#my mind got creative

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

I had a dream that I was suffering from burn out (which is entirely true) and dream me took something called an idea enhancement pill and all of a sudden a fic idea began to play out in dream me’s mind. And it was such a good idea that I managed to wake myself up to write the premise down

[blueboybot]

Birds Of A Feather Fight Ghost Together

Danny is now a bird. No, he did not transform willingly and yes it did have something to do with Vlad's new weapon because creepy old men who have acess to advanced tech will try anything on unsuspecting teenagers these days. It's not all that bad though, he can still fight pretty good as a weird pigeon (the ghost learned very fast that sharp talons to the face were not worth it) and the only downside was his attraction to shiny things, which has only distracted him a few times (no Jazz he was not hording the fancy and shiny forks, he was just holding onto them incase he needed them for a bigger dinner later).

Anyways he was flying through the GZ on his way to either find more shiny things or peck out another ghost's eyes, he doesn't mind which comes first, when a glint caught his beady bird eyes.

"Shiny thing first it is."

As Danny flew closer he realized two things. One, the shiny thing was infact a shiny sword. Two, the shiny sword was being wielded by a child in the middle of fighting a ghost.

He quickly flew down opening his beak and produced a small coo wail that immediately popped the creature. Danny needed to figure out how the boy ended up– Wait! HE HAS FRIES!

He'll figure out that later but now he needs those fries.

[katabay]

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU, ERIC CARTER!

my laptop charger uhhhhhh. met its end in a very permanent, very fire hazardy kind of way last week. while waiting for a replacement I decided to try and get some work done at the library and was asking around for some urban fantasy (extra points for a mystery plot of some kind) recommendations to check out while I was there

the eric carter series was mentioned a couple of times, AND had the added bonus of having a necromancer for a main character. I love necromancers. someday I'm gonna play one in a game instead of immediately defaulting to vampires.

Fire Season, Stephen Blackmoore

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

saw @chez-cinnamon's absolutely BANGER butterfly!Howdy design and couldn't resist! two fluffy flutterbyes <3 solidarity

[meamiki]

Happy Anniversary In Stars and Time!! Have some Friend Quest based drawings :D

(These have specific quote picks related to them! And there's also a long ramble on why I like those specific quotes below if interested)

(And by long, I mean roughly 2k+ words of proper ramble total, so be warned before clicking keep reading this link right here to the rb!!)

[feroluce]

So I spoke somewhat about my thoughts on Emanator Sampo here, but I never really thought of it from a design point of view or what kind of powers he would have until just recently. But I actually kind of love leaning into it from a "stage hand" perspective?

Because like. Aha's body in THEIR official art is completely black, giving attention to all the fun brightly colored things around THEM. And that's so fitting for Sampo! He usually prefers to be a side character. He likes to act from the shadows. His is a much more subtle hand.

So I wonder if as an Emanator, a lot of his clothes are actually very dark? Not necessarily plain, still extravagant and needlessly detailed in things like cut and quality with lots of different fabrics and textures and ornamentation, but dark. Or maybe even his skin itself becomes blackened further down his body; his hands in particular are dark, as a sort of sleight of hand reference.

The motif of a lot of straps wrapped around him like in his canon design is still present, but they're all loose and flowing off of him like paper streamers now instead of restraining him or holding him together. He is no longer contained! Or maybe they're still a bit more rigid/heavy, but just draped more like red stage curtains!

And this is like. Fully self-indulgent, but I love inhuman designs, and there's nothing in canon to say I can't do this, so screw it! Go for broke!! Maybe it's not visible to normal people, but Sampo having a second set of arms would be really cool, as further sleight of hand reference. One set is almost normal looking, but his hands are a bright, attention-drawing white, and the other is dark, set almost in the shadows of the first arms, to act less noticeably.

He also has something of a broken heart design to him in canon (the front of his black shirt with its jagged shape down the middle; his coat looks like a full heart shape in the back), and I actually like him keeping that element as an Emanator, because I think it suits him. Sampo says his taste in aesthetics and views on Elation involve human dignity,

and the story he helps create in Belobog involves the long and winding road of resistance and survival and eventual triumph in the face of some very adverse, oppressing odds. (I'm pretty sure I heard he once called Wildfire "artless" though, plus the man acts like he thinks Shame is some kind of dessert, so like ndkdjzjskkd) But the point being!!

I think Sampo is someone who can appreciate heartbreak and angst and tragedy in a story, because it makes the victory at the end all the sweeter. And this would be another thing he shares with Aha, because I think THEY did bless the Mourning Actors partly just to be a little shit, but also because Aha does recognize tragedy as part of THEIR Path, too, and you can see it in some of the game. So a broken heart motif can still suit him, and I like him having elements of both comedy and tragedy. Like his clothing having a happy sun/sad moon (like the moon in Aha's art) or him having both of the traditional comedy/tragedy masks in his design.

And as Emanator, Sampo can maybe play with the stage settings environment, too. Like lights sometimes behave strangely around him, appearing blindingly bright to someone or dramatically dark. Sampo wills it and suddenly there seems to be a metaphorical spotlight right where he wants everyone to look. And when he doesn't want to be noticed, his face seems to be cast in shadow, he seemingly just fades into the background, no one notices or recognizes him and he sneaks away easily. He can create smoke or fog literally out of thin air without his bombs now, too, the air will just suddenly thicken until his stage is obscured, and Sampo can set the scene as he pleases or disappear without a trace.

And in line with being a stage hand, Sampo can direct attention like no other. He was already extremely good at this as a normal mortal, and becoming an Emanator only took it up to 11, past human limits. Sampo points, and all present feel compelled to follow his fingertip. He looks away, and they all follow his gaze. He can even affect the mood of an audience; he can influence everyone to be calm and placid or he can whip them into a feverish frenzy. Sometimes a crowd will start to become unsettled, agitation stirring until it boils over, until it incites a full on violent mob.

And in the middle of all that chaos will stand one perfectly calm figure, face cast in shadow, until they quietly slip away out of sight.

[bizarrelittlemew]

i was hoping to make a post like this under happier circumstances, but here goes.

as some of you know, everything with the cancellation and renewal campaign has happened right on top of the worst part of my mom's cancer treatment (plus the show was cancelled on my actual birthday 💀). i won't go into details, but it's been tough. lots of ups and downs, mostly downs, luckily ending (for now) on as much of an up as circumstances allow. the whole thing has been weirdly tied to the cancellation for me, kind of amplifying every feeling. the grief got mixed up, and there was so much of it - mourning the loss of the kind of future i thought i'd have with my mother and the time we might not get, mourning the end of a show that means so much to me and is such a big part of my life. different types of grief, sure, and of different magnitudes, but in one big ugly swirl. i sort of had a breakdown right at the start of february, and it was because of news about my mom, but it morphed into my brain telling me everything i'd ever written was shit and wanting to delete it all. stuff like that, spilling over.

anyway. i was holding off on writing this post to see if the show got picked up by someone else. but i still want to say it. because what also spilled over was the support and community from this fandom, and being in this space (despite the rough times and high emotions) helped me through it, because of all of you here. whether we talk regularly, or you left a comforting reply or simply a like on one of my posts about having a hard time (i tried to keep them few), or wrote a nice comment on a fic, or said something funny or nice or insightful in the tags of a gifset, or was active here (or on twt) in any way, talking/sharing/creating stuff about the show - THANK YOU.

you all helped me through all the ups and downs, and i am so grateful. thank you for being here, listening, distracting, helping me feel some joy despite the horrors. i love you and i love this incredible show and all it has brought and will continue to bring and inspire, and although it should go without saying, i'm not going anywhere. just do me a favor and give yourself a big ol' hug from me, and know that you made a difference for some random guy on the internet (but in reality for many more, and for this fandom as a whole, just by being here and being you) 💕

[veinsfullofstars]

Idea: Daroach being the type of person to give everyone he knows a whole cavalcade of silly/stupid/endearing nicknames. For example:

“Hey, powderpuff, how ya been? Lose any shortcakes lately? Hehe…” (Kirby)

“Eh, I dunno ‘bout this one, spinster. I think red is more my style than green.” (Spinni)

“Damn, big man, you sent that fool to space with that right hook a' yours, haha!” (Storo)

“For the last time, old man, the ship doesn’t need more thrusters!” (Doc)

“Careful there, sparkles, you’re gettin’ glitter all over my good cape!” (Ribbon)

“Huh. You're gettin' real good at landscapes, ain'tcha, easel weasel?” (Adeleine)

“Whaddya say, sunshine? Wanna join me n' the boys for a good old-fashioned heist tonight?” (Dark Meta Knight)

“Aw, don’t worry, shady - I’m sure the Squeakers are more scared a' you than you are a' them.” (Shadow Kirby)

[hopesapowerfulthing]

Obsessed With You - The Orion Experience/Fan Behavior - Isaac Dunbar

Gift for @t3acupz

[canisalbus]

I'm sure you get loads of these but heck I said I'd give it a shot anyway!

Your artwork is so inspiring and beautiful. I recently graduated from art school with a degree in Animation Production but I've decided I'd love to be an illustrator some day. Your work really motivates me and gets my brain juice buzzin. Keep it up!!!

.

[jewishcissiekj]

Did they fucking age Asajj up from Legends to Canon/TCW for her to flirt with Obi-Wan and date Quinlan because I'm losing it over this

For further context some other Star Wars characters' ages (canon for most, Legends for Aayla and Quinlan because they don't have a canon birth year)

Ok, so get this: she was younger than Padmé, Aayla and maybe even Anakin originally, but they aged her up 7-11 years to get her with Quinlan and Obi-Wan. Oh. While this was most likely not an intentional decision it still really disappoints me because imo she works so much better in the younger age group

Btw, this means that in Legends by the start of the Clone Wars she was 17-21, what the fuck. And by the end of it she would be 20-24. Incredibly fucked up I think

For even further context, the ages at the beginning and the end of the clone wars: Obi-Wan & Quin - 35, 38 Aayla - 26, 29 Padmé - 24, 27 Anakin - 19, 21 *Ahsoka - 14, 17 **Asajj - 17/18/19/21, 20/21/22/23/24

[vv-ispy]

something something samsara cycles I don't think it's a coincidence that the overthrow of Decarabian involved Jean and Diluc's ancestor + Venti's lookalike friend -> Mondstadt archon quest the key players taking down Dvalin were Jean and Diluc + Venti

Is. Traveler Amos?

Or put another way, traveler is the one with the floaty friend -> bard has the floaty friend. Venti is friends with Dvalin the terror of the tower/Amos is friends? Lovers? Something? With Decarabian the tyrant in the tower. Venti -> Amos, Traveler -> Nameless bard, Paimon -> Venti?

[captain-clandestiny]

Hello, this is your g/t secret santa! Hope you're doing fine. I wanted to ask you if you could explain your likes/dislikes a bit more. Blue Sleeves is your own story/universe, right? Do you have any wishes or pointers for me (or just feel free to ramble about it if you want ^.^) Also I hope you're okay if I write something for you, I'm not that good an artist.

HII i am so sorry this week has been so busy aa i didnt see this 😭😭 ofc ofc that;s awesome!!! im so sorry aabdjshj i didnt know LMAO

Bluesleeves is indeed my own story! its a sci-fi military fiction, basically just kinda "what if there was an official branch dedicated to experimental technologies to be used in warfare and (questionably ethically) peacekeeping?" Half glorification of the incredible advancements of man, half satirical statement on the horrors of the military industrial system.

ill try to ramble about the whole plot here without spoiling anything below here lol. but whatever you wanna do go for it!! the whole thing is still a massive work in progress, so i encourage you to interpret the story as you wish!

So i'm sure that scrolling through the blog you're somewhat acquainted with the whole crew, but i'll give some short character descriptions of everyone here

Captain (also just goes by 'Cap,' true name to be revealed)

5'6" - she.her - white - dark blonde hair(usually up in a bun), hazel eyes

biological recombinant, lead subject of the Avian Task Force (ATF). specializes in a variety of skills, the most notable being reconnaissance, first aid, and long range combat.

basically just a random human woman with wings grafted onto her back lol. most of the story is just the corps figuring out what to do with her

sarcastic, spirited personality, though a bit oblivious and insensitive at times. could probably use some media training

has a strong moral compass when it comes to consequences of life/death. this often leads her to struggle with coworkers and the responsibilities of her occupation

prides herself in being a leadership figure, but likes to quarrel with higher-up commands too. she'll do what she thinks is right without thinking much about the collateral.

Lanning

~60' - he.him - mech - not really sure how to put the physical description for a robot lmao

big robot. yeah.

usually a no-nonsense, nonchalant figure, but will entertain an interaction outside of his productive hustle every now and then

maintains security operations when not deployed (both digital and perimeter security around HQ)

heavy support figure in combat, tertiary defense in more desperate scenarios

doesn't express a lot towards the mortality of organic creatures. his apathy is often regarded as his primary weakness by everyone else that knows him, though he personally disagrees with that.

would never admit it, but he feels a lot more than he expresses :(

---- Greyson ('Grey' for short, first name not yet revealed)

6'3" (but you can choose anywhere from 20'-90' if you wanna write him giant!! it varies throughout the story) - he.him - hispanic - dark hair(buzzed), chestnut brownish eyes

trial subject of the TITAN project, a force that is still very much in development with two other subjects in active operation (who are yet to be officially introduced, so you can ignore that for now if you want). just the government messing around with growth serums to make giant soldiers!!! what could go wrong here.. (famous last words)

important point!!! - his real appearance beneath the heavy tactical gear he always wears has not yet been revealed in official writing!!! so for now you can assume that no one's really seen his face underneath the mask

just kinda wears the generic army outfit : combat boots, cargo pants, tactical vest and headgear, etc.. customize bits as you desire, but he keeps his face concealed at all times!! since he doesn't show his face though, he usually makes his body language very visible to all he interacts with (doesn't have to try very hard though when he's big haha)

kinda quiet guy, speaks through his actions rather than words a lot. will speak up when it comes to professional proceedings or a formal discussion

quiet, but not shy!!! will grab you if you;re being an asshole with no consideration for personal space

big fitness nerd, always either working out or staring into space in his free time

its been hinted at that he carries a heavy trauma on his shoulders.. something prior to being inducted in the TITAN project that haunts his every move, but no one really knows... (yet. again, another thing that will later be officially revealed in the future)

General Malik

90' - he.him - white - light, buzzed hair, almost white-ish blue eyes

unhealthy complexion, very pale and malnourished features

a leading general of the Røzvivat insurrectionist forces, cooperative subject of their experimental faction (basically- giant general yippee!!)

cold, driven personality. the son of a foreign spy, taken as a child and raised in a Røzvivat indoctrination camp where he grew to become... the nightmare that cap meets today

unsettlingly interested in psychology and desires a modern education in strategies of deception

for now, is under heavy control of Røzvivat propaganda. will both kill and be killed for the 'global freedom' the High Houses promise they fight for

sneaky and manipulative, but not well versed in combat with someone of his same size!

Bluesleeves surrounds Captain's journeys in a world built upon lies and deception, painted as a patriotic fever dream. A modern gilded age of sorts. As an experimental soldier for the WFEO (Western Forces Experimental Operations, a broader branch including experimental factions from other countries) she pledges her life to the repair of international connections, and just kinda tries to survive each day. Whether it's a support mission gone awry or accidentally upsetting one of her looming coworkers, whatever you choose to do is up to you! If you want a list of hypothetical situations that the crew could go though to write about, just lmk <33 and however deep you want to delve into the themes of this story is entirely your choice!! if you wanna write something silly, fluffy, or bloody, just know i will love whatever you make, whoever you are!!! anything else i can provide to help (i know im not the best at rambling in a coherent fashion ahah) just send an ask i gotchu 🤙🤙 have fun!!

[angelsdean]

i fear the winter depression is here 😔

[marblemoovt]

Tipsy Cuddles - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff with Angst, Reverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

You take up John's offer and show up at his door with a bottle of whiskey. Except, he doesn't seem to be doing so well....

------

“Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn. 

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.” 

Note:

This is a direct continuation of this fic, I recommend reading it before this one but it still works as a stand-alone.

I was expecting to dip for another month or two before returning with a fic. But y'all are so fucking sweet. I appreciate all your comments so much!! It gave me enough motivation and inspiration to quickly whip up a part two.

I also was not planning for any angst at all lmao. This was supposed to be really cute and fluffy but I accidentally saddled our boy Price with some heavy stuff.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John stumbles out of Rose’s room and shuffles to his own. A little sister. John gave up that dream a long time ago. It shattered the second he held Rose in his arms after scrambling to come home during a deployment and noticed the grim expression on the doctor’s face. He went home two weeks later with only a tiny infant in his arms and a bag of belongings he will never unpack. The dream became nothing more than what it was; a dream. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, doesn’t want to see his reflection in the mirror anyway.

There’s a drawer in the bedside table—the one at the very bottom—where the handle has fallen off, and the wheels squeak like hell. John traces the wooden edges, jamming his finger into a crack to pry the damn thing open. The drawer stutters amid its screaming, and he has to force it the rest of the way out. He pauses and listens. No signs of activity coming from Rose’s room.

Like clockwork, he takes out the photo album first. John always made fun of her for wanting to document every moment of the journey. Now, these are among the few tangible memories he has left. A reminder that his heart did know how to beat once before it chronically ached. He flips through the pages, every image already burned into his mind, but that does not deter him from taking his time. The fetus in the ultrasounds grows, and her bump becomes more prominent. John keeps flipping until the images are blank and bites his lip because he knows only a third of the album is filled. He wipes the fresh splashes of tears off the laminated pages and puts it away on top of the other photo albums collecting dust.

John knows that he shouldn’t hide this from Rose. It’s not like she doesn’t know, but she never asks about her mother. And yes, that’s not an excuse. He’s aware that it’s his fault for not trying to keep the memory of his late wife alive. But it’s been six years, and he still struggles with how to deal with these feelings, so he doesn’t. He compartmentalizes and forgets. Forgets until he’s lying in bed at 3 am, and the bottom drawer calls his name. Forgets until he’s changing clothes, and the duffel bag in the corner of the closet mocks him.

He runs a rough hand down his face, glancing at the clock. 10:20 pm. John laughs, but it’s bitter and clogs his throat. Of fucking course. Who would be interested in broken goods? He heaves himself off the bed and accepts that he’s better off alone.

That is… until he hears a knock. It’s faint, but his sensitive ears pick up the sound. He’ll deny it if you ask, but he ‘walks’ to the door with quick steps. John turns the handle, and the world isn’t falling apart anymore. You’re standing there with a bottle in hand and a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up trying to find this,” you say, holding up whiskey. John recognizes the label. It’s a whiskey he’s been dying to get his hands on. Where on Earth did you find a bottle? He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you tap his forehead. “Are you going to invite me in, or should I invite myself while you take in my beauty?”

John stutters, but no coherent words form. Instead, he moves to the side to let you in. He follows you to the living room, where you plop on the sofa and pat the seat beside you. John doesn’t move, feet glued to the rug in the center of the room. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he confesses, and the apple of his cheeks tingle until they’re numb. 

You set the whiskey on the table with a laugh. “And miss out on spending an evening with a dill? Not a chance.” The tips of John’s ears glow red, and he rushes to take a seat. He can feel your gaze, and he tugs at the collar of his sweater. “I really do like you, John,” you say. “I don’t kiss just anybody’s cheek,” John’s shoulders slacken, and the rumblings of a chuckle build up in his chest. “Better?” you ask, taking a swig of whiskey and offering him the bottle.

John accepts, drumming his fingers against the glass as it rests on his lap. “You’re a saint, y’know that?” he says.

“I have my moments,” you shrug. John takes a sip and savours the flavour. Spices coat his tongue, and his tastebuds tingle. The whiskey burns lightly down his throat and sparks the kindling in his chest. He leans into the cushions with a sigh, pleasantly warm. “Good?” you ask.

John turns his head to you, eyes tracing the smile on your face. “Some of the best whiskey I’ve had in ages. Where did you find this?” he asks, wondering if you have personal connections in the alcohol industry. 

“Would you believe me if I said a mysterious stranger sold it to me in an alleyway?” you say. John can already tell by your grin that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. He raises an eyebrow, and you huff. “Ok, ok. I’ll tell you,” and you grab the bottle from him and take a long swig. You take a deep breath and say, “I bought it at the store,” staring him dead in the eyes.

“Darling, I know this specific brand is hard to come by. Forgive me, but you’re a terrible liar,” John muses. 

You laugh and scoot closer to him. “I’ll speak your language then. It’s classified.” Your scent tickles his nose, and he leans into your side. He takes another drink and closes his eyes, letting the fuzz blanket his mind. “Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn. 

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.” 

John shakes his head and feels the whiskey loosen his tongue. The haze in his mind covers his thoughts with an invisibility cloak that allows them to slip through his filter undetected. “Christ, Sweetheart. You’re everything I want. Just don’t….” He pauses and stares at the rug, counting the stitches in each row. “I don’t think I deserve another chance,” and he looks at you with the eyes of a man who gained and lost everything all at once. The corners of his eyes sting, the words blubbering out of his mouth faster than he can stop them. “I’m away for long periods. I can barely take care of my daughter, let alone myself. Darling, what’s there to like about me, hm?” 

John reaches for the whiskey, but you yank it away before it even touches his lips. You screw the lid and set it on the floor far from him. “I don’t know the whole story. I’m sure you want to have this conversation sober, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you say. “You’ll come to learn that I’m incredibly stubborn. So believe me when I say I want to stay and learn more about you and Rose.”

Quiet laughter turns into sobs that wrack his chest. John knows what deception looks like. Has pried intel from countless sealed mouths. He’s aware of all the tics and signs. You aren’t lying, and a part of him wishes you were. Because then it would be so much easier to push you away, for things to remain as they’ve always been,

“Can I hug you?” you ask, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. The silence builds as John stacks one brick on top of another. An invisible barrier that will either shut you out forever or crumble enough to let you in. 

John extends an arm, reducing the wall to rubble, and pulls you into his embrace. His beard scratches against your collarbone and sniffles hiccup by your ear. You bring a hand up and run it through his hair, eliciting a rumble when your fingertips scrape his scalp. 

You squeeze him tight and kiss the side of his temple, murmuring, “I’ve got you.” Those three words make him crumple like a rag doll, leaving you to support his weight. “Did you know, John, that people are fucked up?” He snorts into your shoulder, and you continue with a grin. “The great thing about love is that it’s a choice. So guess what? My fucked up self is choosing to love your fucked up self.”

“You’ve an excellent way with words,” John chuckles wetly. 

“I know. The CIA is begging me to write their cover-up stories.” John laughs, and the vibrations shake your entire body. Tears are leaking from his eyes for a new reason now. “What do you do, John? What’s your rank?” you ask. 

“Captain—what?” John stops when he feels you tremble. 

A sharp bark of laughter escapes your lips. “Nothing. You remind me of another captain whose last name starts with a ‘P.”

John pulls back to look at your face. “How many other captains do you know?” he asks.

“Only the ones Rose has introduced me to,” you say with a shrug. John goes through a mental list of all the other captains he’s met, but not a single match. He opens his mouth, but you parry John’s next question with your own. “You’re responsible for a group of people, right?”

John sighs, but there’s an undeniable curve to his lips. “I’m the ringleader for a load of muppets,” he answers. He wonders what the idiots are up to right now without adult supervision.

“Sounds like you enjoy their company. So you have Rose and your muppets. That’s a lot of people to look out for,” you say.

John shrugs. “It’s my job to take care of them,” and he believes it wholeheartedly. He would die for Rose and his team if it ever came to that. 

You bring a hand up and cradle his cheek. He leans into your touch, losing himself in your eyes, mesmerized by the adoration reflected in them. “And who takes care of you, John? Who makes sure you’re ok?” 

“Well, I was going to put an ad in the paper, but I keep forgettin’,” John quips.

You playfully shove his face away. “Here I was, thinking you were going to offer me the position,” you tsk.

John pushes you onto your back, caging you between his arms. “Oh, it’s a rigorous interview process,” he boasts.

You smirk and poke his chest. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Anythin’?” John murmurs, shortening the gap between you two. His warm breath fans across your face. His eyes dart to your tongue that swipes across your bottom lip. He lowers himself another inch, noses brushing against each other.  

“Anything. Now can I kiss you?” you ask.

“Reckon I’ll die if you don’t,” John whispers.

“Maybe you’ll die anyway,” you retort.

“Prove it,” John says. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and crash your lips together. At first, it’s all teeth and tongue clashing—desperate. But it softens into deeper kisses, an intimate mapping of each other’s mouth until lungs burn for air. John pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against yours. “Definitely gonna kill me if you keep that up.” He shivers at the beaming smile on your face. You look so proud of yourself. He wants to bite and kiss your lips until they’re swollen. But the alcohol is starting to make him drowsy. John pecks your lips and sits up. Your arms remain locked around his neck, so he pulls you with him. He chuckles when you tighten your hold. “You can let go of me, Love.”

Your voice is muffled by his sweater. “I have to make sure you don’t sneak any more whiskey.”

John hums, “What makes you think you can stop me?”

You raise your head and stare at him as if he’s forgotten how you nearly killed him with your mouth alone. Bringing your lips to his ear, you whisper in a low tone, “I can be quite persuasive.” He shudders, and you chuckle darkly. You notice the clock on the wall and sigh. “It’s late. I should go.”

John refuses to let you go, not this time. He repositions himself onto his back so that you’re straddling him now, and his hands grip your waist. “Stay?” he pleads, watching you with wide eyes.

You smile and nod. “Ok, but only because you’re comfortable and a natural heater.” 

Relief unwinds the tension between his shoulders. “Your pillow awaits, Darling,” John teases, patting his chest. You roll your eyes but lay down and cuddle him.

The two of you talk late into the night. John doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, only that you snuggle into him when he tightens his arms around your waist. For the first time in a few years, John sleeps for hours uninterrupted. 

The rustling of fabric rouses him awake. He winces at the sunlight streaming from the windows and tries to get a few more minutes of sleep. Soft cotton envelopes his body in pleasant warmth. His eyes snap open when a small voice whispers harshly into his ear.

“Honestly, Daddy. You need to try to be more romantic. You let them sleep on the couch and without a blanket!” Rose admonishes, adjusting the blanket she brought. John lifts his head to see you’re still asleep in his arms, face buried in the crook of his neck. He untangles your hair with his fingers and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s Saturday; I’m going back to bed. I want waffles for breakfast,” she says, walking back to her room. “And try not to be loud, Daddy. I’m six, remember?”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

You know I had to do it to 'em with repurposing that line. I wanted so bad to make that the summary snippet, but I can't show off the best cards in my deck or they'll lose their wow factor.

Single dad Price steals my heart every time and I think I'm obsessed with him now. Like I keep getting random headcanons.

Exhibit A: Rose catches a fever and John paniks, so he has to rush to your apartment for help.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!