#it is unbetaed

[hdawg1995]

I've been writing a dumb stupid OOC edgy angsty fanfic about my player's D&D characters, y'all wanna read this bull shit?

[fearandhatred]

to rome: a play by fearandhatred

(5k words, 1/1 chapters)

While trying to tempt Caligula, Crowley makes a discovery that renders all his efforts for naught. But then it turns out that Aziraphale is here too, so maybe his trip to Rome isn't wasted after all.

***highly recommended to read on a phone because of the Multiplicity Of Line Breaks that just look very weird on a laptop unless your font size is huge

-----

i've always loved the idea of crowley falling in love with aziraphale in rome. in some ways it really is my roman empire so i figured i might as well make it happen! featuring many shenanigans and an annoying emperor :)

any and all support is greatly appreciated <3

anyway it all started with a dream:

so this is for @eybefioro @captainblou @crowleys-bentley-and-plants who challenged me to write a fic with no angst and also, coincidentally, for that one commenter who asked me on the same day if i would consider writing something happy for once. against all odds and with much difficulty, i have done it. love u guys sm <333

[rubberbutton]

I am refusing to say anything disparaging about my efforts here, but it is taking all my willpower. Pls clap. Anyway, this is an illustration for the fic below. Javert had the SLP (slutty lil ponytail) for 95% of the drawing process, but I decided to please myself and did the curly hair at the last minute. Also, the fic was originally set at night in the bedroom so the state of dishabille made sense, but less so when I moved it to midafternoon. I was too lazy to add more clothes tho.

Ut Ameris Amabilis Esto - Valvert, rated teen for old man snugglin', no warnings

It was the habit of the old bachelors at Rue de l'Homme Armé, No. 7 to eat the day’s largest meal in the early afternoon.

They’d then take a cold supper at whatever time suited them. Most days, it was their custom to dismiss Mère Chenault, who came in to do the cooking and housework, after she’d prepared lunch. She’d initially resisted this arrangement until it was made clear to her that she’d receive the full day’s wages for a half day’s work. 

She was a proud woman, who’d fallen into bitter poverty after the early death of her husband.With an invalid daughter and six dependent grandchildren to support, she’d been grateful to have found her current place. Her employers were peculiar men who kept themselves to themself, but it was less work for more money than her last position. 

“I may not be a rich woman, but I pride myself on making my own way—I’ve never once had to accept charity,” she said upon meeting Monsieur Fauchelevent. “Save once when the littlest was ill and the doctor wouldn’t see him without upfront payment.”

Mère Chenault didn’t mind the pair’s strange ways. She knew that many men become eccentric in their old age, and bachelors in particular become set in their ways. It was to this tendency that she attributed Monsieur Fauchelevent’s insistence on managing the accounts with the green grocer and the butcher himself. The poor man managed it badly, as often as not ordering quantities which far exceeded the pair’s meager needs. When pressed, he equivocated: he felt terribly hungry when he placed the order only to find his appetite quite deserted him when the meal was before him. The resulting surplus was sent home with Mère Chenault as it would go to waste otherwise, and Monsieur Fauchelevent considered waste a grave sin. 

The second bachelor under her supervision, a Monsieur Javert, was likewise odd. Though a robust man who appeared to her eyes hale and healthy, he claimed to have a delicate and changeable constitution—a dish which agreed with him last week would turn on him this week and he could no longer abide it. Again, Mère Chenault was obliged to take the excess to prevent it being wasted. 

She gently chided Monsieur Fauchelevent for his excess and made a consommé for Monsieur Javert’s weak stomach. 

— 

“That woman is an idiot,” Javert said, looking out the window onto the street below, where Mère Chenault had just stepped out. Today she had such a bounty a boy had been hired to help her carry it home. “No, don’t chide me. Your expression is rebuke enough.” 

“Mère Chenault is a good and honest woman,” Valjean replied, then allowed, “It is to our advantage if she does not possess an inquiring mind.” 

Jean Valjean was seated at the escritoire, a stack of letters, mostly charitable solicitations, beside him. It was late afternoon in early summer before the heat had settled over the city, and the breeze coming in through the window was exceedingly pleasant.

Javert took a seat in his usual armchair, opening a book of poetry. He despised poetry. He felt it was a discipline without purpose and poets were notorious for their dissipation, besides—but the book had been a gift for his edification. He read silently, occasionally grimacing or snorting to telegraph his contempt. If he found a line particularly execrable, he read it aloud. Very, very occasionally he read a line or two which he found almost tolerable. In these instances, Valjean hummed and asked him what he thought about it.  

After some moments since Javert’s last recitation, Valjean said, “I had a letter from Cosette today.”

Javert made a noncommittal noise and turned a page. He was a picture of complete disinterest, but perhaps his fingers had tightened on the pages when the name Cosette was mentioned. 

“They’ve had an easy journey. They mean to return in a fortnight,” Valjean offered. Javert didn’t acknowledge this intelligence at all. “She asked after your health.”

“Did she?” Javert drawled, finally looking up. “She’ll be disappointed to hear that I am quite well.” 

“Cosette doesn’t wish you ill,” Valjean said and frowned.

Javert set his book aside. “Perhaps not, but I doubt hearing news I’ve taken terribly ill and am not expected to live out the night would grieve her.” Javert waved his hand to forestall further protest from Valjean. “I don’t begrudge her. She has every right to hate me.”

It was an old argument. 

Valjean held up the letter. “She cannot hate you too much. She’s invited you to dinner.”

“Unlikely,” Javert replied, sourly.

“She has—come and read it for yourself.”

Javert rose and came to lean over Valjean’s shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he pored over the missive. “What date does she propose?”

“Well, she hasn’t given a date quite yet,” Valjean hedged. “But it says right here: I trust Monsieur Javert is well. I hope that he will be available to join us for dinner once we’re back in the city.” 

“Bah.” Javert’s lip curled. “It’s not an invitation if it doesn’t include a date.”

“It’s reasonable for her to wait until they’re settled after their travels,” Valjean said, brow furrowed. “Cosette is always sincere. See, she continues, if Monsieur Javert has any particular tastes or appetites—”

“—If she only knew—” Javert interjected with a hint of tooth. 

Valjean hushed him, though the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “—Be sure to share them and I will make sure to consider them in planning the menu.” He set the letter down. “It’s not in her nature to hold a grudge. She’ll warm to you.” 

“How could she not? Everyone adores my amiable nature and good humor.”

 “You are quite capable of being amiable. You have even, on occasion, been good humored.” Valjean put his hand on Javert’s where it lay on the table. “Perhaps this might be an opportunity to demonstrate it.” 

Javert hesitated. “If I fail, the stakes are high.”

“God gives second chances.” 

“Yes, but does your daughter?” 

“Of course—you’re already on your third or fourth.” 

Javert did not smile at the joke and pulled his hand out from under Valjean’s. He straightened and gave Valjean his back, which he tended to do when he felt harassed. He took his seat again and buried his large nose in the book of poetry. Uncertain, Valjean laid out a new piece of paper and picked up up his pen. He made it no further than the salutation and a few initial pleasantries, however, before he set the pen back down.  

“I don’t have to answer her at the present moment.”

“She’ll worry if you don’t answer soon.”

“I don’t have to indicate that you’d accept an invitation.”

“She’d understand from the omission that I am rebuffing her overture.” 

Valjean arranged the ink pot and pouncet-box on the desk, then straightened the piles of waiting letters so their edges were all aligned. “Are you?”

There was a long silence. “I find myself between the praecipitium and the lupi.”

“Ah,” Valjean said. He wanted to sigh but fought the impulse. 

“If I decline, you’re disappointed. If I accept, I’ll surely blunder or offer your daughter some insult. You hope that your daughter and I will come to some mutual understanding or, more foolishly still, affection. She’s right to be wary of me. For what I was, for what I have done, and for the blight in my soul. You are are closer to saint than any other man living and are thus able to endure my person, but you go too far in expecting your daughter to do the same. Even if she were to entirely forgive the harm I did her mother, that I have done to you, she would be right to abhor me. Men may endure me but no one has ever liked me.” He pronounced all this with a cold and brittle certitude. It was not self-pity—or not primarily self-pity—but a judgement handed down by God. 

 Valjean indulged himself and sighed heavily. “So you decline the invitation?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you accept the invitation?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“There’s no hurry. Think about it and let me know once you’ve made a decision?” 

Javert held the book of poetry, but it could not be said that he was reading it, as his gaze did not travel along each line but remained fixed and unchanging. Valjean addressed the most pressing of the other correspondence: orphans, widows, homeless veterans. There were still more waiting for his attention, but he hesitated and glanced at Javert, who could have been made of stone for all that he moved. 

“I’ll leave the rest of these for the morning, I think,” Valjean said and set his pen down. Javert didn’t mark him. Valjean rose and walked to stand before him, still Javert refused to meet his eyes. Valjean plucked the book from Javert’s hands, ignoring the noise of protest. 

“If you mean to further belabor the issue—” Javert started coldly.

“I don’t intend to talk.” Valjean caught Javert’s wrists and pulled him to his feet. Javert tried to free himself but was no more able to resist than a mouse in the cat’s claws. Valjean bent over, set his shoulder to Javert’s middle and hoisted him up like a sack of flour. 

“Damn you,” Javert said, as he was born out of the study, down the hall and into the bedroom. Valjean tossed him onto the bed, which creaked like a ship in a storm as it shuddered under Javert’s sudden weight. He started to rise, but Valjean held up his hand, palm out to halt him. 

“You stay,” he said, his voice was low, calm, almost pleasant. 

Javert stayed, though whether it was capitulation or merely the knowledge that he would only embarrass himself in a physical contest was uncertain. 

“Have you lost your mind, old man?” he said, eyes narrow and intense. 

“Goad me as much as you like,” Valjean said, mildly. “Does it help?”

“A little,” Javert allowed. Valjean climbed onto the bed, Javert watching with both deep suspicion and an avid interest. 

“Roll over,” Valjean said. 

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon,” Javert said, scandalized, even as he complied. 

Valjean laughed. “Save your blushes. That’s not what I’m after.” He sidled up to Javert and lay down next to him, propping himself up on an elbow. He lay a hand on the back of Javert’s neck, petting the curls that lay along his nape,, then began to stroke lightly to the base of his spine and back again. Valjean pillowed his head on Javert’s shoulder. He was tall and broad man and well muscled. Still he maintained his sharp edges and the shoulder blade under Valjean’s cheek was boney. 

Javert sighed the large intake of breath lifting Valjean like a bellows. The small of Javert’s back was damp with sweat. Valjean plucked at the linen to pull it away from the skin, then kept tugging, pulling the shirttails from the waist of his trousers. Javert shivered as Valjean’s hand slipped under the shirt’s hem and found skin. Valjean let his hand wander, though no lower than Javert’s waist band, though the temptation was strong. He could hear Javert’s heartbeat under his ear. It had been clamorous and rapid, but now slowed, grew calmer. 

He waited until it had slowed further still and stayed that way to say, “When she was little, Cosette loved me as a child loves a parent. It does not matter whether the parent is worthy of that love, the child cannot help but feel the attachment strongly. Now she is a woman grown and she retains love for me still. It does not burn as brightly as once it did. And why should it? It is right that her greatest affection is for her husband.” Javert didn’t respond; his heartbeat remained steady. “I have no other family. I have no friends. I’ve had no lovers, save you.” 

“Let me roll over—my neck is complaining,” Javert grumbled.“I suppose you mean now to draw some parallel between our situations.”

“Something of that nature.” Valjean sat up enough for Javert to roll onto his back and waited until he was settled. “I don’t have prepared remarks.”

“You are genial, kind and good natured. But you have kept any who would seek a greater connection with you at arm’s length. I have seen how you turn aside every invitation with polite demurral. Perhaps a necessity given your circumstances, but certainly your choice.”

“I have not always been genial, as you well remember,” Valjean said wryly. “You have also made the choice to keep others from extending the offer of friendship. You have a ferocious scowl—yes, that’s the one—and harsh words for nearly everyone. Perhaps if you’d like to be liked, you might consider being, well,  likable.”

Javert growled low in his chest. 

“Or not,” Valjean said. “As you prefer.”

Javert rolled to his side, pressing against Valjean, and buried his face in Valjean’s neck. Valjean cradled the back of his head with a hand. 

“I’ll go,” Javert said into the tender skin below Valjean’s ear. “I do my utmost to be, ugh, amiable.” The words sounded as though they’d been extracted from him under great duress. 

“Thank you,” Valjean said. “I’m sure you’ll succeed. After all, I find you amiable.” He shifted  enough to capture Javert’s mouth with his own. “Very amiable indeed.”

Fin. 

[deliciouskeys]

Beware the Patient Woman (my foray into Sagelander)

This is set right after season 4. I don’t address anything beyond Sagelander. Ashley disappeared. Ryan is presumed returned to Vought Tower, maybe staying in a different room while they have to renovate Homelander’s apartment top to bottom. This is either a standalone or a chapter 1, idk. Had to get it out of my system. Rated PG cause I'm lazy/ a coward? (for now). AO3 link.

Sage may not have x-ray vision but she can tell who’s behind the door by the sound of the knock before she opens it. She didn’t have time to change out of her pajamas, but at least she was awake.

"May I come in?" he asks, peering down at her before his eyes start roving around the room.

"Of course," she says, even though she was looking forward to lying around in bed before having to put her suit on and trot out to the board meetings.

"Sorry, I know it’s early. I couldn’t really sleep last night." He walks in, almost brushing past her, arms clasped behind his back and hidden by the American flag cape billowing slightly behind him, so close that she has to lean back slightly to avoid getting an eagle beak to the face. But he didn’t mean disrespect by it, just distracted by looking all around the room.

"This was so much emptier when Maeve lived here," he remarks, stepping around various small pieces of furniture, nearly all stacked with books.

"I’m sure she needed the space to practice her combat techniques."

"Yeah or her drinking or her threesomes. I’m not sure she had the attention span to read a book in her life," he mumbles angrily, and Sage doesn’t like where this conversation is going at all. She knew there might be a downside to being given the room where Homelander’s old flame used to live.

"Did you want to discuss something?" she says, trying to keep any impatience out of her voice.

He turns around sharply to face her. "I really wanted to thank you for… everything that happened yesterday. I couldn’t even articulate how grateful I was for what you did for me."

For him, he thinks, despite her telling him point-blank that she did it to see if she could. But she was banking on his gratitude and on the high value he places on loyalty.

"You’re so very welcome. But I only did what you hired me to do," she says, cautiously, hoping this will emphasize that she may not necessarily have any interest in going beyond what she was hired to do. Maintaining boundaries with a man like this was always important.

"No, no." One of his hands emerges from behind his back to wag a finger at her. "Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about. You did what I hired you to do, sure, but you did it even after I dismissed you. I’m not stupid, Sage. I know you could have used that brain of yours to fuck me thrice over and get revenge for how badly I treated you. I admit, I underestimated you. I did a dangerous thing, letting you go, when you were my best ally all along. So I… I know you could have made things worse for me, but you chose to side with me anyway. I was absolutely wrong about you, and it won’t happen again. I will listen to you, like I promised."

Sage hesitates. He’s saying all the right things, but these hollow promises aren’t worth much when they’ll fall to the wayside the next time he gets fed up with her. No, he’s leading up to something, and she’s wary of what might come next, so she’s not sure how she should reply to steer the conversation away.

"That’s good to hear. And no hard feelings, trust me."

Homelander nods. "Yeah, trust. I do want to ask you one thing. It’s just… I do trust you, but could I just ask you to keep me in the loop? No more lies?"

"I don’t think I ever outright lied to you," Sage answers, taking a deep breath, trying to keep her breath steady. Was this human powderkeg about to explode again? She thought she had him placated for at least a few weeks, but maybe she’s miscalculating just how paranoid he is. It's hard to feel completely calm when he's standing over her, forcing her to tilt her face upwards to meet his gaze.

"Well I’m including lying by omission," he says, but then his expression changes, softens strangely, and he steps back as if realizing that he's been looming over her. "I’m sorry, you’re misunderstanding, I didn’t come here to threaten you in any way. I just wanted to… maybe just establish best practices, going forward."

Shit, her heart rate must have spiked, finally given away that she was getting nervous. "Oh yeah, I understand. I appreciate that. Let’s discuss that."

Homelander shakes his head, wincing. "Look, I really don’t mean to dictate how you should work. I realize I’m doing it automatically. I’m catching myself telling you what to do again. I respect that you might not want to tell me everything– I do. I’ll be honest, it is a blow to the ego, and I’m not used to it, because… well you’ve seen the caliber of idiots that I've had to deal with. I’m not used to trusting someone else." 

He looks … unsure of himself? Is he genuinely apologetic? Sage is so reluctant to interpret anything he says as benign and without ulterior motives, but it’s tempting to believe him right now. She’s really at a loss for words, content to let him just keep talking and explain himself.

"So… I take back everything I said," Homelander mutters, his mouth folding even thinner as soon as he says it. "I trust you so much that I allow you to lie by omission. But if I ask you something, I’d really like a straight answer. Call it my weakness. I’m not a details guy. I’m not aspiring to look over your shoulder and micromanage your plans. But I just- I just need a little something in return for the trust. I need to be able to check in once in a while and know you won’t lie to my face."

Sage can’t believe she’s getting to watch this man wrestle with himself, threatening to spiral out while trying to define what’s important to him and what’s reasonable to ask of her. He’s debating with himself with only the barest input from her. She needs to nip this in the bud. She’s never felt that comfortable seeing him cry, and she doesn’t want things to get to that point, where she’ll have to comfort him instead of just reassuring him. "Hey listen. I love working with you. You’re giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ll gladly discuss plans with you if you’re really interested in the boring details." Maybe she’s overselling it a bit, but he looks like he recovers his poise at least. 

"Anyway, that’s not even what I came here to ask you." he says, his tone sounding more like his usual self. "I wanted to invite you out for dinner. Just as a small token of appreciation- ah-ah! Nope!" he says, raising his hand as she tries to interrupt him. "Don’t say no before you hear the proposition. I found out you like sushi."

Sage’s blood runs a little cold at hearing him know something about her that she doesn’t think she ever revealed to anybody on staff at Vought.

"I located your mother and asked her a little about you over the phone last night," he says, as if guessing the question in her mind. Of course he did. He probably thinks that gives him leverage over her. Well, joke’s on him, because she hasn’t been in much contact with her mom, they haven’t gotten along since she was a teenager, and she’s not going to be manipulated by him threatening her mom. But her mom is right that she likes sushi.

"Oh yeah?" Sage asks, summoning a genuine looking smile to her face because she’s not sure how well he can tell when her mind starts running at triple speed when she’s feeling pressure. "I do love me some sushi. And I haven’t tried that many places since moving here, because it’s been so busy."

"Great!" he says, and now his smile looks genuine too, the fleeting reference to her family thankfully fading out of their conversation. "I’ve rented out this place called Masa night. You’re gonna love it. Three Michelin stars and all that. Best sushi in New York."

"Yeah, tonight works," Sage says, hoping it’s not too rude to imply that his setting her daily schedule for her is overstepping, his certainty that she’s going to love hanging out with him is overstepping. 

"Usually I wouldn’t put you through the hassle of going out, just have the chefs come to work at the Vought kitchen and host it at my place, but you know… my place is a bit of a disaster zone right now and yours… well I don’t wanna disturb your little setup you’ve got going on here."

Yes, there’s a problem she needs to solve as soon as possible brewing here. She’s very fucking glad she’s not being invited to dinner at his place. "So is there a dress code? Do I have to wear my superhero suit?"

Homelander scoffs. "I’ve rented it out. No paps, no photos. You can come in whatever you damn well please. Wear sweatpants if you want. This is all for you!" He smiles again, and it’s really genuine, and now she’s concerned that her fears are true. In his mind, this is a date.

"Just you and me?" she verifies, and when he nods she takes a deep breath and says something risky, but better now than later. "Just so you know– I don’t really do romantic relationships. I’ve slept with a couple of members of the Seven, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would want to get in on that action."

Homelander blinks, clearly taken aback. "It’s just dinner with a colleague," he says, but his tone is halting. "I don’t- that’s none of my business what you do in your free time with-" he licks his lips and Sage tries to guess what bothers him most about this. "Were you sleeping with A-Train? Is that how you knew?"

"No, I don’t mix work and pleasure like that." Sage can’t help but laugh a little. "I can tell you with whom. ‘No more secrets’, right? Noir and the Deep."

Sage can practically hear the wheels in Homelander’s head turning as he tries to picture it. "Huh," he says. "Well that’s uh… your prerogative certainly." Is that hurt in his voice? Maybe disbelief that she’d fuck people he considers far beneath him?

"Exactly. I assumed that someone like you would have no problem with workplace hookups," she says, shrugging. "Being part of the Seven isn’t really a normal gig. It’s so full-time, it’s your entire life. Might as well get some fun out of it."

"Yeah, makes sense," he mutters, trailing off, still thinking.

"So tonight then? What time?" she asks.

He snaps out of his thoughts. "I rented it out for the entire evening. So anytime from five onward. Up to you."

"Seven then?" she says. He nods and walks out stiffly. Sage shuts the door and leans back against it. She has to navigate this right. This overpowered manchild doesn’t have a good track record of keeping work and pleasure separate, but she can’t rebuff him in a way that insults him. She thought she was in the clear– that someone like her would never attract that kind of attention from him. She needed to be smart about this.

[composeregg]

wanted to join in on that meta post by saying yeah, even if we view joker’s and akechi’s relationship as special compared to the others, akechi is still written under the constraints of p5, and an antagonist to boot. like. vanilla had his confidant as automatic bc (iirc) they thought they couldn’t fit it in properly! which is crazy, even tho the automatic rank ups have an interesting implication (such as, akechi will always be rank 10 by the end no matter what you do). i understand that ppl probably wanted someone to talk sense into the thieves for their unwittingly callous actions, but not by the guy who decided to go thru with his 11/20 plan lol

(this post)

YEAH like, I love Akechi. I adore him. But I have SO many OPINIONS about this mans. like. I'm not going berate anyone for how they write characters, that's the freedom of fandom, but I am going to stand over here with my opinions and contrary thoughts and chitchat about them in my space

I know that very often it is because people want someone to refute what canon has shown us (because canon's writing disagrees with it's desired goals as mentioned in that post). They want someone to go "Look at Joker, look at what's happened to him, don't you care? How risky this was?"

But okay I'm actually going to back up a bit!

(this got long)

What other choice was there for 11/20?

Because the answer is not "they could have taken Akechi in a fight."

The goals of the interrogation room/metaverse plan:

Escape with Joker alive

Trick Shido and the conspiracy into believing Joker has died

and you know? you know? you cannot do that latter bullet point if you just beat up Akechi

So enlighten me. How, exactly, were the thieves supposed to come up with a different plan in under 20 days? One where Joker would live, where the conspiracy would believe he had died, and importantly, one that at that point in time cannot count on Akechi being a turncoat. They have no reason to trust that he would

"Don't you care about how risky this was? There had to have been other ways."

We don't get Shido's name as Akechi's employer here until after the phonecall reporting the death, I believe. They cannot change Shido's heart in time to avert this because they do not have the information. The interrogation room plan, genuinely, was one of the smartest ideas they had. It accomplished exactly what they needed to. These are teens in a life-or-death situation, who notoriously have MANY trust issues with adults for good reason, especially since society is so corrupt that a hitman can easily walk into a police department and assassinate a high-profile criminal and get away with it with help (remember the guard at the door?) The other options are basically "change your identity and flee the country" or "literally actually die" lets be real here!

SO

Akechi, let's be honest with ourselves here, would primarily be pissed off that the thieves got one over on him! And if he is concerned about the lasting trauma of it all, or how risky the plan was, he is seeing this and approaching it from the angle of knowing it worked.

(Better options for sense-talking: Sojiro! Sojiro is right there! Takemi! Iwai! Kawakami! Yoshida! All important responsible adult figures to Joker and at least some of the thieves.)

In my opinion if Akechi wants to snark at the thieves about the plan in any way regarding how much it fucks up Joker and how it was risky, they are more than allowed to fire back shots at him for making it necessary and shooting Joker in the head in the first place.

I think people often use it as a shorthand, to show that Akechi cares about Joker, but also as a way to emphasize the importance of Akechi to Joker (compared to the rest of the thieves). It's easier to ignore the fact that he killed two of the thieves's parents when it comes to Joker being in a relationship with him, as long as it can be shown that he's the one that really cares. That he wouldn't put Joker through something so fucked up with his care (hilarious, laughable, he shot Joker in the head). It separates "Akechi and Joker" from all the phantom thieves in a way.

(Honestly sometimes it feels like ship bashing/character bashing but for ALL the phantom thieves with how intensely some people write it! beyond even the point of exploring Atlus fucking up characterization to pretend to have a blank slate silent protag)

BUT like I said in the post, it also points out a major flaw with convincing players that the rest of the thieves DO care in the game. Because the thieves are never really given a chance to show that. It's implied, and it's clear the game wants you to believe they care, but we don't get scenes addressing specific stuff like this enough.

Joker is confident, and cocky, we see that with that bastard smile in the interrogation room after getting "shot" in those cutscenes. It is genuinely a plan to be proud of, and it hails back to his original persona being Arsène. Arsène, who escaped from prison simply by disguising himself and pretending he had already escaped and put a body double in his place. Arsène, who pulled off a robbery while in jail. Arrogant and self-assured and cocky, the interrogation room plan is genuinely something the likes that would be worthy of Arsène's name.

He can be proud of the plan, and also traumatized by it. But he actively agreed to this plan, probably helped come up with it (where does everyone get the idea that it was Makoto's plan? genuine question). Joker is not a hapless victim of other's whims, he also had agency. So many of the parallels between Joker and Akechi are how they exercise what agency they have while being stripped of traditional power and victimized by society.

Honestly? Honestly? In my personal opinion, having Akechi berate the thieves for the plan is disrespectful to his rivalry with Joker, along with his own characterization.

He holds Joker as his equal. Equal in agency, in skill. If he looks at Joker and says, "why would you go along with such a foolish plan?" if he looks at the thieves and says "why would you ever put your precious leader through this?" he is taking away Joker's agency and choices. One of Akechi's focal points is agency. If he sees Joker as equal in this, and he denies Joker his agency, he is also taking it away from himself.

Akechi's cocktail of emotions regarding the assassination can manifest in so many different ways, and he can translate that to anger at the thieves rather than himself for putting Joker through that, but that would be his emotions regarding himself being misdirected more than anything.

Akechi has too much respect for Joker to deny Joker his agency in a plan that was good enough to fool him.

Respecting agency and admiring a brilliantly crafted plan also doesn't mean ignoring trauma that ocurred from actions taken under duress.

(At least, it doesn't mean that as long as you're not Atlus)

[jamethinks]

"Good afternoon, Ms. Forger." Fiona greeted the young girl as she entered her father's office. Anya gave her a quick greeting ba k before looking around the room. "Oh, your father had to step out for a moment. He said you should do your homework quietly until he gets back."

Anya sighed and waddled over to the coffee table to get started on her assignment. She looked over at the woman who stood by the door with an unreadable expression. She tried reading her mind, but all her thoughts were just about Twilight and how much she loved him. Seriously, how did she function when that's all she ever thought about.

The woman suddenly sauntered over to Anya, squatting down to her level. Anya tilted her head in confusion as Fiona reached out and plucked something off of her uniform. Anya panicked, "What was that? What did you take?"

"Oh, this?" She held her fingers that were pinching onto something. Anya squinted, trying to see what she was holding. "Just a tiny wuggle you had oj your shirt."

"A wuggle?" Anya was suddenly curious.

"Oh. I guess your father never told you about them." She rose with a sigh. She placed the tiny wuggle into the tiny pocket on her shirt. "I'm surprised you didn't notice it. That surely can't be good."

"Why not? What's a wuggle? Can I see it?"

"Only some people can them." She explained. "If you can't see it that means you don't have to super rare wuggle gene."

Anya was taken aback. She balled her fists in frustration, refusing to let the woman win. "Actually, I did see the wuggle, so I have to gene for it."

"What color was it?" Fiona crossed her arms. Anya looked down feeling defeated. She looked at her trying to read her mind. Maybe she could see her memory of it and then she'll know the colour.

Twilight would have such pretty babies...

Yeah, no, she's useless. Anya groaned. She wanted to see the wuggle, too. Why didn't she have the special wuggle gene. This sucks. It was the worst day ever. "That's a trick question. wuggles are clear coloured."

"Really, the wuggle i got from you was brown."

"That means it wasn't a wuggle." Anya was confident now, she had trapped the woman in a web of her own lies.

"Or you're just lying."

"You're the one that's lying here. I see wuggles all the time."

"How can you see something that's clear?" Anya gasped in shock. She was caught. Oh no. Now Diona knew she didn't have the wuggle gene. She pouted her eyes, swelling with tears. Fiona didn't even seem phased by her expression. Instead, she smirked, knowing she had won their little battle and proven her dominance. Anya fell to the ground crying her eyes desperately trying to prove that she could see the wuggle, but it was all in vain. In the end, Fiona was a spy, a brilliant one at that. Of course, she could see through Anya's lies.

"Please don't tell Papa about this." Anya begged. If Twilight found out that Anya didn't have the super special and rare wuggle gene, he surely was going to return her to the orphanage and exchange her for someone who could see wuggles.

"I'm sorry, Anya. I have no choice. Your father should know the truth bout you. You're a liar and a fraud." Anya broke down sobbing . Fear filled every inch of her tiny body. It was over. Everything was over. She begged and pleaded for forgiveness. Soon, she started coughing, choking on her own sobs.

Suddenly, the office door burst open. It was Twilight. His hair was a mess, panic clear on his face. "What happened? I heard Anya crying from down the hall? Did she have a seizure?"

Anya sat on the ground, reaching her hands out for her father. The confused doctor picked up the sobbing child snuggling her. He looked up at Nightfall with confusion on his face. She shrugged her shoulders, "I have something to take to the lab so if you'll excuse me."

Anya cried harder as she realised it was probably the wuggle she was taking to the lab. Her heart broke thinking about how they were probably going to do a bunch of experiments and tests on the poor thing.

"Noooooo." She cried out, kicking her feet in frustration.

"Anya relax." Twilight groaned, trying to control the fighting child, "What happened? What did she do?"

"She took my wuggle." Twilight looked at the little girl baffled and confused. "She said I don't have the jeans for it but I have a lot of jeans it's not fair. I want my wuggie back."

Twilight rolled his eyes as he tried to calm the inconsolable girl. He had no idea what wuggle was or why Anya was worried about her jeans. Did she want more jeans? Did Nightfall take her jeans? He only stepped for fice minutes, and Anya was already having a meltdown. He really needed to stop leaving Anya with Nightfall if this was going to be the outcome every time.

[l-in-the-light]

(Mis)adventures of Law with the Strawhats [fanfiction snippet, part 2]

"God Usopp's turn now!" says the guy as he snaps the die, holds it with both hands like in a prayer. "Give me six, give me six, give me multiple six!" and then he throws it on the table where it makes a lot of loud noise. The die spins and spins, till it finally stops.

There's one dot visible on top.

Usopp's jaw drops so low Law starts to think it might have dislocated. Their eyes suddenly meet when Usopp turns his attention on him. "YOU! That die must be a fake or you tampered with it somehow! Maybe using your powers. Admit it! I won't be mad, God Usopp is forgiving, as long as you admit to your wrongdoing!"

"Hey, Usopp, you actually land on the ladder!" Chopper shouts before Law has the time to answer to the allegations.

"Seriously?? My luck is perfect today as well! Not that it's anything special, I have perfect luck everyday!" Usopp laughs while Chopper moves his friend's pawn all the way up the ladder, smiling all the time while doing that.

"My turn!" Luffy already kidnaps the die and rolls it, and not even Yamato can stop him in time.

"Wait, it's not your turn yet!"

"It's not??" Luffy makes a face. "How long do I have to wait? I don't like waiting! I liked it better when I just played alone with Torao, I could roll the die all the time"

"I bet you could steal turns even if it's just two people playing" Usopp comments.

"You bet!" Luffy snickers.

"That wasn't a compliment, you know…"

Yamato in the meantime just rolls the die and moves his own orange pawn and hands the turn to Brook. Brook's die just falls to the floor, escaping his boney grip and they all decide to just use the number they found on it when they picked it up again. Brook's black pawn is way ahead of the others, because of constant sixes he somehow ended up getting at the beginning of the game.

"Your turn!" Yamato tries to hand over the die to Luffy who almost jumps on his seat, before they get interrupted.

"Your breakfast" Sanji says as he attempts to place the plate on Luffy's head. It doesn't stay there for long, Luffy's stretchy hands make sure of that. "You better eat all of it, it's the leftovers from the breakfast. I was thinking I would kick your ass and lock you in our aquarium with the sharks if I had to throw it all away, so I guess it's your lucky day"

"Thanks Sanji. That actually sounds pretty fun, we could try that someday" Luffy says as he stuffs his mouth full, for the second time in the last hour.

"Hey, you're interrupting our game!" Usopp complains. "Don't you have some ladies to please with your desserts or something?"

Sanji takes a look at the board as he slowly exhales some smoke from his cigarrete. That feels somewhat nostalgic.

"I'm on it. It's actually you all who are getting in my way. Why did you have to play in the kitchen? This is a place to eat, not play around, mama didn't teach you?" Sanji's eyes land on Law.

"This is literally the only table on the ship that can fit six people at the same time" Law explains.

"Next time just play on the deck. You all are distracting me" he points with his cigarette at him, and then goes back to his counter.

"Oi, Sanji, make us some snacks!" Usopp calls after him.

"No way in hell" Sanji calls back. Law takes the opportunity to look at Luffy's plate. It's literally just food scraps, probably not only from today's breakfast, and yet the captain gulps it up one after another. He's trying to eat and roll the die at the same time, and spits food as he shouts "A six!"

"It's actually a five, Luffy" Yamato corrects him.

"Oh" Luffy pauses. "But it's almost a six, so that's also great!" and then he moves his red pawn forward by six fields, but no one notices at first. Not before Usopp takes a look at the board again.

"Wait, aren't you too close to my pawn now?" he asks, scrutinizing the board like it hides some sort of secret from him, but finally gives up.

"Finally, my turn!" Chopper extends his short arms to reach the die, because he's sitting on opposite side of the table from Luffy, but the square remains just short out of his reach no matter what he does. Yamato finally notices and helps him.

"Thank you!" Chopper says as he sits back in his seat. Then he tries to roll the die, but it sticks to his fur for some reason. "Huh?" he huffs and then suddenly turns to look at Luffy "Luffy!! You made it all sticky with food!!"

Luffy just laughs and throws a halfhearted sorry in his direction.

"If you understand it, then it's fine" Chopper concludes and throws the die, shouts which number he got outloud, then quickly proceeds to move his pink pawn forward. It lands on a snake's head and Chopper ends up almost all the way back at the beginning as the result. "WHAT!! How is that possible?!"

Everyone laughs besides Brook and Law.

"I have such bad luck!" Chopper complains right after scolding people for laughing at his misery. He attempts to pass the die to Law, his small hoof reaching to the middle of the table. Law doesn't take it.

"You can throw it for me" he simply says. Chopper's eyes seem to light up.

"I really can?? Can I move your pawn as well??" and upon getting a short confirmation, Chopper throws the die again, it bounces off almost all the way to Luffy again, thankfully Yamato catches it before it can land in Luffy's plate. "Maybe try again?" he proposes, attempting to give it back.

And so Chopper does, it was a six, and then another six and a five, and his little hooves are trembling as he moves Law's blue pawn all across the board. "That was amazing!" he comments.

"It was all thanks to you" Law tosses back and Chopper snaps back at him, claiming it didn't make him happy, all while doing some pirouette.

"So it's my turn now!" Luffy says as he attempts to grab the die, his arm stretching all over the table, but it gets smacked by Usopp. "It's God Usopp's turn now, you peasant!"

Usopp's die this time lands also on the floor and Usopp tries to sell to them that he got a six and that they have to believe him, it's true, but they all just make him roll it again. "Four" he grumbles under his long nose and turns away from the table, so Chopper has to move his pawn for him again. Before he's done Yamato and Brook already played their turns as well.

"Finally!!" says Luffy, his breakfast already long gone, but his still greasy fingers wrap themselves all around the die. He clasps it in his fist, then he rolls his arm a few times till his skin literally wraps around itself like a twisted tissue. Once he releases it, his arm unwinds like helicopter blades and at that moment he throws the die that bounces all over the walls, causing everyone besides Sanji and Law to scream and cover their heads, before it finally lands on Law's hat, bouncing off of it.

"Oh no I'm sorry Torao!!!" Luffy is quick to apologize, shouting super loud and right next to Usopp's ear, which causes the latter to complain.

Law doesn't say anything, just flips his finger and the die magically lands on the table.

"How are you so calm?" Chopper can't help but wonder outloud, still covering his head with his hooves, even though Luffy's attack was over.

"He did the same thing yesterday night as well" Law answers simply. "Roll again. Normally, this time, if you can help it"

Luffy grabs the die while apologizing to Law one more time, and actually rolls it somewhat uneventfully. Usopp, who sits the closest to him, still hides under the table just in case. "Another almost-six!" Luffy declares and moves his pawn. It lands on same field as Law's one and Luffy turns to him, meeting his eyes. "OH. It's like we're on same team! Shishishi!"

On next turn the die lands somehow in a glass of water and as the result of the ruckus it caused they all forget Law's turn and it gets skipped. A couple of turns later it's finally Luffy's time to shine again. He gets two six and a one, and the red and blue pawns end up seperated by a decent amount of fields now.

"No good, you almost caught up to me again!" Usopp says with wide eyes.

"Uhum" Luffy answers and passes the die to Chopper, who seems a bit confused and tilts his head. "Are you still hungry Luffy? You suddenly seem out of energy"

"Right, what about our snacks, Sanji?!" Usopp uses the occassion to shout towards their cook. "I said I'm not doing any for you!" comes the answer that causes a small banter between the two for a bit and Chopper's question remains forgotten.

On Law's next turn he lands on a bottom of the snake, Brook is nearly at the finish line, Yamato got up the ladder which only gave him like five fields of extra progress, and Chopper finally caught up a little more to others, sighing out of relief as he passed yet another tricky field which could cause him to fall down to the bottom.

Luffy's pawn stops at the head of a red-white snake and he looks at it for a moment.

"Hey, Torao, we're meeting up again!" he flashes a smile once his pawn takes a dive down two lanes to join the blue one on the bottom. Brook just sips his tea. "Hm, this snake reminds me of Hancock's snake… how was it called again?…"

Usopp's pawn finally catches up to Brook, but in the next two turns the latter actually reaches the finish line.

"What? That's it?!" Usopp complains. "The game just ended while I was so close to the goal??"

"So boring!" Luffy complains as well, and few other voices join in with their disappointment. Brook apologizes.

"We can continue to see who will be the second and who will be the last" Law offers mercifully.

"That sounds like some half-assed pity" Usopp comments.

"So boring!"

"But I still want to play!" Chopper cries out. "I only made it halfway to the goal!"

"Not my problem" Law snaps finally. "I'm out anyway, you do whatever you want" and he attempts to get up, but sits down again, narrowly escaping outstretched rubber limbs heading his way. "Stop that!!"

"But you promised to play!!"

"I never said I will play more than one time"

Luffy's mouth gapes open, then he looks around the table with wide eyes and sends a voiceless SOS signal, hoping someone, anyone will pick it up.

"I can start over?" Brook proposes, putting his pawn at the beginning again. "I don't have eyes anyway, so I don't know if I reached the goal or not, yohohoho!"

"I still want to play!" Chopper is hitting the table with his little hooves. Yamato mimicks him as well, which makes the whole table jump in the air. "Ooops!" he grabs the board and pawns just in time so they won't scatter around.

Usopp looks at Luffy, then at Law, while poking his nose with his finger again, and seems to contemplate the board.

"Technically, you didn't finish playing yet, your pawn didn't reach the goal, did it?" he points out finally. "So you can't leave before that"

Law sends him a glare. "Fine, let's get it over with" He gives in and sighs. After all, he did propose that option himself, he would lose his face if he went back on that now.

Luffy's lips stretch from ear to ear. "I love you, Usopp!!" he says as he glomps him.

Usopp smiles at first, but then looks to the other side of the table, starts sweating a bit and tries to push Luffy away. "It's okay, okay, I get it, let's get back to it"

"Thank you, Torao!" says Luffy as he settles back in his own seat.

"Here you go, Yamato-chan!" Sanji chirps as he interrupts them again and sets down a plate with some chocolate delight right in front of Yamato. "And you, scruffy guys, can have this" says Sanji as he's passing by the table and drops off some bowls, already on his way to the ladies no doubt, seeing as he carries two more plates of a dessert that could be on the menu of most expensive Grand Line restaurants.

"Snacks arrived, thanks Sanji!!" Usopp approves and is already stuffing his mouth with two fistfuls of salty crackers. Sanji only makes a wave gesture back with his free hand, or well, not exactly since it's holding a lit cigarette, balancing the two plates with ease with another.

Just when Law snatches himself a cocoa cookie that tastes like sweet fairy dust and dissolves on his tongue like seafoam on a sunny shore, Usopp rolls up his sleeves. "Okay, time to spice things up, guys!"

"What do you mean? Those crackers aren't really spicy?" Chopper asks, already nimbling on some.

"That's not what I mean. I mean the game! Time to add new rules!"

"Like what?" asks Yamato.

"For example, penalty games!" Usopp smirks. "If two people land on same field, one of them gets blown up! And let's say ladders can go both ways, up or down! And if you land on the snake it eats you and you have to go back to the start. Also, let's draw some warp and mine fields as well!"

"Eh, that's too complicated, I'm not gonna remember all that" Luffy frowns.

"It's not that difficult!" says Usopp, but as he attempts to explain his ideas, everyone only ends up having more questions. "You're all no fun!"

Law just looks at the board the whole time. Finally, he says "Okay, let's do it this way. If someone lands on top of a snake while another person is on the bottom, they switch places. And the person standing on top of the ladder can kick it off temporarily so for the next few rounds it's unusable, but to make up for it that person has to queue one round" he looks up at them and adds, just in case. "That means they won't roll a die for their next turn"

Everyone blinks (besides Brook, he can't blink because he doesn't have eyes, yohohoho) and then look down on the board, and even Usopp listens and nods slowly.

"That sounds fun!" Luffy giggles.

"God Usopp approves" Usopp finally says, crunching his cracker loudly. "Well done, you can be my disciple from now on! What, you thought you could be my equal? Only if you add mines and warps as well, I'm not giving up on that!"

Law smirks. "Only if you call me commander-in-chief"

"Sure" Usopp agrees easily, his brows furrowing. "But can you actually cook?"

"AH!" Luffy cries out. Everyone suddenly turn to look at him. "I know! It was Slalom!!"

"What was?" Yamato asks.

"The name of Hancock's snake!" he declares with certainity. "Or wait, maybe that's not it…"

Law sighs and shambles another cookie. "When two people land on the same field, they have to battle it out, the loser goes back to the start"

"EH I don't like that!" Luffy frowns, but then reconsiders. "Or actually, that sounds fun. Can we decide it by having a sumo match??"

"No, it will distract you and we will never finish the game" Usopp answers instead of Law.

"Eh, fine, then how about finger sumo wrestling instead?" Luffy proposes and looks expectantly at Law. Soon all of them do.

He doesn't answer for a while. Luffy is about to ask again, when Law finally breaks through. "No."

Luffy's face fell.

"If two people land on same field, they will do an alliance instead"

tbc.

[oriley42]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: House M.D. Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gregory House/James Wilson Characters: Gregory House, James Wilson (House M.D.) Additional Tags: Phone sex operator AU, hang up to hook up, Booty Calls, First Time, Smut, Fluff, how to tag this..., fanon divergent??, Fic Alternate Ending Series: Part 2 of Nothing New - Phone Sex Operator AU Summary:

What if Wilson asked House-the-phone-sex-operator to come over, before they met at the hospital? What if House went? An alternate version/accompaniment to “buy some time, it’s on my dime.”

[hardly-an-escape]

this post by @valeriianz burrowed its way into my brain and would not let me rest until I finished this. hope you enjoy, friend!

First Time

Square: E3 - Flirting Rating: E Word Count: 6096 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - human, bi-curious Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, bisexual Hob Gadling, alcohol consumption, first time blowjobs, oral sex, Johanna Constantine is a good friend and a bad influence, Hob is a bit of service top, Morpheus is a bit of a pillow princess, but not exclusively, strangers to lovers, my best friend dragged me out to this dingy pub and all I got was a boyfriend Summary: After yet another bad breakup, Johanna tries to convince her good friend Morpheus that what he really needs is to finally hook up with a few guys. At the pub that night, Morpheus meets Hob Gadling, a handsome grad student who is only too happy to help him achieve that goal… Read on AO3 | fill for @dreamlingbingo

Morpheus shivered at the sound of his name in Hob’s mouth. He was suddenly, sharply, aware of how close they were standing to one another: close enough that he could smell Hob’s cologne and beneath it, faintly, his sweat; close enough that he could see the stubble on his neck and the few strands of grey in his hair, even in the glow of the pub’s neon sign. “I thought,” Morpheus said, and his voice was gravelly. He cleared his throat. “I thought. You weren’t interested.” “Mm. I wasn’t interested in giving Johanna the satisfaction of knowing I’d fallen for her schemes,” Hob said, still toying with Morpheus’s lapel. “But I would say I’m very interested in you.”

Johanna blew into Morpheus’s office one Friday afternoon like a breath of fresh air – for a given definition of “fresh.” When Johanna was around that generally meant stale cigarettes, oversteeped tea, and occasionally and somewhat concerningly, petrol.

“Knew I’d find you in here,” she said. “Swot.”

Morpheus sighed. “What do you want, Johanna?” he asked in the same monotone he seemed to be using for everything these days.

“Oh, I want a lot of things. A million pounds, for starters. A really posh flat in Chelsea. A manicure.” She circled the desk and perched obnoxiously on the edge, crowding Morpheus’s elbow and forcing him to slide the manuscript he’d been looking at to the side. “But right now I’d settle for my best friend dragging his sorry arse out of his dingy office and coming out for a pint.”

“I can’t possibly be your best friend,” Morpheus objected, pointedly not looking up from his work.

Johanna made a noise of pure frustration. “Is it the editor in you that drives you to nitpick every fucking thing I say?” she demanded. “Can you not, I don’t know, turn that bit of your brain off for a few hours and just come out and get a little drunk? For me?”

Morpheus sighed again, finally looking up to meet her gaze. The concern in her eyes belied the annoyed tone of her voice, and he felt something twist guiltily in his belly. She really was worried about him.

“Come on, McDreamy,” she coaxed, voice gentling. “It’s been what? Three weeks now? It’s not going to get better if you just sit in a dark office and brood.”

Morpheus pursed his lips. “Fine,” he said eventually. “I will come out with you, if –” Johanna crowed and pushed herself off the desk “– if you swear never to call me that again.”

“No promises, mate!”

She dragged him into exactly the kind of bar he always pictured when he thought of nights out with Johanna Constantine: ancient show flyers pasted to the walls, slightly sticky floors, and a bartender who greeted her by name.

“Do you know every publican in the city of London?” Morpheus inquired sarcastically as Johanna returned to their table with an intimidating number of shots balanced on a small tray.

“Professional investment, innit?” she said, shoving half of the shot glasses toward him. “You never know when some wayward spouse is going to do something dodgy in a dive like this. A friendly barkeep is the private investigator’s best friend. Now, drink up.”

They’d worked their way through the shots and Morpheus was nursing a gin and tonic by the time Johanna finally brought up his recent heartbreak – which she did in her typically blunt manner.

“I reckon what you need now is to bang a few blokes,” she said, jabbing a decisive finger at his chest. Morpheus choked on an ice cube.

“I beg your pardon?!” he sputtered.

“Oh, don’t come over all prudish now. You’ve been dropping precious little hints about if the right guy came along ever since uni. And I saw you and Cory getting hot and heavy at that New Year’s party five years ago, and I know you chickened out.”

“I didn’t – it simply wasn’t –”

“So I say, time to put your money where your mouth is. Or put your mouth where your… mouth is.” It took a second for her to get the straw of her whiskey sour between her lips before she could take a reflective sip. “What I mean to say is, you need to get some dick, McDreamy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Morpheus muttered, sinking low in his chair. “I can’t believe I go out in public with you, Constantine.”

Morpheus was on his second watery gin and tonic and Johanna was already working on a third whiskey when the bell over the pub door jingled cheerfully. Johanna looked up automatically and immediately grinned, shooting one hand in the air and waving enthusiastically.

Oh no. Morpheus was familiar with that particular grin. It generally didn’t bode well for a calm conclusion to the night.

“Oi, Hob!” Johanna called. “Come over here and pull up a chair!”

Curious, Morpheus turned to see who she was talking to. The man was about average height, with dark brown hair long enough to be tucked behind his ear. He had a strong chin and a slightly Roman nose. He smiled and waved back to Johanna, pointing to the bar and then gesturing between himself and their table.

“Excellent,” Johanna said. “Now it’s a night out. Hob is always good for a laugh, you’ll like him.” She turned back to Morpheus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her register that he was still looking at the man – Hob, she’d called him; odd name – and yet he couldn’t quite pull his eyes away from Hob’s quick smile, the line of his back as he leaned against the bar, waiting for his drink. “Oooh. Maybe you’ll like him like him. Not a bad choice, Dreamface. I happen to know he swings both ways.”

“Johanna,” he hissed, whipping back around as Hob took his pint and headed toward them. “I am begging you to stop saying… whatever it is you’re saying. Please.”

“Spoilsport.”

And then Hob was next to them, snagging a chair from a neighboring table.

“Well, if it isn’t the hellblazer herself,” he said, giving Johanna a one-armed hug as he sat down. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

“Drowning our sorrows in the time-honored tradition,” she responded. “Mister ray-of-sunshine here recently got broken up with, again, so we are commiserating on the subject of fickle love and drinking hard liquor. Dream, Hob. Hob, Dream. Ite in pace. Deo gratias. Amen.” She solemnly sketched the sign of the cross over the tabletop and tossed back the rest of her drink in one go.

Morpheus extended his hand across the table. “I prefer Morpheus, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Hob took his hand with a smile. His palm was warm and his grip was firm. “Pleasure to meet you, Morpheus.”

They chatted about nothing much for a while. Hob was doing an advanced degree in history, having returned to academia at the ripe old age of 33, and was currently avoiding revising for an exam. Johanna shared some juicy details about a missing person case she’d been working, where the person in question turned out to be not missing so much as on the lam. But after another round of drinks, she managed to turn the conversation back to one of her favorite topics: Morpheus’s love life. Specifically, the disasters thereof.

“I’m just saying there’s been a trend. And the trend is that you keep getting dumped by women,” she said, tapping a finger insistently on the table.

“I am very aware of who has dumped me so far, thank you, Johanna,” Morpheus said, burying his face in his hands. He just knew he was bright red.

“So fuck the trend! Buck the trend, whatever. You know they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, blah blah blah. So do something else! Or someone else,” she added significantly. “You need to branch out, gender-wise.”

“I do find that it increases the potential dating pool by a statistically significant amount,” put in Hob.

Johanna’s eyes gleamed suddenly, and Morpheus groaned inwardly.

“What about you, then? Hob’ll try it on with anyone, he’s easy,” Johanna said.

“Oh, thanks ever so,” Hob said genially.

“Own it, baby! Hob about it, how? I mean, how about it, Hob? Are you down to do the dirty with our Dreamy here? He needs it,” she whispered, leaning in with a tipsy and conspiratory air.

Hob chuckled and leaned back in his chair as he took a long sip of his pint. Morpheus couldn’t help but think he was stalling. Of course a man like Hob, with his effortless good looks and easy charm, would not be tempted by Morpheus, who was – as he was constantly reminded – too much. Too intense, too work-focused, too gloomy, too skinny, too… him.

Thus, when he realized Hob was in fact giving him a speculative once-over glance across the rim of his glass, the look of panic he felt blooming on his face.

And Hob must have noticed it, because he immediately shifted: his posture became loose and unthreatening and he leaned toward Johanna, punching her gently on the shoulder.

“Nah mate, I’m done with dating for a while,” he said. “The only reason people do it anyway is ‘cause everyone does it. I’m working on myself for a bit.”

“Oh, g’wan, pull the other one, Hobert,” hooted Johanna. “You’re a serial monogamist and you know it. You love sex, and you love love. You’re a fucking sap, admit it.”

“Well, maybe I’m just ready to save it up for the right person,” Hob said.

Was there a quick flick of brown eyes toward blue as he spoke, or was Morpheus simply imagining things?

Read the rest on AO3 >>>

green = complete, orange = WIP

[iruinn]

baby, you're the sweetest thing ❀ nanami kento

chapter 3

cw : none that apply (please let me know if u think there's anything that needs to be tagged!)

wc : 2060

masterpost

If someone had asked you 2 years ago where you thought you would be right now, you wouldn’t have even blinked before answering. Married to your boyfriend. Living with him in his family home. Visiting your own maybe once a week. Maybe you might have even had a kid with him. You certainly wouldn’t be working in a small publishing office as an editor, living alone in a tiny apartment in a city hundreds of miles away from your family. Unwilling to visit the very house you grew up in. But you had learned quickly that life rarely goes the way you plan it. You’re certainly feeling it right now, watching your ex-boyfriend stand next to your own sister, the both of them watching you in trepidation.

The awkward silence is broken by your mother. “You’re here, then. Despite ignoring my calls. Good that you remembered you had a family.” Your head pivoted to meet hers, and you cross your arms. “I’m sure you got my messages. Can’t have the family wondering why the bride’s own sister didn’t show up to the wedding, right?”

The matriarch of the Morita family shoulders past you into the house. She’s as put together as you remember, her hair pulled into a bun perfectly, her clothes without a speck of dirt or wrinkle on them. Your sister follows her, stopping before you. She hasn’t said a word to you yet, and you simply raise an eyebrow at her. “Cat got your tongue, Seiko? You certainly weren’t this subdued the last time I saw you.” She reels back, but regains her composure quickly. “I’m happy you’re visiting, (name). I would have hated for you to miss my wedding.” “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” You glance at Naoya, who’s been watching you closely. “Hey, (name). Looks like Tokyo’s been good to you.” He pulls Seiko into him, and you bite your cheek. You certainly have no more lingering feelings for him, you think. But looking at them together still stings you quite a bit.

You hear your mother scoff. “I can’t imagine your job is doing much for you. When are you going to give up on it and move back home? You’d be so much more comfortable here.” “We’re really getting into this now? It hasn’t even been an hour since I arrived, and you’re lecturing me about my life choices?” You whirl on her, your voice raising, and she meets you in kind. “You’re just being dramatic, (name). You know I’ve always wanted nothing but the best for you. Surely you know it’s a disgrace for a Morita to be working a desk job.” All you can do is stare at her in disbelief. You flush red in anger and embarrassment, noticing your father and grandmother were here too, probably hearing your raised voices. Of all the places to have it out with your mother, in front of your family as well as your ex was definitely the worst place for it. “Mom..I just-“ “No, (name). We put up with your tantrums and the silent treatment for an entire year. You’re a bit past the age for being this childish now.” Your throat tightens, your nails cutting into your palm. You should have known it was a mistake to come back. It was the exact same a year ago.

“That’s quite enough, I think.” A comforting presence surrounds you, a thick arm enveloping your waist and pulling you in. You look up, watching him come stand by you. Nanami’s face is expressionless, but his eyes are cold as he looms protectively. His hair is slightly damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower, his body warm against yours.

He noticed your gaze and smiles, bending down and kissing your forehead. Your mouth falls open as he renders everyone speechless. “(name), who is this?” Of all the people to speak up, its Naoya, cutting through the tension. The feeling of being cornered is gone, replaced by growing confidence. It’s hard to panic when you have a 6 foot tall brick wall of a man backing you up. “Ah, right. My boyfriend, Nanami Kento. I did tell you I’d be bringing someone along..” “My apologies for the interruption.” His fingers press into your waist, and you can feel how solid he is against your own body, feel his deep voice rumbling. It’s like he was engineered to tick off every single switch in your brain that made you melt into a pile of mush. You watch him as he turns to your sister and Naoya, and holds out a hand. “Congratulations on the marriage. I’ve been waiting for (name) to introduce me to her family.” He doesn’t sound very congratulatory, and you think everyone in the room realizes it. He finally turns to your mother, tilting his head towards her. “Thank you for having me. Your home is lovely.” She nods at him. Her face is mildly pale, spots of colour high in her cheeks. “Yes, well. Make yourself comfortable.” She examines him, her eyes lingering on the secure grip he has on you. “Go freshen up, (name). I’m sure you’ve missed your grandmother’s cooking.” She sighs, her fingers rubbing her forehead. Your grandmother claps, her voice cheerful. “Yes, yes, that’s quite enough. The hallway is no place for this conversation, is it?” She beckons your mother, sister and her fiancée into the kitchen, waving you and Nanami away. Your dad glances at you apologetically, before following them. They leave behind silence, and you groan, letting Nanami steer you upstairs. You notice Yuuji peeking from above the staircase, and he looks very anxious. “Thanks, Yuuji.” You peek at Nanami in confusion, wondering why he was thanking Yuuji. The boy brightens, shooting a thumbs up at him. “No problem, Nanamin!” ‘

He leads you into your room, and closes the door behind him. You collapse on your bed face down, turning your head to meet Nanami’s eyes. He sits down next to you, his fingers stroking your hair. “Nanamin?” You snort, and he shrugs. “He’s a good kid. He asked me to go downstairs when he saw what was happening.” You relax at the comforting feeling of his hand through your hair. “I’m sorry about…everything you just saw. We’re kind of a mess.” He’s silent, his hand moving downwards from your hair to your cheek. The calluses tickle your cheek and you giggle. “I know I haven’t known you for long, but you didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.” You love your job in Tokyo. You love your apartment too, the creaky windows and the tap u sometimes have to jiggle to get to leak water, your collection of plants you forget to water every now and then. You love your friends too. (You especially love Gojo and Shoko right now, for sending your way god’s gift to humanity. You know you would have had a much harder time without Nanami’s support.) “But it’s okay. Just a week to get through, and I’ll be back home, and hopefully I won’t have to drag you into more family blow ups.” You sit up on the bed, dislodging his hand from your face, missing its warmth immediately. “Thank you, though, seriously. You didn’t have to do any of this.” “I’m not the selfless person you think I am.” He gets up off the bed, walking to your desk and picking up a photo of you from when you were in university. “But I’m glad I’m being helpful.” He tilts his head at you. “Feel free to use me as your shield for anything this week. That’s what I’m here for.”

You glance at his back, his muscles rippling through his shirt. A shield is certainly an apt descriptor for him. It’s weird seeing a man in your childhood bedroom. You don’t think you’ve even brought back a boy here. He looks out of place amongst the furniture, too large for life. You hope there’s nothing embarrassing left out by mistake, and you glance about your room, but its pretty safe. No weird childhood posters or unfortunate teenage photos hanging around. Something occurs to you, and you glance at Nanami, wondering how to bring it up. “Uh, Nanami..” “Kento.” “Whuh?” He turns to you, his expression stern. “Call me Kento. You’re my girlfriend for the week, aren’t you?” Your cheeks may be permanently flushed by the end of this. “Right..Kento. Would you be okay with us sleeping in the same bed? I can get you a spare otherwise..” It’d be weird to explain why you needed a spare bed when he was your boyfriend, but you’re sure you can come up with some excuse. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m comfortable with it if you are. It might be a cosy fit, though.” You’re almost thankful for the series of events that led up to this. You just shoot him a thumbs up, trying to appear unbothered. “I’m honor bound to warn you that I am a serial cuddler. Shoko has had to pry me off her too way many times whenever I’ve crashed at her place.” He bends down, placing his arms on either side of you on the bed, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “I look forward to it, sweetheart.” He pulls away so quickly you almost wonder if you imagined it. Walking towards the entrance of your room, calling out behind him. “Go shower and join us for dinner below, (name).” The door shuts behind him, and you fall back onto your bed, grabbing a pillow and mushing your face into it, muffling your screams with the fabric.

Dinner is a considerably more cheerful affair than before. Seiko and Naoya had thankfully read the room and bowed out early. You knew there was an enormous can of worms to open up there, but you decided to let sleeping dogs lie for today. Nanami is surprisingly carrying on a long conversation with your mother and father, and you’re extremely curious about what they were talking about. Knowing your mother, she’s probably grilling him about his entire history. You spend the rest of dinner joking around with Yuuji and your grandmother, shooting a glance at Nanami every now and then, which he meets with a reassuring smile. You’re happy he seems to be enjoying dinner, at least.

Night quickly arrives, and with it, the bed situation. You spend way too long deciding on a pair of pajamas, and settle on a comfortable t-shirt and shorts of respectable length. Nanami seems to have already changed, and made himself comfy, and you feel a flutter in your stomach at the way he’s sprawled on his side of the bed, his hair falling over his eyes instead of being swept up as it usually is. He’s grabbed a book off your nightstand and is perusing it, the light from your nightlamp illuminating him softly. You spend a few beats admiring the man, before joining him.

“Hi…” You whisper, slipping into the covers next to him, keeping some space between you both. He places the book down, turning his full attention onto you. He smiles at you, his brown eyes warm. “You good?” He settles in under the covers too. “I am. You’re looking tired, (name).” “It’s been a long day…” He leans over you to turn off the light, and you catch a whiff of his aftershave. He smells very good, and you feel mildly like a pervert. Your mind keeps wandering to how tall and wide he is in comparison to you. “Sorry if I steal the covers from you. My limbs take a mind of their own when I sleep.” You hear him laugh in the darkness. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go to sleep.” Easier said and done. You close your eyes, thinking you’ll probably be awake for most of the night making sure you don’t accidentally cuddle Kento in your sleep. You're not making contact with him, but even with your eyes closed, you feel the warmth emanating off him. You open your eyes a millimeter, trying to catch a glimpse of him. You think he's staring at you back, but it's hard to say in the dark. Eventually the day catches up with you quickly, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep and dead to the world.

[elliemarchetti]

Comfort in Times of Pain

A longish entry for prompt 21 of @wolfstarmicrofic

Prompt: Magical Accidents

Words: 962

When he threw the hex, Sirius was convinced it would hit the target. He had invented the spell with James, and although he was certain it would work, he needed someone to test its effects on, and who better than a member of the Slytherin Gang? The only problem was that, although he didn't like to admit it, he had been wrong, and now he found himself with terrible wounds similar to cold burns that tormented his right arm.

“It was just a little accident, there’s no need to worry,” he had told Remus when his roommate had found him in the midst of medicating himself with an ointment they made during Potions. The mixture was already dampening his pain, but it was difficult to apply the right amount in the desired places with his left hand while he was busy preventing the liquid bleeding from his injuries from staining his uniform and sheets.

“An accident you won’t repeat because you will never try to use that enchantment again,” Moony muttered as he sat next to him, and despite the serious expression on his face, he had rolled up the sleeves of his already crumpled shirt and had begun, with delicate and expert fingers, accustomed to the injuries he often inflicted on himself during his monthly transformations, to cover him with the milky coloured lotion.

“I don’t understand how could you be so reckless after…” he started, but words died on his tongue when he met Sirius’ grey eyes. In normal situations, when they only acted as friends and were with the rest of the Marauders, Sirius managed to hide the enormous crush he had on Remus. He wasn’t sure when it had started, perhaps when he had consoled him after his disastrous breakup with Marlene, which occurred solely because of him and his damned passion for flirting with anything that breathed. It was his way of masking the countless insecurities that living in Grimmauld Place, under the same roof as Walburga and with relatives like Bellatrix and her parents coming and going every day, left him, but the beautiful blonde didn’t like it, and in the end jealousy had led them to no longer be able to even look at each other without shouting insults. When everyone else, anyone with a crumble of sense, had agreed with her, Moony was understanding, and to calm him down he had taken him for a long walk on the shores of the Great Lake. They had competed to see who bounced the flats stones the most times on the water’s surface, and Sirius had forgotten about his problems when Remus had started telling him interesting facts about everything around them. He was like an encyclopaedia, full of knowledge about the plants, the animals, the history, and the geography of the place, and it made Sirius ponder more about his character, how there was a quiet passion in everything he pursued, which also spilled over into his way of loving others. Within a few months, Sirius had found himself wanting to be on the receiving end of his love, and not just the platonic kind.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice lower than before, a hint of blush creeping on his scarred cheeks.

“Like what?” replied Sirius, but he was quite sure he already knew the answer. Usually, he didn’t allow himself to focus too much on the aesthetic details that made Remus Lupin a living work of art, but when he was sure he couldn’t notice, like when they watched James’ Quidditch matches and he was so absorbed in the game, or when they studied in the library, he casted furtive glances at him to imprint in his mind the precise location of his freckles – scarce, but he was sure he had at least three on his nose – or the exact hint of green of his perpetually tired eyes. Although no one, not even his best friend, knew it, Sirius was an excellent painter. It was a suitable pastime for someone of his rank, or at least that’s what his family though, as long as he didn’t plan on making it a profession. Anyway, he had never cared too much about the opinion of those who considered him little more than a disgrace they had to erase from the family tree, so he had continued to follow his passion in secret, sketching the faces of everyone he loved in a notebook he took out from its hiding place between the mattress and the bed slats only when night had long fallen and everyone else was asleep. He rarely portrayed the same subject twice, with the exception of Moony, of whom he had started at least a dozen portraits without ever managing to finish them, dissatisfied with how the pencil made his features too harsh and at the same time too mundane. Remus was contemplative beauty, the tragic outcome of pride mixed with innocence, someone who had been touched by cruelty and came out even kinder and wiser. All of this was written in his subdued smile, in the way his eyelashes touched the top of his cheeks when he looked down in embarrassment, and try as he might, there was no way to convey this on paper, but it was still sacrilege not to make an attempt.

“Like you want to kiss me,” he answered, the exact words Sirius dreamed to hear him pronounce a thousand times.

“Maybe I do,” was all he could muster to say, all the other words he knew flying out of his brain. Was it just his imagination, or was he really leaning in?

“Maybe you should,” whispered Remus, and before he could change his mind, Sirius covered the distance between their lips.

[greeninkredletters]

"She likes to kiss him under the old oak in her childhood backyard with the crisp buttercup leaves falling around them as he pulls her against the bark. A little bit of innocence under the guise of danger. Quite fitting, really."

....

I've been working on Autumn inspired drabbles and couldn't fit this into what I was working on. Still love it though 🍂❤️

[fearandhatred]

Hehehehehe for the one word thing: theft (or words related to that)

i'm so sorry for this it could be five sentences if you squint real hard. also me when writing absolutely anything at all: how do i make this about angel crowley

the dollmaker

the teeth went first, which you lined up with extreme care onto curved wires caressing a plain, wooden pole. they say teeth are what make a face, and i guess that must be true—you would know. i hadn't known yet what you were going to do, so i just watched with my bare, gaping mouth as you chipped my teeth into asymmetrical shapes, carving them into a beast's.

the tongue was next, the larynx too—just as well. i wasn't much keen on speaking anymore, anyway, what with all the blood in my gums. i wasn't keen on smelling anymore, either, the tang of iron and wood flecks that surrounded you like a visible aura. the silence must have been music to your ears, now that i couldn't scream through the pain, could hardly even take a breath.

there were the lips, the nose, the cheekbones. you took it all off my face, like a sculptor trying to return their creation to a clean marble slab, and all i could do was watch. and maybe, along the way, i was even resigned. that settling that inevitably came with constancy.

but then the panic surged back up and out of my body along with my eyes, which you scooped out with ease, and i could scream again, only it wasn't coming from me—no, maybe it was me, the other me, if it was me. i didn't know which way was left, couldn't comprehend what my eyes were seeing: it's one thing to see fragments of yourself scattered around like an unfinished painting; it's another to see the remains of where those fragments were stolen from—oh god, it would have been kinder to be less methodical, to have had gnarled and brazenly sliced pieces of flesh and marrow exploded off of my face, rather than the precise and surgical peeling away of skin, all in one piece like wool from a shearer's hand.

and you painted them a lurid, reptilian yellow, slitted pupils like a knife's scar. i saw this, i saw my eyes only through yours, gold reflected off blue, and for a moment there was something so intimate, so complementary in that gaze, you with your deceitfully gentle smile and weightless hair, that i forgot what you were doing to me. just for a moment. but then it came into focus again, that garish, nauseating colour of my eyes, and that moment was gone. the colour of sick, one more step away from the angel i was, if an angel was defined only through construct; if an angel was defined by spirit, by grace, by acts… you're the farthest thing from an angel i could possibly fathom, and yet here you are.

i closed my eyes, then, and one by one you took, and you took, and you took, stealing everything from me, stealing myself from me. when you lifted my brain out of my cleaved skull, the pain finally quietened, if only for the few seconds it took to rewire it, but it was a reprieve, and i was grateful. and i didn't feel it when my limbs were hacked off at their stems, tourniqueted and cauterised. i didn't feel it when you ripped out the nails from my fingers and toes and replaced them with claws.

and so even as you took, and you took, and you took, i didn't struggle, no, and soon i couldn't struggle. but i didn't want it, i didn't, i didn't. but one by one by one, it got easier, with every limb and organ and joint, with every side sweep of my hair; you've changed that, too. because i thought—oh, i thought that with every piece of me you changed and fit into this new mold, i thought you would at least take it all. i thought you would complete me at the end, so that even changed, this new thing may still be me.

but we're at the final stages now. here come my lungs, my intestines, my stomach, fitting into this new me so perfectly it's as if i'd never changed at all. you've taken the stray clumps of my meat and stuffed them back into me, you've fed me back my blood, and it all works, as if i'd never changed at all. there's just my heart now, resting on the stool you'd propped me up on like a doll, nothing left but stray splotches of blood, but you're not taking it, you're not taking it, what are you doing?

i feel each individual stitch now as you sew me up around my joints and from my pelvis to my neck, a long line like snake vertebrae, weaving in and out of my skin. and still my heart remains untouched, outside of my body, discarded like waste. i start to beg now, because i can, and i didn't want this, but now i'm so close to reformation, to being whole, and oh, i feel so empty, you left the hole in my chest there where something is supposed to fit, and now my centre of gravity is off, and i can't be expected to live this way.

please, all i'm asking for is my heart, just this one thing. i know i haven't been good, i know i struggled, i know i screamed, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry. oh, but please, won't you take it?

[radioactive-earthshine]

Trick or Treat! 🎃

🦇 You get a treat! 🎃

Here is an excerpt from an unpublished Kon on Gemworld introspective fic/character study. Enjoy!

🎃

Cassie once said to Kon that ‘you can never have enough new starts’ and at the time he believed her - because up until then that was all he knew. 

He’d build a life and live it as best as he could until events around him forced him to wipe himself clean and start over. But nothing was as drastic as building a life on Gemworld. 

Kon was reminded of the Kryptonian myth of Flamebird and how he felt like he understood that fiery entity and its compulsion towards renewal for the hope of something better to take the place of what was just destroyed. 

Home after home… 

Every time Kon started over he found a little bit more of the truth of who he was, but on Gemworld far away from the never ending battle on Earth, he found a lot more of himself than he ever did before. For the first time in his life Kon felt like the culmination of his life finally made sense. Death included. 

Kon also finally understood how Kal El felt being an alien, a refugee, and an Earthling all at once because while on Gemworld he was Kal El - he fell in love with Gemworld and held each person higher than even they could imagine because he knew they could do better. He saw it in their kindness towards one another, he saw it in their compassion towards him being an alien, and he saw it in Lophi and how she opened her home to him despite not knowing a single thing about him. 

Kon found his true self on Gemworld and who Superboy was and could be. 

[raina-at]

Sherlock is startled awake by the doorbell.

He blinks himself awake as he checks the time on his phone. It's only a quarter past ten in the evening, but he apparently fell asleep on the sofa in front of the telly. He gets up and shuffles to the door, still a bit groggy. This is why he hates sleeping at odd hours, it always takes him ages to wake up again. But it's been an exhausting day - an exhausting week, to be honest. Winning Bake-Off, starting his own business and getting seriously involved in a romantic relationship at the same time would wear anyone out, he supposes, but that doesn't make falling asleep to EastEnders any less embarrassing.

He slowly makes his way downstais, still trying to get his brain online, and opens the door without thinking about anything in particular.

Unsurprisingly, it's John. He looks vaguely embarrassed as he looks Sherlock up and down, taking in Sherlock's dressing gown and his dishevelled state.

"Oh my god, you were asleep. I should have known. It's late, I should have phoned ahead, rude of me just to show up," John mutters, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, a classic nervous tell.

"It's fine-" Sherlock starts, but John interrupts him.

"No, it's not, you were already asleep, I woke you up, I'm sorry, I shouldn't assume, but I was in the area, meeting Harry for dinner, you know, and I thought about you, and- god this is really bad, just showing up here, isn't it, I'm sorry-"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and decides this has gone on long enough. As endearing as John's embarrassed stuttering is, it's also a complete waste of time and breath. So he decides John has entirely too much breath to waste and needs to do something else with his mouth.

He pulls John into the house, closes the door and pushes John up against it, then kisses him into shutting up. John resists for about a millisecond, then kisses back, winding his hands into Sherlock's hair. Sherlock gets his hands under John's jumper and pulls him closer, letting himself sink into the heady, addictive feel of John's body against his, John's taste and smell and presence. He sighs and feels the stress of the day melt out of him as they kiss and kiss, as he forgets everything except this moment and this feeling and John. I missed you, he thinks, which is ridiculous, because he saw John this morning, but still it's true. And from the way John kisses him back, hungry and wanting, he thinks it's true for John as well.

He finally pulls back and smiles at John, who looks dazed and well-snogged. "Hello," Sherlock says, uncaring that he sounds completely besotted, because that's what he is.

John smiles back, so full of open, helpless affection that it makes Sherlock's heart stutter. "Hello."

"Would you like to come up and have some tea?" Sherlock asks, still smiling like an idiot and still not caring even a little bit.

"Just tea?" John asks, teasing now, fingers playing gently with Sherlock's shirt collar.

"Let's start with tea, and see where we end up, shall we?"

John grins, happy and playful. "Sounds like a plan."

A snippet of happy Bakers for your reading pleasure this evening. Thank you for the tag and the prompt, @notjustamumj, thanks for the tag @calaisreno

I tag @helloliriels @khorazir @jrow @the-reading-lemon

[raccoonfallsharder]

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Autopilot Systems Check ‧₊˚ ⋅☽ ࣪ ִֶָ♡.

fluff | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 1,406.

reader wakes up in the middle of the night and rocket is nowhere to be found. drabbly.

reader x rocket soft fluff & domestica. MCU-based, post-Endgame i guess. @rebel-21 said a thing and i thought about it all morning so now it is a little <1500 word ficlet (unbetaed & unbothered - be prepared for typos & messiness). it is pure soft fluff for your sunday afternoon. some romantic undertones.

When you wake in the middle of the sleep rotation, the Bowie is quiet. The flight engines murmur their little lullabies, and everything in your bunk is layered with soft ink-purple shadows, pinned at the floorboards by tiny gold security lights shivering like fireflies. The engines are purring, but there are no accompanying purrs from Rocket. You wait in the stillness, listening. You would know if he was here, even if - unlikely though it might be - he wasn’t pressed against you in some way. After all, you can pick him out of a crowd by the thrum of his heartbeat alone. Blindfolded, you think you can find him in a Praxius IX windstorm, just by the sound of his breathing. He had been working on something with the fuel injectors earlier. And a shifting mechanism for the shields. Dreaming up a more intuitive thruster steering system. Something with the atmospheric barrier, too, and the air re-filtration chambers. He’d been making repairs, all day, and you’ve missed him. The sarcastic cracks and slanted glances. The smirks and snickers. The lingering touches: sometimes when no-one is looking, and other times almost defiantly, as if to say to anyone in the room: yeah, I belong to ‘em. And they belong to me. And we touch each other all the time and we’re very frickin’ intimate an’ affectionate. You gotta problem with that?

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