be friends again. they can handle it maturely, go their separate ways, nd never speak again. it’s really not even gna hurt y’all cuz it’s the last mf movie anyway??? 😭😭

if it isn’t clear by now, i don’t want miles and gwen together at all. they have no business being around each other frl 🙃 not as friends and definitely not as lovers. like, sure, that one scene where they’re swinging/talking on the bank was my absolute fav. it was cute. i shipped them before i really thought about it. that scene is still my fav, but my adoration for it isn’t gna stop me from keeping it real.

i really don’t care what anyone says or how in love they think these two are, this isn’t a “forgive and forget” situation. if the writers truly wanted gwen and miles to be involved romantically, then not only should they have structured their dynamic better, they shouldn’t have made gwen the person she was in this movie. love, love, LOVE redemption arcs because it’s a reminder that we're human and we're flawed, but you can’t redeem yourself from that. sorry. (not) i say miles should leave that girl alone 🤷‍♀️ leave all potential girls alone ffs.

in conclusion, it’s okay for miles to be single. he's 15 anyway, it's not like he'll die without a girl. i’m the suckiest sucker for anything to do with romance, but characters in film/animation don’t need to have love interests for a project to be considered good. if you feel like it does, then maybe ts you’re watching just sucks, lmao. a girl and a boy can be friends without one having feelings for the other, or both of 'em having mutual feelings. (in the media idk ab irl..) it’s time to stop forcing ts. please.

and it’s okay y’all, i promise you. it’s okay if miles and gwen don’t end up dating. it's okay if they reconcile and stay friends. it’s okay if they reconcile and don’t stay friends. though unlikely, it’s also okay if miles doesn’t forgive gwen at all! resolutions like these go to show that you can “forgive” someone without letting them have access to you anymore. that’s what miles needs to do. straying away from the “happy ending” everyone is expecting would be nice. it’d be a different approach and a realistic way to complete the franchise. (i’m not just saying this bc i love angst)

but before the gwiles (ugly ass ship name btw) fans start throwing up and telling me to end my shit, it’s 99% unlikely that anything i just stated will actually happen. we’re more than likely getting a kiss between miles and gwen, nd that’s bc the writers are probably high off the same dope they were on when they wrote gwen sneaking in thru miles’ window, j for his parents to be way more calm about it than any other normal parent would be. i could say some more about certain scenes but that's for another night.

miles doesn’t need to be with anyone. especially not gwen when it comes down to it.

oh and i HATE peter b. fuck that nigga. he was nun but an extra in this movie and i know he’s an opp in the next. 🙎‍♀️

that’s all! if you read allat then thanks, cuz i wrote a lot. if you're feeling angry, then go for a walk. this isn’t a place for any typa criticism bc i am right, therefore, i am not requesting confirmation. 🙌 i said what i said. have a good night.

[dcbbw]

The Odd Couples

Hi, tumblrs! I’m back with yet another AU of one of my favorite AUs: it’s the DC gang, paired differently.  

(I know I haven’t written anything DC AU-related in a long ass five minutes, and I swear Chapter 6 of the original series is practically ready to post, just needs a deep-dive edit)  

So, this story is the product of two separate ideas: First, what if I hadn’t followed canon/fanon/personal head canons when pairing the couples up/off?  And the second idea comes from the What If episode of Friends where that gang ends up with someone different (Phoebe x Ross, Monica x Joey, Rachel x Chandler).  

Side note: Using throwback DC crew (Liam, Riley, Max, Leo, Liv, Drake, Madeleine, and Penelope). Also, check out the link to Leo’s shirt (if you make it that far). It’s the Leo-est shirt ever IMHO) 

Side Note 2: Mixing the pairings up means I have/will be writing pairings that others write/have written and are generally associated with said writer(s). While I am fully aware that no one owns ships, I realize this is a fandom and strive to be mindful of those who write rareships and respect their pairings.  

This is simply my take on my version of these characters when coupled differently in my world. 

To those who read over this story in parcels, pieces, and in whole ...THANK YOU!  

For those who do read this fic, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. 

 Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. Microsoft Editor rates this piece as 99% error free.  

I’ll be back sooner rather than later with a submission for Hana Lee Appreciation Week, an angsty Driam/Riley love triangle, and some Stormholt.  

Song Inspo: Moments We Live For (Acoustic Version), In Paradise 

Word Count:  4,099

Pairings: SGL x Olivia; Drake x Madeleine; Leo x Riley B; Max x Penelope 

Rating: M for Mature themes 

SGL x Liv 

Liam Rys tipsily followed Olivia Nervakis into the hotel room, hip-checking the door to shut it while Olivia occasionally paused her steps to turn on table lamps. Her black stiletto heels made no noise against the carpet; however, the swish of her highly starched black and white polka-dotted dress sounded scratchy in the silent room.  

“Do you have to turn on every light?” Liam complained as he fastened the deadbolt. 

“It’s not every light, and not our electric bill,” his girlfriend responded tartly as she flipped yet another switch.  

The couple was in Baltimore for the weekend, attending a costume party thrown by Liv’s employer. There had been a buffet; an open bar; and a prize for the best costume, which Liam and Olivia did not win. Carlos Santiago, a member of the Environmental Services team, and his wife and three children came costumed as The Birds and The Bees and won the prize.  

Liam and Liv were The Ricardos: Olivia’s red hair was done up in Lucy’s signature poodle hairstyle, and her dress was a dead ringer for the world’s most famous housewife’s iconic frock. He had wanted to wear a tuxedo and carry a conga drum but settled for Ricky’s purple, polka dot silk smoking jacket with shawl collar, black pants, and black velvet slippers.  

“I can’t believe we didn’t win!” Liam muttered beneath his breath as he came behind Olivia, arms encircling her waist; his palms splayed against her flat, toned stomach. She responded by leaning against him, her back pressed against his chest.  

“Don’t hate!” she admonished. “With those Korean features and Boston accent, no way were you a convincing Cuban band leader. Besides, you have to admit Carlos had a pretty creative idea.” 

“Not more creative than my SOCK GAME! I mean, Liv … you gotta admit, it’s damn good tonight!” 

He was wearing black, knee-length socks with red hearts inscribed with “I Love Lucy” scattered all over. Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation at the mention of his sock game. 

This man and his socks! Liam thought his sock game could cure cancer and bring about world peace. 

 “You’re sock game is great as it always is, darling. But it was a costume contest,” Olivia placated in a soothing tone as his fingers began removing bobby pins from her hair.  

She spun around, facing her boyfriend as her hair fell in soft curls that framed her face. Her green eyes twinkled as she pressed a quick kiss against his lips.  

“You big, spoiled baby,” she teased. “Wanna smoke, take the edge off? I brought a couple of blunts along.” 

He quickly shook his head. “No way am I going to be in BALTIMORE off some loud.” 

Olivia grabbed the lapels of Liam’s smoking jacket, pulling him closer to her. The tip of her tongue swiped his lower lip. “Makes sense,” she agreed. 

Liam pressed his palms against her ass cheeks; he sang softly in her ear as he swayed his hips against hers.  

And life is heaven, you see  'Cause I love Lucy, yes  I love Lucy  And Lucy  Loves me! 

“My name’s Liv”, Olivia corrected with a giggle as she gently wriggled out of Liam’s embrace. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed,” she urged as she headed for the bathroom.  

Liam stuck out his tongue at her retreating back before glancing around the room. It was a typical hotel room, nothing really standing out or making it different from any other room. 

The door that led to the balcony was all glass with a brass doorknob; the hotel promised a 360◦ view of the city’s famed Harbor from the patio. The couple planned to have breakfast there in the morning. 

There was a workstation; a large, wall-mounted television; coffee maker and microwave; and the bed: queen-sized, four-poster, and centered against the back wall.  

His eyes widened when he saw the wall to the side of the bed. It was covered floor to ceiling, and side to side with a … mirror.  

Well, that was different.  

Liam approached the bed, kicking off his slippers as he went; he stared curiously at his reflection before climbing atop the bed and resting on his haunches. He then lay on his back, turning his head to continue staring at his reflection.  

He impatiently pushed his hair off his forehead before rolling over onto his stomach; pressing his palms against the bedcovers, Liam pushed himself up with his arms, still watching himself. He imagined Liv beneath him, her pale legs scissored across his back as they watched themselves. 

This could be fun.  

“LIVVY!” he yelled excitedly over the sound of water running in the sink. “There’s a MIRROR! On the WALL! By the BED!” 

The water turned off; Olivia sauntered into the room; her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, damp ends of her hair curling, and wearing a red lace bra with matching panties. A sultry smirk curved her lips.  

 Liam caught sight of her in the mirror’s reflection, and visibly gulped. Liv only wore matching underwear when they were going to have sex.  

“Ai yi yi yi”, he muttered as he bounded off the bed and hastily divested himself of the smoking jacket.  

Olivia was now standing directly in front of Liam; after guiding him to the other side of the bed, directly against the wall so he could see them both in the mirror, her red-tipped fingernails trailed a path from his throat to his belt buckle before unfastening the belt. She slid to her knees, pulling the pants zipper down with her teeth. Her eyes looked up at Liam.  

“Care to hear me do some ‘splaining?” she purred as her hand reached inside the opening and pulled his cock out.  

Liam never answered; he was too busy staring at Liv’s reflection as her mouth swallowed his manhood. 

Drake x Madeleine 

“Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue,” Madeleine demanded.  

Drake’s chocolate brown eyes stared up at her before raking over her body, his gaze settling on her chest. “Take off your shirt,” he countered.  

Madeleine exhaled a frustrated sigh that fluttered her bangs as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Damnit, Drake! You’re sick, and I need to take your temperature to make sure the meds are working.” 

Quickly covering his mouth, Drake Walker let out a series of deep, wet coughs that rattled the congestion in his chest.  

“They aren't”, he rasped as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Tits would help. For sure.” 

With a horrified look, Madeleine hastily grabbed and thrusted a bottle of hand sanitizer in his face. “WIPE!” 

Rolling his eyes, Drake took the bottle; he then complied with his girlfriend’s first request. He slathered the disinfectant over his hands while Madeleine inserted a thermometer under his tongue.  

His temperature was 102◦; two degrees lower than it had been three hours ago. Uneasy relief washed over Madeleine’s features.  

“You should take the meds on a full stomach. You hungry?” 

Drake turned onto his side, adjusting the pillows beneath his head as he did so. “Not really, but we both know you’re gonna harp on it until I give in. I think I have some canned soup in one of the kitchen cabinets.” 

Madeleine nodded absently as she stepped into the bathroom to run the instrument under hot water in an attempt to kill the cooties her boyfriend more than likely transferred onto it. She heard Drake’s question when she turned the water off. 

“When are you giving up that broom closet you’re living in to move in with me?” 

“Don’t start,” Madeleine warned with a shake of her head as she re-entered the bedroom.  

“Start what? You’re paying $1300 a month to RENT A ROOM! You could move in here with me and pay HALF that and it would be a whole ass apartment! You could start saving, pay down that credit card debt of yours …” 

“I prefer to have my own, Drake!” 

Madeleine’s boyfriend rolled his eyes. “You HAVE your own RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!  Clothes! Shoes! Makeup! Oat milk! And if we’re talking preferences, I prefer to wake up with you in my bed every morning. I prefer to glare and glower at you from across the room when we argue instead of sitting on the phone in awkward silence. I prefer to not have to wait for make-up sex!” 

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the carpet. Her green eyes peeked up to sneak a glance at Drake, whose bleary eyes stared at her with a mixture of frustration and hopefulness. His fingers idly played in his chest hair. 

“Why won’t you just accept this greatness?” he huffed accusingly.  

Madeleine rolled her eyes in a here we go again way. 

She and Drake were in love with each other. They were the odd couple of the group: The WASP and the Blue-Collar Worker, but they fit each other like a glove. Most of the time.  

Cohabitation should have been the next logical step in their relationship. 

Madeleine found it nice to come to his U Street apartment after work and find him cooking them dinner while she mixed killer cocktails to help them unwind from their day.  

Or for her to be the first one awake and cook them breakfast, making sure to prepare the thick-cut bacon he liked, and brew the dark-roast coffee that was his favorite before sharing morning-breath kisses. 

Drake making sure Madeleine had the apricot and cream body wash that cost a small fortune, and high thread count Egyptian cotton towels she insisted upon for her showers. 

While their relationship was highly sexual, it was not sexually based. There were debates and discussions covering a gambit from international events and politics to cooking meats with mustard. The only thing they could never agree on was music: Madeleine was a Swiftie, and Drake was 70s rock and country. They shared a love of exercise and the outdoors; weekends usually found them taking day trips to Shenandoah to hike the trails, snacking on the beef jerky Drake loved and Madeleine tolerated. 

But people broke up all the time … over the most minute and ridiculous things. And Madeleine knew she could be an anal-retentive pill most of the time. She wasn’t going to be heartbroken and house hunting if things went south with Drake.  

Madeleine had been instilled from an early age that God blessed the child that had their own. 

“I’m not going to be that chick if we don’t work out," she stated in a small but firm voice as she sat at the foot of the bed; close enough to show support and comfort, far enough away to maybe being in a germ-free zone.  

“You’re saying that after I just asked you to move in with me for the 100th time?” Drake huffed before another coughing fit overtook him.  

While Drake hacked up a lung, Madeleine looked around the bedroom, wondering if he had any masks around. The couple locked eyes briefly, chocolate fastened on emerald. 

 “You could dump me at Target or something!” she countered as she alternated between awkwardly patting his back and scooting further away from him. 

When the coughing subsided, Drake pointed to the nightstand on Madeleine’s side of the bed.  

“Masks. Bottom drawer.” 

Drake knew her. 

“As for dumping you, you don’t shop at Target; it’d have to be Macy’s.” 

So well.  

Leo x Riley B. 

Leo Rys hefted an oversized, too-full sriracha red snapper taco in both hands before greedily biting into it. He let out a low grunt of satisfaction as flavors and spices exploded over his tongue and crumbles of taco shell fell onto his plate.  

Saturday afternoons couldn’t get much better than this: wearing his most comfortable shirt; hanging with his girlfriend Riley Brooks, who was his favorite person in the world; and lunch at his new favorite eatery, Tia Maria Tacos. Bonus: they had scored an upstairs window booth that overlooked the Potomac River. 

Normally for the pair, Saturdays were for sleeping in and being lazy; 24 hours of partial nudity and horizontal positions suited them just fine after clocking out of work on a Friday afternoon. Especially if they had worked a full week.  

But Riley had been in a funk lately; she had been to five job interviews over the past month; good interviews, where she had been a top-two contender. However, that hadn’t been good enough. Riley had been passed over every time, for each job.  

Requests for feedback had not been helpful; hiring managers told her they couldn’t go wrong regardless of who they chose for the position. Riley’s ego was bruised, her esteem low. Despite her having a job that she had worked for the past 10 years ... a job she did damn well ... she was now comparing herself to Penelope, for Chrissakes.  

Leo knew he had to do something, so he planned Date Day.  

They began at Lincoln’s Waffle House for breakfast followed by a couples’ massage in Cleveland Park. Riley wanted to visit a tarot shop; Leo was agreeable. They both got readings, and she purchased a deck of tarot cards along with a strand of chakra beads.  

From there they went to Georgetown, navigating the crowds and perusing shops. A French bakery was offering a European tea meal; Riley looked at Leo with hopeful eyes that quickly filled with dismay at his emphatic refusal. An hour later, laden with bags from a vintage clothing shop, a sex store, and a spice-filled storefront, they decided they were hungry; Leo suggested tacos.  

He took a long swallow from his bottle of beer, his gaze fixed on Riley who had a plate filled key lime shrimp, Korean BBQ, and spicy chicken tacos, along with a serving of nacho fries. She felt his gaze and looked up to smile at him before taking a healthy bite of the shrimp taco. 

Her eyes widened with surprise before closing in bliss. 

“Hmmmmmm, this is soooooo good, Leo! I mean, it ain’t Chinese food but still like, hella good! Thank you for suggesting this place!” she said around a mouthful of food.  

“Anytime, boo,” he replied with a wink as he reached into her plate for fries covered in nacho cheese and seasoned ground beef.  

“And thank you for cheering me up today. It’s the reminder I needed that the Universe is just doing what it does, and all those hiring managers are just bitches and heifers.” 

Leo dragged his fork through seasoned beans and rice. “They weren’t the jobs for you,” he assured her.  “YOU are smart, funny, kind, and the greatest asset any person or job can have, and the right organization will recognize that. Not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous, and do you have any idea how hot you are?” 

Riley bit into the spicy chicken taco, and quickly took a sip of her Sierra Mist with lemon. She nodded at Leo. “How hot I am? Yeah, I know ...  and the answer is not very.” 

Leo chuckled as he shook his head. This woman.  

He and Riley were the couple that were never supposed to be. Both had had extremely bad luck with love, resulting in deeply rooted trust issues; the issues were more prevalent on Riley’s end than Leo’s.  

They were both ambiverts, which loosely translated meant that there was no guarantee that plans made at 10am would still be in effect at 5pm. And you couldn’t be angry about it. 

Physically, neither was the other’s type. Leo was a touch too lanky and fit for the buxom Riley; for Leo, Riley had a few too many inches in height, and was a tad curvier than he was used to. They met via Tinder, and it was supposed to be a one-night stand. 

But their chemistry was off the charts.  

But the sex was too good.  

But their pillow talk left them curious to know more about each other while fully clothed.  

Long story short … she kept him wild, and he kept her safe.  

Before Leo could reassure his girlfriend that she was indeed VERY hot, her eyes trained on someone at a table near the back wall; they narrowed in anger as she tossed her food onto her plate while muttering, “What the actual FUCK?” 

Leo looked around puzzled, wondering WHO happened. Because with Riley, it was never a what.  If he could change two things about his woman, it would be her incredible grudge-holding talents and her penchant for public confrontation.  

Only one table in the far corner was occupied.  A Latina, facing them, was excitedly showing off one of her purchases to her male companion; Leo squinted, determining that the girl was proudly displaying a pair of earrings.  

He swung back around, a look of confusion on his face. “Who are we hating on here?” 

Riley dramatically pointed her index finger at the Latina. “HER! She told me I was a SHOO-IN for that freaking job!! AND THEN WENT WITH SOMEONE ELSE!” 

Leo looked even more confused. “Which job? There were five of them!” 

Riley didn’t answer. She was too busy scowling at the woman across the room while alternating between shaking her fist and making symbols with her fingers.  

“Babe, what are you doing?”  

“Throwing gang signs!” 

“DC DOESN’T HAVE GANGS!” Leo argued. 

“IT DOES NOW!!” 

So much for a peaceful outing and letting the Universe do its thing. 

Maxwell x Penelope 

 “I cannot believe you right now, Pen!” Maxwell Beaumont seethed as he rubbed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.  

The Communications and Marketing Director inhaled and exhaled deeply, slowly. It was rare that anyone or anything upset Maxwell, much less angered him; but if anyone could knock him off his equilibrium, for certain it was his girlfriend, Penelope.  

His girlfriend stared at him with her wide, pansy-blue eyes before quickly licking her pink-glossed lips. She ran slender, pale fingers through her black hair, then tightened the belt of her pink silk robe. Penelope outstretched her arm, her fingertips grazing the fabric of her boyfriend’s shirt; at his look of frustrated rage, she quickly pulled her hand back.   

“Max,” she began in her breathy voice, “I know you’re upset with me, but I HAD to leave that godawful job! The commute sucked and who knew data entry was so … exacting? It’s a miracle I lasted as long as I did!” 

By the time she finished her explanation, her hands were gesticulating wildly about, and her tone of voice had become a shriek.  

Maxwell turned his back on Penelope to go into their kitchen; still hot Italian food sat on the stove, wrapped in plastic bags. He hollered at her while he began unpacking what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner for Penelope’s new job.  

“IT WAS A TELEWORK POSITION! That you were LATE for BOTH DAYS you worked! And it was MAIL MERGE, NOT DATA ENTRY!” He turned to glare daggers at her. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you put forth entirely ZERO effort into at least TRYING to become a member of the working class, or that you lied to me the entire week about still having the damn job!” 

An angry retort sprang to her lips; Penelope debated continuing the argument but thought better of it.  She had known the lie would catch up with her, but she had been hoping it would have been after the dinner. Carmine’s had the most amazing food, and Penelope was in love with their broiled Lobster Oreganata, Porterhouse Pizzaiola, and pasta with meatballs and sausage.  

With Maxwell’s back facing her, Penelope quietly tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to neither be seen nor heard. She peered over her potentially ex-boyfriend's shoulder, salivating at the sight and smells of containers filled with pastas, meats, and sauces.  

Maxwell felt his girlfriend’s eyes on him and exhaled a silent breath. He should have known from their first meeting that Penelope was not relationship material.  

They met at 9:30am on the elevator at the office building Max worked in; it was Penelope’s first day at a company occupying the entire third floor. At 11am, Max was back on the elevator hellbent on a Starbucks run; the elevator stopped at the third floor and Penelope entered, her blue eyes filled with tears.  

She had been let go from her new job in less than 90 minutes. 

Max was a sucker for a damsel in distress. He dried Penelope’s tears, treated her to a coffee, and offered to take her out on a date. That had been over two years ago, and if the woman had worked a cumulative 40-hour work week since, he knew nothing about it.  

He had asked the gang if their companies were hiring; Liam laughed so hard, his drink came out of his nose. Riley, who worked with Max, rolled her eyes as she muttered, “You already know.” Everyone else shook their heads vigorously. 

For a brief period, he had even let her be a stay-at-home girlfriend, but that definitely didn’t work out; Penelope couldn’t cook and had no concept of housekeeping. He had to pull from his savings to replace his wardrobe when she tossed his lights, darks and half a bottle of bleach into the washing machine. She was asleep when he left for work, and asleep when he returned home.  

Irresponsible was too inadequate of a word to describe his girlfriend. She was a money pit in addition to being careless, thoughtless, and an emotional vampire. 

But Maxwell Beaumont loved Penelope Ebrim. She could be sweet, buying him small gifts that brought a smile to his face. She mixed mean cocktails, had a killer sense of humor, and was a terrific dancer. She just needed to find her way.  

Apparently, God had chosen Max to help her do so.  

“Pen, you have GOT to find and keep a job!” Max stated in a firm tone that brooked no argument as he prepared her a plate of lobster, pasta with garlic and oil, and shrimp parmigiana.  

When Penelope saw Maxwell piling a plate with Italian yumminess, she had moved to the cabinets to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was setting them on the dinette table as she debated coming clean in her reply. 

“I may have found something; I’m supposed to have an interview Monday.” 

Max set the serving spoon down as be swung his head to look at his girlfriend in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” 

“I was waiting until afterwards so I could surprise you!” Penelope crowed happily.  

“Well, where? With who?” Max’s smile covered his entire face as he resumed plating food. 

Maybe things were looking up.  

Penelope expertly removed the wine bottle’s cork and began pouring sparkling merlot into the glasses.  

“The interview is at The Greene Turtle, and it’s with a temp agency called Daddy’s Little Girl. Basically, I would be having lunches and meetings at hotels with older men for an hourly rate.” 

Maxwell had plates in both hands, which he slowly lowered onto the kitchen counter; his every movement displayed his disbelief. There was no way his girlfriend had applied for a job as an escort.  

No.Way.  

“You’re going to be a prostitute?” he choked out.  

Penelope had just taken her seat. She looked up at Maxwell in horror at his words.  

“NO!! Why would you say THAT?  How could you even THINK THAT of me??’ It’s like lunch meetings or something!” 

“NAKED LUNCH! Pen, NO ONE is paying a woman … a PRETTY WOMAN … to just “have lunch”!! And meetings in HOTEL ROOMS? What the ACTUAL fuck?” 

“It’s working lunches, sometimes dinners, with out-of-town business entrepreneurs who need someone to take dictation!” 

Max’s face dropped into his open palm.  

“The going rate is $150 an hour! I was told with my looks and appearance, I could be in huge demand,” Penelope argued.  

“WHEN DID THEY SEE YOU?” Max yelled as he threateningly shook a plastic spatula in Penelope’s direction. 

“I saw the ad on Craigslist and called the number in the listing, then did a Zoom with the manager.” 

Maxwell Beaumont stared at his girlfriend for a long, silent moment before exiting the kitchen and heading for their bedroom.  

“MAX! Where are you going??” 

“To have a talk with God.” 

Penelope stared at his retreating back with a furrowed brow before shrugging and rising to fetch her dinner.  

“Tell Him I said heyyyy.” 

Max’s response was to slam the bedroom door. 

Tagging: @ao719 @jared2612 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @mom2000aggie @liamxs-world @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @beezm @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @gardeningourmet @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @lovingchoices14 @lady-calypso @walkerdrakewalker @queenjilian @kristinamae093 @choicesficwriterscreations