#is this parrot guy an enemy or a friend

[deliciousobservationbird]

Of all the random headcanons I have I think the funniest is that after being away from Hermitcraft for so long, Welsknight wakes up in inactivity-limbo and Vort3xdragon is just there.

Wels is all 'this is Not season 9. Hmmmm' and just gets a heart attack from hearing 'Yo, wassup dawg' in the world's most chill teenager drawl ever. I think Vort3x would occasionally trauma dump late at limbo-night but Wels couldn't ever figure out if he was fucking with him or not. Wels brings up Moon Big and Vort3x is completely nonplussed "Huh, cool story bro. How did you use it in your trap?" and Wels is just going ??? where did he get trapping and killing from 'Moon Big'?

[macfrog]

backspin | bbf!frankie

surprise! we're taking a quick detour to fuck around with our brother's best friend again. what else is new.

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x fem!reader summary: you try to get even with frankie. it works. warnings: reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, enemies to lovers, mention of throwing up, alcohol consumption, cursing, oral, more dickhead frankie and more sassy reader word count: 6.3k

part one: rack 'em | main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💙

So, you fucked around with Frankie.

It’s no big deal, right? It was just a one-time thing. There was tension, you guys relieved it. Scratched an itch. Served a purpose. You still fucking hate the guy, and he still fucking hates you.

Nothing’s changed.

Right?

Mal sprays wine all over the kitchen table when you tell her. Gargles a, Sorry – fuck – sorry, through what little of the alcohol is left in her mouth.

You wipe your face clean in the crook of your elbow. It’s in your fucking eyelashes. You blink the room back into focus, and – “Jesus, Mal!”

Dark droplets teeter around the edge of the table, threatening to plunge straight down onto your mom’s chair cushions – thus damning you to her very own personal hell for all eternity. You can feel the flames licking at your feet already.

Your best friend rips a sheet of paper towel and drags it over the wood – white bleeding violet at the first swipe. “Why’d you tell me as I was taking a sip?”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking hose me down,” you hiss, taking the soaked crumple from her hands.

“You didn’t think I’d be a little surprised that you and Catfish Morales hooked up? Are you fucking ser–? Actually, you know what? I’m not that surprised.”

You glare at her from the sink, upper lip curled.

Mallory Bennett has been privy to your every thought since you were six years old. Hand in hand, arms swinging as you marched into first grade together.

Most days, you barely have to open your mouth – one flinching expression, one flash of eye contact, and she can parrot your own thoughts back to you.

Francisco Morales going down on you two nights ago is the first thing you’ve ever had to confess to her. It’s the first thing she never saw coming.

“Shut up,” you breathe, eventually thawing and sweeping over to your chair. The table sticks to your arms when you sit back down.

“There’s a lot to unpack there, alright? A lot of tension. I mean, you gotta fuckin’ feel it. You two hate each other’s guts! And you’re both single, and you’re only here for two weeks. And – he’s Santi’s best friend. It’s just…it’s the perfect storm.”

Another exasperated sigh passes your lips. You settle back, eyes closed, and lift your palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“You wouldn’t’ve told me if you didn’t wanna talk about it. Was he good?”

“Mal.”

“Was he?”

“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.” Her face screws up; the gold hoops wobble from her ears. “Like hell you don’t remember. Tell me.”

Your eyes slip from her over to Ange. The old pup pushes herself to her feet with a huff, her joints stiff and bones frail. She moseys over to your side. You scratch the back of the dog’s neck, shrugging to Mal.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way to a free round of drinks, I’d remember enough to share.”

“Fuck you,” she snorts, voice rounded by her wine glass. “Maybe that just means you gotta do it again – sober.”

You scoff.

Angie looks up at you – watery eyes blinking, tail slowly fanning.

Mal’s already recounting the time Frankie snitched on the two of you for raiding your mom’s makeup bag. She waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging.

Do it again. The thought actually makes you want to laugh.

You and Frankie – you and Catfish, hooking up again. As if the first time wasn’t a total mishap, the biggest mistake in judgement you think you’ve ever made.

He drove you home, he made you come, he left.

One nil, right? You have one up on him. You got yours, and he probably went home and jerked off to the thought of it. Alone in his room, tongue licking at the corners of his mouth where he could still taste your release.

You won.

You won, against Frankie Morales.

“…and then fuckin’ – Pope tried to help us tidy it up, remember? He was scrubbing the hell outta the lipstick on the mirror. But that asshole – Frankie,” she seethes, “he went downstairs as soon as your mom came home. As soon as she…And he fucking ratted!”

She growls, balls her fists. Screws her eyes tight shut like the enraged eight-year-old she was back then. She still has the same little crease between her brows. “What the hell got into you that night? We hate him, junior!”

Ange slumps to the floor with a sigh.

“Me too, girl,” you mutter to her, twirling the base of your glass. You look back up at the crazed woman opposite. “I don’t know,” you insist. “I was drunk, we were on our own…It just happened, alright?”

Her shoulders roll in a shrug. She lifts her glass to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim, purple wine spilling in a swirl. “Maybe it’s the start of something.”

You scoff. “Mal. Come on.”

“I’m serious. Perfect storm.”

“Nope. No storm. Stop that.”

She jabs a tipsy finger in your direction. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you messed around with your arch fucking menesis– arch fucking…with – with Frankie, and you just – still feel nothing for him?”

“No,” you admit, “I feel plenty for him. I hate his fucking guts. I used to wish every birthday that he’d disappear. One time in church, when Father Joseph told everybody to bow their heads ‘n pray, I actually asked God to kill him for me.”

“Not Father Joseph!” Mal shrieks, grinning. “He was so fucking hot, by the way, for a dude with no hair. When the sunlight caught that cueball just right…that was a real fucking miracle. Goddamn.”

You bat her snicker away. “Me and Frankie used to brawl so bad that our moms had to separate us,” you continue. “I had to sit in the front seat if we drove anywhere – and that still didn’t stop him! He’d reach around the headrest and flick my fucking ear.”

“You gave as good as you got, though. I’m surprised he can even still get hard, the number of times your foot…” She swings her leg and kicks your thigh softly. “He was an ass, I know.”

“He was an ass then, he’s still an ass now. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” Mal concedes. Her dark, glossy hair surfs around the lip of her wine glass when she leans in. “But you wouldn’t’ve told me unless it was still on your mind. ‘s all I’m saying.”

You throw yourself back with a quick, angry shake of your head. Your tongue flicks over your top lip.

“All I’m saying,” she repeats, holding her hands up.

But I won, you think – in a petulant little whine. Like you could shake your fists and stamp your feet at the same time. You got one up on him. He – he made you…

He made you come. He saw you. Felt you. Tasted you.

He knows what you sound like, whimpering his fucking name. Drunk on him, begging him not to stop. And now, the image of him fisting his cock over the memory of it feels less like a victory, and more like –

Another fucking loss.

You have no idea what he looks like, coming undone. No clue what his fragmented moans sound like as they tear from the bottom of his throat and rain down over you. You don’t know the weight of him in your hands, the wet slip of his tip as he leaks over your tongue.

Mal’s onto something new. Taken by a Facebook post from some girl you went to high school with. Biggest head I ever saw on a fucking baby, she mutters, wincing and then sprinkling a handful of salted peanuts on her tongue.

Frankie’s cocky smirk clouds over the sight of her at the opposite end of your kitchen table.

Francisco fucking Morales. The asshole wins again.

All at once, you hear his rotten little jeers in your ear – curbed painfully by his middle finger searing across your lobe. You feel his heavy palm on your skull, fingers scrunching roughly into your scalp.

A temper boils between your ears, heavy over your head. It feels juvenile, as if it’s armed with a Barbie in one fist and a juice box in the other. Sunken and wallowing in shame and rage, red-hot waves which wash over you as Mal cackles at some video on her phone.

You feel Frankie’s hands around your legs; the flicks of his hair tickling the inside of your thighs. The swarm of butterflies deep in your belly as you watched his figure swagger back across the street to his truck.

Loss after loss after loss. Each one wearing a satisfied smirk and a Standard Oil baseball cap.

Each one staining deeper than red wine in varnished oak.

You grit your teeth.

Frankie –

fucking –

Morales.

Santi floats the idea of a barbecue. Because of course he fucking does.

He says his place is too small, too many neighbors in earshot – and as long as Ms. Teller takes both hearing aids out, she won’t even know it’s happening.

“Just the guys ‘n us,” he chirps. “You, me, Will, Benny…Fran-kie…?”

You gag down the line. Body instinct whenever his name is mentioned, worsened by the latest developments in your relations. Ange glances up from her spot beneath the oak tree – her milky fur stark against the velvet green grass.

Santi chokes on a laugh. “Mal, too, if that helps with the Catfish thing.”

You lean the phone on your collarbone, sitting forward to apply a second coat of polish to your toes. The red gloss shines in the early morning light. “He is not welcome in my house.”

“First off: not your house. Second –”

“My house for the next eleven days.”

He says your name flatly. It sounds like a door being slammed. It shuts you up as though you’re nine again. “…Second: he won’t be in the house. He’ll be in the backyard.”

“You owe me,” you protest. “For ditching me the other night. I’m cashing in, Santiago. You want a cookout? No Frankie.”

Your brother sighs. “And how am I supposed to explain that to him, hermana?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Santi mutters something incoherent, though you know from the razor-sharp tone of voice that it’s no compliment. Still – he’s a man of his word.

Eventually he agrees: no Frankie at the barbecue.

The store is chilly, plucking goosebumps along your arms.

You round the aisles, scanning your list. You’ve been battling with a janky front wheel which has squealed and veered off-course at every fucking turn. It almost mowed over an elderly woman in the meat aisle.

You’ve cleared most of what Santi told you to get. Drinks, ice, buns, meat, corn on the cob. He wanted to use Mom’s dinner plates – but that, you countered, runs the risk of them being scraped, chipped, or worst of all, smashed.

That’s not a risk you’re willing to take. So you’ve piled in some paper plates and plastic cutlery, too – just to be on the safe side.

The cashier cuts a familiar figure at the checkout: her navy apron and full-cheek grin. She’s a staple sight from your childhood – a pair of dimples and sweet giggle trailing after you as you’d follow your mom’s skirt back out to the parking lot.

Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands when she notices you approaching. “Well, would you look who it is?” she sings.

“Hey, Pol,” you say, fanning yourself with your scrawled shopping list. “How you doing?”

The belt jolts your supplies closer to her bejeweled fingers.

“Same as always, honey. Rockin’ and rollin’. What brings you back to town?”

“Housesitting, dog-sitting…Santi-sitting. Mom and Dad are on a cruise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding. “She told me last week. Caribbean, right?”

You nod, sucking a deep, unenthused breath in.

Pol hums, smiling to herself as she clicks the barcode for your hotdogs into her computer. She begins telling you what her granddaughter thinks of second grade – her two times table and the tadpoles they’re keeping in class.

Your eyes sweep around the store as she chats. Everything looks the way it always did, a time capsule from the nineties. Speckled floor and fluorescent lights; placards hanging overhead which sway each time the great glass doors pull open.

Baskets of fruit and veg lined alongside a lawn set on offer. Beside that, heaps of flowers and stacked planters. Beside those, a discarded shopping cart. And beside that –

Frankie fucking Morales.

Well – the silhouette of him. It’s pretty bright outside. But you’d recognize the outline of that dumb baseball cap anywhere. He’s talking to one of the assistants.

You hand Pol the cash Santiago gave you, and she trades it for a receipt. Dumping your bags back into your cart, you nod to her in thanks and stalk off towards the sliding doors.

Frankie tosses and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hand. The assistant is telling him about some big college football game.

Your grip tightens on the janky-wheeled cart. You feel your skin begin to heat; prickling all over your arms, flushing down between your shoulder blades. Gathering somewhere south of there.

But you walk by him with purpose, choosing to ignore that warm feeling. Choosing to ignore…him.

He doesn’t turn. Thankfully.

The doors grant you exit and you give your cart one good shove across the threshold, back out into blinding daylight and sticky heat.

“Alright, man,” Frankie’s voice calls from behind. “Good talkin’ to ya.”

You nail your eye on the car. It’s, like, fifteen paces. You can make it fifteen steps without having to deal with him, right? If you take longer strides, it’s probably more like ten.

Ten steps, and then you’re in the sanctuary of your car. You don’t have to see, speak to, or deal with him.

So why are you slowing down?

You’re slowing down. You are. You’re borderline fucking loitering. Quietly hoping he’ll notice, catch up, maybe talk to –

You click the unlock button. The car beeps in response.

Five steps out. The front wheel is rattling. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

Four.

Three.

The wheel spins, flitting like a confused compass needle, and stops dead in the opposite direction. The cart hurtles out of your grip for less than a second before you recover it and haul it close to your car, cursing under your breath.

But a force – stronger, steadier – reaches around your body and takes hold of the thing. It guides it back to course. A force which, when it speaks, sounds a shit ton like –

“Woah, lil Santi,” Frankie mutters, and your chest leaps.

You freeze in your tracks. His weight is still around your back. He’s right fucking there, when you turn to look.

The brim of his cap bumps against your head. He steps back with a smirk on his face. He’s so fucking smug, you could slap him. “You tryna cause a goddamn accident with that thing?”

You pull a disingenuous smile. “Hey, Fish. Ever tried minding your own business?”

He feigns a wounded sound and clutches his chest. “Ouch. I’m just looking out for ya.”

“Feels more like you’re pestering me.” You pull on the door handle and slot the first bag along the backseat.

Frankie lifts his chin, peering in at the contents. The star-spangled plated, the dripping bags of ice. “Having a party?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You yank the bag from his sight, spinning to push it alongside the others. “Nope.”

He crosses his arms. “Sure looks like you’re having one.”

“Well, I’m not.” You slam the door and turn back to him, staring blankly.

“Forgot,” he sniffs, “you need friends to have a party.”

“Hilarious. Those shit jokes how you make all your friends?”

He nods, impressed. Pouts his lips like an annoying little fish. Suits his stupid fucking nickname. “Then why’d Benny call ‘n ask if I’ll be at Pope’s parents’ tonight?”

Shit. Fucking – Benny.

You sigh, eyes rolling closed. Your fingers massage your temples. “It’s not…it’s…”

“Cookout, right? Yeah. That stings, baby. No call, no text. You owe me, remember?”

“I owe you jack sh–”

“Two drinks,” Frankie clips, holding a finger up to shush you. “Three, if you count saving your car from one hell of a scratch.”

“Fuck off,” you breathe, and then give voice to, “It’s a small gathering of friends, and – now you, apparently.”

He sways forward, bumping the cart into your hip. “You need me to bring anything?”

You heave it straight back at him, hopefully hard enough to bruise. “Tranquilizer gun, if you’ve got one.”

“Can get something even stronger, if it’s a party you’re after.”

Your eyes thin. “Wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite for much longer if she found out you were doing coke in her backyard.”

Frankie smiles. That trademark Catfish grin. “I’ve done worse in her kitchen, baby.”

He’s so goddamn cocky. So full of it, it makes you want to scream. He studies you, eyes shadowed by his cap. His hair flicks out around his ears, dark curls doused in golden sunlight.

When your eyes trace the shape of his jaw, the wiry hair above his top lip – the faint flicker of a memory glows across your skin.

The weight of his hand on your stomach, pinning you to the bed. The bristling feeling ghosting the inside of your thighs. Your desperate wet, his tongue covering ground across your body like claiming territory.

Every shade of wrong. Ignoring every atom in your body – betraying every version of yourself for ten minutes of euphoria. He brought every numb nerve under your skin to attention, the second he knelt between your knees.

But he’s looking at you now, the same way he did the other night. It’s boyish and dangerous. A naked match just waiting to fall.

Maybe you’re waiting for an excuse to drop it.

Frankie gives his cap a quick tug, and makes off for his truck.

“See you at seven, Garcia.”

Daylight melts into dusk and with it, goes the sharp sting of summer. A pale blue rolls across the horizon, covering the yard in a hazy sort of chill. A relieving breeze, like satin over newly burned skin.

You’re still fucking sweating.

“Are you going to help me, or you just gonna lie there and text your girlfriend?” you call across the yard.

The dark figure spilling over the edge of the hammock grunts in response.

“Santi.”

Your brother groans, rolling free from the marigold fabric. He strides across the lawn, swinging an arm down to ruffle Ange’s ears. “Not a girlfriend,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “She’s…she’s more of a…”

You lift your hand. “Not something I need to know.”

He laughs and looks at the spread on the table. He lifts the corner of a tricolor napkin, straightens a plastic fork. The foil over the hamburger buns crinkles. “We did a good job. Looks great.”

“We?” You scoff, slapping his wrist away. “Yeah, me and the fucking dog, more like.”

“How much did it all come to? The food and shit?”

You shrug. “Like, forty dollars. I don’t know.”

“Gave you sixty. Where’s my change?”

You frown, hands on your hips. “If you don’t know how to budget properly, that’s not my problem.”

“And if you don’t know when to just lie and say you spent it all, that’s not mine. Twenty bucks, kid.” He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning.

The squeal of the gate interrupts, followed by a barrage of voices. Will and Benny and Mal and – as you lean back to watch them parade through the yard, you spot the figure of Frankie at their heels.

“Pope?” Will calls. “Pope, do me a favor. Remind me which one of us threw up at Busch Gardens that one time. Remember – right after we rode Gwazi?”

Santiago chuckles. “I remember Mallory wearing her raspberry slushie.”

Will guffaws in Mal’s face.

“I spit up!” she protests. “I spit up in a flowerbed. I was not wearing my slushie.”

“You were fluorescent pink the whole day,” Will says. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “You remember, lil Santi?”

You frown. Yeah, you fucking remember.

You remember being forced to sit between Frankie and Mal the entire way home. Santiago got dibs on the front seat by pretending he was carsick, and Mal had to sit by an open window so she didn’t stink your dad’s car out with all her raspberry-flavored puke.

You and Frankie bickered the whole journey. Both absolutely certain that the other was leaning too far over your seats. Your dad vowed he’d never let you both in his car at the same time, ever again.

“Mhm,” you grit, shooting daggers at your best friend.

She mouths a Sorry, and then places her salad bowl in the middle of the table. “Enough about throwing up. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

The boys spend twenty minutes arguing over how the barbecue works, before a single bit of food is cooked. You and Mal watch from the table, sneaking Ange slices of cheese and giggling when Will and Benny break into their fifth argument of the night.

Santi and Frankie take charge, shoving the brothers out of the way.

Pope passes over the meat, while Frankie mans the grill. He lifts his cap and wipes his brow with his bicep, giving his head a shake as he flips burgers and turns sausages.

And no, you’re not watching him. You’re focused on Mal and her story about some guy from work. Or – it might be a guy from her yoga class. The instructor, maybe? You’re not sure. Frankie just flapped the collar of his shirt and the hem lifted, exposing a sliver of his tummy.

You’re not watching him, though.

He runs his tongue along his top lip, focusing on the sizzle and spatter of the grill. His arm tenses, turning the tongs over and over. Wide shoulders stretch when he reaches for a plate.

He’s laughing quietly at whatever Santi’s babbling about at his side. His eyes are stuck on the barbecue in front of him. His fingers twirl around the tongs again. He never looked so lean and so broad and so fucking different, all at once.

Weird different. Good different?

You feel your cheeks flush with heat. This time, it’s not so much anger, as it is –

Oh, shit.

Mal gets up for a refill at the same time Santiago jogs inside to grab more meat. You and Frankie are alone on the patio – Will and Benny are kicking a ball for Ange to chase on the grass.

Morales turns, and you instantly stare down at your beer. You take a forceful swig as he approaches.

“Hotdog?” he asks, holding a plate down to you.

“Huh?”

He glares at you and scoffs. “Are you dumb? Hotdog.” He slips it onto the table in front of you.

You squint at the grill marks, and then squint up at Frankie. Puzzled and…offended, at the same time. You come back to your body with a jolt. “Why the hell are you–? Have you laced it with something?”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, tongue between his teeth. “No, I haven’t fucking laced it with anything. I just figured you should have the first one, since you put all this on for us. But – Jesus, give me it.”

Your fingers lock around the paper plate when he tries to steal it back. For all that he’s a dick and might actually try to poison you – you’re fucking starving.

You figure you can stomach the poison.

Frankie sighs. He lets go. “I’m tryna be nice, alright? You know nice?”

“I know nice. You’re not it.”

“Shut up and eat your hotdog, lil Santi.”

You mimic him in a squeak as he strolls off, shaking his head. Still, the second he’s back at the grill, you rip into the hotdog.

Frankie stays at the opposite end of the table for the entire meal – closest seat to the barbecue, and furthest seat from you. There’s too much chatter, too much hilarity being thrown back and forth between you for either of you to kick up a row.

Probably better for the guys’ sakes, but – you want to fucking row.

It’s like a hit, now. A rush of electricity, any time Frankie looks at you for longer than it takes his face to twist into a grimace. You’re hunting for ways to ignite something – anything. Looking for an excuse to drop that naked match and set the whole thing alight.

Because it’s fun, when you’re in the heat of it. Feeling his eyes on you, as hot and angry as flames. Being suffocated by the smoke of it all; breathing in less and less air and more…him.

And, anyway – who knows you better than the one person who pisses you off the most?

As the sun is snuffed by the heavy hand of dusk, you disappear to a quieter corner of the yard. Tucked between two thick beech trees, you throw yourself into the hammock – one leg draped over the side, swinging idly through the night air.

A beer bottle balanced on your tummy, the round base seeping a chilled ring into your shirt. The swish of leaves overhead and the annoying midges at your ears for company.

That is – until the sound of footsteps over crisp grass, and the creak of an old, splintered garden chair disturb your peace.

Frankie adjusts his cap, flatting his fringe beneath it, and sits back. “You never change, do you, Garcia? Still the same little longer you always were.”

You hold your hands out, gulping back beer – and glee. “Can I fucking help you? I’m minding my own business.”

“Thought you might want some company.”

“Not yours, dickhead. You think I’m way the hell over here ‘cause I wanted you to come annoy me?”

He hums, picking at a flake of paint on the armrest. “Sure wanted me to annoy you the other night.”

“Alright,” you clip. “Cheap shot. You been practicing that one all afternoon?”

“Since I saw you at the store.”

You roll your eyes.

Frankie slips a cigarette from its pack and lights it, tipping his chin to blow a white cloud to the sky. “You’re too much fun,” he tells the stars.

You squint through the dark, staring at the glowing cherry. “What?”

“You. You get so pissed, so easily. Always have.”

“Well, you antagonize me. Always have.”

His cheeks lift. It’s something softer than a smirk, still laced with too much attitude to be a smile. “That’s ‘cause you were always around. Everywhere Santi went, there you were. Closer than his shadow.”

“Well,” you glower, “’s what happens when you have a big brother. You’re void of love; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I get it,” he says. “It just got fun to mess with you, after a while.”

“Uhuh,” you take another swig, “so is that what you’re doing? Messing with me?”

Frankie’s shoulders jump. “You tell me. There were two of us in your room that night.”

You swing your legs down to the grass. It’s brittle under your socks when you stand, still focusing on the end of his cigarette. “Damn, you really can’t shut up about it, can you? How many times have you tugged one to the thought of it?”

“Tugged one,” he snickers, but he seems nervous – watching as you approach. “What age are you?”

You push his knees wider, slotting between his thighs. “Which part does it for you? What sends you over the edge?”

“Come on, lil Santi,” Frankie says, averting his eye. “You’re embarrassing yourself now.”

One knee up, resting on the crease of his jeans. You lean forward and nudge his hip, lay your hands gently on his shoulders. “I bet you still hear me in your dreams.”

He scans up and down your body, lingering on your bare thigh. “Not – not gonna work, kid,” he promises, shaking his head. “You still annoy the fuck outta me.”

“Right, right.” You pinch the pale stick from between his teeth. “’cause nothing’s changed, yeah?”

His head sways in agreement. He’s distracted, watching as you lift your hand to your mouth.

You smile down at him. “’cept you know how I taste now, so.”

You slot the damp end of the cigarette between your lips and suck. Sharp, acrid heat sails over your tongue and down your throat, filling your chest in one inhale. You cough a little, batting the smoke as you blow it out.

“Tastes fucking disgusting,” you croak. “How can you smoke these?”

Frankie’s eyes never leave your lips. “You get used to it.”

You take another draw, letting the smoke soar through the space between you. “Gross,” you say, and prop the cig back between his lips. “Just like you!”

“Sh…shut up,” he groans, adjusting in his seat.

“Make me.”

But he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares back, rolling the smoldering stick between his thumb and finger. Running his tongue along his teeth.

You spill the last of your beer onto your tongue, cocking an eyebrow at him, and push from his lap.

You make it no more than five steps, before that same weight from the parking lot is around your shoulders.

He pings the cigarette somewhere in the grass, and grabs onto your elbow.

“Fran– Jesus – Where are we–?”

He drags you through the dull dusk to the other side of the lawn, ignoring the click of the motion sensor. You’re thrown through a wooden door onto cold concrete before the yard light floods over you.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Weak slivers of moonlight illuminate each tool hanging from the wall. The fairy lights outside lose their battle against the darkness the second they creep through the window.

Before you can sling something mocking at him, Frankie has you pinned against the wall.

“You want me to make you shut up?” he growls, teeth grazing your neck. His fingers slip behind the waist of your shorts, plucking at the button. “I’ll make you shut up. Make you shut up all goddamn night.”

“Frankie,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his shirt. You push on his chest, walking him backwards over to the workbench.

The thing shudders when he rocks against it.

“The fuck are you doing?” he murmurs, watching as you kneel before him.

“Getting used to it,” you reply.

You pull his belt apart, loosen the fly on his pants, and pull until they’re low on his hips.

Frankie holds onto the bench with a white-knuckle grip. He lays his hand over the crown of your head, rubbing small circles. A laugh slips across his tongue. “This what you’ve been thinkin’ about?”

You ignore him, instead focusing on the solid shape in his underwear.

His hips flinch when you drag your palm along it. He’s hard already. He hisses at your cold fingers on his stomach, tensing as your knuckles skim below the elastic.

And then…he’s in your palm. All of him. Frankie fucking Morales.

You’re trying not to think too deep about it.

Your fingers wrap around him, barely meeting around his width, and you slip him from his boxers.

His cock springs free, swaying once, twice – then settling to the right.

Your mouth fills with saliva. Suddenly – there’s no way not to think too deep about it.

He’s…he’s big. He’s thick; smooth and sculpted, veins trailing around his shaft. It’s not like you ever considered what he’s walking around with before, but looking at it now – you can’t believe it’s him.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him all the way down to the hair at his base. A wet trail, lips curving around the size of him. You run your tongue up and down, circling the tip and toying with it.

Frankie cups your cheek. “Pretty little mouth,” he utters. “Put it to good use, huh?”

You don’t need him to ask twice.

You sink down on him. Every inch of him – every aching, choking inch. Your jaw slackens to take him; nails digging into his thighs when he bumps the back of your throat.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he hisses. His hand comes down on your head a little too heavily.

You yelp and pull back, gasping when he slips out. “Prick,” you breathe, closing your lips around his tip again.

“Just too sweet with it,” he murmurs, guiding himself back across your tongue.

You suckle on him, using your hands to pump the inches your mouth can’t take.

Frankie’s head tips back, panting at the roof. His hips thrust to meet your movements. “Feels so – goddamn – good,” he moans, and you hum with glee.

You take his balls in your hands, kneading them as you work your way lower. He’s so deep in your mouth that it makes your eyes water. Each slip of his tip against the back of your throat makes you gag, pulls a lewd, muffled sound from your chest.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. But he’s falling apart under your fingertips, he’s unwinding right before you. He’s whispering your name, begging you not to stop. Just like that, just like that, just like that. Oh, fuck, just like that.

It’s addictive. Now that you know how he looks, how he feels, you’ll never go back to before. When the most thrill he gave you was a burning temper; feeling your pulse jump in your throat with rage.

This – whatever the fuck this is – is all you know, now. Pulling threads from one another, watching the way they unravel. Watching each other unravel. Flashes of eye contact, salt and slick and sex dripping from every secret word.

Frankie’s hips jerk. His cock spasms.

You don’t want him to come down your throat. You don’t want him to climax when he’s too deep for you to taste it.

You want him all over – your lips, your tongue, dribbling down your chin. You want to mix him with your saliva and swallow; warm, salty, Frankie.

He got his taste. Now you want yours.

You bring your hands up to his thighs, purposefully pushing back off him.

His grip loosens, and he looks down. Brows low and close, eyes blown wide like he’s higher than any drug could take him.

He’s as addicted as you are.

“My mouth,” you mumble, head of his cock circling your glistening lips. “In my mouth.”

“Yeah?” he says, and the weight of his cock slaps on your bottom lip. “That where you want it, baby?”

“Mhm.” You wrap your lips back around him.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Frankie spits, laughing. “Shit – just like that. Yeah, that’s it.”

Three, four more soaking strokes of your tongue and he’s twitching again.

You pull back only enough to rest his tip on your tongue, feeling the pulsing heat as he comes. Watching the way his face tightens, the pull of his brows as it overcomes him.

His eyes stay locked on you. Your fluttering lashes, your puffy, glossy lips. He fills your mouth and then some – semen spilling from the corners and dribbling down your jaw. And the sound he makes – this broken, scattered moan, bordering on a fucking whimper – is fucking perfect.

Frankie’s hand locks at the base of your skull, holding you steady until he’s done. His cock slips from your bottom lip. He gives one last satisfied sigh, petting your head as you stroke him slowly, tenderly – swiping kitten licks at the dripping mess of him.

“Fuck,” he moans, letting his eyes close over. His weight slumps against the workbench. “The fuck do you spend so much time yapping for when you’re that good with your mouth?”

You hum in amusement, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’s softening, but still a decent size. Still a weight to it that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

One last little kiss, and you tuck him back into his boxers. You drag the back of your hand across your chin.

Frankie holds his hands out, and you pull yourself up. He fixes himself into his jeans, turning away to do up his belt. He had his cock in your throat two minutes ago, and here he is pretending to be shy.

He turns back around, half disappeared to the dark shed. “I, uh…I don’t want you to think that I came here just to…just for that.”

Your tongue dabs at the inside of your cheek, all salty. “Then this is awkward, ‘cause that’s the only reason I hadn’t kicked you out yet.”

He laughs, dropping your gaze. “You…” he shakes his head, “…are such a little shit, you know that?”

It’s nicer than he would’ve worded it half an hour ago. But still – having an exchange with Frankie that doesn’t involve spitting insults or jagged glares, warms your blood in a way that’s new and…unsettling.

“We should probably…” You toss a thumb over your shoulder, eyes flitting to the string bulbs outside. “We don’t want them wondering what’s…you know.”

He nods and strides over to the door. The wood squeals against concrete as he pulls it open.

The summer swirls around you again, sweetening the stuffy heat of the shed. Mal’s voice surfs through the breeze – she’s still arguing over the Busch Gardens story.

You make to step out, and Frankie’s arm halts you.

He opens his palm. “Even,” he tells you. “We’re even.”

He seems sure of himself. Sure of you. He looks you in the eye and doesn’t blink.

You smirk. Your hand slips into his, letting him shake your fist once. You stare straight back at him.

“We’re just getting fucking started, Francisco.”

[chosok-amo]

Enemies to lovers toji x fem reader!!!!! Theyre both in college and reader is usually really smart and focused n stuff but toji likes to tease her and yeah!!!!

THUNDERSTORM : TOJI FUSHIGURO

oh just how much you hate toji fushiguro, and the feelings are mutual. you are a calm, intelligent and focused person, while he's in the other hands annoying, stupid, arrogant and many other things you hate— you hate how he always makes your heart beat like a thunderstorm.

content warning: college! toji, non-sorcerer jjk, fluff! toji

i wasn't doing my best with this one but i hope you like it

“stop that.”

“stop what?” your eyes narrowed.

“doing that thing with your face when you're happy, it's making me nauseous.” he's looking at you as he's making a disgusted face. his index finger makes a circle while pointing at your face. your smile dropped and an annoyance sounds left your lips. you slam the tray and sit yourself beside the white-haired boy, gojo satoru. and there's that boy, in front of you eating his lunch with a disgusted face as he eyed you, toji fushiguro.

“get your nasty finger off my face before I break it,” your hands move faster trying to catch his finger only for him to pull away faster. “always so slow,” he mocked you. “oh fuck you, toji,” you spit to him, getting more annoyed each second you look at him. while the other boy just laughed. seeing how your face turned red from anger amused him. toji fushiguro always showed a liking every time spat at him, getting nastier and sassier each second. hands gripping on something tightly or just clenched your fist he's afraid you're gonna make your nail bleeding from your nail.

he loves how your eyes always look at him like you're on fire, how your pretty mouth insults him in the most hilarious way he could ever imagine. he loves to have the power of having a calm, pretty, intelligent person like you going crazy because of a person like him. a girl with patience like a saint always growling in anger every time he open his mouth. it's like watching a soap opera, for free. you, on the other hand, despise him with all of your heart. you hate the way his green eyes glisten when the sun hits, you hate the way his personality is embedded in each word when you read a poem about love, you hate the way his voice shapes into a melody and echoes his entire being, scaring you.

“what are you doing here, anyway?” satoru asked as he shoved a macaron into his mouth. you look at the man in front of you, feeling confused also. toji never sits with you and your friends, always with his suicide squad— sukuna and weird ass choso, you swear that guy always looks like his soul just gets sucked out of his body. “yeah, toji? what the fuck are you doing here?” you parrot, this time sassier and you glare at him.

“what? I can't have lunch with friends now?”

you and satoru look at each other before you roll your eyes, “can you please go be annoying somewhere that's away from me?” you asked, nearly begging. you're too hungry to deal with toji's nonsense and he's too insufferable to be around. “but that wouldn't be nearly as much fun,” he pouts, pretending to be sulking as he put his palm under his cheeks and battling his eyelashes. but you don't budge, just keep glaring your eyes to him hoping suddenly your eyes let out a laser that could kill him on the place.

toji sighs in defeat before he gets up throwing you a glance of judgement, “boo, you whore.” and with that he swings his ass as he walks away with a tray in one hand and the other on his jeans pocket— leaving you with mouth hanging open.

“fucking asshole.”

you feel something was throwing at you— hitting your back of the head. you're in class right now, trying to focus on whatever your professor was talking about. you try to ignore whatever that was throwing at you but each time it's getting bigger and you become more annoyed. so with the last patience you had left, you snap your neck to look at whoever it is— of course it's other than toji fushiguro. “what?” you yelled whispered. “let me borrow your pen,” he said, looking like an idiot with his slay grin, makes you more annoyed.

“no, shut up!”

you back to your position again and this time you're insisting on not gonna pay toji any attention. for a moment things got quiet and you don't hear anything from toji. but of course, that man wasn't letting you sit there in class and try to study quietly. you hear something from your behind that makes you turn around only to find already sitting there, smiling at you. “what the fuck are you doing?” your voice rough while you shoot a glance at your professor.

“i miss you,” he pout.

you look at him in disgust, “shut the fuck up toji, i'm trying to learn something here,” you grumble. that's only amused him more as he put both hands under his chin and battling his eyelashes to you. “make me, y/n,” he whispered, trying to be seductive as he snout his lips to you and making a kiss noise. you winces in disgust before shoving his face away with your hand.

“what the fuck is wrong with you..”

he just laughed.

you were walking on the hallway of your campus alone. book on your left hands and the other holding a cup of your coffee. you spend a night working on your project until morning and you haven't got a single sleep, so you really need caffeine to keep you awake. when you turn around the corner something big suddenly come out of nowhere, startled you by surprise.

“AH!”

you were so shocked that you fell on the floor along with your books and coffee getting you wet in the process. you look up only to find toji fushiguro hovering you. hands in pocket as he looks down at you. “you scared me,” you shriek. his shoulder move up and down as he shrugged, looking unbothered. “well, i'm naturally terrifying,” he said obvious, like it's was something natural and common. you scoff while rolling your eyes.

“nobody finds you terrifying, fushiguro.”

he frowned after hearing what you were saying, “that's not true, everybody finds me terrifying,” he said in defense. you snicker and cover your mouth, “you're delusional because I'm not finding you terrifying,” you mocked him. and toji doesn't seem like he's agree with whatever you just yapping about. his green eyes bore at you and he was silent for a moment like there's a war inside his head.

“what?” you feel annoyed as he keeps on looking at you with an expression you can't figure out. something you never seen on his face before, something unfamiliar. but he keeps his mouth shut, refuses to speak and entertained you with his lame answer but no, he just stood there looking like he just found something he's longing for who knows how long. his eyes, you can't stand it— worse, you were afraid of it. it feels like his eyes can touch you more than his hands ever could, that's the only thing about him that terrifying to you.

a hard covered book kisses his face harshly to snap him out of whatever he was in. he grimaces in pain and rubs the red on his forehead— where the book landed. “the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells in pain. “stop being a baby,” you dryly said to him. before he gets to let out a bunch of insults, your high pitched scream stops him. your white shirt covered with coffee making your boobs and bra look visible.

“oops,” toji laugh.

you who's still on the floor sending a tall man in front of you a glare. toji swear he can see the steam coming out of your ears. “look at what you've done!” you growl in anger. toji rolled his eyes bored before scoffing, “stop being a baby,” he mocked you— purposely throwing you the same sentence you just said to him. you clicked your tongue as you tried your best to clean yourself with hope in your heart that it doesn't leave a stain. toji just standing there watching you.

he let out a sigh before throwing you his leather jacket making you stare at him in confusion. “cover yourself, idiot.” and just like that he walks away, leaving you all confused and dumbfounded.

your day is always filled with toji fushiguro. every corner you go, fate seems to find it amusing when he's making your blood boil and your face turns red like fresh tomatoes, that's why it always sends him around, find you every time. you started to get used to his presence. you started to find the scar on lips look more stunning than it used to— especially when he's smile. you no longer feel scared when his green eyes flashed to you. his smile become sweet, different from the rest, from everyone else. you started to notice everytime he touches you it suddenly felt as if the stars dancing across your skins.

“your hands,” he said, softly this time.

you don't say anything, too amused with how beautiful he becomes after all this time, after you start to notice. like it has its own thoughts, your hands just move to the man in front of you, letting him hold it like it's always belonged to him, and it fits perfectly also. and then there's it, the stars thing again. something you're unfamiliar with but knowing you're gonna become an addiction of it, of his touch.

he slipped something on your ring finger. you look down to your hand, hand that he was holding. a ring with white bunny, matching with him as he shows you his hand. your heart smiles, followed by your lips but then it's beating faster, knocking your chest as if it's begging the man to hear. you scared so you look at him and your heart beating faster than before when you realize he's already looking, like a thunderstorm. “it's promise ring,” his voice gentle.

toji fushiguro, a man who couldn't go on with his day without hearing your voice, he couldn't go on with his day without feeling your eyes on him, without your presence around him— it feels like an addiction he doesn't realize, getting too attached to each second. when you're not around he's always looking for you, purposely making you mad just because he knows you're the most expressive when you with him, knowing only him that can makes you feel something you try to denied. he too, try to denied.

the feeling he has for you wasn't something he is familiar with and he's unhappy with that. he wants to quit because every time you walk into that hallway beautifully his head feels fuzzy and the world faded into the background like on the movies show, it's lonely and cold. and standing there with you, in the middle of your campus festival, where people and times move faster— but not faster as his beating heart.

“i'll pick your thunder,” he said, nearly whispering.

you didn't like this boy, you didn't find him attractive in a romantic way, his face wasn't something you'd be thinking about next week. he spoke and he sounded just like the others, a voice you wouldn't recognize again, but now he seemed gentle, so do for toji, he didn't like you last year, but now he started to notice the way you filling the room, expanding like a butterfly breaking free from the cocoon, it was hard not to notice you glisten when all eyes darted like spotlights on you.

when you speak everyone has no choice but to listen and indulge in your smile. or when the room is empty and moonlights spills in through a creak in the door. he starts to love the way your eyes gleam. you changes, you're no longer just a gentle looking girl. he didn't care for the soft waves in your hair but now he started to notice each wave, and the clothes that you wears, and the way that you stands, and smiles, and walks.

you find yourself not just listening but losing touch of things when he talks. he was just another head in the crowd, he was just annoying classmates that always fuming you, you wouldn't recognize his voice when he speaks, but now it is echoing in your mind out loud. he hasn't changed a bit but how something both of you overlooked become something both of you desire?

he didn't like this girl

and you don't like this boy

but you and him now sure do

how'd you do it?' you thought.

how'd you do it?' he thought.

how'd you make me fall in love with you?

[jaehunnyy]

Fight club

Genre: enemies-to-lovers, brother's best friend!au, angst, fluff, crack, suggestive

Word count: 3.4k

Pairing: boxing-manager!Wooyoung x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions and a few descriptions of fights, fighting settings, mentions of blood, hits, rude people, swear words, mentions of making out, pet names, kisses, allusions to some lines from the actual movie Fight Club and to Bouncy lyrics, possible grammar mistakes

Taglist: @shakalakaboomboo, @cromerteez, @nebulousbrainsoup, @justhere4kpop, @bluehwale, @bluisheye93, @ssaboala, @heesnovia

Networks: @cromernet 🤍

The white, wadded clouds were threatening to cover the ground in sad tears of rain as you were wandering around the strange city you were in, all because of his love for traveling. Your car's engine decided to give up in the middle of the street and there you were, looking for anything that would serve as a roof under your head for the night, until he gave you a sign. Suddenly, your eyes started to beam as you saw a rundown ‘Mtel’ sign, written in red neon lights (one letter obviously missing), one that happened to have a car service on the first floor. You ran there as fast as you could, fearing that it was gonna close or something; and as soon as you got in front of it, you started to wonder if you were in the right place. Two guys were trying to make their parrot talk or something, a few french keys and other tools scattered around the floor as they seemed to be occupied with their pet.

"Uhm… hello?" you dared to talk and get their attention, having two pairs of eyes analyzing you. "My car broke down… and you seem to work with these things so… mind helping me?"

The look they gave each other really had you confused—they were almost surprised with your request.

"Okay, I see how it i—"

"No! We can help, of course. We just… wondered how many other cars we have to repair, you know?" The taller one said, not-so-gently nudging the other one as if he wanted him to support his words.

The younger one jumped a little, smiling weakly as he nodded. "We got it!"

You still couldn't figure if they were honest or not, but you just went with it and let them handle your car as you went to the receptionist to book a room.

The morning came with fast steps as you woke up due to some noisy sounds from outside, disturbing your already not-so-great sleep. You yawned and looked outside the window, seeing how the two mysterious guys were carrying things in their garage. They were getting more and more suspicious, so you grabbed your jacket and went downstairs to see the process. Your car seemed to be intact, they actually put some effort into changing the color of it too into a matte one, which you weren't opposing to at all.

"Is it done yet?"

They looked at you, both trying to cover the car as much as they could as you were approaching it.

"No! Don't touch it! Go eat and then you can come see it." the one with the purple highlights said once again. "Oh, and we're Jongho and Yunho, by the way." He said, a gummy smile taking over his face as you nodded softly and introduced yourself.

As soon as you left the room, they sighed.

"We're screwed. We are supposed to be undercover policemen, not mechanical engineers!" Jongho scolded Yunho, as the oldest sighed softly.

"Then go and tell her this! I actually think we even did a great job… Even our parrot agrees."

"We'll see about that. And let’s hope she doesn’t call the police on us!"

Said and done. You came from the little diner, looking at your now covered car. It seemed promising.

"Tadaaaaa! Here is your car, fresh and new." Yunho said, taking the sheet off of your shiny car.

"Thank you so much guys! Money won't thank you enough for that." you went and excitedly opened the car's door, only for something heavy to drag you down slowly—it was the car's door.

"...I guess no money for us," Jongho said, head down in shame as he couldn't look you in the eyes. "I told you, stupid."

You were still in shock as the door was now standing on the ground, looking at the two boys. "Mind telling me what’s this about?"

"This… is not our job, Y/n, we're sorry for lying to you." Yunho said, trying to reach for you but you went outside, leaving them to wallow in self pity.

This was all because of your stupid companion, one that wasn’t even accompanying you right now, when you needed him the most. You threw your hair back in frustration, going around the busy streets you didn’t even know. It kept getting darker, and the few houses you saw were not giving you any comfort. You were in trouble, in a run down neighborhood you wouldn't even dream of. A blue-haired guy showed up at some point, and as crazy as you must have looked, you followed him into an alley. When you saw him suspiciously entering a back door; you rushed inside just before it could close. The inside was lit by some yellow lights and you swore you could hear loud cheers coming from the basement. You went to the first door you saw and opened it, forgetting about the personal space for just a while, until you saw a long-haired brunette surrounded by money. Oh, and having a rolled-up bill between his teeth. If you weren't in need of help, you would exit the door as fast as you entered it. Feeling that someone was staring at him, he looked in your direction and raised an eyebrow when he saw your unfamiliar face, putting the money in the bag and hiding it under his desk as fast as he could.

"Robbery?" he asked, eyes continuously on the money bag you were amazed of.

"Listen, dude. I'm lost in this hell of a district, my car is screwed by two liars and I just want to find a way back and go home. My last intention is to rob you."

He wore an unfazed look on his face, almost like he didn't understand a thing of what you said; he was getting on your nerves more.

"Also, what kind of people ask someone if they are gonna rob them? And how the fuck do you have so much money?"

He smirked as soon as you mentioned the money—if you looked close enough, you could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

"If you wanna know how, I can show you right now. Follow me."

What did you have to lose? You were already lost in your thoughts, you didn't have the energy to say no—so you followed him. As soon as you got inside the room, you noticed the pleasing decorum, but also the fighting ring in the middle of it. And after you took some time to look around and take in the new surrounding, your eyes met his.

"Sa—"

Before you could even finish anything, he was on the floor, mouth full of blood as your eyes widened, wondering what the fuck he was doing there—the one who made you get lost, the one who brought you there. Before you could speak again, you saw the money guy hurry in San's direction, as he got seated on a chair, an exhausted and hurt look on his face.

"What the fuck got you that distracted? You literally let him hit you!"

"Wooyoung… her… protect her…" he raised his hand weakly, finger pointing to you.

"Ha? Her? You know the mysterious I got lost girl?"

"That girl is my sister, Wooyoung!"

Oh.

"Shhh, calm down. Don't waste your energy. C'mon, drink a bit of water, and go back on the ring." he said, splashing half of the water bottle on your brother's face while trying to look unaffected. I didn't sign up for this, he thought, though there was nothing he could have done—they really needed the money.

The cheers only got louder when San returned to the ring, while you tried to make your way in the crowd, squinting your eyes to see something between the pink hair strands of a tall man in front of you.

"You stole my place." you turned back to face a built man, anger visible on his face as you blocked his view—and stole his place.

Words got stuck in your throat as you swallowed the lump inside of it, anger getting over your senses. "What did you just say?"

"I said that you stole my place and that I expect you to go back!" he raised his voice more and your eyes shut together, your fist ready to throw a punch, before you felt a strong arm dragging you behind them—the brunette again.

“She’s with me." he growled, dragging you next to him as you were worriedly looking at your brother. "You're going to have to win double the amount of money for this, San." he mumbled.

Another hit on the ring and he was completely out of it, the three seconds passing and the bells letting the public know who the winner was—and much to his friend's disappointment, it wasn't San.

"No way. No way this is happening. He lost because of you!" he pointed at you, hitting his chair with his foot until it fell down.

You were already overwhelmed by everything you witnessed, tears beaming at the corners of your eyes as your brother came to the two of you.

"Stop trying to control everything and just let go. Let go, Wooyoung! For once!" he said, tiredness audible in his voice as his breath was hitched and slow.

"That's my job, San. And you were supposed to help me, help us." All Wooyoung could do after this was frown, before he left the building to go get some air.

You looked at your brother and dragged him somewhere far from the looks of the curious ones, hitting his chest slightly.

"What the fuck are you doing here, San? Is this the traveling you loved? Is that what our parents would have wanted you to become?"

He looked down, avoiding your stare as he couldn't look at you.

"Why didn't you tell me you needed money?! I would have gotten a job to help you!"

That's when his eyes met yours, finally hearing his voice in the two days you've been separated.

"The first rule of Fight Club…" he started, his gaze becoming stern: "… is you don’t talk about Fight Club.”

He genuinely annoyed you.

"And what are you doing here in the first place?"

"I was trying to find a way to cope with everything that happened after my brother left me so he could go fight some random people."

Auch. That hurt worse than a kick, he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Y/n… C'mon, you can stay with me from now on."

You didn't want to give in, you couldn’t imagine yourself having to stand Wooyoung's tantrums, yet it was better than wandering alone in an unknown city—so, you did what you thought was right and listened to your brother. And maybe staying so much with him (and his friend you won't talk about), watching his matches, that might have opened new horizons for you. You were now having dinner with them, clearing your voice before letting it be heard.

"You know… I wanna join the Fight Club too." you said softly, waiting for any sort of reaction from them; and there were two different ones—Wooyoung's eyes lit up immediately as he saw more money coming his way, whilst San was looking terrified.

"No."

"Yes!"

They said in unison, glaring at each other.

"I'm not letting her join this, it's dangerous, Woo!"

Wooyoung seemed to absolutely ignore the boy as he smiled at you, the first time you have seen him smiling outside of matches San won.

"I will help you become the best fighter out here. We're starting tomorrow!"

All you could do was smile excitedly as San face-palmed himself.

Said and done. You were already one month into practicing, and Wooyoung kept on finding matches for you, the next one being in two days. You were inside the little space he claimed as your training room, punching the innocent punching bag as you heard the door behind you. You thought it was Wooyoung and smirked, turning to face him and kicking, only for your fist to stop right in front of your brother's face.

"Oh… hey San." you smiled innocently whilst all he could do was sigh.

"If you don't get along with Wooyoung, why do you keep on doing this? I didn't even agree!"

You looked at him, deciding to ignore the judging look he threw your way. "I think I am capable of making my own decisions and I sure as hell don’t need my brother to make them for me."

"Do you think our parents would be proud that their daughter chose this path?"

This time, you snapped.

"Maybe you should have thought about this before choosing it first. You are my only role model, San, what do you expect from me?"

"I'm sorry, babes. If that's what you really want… I promise I will support you. But please take care." he said, arm wrapping around your waist as he dragged you into a hug. You hugged him back, the nice feeling of longing surrounding you—before a fake cough snapped you out of it.

"Sorry to interrupt your brother-sister moment, but you're distracting her."

"So now I can't spend time with my sister?"

"Not when she has a match coming. Also, she's getting as good as you. I won the lottery with you, guys."

You smiled at his praise, though he seemed to have something else in mind.

"I didn't like you at first, you know?" he said, looking directly into your eyes.

"I know, it was mutual." you said, a cheeky grin taking over your face as you waited for his response.

"Don't get too excited, I still don't like you. But I like the money you bring." he winked, watching as San's eyes darkened.

"Wooyoung," he growled, "if you think I'd let you talk to my sister like this, you're wrong. We're not your fucking bank!"

Wooyoung flinched a bit at his friend's words, pulling his glasses on his nose and trying to act unaffected when, in fact, he wasn't. Since you joined, he found himself thinking if he was doing the right thing, if you two thought he used you for money—which San kinda confirmed; but he couldn't let these emotions take over him, so he did what he thought was best—left.

He left and you two didn't see him again. Match time was right there and he was nowhere to be seen; and as much as you wanted to lie and act indifferent about it, you kinda missed his antics, his nag, perhaps you missed him. This was maybe, the reason why as soon as you stepped into the ring, you started to have an uneasy feeling. He wasn't there to support you, to hype you up, and it left you with a bitter taste. Despite this feeling, you still tried your best. Tried to avoid your rival's hits, tried hitting more, and you actually thought you were gonna win. That was until you spotted the pair of ebony-like eyes you waited for, being the last thing you saw before everything turned black.

That wasn't the sight Wooyoung expected to be welcomed with. He forgot about the two police officers behind him, running straight to the ring and following San who jumped inside immediately.

"Stop hitting her! Stop fucking hitting, she passed out!" he shouted, shoving the person off you, just to discover it was exactly the reason why the cops were there.

"Yunho, Jongho, it's him!"

Before he could do anything, San pushed both of them and took you in his arms, running to the infirmary as fast as he could. Yunho and Jongho were fast to catch the guy before he could run away, whilst Wooyoung was quick to follow San, who let you on the bed while waiting for the nurse.

"San!" he said, catching his breath as the eyes of the older one sent ice arrows down his spine.

"Don't you dare get closer to us! She was your responsibility Wooyoung, you were supposed to take care of her!" he said, hands on Wooyoung's shirt as he shaked the younger.

"I know San, I fucking know I fucked up! But her rival… he was following you San, I had to let Jongho and Yunho know that you were in danger… I wanted to protect you two…"

"I don't care about myself, Wooyoung. I only care about her and you failed. You failed us and our trust as well."

Maybe it took some harsh words for Wooyoung to realise that he put you in danger, and that he actually cared about you. About his friend, and unexpectedly, about his friend's sister as well.

"San… I'm sorry, please give me one more chance! I'll be more careful and—"

"She's out of this, Wooyoung. We are out of your damn Fight Club."

Wooyoung looked down, tears beaming at the corners of his eyes as he couldn't blame you. He just wanted to get closer with you, heck, he might have been attracted to you all this time—yet look where ignoring his emotions took him.

"You have my number if you change your mind, San."

And with this, he turned in the opposite direction, preparing to leave again. He wanted to be there when you wake up, he was aware that he distracted you when he came in way too late to your match. He wanted to hold your hand and start being there for you, but San was right. He didn't deserve none of you. His wish for money made him realise what he was truly lacking—love.

"San," you whispered, your weak voice being heard by both boys in the room: "San, you were too harsh… He wanted to protect you…"

Wooyoung's heart swelled a bit at your words, ignoring San's warning and sitting on the bed next to you. Right when your brother wanted to tell him to leave, his best friend was faster.

"I'm sorry I was late to your match, Y/n. I wish I was there for you."

"It's okay, Wooyoung. I wish I did better."

"No, Y/n! I'm proud of you nonetheless. You two are already the best for me."

Seeing Wooyoung hug you made San's anger dissipate into the void, joining as one hand caressed your hair and the other one patted his friend's back softly.

Your bond became even stronger after that day. While you met their friends (the ones who screwed your car) and realised how nice they actually were, your feelings for Wooyoung also grew stronger. You thought it was the same for him. The way his hand would softly brush yours, the random forehead and cheek kisses you were given, they had to mean something. And there you were now, plopped on a blanket as the night sky was shining above you.

"Isn't it pretty?" you asked him, looking at his flawless face and brushing his long hair with your fingers.

"It would have been even prettier if I watched it with my girlfriend."

Your heart remained still.

"Your girlfriend…? Do you have one?"

"Not yet, but I am about to. I know it's been quite of a long ride for us, but I'm deeply in love with you. And I know you feel the same, Yunho told me."

You looked at him flabbergasted, hands stopping on their track as he dragged you on top of him. You didn't know if you should be mad at Yunho, or glad that he eased the situation.

"Pfft, do you really believe Yunho? What if he lied?" you teased, grabbing his cheek softly as he looked at your lips.

"Well, let me figure it out." he said, before his soft lips met yours.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the moment, smiling a bit when his nose brushed your own.

"Thank you for making me realise that love is more powerful than money, babe." he whispered, "I'm still going to be San's manager. And you are going to help me."

You nodded, pressing a kiss on his chin as you laid your head on his chest.

San's next match was going to be interesting. Ten minutes before it started, yet nor you or Wooyoung were anywhere to be found. He was searching for you with a water bottle in his hand, tank top tight on his chest as his muscles flexed under it.

"Wooyoung? Y/n? Where the fuck are you?"

As he stepped further into the darkened hallway, he heard your giggles and sighed—he was already growing tired of how big of a menace you were as a couple.

"For God's sake, can you stop making out and come watch me? I have a match to win!"

You and Wooyoung could only laugh harder as your brother sighed for the nth time that day, but it soon became a chorus of joyful giggles as he joined you two.

"We're coming!"

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

No

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

[popponn]

so what if you are michael kaiser's ex. like just one of many, the one that broke up with him a year ago. the catch is that despite hating this guy's guts, somehow you always ends up meeting him again at least 3 times a month. 20 times, if you are particularly unlucky that month.

your friend drags you to a party? bam, kaiser is there—with a new date. a job meeting with someone in the cafe? wow kaiser is sitting two tables away. you got lost in some big city in another country with your phone battery dying? would you look at that—it's kaiser.

and, probably the worst part, it isn't as if kaiser isn't also sick of you. he is probably your #1 hater at this point. gone was the charming bad boy from the first date and only a bitter ex is left.

the funny part is that this particular bitter ex is one that accompanies you in the party when your friend left you ("my date gets boring," he said); one that looks ready to punch a guy and helps you when your client turns out to be an asshole ("why did i help you?" he parrots your question. "if i ignored that it will just be worse for me in the way that i don't want it to be."); and the one who makes sure you reach your hotel safely ("idiots like you need pity to stay alive.")

the one that doesn't want any present he gave to you returned, but also the one who scoffs whenever you ask "Why?" or "Why the fuck?"

(if kaiser is also one that couldn't swallow his pride to ask you back, that's for everyone except you to know.)

(and if you still never date anyone after breaking up with him that's your own problem and no one else's.)

i have been itching to write ex!kaiser since like. idk. last month?? a bit tempted to also include the 'we knew each other too long to cut each other off' trope, but that's for another time. he is enough of a complicated asshole already. so it's just 'exes who still clearly have feeling for each other' + 'exes who acts like sworn enemy' with a pinch of 'everyone knows and are sick of them' trope. this dude and this idea is hilarious to me because like he is kind of a himedere in my head, but he is so interesting and not just t h a t in a very 'i want to punch him' way. but anyway very brainrot but this guy, i believe, despite his narcissistic tendencies and all his self centered issues, seems like someone who will love deeply when it came for the one™. like dude is like that with soccer, the capital c commitment is strong. it's just reaching that stage that's hard, because he is also capital a asshole.

[starbanmk]

Hi :3!! I heard you have a biker au :0? !!!

- 🦇

DO I EVER HAVE A BIKER AU

well its the seeds of an idea for a biker au..... gonna yap abt it under the cut :3

warning: i yap for a while.

So this biker au follows the story of a gang of bikers, and the group of mechanics that work at the shop these bikers always go to when they get their shit rocked.

The biker gang (at the moment) consists of Ash, Spoke, Roshambo, Squiddo, and Planet. They do trail biking, and often compete in official and unofficial races that can often result in injuries and broken bikes. Haven't named the gang yet but Spoke probably named it so they probably call themselves somsthing stupid like La La Legio— *gets shot*

These guys have been friends since highschool and are currently all attending college when not racing or at their respective workplaces. Their collective goal with racing is mostly to have fun, but Spoke and Ash in particular have some sort of beef with another couple bikers who they race often: Minute, Clown, and Leo.

Those three, the PMC (Poopy Motor Cyclists, as Spoke has dubbed them), are well known in the trail racing community to bike with reckless abandon, but they somehow always end up winning their races. Ash and Spoke don't like them. The rest of their friends think it stems from jealousy.

The thing about racing these guys is that Ash and Spoke are, more often than not, coaxed into also biking with less care and more risk than they usually would. They, however, are not as lucky as the PMC and often find themselves either injured or in the shop begging Parrot for a discount on the most recent repairs that need to be done.

Now, these mechanics. They work at a locally owned bike repair shop, founded by Mapicc's grandfather. Mapicc very recently inherited ownership of the shop, and is kind of struggling to find his footing as the guy in charge. His employees (who he pays very well don't listen to them when they say otherwise) are mostly all his friends who were looking for jobs.

Reddoons, Branzy, Parrot, Mapicc, Cube, and Bacon all work there full time, and a couple of them (Mapicc and Cube) even bike themselves when they have the time.

Roshambo and Mapicc have known eachother since diapers, so he's always gotten discounts at the shop. The rest of his gang has been not-so-subtlety trying to befriend the rest of the mechanics at the shop to also get access to this discount.

And basically, this AU follows the story of these two groups of people. How their worlds overlap, how they stay separate, and what they can learn from each other. Might sprinkle a little power of friendship in there for safe measure.

Parrot and Spoke have a little enemies to friends arc,

Reddoons learns to let go and grieve something he loved,

Branzy falls in love with the WRONG FUCKING BIKER,

Ashswagg finds it in himself to be devoted to something a little healthier than a one-sides rivalry

Spoke learns he doesn't need to do crazy things and get crazy hurt to be cared about,

Mapicc becomes more comfortable in his authority and abilities, learning not to compare his accomplishments with those of others,

Ash and Red fill missing pieces for eachother, offering comfort balanced with excitement and the feeling of loving something other than bikes,

Minute and Leo spend a LOT of time trying to find out who keeps giving Minute anonymous notes claiming to be his biggest fan,

and other fun shenanigans!!!

This would be a massive project to write but i really do hope i get there someday. I do really have a soft spot for Hot biker + the fucking IDIOT that fixes his bike

thanks for asking about the au!!!!

[verosikastrikerstellaexcuser]

You know what the most pathetic thing the Stolas stans keep parroting is? That Stolas is just such a poor unsocialized rich prince, who just does not know how to talk to people, when that is 100 % a skill that you have to practice. I mean, look at Stella, who is arguably in a very similar situation to him, but even in the pilot had a little get-together with friends and in the show throws actual parties. She talks and gossips with people and is a very sociable person. Good for her! On the other hand, you have Stolas who gets drunk at now two different parties in the show and has no friends that we know of. At both of those parties, he could have talked to people, but that is not what happened. He could also throw his own parties. Or he could literally try to talk to people on the internet, who share his interests, but he doesn't even do that - as far as we know. In the same way, Stolas is pretty pathetic that he wants these big romantic gestures performed to him, but apparently doesn't understand that he has to put the work in to make a relationship even work to get to something like this. I am someone with autism who had to literally drag myself through social situation and learn all of those little things far later in life than others, and I absolutely loath how Stolas gets babied for not even trying to learn basic conversation skills or having any basic connection to literally anybody.

You're so right anon, like, even if he is unsocialized since they've retconned him to be a powerless naive little baby in S2, that still doesn't excuse shit like fetishizing someone and doing in front of a load of other people and embarrassing them. Genuinely just, what on Earth, how do people excuse that? Even if he didn't realize the harm he was doing, he was still doing harm! Blitz repeatedly said stop and he didn't listen (this is the harvest festival I'm talking about where Stolas fucking went "that sexy imp there" on stage in front of everyone and kept using pet names etc). Crossing someone's boundaries and ignoring them saying they don't consent... IS STILL DOING JUST THAT. Idc if you're a shut in, people don't have to just tolerate that! No one is owed friendship, friendships are mutual bonds you build with others, not pity donations.

And yes, 100%, St*las is pathetic in how he obsesses over 1 guy. He obsesses constantly over Blitz despite Blitz immediately not bothering to come on each full moon as soon as hes given the okay and being so unresponsive via text. I get not being good at reading social cues, but when you add in the deal... come on. Stolas should be able to put together that Blitz would be even more distant if only he could be. Stolas is surely mature enough to self reflect that Blitz is tethered. And to be fair, he did do that! So he did know. Its just a shame his apology didn't explicitly note who started it, and didn't apologize for forcing Blitz to interact with him. Instead it had all these vague passive statements like "and to not know how they feel" as if Blitz didn't constantly communicate active disgust all through S1. A kind of "Oh but you COULD have totally loved it really I didn't know!" It feels so sketchy.

St*las is his own worst enemy in that he constantly chases a guy who responds with "ugh, get away from me". If someone does that and constantly responds with "ugh" at you, OBVIOUSLY the healthier thing for both parties involved is for you to move on and to try meet anybody else. We've never once seen St*las attempt that though. And yeah, it is just pathetic. You can't cry and bitch and moan about loneliness if you've only taken steps that will ensure it and not done anything actually helpful to cure it, i.e making friends. Moxxie and Millie were right there... but he didn't try to get to known a single other member of IMP. Blitz doesn't even have a single thing in common with St*las, why doesn't that damn owl try to join a gardening club instead, meet people with any kind of similar interests? Like ffs. You're right about St*las wanting romantic gestures and such yet he won't put the work in to just get to know someone first. If you want a bouquet, you gotta try a "hello" and then a few "oh hey its you again nice to see you"s first. On someone OTHER than a guy who can't stand you.

And. Tbh part of me is scared to even go here. But, yk. It is discussed in the autism community, how men with autism get passes for things women with autism don't (since we're on the topic of not being able to read social cues etc). Some of the Stolas stuff honestly gives me that vibe. I wish so much that I could peer into an alternate reality where he was a woman instead of a cute soft lil gay bean man. I guarantee people would be quicker to call out his wrongs, tbh. Though they may take his abuse of Blitz less seriously, but I seriously do feel like his social behaviors and not knowing how to behave socially, not being caring in the right way, being a bad parent, all of that would have people madder and making less excuses.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics where they're neighbors as requested in this ask. If you like the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

✦ so let's cross the lines we lost by thecoloursneverfade

(E, 165k, uni au) Harry and Louis have a complicated past, Niall throws too many parties, Zayn is definitely not pining, and Liam just wants everyone to get along

✦ Speaking of Marvels by navigator, quitter

(E, 100k, nanny au) AU. Louis is a nanny in suburban New Jersey, and the neighbors' son is home from college for the summer. It was supposed to be a fling.

✦ Light My Fire, Blow My Flame by @softfonds

(E, 98k, adaptation) the One Where…. Louis is a Broadway actor, Harry is a newly graduated lawyer, Liam is a radio DJ, Zayn is an English Professor at NYU, and Niall is a music producer. A Friends AU.

✦ to lure a hummingbird (you had me moonstruck) by brokenbeaks / @broken-beaks

(E, 81k, trapped au) An enemies-to-lovers fic where Harry and Louis are neighbours who are forced to get along due to the inconvenience (or convenience) of a broken lift.

✦ Little by Little by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(E, 65k, omega/omega) Harry discovers figuring out who you are is more complicated than a potato metaphor.

✦ Enchanted by @brightgolden

(E, 25k, kid fic) Where Louis finally meets his neighbour. After a few conversations, he begins to realise he is too weak to resist the charms of the new mother and his six month old daughter.

✦ In Dreams by dolce_piccante / @haydolce

(M, 23k, secret admirer) AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days.

✦ That's How I Know by @allwaswell16

(E, 19k, parrot fic) the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

✦ please don't be in love with someone else by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 18k, friends to lovers) the one where Harry and Louis are neighbors and there's a lot of overthinking, misunderstandings, Backstreet Boys sing-alongs, embarrassing moments in the hallway, and pining. They somehow still make it work.

✦ Cut to The Feeling by ishiplouis / @pocketsunshineharry

(E, 16k, fluff and smut) AU where Louis is a ghostwriter working from home, and Harry is his firefighter neighbour who happens to have the cutest dog on Earth.

✦ come on over, we've got something to share by @jaerie

(E, 12k, a/b/o) Even as an unbonded omega with a four year old, Harry had everything he needed. 

✦ A Real Work of Art by @lululawrence

(NR, 11k, makeover au) the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

✦ You and Me and the Devil Makes Three by moodlighting

(M, 10k, bed sharing) AU. Louis moves in next door to Harry. Louis has a ghost, Harry has an extra futon and a crush.

✦ Just Your Jinx by @larryatendoftheday

(T, 10k, witch Harry) Harry Styles may or may not have accidentally jinxed his extremely fit new neighbor, and it's not so easy to make things right.

✦ Wanted: Dog Walker by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 6k, silver fox Louis) Louis needs a dog walker. Harry answers the ad.

✦ I'll Keep You Warm by @parmahamlarrie

(T, 6k, snow storm) Louis is the kind of guy who keeps his head down and minds his own business. He’s lived on the same street for years and barely would recognize the buildings, let alone his neighbours. 

✦ Love Mail by @neondiamond

(G, 5k, strangers to lovers) the one where Harry and Louis keep mistakingly receiving each other’s mail (and also fall in love)

✦ Through the Wall (Through the Wall) by @taggiecb

(M, 5k, humor) "We live in adjacent apartment and one day I accidentally knocked a hole in the wall and into your living room. I'm really sorry oh my God you're naked" AU 

✦ Unplant by @hellolovers13

(M, 4k, trans Harry) Louis should've looked where he was going, then he wouldn't have to desperately try to save a little flower now.

✦ Heels Over Head by @kingsofeverything

(E, 3k, famous/famous) Louis Tomlinson returns from tour to find that his new next door neighbor doesn't realize his backyard is not completely private.

✦ an honest mistake by @disgruntledkittenface

(NR, 2k, humor) Louis has ridden the elevator with his neighbor all week. The first time they speak, there’s a misunderstanding.

—Rare Pairs—

✦ Now that you're here, I never want you to leave by WeAreTheLuckyOnes

(E, 17k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) the one where Louis's a drummer, Nick's a radio DJ, and Louis's dogs are menaces.

✦ Kind of Tough to Tell a Scruff (Stand and Deliver) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(M, 4k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) In which Nick moves north and Louis lives next door.

✦ Take a Piece of My Heart by cherrylarry / @beelou

(G, 4k, Niall/Shawn Mendes) The one where Niall invites his neighbor Shawn to a Valentine’s Day get together with his friends and maybe it’s a mistake.

[qshara]

Why didn't anyone tell me there are new hot characters in Ikemen Vampire?!

Galileo Galilei (VA: Makoto Furukawa)

Same voice actor as Sherlock Holmes in Moriarty the Patriot omgggg

I am not going to lie. He looks like he has a very bad attitude, in the sense that you can be doing anything and he somehow knows how to do it a thousand times better and he's going to throw it in your face (even so, he doesn't say it with bad intentions???)

Please stop judging me with your eyes

It gives me vibes that he's a freak of order or doesn't like people touching his things or getting into his room/space/studio

Imagine being in a room with Galileo and Mozart. Both silent and in a bad mood (Dazai would say they are brothers in some way. I have no proof, but I don't doubt either)

It also gives me vibes his route will be an enemies to lovers

I think that even though he dislikes Leonardo's disorder, he is one of the characters with whom he gets along best

I'm not sure. A part of me tells me that Isaac could perhaps be a little Galileo simp

I DON'T CARE WHAT CYBIRD SAYS. I DON'T CARE IF THEY TELL ME THEY ARE BEST FRIENDS AND SLEEP TOGETHER. ARTHUR AND GALILEO GET ON BAD. THEY ARE DOG AND CAT. WATER AND OIL (definitely not because Galileo has the same voice actor as Sherlock and I kind of imagine him with a similar attitude)

Francis Drake (VA: Tasuku Hatanaka)

I'm not going to lie to you. I had to look up who the character was because his name didn't sound familiar to me

Bro is technically a pirate??? 🤨🤨🤨

HIS SMILE HIS SMILE BARK BARK

I really like his eyes...and his smile

What he says: "Haha you're so short. How is the weather underground?" What he thinks: "Omg she's so small she's adorable"

I think his route could be the same as enemies to lovers, but it started with a misunderstanding

Somehow I think he can be very nice to be around, unlike Galileo. Very chill, but at the same time worried about his things and space

Maybe he likes to drink. Could be a drinking partner for Arthur and Theo

If he doesn't have a pet parrot I want him to get mad every time someone asks if his pet is a parrot just because they think he's a pirate (Francis: Hey 😄 / MC: Are you a pirate? / Francis: 😠)

He gives me a vibe that he's always in a silly goofy mood, but that he can kill you if you bother him too much

The dynamic between the two is: I have to put up with my horrible roommate because I don't have money to buy my own home (comte, please adopt them)

They have matching clothes so they are married (and divorced at the same time)

Extra:

Francis: "It's easy to forget what a sin is in the middle of a battlefield."

Galileo: Opposite over hypotenuse

Galileo: Dipshit

-

Francis: Hopefully Galileo has learned a lesson about respecting other people's feelings

Galileo: Oh, shut up and die Francis

-

Galileo: I'm having problems with a guy...

Francis: Like his dead body won't fit into your trunk kind of problems, or you like him kind of problems?

-

[Francis is cleaning the house and he finds an empty bottle of orange juice]

Francis: Clear orange juice?

Francis: Oh, it's empty

Galileo, who has been watching the entire time: I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot

-

[Galileo and Francis's house is on fire, but they don't know it]

Galileo: Damn, it's hot in here

Francis: I know, it's so hot there's smoke coming out of the vent!

Galileo: ...

Galileo: First of all, I'm assuming you have no idea what the problem with that statement is

Francis: What?

Galileo: Second of all, we need to get the fuck out of here, NOW

-

[After being defeated by the mansion's friendship power]

Galileo: The real treasure was the memories we made along the way

Francis: I almost died

Galileo: That... was my favorite memory

[fluffypotatey]

If wukong told (lied) to macaque that he never cared about him, do you think that would make macaque even more aggresive or like shut down/be the final straw that finally makes macaque let go of wukong

so, just like my answer for whether macky would willingly erase swk from his life, I think this answer also depends on when in the show swk told macky this, and what better way to explain this than by going through each outcome per season :)

UNO

looking at s1, we meet a Macaroni who is very hellbent on killing (or at the very least, heavily damaging) SWK because he feels like the guy never truly gave a shit about him (<- my interpretation). thus, it is safe to assume that if Wukong were to laugh off Marnolo's hurt and anger and tell the guy that he never cared, Mac&cheese will only feel that his current assumptions of SWK are correct and that the guy only cares about himself and his image.

would he feel hurt about it? oh absolutely. maybe punch a wall, destroy the "dojo" he allegedly lives in in an outburst of power and anger. maybe scream and cry but be mad at his own tears (begin to wipe them away but is too hash so he scars himself and then can't stop bc he's very self-destructive)

DOS

technically, Wukong is MIA so this would never happen. BUT! have you considered!!! Wukong telling MK that Macdonalds was just some guy from his past, nobody super important, basically a nobody he wronged in his long list of enemies. which MK might possibly parrot back to Macadoo in 2x07

heavens above Marconi would be pissed.

forget trying to be a dick to MK and "teaching" him that his path of emulating Wukong has already made him forget his friends (untrue, but this is what i assume was Macky's interpretation of MK's actions since the guy didn't actively search for his missing friends, who MK thought left him on purpose).

nah, Macky is hunting SWK down. he is out for blood because "did i serious mean so little to you? were our nights under that tree sharing secrets, dreams, peaches fucking nothing to you?" (and idk....maybe after the air clears out, possibly, macky would realize SWK's true reason for being MIA and....help out???? mayhaps???....yeah, yeah, i know only in my dreams T^T)

TRES

ok, so we could technically say this sort of happened in ep1 when Sun Wukong said, "i thought it was someone important," and, "so what, you're her puppet now? i mean, makes sense. you always did have a sidekick kind of vibe."

and that is basically Wukong implying that he viewed his relationship with Macaque as one where he didn't consider Macky to be important to him, or someone he saw as a close friend. however, this is also a tactic Wukong uses against nearly every villain he interacts with, simply to get a rise out of them. so, pin that down as Wukong being observant enough to know which words to use to hurt.

AND Macky's reaction to it is him jumping out of his cool-ass looking jet and body-slamming the monkey king to the floor. so, uh, it is safe to assume that Macky was pissed off at Wukong's comment.

THUS! with that in mind, we can say that in this context, Macackle will be upset enough to fight him; however, if we were to consider the end of s3 (like Samadhi Fire ritual to the end) i would go with the option of Mackarell shutting down and feeling like that comment is the nail in the coffin for their relationship.

CUATRO

in s4? absolutely not. he would be dragging Wukong by the ear, demanding that he repeat what he said, ordering Wukong to try and convince himself that their past meant nothing while Macky still lives and breathes. and especially after the s4 special.

you could argue that Macky could shut down in the beginning of s4, but i think he'd probably laugh it off because he knows now that Wukong is lying. he's being his old deflective self and probably doesn't know where to place Macanoli in his head now that they're technically on better terms with LBD done with.

but after all the drama of going through SWK's memories? nuh uh, Wukong can't get out of this, nope. you handed iMac a chocolate peach popsicle. it is too late for you turn back and lie about your feelings. you can dig your grave and lie about it, but he's just gonna hit you right back with your own medicine and make you understand that if y'all truly want to reconcile, you cannot continue lying to yourself that you don't care.

not anymore.

so, anyway, i hope this answers your question, anon! i had a lot of fun running this question around in me braincage :3

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

GODDD YOUR BRAIN. a lot of what you said is stuff ive been thinking about for literal years and esp now with my most recent playthrough of 1 and 2. the video was great and i also found a pdf for orientalism that i will be picking through as i have the time for it. ive had a post in my drafts ive been working on for a few days. specifically about how the crimson raider leadership (excluding moxxi and including the vault hunters) is comprised entirely of corporate settlers and how that still absolutely fuels their ideology when it comes to the bandit clans. tannis, zed, and pierce are all dahl, marcus has been both siding every conflict since the beginning of mankind, and roland and the ENTIRE military force of the crimson raiders (excluding the vhs) are atlas leftovers. and ofc its seen as necessary because there needs to be bodies between them and hyperion so every injustice against the planet is forgiven. its hardly even mentioned. even moxxi, who is pandoran born, profits in just. outright massacring the population with her fighting rings. (the underdome was sponsored by every corporation, including the shield manufacturers.) the desire that the raiders have to protect pandora just feel like protecting the. thirty or so people who live with them because everyone else is seen as not worthy to the point where mass execution and displacement is encouraged. im not going to talk about bl3 because im a bit rustier on it at this point but in FFS thats an issue brought up at the very start of the dlc: the crimson raiders are losing power and arent needed anymore because jack is gone. like they arent doing any great help to the planet. theyre not even wanted by the end of 2. side tangent but the two things that stand out to me the most on first thoughts are: destroying the eridium mine supplying sledges men in one (after already killing him and half the settlement) and doing straight up environmental warfare in 2 when freezing out the bloodshots. its just unnecessary cruelty. im sorry for taking so long to type this out i have. untreated adhd 😔

No no no it's okay speak your mind!!!

Also some additional things I didn't have the place to say in my answer:

One, you could very easily interpret bl1 and particularly bl2 as an extended metaphor for American destabilization and subsequent media treatment of the Middle East. Except Gearbox themselves is parroting the in-universe perception of Pandora as a "barren wasteland where nobody lives", i.e. the myth of terra nullius. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

Two, 2 specifically has an anti-colonialist narrative. Handsome Jack is a colonizer and you oppose him. But within this opposition is a DISTINCT subtext of "yeah he wants to kill off the bandits of Pandora but he also considers the Normal People, like Salvador and your friends to be bandits!", not "bandits are also humans with dignity". I'm not sure if the former is the conclusion the writers want you to arrive at, but it kind of feels like it.

Three, if I remember correctly the first time a tink (xenohuman/mutant) was not presented as part of the subhuman orientalized faction was fucking New Tales. And I think there was one in Debt or Alive as well (including a tongue in cheek joke about how calling your enemies slurs is kinda bad actually). Yet again, either the writers can't comprehend someone disabled in a not-"cool scifi" way being human, or the Borderlands universe has ridiculous amounts of ableism and baseliner supremacist (can you tell I love Rimworld's terminology for this sort of stuff) sentiment. But homophobia isn't real so that's funny haha right guys??????

As for 3... yeah there isn't much there. Ellie tells us that Pandora has been drained of all resources, Tyreen tells us what I already addressed, fucking Vaughn man. I'm sure I could say smth more coherent on all that but I can't rn, brain fried.

Then there's the Looters and Frostbiters and Devil Riders, who for gameplay purposes are reskinned bandits for the DLCs, but they aren't stated to be bandits for... what reason exactly, aside from geographic isolation (all the other bandits across the galaxy are universally homogenized so...)? I mean, frostbiters even associate into clans like bandits do...

And I do highly suggest you read Orientalism, it's a foundational text in post-colonial studies for a reason, but I find that it also applies incredibly well to media analysis :)

[jadeoru]

OMG JADE!!!!

that was the cutest shit i have ever read i love love omfg i’m so happy for you!!!! she seems like such a sweetheart 🥹🥹 i wish you guys the best in you’re future together!!! YOURE ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT MY BOYFRIEND

also i have been good all things considered 😭😭collage is literally kicking my ass and it’s only the 2nd week of class like 3 hour scientific maths on a monday at 9am but i have made a friend!! so that really helps i’m actually proud of myself for making a friend i find it so hard to make friends because i’m so awkward irl ☹️☹️☹️ also my ex friends fucked me over so bad that it lowkey scares me to make friends but she’s so lovely BUT OTHER THAN THAT ITS NOT ALL THAT BAD

also i’m planning on seeing my other friend tomorrow and it reminds me how i need to start driving ASAP i feel like lady gaga in that one meme “no sleep 👏🏻 bus,club 👏🏻another bus plane👏🏻 no sleep !

also to that cheeky asssss anon i’m in your walls and i will find you im crazy don’t doubt me leave my pookie jade ALONE RUDE ASSS

i love how i randomly dropped some lore in there MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS DONT MIND ME

she is such a sweetheart i want to sit on her shoulder like a pirate and their parrot

I HOPE U AND YOUR BOYFRIEND ARE WELL!!! wishing u guys an even BETTER future !!!!!!!

college sucks ass im treating my gap year like a holiday (realistically i dont think im gonna end up going at all lmao but thats a whole other story) 3 hour maths would kill me im so sorry about that… youre literally a genius though i have no doubt youll smash it!

im glad you made a friend!!! youre literally so awesome social interactions are my greatest enemy 😭 im cheering for u can u hear me!!! wooo!!!! im really sorry your ex friends are asshole losers they probs have the face of a donkeys arse though and they clearly have no futures so dont worry about them<333

I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN WITH YOUR FRIEND!!! stay safe !!

everyone has their moments of weakness you have no idea how many times ive almost trauma dumped on here lmfao

[aerodaltonimperial]

baby, please (would you read my eulogy?)

(This is the group chat's fault LOL. Canon gives me nothing so I have to resort to shit like this?? Ugh look at me. @hookedtheghoul dubbed this JungleCorpse and it's fucking genius so we are going with it HAHA)

His head hurts. It’s not a strange sensation, and certainly not an unusual one on any given Wednesday, but the ache began at the back, where his spine meets up with his skull, and then spread like blooming flower petals until it’s taken over most of his thoughts. When he presses his fingertips to the nape of his neck, gingerly, the skin is tender and sore beneath his touch. He’ll pay for this one, for Sammy targeting in on all the weakest joints he’s got, but beneath the pain, Jack vows to make MJF pay more.

It was supposed to be the three of them against the problem; the three of them against the man who holds everything and is grateful for nothing. And now it’s not, and Jack’s not sure which part upsets him more: that he believed it would all play out fair and square, above board, or that he believed, deep down, that he’d eventually win.

Dealing with the sting of losing will have to come after dealing with the much more pronounced pain littered across his body. He stands in the bathroom of his hotel room and checks his reflection for anything out of the ordinary—broken blood vessels, open wounds, the usual drill. There’s nothing but a smattering of already purpling bruises that will rainbow within days. Jack’s hands fall back to his sides, knuckles scraping across the fake marble counter.

There’s a knock at the door.

Of all the people to be standing on the other side when he opens it, Jack honestly never would have expected this one.

There’s a moment of nothing, of stillness, of the quiet that descends when words slip off into failure, and then Darby holds up the ice bucket. “Can I come in?”

There are a thousand reasons Jack should say no, but he pulls the door open wider, the barest of invitations. Darby takes it.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asks, when the door has clicked latched once more.

Darby gives the room once-over as though his own isn’t identical, right down to the framed pictures on the wall. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

“Do?” Jack parrots.

“About MJF. And Sammy.”

Jack laughs, involuntary and mirthless. “We’re not going to do anything. I’m going to take a shower, and go to sleep so that I can forget this whole day.”

“He cheated,” Darby says. His eyes flicker to Jack’s, narrow at the edges. Flecks of the white paint drawing a harsh line down his face have caught on his cheek. “They both cheated.”

“And we probably should have expected it,” Jack replies, harsher than he anticipated. “So that’s on us.”

A pause. Then: “I wanted it to be you in the next match.”

“Why?” Jack crosses his arms over his chest. He’s got few defenses left, but hell if he isn’t going to cling to the remainder. “Because I’m the easier target?”

Another pause, longer this time. “No.”

Jack sighs. “I don’t care, Darby. And I ask again, why are you here? We aren’t friends.”

“We’ve got a common enemy,” Darby says, like it means something.

“Oh, cut the ‘enemy of my enemy’ bullshit,” Jack snaps. “It doesn’t matter what MJF and Sammy did—I’m out. You all got what you wanted.”

Darby’s expression twists. “I didn’t say I wanted that.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I was in your way just like Sammy’s.” This is ridiculous; Jack needs to go to sleep, take care of the litter of bruises he’s going to be sporting by morning. He doesn’t have time to argue with Darby about the ethical ramifications of MJF and Sammy deciding to join forces. “Listen, I’m exhausted, okay? I just got thrown into a table by a guy whose tongue is hanging out of his mouth more often than not. I can’t do this now.”

“Can you do it later?” Darby asks.

“What does that even mean?”

Darby’s still got the ice bucket in his hands. He raises it up again, gives the plastic a little shake. “I’ll help.”

“Why?” Jack counters.

Ignoring the question, Darby circles his index finger lazily. “Sit. And turn around.”

Jack shouldn’t. He really ought to kick Darby out of his room and lock the door behind him. This entire thing is bizarre, the sort of thing Jack can’t reasonably conceive the ending to. But he sits, because his skin is aflame, and doesn’t argue when Darby swings a leg over onto the bed behind him.

The ice stings, and Jack winces, though it begins to numb the worst of the marks on his back within a minute. He sags into the sensation, his muscles protesting the whole time, and then he waits while Darby slides the ice around a few times before trying to push the conversation again. “They can’t both have the belt. One of them will turn on the other.”

“Yeah,” Darby says. Apparently, it’s not a new train of thought. “But we have to deal with this bullshit until then.”

Jack loops his fingers together in his lap, absently. Stares at the black television face. “You want to join up. Against them.”

Darby doesn’t answer. The patch of ice sweeps over to Jack’s other shoulder blade, another shock of cold.

“Why would you want to join up with me?” Jack asks, and before Darby even has the time to reply, adds, “I just got out of something like that. I’m not interested in doing it again.”

“Not even to take out MJF?”

“How would we even do that? You want to cheat just like they do?” Jack snorts. “I don’t want to stoop to their level. Not even to win. Besides, I already told you: I’m out now. If you want to beat them, you’ve still got the chance.”

Behind him, Darby sighs. He sounds annoyed, but Jack can’t find it in himself to care. “Think about it.”

“Already did.”

“Think about it when you haven’t been thrown through a table by Sammy Guevara.” Darby stands up, dropping the ice and the towel wrapped around it into Jack’s hands with little fanfare. He gets halfway to the door before pausing and turning, the unpainted side of his face glowing warm in the yellow hotel lighting. “You might feel differently tomorrow.”

“Why did you want it to be me in the next match?” Jack asks. His fingers tighten around the cold fabric in his lap.

Darby just holds his gaze, sharp, offering absolutely nothing. “See you, Jack.”

He leaves Jack with far more questions than answers. But in his wake, the hotel room is quiet: too quiet. Jack doesn’t want to spend time with the anger that’s already starting to coil in his stomach. He’s done enough of that. He gets up and goes to his suitcase to pull out his phone and tap a quick message, hoping that a new perspective might shed light on the situation. Darby showed up at my door after the match. I think he wants to join forces or something.

The reply takes only a few seconds: he said that?

Not in quite so many words. Jack frowns. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth just to roll the flesh around a little. He brought ice to help with the bruising.

The three dots appear, flickering. i’m sorry WHAT?? And then a second later, a follow-up: WHAT????

“Dammit,” Jack sighs.

His phone lights up with another message: i’m coming over don’t do anything stupid

“I don’t do stupid things,” Jack mutters, and tosses his phone on the bed. Thirty seconds later, there’s another knock on his door. This time, at least, he knows exactly who is on the other side.

“This is unnecessary,” he says as he opens it up and Hook breezes in like he owns the place, hair askew and hands shoved down into his hoodie pocket.

Hook turns a wide circle, almost like he thinks Jack has somehow stashed Darby behind the curtains or something, and then levels Jack with an expression bordering on incredulous. “He came over here with ice? And you didn’t think that was weird?”

“I have to stop giving you my room number,” Jack says.

Hook’s disbelief grows more pronounced. “Jack, you hate each other.”

“No, we hate MJF,” Jack points out. “And, at this point, Sammy, because seriously, fuck that guy. This whole thing is a nightmare. It’s just politics.”

“Politics doesn’t come over to ice your bruises. I don’t even do that.”

“Yeah, cause you’re an asshole,” Jack says.

“Not the point.” Hook rolls his eyes.

The clock face tells him that it’s far, far too late for conversations like this. Jack throws his head back. “What are you trying to say here, Hook? I’m tired. I don’t have time for this.”

“Oh my god, Jack, think this through,” Hook tells him. “Why would he do that?”

A moment, a beat; Jack doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t like it. He scowls. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, make sense?” Hook hits him with another of his unimpressed looks. “You’re just mad because I’m right.”

“I’m not mad, and you’re not right. You’re insane, is what you are.”

“Darby Allin showed up here with ice for your injuries and you think I’m insane,” Hook deadpans.

“I’m not listening to you,” Jack says. Then he waves a hand between them back and forth a few times. "Please get that look off your face, the one where you think I'm an idiot."

"I don't know how to get it off my face."

Jack is too tired for this. "Yes, you do."

"You're right, I just don't want to." Hook sniffs, that unconscious crinkling of his nose he seems to do when he's lost in thought. "So what are you going to do about this? Even if you don’t believe me that there’s ulterior motives here, it’s obvious Darby wants something from you.”

"I don't know," Jack admits. His head hurts. His body hurts; he's been snapped in a million pieces, and he honestly just cannot attempt to sort through the mess that is Darby right now.

"Seems like you should figure that out soon." Hook raises one eyebrow, the judgy bitch.

"Yeah?" Jack counters. "Should I? You sent that text yet asking how recovery is going?"

Silence. Hook works his jaw around in a slow circle while glaring at Jack across the hotel carpet. And then, after what feels like an eternity loaded with all the bullshit neither of them is willing to wade into, he says, "I don't know why I'm friends with you."

"Ditto." Jack sighs, rolling his neck around. Despite it all, the ice has helped, and it’s one more thing he files away to think about when he’s got more brain power. "You wanna watch a movie or something?"

"Yeah." Hook climbs onto the bed without further invitation, grabbing for the remote on the bedside table, and Jack resigns himself to something with far more explosions than necessary. He takes a far too quick shower, and emerges to find one of those obnoxious car racing movies on, the ones he has long since lost count of. But it doesn't really matter. He settles up on the pillows next to Hook, and they watch in companionable silence. 

Hook falls asleep within the hour, his head tilted back against the headboard, sleepy little sighs slipping past his lips. It happens more often than not, and Jack wonders when, if ever, Hook will figure out that he gravitates to having body heat next to him like a missile. Jack’s never met anyone as miserably lonely as Hook is, especially given how much the man staunchly refuses to do anything to change the situation. But Hook is a familiar tangle, comforting by this point, and the rest…

When Jack reaches for his phone, he's got an unread message from an unknown number. He clicks in.

Make sure to put new ice on in the morning. And think about what I said.

Jack’s eyes slide to the left, but Hook’s still asleep. For some reason, Jack wants to keep this close to his chest for now. He waits a moment, and then another; finally, he thumbs down to the input. He types, very slowly: Okay.

Then he taps into the string of numbers at the top and saves the contact under ‘Darby.’

Jack watches to the end of the movie, full of explosions and gasoline fires and cars screaming off of towers, with Hook muttering nonsense in his sleep next to him and a thousand thoughts racing through his head.

[imsparky2002]

Class of Villainy - Lil’ Villains

Mari De Vil: This little fashionista hurts animals on the regular and always dresses to impress at daycare. A cruel and horrid little girl.

JafAdrien: A scheming and wicked boy who puts on a cute face to get what he wants. Loves snakes and has a pet parrot with him to spy on other kids. Someday he’s gonna be the best sorcerer in the world.

YzAlya: This girl loves to create new potions and plan havoc, too bad her big sister is always accidentally foiling her plans. Likes turning teachers and adults into animals.

Honest Nino: The little fox-hybrid uses his cute looks to con people. You’ll find him snuggling with Alya in his fox hole.

Prince of Hearts: Nathaniel is madder than a hatter, and the little boy will find any excuse to resort to decapitation. Everyone has to follow his ridiculous rules, or face the consequence.

Prince Marc: The Poison Prince sees himself as fairest of all children (except for his friend Nathaniel, to whom he is equal), and will do anything to keep it that way. Him and Alya like making poison and potions together, and Marc is always staring at himself in the mirror.

Maxiro: A infant genius who’s already planning world domination before snacktime. Little guy’s constructing toy robots and having a blast doing so.

Kimton: A arrogant and rude kid who’s mean to non-villainous girls, and those he thinks are weak. Wants to be a hunter like his Dad.

Alix Khan: The little Princess of the Jungle. This tiger-hybrid toddler loves pouncing and scratching at her prey, but is scared of fire. She’s one evil kitty.

Juleficent: The tiny Mistress of All Evil, this small goth loves to spread wickedness with her staff. Her favorite thing to do is make those no-fun adults nap with her sleep spell. Wishes she could turn into a dragon. Turns her twin brother Luka into a raven for fun.

Princess Rose Candy: The digital infant Princess of Sugar Rush (She was never Pigella in this universe) who was given glitching powers by her best friend, Juleka. Don’t let the bright clothes and squeaky voice fool you, she’s pure evil. Loves to give and eat candy.

Ivan Oogie: The boogiebaby loves frightening his friends and enemies. He’s always up to no good, trying to find something to torture the staff with. Ivan can’t wait until he’s older, when things’ll get really scary.

Mylensula: This tiny sea witch is already quite the devious girl. She uses little crayons and paper to get contracts, and likes stealing voices all for herself.

Madame Sabrina: The girl absolutely loves diamonds and will do anything to have them. Her, Chloe, and Marinette are rich playdates who already have an extreme sense of self-worth.

Lady Chloe: Despite only being a toddler, Chloe makes adults cower when she gives them a death stare. A refined and insidious young girl, she hates plebs and those who are utterly ridiculous.

Kagami Yu: The daughter of a warlord, this little general is eager for the day she can conquer in battle. Always carrying around her toy sword, Kagami’s always up for a fight.

Madame Aurore: A demented and batty child with a love for the gruesome and grim. She’s always bouncing off the walls, and needs to be watched constantly.

Mireides: The toddler Goddess of Death is always snarking about her situation. She likes burning things with her hair, punishing her Kwamis, or causing trouble with Aurore. When she throws a temper tantrum, it gets ugly.

Zoe of the Southern Isles: The princess who’s tired of being ignored by people. Pretends to be a sweet and kind little girl, but is actually a wicked baddie. Loves to have pretend sword fights with her best friend, Kagami.

Jeanatoa: A small crab-hybrid who loves shiny things. They’re always snatching jewels and trinkets with their pincers. He also loves putting on shows for his classmates, and really wants to eat his grandma.

Cosetteweather: This lamb-hybrid is already prepping for office. They follow around Zoe and help her with her plans to become Princess. It pretends to be a shy meek little kid, but is a smart cookie who’ll do anything to get power. Loves being with Zoe.

Doctor Cabello: They may be a toddler, but they already have friends on the other side. They like to use hoodoo magic and talismans to cause trouble, mainly by getting their shadows to do their bidding. They also love teasing the little choir boy, Simon.

Simon Frollo: A very religious little boy, always babbling about “no sinning” and how “God” is so cool. He’ll do naughty things and then say that God told them to do it. Has a puppy-love relationship with Denise, ironically enough.

Ismascar: The Prince of the Jungle who longs to be king. He’s a naughty cub who gets his hyena friends to do his bidding. You’ll find him playing with Alix, usually with strings or yarn. Loves his daddy very much.

Reshma Hook: The toddler daughter of Captain Aabha, one of the greatest pirates ever known. Aabha and Anarka Couffaine are friends, so their daughters were playmates before daycare. Reshma takes after her mommy, and loves pilfering gold or other valuable items, when she can find it.

Lacey Gothel: The little girl is a serial killer in the making. She’s always lurking somewhere with her toy knife, waiting to strike. Loves disguises and hates old people.

And that’s the rotten bunch of kids that poor Bustier and Mendeliev have to control. We’ll be seeing more of them, as well as the ‘Lil Heroes soon in the future. As always, make sure to reblog, reply, ask, and post your thoughts. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[pantstomatch]

Top five favorite animals (type or specific animal friends) and top five ships?

animals!

5. walrus. they are big and friendly looking and also murderous.

4. elephant. stories about elephants always make me cry, they are so precious and wonderful and could also stomp you to death if you wrong them.

3. my mille fleur d'uccle booted bantam chickens. I wish I had an entire flock of them. they are adorable and will jump the fence and come cluck at the back door for peanuts and Eleanor will sit on my hand like a parrot and they're the size of pigeons, the perfect chicken. (we have five, but only Eleanor, Bethany and Regina are named so far bc it takes me a hot minute to figure out who is who bc they look almost exactly the same, so we end up just calling them, mostly, "the sweeties" because they're so stinkin' sweet.)

2. hermit crabs. I just think they're really cool. they're crabs you can hold! I had two growing up, Herman and Godzilla. Herman lived, like, 10 years and got lost in my house more times than I can count and also, once, lost in my middle school when I brought him in for show and tell. Yes, we did find him.

1. dogs. dogs are the best. I love dogs. I also hate them when they piss and poop on my floor and chew all my furniture, but I think it's worth it.

ships! I don't think these are in any order, these are just my favorite ships to go back and read.

Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington. yeah, sorry, I'm obsessed with enemies to lovers, it's the perfect set up.

Jensen/Cougar. Pretty much ALLLLLLLL my go-to comfort fic is them? why? who knows?

Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson. I never even liked one direction? I have extremely limited knowledge of who Nick is? The fic is fun, though.

John Marcone/Harry Dresden. I've read a couple books in this series on recommendation, but it's not really my bag. Whatever these guys got going on, though. It's a cool ship to read. I'll even read first person for it!

Kakashi/Iruka. I have zero source material knowledge, I just really enjoy the fic.