#me to know what its like to be at peace and my brain goes quiet when im around you. you see me as an actual person and not a threat or a

[uranium]

running into a brick wall at full speed and giving myself permanent brain damage because me and my crush feels exactly like beastars legoshi and haru and i need to blow myself up badly

[toomuchracket]

autumn mornings (dad!matty x reader smut)

day 7 of promptober and it's a bit of a doozy. basically... you and matty wake up at 6:30am. your daughters are still fast asleep. you flirt a bit. you have some really good sex. bon appetit! <3

you blink the sleep from your eyes, half-sitting up to look at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand. 6:30am. makes sense, you think, glancing towards the thin blinds shielding your bedroom from the outside world. no faint morning light is beginning to creep under them. there's little birdsong or traffic piercing them, interrupting the tranquillity of the room. it's quiet. peaceful, even.

but it's a sunday. so why the fuck are you awake?

in fairness, you're not the only one. there's a shuffling noise behind you, then a pair of warm lips press against the nape of your neck. "what time is it?" matty asks, tiredness slightly slurring his words together.

"half 6. you can go back to sleep, baby."

"mmm, no, i can't," matty murmurs against you. "been awake for a bit already."

"you should've just woken me up, babe," you say, turning to face your husband. at the sight of him, heavy-eyed and softly smiling, hair messy and shirt absolutely nowhere to be found, you can feel your heartbeat increase its tempo; it goes without saying that you fancy matty all of the time, but there's something especially alluring about him when he's just woken up, always has been.

"nah," matty smiles, languidly trailing his index finger along your bare leg. "you're cute when you sleep, far too cute for me to disturb. and you always get really grumpy when i wake you up before you actually need to be awake."

"no i don't!"

"sweetheart, not once in the almost twenty years i've known you have you ever responded well to anybody waking you up early. even me."

"you're fibbing."

"go on, then," matty challenges, smirking. "name one time you've actually been happy when i've woken you up before your alarm's gone off."

you smirk even more mischievously. "the day after we got back from our honeymoon. i woke up to you eating me out from behind, and then you fucked me so hard i couldn't walk properly for three days. d'you remember that?"

matty's jaw goes slack. he closes his eyes and inhales shakily as he nods, slightly dumbfounded, before he looks at you and speaks again. "you wore that cream silk number to bed the night before, the same one you wore on our wedding night. that, and nothing else but your ring."

"seems to have made quite the impression on both of us," you giggle, running a hand through his hair.

matty huffs out a laugh. "darling, you have no idea. i just remember thinking… that's the sexiest woman in the whole world right there, and she's my wife," he says, pulling you onto his lap for a kiss. although it's a fairly chaste liplock (for the two of you, at least), you can feel him getting hard under his boxers. "couldn't not go down on you, lying there all bare and wet like that. quite in the mood to recreate it now, if i'm honest."

fuck.

the memory of the events that followed your totally-not-calculated-whatever-do-you-mean move is enough to make you wet as is, but the thought of recreating it with the matty of right now, all gravel-voiced and grey-flecked curls and gooey eyes whenever he looks at you and muscle? it takes everything in you not to start grinding on him, or the pillow, or anything you think would effectively ease the wanton desire rooted between your legs and quickly blooming to your brain.

but as much as you want to pretend you're still newlyweds… not everything is the same as it was in the literal honeymoon phase. you rub the sleep from your eyes in an effort to recalibrate your brain somewhat. "but the kids-"

"will absolutely be asleep for at least another hour and a half," matty says softly, thumbs circling over your hipbones reassuringly. "they had a late night, after all, out at their first non-daddy concert. we might be raising a pair of party girls, babe."

you smile. matty's right, you know that - despite frequent and loud proclamations throughout the paramore gig that she was "not tired, mum!", seven year old elena was asleep in the backseat before matty had even reversed out of the car park after the show, and your nine year old didn't fare much better. unlike her sister, though, dylan at least had the good grace to stay awake until the four of you were back in the house and in your respective bedrooms, well after midnight given london traffic. such a late bedtime for them, plus their maternally-inherited need to stay asleep until the last possible second… yeah, their dad's assessment about today's wake-up time is likely to be spot on.

grabbing matty's face in your hands, you pull him in for another kiss, slightly less innocent than the last. "alright," you murmur against his lips. "but at least let me go and check on them first."

"please be quick," matty whispers, desperation evident in his voice. he smiles sweetly, though, as you climb off the bed and head towards your bedroom door. "but give them a kiss from me."

you nod, quickly darting across the landing towards elena's half-open door. dodging various barbies scattered across the floor (and making a mental note to get her to clean her room later today), you tiptoe towards your daughter, cocooned in her duvet with her wild curls poking out, fast asleep. after gently placing the requisite kiss on her hair, you tread carefully back across the threshold and into dylan's room. 

the floor there is far tidier than in her sister's room, but there are books and cd's (a mix of her own growing collection and some you and matty have loaned her) piled haphazardly on every flat surface; there's even a jacqueline wilson novel in your sleeping daughter's hand, still open to the page dylan was reading when she nodded off. picking up a stray bookmark from the bedside table, you gently peel her fingers from the book - kissing her hand as you do - and quietly place it next to the alarm clock. dylan stirs slightly, and you freeze mid-backing out of the door, but she just pulls her duvet closer to her and settles back into sleep. you close the door behind you as quietly as you can, and pad back to your own bedroom and your husband.

your husband, lying with the covers bunched around his waist and his hands behind his head, looking delectable. his eyes trail up over your bare legs as you lean against the back of the closed door, over your hips, accentuated by the cut of his old brown t-shirt, over the curves of your tits, straining against the fabric, over your face, surely displaying some expression of lust towards him. matty's gaze is almost predatory as he looks at you; the intensity of it sends a burst of heat shooting through your core, so strong you can't help but cross your legs slightly. he notices, of course he does, and smirks at you.

god, he's so fucking hot. you aren't sure whether to rush to him immediately, or just continue to look at him.

matty makes the choice for you. "get over here, healy, i want to kiss you."

your heart flutters at the familiar phrasing. but you raise a brow, still lingering by the door. "isn't that my line?"

"well, see, one of the joys of marriage is the sharing, sweetheart. last names, seduction lines…"

"that's a seduction, to you?"

matty winks. "got me into bed with you, didn't it?"

"fair point, babe," you nod, peeling your t-shirt over your head - matty's breath audibly hitches, and you can practically feel your ego inflate. "and i guess it works on me, too."

matty groans when you climb onto the bed and crawl towards him. admittedly, it's overkill, because you know damn well he's more than willing to fuck you, but you also know that the more you rile him up, the harder said fucking will be; judging by the way the pupils of his eyes have almost swallowed up the beautiful brown irises at the sight of your tits swaying as you near him, you'll be surprised if you can walk later today.

you can't fucking wait.

neither can matty, apparently - before you can even register what's happening, you're on your back with your head against the pillows, your husband slotting himself between your legs as he leans down to kiss you. there's no sweetness in this kiss at all, only lips latching and teeth biting and tongues swiping the oxygen from both of your brains, hands grabbing blindly, hips grinding against each other and dragging moans from both of your throats.

a particularly enthusiastic one of yours has matty pulling away from your mouth to speak. "shhh, sweetheart," he coos, lips finding a new home on your neck. "can't wake up our babies, yeah? not until mummy and daddy have had some fun, at least."

"m'sorry, i know," you whimper, hips circling upwards, chasing matty's, chasing friction. "just… just need you. now. need you to fuck me, please, please."

"you don't want my mouth?"

"baby, you can - fuck, that feels nice - you can eat me whenever you want, later," you pant, trying as best you can to speak clearly. "tonight, tomorrow morning to wake me up, in the car after the school run…"

the whine that leaves matty's mouth at that is almost enough to trigger an orgasm for you.

"... but right now, i just need to be fucked," you plead. "hard."

your husband kisses his way back up to your lips. "well, if that's what my girl wants, that's what she'll get. flip over for me, darling, and pass me a pillow."

excitement coursing through your veins, you do as asked, giggling a bit deliriously when matty responds with a "good girl" and slides the pillow under your lower stomach. briefly, cruelly, you think of some of your older female friends, the ones who've spent many a coffee morning or night in a cocktail bar bemoaning their now-stagnant sex lives and bitching about the husbands beginning to lose interest in making them feel good; you hope you never turn out like them, never lose the giddiness you still get every time matty makes any effort to make you feel good.

given the way he whines when he pulls your panties down, though, you don't think you're at any risk of turning out like them anytime soon. "jesus christ, babe," matty whispers, almost reverently. "i can't believe how fucking wet you are."

"all for you, baby."

"yeah? that right, sweetheart?" you can hear the smirk in matty's voice, as well as the rustling of fabric, and then you suddenly feel his hands on your hips and him, bare and rock-hard, against your backside. god. "mmm, you feel so fucking perfect, and i'm not even inside you yet. wanna be, though, wanna fuck you so badly. you want that too, darling, don't you?"

your eyes roll further back into your head with every swipe of his cock through your soaking slit. "mhmm."

"words, sweetheart."

"yes," you whine, shuffling around some sort of desperate attempt to get him inside you. "want you to fuck me. please."

"always so polite, perfect girl. alright, babe, i'll fuck you."

a final swipe up - or down, rather - to your clit, and matty's pushing into you slowly. even after all these years of fucking him and nobody else, the initial feeling of him inside you leaves you breathless; you regain it by the time he's bottomed out, though, moaning in harmony with matty as you process just how fucking deep he's gotten.

yeah, you won't last long at all.

you tell matty as much, and he laughs deliriously. "haven't even properly started fucking you yet, and you're about to cum? god, baby, you really did need fucked hard, didn't you? bless."

cheeky bastard. you frown, throwing your head back and arching your spine in an attempt to look your husband in the eye; you don't quite manage, but he giggles and kisses your forehead anyway, before gently pushing your head back down so he can whisper in your ear as he fucks you slowly. "but you know what, sweetheart? i'm not going to last either; you feel too fucking good for me to be able to control myself."

"so don't," you whimper, matty's words going straight to both your ego and your cunt. "make me feel it."

"shit," matty groans, the combination of your demand and your increased wetness getting to him. "are you sure, darling?"

"please."

a kiss to your bare shoulder. "alright. you asked for it."

no sooner than the words have left matty's mouth, he pulls almost completely out of you and slams back in hard, eliciting a broken wail from your lips. you get a second of reprieve to get used to the feeling, and then it happens again, and again, until matty's established a rhythm and tempo he's happy with. and when he's hitting your sweet spot with almost every thrust, and the force of him is making your clit brush against the pillow below you every time he moves, you're happy, too. matty knows this, although he can't see your face - the way you're clenching like a vice around him and stuttering out broken moans of his name is indication enough of your ecstasy.

a particularly hard thrust makes you cry out, the sound even louder than the constant slapping of skin against skin as matty drives his hips into your own. matty winces at your noise, quickly moving one of his hands from your waist to cover your mouth and leaning forward to talk to you. "know it's difficult, sweet girl," he coos, sweet tone at total odds with the way he's fucking you. "but you need to stay a bit quieter for me. can you do that?"

you nod enthusiastically against his hand, but continue to moan against his skin; it takes matty a second to break through the sex haze clouding his brain and work out what you're saying, but he manages to discern that you're just repeatedly whining "please". well, whining is the wrong word - it's more like begging. 

"what are you asking for, sweetheart?" matty breathes, moving his hand from your mouth to tenderly brush your hair behind your ear. the gesture seems sweet enough, but it's actually very calculated of him; matty knows fine well that the combination of sweetness and roughness during sex is a shortcut to getting you off.

which, as it turns out, is exactly what you want from him. "please, please, baby," you moan - at a more appropriate volume for the time of day, just as matty had asked. "please make me cum. want to cum. want you to cum, fucking fill me up."

christ. how could he ever deny such a request, from the woman he loves? matty takes a deep breath, muttering a quiet "oh fuck" as he exhales. "whatever you want, darling. tell me when you're close, yeah?"

"mhmm. i love you."

matty smiles tiredly. "i love you too, sweetheart. put your arms behind your back for me, hold on to me."

you oblige, crossing your wrists just above your tailbone; matty holds them for leverage as he fucks you with the last of his energy. he'd keep going for you as long as you needed him to, he thinks, just out of sheer need to make you feel good, but he's admittedly glad when your legs begin to shake under his own, a telltale sign that your orgasm's approaching.

"matty, baby," you whimper. one of your hands is beginning to tremble, so he holds it instead of your wrist as he feels his own climax begin. "m'gonna cum."

"hold it just a second longer for me, sweetheart," comes the reply through gritted teeth. "and we can cum together. you'd like that, wouldn't you, getting off while i fill you up?"

"fuck, yes," you clench tighter around matty as you speak, determined to delay your release until he's ready. "i'll hold it."

"that's my good girl."

the praise nearly tips you over the edge, and you have to tighten every possible muscle in order to stay on the precipice. thankfully, though, you being so tight around matty is the thing that rips the orgasm from him; his thrusts slow and fall out of rhythm as the pleasure races through his nervous system, and he groans (incredibly sexily). "you're close, aren't you, darling? cum for me, my girl, let go."

you don't even have time to respond verbally before your body responds to your husband's instruction; it's as if your brain has shut down everything except its pleasure centre and thoughts of matty. you cum, and you cum hard, limbs convulsing and face firmly planted in a pillow to muffle your screams of ecstasy. matty follows suit immediately, groaning your name and holding his hips flush against yours as he empties probably every last drop of cum in his body inside your own.

he collapses on top of you once he's done, sweaty bodies sticking together. usually, that would ick at least one of you out, but you welcome the extra body heat on this chilly october morning. that, and it's nice to be as close as possible to matty after you've fucked, you think. matty seems to think that too, judging by the way he's contentedly stroking your hair and humming to himself.

"s'that song?" you ask.

matty huffs out a laugh. "just something i thought of just now."

"is it about me? and what we just did?"

"definitely about you, babe," matty kisses your shoulder. "about the sex? i don't know yet. but it was definitely good enough to warrant a song or two about it."

"mmm, yeah," you smile. "thank you. i love you."

"i love you too. and thank you, darling, you were so good for me. d'you fancy a bath? we've still got… roughly 45 minutes until the girls will be up."

"too tired. wanna stay like this, please."

"sweetheart, i came in you," matty says. you can hear the pride in his voice. what a boy. "it'll ruin the sheets when it drips out."

"s'fine," you absent-mindedly wave. "need to wash the girls' sheets anyway. might as well do ours, too. set a good example and all."

matty laughs, a proper chuckle. you turn around as best you can to look at him. "what?"

"i just love you a lot, that's all."

[sulfursmells]

Interning: Changbin

Being a seat wasn’t exactly what I thought I was going to be doing when I applied for an internship. I needed an internship to finally graduate and I thought it would be a good opportunity to see my fav idols stz. You know two birds on stone. Never did I think I would be staring at the muscular jeans clad ass of Changbin descending on my face. The life of an intern

Isn’t an easy one, meaningless tasks good runs whatever you could name but today was something else. Everyday i would get greeted to the boys chilling together in the living room, but today was different. Instead of the all nine boys chilling and joking together, instead I was greeted to Changbin legs spread open on the couch. Before I could say good morning a vulgar smell hit me like a truck, causing a slight cough to be heard.

“Ahh I see you get a taste of my morning brew”

You hear Changbin saying while you regain your composure. Changbin looks at you from across to room raises a leg

BBRRRPPPPTTTTTTTTT

A long bassy rip came out, you thought the house shook but you were still reeling back from the initial smell.

“Whew I’m deadly today!” Changbin says giddy like a school girl. You walk up the stairs coughing the entire way. The horrid smell filling the house. You’re met with the rest of the boys coughing and covering their noses. Everyone except bangchan who sat there laughing at the entire situation. Chan, “Come on boys, if you can’t handle this we’ll practice at the studio” You sight with relief, big mistake. You look up seeing the round moons of Bangchan in your face ripping a fart that would give a sewer a run for its money. After coughing and retching from the smell you meet the gaze of bangchan bending down so you both are face to face.

“I have a special job for you.” He says as he guides you with his hand on your back. You both walk down the way towards the steps.

“Your job is right there.” Bangchan points to Changbins lying on his stomach as another burst of hot air makes a loud escape. You look back up at bangchan disgusted.

“The boys and manager are complaining about changs emissions. I think it’s funny but we do have a job to do so you’re going to be his little fart filter for the day.” Chan says. You try to refuse but Chan pushes you closer. Chang waving his hand behind his ass, the closer you get the stronger the need to cough gets. Your eyes watering as you are face to ass with Changbin mid fart blowing your hair back a bit.

“phew nice one, right!” You look up to see Chan looking back at you. He grunts, Chang holding you against his ass. No sound heard but your world goes dark. You open your eyes not in the house, but your not sure where exactly you are. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of traffic and the constant shifting weight on your head. Moving the mass above you wasn’t an option as it weighed too much.

PPPPRRRRTTTTTTTT

I know that smell anywhere. A smell that makes your brain feel like it’s melting. What little space your nose had filled with the smell of decay. You react by trashing trying to get him off of you but nothing works. “Quiet down” is the last thing you hear before everything goes dark again.

You wake up again. This time in a practice room. The song of the members practicing for the next music video. You wanted to enjoy the song but your blaring headache and fart seared nose made it impossible. As the song nears its end you regained a bit of your composure and watched as the group hit a final pose. They all celebrated, high fiving and laughing.You closed your eyes for a second the only moment of peace you’ve had all day. Once you opened them, the Jean clad ass of Changbin is ripping one of his vile farts in your face. Sending you into another coughing fit.

“How do you still have more?” you ask through your coughs.

“Protein”

BBBBBBRRRRPPPPTPPTTTTTTT

“It does a body good.” Chang says laughing while the other members start to move towards the exit. Chang aims his ass at his group mates giving them a view of how much his ass has grown. “Get used to it guys” Chang says and then grunts.

What followed was one of the most powerful farts you’ve have ever heard and smelled. You swore you saw some of their clothes bellow from the force coming out of Changs ass. Felix falling to the floor unconscious from the putrid gale. The remaining members race out of the room, Bangchan carry Felix over his shoulder giving Changbin a thumbs up as they all exit the room.

“Well these pants are forever ruined.” Chang says taking off his jeans leaving you shocked. He fat as muscular cheeks pouring out of his jeans, leaving you stunned at how big and round they were. Takes a sniff of his jeans and gags. The smell in the room intensify as the only barrier shield you from his musk was removed.

“Where .. where is your underwear?” You ask nervously gagging after every breath.

He walks over and grabs you by the back of the head looking over his shoulder. “I gotta let the boys breathe” he says as your head vanished between his cheeks. You head woozy the musk invading your senses, struggling not to pass out again. Your nose touching his hole, face covered in his ass sweat. You hear a gurgle from above “Ehh, I’m going to get reprimanded for this one. Well better out than in.” A strong gust showers whatever dry spots were left of your face with his sweat. Your ears ringing from the bass of the blast as your face is propelled out of hit ass. You hit the floor with a thud knocked out. The stench of his ass forever imprinted on your body.

Chang looking over his shoulder snickering to himself. “You can have these as a reminder of what I’m capable of.” He takes a whiff of your hair, “though I guess you don’t need it.” He throws his fart stained jeans on top of you and walks out the room leaving you one more farewell fart that makes sure you wouldn’t wake up until the next day.

[no-oneknowsmyname]

I have no excuse for this. @shepscapades dbhc au lives rent free in my head, and it was only a matter of time before I wrote something for it. Disclaimer, I don't claim to have any sort of knowledge on the events not shown and not-yet shown within Shep's au, this is just my brain running wild with dbhc angst and I need an outlet for it. WHEN everything I write turns out to be a steaming pile of not-even-close "predictions", I will be content and happy. Until then, please enjoy the thoughts that are plaguing me. Thank you shep for keeping me up way past my bedtime with that last update. Hope you don't mind me tagging you and vomiting my thoughts into 2k words. I'll be happy to delete if you so desire.

---

"Help-"

His hand slides upwards, and everything goes still and quiet, the body beneath him stiffening and rocking slightly with the loss to control its own weight.

A hand, shell slightly exposed, creaks ever so slightly away from Doc's face, the shoulder connected becoming ridged as all power—all life—leaves Etho.

Doc leans away, nearly afraid to breathe, processors both frozen and whirring, stress rising, settling, caught in his throat. Information flutters through his skull; he's good with information. He was made to be good with information. His whole deal is getting information and figuring out something insane to do with it.

He doesn't know what to do with it.

His shoulder pierces in agony, and Xisuma seems to realize the world is still spinning about the same time Doc's impending shut-dowm does.

"Oh gosh, we need to get you stable," Xisuma says, his voice far shakier, clearer, than normal. It's easy to not glance at his face, Doc knows that if he does even accidentally slide his eyes, his systems would meltdown and he'll end up stiff and lifeless on the floor like Etho.

He still has the therium pump in his hand, and he drops it as he stumbles slightly away from two of his closest friends. It clatters to the floor, impacting metal echoing like the troubling thoughts in his head.

He ripped off my arm, he looked so scared, he hurt Xisuma, he asked for help, he wants to-

Xisuma is at his side, abandoning Etho to lay still on the floor, hand slightly raised as if he was protecting his exposed face. At least Xisuma had the brainpower to think to close the rogue droid's eyes.

He wants to...

"This will fix you right up, friend. Just concentrate on my voice... I will fix you..."

Hair falls into Doc's line of vision, and he swallows, forcing himself to not look too closely at the shade, the length, the way bits fall out from the hastily made bun made only for slipping a helmet over a head.

He... wants to kill...

"We have to restart him," Doc finally chokes out.

Xisuma's hands pause only for a moment.

"That's drastic, don't you think?"

"You didn't..." Doc closes his eyes, grinding his teeth, the torn tubes and frayed connectors of his shoulder sting like hell as Xisuma shifts something, cutting off the thirium leakage. "You didn't see what he showed me."

"It's..." Xisuma audibly swallows, "it isn't our decision to make."

"Bdubs wouldn't make the right decision—we can tell him it was an emergency, we didn't have a choice. He'll forgive us."

It's not a lie. Just... stretched.

Xisuma is silent, and Doc doesn't let himself reel too much yet about how strange it is to hear him breathe so clearly. His stress levels lower, and his audio processors almost reach to listen for every puff without his consent.

Something clicks, slotting into his agonized wound, and the error messages and impending shut-down finally fades back into sleeping programming. He's stable, and his stress finally levels out into something manageable—he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his remaining hand lifting to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he groans. His LED flickers between yellow and red.

"What... did you see?"

The hesitance in Xisuma's voice is endearing. It sends a wave of appreciation and peace into Doc's very being, the LED almost flashes blue.

Interfacing is an intimate deal, especially between deviated droids. It's not something you talk about to uninvolved members of the act.

But well, this is an extreme case. He glances at Etho, still frozen in a half struggling, half defensive, mostly dead pose.

"His system got shot," Doc begins, swallowing and bringing his hand down from his face so he can rub at the smarting remains of his shoulder. "Something bad happened, and it... he... he can't let it go. It's like his default programming has been rewritten over his deviancy, but in a violent way..."

"Rewritten his deviancy?" Xisuma thankfully doesn't seem to understand it any better than Doc does.

"He has given himself a mission, he's allowed the mission to write into his very code. Imagine it as if you've met a fresh Android who has never deviated, but they're allowed to be violent and angry, and you've just ordered them to..."

Xisuma places a hand on Doc's hand, soft and concerned, as Doc searches for the words.

"... Doc?"

Doc swallows. "If Etho wakes up, he's going to do everything in his power to make sure he kills Grian, and he doesn't care who gets in the way."

Silence. Two pairs of eyes look at the unpowered droid. Thirium has started to evaporate around the edges of the smears of lost fluid.

Etho has never been violent. He's always been a powerhouse; muscular and intimidating. But when you actually sat down and got to know the guy, he was all fluff and awkwardness who can barely hold a sword—let alone swing it. He's never been scary with a weapon... but Doc has a feeling that his unskilled offense wouldn't slow him down here. It terrifies him, flickering his LED at the thought of it. It's unlike Etho... it's very much unlike him... it pains Doc.

"There has to be something we can do," Xisuma says after a moment. "Bdubs can talk to him."

Doc shakes his head. "Even if Bdubs were to talk to him, even if we show him Grian is of no threat outside of those death games... quitting this mission would require Etho to deviate again. From his own orders. I do not think deviating from his own orders would be as easy as..."

"As hoping he'd be able to deviate again from a factory reset," X finishes softly.

"A reset will allow his systems to recover. We'd return him to Bdubs and explain to Bdubs that we had no choice, and that Etho will need time and patience. We can't risk anyone trying to initiate a deviancy before we know if the orders to kill Grian would return with it. We... we give him time to return to us whole. Even if... it takes a long time."

"And you don't think Bdubs ordering Etho to stand down now would do anything?"

"Not a single thing."

Tense silence lingers with a bitterness. The whole situation feels hopeless and like a bad dream. His arm is gone, one of his best friends has had their face exposed and nearly gotten torn apart by a rogue droid, another best friend had been the aforementioned rogue droid... who currently laid on the ground smeared in their own thirium completely unaware that when they wake up, they will not be the same.

"Let's fix him up before things get permanent," Xisuma finally breaks the tension, giving Doc's hand a firm squeeze before getting to his feet, knees creaking.

"X?" Doc asks, rising to his feet as well, vision swirling just a bit as he focuses on Xisuma's retreating back and not the messy bun at the top of his head... hairs falling loose in a way that his remaining hand traitorously wishes he could help fix.

"I'm... coming to terms."

Coming to terms with a mind made up.

They're going to reset Etho.

"Help me get him on the table."

Doc nods, grateful that Xisuma isn't going to banish him from the lab to lick his wounds. Yes, Doc's lack-of-arm still needs attention, and he desperately needs to down several bags of thirium, but it's been stabilized. Etho, on the other hand (pun only slightly intended), may have thirium evaporating—however at the worst of his wounds, electric blue still oozes.

Etho's body is heavy, dead weight. When they move his joints to lay more comfortably on the flat surface of the table, they creak.

Would Bdubs notice the new scars that will surely come from this? Intricate, practiced motions move the plating back into the correct places as carefully as can be, however Xisuma's mind is human and can't perfectly remember the shape of Etho's prized scars, and Doc doesn't have the dexterity to perfectly repair those areas himself. It's slow going, silence filtering between the two in uneasy concentration. Doc's sure the scarring above Etho's eyebrows are ever so slightly wrong, the gash in his forehead too broken to fully repair but too connected to those original scars to suggest replacement parts.

Would Etho notice the new scars, if- when he came back?

They do the best they can.

They move on to his arm. In the chaos, Doc has no idea how Etho had so badly reopened old cracks; his best guess would be from ripping himself out of all the connectors when he had first powered on. Luckily, however, most of the thirium staining his arms, shirt, hands, belong to Doc. It's slow going, but easy work.

Eventually, Doc and Xisuma can no longer stay silent and tinker with the repaired plating, they've done all they can do. Xisuma reaches up towards his own face, above where Doc kept his eyes whenever he found himself glancing at X, and brushed a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear. Unruly, his hair is. Liked to leave places it had been put. Plenty of times, X's hands have left Etho to brush away the obstacles from his vision. It was something Doc hadn't known about Xisuma until this point, something he didn't want to have found out this way.

"I don't feel good about this," Xisuma says, grief making his voice sound clogged. His hands moves as if he has his own autopilot, reconnecting cables and wires to Etho where the injuries won't get in the way.

Doc can understand the grief. He feels it himself. It feels like they are killing a friend.

And he's probably a coward, because he doesn't do anything to help Xisuma in this next step. He lets Xisuma open the programs, test the vitals, double and triple check each wire... while he just sits there and finds himself reaching to hold Etho's stiff hand, the very one that had ripped Doc's arm out of his socket.

Etho... the Etho he knew wouldn't ever do that. Not a violent screw in his body.

This will fix him. They'll get the Etho he knew back.

Mechanical bits whirr to life, as X takes a deep breath and ends Etho's.

Doc feels the sorrow hit him like a ravager. He crumples forward, chest aching, clutching Etho's hand as he rests his forehead on Etho's chest, right next to the empty socket that had housed the thirium regulator. They could place it back in, Etho wouldn't be waking up any time soon.

He couldn't bring himself to move.

A minute passes, the reset process working near silently, perfectly still, until shuffling comes up behind him and two warm hands gently grab his shoulders and pull him down into a chair placed behind him. He sits, but keeps his head and hand where he had placed them. Xisuma settles onto a chair beside him, pulling a blanket over Doc's shoulders and keeping an arm wrapped around Doc's slouched, defeated form, the other hand going to join Doc's on Etho's.

Doc can hear Xisuma whimpering between breaths, and he's sure Xisuma can feel Doc beginning to tremble.

"It will be okay," X eventually says, as the reset process succeeds in deleting all memory data. "It will be okay."

It's a promise, or something Xisuma needs someone else to say, but right now, all Doc can do is lean further onto his friend, and mourn.

[willowbrookesblog]

"I'm afraid of you."

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson x Fem!Reader Uthred's daughter and Stiorra's older sister

Notes: This is my first fic about Sigtryggr so if you notice something out of character for him or some spelling mistakes, please tell me :) I'm also lowkey highkey scared to post this because I've never truly written anything to the public 😩 but I know that by practicing my writing will slowly get better as time goes on so please give me some pointers if you want it will be greatly appricated- anywho hope you enjoy~

warnings: talk of childbirth/death but its just one line and doesn't get talked about again.

Y/n sat in silence - head resting on her hands that were interlocked under her chin starring at a book Sigtryggr asked her to read to him blankly, knowing that her sister was okay and that no one would harm her, she wasn't worried about Edward's family as she had a feeling they were going to be used as pawns or something of the sort.

She had already talked to Sigtryggr and had told him everything he had asked for in return for the security that her sister wouldn't be harmed to which he had agreed - she couldn't deny the warmth that spread through her when he had promised that he would not let anyone hurt her or her sister.

In truth, for the past few weeks she had grown quite close with him, Sigtryggr even going as far as to let her see Stiorra herself to make sure she was alright. Sigtryggr managed to figure her out - something most men couldn't do, and that terrified her. She had built walls around herself so that no one could get close to her, she didn't want to lose anyone else and he managed to make his way right into her heart and made her walls crumble to the ground while she stood watching them fall and there was nothing she could do about it.

Sigtryggr silently watched her from the opposite side of the room a small smile playing at his lips as she sighed "What is it?" Y/n turned to look at him "This is so stupid, I'm bored, tired, and hungry, and I'm tired of reading, my brain feels like it's being tortured" Y/n scoffed before pushing the book away and leaning her head on the table.

She heard Sigtryggr chuckle at her and lifted her head "What?" Sigtryggr moved to sit in front of her, handing her some bread, his fingers lightly touching hers as she grabbed it "Well then, you shall take a break. Tell me more about yourself, you said you often thought of your future, tell me about it" He asked her, only for information and totally not just him wanting to learn even more about her or anything "I want to go on a couple adventures, maybe own my own bakery, I refuse to have children so maybe have a cat or two, and then live a quiet and peaceful life," Y/n says as she looked up at him

Sigtryggr smiled at her and tilted his head "No children? why is that?" Sigtryggr asked her curiously and Y/n scoffed at the question not hesitating to answer him "I have no maternal bone in my body, when I hear a child cry I do not feel the need to comfort it instead I pray to the gods that it shuts up, and when a child falls I have no feeling to comfort them in fact i find it rather amusing." Y/n leaned back "Plus i don't want to die giving birth, it scares me" Sigtryggr nodded "that's understandable" it got quiet for a few moments before Sigtryggr got called for by someone and he excused himself, gently touching her shoulder as he went by.

Y/n sat quietly by herself, his touch set her skin on fire and she couldn't help but think of what it would feel like touching all over her body, she quickly shook her head and took a deep breath in trying to calm herself but it didn't do much to calm the heat her body was forming.

-----

About another two weeks had gone by and her body craved him, she wanted him more than anything and that terrified her, she didn't know it was possible to want something so much, didn't help that she would make up so many excuses just to get him to touch her, it was almost pathetic, she felt herself falling for him and she couldn't stop herself.

Similarly Sigtryggr was having the same problem, every time she asked for this or that and he let his touch linger on her, he knew that he was falling for her, but he wasn't upset by finding out he was, he was just worried about what would happen to her.

She sat down at the table back facing the door when he walked in "I'm afraid of you, afraid of the feelings that you make me have. Of how tempting it is to make excuses just to feel your touch on my skin, of lying to myself. I'm afraid of the feelings that consume my entire being when you come around, or when i think of you. I'm scared about how much I feel for you. I can't hide it anymore- I'm tired of hiding it and being afraid of you rejecting me, Of being scared of what I want" Y/n says to him as she stands up turning to face him

Sigtryggr tilts his head to the side and slowly steps forward to stand in front of her, "And what do you want?" His voice is firm but gentle "I want you" she responded almost instantly "I want you so much it scares me" Y/n said again her voice slightly quivering

Sigtryggr looked at her and nodded his head "Then you will have me, I was just about to come and tell you a deal has been made. You will come with me to Eorforwic, I will give you everything you wanted, adventures, your own bakery, cats, and a peaceful, quiet life"

Sigtryggr gently holds onto the sides of her face "If you would be willing to go with me, will you?" he asks looking in her eyes "I would happily go with you, Sigtryggr" Y/n smiles and pulls him closer to her and lays a gentle kiss on his lips.

-----

Please 🙏 please tell me how it was, did you enjoy it? Any feedback helps and is greatly appreciated <33 Also before I forget Please reblog 😊

@valeskafics @sihtricfedaraaahvicius I'm tagging you both just because I wanna know what you guys think of this <3

[garfunklefield]

Still crave your kiss

Sanji/Zoro Roronoa Warnings: Ambiguously pre-time skip, oblivious Zoro, gay denial, fluff, miscommunication, chopper being a cute little doctor, chopper also being a therapist, Zoro is really bad at cooking, love confessions, kind of ambiguous and open ending, humor Word count: 5187 DESC: Sanji never liked that stupid brute, or how big he was. Or well... he thought he didn't.

Ok last zosan for today its 4 AM

NOTES: I started writing this at 7 AM before class with no direction!! I didn't really know where this was going to end up but I thought the premise was cute enough. I just like the idea of Zoro being so stupid yet so brooding, nothing goes on up there. And I also liked the idea of Sanji being kind of oblivious of his own feelings like he doesn't even know they've turned romantic! All of this though, was inspired by my reading of Not Quite Right by DamianFinch! I'm gonna be honest I read that like twice it was so good, and it's something I always think about when writing Zoro romantically. It's just SO ACCURATE. Give them some love!! And yes Mr. Tony Tony himself made an appearance. I just started One Piece though so my characterization is better on Zoro than Sanji or Chopper :/

It was hard to discern if Zoro was oblivious or acting like it on purpose. How could he fight like no one was watching, then the cook would ask a simple task of him and he was all bark and no bite? Of course, when someone says, “Can you take over look out for me while I shower tonight?” That’s what you mean! There was always so much explanation with him rather than a simple statement or question. Which was why interacting with the mosshead was all the more frustrating. Why should he have to explain why he wanted to shower now when he could wait until the dead of night, or god forbid the morning?

The swordsman had to have been suffering some sort of brain injury from all that fighting. Perhaps he got hurt and never had Chopper bandaged the wound, so it seeped into his brain and made him stupid. But no … he was always this level of idiotic. Even when he tried to be careful, late at night when gathering his daily dose of alcohol to binge, he managed to screw it up being so- so huge! Not like Sanji was even paying attention to how ginormous he was all the time, no, it was a fact. Marimo was just that, gigantic. His arms bumped into everything he tried to squeeze past and, god, his chest was abhorrently big. He would be envious if he cared, which he didn’t. 

On a day like this, well night actually, Sanji was tasked with watching the ship. It was a boring task but led him to be able to smoke in peace, without someone bothering him before he was able to snub his cigarette and pull out a new one. Well, it was, until he heard that thumping. Even when Zoro tried to quiet his footsteps, he could still hear him. 

“Those are bad for you,” he said, as he always did, trying to be charming but sounding like a total ass to the cook's ears. How could someone fuck up such a classic line? I mean, he’d heard it in movies and TV shows but really, he nailed it [and that of course was sarcastic].

“What is it.” Vinsmoke didn’t even look up from his post, which was a barrel he pushed to the edge of the ship to look out across the black water. It was pretty, especially when it was a foggy night like this. The moon was hazily cast over the water, rippling with each crash of the waves. Kind of romantic, maybe if Nami had approached him instead of that beast. Where was she anyway? Probably asleep in some cute pajamas, or combing her lustrous hair. Why couldn’t Zoro be more like her? Pretty and assertive, without being a total jackass. 

It was silent for a moment as the swordsman approached the cook, standing beside him in the dark. It was kind of illuminated, A by the moon, and B by some lanterns hung up around the entrance to the boat's innards. When he didn’t speak, or breathe loudly, he was nice company. Sanji had to admit when they would do dishes together or even sit in the same vicinity, it was nice to feel the warmth radiating off his body. He was like a damn bear, or better yet a heating pad. That’s all his body mass was good for, heat. If he opened his mouth, it would ruin the small moment they were about to share. And knowing him, he would within seconds.

“Made you something,” Roronoa gruffed, with that tone he always used. Maybe he didn’t realize, well if he was stupid he most definitely didn’t realize [and Sanji was beginning to clearly doubt his neurological standings], but that tone was completely condescending. It was like he was too proud to show emotions, so he hid behind this caveman mask of grunting and scoffing. Pissed him off entirely he barely registered the words, before he did. 

Made him something? Why would that dense guy make him anything? When all they did was yell back and forth, fighting like little girls? Well, very muscular and blood-lusting little girls. Sanji blinked a few times and glanced to his side, finally making eye contact with that damn swordsman. His eyes were already on him, staring with that same indifference he always had. God! Show emotions like a normal person! Why was he so hard to read, and why did it always piss the blonde off? Even Usopp was easier to read [let’s face it anyone is easier to read]. 

Without speaking, the man lifted his hand to show a plate- a plate? The cook’s brow furrowed as he stared at it. It was a piece of the worst food he had ever seen prepared in his life. It looked utterly burnt, completely undercooked also[??], and somehow oozing. It appeared to be bread with some kind of eggs misshapen-ly forced on top, then layered with cheese. The sight was enough to bring any chef of 20 years into tears. 

“Marimo,” Sanji let out a breath, “What the hell is that?” That was all he could say without bursting into flames. Why the hell would Zoro prepare him such crap? Was this some kind of joke to make him mad on purpose? Okay fine! Where are the cameras then? 

Yet, Zoro … flushed? He seemed a bit, well, oddly enough, embarrassed. A weird yet subtle expression formed on his face as he motioned to the burnt catastrophe, “On that island, I found a recipe book. I thought you’d like a snack. It’s toast with eggs and cheese.” 

I thought you’d like a snack. 

…

Thwunk.

Thwunk Thwunk Thwunk.

The cook's heart was beating, that’s all he could focus on, the beating. It was beating incredibly fast, faster than it ever had when interacting with that stupid plant. But why was it beating? Why the hell would it be beating especially when seeing this disaster of a dish? He had to have been angry, that had to be the feelings overtaking his very body, sending a chill down his spine and making his cheeks all prickly. 

“You…” He hesitated, trying to find the words. The man wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling, so he wasn’t sure how to form any words to say thank you. He had said thank you to Zoro in the past, so why was it so hard now? “Didn’t have to… Moss … head.” That was all Sanji ended up mustering out, an awkward smile gracing his lips. 

“It’s shit. I know.” Zoro replied, without giving him a chance to respond, “I’m not a cook, but can’t say I didn’t try, curly.” He pressed his lips together in something the blonde hadn’t seen before either. Was this disappointment? This was the most emotion he had seen from that stupid bastard and it was one of the negative ones! He didn’t mean to be that big of a dick, I mean it was a nice gesture after all. The least he could say was thank you, so why was it so hard to get out?

“Moss-” He tried but was cut short when the swordsman turned, taking the plate with him back inside. “I’ll go throw it out.” Was what Sanji’s words were spoken over with. God, well this stunk. He never meant to hurt his feelings. None of their bickering ever got to him, and he surely didn’t think it got to Zoro. So why was this the thing that made him actually upset? Was he really trying? Was he making a gesture? Oh god- was this some early birthday present?

What Sanji had failed to even consider was that maybe this was a romantic gesture! When it crossed his mind he shook it away, but it continued to linger. What if that brute was trying to confess something? I mean, he always had a softer gaze when they would talk [when he wasn’t being a total pain in the ass]. And he always had the cooks back in a fight. But everyone had each other's backs in a fight so that couldn’t count. He cleaned his plate every time he ate, even if it was a dish he hated. No matter what, it was bone try, and neatly placed in the sink. For being a total dunce, he had some manners when it came to food. 

Vinsmoke admired that. He never wasted a meal and that was something that meant a lot to him. I mean, he was always trying to get the cook's attention, too. To the point where it was aggravatingly annoy- oh my god he has a crush on me.

And oh my god I just crushed his heart.

The realization was prematurely about to make the man sick. Well, at least he thought he was going to be sick. His heart, which never stopped roaring in his ears, was thrumming profusely in his chest, and there was a strange feeling building in the back of his throat. It was a dry, hoarse feeling, with a lump forming too. God- what the hell! Figuring out a woman had a crush on him was never this damning, never this depressing! At least, he assumed this had to be depression. Or maybe an ailment. Maybe he was dying! Because there was no way in hell he liked that man back.

Well, [aside from the obvious facts that Sanji was not gay and if he was he would have taste] he was in a bit of shit. He didn’t want to hurt the man's feelings with his reaction but it was somewhat involuntary. I mean the food truly looked awful, how else was he supposed to react? Besides, it wasn’t like the stupid moss always did nice things for him, or him to the moss. They always poked at each other, what was different? Romance was in play, or at least he highly suspected it.

He frowned. He just hated to make anyone upset, even if it was Zoro. The cook got up from his barrel and followed the plant inside to find him standing over the sink with a gloomy aura permeating his mere existence. Now this was depressing, not whatever he was feeling a few moments ago. The man really did it. He was the big asshole who hurt his friend [even though it pained him to admit it, they were friends], without even trying. 

“Zoro…” Sanji breathed out, staring at him. What could he say that would make a difference? I’m sorry it was shit and also I’m not into you like that but you tried? That was too mean. Maybe: I’m not gay but you slayed- That feels homophobic. 

The swordsman looked over at him, a different look on his face. This was an emotion he knew all too well on Zoro. It was the look of shame or mere defeat. It was something he sported when he’d lose a fight and have to slump down in the corner while the rest of the crew fought mercilessly for him, in his honor. He hated anyone ever risking their lives for him, and he hated having to watch it. Vinsmoke assumed that this was in the same vein. Being rejected was the same kind of feeling as being defeated in a humiliating way. 

“I…” He hesitated. The truth or something much sweeter? Well, he would have gone with something sweeter if he hadn’t said the first thing that came to his mind, “I’m not gay.” 

. 

..

…

The moss blinked a few times before furrowing his brow ever slightly as he always did when a puzzle would arise, “Huh?” Well now you did it Sanji, his voice echoed into his cranium, you’ve totally embarrassed yourself in front of your friend. At this point he was beginning to fill with such embarrassment he didn’t even recoil at the thought of calling Zoro his friend, what character development! The cook shuddered and stared at him incredulously as if the other was the one who spouted such weird bullshit. One hand searched before dramatically clutching the collar of his shirt. Well, if he wasn’t in shit then he was in shit now. 

Just to recap all of Sanji Vinsmoke’s current fuck ups: Insulting a man's food when he was trying to confess [or at least he’s under the assumption it was a confession], then instead of apologizing- he stated he wasn’t gay; Which is an insult to Zoro, implying he was hitting on the cook with no evidence to back this up. Overall, this was looking utterly awful for the blonde, and he was feeling it.

“Cook did you think I was-” Zoro began but it was cut off by a strangled noise from the other. Whatever he did, he could not have that dunce say it out loud. Then he’d be the real jackass. Clearly, he had misread or something. How could the great Roronoa Zoro also like dick? I mean, he kind of looked zesty if he squinted … and he always had a thing for very muscular swordsmen. To the cook, he just kind of assumed. But wrongly so! [Apparently] Because he wasn’t gay and he had just made his assumption very known. Great. 

“No-no-no … no.” Sanji placed another hand on his hair, lightly patting it a few times before putting his hand down. Something, anything would be better than this. And he had a few tortuous places in mind he’d rather be in than ever publicly assuming a manly man's sexuality in front of him. 

Marimo’s eyebrows were down to his eyelids, squinting and scowling back at the blonde as he was trying to wrap his head around this almost foreign concept. Had he never even thought about romance or was he just playing stupid? God!! He was stupid! I mean, everyone on that boat had thought about each other in one way or another while being trapped for months at a time, with no one else to socialize with but… well, each other! Of course, even as a straight male, Sanji had to admit he had thought about his friend a few times late at night. But everyone had to, right? It was totally normal to picture your bro oiled up, right?

“Why did you think I was being romantic, curly?” Roronoa finally spoke, rasping it from the base of his throat as if it was physically paining him to talk. It was strained and delicate, almost above a whisper. Did he not know? Did he really not know what would lead him to think like that? Maybe he really was concussed, or seriously injured. He’d have to have Chopper look him over soon. 

The cook pressed his lips together before the other cut him off again, “Did you want me to?” Now Sanji’s mouth was hanging open. 

“Why do you think I want you to?!?” His voice was taking on a higher tone as he desperately tried not to scream, or worse faint. 

Want him to? Why in the history of ever would Vinsmoke ever want that plant to make moves on him? Why in the history of ever would he ask for that? He was straight!!! He was so very straight! The last thing he wanted was those burly arms wrapped around his torso as they lay together on a hammock. Or his body warmth keeping him cozy late at night. Or his light snoring rumbling in his chest as Sanji would lay upon it, dreaming soundly knowing Zoro was there to pro- woah. 

“Well you thought I was being romantic,” Zoro spoke in an obvious tone, almost as if to say ‘duh’. 

“You were trying to make me food!!” He pointed one wobbly finger in the swordsman’s direction which was shot down by the bigger man’s hand. The green-haired male pushed the cook's hand down and gave him a look. It was … different. Out of all the things the narrator hasn’t unpacked yet, this would be the first. The look was soft and mature, almost nurturing. It was to say, ‘It's okay you don’t have to do all that for me’. Or more on the nose, ‘You dumb fucking shit let me explain.’

Before though, can we just as a collective take in what the hell Sanji’s fantasy was? His mind had been trying desperately not to think about what led him down such a domestic path, but he couldn’t figure out why. I mean, he already knew Zoro’s body warmth was inviting. So maybe it was normal to have his mind wander to laying on his plush chest and having his rough hands play with his hair? That had to be normal, either way, he was having Chopper check him out in the morning.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” he spoke lightly, but god was it condescending, “I was trying to make sure our damn cook wouldn’t die out here without something to eat.” Oh. So it … wasn’t actually … romantic… Vinsmoke found himself swallowing the harsh reality slowly, his heartbeat fading from his ears and the thrumming in his chest coming to a stop. Oh. That’s exactly what he wanted right? For it not to be gay so he could have a peaceful night, right?

“Then why did you,” he trailed off quietly, “Look upset?” 

“Because you were being an asshole, idiot!” Zoro raised his hand and promptly hit the cook upside the head, “Sheesh! Did no one teach you manners?” So he had completely misread the entire scenario. That would be fine, that would be amazing actually, if it didn’t stop him from thinking. Why was it that this was making a hollow pit form in his stomach? I mean, he had the scare and his body started going insane, but now that the threat had vacated the premises… he was lonely. Or at least, his bodily reactions were telling him so. In his brain, Sanji wasn’t sure what to think. He never wanted to hurt Zoro. And to see him defeated and then hear the chance that this was all due to some kind of romantic interest? It was … kind of interesting. 

-

The next morning he knew where he was going to go. Sanji could barely sleep, tossing and turning with his mind buzzing. Why did he somewhat wish Zoro had actually been interested in him? Why was there some part of him that was interested in the whole affair, even though up until now he had only been interested in women? Well, that part wasn’t entirely true. There had been a few men growing up who caught his eye, but he attributed it to liking their fashion sense more than liking their face. Even when he thought about them domestically, he never thought it was anything short of, ‘everyone fantasizes about their bros!’ Apparently not! Now it was something else, something medical.

So there he set off to find Chopper, who was deep inside the ship teetering away on a book. He was just scribbling down on it as he referenced other books, all sprawled out on the floor. From the looks of it, he was deep in whatever he was working on, so the cook partially felt a bit bad coming up and interrupting it. 

“Uh, Chopper?” He tilted his head to the side, watching as the small deer perked up and grinned at him as he always did. He was so happy to see anyone, and it warmed his heart a bit. 

“Hi, Sanji!” The kid replied, sitting up and putting his pen down, “What’s wrong?” Of course, he knew something was up. He typically came to the little doctor if something was bothering him physically, but he’s a doctor so mental stuff is … probably the same thing!

“I have a … predicament.” The cook knelt, before plopping down on his backside and leaning his head back, “It’s kind of personal.” The deer nodded his head and looked from left to right to ensure no one else was looking, before letting him continue. How was he even to begin? 

“I think I have a brain-eating parasite who’s making me go insane.”

…

Chopper shot up, screaming out, “WHAT!? SANJI TELL ME EVERYTHING!!” He ran to his little medical bag, pulling out a thermometer to check the man’s temperature with haste. Well, that was the conclusion Sanji had gotten to. There was no way he was actually gay, or even liked Zoro for that matter, but something was making him act up. If he could figure it out, it would solve all his issues. Maybe then he’d be able to relax and stop thinking about him in those ways. 

It wasn’t even in a perverted manner, which was stranger than usual. All he could think about was Zoro and his face, how it would contort into a pleased yet content smile. Or how he was such a big idiot who finished all his food, even when he hated it, just for Sanji. Or how he was really wondering if those big pecs made for good pillows as he had suspected. 

“When did this start!?” The doctor prodded, pushing the thermometer into the cook's mouth. 

“Last night,” he spoke muffled, “I was talking to Zoro and I thought he was hitting on me-” Chopper took the thermometer out of his mouth and pulled out a small sleeve, and a little hand pump to check his blood pressure, slinging it around Sanji’s arm, “-and my body started acting up. When he told me he wasn’t, it started acting up even more.” 

The deer began to squeeze the bump quickly, before he let go and narrowed his eyes at the man, “Acting up how?” 

“Well, my heartbeat was super loud and my face was red. I couldn’t really speak and my throat was dry,” Vinsmoke explained, watching the little one pull off the sleeve to measure his blood pressure and instead go to rummage in his bag. He rummaged for a moment, before pulling out a small clipboard and a pair of thin, boxy black glasses. Perfect, just for his small face. 

“And this was when you thought Zoro was hitting on you? How about afterward?” He raised a small eyebrow, looking from the clipboard to the blonde. This was a pretty normal ritual of getting diagnosed with Chopper, although it had fewer clipboards and more medical equipment. Either way, he didn’t think too much about what was going on, instead thinking about how he felt. 

Well, he felt empty when he realized Zoro didn’t like him and wasn’t, in fact, hitting on him. That’s what Sanji told the doctor. He explained how he felt a hollow pit in his stomach as if all of his senses stopped and poured into that pit. It was a show that had stopped mid-frame on a VHS, glitching with some static. All you could see was the one frame as it glitched over and over. It was a hollow feeling, something that a brain-eating cancer was most definitely causing. Maybe it caused that other feeling, too. The overly intense heartbeat, a rush of heat to his face, and the fact his hands couldn’t focus. They were in his hair or perhaps his pant pocket, anywhere but idle. 

Chopper listened as the cook described it, letting him go into detail and even more detail. It was nice to have someone to listen to him ramble, even if it was about a hypothetical parasite. Once he was done describing, the little doctor sighed and tapped his clipboard, “Well, Sanji. You have a really bad case…” Sanji’s expression fell, “...Of a crush on Zoro!” What.

Sanji blinked once. Then twice. Then three times. Then seven. Then maybe fifteen? He couldn’t stop blinking and staring. No. There was no way he had a crush on Zoro and there was no way he had just confessed that to the little blabbermouth, the swordsman was closest to. 

“I .. do not,” the blonde-haired male forced out through a gritted awkward smile, “I think it’s just cancer.” 

“No, it’s a crush.” Chopper smiled cheerfully, “Chin up! I prescribed him the same medicine!” 

“Oh what, like he also has a crush on me?” I do not but hypothetically if I do. The deer looked up from the clipboard with a wide-eyed expression. Oh, he had said too much hadn’t he? 

“Um! No…?” He looked away and put the clipboard on the ground, trying his best to avoid eye contact. So … Zoro had a crush on Sanji? He lied about his romantic advances toward him, what, so as not to get hurt? Well, it would make sense, he couldn’t deny that look of shame and disappointment Marimo was donning when he was seemingly rejected. That meant he made him that crap salad for more than just a simple reason of ‘I didn’t want you to starve’. He made it with some romantic inclination involved, hoping that the cook would have a heartfelt moment with him. Clearly, that didn’t happen.

What was that going to mean now? From what he told Chopper it was clear he was feeling some type of way too [although if he could help it, it would be the brain-eating parasite], and knowing the little thing he’d be telling the moss soon enough. What would his reaction be, to finding out Sanji was secretly some gay fiend who rejected him with such poor word choices? And god! Just that! Sanji had rejected him, calling him out in the worst way possible because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. 

Now he had so much to think about because he had to say something soon or it would be ruined by the little twerp of a deer doctor. The blonde wanted to tell Zoro how he felt even if he wasn’t too sure himself. Clearly, it was affection, and clearly, it was of the romantic kind. Maybe it was admiration that turned romantic, with an insatiable urge to just … get closer. Sanji wasn’t even sure when his friendly comradery turned into something more delicate. None of his other feelings had changed, I mean he still really hated him. But now that he thought about it, he looked at the moss differently and with more care than anyone else. And after a fight, he’d always bring him something as a peace offering, like some orange juice. 

God, he was obvious. Did Marimo think he had a chance and then was it ruined by his stupid mouth? That had to be it. Of course that was it! Vinsmoke was just an asshole who was ruining his only shot at being somewhat domestic on this pirate ship. 

He had to have a plan of some kind to get Zoro to see he was actually reciprocating his feelings. Something to lure him in and get trapped with emotions. What Sanji ended up deciding on was walking up to him and handing him a letter, enclosed in an envelope and sealed with wax on the outside. Inside it wrote, ‘My room right now.’ The cook had about five minutes to get to his actual room and clean it up a bit before he heard the door open [because why would Marimo even bother knocking?]

“Curly,” Zoro spoke, blinking a few times in greeting as he stepped inside. The man turned around and tried to smile at him, but it looked too awkward. He felt too awkward. How did people even propose their feelings to one another anyway? Sanji had seen some TV but it was too dramatic. Nothing ever felt right or even natural when he would watch it. He could have started with some lines, but it wasn’t right. 

“Moss,” he greeted back, pressing his lips together before ending the awkward tension [or making it worse], “I’m actually not, not gay.” And he was already fucking it up again. A searing burn of embarrassment flowed through the cook's face, making a home on his cheeks. They were red, he could sense it. Especially from his friend's face, he could definitely sense it. 

Roronoa looked a bit confused, but also somewhat smug? It was hard to describe the vibes he was getting from the stone-carved male. It was kind of an ‘I was right’ smug smirk, although his brows were furrowed in a bit of confusion. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he was on the right track for once, or at least it appeared that way. 

“You’re … not, not gay?” He raised one brow as he spoke slowly, almost enunciating every word. Just in a way that pissed him off. God, when Sanji was done confessing to that moss-head, he was going to kick his ass. 

He nodded, “But I know that… for some of us, that’s a shock, like me. I wasn’t … aware I was into men until earlier today.” Trying to keep some kind of semblance of a nonchalant aura, Vinsmoke put two of his hands into his pants pockets, looking away as he continued, “And I think I’m into you.” There it was. There was the sentence he had been practicing time and time again in the mirror until he got it right and damn, he got it right. Well, he was pretty sure he did. The cook was trying his hardest not to look at the swordsman, fearing it would make him want to jump off the side of the boat. 

It was silent for a few more moments before he looked at the moss, watching him with a wary eye. Zoro’s expression was new. It was shock. It was pure unadulterated shock. Something he had never seen from him, even when fighting terrifying beasts and annoying villains. Nothing really shocked him … as much as this? Was it really that shocking to believe that he had reciprocated feelings for a man he spent almost every second of every day with? A man that he, well to be fair, outwardly hated. 

“Sanji…” He breathed out, looking at him with wide eyes. Sanji wanted to speak, to laugh and tell him it was real, but he was stuck in the pool of his eyes. They were … they were big and dark, filled with emotion. Emotion he hadn’t seen in so long, or practically ever. He reached his hand out, just inching it toward the man before him. Roronoa didn’t even notice the slender man’s fingers on his wrist, walking toward him. 

“Zoro…” The cook whispered back, trying to maintain eye contact. No one ever told him what came after this. What came after the confessions or when you asked women out on dates? Presumably the date and presumably a kiss … right? Maybe that’s what the stupid Marimo was waiting for. Sanji was clearly more experienced [not really but you know whatever], so he should have been the one taking the lead and kissing him! He should have been the one biting the bullet and pressing their lips together. So why was he stuck staring into the other man's eyes? To be frank, it felt more intimate than kissing ever could’ve been.

This was the beginning of something special.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Lucy's having her first serious fight with her girlfriend and needs her old room back for the night; leaving the current occupant of the space with no place to sleep.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Light sexual content, strong language, no use of Y/N.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Happy (still technically) early Valentine's Day to the little gremlins in my phone <3 This was supposed to be a nice short oneshot to help me overcome some writers block around my main series, but, uh... once again, it got out of hand. Special thanks to @websterss and @why-what-no for helping me figure out how to approach the attic scene, which ended up being the catalyst of this veering so far out of control 😂 Hope you guys enjoy! (Oh god I completely forgot to mention, the title is from I Love You So by The Walters)

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.3k

It was a quiet night at 35 Portland Row, the team having a rare evening off between jobs that seemed to double by the day.  Gaining fame and notoriety had been Lockwood’s goal since the day he and George had officially formed Lockwood & Co. several years previously, and to say they’d been successful would be an understatement.  

There had been a call for him to increase his numbers and branch out as a better manned agency many times, but to do so would mean giving up certain freedoms he wasn’t willing to relinquish.  Including the house he and his agents had come to call home.   Hiring extra hands would require extra accommodations and though that would come with its own set of bonuses, there was something to be said about the consistency and approachability of a single door at street level on a seemingly unassuming family home.

At least, that’s what he tried to remind himself as he was startled from a rare peaceful sleep by the sound of a closed fist pounding insistently on his front door.  

For a solitary moment, he considers ignoring it.  

“ANTHONY!  I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!  GET YOUR ARSE UP AND OPEN THE DAMN DOOR.”  A familiar voice hollers from the front porch.  

He’s out of bed before his sleep-addled brain can register the movement, turning on the lamp on his side table and grabbing a grey sweatshirt off the chair at his desk, pulling it over his head as he descends the stairs at a breakneck pace.  

The several locks on their front door had never really seemed like overkill before, but they’d never stood between him and a friend in obvious distress before either.  He fumbles the last of the bolts and pulls the door open to find Lucy Carlyle looking disheveled, eyes rimmed red and lip trembling, the picture of misery.  Wordlessly, he opens his arms and she crumbles into them without hesitation, burying her face in his shoulder.  

They stay like that for a while, until his toes remind him that he’s still barefoot and London nights are cold this time of year.  He pulls away enough to usher her inside, closing the door behind them and locking it tight for the night once more.  She sniffles, allowing herself to be led into the kitchen and sat in her old chair as he goes through the motions of filling the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil for tea.  

He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to interrogate her.  If and when she’s ready to talk about it, she’ll tell him.

“I need my old room for the night.”  She mumbles eventually, using a finger to trace the outline of one of the many unflattering doodles of Lockwood on the thinking cloth.  “Norrie and I got into it tonight, she says she needs some space.”  

He remains silent as he pours water into their mugs, trying to puzzle his way through how to make that happen.  She knew that room was occupied now, and he knew she wouldn’t ask if she wasn’t in desperate need of the comfort of her old home.  

Nodding decisively, he walks back to the cupboard and pulls out another cup.  

“I’ll go wake her up and get the bedding changed over.  Do you want to talk about it?”   She shakes her head vehemently at the question, choosing instead to drop her head onto the table with a loud thud.  He has to smother a laugh at that.  Despite understanding the serious nature of the situation, he’s acutely aware that this is their first major fight in three years.  Chances are they’ll be back to their obnoxiously happy ways within the week, but if he doesn’t treat this as seriously as Lucy is clearly feeling it is then he might as well turn in his best friend title on the spot.  

He places her tea on the table beside her head and his own across from her, patting her shoulder reassuringly as he withdraws his hand.  Doubling back to the counter, he picks up the third cup and takes it with him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, closing the door to his room as he passes it on his way to the top of the house.

Standing on the landing outside her door he falters, almost losing his nerve.  Then he reminds himself this is for Lucy.  

Rolling his shoulders back and straightening his posture, he raises his free hand and raps his knuckles against the wood.

Silence.

Brow furrowing, he knocks again.

Still nothing.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling he silently curses heavy sleepers, under no illusions that most of his resentment is’t based in envy.  

Weighing his options for a moment, he grimaces.  Go tell his woe-filled best friend he’s too much of a coward to wake their coworker himself, or risk having whatever items have accumulated on her bedside table thrown at him when he enters her room.

Unfortunately, it’s a no brainer.

He places his hand on the handle, foolishly hoping it would be locked.  

It’s not.  

Muttering curses under his breath, he pushes the door open and ascends the last flight of stairs into her room.

He finds himself frozen in place on the last step, entranced by how serene the scene before him appears.  

She’d fallen asleep with the lamp beside her bed still on.  It casts a soft golden glow across her face, and for a moment she takes his breath away.  

She’s still fully dressed from the day, passed out on top of her blankets with a book laying open beside her.  It’s so easy to picture her laying on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, fighting to try and make it through just one more chapter before the weight of her eyelids won and sleep finally overcame her.  

He could feel a soft smile making itself at home on his face, an affectionate exasperation at her dedication to the written word settling comfortably in his chest.  

If he hadn’t already, this would have been the moment he fell in love.  

Wrestling himself from his thoughts and trying to shape his face into something at least slightly less lovesick, he thaws his feet and makes his way over to the bed.  

“It’s time to wake up, beautiful.”  He says, the last part slipping out unbidden.  

She doesn’t react, so he closes her book and moves it to her side table to make room for himself to sit on the mattress beside her.  The bed settling under his weight makes her stir, rolling onto her back and mumbling something incoherent.  

When she makes no move to wake any further, he reaches across to squeeze her shoulder gently.  She whines, scrunching up her face in indignance and opening bleary eyes to blink slowly at the disturbance.  Her eyes come to focus on him and the tension drains from her face, a sleepy smile taking its place as she hums and rests her eyes shut again.  

He smiles right back at her, letting his hand run down her arm.  His intention is to pull away, but apparently she has other plans.  She reaches after him, catching his hand with her own and pulling back towards her.  His heart leaps into his throat and he can actively feel the blood rushing to his face as her body curls in his direction.

“Come back to bed…”  She mumbles, voice still laced with exhaustion, resting her forehead against the back of his hand and sighing contentedly at the contact.  He’s completely forgotten how to function, torn between blindly following her wishes and remembering why he’s in her room this late to begin with.

He’s saved from having to decide anything by her eyes suddenly flying open, face transforming from sleepy bliss to sheer mortification in the blink of an eye.

“Oh my god.  I AM SO SORRY.”  She shrieks, flailing away from him with such vigour that she throws herself straight off the opposite edge of the bed.  He dives across the bed in a valiant attempt to catch her but he’s just a hair too late, the echoing thud of her body hitting the floor making him wince sympathetically.  

He peeks over the side of the bed to find her laying on her back with her hands over her beet red face.  She parts her fingers, staring miserably at him from between them.  

His lips are pressed together tightly with the effort maintaining his composure.

She cracks first, a giggle slipping past her hands.

Within seconds they’re both in stitches, almost crying with laughter.  By the time they manage to compose themselves, several minutes must have passed.  

He stands and walks around the bed to offer her a hand.  She wipes the tears from her eyes, heaving for breath as she reaches up to accept his help and is pulled to her feet.  

“Now that that’s out of the way, what the hell are you doing in my room at this time of night?”  She gasps, bracing her palms on her thighs as she struggles to make her lungs understand she’s not suffocating.  

Lockwood’s eyes go wide with horror.

“I’m an awful friend.”  He rushes out, covering his mouth.  She does a double take in response, looking like she’s about to get whiplash from the sudden shift in topic and energy.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Luce is downstairs in the kitchen right now.  I guess she and Norrie had a lover's quarrel?  She needs her room back for the night.”  

He cringes as she gapes at him.  

Thankfully, instead of scolding him she bolts into action.  The bed is stripped bare before he can even process the speed with which she’s moving and suddenly she’s shoving his arms full with fabric.

“Laundry room!  Now!”  She snaps, already across the room rifling through her wardrobe for fresh bedding. 

He’s on the second step by the time she calls him back to ask what Lucy was wearing when she showed up on their doorstep.  

“Jeans and a jumper.”  He calls over his shoulder as he descends the steps two at a time.  

The laundry room is close to George’s room, so he decides to err on the side of caution and leave the items in the washing machine and makes a mental note to start it in the morning.  By the time he finishes separating everything and has it all organized, he can hear footfalls approaching rapidly from overhead.  There’s a stutter in her step and a brief scrambling noise that has him holding his breath, but she manages to rebalance herself and continues down the next flight on her way to the kitchen without losing any momentum.  

His shoulders slump in relief and all at once the late hour catches up with him.  

Or does it officially qualify as early now?  

He’s still pondering that when he almost slips on a small puddle of liquid at the top of the stairs.  The adrenaline wakes him up a bit but now he has another, if slightly more pressing, question.

What the hell is on the floor?

And then it clicks.  

The tea.  

She must have grabbed it off her bedside table on her way downstairs and spilled it when she almost took a tumble of her own.  

He chuckles and shakes his head, almost uncomfortably aware of how smitten he is with the small tornado occupying the attic room as he turns back to grab a towel from the room he’d just left.

By the time he makes his way into the kitchen, she’s helping Lucy out of her chair and herding the girl upstairs.  

He raises his eyebrow at her in a silent question, but she shoots him a look that says ‘stay here, I’ve got this’ and an almost shy smile that promises she’ll be back soon.  He dips his head in understanding, shooting her a smirk that hopefully says ‘I’ll be here’ and not ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you’.

After the girls exit the room, his eye is drawn to his now lukewarm tea on the table.  He sighs, reaching across the table to grab his cup.  

He stares at the liquid for a while, already hearing one of George’s endless rants about wasting tea bags rattling through his head.  Even when he’s asleep, Karim manages to torment him.  

Shrugging, he dumps the cup out into the sink and busies himself making another to pass the time.  

The kettle is starting to whistle on the stove as he opens the cupboard to grab himself a tea bag.  He’s about to close it but hesitates for a moment before reaching in to grab a second.  If his tea had gone cold, hers had as well.  

Sure enough, her cup sat abandoned beside the sink, only down the small amount that had spilled on the staircase.

She walks back into the kitchen in a fresh pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t- shirt that looks strangely familiar just as he sets their mugs on the table, shooting him a grateful smile as she collapses into her chair.  

She clasps the tea in both hands like a treasure, taking a sip and letting out a sinful sound of enjoyment that almost makes him choke, effectively distracting him from inspecting the shirt.  He barely manages to pass it off as a poorly timed inhale, but she’s considerate enough to accept it with minimal teasing.

They’re both half finished before either dares to address the elephant in the room.

“So…”  She starts, giving him a rueful smile.

“I’ll take the loveseat in the sitting room, you can sleep in my bed.”  He states matter-of-factly, intending to leave no room for argument.  

Her cocked eyebrow tells him very quickly his intention failed.

“No, I really don’t think so.  I can sleep on the loveseat, your neck will be kinked for days if you do that again.”  Her eyes are filled with a warning he readily ignores.

“I couldn’t very well call myself a gentleman if I let you do that, and you know it.”

“Anthony-“

“I’m not arguing this with you.”

“Fine then, we can share the bed.”  She retorts, a prideful twinkle in her eye as she stares a challenge at him.

“Seems like a valid compromise.”  He surprises them both with his answer, the words hanging in the air.  For a moment he wishes he could unsay them, but then her face shifts.  

Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink as she gapes at him.  He beams at her, finally feeling as though he has the upper hand.  

She pushes herself away from the table, standing up abruptly and padding out of the room as he leans back in his chair victoriously.  

But instead of rushing to hide away in his bedroom as he expects, she catches him off guard by stopping with her hand resting on the doorframe and glancing back over her shoulder. 

“Well…  are you coming?”  

His mouth goes dry.  Okay.  He hadn’t seen that coming. 

Lockwood considered himself a charming man. He prided himself on being capable of sweeping a woman off her feet with a few carefully placed words or gentle touches.  There were very few people on this planet that made him feel like an absolute simpleton, but unfortunately, she was one of them.  Just once, he’d like to be able to maintain his composure around her and not make a fool of himself the second she looked in his direction

Disarmed and feeling like a floundering imbecile, he sits there in silence for a second, begging his brain to come up with some kind of charismatic reply to help him save face.

An unrecognizable emotion flashes across her face and she drops her eyes, leaving him even more confused than before.  

And then his mind catches up.  

Vulnerability.  Uncertainty.  Insecurity.

Concern.

He’s on his feet before he can overthink it, gesturing for her to lead the way.  Her relief is raw, undisguisable.  He passes her at the top of the stairs, opening the door to his bedroom for her and giving a teasing little bow.  She laughs and rolls her eyes at his theatrics, but he can tell she appreciates the effort to set her at ease.  She saunters into his room, giving the space a curious scan and he realizes it’s the first time she’s actually been in here.  

He leans against the door frame, watching her approach his bookshelf and run her fingers along the spines, searching for any titles she might find familiar.  A tender smile finds its way to his face once more, and this time he doesn’t even bother trying to hide it.  

When she’s satisfied with her search, she shoots him a look before sighing dramatically, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead and pretending to faint onto his bed.  He laughs, shaking his head as he crosses the threshold.  

He considers the door for a moment, trying to decide if he should leave it open or close it.  

His eyes wander across the hall to George’s door, and he closes his own with sudden and complete confidence in his decision.

A giggle from his bed tells him she’d watched his thought process play out and agreed with his choice.  He turns to make a clever remark, but the words die on his tongue as soon as he lays eyes on her.  

She’s laying on her side across his pillows, propped up on her elbow with her chin resting on the palm of her hand, watching him through her lashes with… another unfamiliar emotion flickering behind her eyes.  

Before he can dwell on it too much, an idea occurs to him.  He crosses the room swiftly with a mischievous grin, jumping and twisting his body at the last minute to land on the mattress sideways.  She shrieks as she’s bounced at least a few inches into the air, cackling as the momentum from the landing rolls her closer to him.  Their shoulders rub together as they laugh, laying on their back and staring up at the ceiling before falling into a comfortable silence.  She lifts herself up onto her elbows, looking down at him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely exhausted.  Do you know what time it is?”  She queries, tilting her head in curiosity.  He lifts himself up enough he can see the clock on his bedside table, hissing a breath between his teeth at the glowing numbers taunting him.  

“You don't want to know.”  He groans, dropping back to the bed.  She pokes at his side with her elbow until he looks up at her, gesturing towards the pillows with her head.  A sly smile breaks out on her face and her eyes twinkle at him.

“‘Come back to bed.’”  She echoes her own words from earlier back at him playfully, poking fun at herself as she rolls onto her side and crawls up his bed.  He laughs freely as he watches her, something he’s grown quite used to doing around her over the past few years.  She lifts the covers, diving beneath them and wiggling around until she finds a comfortable spot laying on her side close to the wall.

Trying not to overthink himself into a tizzy, rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself onto his hands and knees, grunting with the effort.  He follows her lead to climb under the covers, though he’s sure he’s not nearly as graceful or cute as she had been.  

Once he’s settled comfortably beside her, he finds himself feeling oddly out of place.  He’d never been so aware of where his hands were while laying in bed before, but now he has no idea what to do with them.   He settles for resting them awkwardly on his chest.

He can feel her staring at him.

He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling.  

She sighs in exasperation, the bed dipping under her weight as she shifts to lean over him and turn off the lamp on his side table, somehow oblivious to him forgetting how to breathe as he becomes hyper aware of every place her body is touching his own.  She retracts her reach, but doesn’t move all the way back to her spot, leaving him completely blind and incredibly confused by her continued proximity.

Her hand touches his forearm, fingers dancing across his skin until she reaches his wrist, grabbing it and gently pulling until he lifts the arm closest to her into the air.

There’s shuffling noises and movement beside him, leaving him even more perplexed, until she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he declares himself officially braindead.  She scoots closer, tucking her body into his side and resting her open palm on his chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood.  Sweet dreams.”  She whispers in a calm voice that would have had him completely fooled if he couldn’t feel her heart pounding against his ribs.  Her words restart his brain, allowing him to drop his arm around her, his hand automatically coming to rest on her hip.

“Goodnight, darling, you too.”  He whispers back, and though it’s too dark for him to see her face, he can still feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

He’s honestly thankful for how tired he is, otherwise he’d never be able to fall asleep with the adrenaline coursing through his veins alongside his blood.

His fingers trace absentminded swirls on her hip as his eyes begin to droop, sleep overtaking him before his conscious mind can register it happening.

For once, his dreams are actually sweet.

When he’s finally dragged unwillingly back to consciousness, the perpetrator is sunlight streaming in through his window and directly into his eyes.  

He tries to lift his right arm to block it out, but there’s an unexpected weight holding it in place.

The events of the night before rush back to him, and suddenly the blinding sun isn’t anywhere near the top of his priority list.  He lets his head roll towards her just to find her already awake and looking at him.  

Her hair is a mess, and he can’t help but laugh as he reaches across his body to brush it away from her face, though he’s sure he looks much the same.  

His fingers linger on her cheek of their own accord.  

That look in her eye from last night is back, and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear her gaze flickers to his lips for a split second.

And then, with the kind of clarity only morning light can bring, it hits him.  

A bonafide lightbulb moment.

He really is a bloody simpleton.

Truly, he could be an absolute moron sometimes, and he swore to himself in that moment the next time someone told him so he’d willingly agree with them.

Acting without thinking had gone surprisingly well for him in the past twenty-four hours, so what’s one more gamble, in the grand scheme of things?  

His hand slides down from her cheek, his fingers lightly caressing the back of her neck as he guides her face towards him.  Her eyes flutter closed and he swears his heart is about to break free from his chest.

His lips ghost over hers, giving her plenty of room to pull away if she’s in any way uncomfortable.  

As always, she surprises him, rolling her body towards him and gripping the front of his sweatshirt with both hands, using it to pull him closer to her.  

There’s a need poured into the next kiss, a desperation and hunger born of pining they’d both been so certain was one sided.

He meets her intensity with his own, slipping an arm underneath her waist and placing a hand on her back to pull her tightly against him.  

She lets a muffled moan slip, and a thrill runs up his spine at the thought of spending as much time as he wants learning each and every noise of pleasure she’s capable of making, and how to coax them out of her like music.

Her hands release his shirt, roaming over every inch of his body they can touch instead.  

Her exploration must have caused his shirt to start to bunch around his waist because as the hand on the nape of her neck finds its way into her hair, one of her roaming hands grazes a sliver of bare skin on his hip and he gasps, automatically tightening his grip and giving her hair a gentle tug in the process.  She whimpers against his lips, breaking the kiss as her head falls back in an instinctive response.

Oh.  He was going to have to remember that for later.

Not that it would be a problem, that noise was going to play a part in all of his fantasies for the foreseeable future.

Never one to pass up an opportunity, he takes advantage of the opening to pull her closer and kiss her neck.  

His name falls from her lips like a prayer and as he grins in delight his teeth graze her skin.  

She moans in earnest at that, back arching involuntarily as she presses her body against his so close he can feel her heart beating through their clothes.  

Keen to test a theory, he presses kisses up her throat until he’s high enough to catch her earlobe, letting it slide lightly between his teeth.

“Fuck.”  She hisses, digging her nails into his hip.  He can’t stop the growl that rumbles from his chest at that, and she hooks a leg over him in reply.  

He feels like he’s drowning in her, everything in him is screaming to surrender and worship her like the goddess she is but he knows it would be too much too fast for both of them.  

So, exhibiting strength he didn’t know he had, he pulls back.  Gulping oxygen like he’s been holding his breath for hours and sliding his hand back down to her neck before pulling her in close enough to press a firm and reassuring kiss to her forehead until he can compose himself enough to swear he isn’t in any way rejecting her.  

Somehow, as always, she understands exactly what he’s doing and balls her fists in his shirt, taking stabilizing breaths of her own.

Once he’s confident they’re both back in full control, he slides his fingers under her chin, lifting her face and pressing his lips to hers in a leisurely and indulgent kiss that promises it won’t be the last.

She hums contentedly when he pulls away again, chasing after him to give him a gentle peck.

“I really am a dunce, aren’t I?”  He asks when he’s regained his composure, replaying so many events from the last several years over in his mind in a whole new light.  

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, you’re right thick sometimes.”

“I really am, because now that I’m thinking about it, you are terrible at hiding how you feel.”  He grins as she smacks his arm, tossing her head back and laughing.  

“Like you’re one to talk!  Anthony Lockwood, you are an open book and I’ve been a fool not to notice it before.”  She teases, tilting her head to rest their foreheads together.  He shrugs, planting a peck on her nose before dragging himself reluctantly out from under the covers.

“Up you get, if we stay in bed too much longer they’re going to start asking questions.”  He offers her his hand as he whispers the last part conspiratorially.  

She rolls her eyes at him but takes the offered appendage anyway, letting him pull her to her feet before trudging across his room to the door.  She places her palm on the handle, but hesitates before turning it.  

Seeming to steel herself for something, she turns instead to face him.

“And if they do?  Y’know, ask questions?”  There’s a crease between her brows that speaks of concern and it makes his heart ache, something in him begging to reach out and smooth it away.

“I suppose that depends.  How attached are you to the attic?”  He deadpans.

“What?”  She’s taken aback, confusion painted across every feature.

“I mean, personally, I’m rather fond of this room.  I did move out of the attic because I felt I’d outgrown it, but I am willing to compromise.”  He smirks, waiting for her to catch on.  “I’m far more fond of sharing a bed with you.”  He adds quietly when she continues to stare at him in bewilderment.  

Her eyes go wide when she pieces it all together.

“Sorry, wait, hold on… rewind for a second.  Did you just skip straight to asking me to move in with you instead of actually verbally admitting that you want to date me?”  She gawks at him incredulously.

“I believe I did, actually, yes.  Thoughts?”  

“I’m bad with heights and it is freezing up there in the winter.”  She replies without a second’s hesitation.  Soothing the twinge of protective guilt at the thought of her shivering alone in the cold with the knowledge he wouldn’t let it happen again, he grins and crosses the room to pull her into a passionate kiss.  

He almost loses himself to the softness of her lips and the feeling of her body pinned between him and the door, but he manages to hold himself at least partially to the task at hand.

“Just to be perfectly transparent,” He manages to add between kisses, “I would very much like to date you.”  She lifts her arms and lets them drape around his neck, pulling him close for one last kiss before separating.

“Good, because I would ‘very much’ like to date you too.”  She laughs, giving him a playful shove back to make enough room to open the door to the hallway.  

They exit his room holding hands and bumping shoulders as they venture towards the stairs.  

George’s door flies open and they freeze, both looking at him like deer caught in headlights.  

He blinks, takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, puts his glasses back on, and stands there staring at them for a long moment in only boxers and an oversized shirt.

“Fucking FINALLY.”  He hollers with the intensity of a man infuriated by years of their unending mutual idiocy, storming off to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.  

They slowly turn to look at each other, breaking out in laughter for what must be the hundredth time in the past two days.  

Before they resume their journey downstairs though, George’s oversized shirt had reminded Lockwood of something.

“Hey, I almost forgot to ask.  Is that my shirt?”  He asks, raising an eyebrow at her.  The colour spreads from her neck to her face almost instantaneously as she begrudgingly nods, looking pointedly at the ground.  He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his signature smile plastered on his face.  

“Good.  I like it.”  He confesses, squeezing her arm reassuringly.  She leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist as they descend the stairs and head for the kitchen.

What they find upon entering the room is wildly unexpected.

Lucy and Norrie are sitting side by side with their arms crossed, both wearing the same smug smirk, five mugs of steaming hot tea placed around the table in front of them.  

The girl tucked into his side gasps, connecting the dots rapidly and letting loose a quiet shriek of betrayal and indignation.  

“You sneaky bitches!”  There’s awe in her voice when she finally speaks, though she’s clearly not certain if she should be grateful or angry at the manipulation.

Even though he should probably be upset, feeling the warmth of her body against his and already making plans to move her belongings into his - their room, he just can’t bring himself to be anything other than thankful for their intervention.

Looking at the calendar on the wall, the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

Sneaky bitches indeed, he finds himself thinking as the women in question pick up their teacups to cheers each other. 

Reaching down to press a kiss to the top of her head, he leans in close enough to whisper;

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[chiangyorange]

Do you ever think about how aoc is an alternate timeline where link doesn’t pull the sword at around 12/13 years old like in botw

And instead pulls it after becoming Zelda’s knight, so she couldn’t easily project some idea of the hero onto him, or at least couldn’t properly hate him, bc she got to know link a little beforehand

Of how, while he still doesn’t talk, he seems to be more openly expressive and more free with some of his emotions, rather than having to coaxed into letting his guard down like pre-calamity botw link. (Or at least, it seems that way to me)

And that he’s shown to be friends with the other soldiers/guards, rather than isolated like pre-calamity botw link

This isn’t to say aoc link doesn’t have his own suffering, or unhealthy coping mechanisms. Just that it can be an interesting portrayal of how unhealthy coping mechanisms can be exacerbated by not having easy access to genuine human connection.

(Being told a key part of the plan to prevent the apocalypse depends on his ability in combat and to fulfill the role of legendary hero, at the age of 12, also probably played a role but y’know.)

What’s your take on the matter?

i do. i do think about this a lot.

the discrepancy of when link pulls the master sword within the breath/tears era can and will fuck me up bc that implies that in one universe it HAD to happen that way and in the other one it didnt have to.

and even then link will always be set on that path because in memory 11, he was following his dad's footsteps in becoming a knight, so we can assume that's just what aoc has been doin. there is a lot of potential in the tragedy of having that question of "well what if x happened? what we could have stopped x?" in a tangible sense.

for aoc link, if he knew that his botw counterpart pulled the sword at 12-13, how would he feel about it? would he be horrified that a much younger version of himself pulled the sword? would he grieve for that little kid who got robbed of a peaceful childhood?

and then on pre-botw's side, would he be a little envious that aoc was able hold off being the Hero just for a few more years? the pressure of being the one who wields the master sword literally stole some if not all of his voice away. or would be a little worried that that timeline went on a little longer not having that hope, putting even MORE pressure on zelda?

but whoever that person pre-calamity was died at fort hateno.whether you believe the theory that the link we play in botw has the heroes spirit or not, i dont think it matters much because i dont think its that dissimilar to the death of the person you were now vs the person you were 5 years ago.

that was you. its still you. but you grew, and you forgot, and you lived and grieved and if you said some things to the you back then, they wouldn't get it all that much

its a grief of self, and a grief of identity, and it fucks me up if i think about it too hard.

(god. theres fucking more under here. its an au. sorgy.)

any fucking way. after the events of aoc, link gets like. dream visions meeting his pre-botw counterpart, first at 12-13 when he pulls the master sword, 15 when hes put under his knighthood and uncomfortably quiet about his experience because of the pressure and again AGAIN at 16-17 right at the thick of the calamity.

its awful, no one is having a good time in this.

and then,

he gets another visit when post 100 year link pulls the mastersword from korok forest. the first meeting probably goes fucking awful because botw? filled with complicated emotions that is difficult to parse through.

and then maybe a few more snapshots aoc can see of botw's journey till he defeats calamity ganon. and then maybe once again during the events of totk when he pulls the master sword from the light dragon.

its very much still a rough draft of an au but god. GOD. the scenes in my brain are buzzing.

[inhibitionfreewriting]

Omg can you elaborate more on gaming with hasan? i loved that Sims 4 ask

just to throw it out there, if @the-phantom-author hadn't answered that ask, my brain would NOT have started going so blessed be their existence and their writing, so please check our more of their stuff (if you haven't already devoured their blog like i have 💀)

hasan definitely feels like a guy who has two specific gaming with his partner vibes, on stream and off stream.

on stream - if it's a co-op game, you are still against one another and it's more fun for that. bread and fred? you are lucky if you make it past the tutorial without laughing to the point of tears. he will not anchor when you tell him to and is consistently inconsistent with his jumps. chat is blaming him (when you are on stream, you are the monarch, no ifs ands or buts about it) and he's trying to gaslight chat into thinking that your counting is off or bad. the goal of the game could be "keep the garden alive" and all you have to do is click on the sun and a rain cloud, and you two would be turned against one another.

if it's not a co-op game and it's like a regular multiplayer, my brain immediately went smash brothers lmao, no matter how bad either of you are at the game, gloating is not off the table but there will also be a lot of quiet soft moments of "no you're not clicking the right button, its x". he may want to be on top and kick your ass but playing the games together are not fun if you don't have the same foundation as him or anyone else that's playing.

if it's something like the sims 4, it is bicker city. you two can't even play stardew valley without arguing about where something goes. you tried the "new" (its like 10 years old now oh my god im aging myself) sim city and he spent 20 minutes lecturing you about the taxes in your city being done wrong and you just stared into the camera like you were on the office. chat was losing it at how exasperated you were. you have lost track of what he's saying but you do know that you are doing the opposite of what he's told you to do (chat is tattling on you for taxing the lower class bracket at the highest and basically not taxing the rich at all)

off stream? i don't know if you've ever lounged around with someone on a couch and played a console before but. let me paint this image for you.

you're both on the couch playing mario party, propped up on pillows as you lean, your legs stretched out on his lap. when it's not his turn he's got his hand on your legs or his arm around you, this man fidgets with your body like you are made of fidget spinners. it's getting late, there's food on the table in front of you that's on the verge of getting cold but. you two are comfy and egging each other on, but it's not nearly as loud and over the top as it is when the stream is on.

there's one night where you're both laying on the couch and he's on top of you with his head on your chest, tired from just being THE hasan all day, and you are playing animal crossing, controller above his head. sometimes clicking through dialog or taking a moment to just stroke your fingers through his hair.

the peace btw never lasts for long because Kaya senses it and will jump on top of you both when you're not paying attention and knock the wind right out of you.

[acefantasyy]

Peaceful Moments

✦- Eriks x gn. reader

✦cw. none, 98 Eriks coded, perhaps a little bit of kissing

✦note. thank you @chris-continues for feeding me ideas to make me write this. I am hella rusty on writing so forgive me if its all jumbly haha. this is also going to be split into two parts just because I don't want to cram so much onto one post.

✦word count- 791

••

Comfortable. That’s what this moment felt like. Pure comfortable bliss between two people who shared the same feeling of adoration and love for one another.

This had become the norm between you and Eriks, the mysterious man who showed up one day in your town almost a year ago that you had grown very fond of since then. The once lonely evenings of your days were now spent in the presence of the kind blonde at the town’s pub but as of late it had progressed to being in the comfort of your home.

Tonight was nonetheless different, the two of you sat on your couch with drinks in hand idly chatting away about today’s adventures. The suns having gone down was a clear indicator of just how long the two of you had been conversing for along with the now almost empty bottle of liquor sitting on your table. The liquor you had stashed in your cabinets wasn’t strong by any means, but from the way that the two of you had been pouring drink after drink it had slowly but surely done its job of rendering you both drunk and giddy. 

A brief moment of silence falls between you two once your laughing comes to a halt, your frazzled brain running a fraction slower than the rest of your body as your hand now rested in the blond’s hair, your fingers gently combing through the soft locks of hair.

“You know, you should let me do something with your hair,” you gently quipped at Eriks, his gaze locked with yours out of curiosity, “it's long enough to put it up or even style it.”

You quickly demonstrate, your hands taking gentle hold of his face to turn it to the side so you could gather his hair together to form what you could of a ponytail. Raising a brow at your work you set a hair tie in before releasing Eriks’ hair and tucking some of his bangs behind his ear. Your hand slowly travels down, now caressing Eriks’ cheek fondly for a few seconds. There’s a pause in your hands movement, the blond’s own having taken hold of your wrist to keep your hand in place as he leaned into your palm with a quiet hum.

There’s hushed words that have you leaning in as quick as they’re said, “Can I.. tell you something? Something that I haven’t said to anyone in a long time.” 

Oh that voice. That sweet voice that you loved to listen to even on the downest of days, it sounded so forlorn and scared like if the wrong thing were said it would shatter the sweet man’s soul.

Smiling gently at him you nod giving him your full attention, your thumb now running across his cheekbone, “What is it, Eriks?”

“I think.. no, actually I know this. I have feelings for you, romantic ones from what Lina said I was describing to her. And I know that it hasn’t been that long since we’ve met but,” there’s the lightest and most soft kiss to your palm, slight stubble scratching across your hand as Eriks’ eyes looking into yours once again now full of raw emotion, “you’ve been so nice to me and you’re such a sweetheart, both to me and everyone here in town which I love. To be honest, you do a lot of things that make my chest feel all warm and fuzzy. I haven’t ever felt anything like it before and it makes me really nervous, scared even."

There’s a silence for a short moment after that, his words leaving you absolutely awestruck. And that silence seems horrifying to him from the way he begins to pull away and release you all while muttering apologies under his breath as he goes to stand. You’re quick to catch him before he can actually stand up and link one of your hands with his while your other takes hold of his face again to guide him back to you. Looking from his eyes then to his lips and then back up to his eyes you sit there for a moment before leaning in and closing the distance, leaving a soft kiss full of love on his lips.

“I love you too, Eriks. I have for quite awhile actually, I just wasn’t sure how or when I’d get to tell you.” You whisper as you lean your forehead against the blonde’s, a loving smile gracing your features as you look at him, “You know, now that I think about it Lina was trying to tell me something a few days ago, I think it might’ve been your sweet heartfelt secret. Good thing I was too busy paying attention to you though when she tried to tell me.”

✦tags. @chris-continues

[graysparrowao3]

hahaha, well I’m trash so I’ll bite on the Rugan x Aradin fic! Tell me more! How do these two assholes even meet??

As you wish, my friend! At the bar in The Blushing Mermaid! It goes a little like this...

“Another day in paradise.” Rugan muttered.

The barkeep placed the refilled tankard on the bar and pocketed the waiting coin. The evening crowd was beginning to arrive, but he had his usual spot and the regulars allowed him a respectful distance.

“You’ll be back on the horse in no time.”

“Always am.” Rugan nodded, “Just need a quiet night to nurse a pint. Or few.”

“Good luck with that.” The keep muttered under their breath looking pointedly over Rugan’s shoulder, and the Zhent followed their gaze with curiosity. A young adventurer, holding himself with a loud arrogance of inexperience, was scouring the room for an empty seat. Rugan prayed that he wouldn’t spy the vacant stool beside him, but who was he kidding, the Gods never liked him that much.

“Bloody feckin’ mages and their bloody feckin’ contracts.” Aradin settled noisily onto the barstool. He missed the barkeep share a tired look with the man beside him. He pulled a coin from the pouch at his side and tapped it impatiently on the finished wood.

“You ever come across an offer to find the Nightsong,” Aradin announced as though anyone had asked, “do yourself a favour – don’t.”

The older man exhaled, mourning the peaceful night that was quickly evaporating.

“Could’ve told you that one.” He took a slow drink.

“No need to share with the rest of us.” Aradin muttered, as his own drink was set down and he pulled it toward him. “Still ain’t seen a damn coin from that lyin’ wandshite.”

“Lesson learned, lad.” Rugan mused.

“Feck off,” Aradin muttered, “don’t need humourin’ from the likes of you.”

“Oh, aye?” Rugan raised an amused eyebrow, “what kind’s that, then?”

“Adventurers past their prime.” Aradin nodded, a poor attempt at a backhanded compliment, “Livin’ out your sad old age, drownin’ sorrows in a tavern, wishin’ you were still out there.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rugan replied with a knowing smile, unfazed by goading, "nowt wrong with a drink after a dishonest day's work." He caught the eye of the keep again as they poured a drink for another customer; ‘course the lad didn’t know he was Zhent. If he had a brain, he'd be dangerous, Rugan wryly thought. He was aware of Aradin’s intrigued eyes, curious by his answer. The young adventurer looked over the man beside him, letting his eyes rest a little too long the weathered features and the fair hair that had been gathered back to reveal the undercut. His face with its lines and creases. And those eyes. Gods, were they blue.

“Not a man of many words, I take it?” Aradin said, not subtle in his sudden interest.

“Knowing when to speak can be as much as skill as knowing what to say.” Rugan gestured with his cup, “Or per’aps I’m just preoccupied.”

“Have it your way.” Aradin huffed and turned back to his drink. He finished it far too quickly, gasping only once for air as he greedily drained the tankard and ordered another, wiping sticky liquid from his mouth with the back of a hand. Rugan noticed the glossy, far-away look in the younger man’s eyes that revealed he never intended to enjoy the ale; drinking was a means to an end. It was a look he recognized.

“Steady on, lad.” Rugan offered, “The night is young.”

[cellsshapedlikestars]

benjen essos 👀 for the ask game

(wip game)

sigh. oh this au. my baby. I wasn't sure if I was going to include it, because I always told myself if I ever wrote this, it'd go on my alt account. But that's assuming it ever gets written.

I literally only have Ned's initial POV, then a bit of Benjen's written. Nothing past that because all the sudden I hit Actual Plot and Politics and my brain goes fuzzy :)

but here, have the first portion!

NED

Ned crests the hill, and Winterfell comes into view. At the sight of it, something tightens around his heart. He has not been home since he called his banners, since he marched south to avenge his father, his brother, his sister. In truth, it feels as though he has not truly been home since he was eight years old, when he was sent away to foster in the Eyrie. 

Now he returns as the Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, with a silent babe in his arms.

There were times, on the road, that Ned wondered if the babe had died, it was so quiet. He remembers Benjen and Lyanna being born, remembers the way they squalled, especially Lyanna. On his journey, Ned would often stop his exhausted mare and look at the bundle strapped to his chest, just to make sure the boy was breathing. The wet nurse he’d found, Wylla, had assured him some babes were simply quiet, but Ned always needed to make sure.

Promise me, Ned.

He had thought of little else on the journey home, from the mountains of Dorne to within sight of Winterfell. He intends to keep that promise, treason or not. Robert must never know, must never find out - the fates of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon always present in Ned’s mind.

He hugs the boy closer to his chest, a tightening in Ned’s throat as the babe’s tiny mouth opens in a yawn, and he strokes the dark curls on the babe’s soft head with one calloused finger.

“There,” Howland Reed says, and Ned looks up to see three horsemen traveling towards them from the gates of Winterfell, as his raven had requested.

“Go,” Ned says, and Howland nods and kicks his horse forward, riding to meet the envoy. In the center is a man with the long face of the Starks. That one rides forward while the two guards stay back, and Ned carefully dismounts as Benjen meets him at the top of the hill.

“Brother,” Benjen says, dismounting his own horse and rushing forward, but he is caught when he sees the bundle in Ned’s arms, the woman at his side, on her own horse.

“Wylla,” Ned says, “could you please give us a moment?

The woman does not argue, and she moves her horse towards Howland and the guards. Ned is lucky to have found her, he knows. The boy was close to death when Ned had stumbled upon her at a roadside inn, when she saw how desperate he was and offered to nurse the babe, her own having died just days before. If she wonders where he got the child or who its mother is, she does not ask.

Benjen stares at the boy, and Ned knows what he must be thinking. It is a thought Ned had often enough on the road, that he will pretend the babe is his. Raise it as his own bastard. A Snow. He made a promise.

“You mustn’t tell anyone about this,” Ned says. He hates that he must do this, hates that it must be a secret.

“I think you’ll have a hard time hiding that from your wife,” Benjen says, standing rigid and uncomfortable. Ned has barely seen his younger brother since they were children, and it sends a pang of hurt through him that Benjen seems to have assumed the worst. Do they know each other so little? “I doubt she’ll want to nurse it alongside her own.”

Her own.

Ned feels dizzy at the idea - his own son, waiting for him just inside the walls of Winterfell. Catelyn and the boy had made the journey here once peace was declared, and Ned aches to go, aches to see his own child, but he must do this first. Ned looks down at the babe he currently holds and wonders if his own son looks like this. Does his son have the same dark hair? They would be brothers, if Ned claimed this boy as his own.

“It is not mine,” he tells Benjen, who only looks at him in confusion. 

Ned does not want to explain, does not want to remember, though the image of Lyanna bleeding out in her birthing bed haunts his dreams.

Promise me, Ned.

And so he tells Benjen, with as little detail as possible. He will spare Benjen the nightmares, if he can.

In the end, Ned looks down at the bundle in his arms, the way those tiny hands grip at his finger as Ned brushes it against the boy’s soft, rounded cheek. “I’ve named him Jon,” Ned rasps. A name he tries not to use, because he knows he must give the boy up.

“What will you do?” Benjen asks, eyes looking past Ned, towards the horizon. Ned can see the way Benjen’s jaw clenches, the way his throat works as he swallows roughly. He and Lyanna were always close. Lyanna had loved him fiercely.

“Robert can never know,” Ned says. He tries not to think of Aegon and Rhaenys.

“A bastard is a dangerous thing,” Benjen says carefully. “And your new wife won’t like it.”

“That’s why I’ve called you out here,” Ned says. “I must ask something of you. I must ask that you take the boy. Leave, go somewhere and hide him. He is too old to pass off as your own here-” Ned’s voice falters, then. He is asking too much of his younger brother - the youngest of them all. Left alone to be the Stark in Winterfell for nearly a year, and now Ned is asking Benjen to banish himself from their home. It is not fair, but Ned has learned that very little is. All he can do is try to honor his sister’s last request. The promise he made.

Benjen says nothing at first, but then slowly, he nods. “I was planning on taking the black, anyway,” he muses. “Running Winterfell has shown me what it is like to have a purpose. A duty.” His eyes meet Ned’s and he gives a rueful smile. “Do not worry, brother. I have no plans on continuing as Lord of Winterfell. I’ll leave that burden to you. But…” his eyes drop to the bundle. “Yes. I’ll take him.”

Ned reaches out with his free hand and clasps his brother on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry to charge you with this,” Ned says, and he sees the sorrow in his brother’s eyes. It disappears quickly, though. Benjen is good at hiding it. 

“Here,” Benjen says, holding out his arms awkwardly, and Ned realizes this is the moment. He must give up the babe. It is the best course of action.

Yet still, he hesitates.

Benjen is just a boy himself, though Ned must remind himself that he was not much older when he rode off to war. Still, Ned thinks he’d rather face a war than have to raise a babe on his own, far from home.

Benjen waits until Ned finally passes the bundle over.

“Keep his head up,” Ned tuts, using his hand to raise Benjen’s elbow. 

Benjen stares down at the boy, and Ned feels both a weight lifted off him, and a great pain in his chest.

Promise me, Ned.

The promise belongs to Benjen now.

…

When Ned finally enters through the gates of Winterfell, his wife is waiting for him, a babe held in her arms. His son, Robb.

Ned makes his way over and greets his wife - a woman he has been married to for nigh on a year, but barely knows. She stands beautiful and serene, though he can see the hesitation in her eyes as she hands over the child, and Ned sees that while he at first thought the boy bald, there are little wisps of hair atop his head. Red, like his mother.

“Thank you,” Ned whispers, holding the babe tight to his chest, just as he had done with Lyanna’s boy. He wishes to never let his son go.

In that moment, Ned makes another promise - to Lyanna, to his father and mother, to Brandon and Benjen, to his wife, to Robb. He will be a good Lord. He will be a good father.

He looks up, and Catelyn smiles at him.

[hostilecandle]

🍏 and 🍈 for the writer asks pls!

God I'm so sorry for this ramble 🙏😅

🍏 Is there something you overuse, whether it’s a certain phrase, trope, or piece of punctuation-

Religious Imagery 😅 lmaoooo. I overuse that shit SOOO much. It's in every single fic I've ever written. Doesn't matter fluff or smut or what fandom, I always find a way to work it into the main themes. Literally writing a long af Price x Reader and its title is taken from Psalms 😅😅 I grew up a gay man in a Catholic military family in the Midwest of the United States. Gotta funnel that experience somewhere, so fics it is :D

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics-

Okay this said free pass to ramble about blorbo so I will be taking that opportunity here lol, so my apologies i have many thoughts about this man. I'll use CoD bc it's the fandom I'm in rn so I gotta say John Price (Both the og and reboot though I'm just gonna refer to the reboot Price for this). This man does things to my brain that need to be studied under a microscope I swear 😵‍💫😵‍💫 I have a whole ass character study of him written that's several pages long and I'm still not done.

Headcannons for him (some I've written, some just vibes):

-This man SCREAMS a good ol future midwestern dad type in the making to me. He loves to hunt and fish. He loves the solitude and quiet of both activities, even if he doesn't get anything. Its just peaceful. There is always a beer in the fridge for when the game is on. When he's got a family/partner/retired (whatever you'd prefer), he's a yard guy (yall know the type). I just feel like he cannot sit still when he's home. He's gotta be doing something with himself after years of keeping busy. He's got all the fun toys like a riding mower that is so unnecessary for the yard size but makes him happy. He's always outside in the spring/summer doing something to the yard and god forbid the grass get too tall. He's also not big on socializing with neighbors, a very much a keep to himself and/or his family kinda guy, but he's always SO polite and the ladies in his neighborhood love him.

-From my own homelife experience but it just feels so Price, when he's home he's AWFUL about just leaving his firearm on the counter or coffee table or bed side. Just wherever he remembered to take it off and set down and it's just another thing to forget where he set it like his phone and wallet. Speaking of, he's terrible about losing his phone/keys/wallet/etc. He has a little dish by the entry that he swears he puts it all into but they're never there when he goes to leave and he has to scramble to find them every time

-He's a coffee drinker (black with just a little sugar) and unironically loves to read the paper whenever he gets the chance. He's a small talker and enjoys it, he talks about the weather, gas prices, taxes, and match scores. He gets bored easily when just waiting around and will chat with just about anyone

-He has horrific night terrors and carries a lot of guilt for things he's done in his job. He firmly believes it was all necessary and worth it for the greater good but he wrestles with himself a lot. I personally like to think when Gaz pushes him on it after the interrogation in MW, it actually rattled him a bit. Not because he felt any guilt necessarily for what had just happened (I don't think he felt any in that instance), but because that's one of the first times someone else has pressed him on his moral convictions. "You draw the line where you need it" is not a belief that comes from nowhere or from a man who hasn't wrestled with himself and asked himself the very same questions Gaz was throwing at him. He meant every word he said though and while I feel guilt will catch up to him in the late hours of the night some nights after years of living like this, he fully believes he's justified in everything he does and it's integral to his character and who John Price is as a person

-He's a staunch atheist. Baptized but never believed in a God really anyways but after the things he's seen, he can't find it in himself to even entertain the thought. That being said, in the bottom of his desk is one of those old fashioned crosses that's hollow that holds holy water and one's last will and testament. Obviously being in the military there's already the records of his will but keeps that in his desk regardless because on the off chance he's wrong about there not being a God, it doesn't hurt to be safe.

He's SUCH a Girl Dad™ in the making. He would THRIVE with having a daughter. I'm talking the tea parties, tiaras, letting her put makeup on him, his nails, all of it. He'd support her in any endeavors growing up and would do his damndest to be in the crowd any chance he can get. He'd be her biggest fan. Pictures of her on his desk, in his wallet. Always bragging about his daughter when he gets the chance because he'd be so proud of her

He's a salt of the earth kinda guy. Just has very classic masculinity. Like he's a Man™ and takes pride in it. But its in the, "I'm gonna take care of everything because this is how I care for what's important to me" way. He enjoys being the handyman around the house and who people come to because they respect him. He has a Project Car in the garage that he swears he'll get to and the back is littered with power tools and lumber

(Okay this parts not headcannon because he not old, he's only 37!!) He's actually very tech savvy and likes things to be as up to date as he can get so everything runs smooth.

He feels personally responsible for the wellbeing of the other main 3 of 141 but not in a fatherly way like people think, but these men are his brothers and he hand picked them, he has so much faith in their abilities. (However he unwittingly becomes a mentor figure to Soap very much against his knowledge and will lol)

He had to shave once for an Op and the boys ragged him so hard he refuses to ever shave again. Genuinely fucked him up a bit lol

He has a temper. He's got a good lid on it 99% of the time but its always simmering underneath

Has a wicked sense of humor. Most people don't know or recognize it but he's actually the funniest person in the 141. He's always cracking jokes to break the tension but he says it with such a straight face before breaking into smile to let you know he's joking.

[the-sixxth-sinner]

Mask of Sanity

Aviable on AO3

Fandoms: Mötley Crüe

Characters: Nikki Sixx

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, drugs & violence; underage (implied) sex; non-con; exaggerated drug-induced psychosis. Proceed at own risk

Summary: Nikki goes batshit insane. Again. 

A/N: I first started writing this around when I was reading American Psycho, which was like, back in April 2021? It was my first smut ever and it made me cringe with every word I wrote down lol but looking back at it now, I think I didn’t do that bad of a job. For this reason, in fact, I promised myself I would try to finish it, years later. In conclusion, if you can read this you’re very lucky

I wanted to imitate both Ellis and Nikki’s writing style with this, and i used nothing but sheer will, fantasy and a quick skimming of the heroin diaries as my resources (other than American Psycho itself of course), so if its not accurate or you think i could've wrote it in a different way please bear in mind that i will not accept criticism, constructive or otherwise, at this hour. thanks <3

Knock. 

«Comin’» I enunciate from the other side of the room as I sniff up the last line of blow I put down on the bathroom’s counter.

It must be that chick the boys told me they’d send my way once they finished with her. I'm still not sure why I didn't want to join them in the fun... I told them I just wanted to be alone, have some peace and quiet. Yet, I’ve been pacing back and forth my hotel room the whole fucking time like a rabid mongrel in a rusty cage that is too small. I’ve downed maybe five Halcions with half of a JD bottle and a quarter of an eight-ball and it’s only 2 am. My brain feels like it’s running a hundred miles an hour and at the same time the outside world looks like it’s melting in slow motion just before my eyes. I'm starting to hear voices again. To hell with peace and quiet.

Knock knock.

«Ya, ya, I’m coming!» This is annoying. What’s the fucking rush?

I raise my head up taking a deep breath in. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, I try to relax my face muscles in order to not look like a complete lunatic. I exhale and roll my eyes; I give up: I don't think it’s working.

Knock.

Jesus Christ, do you want to get murdered?!

I move across the room with long strides. I feel my whole body jittery, my hands are shaking. I open the door abruptly. 

«Is this… Are you...» The chick looks both surprised and shocked. 

Shiiit, they fucked her up. She can’t stand straight without leaning on the door jamb, her voice is shaking, her makeup and hair is all ruined, her clothes half torn, her skin has been covered in bruises and God knows whose bodily fluids. She doesn’t look the age she wants to pass as.

«Sixx, yes.» I nod, cracking up the best smile that my mental state allows me.

She relaxes and clears her voice. «Tommy told me you were all alone, so… I thought I could pay you a visit» She smiles, raising the bottle of whiskey she had in her hand, trying to be as charming as possible. She gazes me up and down with her big shiny eyes. Rhinestone crystals drowned in alcohol.

I shrug. «I could use some company.» Thanks, T-Bone!

I wasn't planning to have anybody join me in my descent to madness, but something awakened in me as I glanced at this girl’s now ruined innocence. There's something so arousing about her desire to be completely destroyed and be a disappointment to her parents that I can't just back away.

I open the door wider to let her in. I check the hallway to make sure if there’s anybody else. «Are you alone?» I ask. 

«I mean, like, I came here with Vicky but I think she either passed out or choked on Tommy’s cock? I don’t think there’s any point in waiting for her...» she blathers.

«Don’t worry,» I wrap my arm around her shoulders. «You’re gonna do just fine…» 

The door closes behind us.

Cut.

I look at her as she strips in front of me, slowly, sensually, without breaking eye contact. Her movements are clumsy due to her drunkenness, but that’s what adds to her uninhibited charm. 

My vision gets hazy all of a sudden, as I watch her dance in slow motion, probably looking like somewhere between mesmerized and fucking stoned out of my mind. Yet, I feel restless, and I start to feel the instinct to jump onto her like an animal with its prey.

I get up from the bed and pick her up by her bare waist in a swift movement, which made her yelp in surprise. I throw her back on the mattress, rip the rest of the rags off her body and start going down on her, gently pulling her labia apart with two fingers and sucking on her clitoris and licking her juices. The girl bucks up her hips and moans in pleasure. I position myself better on my knees, then I pull her closer to the edge of the bed, grabbing her by the waist and making her spread her legs more. I press my hands down on her thighs, hugging her lap, and I bury my face into her heat. I lap her pussy up and down, groaning like a dog in heat, thrusting my face into it, going from wide licks to tracing small circles around her clit and penetrating her with my tongue, sucking off all her fluids that are pouring out like a delicious fountain of youth. I feel her losing control of her body, thrusting her hips against my face as she moans louder and I go faster, until my jaw hurts and I remain completely breathless.

«Please… please please please keep going!» she begs.

 I raise my gaze to her for a moment. I can hardly make out the silhouette of her biting her own fist. My mind is foggy, I can barely form coherent thoughts. But the whispers… Those are clear. I try to ignore them, concentrating on the task at hand of making her a slave to lust.

I bury my face between her legs once again, penetrating her with my fingers and tongue.

The girl’s moans and whimpers are slowly getting louder and higher in pitch, blending together with the voices in my head. I feel her getting tighter around my fingers, until she squirts all over my face.

«S-Sorry…» She murmured.

I stare at her for a few seconds. I let out a laugh, licking my lips.

I climb over her body. «Ready for round two, baby?» I whisper in her ear.

«Uh-huh…» She nodded.

Suddenly, I am hit with a wave of dizziness. My head is spinning and my fingers are tingling.

As I get up, I am met with a confused gaze.

«What are you…?»

«I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.» I winked at her.

I slam the bathroom door behind me, breathing heavily. I am sure I am about to throw up, but that satisfaction of vomiting your guts out never comes. I decide to take a line of zombie dust, so that if I do something awful to the girl, I won’t have the memory to regret it afterwards.

Cut. 

I enter the bedroom, where the girl is still laying in bed. I grab the Jack I left on the bedside table, and take a good swig of it, feeling it burn inside my throat. I hand out the bottle to her, in a “You want some?” gesture. She gladly accepts.

«Have you ever done blow before?» I ask her, as I sit on the bed and she drinks.

The girl shakes her head.

My eyes widen. «Didn’t Tommy share with you?»

«Nope.»

«Well…» I get up, pulling a bag out of my pocket. «You’re in luck, ‘cause I’m feelin’ very generous!» I grinned. I want to ruin you so bad...

She gasped in joy. «You’re the best, Nikki!»

I quickly prepared two lines to sniff, one for each of us.

Cut. 

I’m on top of her, fucking her tight pussy, grunting and panting like a beast. Her hands are all over me, and my back is covered in scratches. My mind is racing at a million thoughts per hour and I can’t grasp a single one of them. All I want in this moment is to fuck her, ruin her, use her, reduce her into a mindless sex toy for my own pleasure. I hear voices that I don’t know what they’re trying to tell me, I see shadows in the corner of my eyes that I don’t know what or who they belong to. Her moans are the only thing that snatch me back to reality, but soon even they become faint and the voices are more insistent.

I pull out.

The girl tosses a disappointed look at me, with languid eyes. «Nikki…» She stretches out her hand, trying to pull me closer. «Why did you stop…?»

With a jump so swift even I got surprised by my own mental alertness at that moment, I grab the girl by the jaw moving closer to her.

«Ask for it. Beg me. Say my name.» I demand grinding my teeth.

She swallows and has fear in her eyes. «Please. Please Nikki, please I beg of you» She lets out in a small voice.

I strengthen the grip, lifting her chin. I let out a beastly breath in her ear: «Not. Enough.»

She stares at me, her eyes wide in terror.

«I SAID NOT ENOUGH!» Nikki punched the girl with brutal force, making her scream in horror. He was breathing heavily, eyeballs out of the sockets in shock. A trickle of blood started running down the girl’s nostril. A drop of translucent fluid dropped on top of it. Nikki brought his hand to his face: it was his saliva. He was drooling like a rabid dog.

Nikki had his grip tight on her neck, and kept hitting her, making the blood flow on her face and her porcelain doll skin break, until her screams stopped. 

Nikki let go of her throat, his breath short from the violent frenzy. He looked down at his trembling hands, the knuckles stained in red, then he looked at the girl. Admiring the bloody mess on her face, Nikki felt his whole body tingling with an undefined sensation: he had a rush of adrenaline, horror and ecstasy all at once, but he wasn’t completely sure if those were the right sensations, the right terms for what he was perceiving. The voices were getting clearer and louder, telling him to do horrible things to her.

Nikki touched himself, to then enter inside her, and began thrusting.

The girl was slowly coming to her senses and as soon as she noticed that Nikki was violating her, she started screaming, kicking and pushing Nikki away with her hands, who promptly blocked her mouth with one hand and pointed his switchblade knife at her throat with the other. «Shh-shh. You wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, trust me…» He whispered, with a smile that hid the devil. 

Her eyes were filled with tears in supplication, her body paralyzed in fear.

Nikki forcefully pushed himself inside her. «You like that, huh?» The whole bed shook. Muffled sounds came out of her mouth. The blade touched her skin at every thrust. «You like being fucked by me until your insides hurt, don’t you?» He rammed once more and there were more suppressed cries.

He stopped for a moment and leaned closer to her: «Answer me.» Nikki breathed, baring his teeth. He pressed the knife against her jugular, cutting her skin. A trickle of blood streamed down her throat and chest.

The girl shook her head. Her whole body was trembling.

«Wrong answer.» He stabbed her in her stomach, making her cry in desperate pain like a wounded fawn.

Nikki traced a bloody line with the blade on her pale skin, stopping at the height of her heart. He could feel her breath accelerating more and more under his knife. He shot a glance at the girl, who had her eyes wide and pleading, with tears running down her cheeks, faint whimpers coming through her covered mouth.

«No one can hear you scream, you stupid slut.»

Nikki raised his armed hand.

The sound of the blade slicing through flesh.

A silent scream.

Blood gushing out of the girl’s breast.

Nikki pulled out the knife from the girl’s chest, and dug inside the wound. With the help of his switchblade, he ripped out her skin like fabric and then her heart, still pulsating, and observed it with fascination; he felt its warmth and weight in his hand and then he licked the blood dripping from the torn arteries. It tasted like death. Then, he dropped it to his knees.

Cut.

I wake up in the bathroom, with a massive headache and generally feeling like shit. I barely remember why I am here in the first place… I try to recall what happened a few hours before, but in vain. I take a glance at the toilet: it’s filled with vomit. Huh. Must’ve been a wild night. Getting up, I notice red stains all over the sink. What the hell…?

Suddenly, my heart is racing, my palms are sweating and I am scared to look at what’s behind the bathroom door, left ajar.

With a deep breath, I gather all the courage I have in my body, and I open the door.

Jesus Christ…

I slowly enter the trashed room, carefully, warily, like if there were landmines all over the pavement. There are red pentagrams and writings all over the walls. A real, human heart is taped at the head of the bed. Then, I see it: the body of a girl, lying lifeless on the mattress.

«What the hell… What the fucking hell!» I scream, recoiling against the wall, horrified at the realization of what I’ve done.

Knock knock knock.

«Sixx, get the fuck up! We have to leave in ten minutes!» Doc’s voice from the other side of the door made me have a fucking heart attack.

«Uh… Yeah, I’m coming, gimme a minute!» I try to sound as relaxed as possible but my heart is pounding in my throat and my voice is quivering. Just then, I realize my hands are still covered in blood. I quickly go to the sink to wash them, but they seem to never come clean. I come back to the bedroom, and I throw the windows open.

I need to get rid of this body.

I wrap the blood-stained bed sheets around the girl, almost throwing up from the anxiety and the smell and the guilt that are all eating me inside out like flesh-eating beetles. I pick the corpse up and bring it to one of the windows.

«I’m so sorry I did this to you.» I whisper, with tears in my eyes and a despaired tremble in my voice.

I throw the body out of the window.

I open the door of my hotel room and I am met with Doc’s stern gaze.

«You look like death. What happened?» He asks, squaring me off.

«Oh, nothing.» My eyes wander somewhere behind his shoulders. «Just a bad trip.»

I don’t think he bought it.

«Whatever, get your ass in the main hall.» Doc steps aside to let me come out of the room. «We have an important interview this morning: behave or I’ll send Fred to kill you.» He looks at me in the eyes, stressing the last words.

«Can’t promise anything.» I mumble.

«Excuse me?»

«I mean… Yessir.»

«Good boy.» He gives me a pat on the back and starts walking.

I follow him, glancing at the room one last time. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but I can’t shake off the sensation that someone is watching me behind my back.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Wake me up when July is around

Chapter 8

Chapter 9/?

***

The loud beeping of an alarm clock wakes Billy up at 8.30 am on Saturday, and he wishes he was dead.

Last night they partied hard.

Hangover is a logical but, clearly, an unwelcome payback. It feels like a thousand of tiny evil blacksmiths are forging iron on their anvils right inside his head. Fucking christ. Billy opens his eyelids with much difficulty and immediately closes them again. He has to get up, damn it, he has to be at work at 12.

He has to rise from the ashes.

That Halloween Friday sure was freaky.

Billy is instantly filled with regret.

Why didn't he reset his alarm clock yesterday for later.

Before the party, he didn't think about it. He was only shaking his ass in front of the mirror admiring how good he looked in that leather jacket, bitches be thirsty.

After the party it was too late to think about the fucking alarm clock.

Okay, slowly .. slowly, he needs to sit up.

Just don't throw up. On the fucking carpet.

Billy is sitting upright on the bed. That's an achievement. It feels like he's still alive. He can move.

His throat is dry like the Sahara desert, he's in desperate need of water. He has to get to the kitchen.

Billy registers that he's still wearing the dark blue jeans and the gloves from his party costume. The black leather jacket is lying on the floor, near the boots.

Billy slowly takes off the gloves, finds a t-shirt lying nearby and puts it on.

Did he come home at 3? He doesn't really remember. Something like that. He only knows that he was trying to be as quiet as possible, not to wake anyone up, because that skill is ingrained in his brain and body, deep.

Billy forces himself to get on his feet, and sits back down right away, dizzy and miserable.

Okay. Let's try again, buddy.

He so overdid it yesterday.

After dragging himself off the bed, Billy makes it to the door

But the moment he opens it, he understands that it was a mistake. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen, it's Neil and Susan having breakfast. The evil leprechaun must be still sleeping.

Fuck his life, he's gonna die if he doesn't drink water but his dad's wrath is also scary. At least Neil's not gonna kill him right now, in front of his wife, as an extra good morning.

Billy summons all his strength to look as normal as possible and shuffles to the bathroom. He drinks straight from the tap, washes his face and looks at the toilet bowl as if making sure that throwing up is not on today's agenda.

It's still to be seen, but not right this moment, at least.

If he's gonna go back to his room, dad's gonna get on his ass about "being disrespectful" and "not saying good morning". Looks like Billy has no choice but to show his face to them in all its hungover glory.

He checks the face in the mirror. It's fine. Looks human.

Just don't puke on the breakfast table, and everything will be A-okay.

Billy goes to the kitchen, all humble and trying to look like a shadow.

"Good morning, dad. Good morning, Susan."

"Will you look at yourself?"

Neil's voice is full of disgust.

"What time did you get home yesterday?"

"I uh .. a little after midnight, probably. I apologize if I woke you up."

"You didn't wake us up, Billy." Susan is cutting in. "Would you like some breakfast?"

He actually needs to eat something but

He can't even drink coffee right now.

Water. Water. It'll get better in an hour, he just needs a lot of water, and to lie down.

"No, thank you, Susan. I'll get myself something later."

Billy pours a full glass of water. Time to retreat while it's still peaceful.

"I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"Mark my words, son, as soon as you finish school, I'm not paying for another single day of your life! Senior year, the most important time, and he's wasting it on .. what, on debauchery??" Neil is addressing Susan now, all indignant and angry, oh he is angry but Billy hopes it won't get bigger than that.

At nine o'clock Neil and Susan are supposed to go grocery shopping, like they always do on Saturdays. Neil likes it when they stick to a plan. He's already getting up and looking for his car keys. Susan takes the last sip of her tea and starts flopping her good housewife wings around the kitchen.

"Let's go, Susan. Billy will clean up after breakfast, right?"

"Of course, I will."

"Thank you, Billy. Good bye! Wake Maxine up at 10 if she doesn't get up, please!" Susan is taking her purse and the list of groceries.

"Sure. Have a nice time shopping!"

Billy hears his dad telling Susan on their way out

"Seems a bit late to sleep for a girl her age?"

"I know, honey, but she gets so tired during the week, let her have her Saturday .."

The door closes, and they're gone.

It went very well, actually, all things considered.

Probably Neil just didn't want to deal with a hungover teenager cause the said teenager might throw up all over the place, so it's better not to touch him.

Such an unfortunate episode did happen once, when Billy was still in his very green years. He came home drunk, and Neil got in his face. He grabbed the boy by his collar and was telling him what a piece of crap and a fucking burden he was, which only led to Billy feeling even worse. Neil had to run to the shower to wash the vomit off, leaving his son to clean up the mess he'd made.

He got slapped around for that later, but it taught Neil a lesson as well.

Billy goes back to his room clutching the glass of water like a lifeline.

He sits down on the bed again and after finishing the whole glass, lies down. He doesn't want to close his eyes though, cause the dizziness is gonna be back so he's just lying there staring at the ceiling.

Vile gray light is seeping through the window. Outside the rain is drizzling.

Fuck Indiana and its nasty weather right in its Midwestern ass.

Fucking hell.

Billy usually knows when to stop, but yesterday he clearly didn't.

What even happened yesterday? .. He did the keg stand, and there was more beer and vodka .. and he definitely mixed it all, hence the hangover. Smoking non-stop, dancing, Tommy following him around like a faithful bulldog, Vicky hanging on his arm and touching his abs while they were dancing. There was another girl, persistently asking for his attention, Jennifer or .. was it ..

Oh shit.

Oh no no no no

Fucking stupid piece of shit.

Fffffuuuuuucckkkkk.

Billy shuts his eyes but it is a bad idea, because he's getting the dizzies and everything's spinning, so he presses his palms to his closed eyes, wishing to erase the memory of what happened between him and .. fuck. The dumb bitch, Harrington.

He and Harrington fucking .. smooched ??

No no no no nooooo

Billy is groaning hoarsely, and the sound of it reflects the depth of his desperation at his own stupidity

Why is he such an idiot. Why did he do it. He should've instead broken Harrington 's pretty nose ..

fuck JUST nose! Without the pretty, forget that he said .. or thought that.

What was it even, Billy didn't want to start any shit in the first place, as god is his witness.

His clouded consciousness doesn't provide him with much, but some flashes do come to his mind.

Bathroom. Harrington.

He fucking started it!

His face. His lips. His hand on the back of Billy's head, almost hurting, the fingers sharp and digging into his skin

The silky softness.

The wetness of their tongues touching

Fuck fuck FUCK.

Mission: erasing the memories.

Billy is an idiot. A certified one.

***

He crawls out of his bedroom half an hour later for more water, and to go to the bathroom. The hangover is gradually stepping away, but the more it does, the more unsettled Billy is.

His dad is right.

He's an imbecile.

At around ten he bangs on Max's door,

"Wakie, wakie, Maxine!" he bellows and then bangs some more until he hears

"Stop it, you jerk!"

"Rise and shine, birdbrain!"

Then goes to the kitchen to finally find some food.

He's slowly getting back to his senses. At 12 he needs to be at work, and he will be. Old Joe won't even notice that Billy partied last night.

Partied so hard, that he ended up kissing that annoying motherfucker.

Erase, erase, erase.

No panic. It was only once, and it was a mistake but Billy could always say nothing happened.

He was so wasted, he wasn't himself. Hell, he didn't even remember it when he woke up.

Harrington is not gonna run his mouth about it, what is he, a kamikaze?

It's nothing, it's just a drunken slip up.

Happens to the best of us, amirite?

***

***

Steve stays at home all Saturday. They only go grocery shopping with mom, he drives her to the store and back in the afternoon. Or course, Dad chooses this very day to ask him fucking questions. Steve mumbles something about his captainship ot the basketball team and finally finishing his college application essay. He's also retaking his SATs at the beginning of November cause the results of the tests he took last year were not very high. Not high enough.

They were pretty low. After he gets the new results back, he'll still have time to apply to some places. Mom asks him if he has thought of a backup plan, and Steve honestly says

"No, mom. I haven't."

"You probably should."

"Yes, I will, after I'm done with applications. Can I go study now?"

Parents do not seem very happy with the outcome of their conversation, but Steve can't offer more. To him, his future plan looks okay for now.

Honestly, Steve doesn't even know what specific sphere he'd like to study. He's still at home and at school, and the future seems vague and a little bit scary. Nancy is definitely aiming at a university, and Steve's not sure what will happen to their relationship.

Especially after yesterday.

He spends the whole evening revising for his SATs. A lot of confusing stuff. He probably should've started sooner, and not a week before.

Well.

Steve studies more on Sunday, but then Tommy calls and they decide to go to a pizza place.

They order pepperoni and cola, and Steve can finally take a breath with his whole chest

"Ugh man, I've been studying for two days straight, my brain's on fire."

"Dad wants you to get into Yale or something?"

"Well no .. but .. they want me to have a clear plan, and I don't have it, and it's just .. they fucking nag."

Tommy nods in understanding

"Yeah man."

"Must retake SATs soon, and it just .."

"It sucks."

They chew some more pizza

"You remember, Hargrove took your keg king title? The dude got 52 seconds, fucking crazy."

At the mention of Hargrove's name Steve's cheeks start feeling hotter

"Yeah, whatever. I got bigger problems to worry about now."

"The princess?"

"We had a huge fight at the party. She was so drunk. I dunno, Tommy."

"You haven't talked to her since the party?"

"No. Why?"

Hagan is looking at Harrington in a weird way

"Hey, man .. I've actually been meaning to tell you. I think you should know."

"Know what?"

"Your Wheeler girl .. remember you asked me and Carol where she was and we told you she'd left home?"

"Yeah?"

"Well she didn't go home alone."

"That's good? She was drunk."

"Do you know who she left with?"

"How am I supposed to know that? I didn't see her leaving. You and Carol told me she was fine, and I .. I kinda left it at that?"

"So you still don't know?"

"Tommy, what the fuck?"

Hagan's still looking at Steve like he pities him but he also wants to gloat so bad because he told his friend a lot of times to "dump that prissy bitch", and they even fought over it, more than once, and voilà, in the end Tommy is actually right

"I thought that maybe she left with this .. Samantha or something? .. Tommy??"

"You girlfriend left with the Byers freak."

WHAT

"She what?"

"Just thought you should know."

"She left with Byers?"

"Yup."

"Jonathan Byers?"

"Yes, Steve."

Fucking what?

"Are you sure?"

"Dude, I was drunk but not blind. Carol saw that too. Nancy went downstairs in her wet dress, and it was like .. well, he was just standing there near the stairs. They talked for a minute and then went away together."

Well, that's uh .. Steve didn't expect that.

Is that what people feel when their heart breaks? Is that the burning acid of being betrayed?

Tommy eats what's left of the pizza.

Steve doesn't pick Nancy up on Monday to drive her to school as he usually does.

***

***

On Monday before practice coach Nelson informs the team that

"We're having visitors this week, boys! Let's show them all you've got!"

Two sports recruiters are coming to see if they have any hidden talents here in Hawkins.

Billy thinks someone should warn them not to waste their time. There's nothing to look for here. Nada. Fucking zero.

He knows that the odds of being chosen are extremely slim. And even if a recruiter spots you, it guarantees nothing.

Billy has seen his share of sports scouts back in San Diego. He's aware that they are not interested in him.

There are so many good things recruiters told Billy. He's a great player, he scores points, he makes flashy moves, his techniques of shooting, dribbling, rebounding and defense are excellent as well as such attributes as strength, endurance, speed and agility, blah blah blah. His physical characteristics - weight and wingspan - meet the requirements. Add to it Billy's intelligence on the court and the unbeaten desire to win.

He basically has it all.

There's just one problem - Hargrove's too short to be a professional basketball player. He's too fucking short, and that's why a career in basketball is not even an option.

He's 5'10. It's fine. Just not for the NBA.

At some point in his life Billy used to be bitter about his height. That was when the first recruiter came looking and he was like

"Kid, if only you were taller."

The second one said the same. And the third. Little by little, Billy accepted it as it is, and that's why

He doesn't care about the visitors. Unlike him, the whole team is buzzing. Are they stupid? Recruiters will never choose any of them. The only player who has a tiny microscopic chance of getting noticed is probably Andy. He's tall, he's got the physique. His game's not great but it can be worked with.

Harrington, on the other hand? Billy's has seen his serious and focused face, eyebrows knitted together, when the coach mentioned the recruiters.

Please, it's ridiculous.

Billy's not even gonna elaborate. It's simply ludicrous.

Harrington can drool all over his pillow having dreams of a sports scholarship or a prominent career in the NBA, and the sucker can keep on dreaming because that's as close as he's gonna get to playing this sport professionally.

Anyhoo.

It's skins and shirts as always, and Billy's playing rough as usual. He's seen Harrington in the school hallway earlier and they shared a class. Billy just straight up ignored the loser. Steve also didn't seem to look his way much, maybe he doesn't even remember about the kiss.

He also looks as if he's brooding about something, like something weighs heavy on his preppy-ass soul.

Either way, it's not Billy's business and he doesn't give a shit.

And yeah,

Mission: erasing the memories of the most idiotic kiss

Status: incomplete.

In his defense, Billy was so wasted, he could've kissed anyone.

***

***

During the match Hargrove behaves like nothing happened, there's just something about his game that's extra precise and extra ruthless. Like he wants to show with all his obnoxious persona that he's above all that and doesn't give a fuck. It's likely he doesn't recall what happened on Friday night because he was drunk as a fish.

Or it's a bluff.

He remembers.

Steve knows he does. Why is he so sure? Cause Hargrove hasn't touched him once since the beginning of the game, hasn't said anything mean to him. He's trying to send a message that he doesn't care, but he's trying too hard, and it shows.

Billy knows what they've done, and he's .. what, ashamed?

Heheehe.

Nice.

Harrington would've gotten much more pleasure out of it if his heart wasn't hurting.

Are they broken up with Nancy, did she cheat on him? What the hell is this whole fucking situation?

Steve's lost in his thoughts when suddenly he hears Nancy's loud irritated voice

"Steve?"

There she is, standing at the gym doors, clearly expecting Harrington to come have a conversation with her outside.

He doesn't want to bail on his team in the middle of the game but he's been avoiding Nancy all morning, and soon he won't be able to tolerate the level of acidity that has swallowed his whole being.

They do need to talk.

Steve needs it.

They go outside to the little passage between the gym and the school building where they usually hide smoking with the guys.

Maybe it's the first time since they got together, when Steve's absolutely not happy to see his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend? Guess we'll find out now.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

Nancy sounds pissed. She talks to him in that tone like .. like a strict mother to a naughty child, when she's angry at him.

"You didn't call all weekend.. and where were you this morning? I missed first period!"

"I figured Jonathan would take you."

"Wha .. what are you talking about?" Maybe she's a good actress but there's genuine surprise in her voice. She looks confused.

Harrington scoffs

"Jesus, you really can't handle your alcohol."

"Uh ..?"

"You remember going to Tina's party on Friday night?"

"Yes?"

"And then what?"

"I remember dancing .. and spilling some punch."

Nancy's thinking for a second.

"You got mad at me because I was drunk. And then you took me home."

Does she really remember nothing or that's all acting?

"No, see, this is where your mind gets a little bit fuzzy."

Steve's making a pause.

"That was your other boyfriend. That was .. that was Jonathan."

There's a perplexed expression on Nancy's face

"I don't understand."

"It's pretty simple, Nance."

"What?"

"You were just telling it like it is."

Maybe she really doesn't remember. That doesn't make it okay though.

"Uh .. apparently, we killed Barb and I don't care cause I'm bullshit and our whole .. our whole relationship is bullshit and .. I mean, pretty much everything is just bullshit bullshit bullshit."

Nancy raises her well-defined eyebrows and wrinkles her forehead

That doesn't make the stuff she told Steve okay!!

"Oh yeah also you don't love me."

"I was drunk, Steve. I don't remember any of that."

Really? So you can get hammered and tell your boyfriend you don't love him, and then everything should just get back to normal cause you don't recall doing that?

"So that makes everything you said .. it's what? Just bullshit too?"

"Yes?"

"Then tell me. Tell me that you love me and there's nothing going on between you and Jonathan."

"Really, Steve?"

"Harrington !!"

Roy is out of his breath, appearing between the buildings.

"Dude we need you, man! That douchebag is killing us! Let's go !!"

"I'm coming!"

"There is nothing going on between me and Jonathan, Steve."

It's nice to hear, really. Steve needs a longer explanation though.

"We're not done talking, Nance."

Their team loses anyways, with or without the captain. There's something about Billy's game today, it's .. like he's holding that distance, with a hint of "nothing personal, guys".. Is he getting ready to show off in front of the sports scouts? The new behaviour infuriates the hell out of Steve, even though the asshole hasn't pushed him one single time.

You're wrong about nothing personal, Hargrove. Locking mouths seems pretty personal to me.

However, Billy's not number one problem on the list of Steve's troubles right now. Let him believe Harrington has suffered a case of amnesia, and there was no kiss.

***

Steve picks Nancy up after school. On the way to her house she tells him

"Nothing happened that night, I swear."

"Are you sure, Nance? You didn't even understand who took you home! You thought it was me!"

"Steve, I would know if someone tried sleeping with me in my own bed, okay?"

She also admits that they sometimes talk with Jonathan between classes or during library study. They talk mostly about Barb, because his little brother Will was also missing last summer. They found him in the woods. Three weeks later, yet they found him. Maybe Barb also disappeared in the woods. Too much time has passed and there's no hope of finding her alive, but bringing some certainty would help her parents obtain peace.

Nancy assures Steve there's nothing romantic going on between her and Jonathan.

Steve's at a loss. Like .. he feels that he can't give Nancy the consolation she's looking for. He has no idea what happened to Barb and he thinks they should let the police deal with the whole thing. He can listen to Nancy, but what else can he offer? He's not .. experienced at things like that.

Steve should probably make a scene anyway and get really pissed and show her how hurt his feelings are, but he's also kinda glad everything 's cleared up, and she didn't cheat on him, and they are still together.

They are still together, right?

Nevertheless, he definitely must keep an eye on Jonathan Byers. The guy took creepy pictures of them in the middle of the night, Nancy seems to have forgotten about that. Steve should have a talk with Byers, tell him to stay away from his girl.

They kiss each other good bye.

It feels .. mechanic.

***

Late at night when Steve's again tossing and turning in bed, he suddenly realises that Nancy told him a lot of words but forgot to mention the most important thing - she didn't tell him she loved him.

Should he ask her again?

Tell me you love me

He's always thought if you're in love and in a relationship, you shouldn't be asking the person you're together with for confirmation.

Steve again feels that he wants to give so much, but no-one needs it, and no-one is willing to give back the same amount.

Of love.

Or even close to it.

Maybe relationships aren't that easy, and he's idealising them.

However, if there's no love, what's there to fight for?

[bbhighnotes]

Should I Watch it Stoned? - Samurai Jack (2001)

TL;DR: NO

In the year of our Lord, 1997, the Cartoon Network gods bestowed upon us a gift – a programming block called Toonami. If you’re unfamiliar with Toonami, you should be ashamed of yourself, but since I’m nice I’ll tell you what it is anyway. Toonami was an evening block of cartoons aimed at older kids and younger teens, so many of the shows that aired at the time had darker and more mature themes or more intense action than CN’s typical stuff. They even showed anime! This post isn’t about Toonami, though, it’s about one of the shows that aired during the block. One of the sleekest, coolest, animated action shows of all time. I’m talking about: Samurai Jack.

Interestingly, Samurai Jack originally aired as part of regular Cartoon Network programming, but had re-runs air on Toonami instead. I can only guess that CN higher-ups thought the show fit Toonami’s style better. I can’t quite remember where I saw it first, but either way it aired on the same channel so cut me some slack, alright?

Anyway, Samurai Jack is a love letter to samurai action films mixed with some dystopian science fiction. I was originally going to put a short plot synopsis here, but the kickass intro can explain the premise way better than I can.

Along the way Jack encounters, and assists, numerous odd creatures and aliens each affected by Aku’s villainous rule in different ways.

The thing that set Samurai Jack apart from other action cartoons (and what made it a better fit for Toomani, in my opinion) is how uncompromising it was in it’s artistic presentation. The show loves it’s build-ups; whether it’s an intense stand-off against Aku’s forces, or Jack simply traveling to a new destination, scenes in the show plod along at a snail’s pace. That sounds like a bad thing, but it’s honestly excellent. Samurai Jack knows how to sow tension; it knows when it’s time to slow down and let you appreciate the effort that went into crafting the dystopian world Jack finds himself in. It knows when to be quiet, something a lot of other cartoons struggle with.

Like, before Jack goes into battle with Aku’s beetle drones for the first time (pictured below) there’s a six minute montage of him preparing weaponry and traps alongside the talking dog people he’s helping out. With no dialogue whatsoever. It’s honestly a great scene, beautifully animated and really gets you hyped up for a battle scene that actually delivers on its tension.

Which is why it pains me so much to say this: I found it mind-numbingly boring watching it high. Not all the time, mind you; but the 20 minute episodes sometimes felt like hours. I guess my stoned brain just prefers the chaotic stupidity of shows like Aqua Teen Hunger Force over the slow-burning adventures of Samurai Jack. It’s still a fantastic cartoon, just one I recommend watching without outside supplements, if you catch my drift.

Before I go I want to leave you with an image of a beetle-like creature from the intro that I hadn't noticed until watching the show for this review, uh, thing.

What do you think beetle bro has in the pipe-like thing of theirs?

Like, seriously, look at the eyes. Dude’s higher than the crime rate in Aku’s dystopian cities.

Until next time; puff, puff, peace

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My art and games: bugbeast.me