#no seriously how longs it been i have no idea

[notsodailycake]

Part 3 for the fitclet I did for @keferon 's mecha pilot jazz au! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

For those who missed it:

Part 1 || Part 2

This is probably the longest out of all the 3 parts, dear god, I went all in. It came out bigger than I ever expected it to be. I was not expecting it to go this far honestly, but the parasites in me, they begged for more. So here we are! :D

Again tho, idk how in character they will be here, but I tried my best ＼(*T▽T*)／. Also, kinda bullshitted my way through in worldbuilding bc idk how things work exactly- and I had to come up with stuff on my own, even tho I'm not that good in mecha world stuff, so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies ^^;;

Now, to give credit to those who so desperately deserve it:

My sister @saltynsassy31 for helping me when I couldn't write out some of my ideas and doing it herself (so consider this as a bit of a frankenstein monster of both our writing styles, mainly during intense scenes. If there is any fancy words in this, it's cuz of her) and being my beta reader for this part. Seriously yall, this wouldn't have been as coherent and well written without her help!

Also huge thanks to my online sister @yayadrawsthingz for helping out when I hit a few road blocks during this!

And finally, a huge huge thanks to my honorary online uncle @hexyz09 for helping me finish off the final fight scene when I got stuck during some plot holes and road blocks, or generally just writing myself into a corner and having to help me leave it, despite not knowing jackshit about the au, let alone the ship and characters themselves, but was still willing to help me through in working on the plot, in this crazy obsession of mine XD

Yall have no idea how much help these guys were. Probably wouldn't be able to finish without either of their help ᕦ(ò��óˇ)ᕤ

Oh and an honourable shoutout to the song "Headlock" by Imogen Heap! Kept listening to this on loop as it kept my drive up to write this.

Now onto the fic!

---

Prowl ignored Jazz's various attemps to push out his servo from the cockpit. Despite the mech being weak himself, the human was still no match against thousands of pounds of metal, especially in his own weakened state.

Which was a matter of its own at the moment. Prowl knew he had very little time to be able to run ahead before the other humans caught on to them, having noticed the alarm bells ringing through the facility.

So he ran towards the exit Jazz had initially pointed out, the only plan they had at the moment.

...

"Prowl! Prowler, hey! I know you can hear me! Prowl!" Jazz shouted as he slammed yet another fist in a failed attempt to nudge the bot's servo out of the way. He hasn't said a word since picking Jazz up, and he wasn't sure how long that was, maybe not that much, but it felt too long yet too little at the same time (what a headache).

Sliding down, he gently hit his forehead over the protective servo and let out a sigh of defeat. No way he could get him to move like this.

Why was he trying to anyways? Didn't he want to be with Prowl? He certainly did, but somehow, something in him made him feel like he shouldn't just be accepting this.

And maybe Prowl also knew this, which is why he took off and hasn’t said a word since. Both held conflicted feelings about the whole thing. If only things didn't feel so blurry right now!

Suddenly, a hard shift made Jazz stumble a bit, grasping at whatever he could so he didn't fall back, loud noises of metal scrapping metal could be heard as something got kicked open on the outside. Jazz scrambled over to the small crevice that opened between Prowl's digits, not enough for him to fit anything over other than his hand, but enough to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Prowl had kicked down the exit door to the lab ('not like he had the hands available to properly open the damn thing anyways' Jazz thought to himself). It was meant for mechas to exit the room after they finish off whatever it is they do in here, that Jazz knew, and if he was right, just down the hall there will be another exit leading to the backroom where they stockpiled the mech suits. No one but the technicians were usually supposed be there, it would be an easy fight to get to the big gate that lead to the outside training grounds, which is why Jazz had pointed for the mech to go down there in the first place.

There shouldn't have been a problem besides giving him time to leave unscathed. Which Jazz assumed would not be the case as he was currently inside Prowl and not buying him time to escape. But, to Jazz's surprise, nothing had come close to attacking them, yet.

The pilot did not have much time to contemplate it as suddenly he heard Prowl rumble an annoyed grunt.

"Don't move."

In shock, Jazz stumbled back as Prowl removed his hand and reached for the end of the overhead gate, seemingly alot harder to kick down than a two way door. The only thing it would really do would be to bend the metal a bit but it wouldn't give an open entrance. Jazz didn't dare leave, not like he could from this hight, but even if he could, Prowl would probably just pick him up again; it be a waste of energy really (just admit it, you don't want to leave him). But something about this felt wrong, so far they haven't had a single guard come down the hall, just this small pause would give them enough time to catch up to the two runaways, Jazz was sure that guards had been on his tail when he was under his rampage.

Unless...

Wait.

"Prowl! Wait don't open that gate!" But he was too late, the moment he uttered those words the mech had already been in motion and pushed the gate up with all his might and as quickly as he opened it a gun shot came through the otherside. They had been waiting for them, they knew where they were heading. The bastard he kicked down prior to this probably saw them and reported it, dammit.

Prowl let out a strangled cry of pain as the shot landed right on his left shoulder (like it wasn't damaged enough by the lack of arm), Jazz fell backwards with the harsh motions, hitting the back of the pilot's seat, the impact leaving his vision to go dark for a few seconds before he collected himself as quickly as he could. In an instant though, just as he tried to get back up to see what was outside, Prowl had put his hand back over the open cockpit.

No...he wouldn't be able to fight like this, protecting him as he is would only hinder the bot to more damage. And that's exactly what Jazz intended to express to the other. "Prowl! You won't be able to fight with your hand over me! Forget about holding me inside, I won't leave, I promise!"

"That's not the point!" Prowl growled, letting out another hiss of pain as more shots were loaded, someone shouting out for them to stand down.

Prowl couldn't risk leaving Jazz exposed. Unlike the human, Prowl could take a few shots, their weapons not being strong enough to inflict any serious damage to his plating (though perhaps a bit to his exposed protoform, though he could handle it for a little while longer). But it would take one lucky shot on Jazz to have him dead in an instant, and Prowl couldn't take that chance.

It seemed like Jazz got the message, not spitting back any sort of remark about Prowl's lack of explanation.

But the mech couldn't linger too much on those thoughts, he had to get out, and fast. He was losing too much energon, and his vision was starting to get blurry, which wasn't a good sign. It didn't help that his thoughts were a hazy mess, his usual ability to think logically overthrown by the panic of needing to get out of this place while ensuring Jazz's survival.

It's not like he had much to do, though. Any possible escape hindered by the fact he couldn't use his weapons unless he risks Jazz's life to one lucky shot. Perhaps he could make a run for it, knock through the mechas in front of him and let them tumble over as he reached the final exit; it wasn’t the best plan perhaps, with at least a 19% rate of success, given he isn't in the best physical state at the moment, he probably wouldn't be strong enough to knock them over. Added to the fact the exit wasn't shut by a gate he could simply knock over easily either, like the previous one. He'd have to push it open from the bottom, and there wasn’t enough time for him to act on it.

But he'd have his back turned to the shots, reassuring Jazz's own safety, so he could perhaps risk removing his servo to push the gate open once more.

With a quick warning from his HUD telling him his energon levels were getting dangerously low, Prowl decided to take the risk, with little time left, he took a step forward making a run for it.

The mechas seemed to ready themselves for his attack, quickly positioning their weapons to target him, closing any narrow space they had between each other.

What they didn't expect was for the mech to charge his whole body weight onto them. Despite not feeling any pain, they certainly could not fight against gravity itself. They all stumbled against each other as Prowl made a mad dash to the gate. He slid on his knees and made a quick reach for the bottom of the gate, anxiously removing his hand from over the cockpit, bending over protectively as to not have anything be able to aim inside.

He could feel his spark beating fast from anxiety, they were so close, they'll be able to leave soon enough. Jazz was most certainly having a good feel to Prowl's anxious beat, the loud thruming reaching the bot's own audials was most certainly deafening to the human sitting near it.

Then, a shot.

A pop.

A blinding light.

And the beat stops.

Jazz was curling in on himself as an instinct to protect himself from the sudden burst behind him. It only took a few seconds for him to realise what that was once he couldn't hear a single beat of a spark, or the burning sensation it left, feeling his own heart stop and drop to his gut.

It felt like the world around him suddenly stopped, everything going into slow motion, with no sounds to accompany the dread. Feeling as Prowl's body leaned foward to crash on the ground.

But just as quickly as the silance came, it left. Prowl catching himself from hitting the ground with a grunt, a slam could be heard as his arm and elbow made contact with the concrete floor. His spark beating, weakly, but beating nonetheless. What felt like hours of silance was only a quick few seconds of deafening dread.

"Prowl!" Jazz called out in desperation, reaching out to hold the edges of the cockpit, so not to fall out, but to also try and comfort his anxiousness as he tried to look up at the mech's face. The mech made a sound of acknowledgement, which came out more like broken static, but didn't make much effort to move, his face scrunched up in pain, optics shut. They shot him on his back, too close to where his spark would be, causing him to skip a beat, and busting a bit of his left doorwing, but it still seemed to function somewhat.

Suddenly, both of them picked up on the sound of something opening, giving no time for either to fully process what had just occurred. Prowl made a quick move to get his hand over the cockpit once more (with slight struggle as he stumbled and fell on his aft) as a thick metal slab emerged from above and beneath, right in front of the gate, shutting it close with a protective layer of metal. Guessing by the red alarm ringing around them, an emergency protocol to keep anyone from leaving. Slag.

The mechas surrounded them, guns all aimed to shoot at the alien mech if he didn't comply.

It was silent for a brief moment, in exception to Prowl's anxious beating spark (which wasn't a problem for Jazz at the moment, the burning warmth being somewhat comforting) and Jazz's own heart beating over his ears. Both catching their breaths.

"There's no point in fighting. So make this easy for all of us and surrender yourselves." A nobody pilot finally spoke out, weapon leaning a tad closer than the others.

The atmosphere felt heavy, they were pinned down. Really, the only thing they could do was surrender, but Jazz would sure as hell be reprimanded for his actions and Prowl.....he didn’t want to think about that. No, he wouldn't even allow that thought to become any sort of reality.

"Prowl" he whispered, knowing only the mech would hear him, leaning a gentle souch to his servo as if to beg, "I know you might not have alot of trust 'n me, but this might be our best shot." There was a tense shift, not too noticeble unless you could see the mechanisms from the inside, Prowl knew what he was about to suggest. "You need to let me pilot you." He cringed as he felt the other's servo stiffen, he wasn't pleased with the idea, and neither was Jazz, but he knew this place alot better than Prowl did, and knew how to properly defeat the mechas, knowing their weak spots. And Prowl was all too aware of that too, Jazz knew it. They both were very aware of it all.

"Please," he begged, leaning his forehead on the mech's servo yet again, "I can't lose you again." There was slight shift, Jazz looked up, though he obviously couldn't see the mech's face, the sigh he let out was loud and clear. The controls on the pilot's seat shifted, Jazz got the message:

'Alright'

He couldn't help but let a small smirk creep over his face, making way to sit down and start piloting.

"Under one condition though," Prowl suddenly whispered to him, though it was alot louder to Jazz on the inside.

"And what would that be, partner?" The title flew out too fast for Jazz to stop himself, feeling so natural to call Prowl partner once more. The mech didn't seem against it though.

"No removing my hand."

Jazz was left stunned for a quick second, though it felt like a minute for Prowl as he waited for a reply eagerly.

"I can work with that." Prowl let out a sigh of relief at that, allowing the human, his partner, to take control of him again.

It took a moment for Jazz to adjust himself, in the meantime, the people waited outside anxiously for the other to make a move. When Prowl finally started to shift around to stand up with a small grunt, everyone raised their guns and loaded them up, but didn't shoot just yet. The mech looked up at them with a deadly glare, but made no move to attack, his remaining arm not leaving the open cockpit for a second, he simply stood up with a slight slump to his posture, doorwings drooping down slightly. In all possible ways, he looked weak and defeated, no signs of fighting back.

One of the mechas walked closer, gun still aiming at Prowl, but it was lowered slightly. They reached a hand out expectantly.

"The pilot, hand him over." They demanded, no sympathy whatsoever.

Prowl clutched his chasis, anger pooling over in his spark, doorwings twitching up slightly, but he made no move to attack. Not yet. He heard Jazz speak to him in a low tone so only he could hear it, with a sigh, he relaxed. He slowly, very slowly, drew out his hand from the cockpit, the action in itself having the other mecha have their body relax slightly as they approached the mech, weapon being put down slightly enough, and so did the others around them. Jackpot.

Before he fully removed his servo, the mech made move to crouch down and in a swift motion swung a peed over to the mechas own, catching them off balance and knocking them down. Jazz let out a small hiss to the action, forgetting his own injured leg, but pushed on regardless.

Using the thrusters of his doorwings, they were able to balance themselves back up, Prowl's servo going back into fully protecting it's pilot once more. With most weapons being aimed up and not down, it took a delayed second to aim correctly, but it was enough time for the human and cybertronian duo to twist themselves out of harms way.

Before the fallen pilot could attempt to get up, Jazz made move to aim over the weak spot of their mecha's knee and stepped hard enough to break its mechanisms so they couldn't stand back up easily. But the glory was short lived as more shots were fired their way.

Jazz's hand twitched to move and use its weapons, but he resisted the urge with a slight huff, "Man, 's hard to fight without an arm!"

"This is none negotiable, Jazz." Prowl hissed as they made move to avoid more shots.

"I know, I know! Don't mean it makes it easier!" Jazz tried to analyse their surroundings, though it was made difficult with the many HUD warnings from all the injuries (the pilot couldn't help but mutter a broken "I'm so sorry" to his partner, whether the mech heard him or not he wasn't sure), but pushing through it, he took note of a few key details. There was a metal catwalk grate near above the mechas' heads, running with a few on ground troops, the bastard of a boss being one of the few amongst them. Near a corner stood an elevator to go up and down the area.

How that could help, Jazz wasn't sure yet.

A shot hit Prowl's arm, pain flowed through the mech as he moved out of the way once more. Jazz looked around in a frenzy to find a place to shield themselves....the mechas! Making a run for to the lifeless husks, he swivelled around between them and hid behind the many rows of mechas knowing full well that they would not risk such precious resource and money just to reach them. At least he hoped not, because he just needed a little bit of time to figure something out.

Hearing the big man call out to hold their fire was good enough indication that his idea worked.

"Ok, now we just need somethin' to distract them long enough for us to make a jump to the ceiling." Jazz explained

"The ceiling?" Prowl inquired, not so certain about his partner's ability to properly think at the moment.

Jazz rolled his eyes, but didn't make mention of the mech's tone. "It's the weakest point here, plus" he made way for Prowl to look up to where he remembered the area to be at, "there's a trap door for flying mechas and emergencies. One quick press of a button will open it up, even under "safety protocols."" Prowl let out a hum in thought, seeming to analyse the situation.

"Possible, but where is this said button?"

"Behind the elevator, by the catwalk grating on top. There's a control panel, and one big red button, can't miss it."

"Would smashing it still get it to work?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't have any complaints."

"Good, now," Jazz went back to scanning the area, "how to cause a distraction?"

"Would that broken pipe be of any use?" Prowl made an effort to twitch his head over to the direction of what he wanted Jazz to see. And just as the mech stated, there, by the first floor of the elevator, stood a broken pipe, steam coming out of it.

Jazz smirked "it would actually. If we can get somethin' to shoot at it, we might cause an explosion, giving us time to jump up without being the target anymore."

"Sounds like a plan." Prowl shrugged.

"Don't have anything to add?" Jazz asked a bit surprised.

"No, I don't." The pilot didn't push.

"Okay. Well, let's get these bastards shootin." In quick motion, they made way to the elevator, already hearing the commands to shoot fire, 'but watch for the machines!' Weapons were loaded from above as well, shooting down at the two runaways once again.

Jazz made sure to move swiftly behind the mechas, making sure they were shielded properly. Any gaps they had to cross was a small risk they needed to take, scrapes and scratches being left in its wake, but tried not to do it too often, just enough that they could follow them. They eventually reached where the pipes were, Jazz took a deep breath.

"Ready, big guy?"

"Ready."

They stepped foward, making sure to call the attention towards where they were, but quickly retrieting back behind the mechas suits as they shot directly where they wanted to hit. "Bingo."

Quickly, activating Prowl's thrusters, they leaped over to the metal grates that stood above them as the pipes behind them burst, causing a huge commotion as empty mechas fell down and whatever machine near the crossfire tumbled down. Prowl let out a gasp as he felt the world around him spin, the grating beneath them not being of any help as it shook with his weight. Jazz was quick to hold on, helping the mech stablise himself before aiming with his left foot to kick the big red button with their ticket out of here, the motion causing his vision to flash in pain, but he bit his toung until he could taste iron and pushed forward.

Hearing the metal door above them open up, Jazz readied himself, but hesitated with the warning he'd received from Prowl's HUD from his low energon levels. He didn’t even get the chance to fully check on it though, Prowl quickly pushing them out of the way himself.

"I'll live, just one more push." The mech hastily reassured the human. Jazz wasn't inclined to belive it though, feeling the other's spark beat anxiously (and for some reason that made him feel slightly dizzy. Though he chalked it up to it being his possible concussion).

It took one shot to slip an inch away from Prowl's face for them to finally snap out of it and jump. One more push from his thrusters as they flew up through the trap door and landed on top of the roof with a grunt, the mech's left wing finally giving out.

But they weren’t in the clear yet. Looking out, a wasteland of a forest awaited them, with dense trees at the bottom.

"We'll have to make a jump for it. If we're lucky enough the trees will be big enough to hide us." Jazz supplied.

"45% of that happening. But we don't have much of another option at the moment." Prowl added

With all that being said, Jazz moved into action. With so much at stake, he had to, he couldn't waste another second in debating. Hefting Prowl up, he used all remaining strength to jump where they needed to go, but as the training grounds began to get closer than anticipated, Prowl knew they didn’t make the jump and that made the mech almost freeze.

Though Jazz had other plans, because as their impending flat doom approached in rapid speed, Prowl's remaining thruster burst to life and gave that final impusle they needed to reach the slope. They both braced themselves as they were thrown up and over to their intended destination, Prowl having half a mind to tighten his hold over his chest so none of the debris and impact could reach the fragile human still in his care.

They rolled down the slope, Prowl just barely being able to shift himself so that he was sliding on his back instead. The aggresive motion of going down a not so smooth path causing bigger cuts and slashes against his already damaged frame. But the only thing he could think of at the moment was that they made it.

Jazz was quick to let go of his control over Prowl, who in turn made an effort to sit properly. Though the sudden slamming to his servo made him look down worriedly, moving it slightly to see Jazz leaning on it desperately.

"Prowl-" he heaved, "Prowl put me down I'm feeling sick."

The mech panicked and quickly made move to help the human down, gently placing him on the grass below. Jazz made no effort in being graceful as he hurled over and puked his guts out, luckily avoiding Prowl in all of this.

Clutching his stomach in pain, his heaving and coughs agitating the injuries on his abdomen. Everything around him felt blurry and muffled as his body made sure to get everything he had eaten in the past day out of him.

What made him panic was the sudden taste of iron in his mouth as he coughed up whatever he had left inside. That's not good. And that definitely didn't escape the giant mech's notice, who kept a hovering servo near him.

"Jazz! Is that blood?!" His voice sounded so broken, static lacing over his words.

"Uh- Yeah. Yeah it is." He wasn't sure how to deny that really, and he felt too light-headed to try. But his attention diverted to the sudden pink glow that landed at the side of his vision.

Energon.

Quickly looking up, he finally got a glance at his partner's battered condition. Energon leaked from many different parts of his body, but the main source being from his missing arm. Jazz couldn't help but cringe at that.

But what hurt him the most to see was the weak light from the mech's optics, which still held visible concern on them. Despite being close to going into offline, he still looked at Jazz as if he's about the crumble into dust and leave him. Which he honestly, maybe, felt like. But seeing Prowl's optics flicker as they fought to stay online, Jazz panicked

"What 'bout you?!" He called back, catching the bot off guard. "You're losing too much energon! You look like you're about to go offline!"

Prowl cringed a little, not having anything to counter that. "Well that's because I-"

"No! I'm only a little bit dizzy, but I'll live. We need to patch you up right now!"

"I can help with that."

The new voice catches the duo off guard, Prowl immediately reaching out to Jazz, hand shielding the human from whoever that might be. Jazz looked down from where he was looking at Prowl and turned to see who it was that the voice came from.

There standing in front of them was a human carrying a simple tool box and a huge backpack strapped over one shoulder, filled with questionable things.

---

BEFORE YOU LEAVE, a little something I would like to point out for the fic, that some of yall with either like or not, during the process of writing this, I've seen a few posts keferon made about the spark being radioactive and such, and it sorta made me think a bit while developing Jazz's condition. So well, take Jazz's health in this as you will with this info :)

But anyways, yippie!! That's all for today folks! I hope yall enjoyed this one bc I definitely had a heck of a time writing this one XD

It got alot bigger than I anticipated and took much longer to finish than I originally planned (was supposed to be done 2 days ago).

Now, I know I keep saying "not sure if I'll make another part to this" but then proceed to do so anyways. But I mainly do so because everytime I shared it someone said something that added to the story somehow and gave me ideas to continue foward.

So like, if yall liked this and wanna see more, don't be shy to suggest/add anything to this as it may help inspire me to add more onto this, cuz honestly idk what the fuck I'm doing rn, I'm just going with the flow ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Also, a bit of note for the doodle, holy shit I did not expect it to look this good!! Tho I suffered with Jazz's suit, plz ignore any inaccuracies tee-hee. Prowl's knee and hands were hell too, especially his knee, but i could like, hide most of it lmao. Actually mainly struggled to not have his hand cover Jazz too much bc it kept covering the parts I actually wanted to show off lmao.

Oh and the guy at the end? Yall can take a good guess as to who it is :)

But since he doesn't have any official design, I kinda went with whatever felt right lol.

I also really wanted to draw out more scenes to add to the fic, but then it would take me a lot more time to actually post the fic as I figure out how to draw robots :'). But maybe I can try and doodle them out another time if I can, no promises tho-

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

NEXT

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

synopsis: when your best friend Luke asks you to pose as his girlfriend during his parents' 25th wedding anniversary cruise, you reluctantly agree. After all, you're single, he's desperate, and who can say no to an all-expenses-paid getaway? But what starts as a simple favor spirals into a tangled web of awkward introductions, suspicious relatives, and one undeniable complication: your growing, utterly inappropriate crush on Luke’s father, Anakin. Surrounded by the charming and chaotic Skywalker family, you’re forced to navigate the tricky waters of pretense, loyalty, and a passion you never saw coming.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, that's it for now, I'll add more warnings when the next chapters come out.

words: 1.1k

a/n: I confess that I've had this idea marinating for a while, and now seeing the latest photos of Hayden at comic-con, he's so dad coded. So, I decided to take a chance and start a story, I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I'm excited to see where it will take us... Slightly inspired by Fuck your boyfriend('s dad) by forcemeanakin, I'm obsessed with her writing… Anyway, that's it, I hope you like it ;)

CHAPTER ONE: CRUISE

you were meant for me to find

it's out of my hands

there's nothing left to do but

cruise and just enjoy the ride

“Wait a second, let me get this straight…” you interrupted Luke, raising your hands to halt his rapid-fire explanation. He’d been talking non-stop for nearly five minutes, and you were still struggling to piece it all together. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at your parents’ 25th wedding anniversary? Why on earth do you even need a fake girlfriend?” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pulling a pillow against your chest for comfort, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Luke let out a long, dramatic sigh, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. “You know how my parents are… always in my business. And now with Leia bringing her boyfriend, I just don’t want to be the only one showing up alone.” He looked at you with those pleading puppy-dog eyes, his voice softening. “Come on, just this once. Please? Didn’t you say you wanted to go on a cruise someday? Here’s your chance.”

You arched an amused eyebrow. “So, what—you’re trying to bribe me now?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. “Well, when you put it like that…” he muttered sheepishly. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I—I trust you, okay? You’re the only person I can count on for this.”

His desperation was hard to ignore. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “But only because of the all-inclusive package. Don’t think this means I approve of your ridiculous plan.”

A grin split across Luke’s face as he lunged forward to hug you. “Thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pushing him back playfully. “But if this backfires, you owe me big time.”

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, um… about that. I might have already put your name on the guest list.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you shoved his shoulder. “You what? Idiot.”

---

Now, a few days later, you found yourself standing on the pier, the midday sun beating down mercilessly. You checked your phone for the third time, scrolling through messages with a faint scowl. Still no word from Luke. If he left you waiting much longer, you were seriously going to kill him.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the buzz of the crowded dock. You turned to see him jogging toward you, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He looked a little too cheerful for someone who had left you baking in the sun.

“You’re late,” you called, crossing your arms as he approached. 

“Fashionably,” he quipped with a smirk, completely unbothered by your glare.

“thought you’d forgotten about me,” you teased, elbowing Luke lightly in the chest as he finally reached you.

Luke shrugged, offering a sheepish grin. “Blame my parents. They were running late because my dad accidentally packed the wrong suitcase for my mom. Total chaos—everyone was scrambling to fix it.”

You chuckled, imagining the scene. Though you hadn’t met Luke’s family yet, you’d heard plenty about them over the years. His parents were something of a legend in his stories: the perfect, if sometimes chaotic, couple who’d married young and raised twins.  

Padmé Amidala, Luke’s mother, was a force of nature. A federal deputy and professor of International Relations, she somehow juggled her demanding career with being a devoted wife and mother. Strong, brilliant, and endlessly busy, yet always managing to prioritize her family.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, was no less impressive. A retired army general, he’d left his military career after the twins were born to focus on raising them. Luke often spoke of how his dad spent hours tinkering in their garage, restoring vintage cars and building gadgets—a far cry from his days in uniform.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Luke said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He grabbed the handle of his own suitcase and motioned toward the massive cruise ship docked ahead. 

You followed, letting him lead the way. The pier was packed with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were likely Padmé’s colleagues—senators, representatives, and a mix of politicians from all corners. The line to board snaked back farther than you could see. 

“Do we really have to wait through all this?” you asked, eyeing the crowd and clutching the handle of your wheeled suitcase. 

Luke shot you a sly grin. “We don’t wait in lines.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he veered off toward the front of the queue, guiding you toward a set of stairs reserved for VIPs. You followed, struggling a little as your suitcase bumped against the steps. 

"Luke, get your girlfriend's suitcase," a strong, masculine voice called out from behind you, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth. "Otherwise, she'll think I didn’t teach you how to be a gentleman."

Startled, you turned toward the source of the voice just as Luke, already at the top of the stairs, groaned in exasperation. He glanced back with a tired expression but made no move to help. 

“It’s okay, really, it’s not heavy,” you mumbled shyly, gripping the handle of your suitcase a little tighter. But as your eyes met the man addressing Luke, the words caught in your throat. 

Your lips parted slightly in disbelief. Gods… what a man. 

Standing before you was, without a doubt, the most stunning man you’d ever seen. Anakin Skywalker. His angular face was framed by sandy blond hair, slightly tousled with subtle waves that gave him a rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes—so vivid and expressive they seemed to pull you into a storm��were framed by faint lines that hinted at years of experience and a life well-lived. His presence was magnetic, his confident stance and the faint smirk on his lips radiating an almost effortless allure.  

“Come on, I insist,” Anakin said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. He reached out and gently took the suitcase from your hand before you could protest. His touch lingered just briefly, and the warmth of his hand sent a flicker of heat up your arm. “Not heavy, huh?” he teased with a wink, his tone laced with amusement.  

You managed a weak nod, your heart racing as you watched him carry your suitcase up the stairs with ease. Every movement was graceful, effortless, as though he hadn’t spent years off the battlefield but still carried himself like he could command a room—or a galaxy. 

Luke rolled his eyes at his father’s display, muttering under his breath. “Show off.”

Ignoring him, Anakin reached the top of the stairs and set your suitcase down carefully before glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Welcome aboard,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.  

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing. What the hell have you just gotten yourself into?

[loserlvrss]

𝐗𝐎 y. jimin ( 유지민 )

synopsis | she was the bestest friend you...had.

pairing : karina x fem!reader genre : drabble, fluff, f2l warnings : language, mentions of kissing & being drunk word count : 435

authors note : i need a gf but i also live in the us lolz

“You’ve got some…” The woman sitting across from you trailed off, swiping her thumb across your upper lip. She leaned on her elbows, further over the table as your eyes went wide.

“O-oh, sorry.” You stuttered, mentally and verbally.

She laughed, her head angling. She stared so deeply it would’ve been intimidating if it was anyone else. Truthfully, you and Jimin have flirted shamelessly your entire friendship. However, now that you were actually on a date together, all you could be was shy, avoiding her eye contact.

You used to never be able to beat the dating allegations, but now that they were true…you had no idea what to do. Could you still hold her hand in public spaces? Could you still say you were gonna kiss her and when she’d do something to help you out? Could you still promise her you were going to marry her one day?

You guess, in reality, nothing and everything has changed.

She laughed, “Don’t apologize, it’s cute.”

You fought with another stutter—God, you don’t know why she was making you so nervous. You’d known her for a long time, she was your best friend for fuck sake. What’s the difference if now she’ll become your girlfriend one day?

Somewhere deep down, you knew it was bound to happen anyways.

From the stolen glances, to hands held too long. The drunken kisses shared between friends who always walked a thin line. It was the arms wrapped around each other in the dead of night, when the moon was your only witness.

It was her hands that always knew just how hard to pull on your heartstrings.

She finally earned your eye-contact, pupils dilating with attraction. You could see it.

The green grass, the gray sided house and wooden holiday cabin. You could see the smiling faces, and teary-eyed I do’s. Everything flashed. The first time your fingers brushed and the lips pressed. The first argument and sorrowful hugs of apologies. The first sleepover after a movie night that went a little too long. Meeting friends, and going out to eat. Dancing and singing around the kitchen at all hours of the night. Breakfast in the morning. Surprise birthday parties that were thrown year after year.

Your eyes met and everything around you stopped.

If this wasn’t what love at first sight was supposed to feel like then the movies must’ve gotten it wrong. You saw her under a different glow now that the title has changed; through eyes that said I love you a little too seriously.

But you loved her, seriously. You always have, and now, you always will.

please reblog and like <3 comments are appreciated ! thank you 4 reading © loserlvrss 2024 / 25 all rights reserved. 

networks : @blossomnet @starlit-network @k-films @kstrucknet @violetanet

taglist : | fill out form to be added.

back to masterlist !

[liloinkoink]

[art by @martynsimp69]

hello to the, uh, 200+ new followers i've gained from trivia. im finally remembering to throw out a quick pitch for some of my fics to you lot. can i interest you in some lanterns

Lamplight AU

Lamplight a DnD-inspired fantasy renchanting/treebark au in which Martyn is a paladin-by-desperation and Ren is his god. if you've ever seen fanart of Martyn with a lantern / staff around, that's this!

Ren has lost his body and been left in the form of living fire, and Martyn has been separated from his adventuring party. the two of them are looking for a way to restore both of these, and doing a lot of arson in the interim. the fic is about 50k, most of which is "canon" storyline and the rest of which is "non-canon" ship fic. there's also plenty of cool art and even some animatics for the fic, all of which i absolutely recommend trawling thru the "lamplight au" tag for (on here or on my writing blog, @driflew, or checking the fanart tab on my blog). there are even a pair of spin off fics written by close friends of mine for desert duo and boat boys!

lamplight is written out of chronological order and uploaded whenever. work on it lately has been slow, but it's still ongoing

lamplight isnt my only fic (tho it is my favorite). i write a lot more renchanting/treebark aus, some of which ill list off here:

A Romance Route for the Doomed Villain?!?

(for the record. that title was NOT my idea). this au is also known as treesekai, or the treebark isekai dating sim parody oneshot. martyn is a normal man far too obsessed with the main antagonist of a poor-quality dating sim, the very same dating sim he's isekai's into. silly crack treated seriously parody fic as a love/hate letter to the many, many isekai webcomics ive read on webtoon originals over the years. it has a lot of rlly cool art and fic based of it, which you can find in the "treesekai" tag here or my writing blog

Treebark Week 2023

i also have a handful of oneshots from participating in every single day of treebark week around this time last year. these oneshots are for a bunch of different aus, such as a One Piece au, a beauty and the beast au, a lamplight roleswap au, a hero/villain au, a king/pirate au, and a mer au. all of these aus were developed with the help of other people (Rev for the One Piece au, and Cherri for the rest) and have other fics or art attached!

you can find bonus scenes from all of these aus, fanart or fan writing (including several page long comics or animatics), and even scenes from other aus i havent posted on ao3 over at my writing blog, @driflew, under the "lew writes" tag

uhhhhh. not sure how to wrap this one up. welcome to my home? woe treebark be upon ye

[moon0shadow]

dumb obey me ideas that i just came up with:

pls don't take this seriously this is just a crack idea from me

An MC who actually has seven cats back in the Human World (crazy cat person or maybe a foster parent who takes in sick cats and orphan kittens) and each cat looks and acts like a cat version of each brother.

Magic happens and the seven cats get taken to the Devildom somehow, now MC + Brothers are stuck with seven cats who look way and act too alike with brothers, well at least Satan is pleased.

Names & Gender of the cats can vary but the cats are look and act fairly similar to how the brothers do, at least translated into cat behavior.

Brothers + their MC's Cats counterpart.

Lucifer - Black Cat with orangey-red eyes, the cat equivalent to a 'pack' leader among MC's cats, the eldest and certified mama/papa cat, often seen punishing the younger cats for playing too rough or being naughty kitties in general, acts mean and distant but opens up eventually.

Mammon - Long haired White Cat with blue eyes, naughty kitty who likes stealing MC's (and their neighbor's) things, usually it's things like laundry but has occasionally been caught with shiny objects like keys and jewelry, also steals and hoards all of the cat toys and no amount of spraying them with water can stop them.

Leviathan - Skinny Kitty, thinking one of those oriental cats with the big noses, awkward kitties who boot too big for his godamg feet. A Cat who is commonly found watching those bird videos and MC lets them play those 'squish the bug' games on an old ipad they have, it's funny to watch them try and pounce on a digital screen, probably has a lot of scratches on it.

Satan - A tabby cat, Kitty who's pretty normal but very easy to piss off. Try and touch their belly? Claws. Try and pick them up? Claws. Put one of those dumb outfits/hats on them? You best sleep with one eye open. Very hissy but becomes a baby immediately once in MC's arms.

Asmodeus - One of those very aesthetic, beautiful, expensive breed type cats. The type of cat you see having an social media account with thousands or even a million followers, very pretty kitty who's very affectionate and lays on MC's lap at all times.

Beelzebub - ORANGE CAT HERE, BIG ORANGE CAT WHO STEALS THE OTHER CATS' FOOD WHEN IT'S EATING TIME. if MC has one of those automatic feeders, it definitely just sits there, waiting for the food to fall out. The Cabinet that holds all the treats had to be given a child's lock because this orange bastard discovered how doors worked and made it MC's problem.

Belphegor - Sleepy Kitty, always sleeping. Has definitely given MC a panic attack because they fell so deep into sleep that MC straight up thought they were dead for like a full minute. When not asleep, they're off stealing chairs and beds. 'Oh hello human where you doing work on this laptop of yours well not anymore because ive chosen to park my ass right here and you can't move me, guess you gotta pay attention to me.' Smug bastard cat.

[quads004]

Hi, I have Rheumatoid Arthritis and dysautonomia so I'm going to tell you what has helped me. Dysautonomia causes the majority of my symptoms (migraines, heart palpations, vertigo, vision blacking put, etc.) so these tips are for that, since you did not mention joint pain or other RA symptoms. Drinking water with electrolytes (I like the taste of the liquid IV brand), compression socks, moving slowly when going from laying to sitting or sitting to standing, using a quad cane to catch myself when I have issues with balance. Ice packs, blue light glasses, and Excedrin (a combo drug of caffeine and acetaminophen) are what I always used before getting prescribed migraine medication.

Diagnosis:

I got my dysautonomia diagnosed through my cardiologist. It took several months and multiple doctors saying that nothing was wrong with me before the reg cardiologist referred me to an eletro-cardiologist and they diagnosed me. Eletrocardiologist see dysautonomia patients more frequently than regular doctors so they are more likely to take your symptoms seriously and test for dysautonomia. If you do get diagnosed with it I highly recommend searching the r/dysautonomia subreddit for your specific type (POTS, IST, etc) to get lots of ideas for how to manage the condition. That's how I found out that compression socks help me!

Conclusion:

I want to stress that the biggest thing when it comes to chronic illness is no amount of dieting, increased exercise, or other life changes are going to fix the problem. Everything I listed above has helped me, especially when I was undiagnosed, but 80% of my recovery has been through prescribed medications. It is really tough and long process to find answers but you have to keep going! You deserve your life back! Sometimes having a list of what activities are limited by your illness and how often, can make doctors understand the severity better.

I'm in America so I don't know if this is helpful but Healthgrades.com is a review site for doctors by paitents, so maybe consider looking there to find doctors that are more likely to listen and help you get answers. It helped me find a great eletrocardiologist after being brushed off by my first reg cardiologist.

Hey folks, this post is super personal and basically a long rant about health issues and the state of the healthcare system, so please proceed with caution especially if any of that is triggering to you. But if anyone else who maybe has some experience with these things and wants to offer some advice, I welcome it because I’m truly at a loss right now.

I’m really trying to be hopeful that my health issues will get figured out and I’ll finally get help for what I think is an autoimmune condition that is existing just under the diagnosable levels, but I’m losing any faith I had left in the healthcare system. The truth is I haven’t felt normal since 2021. I never felt better than I did while I was pregnant and then the year afterward. (Aside from the blood pressure issues at first lol) I keep find myself missing who I was back then. I was able to do so much, hike so far and high up, I had so much energy and I felt great. My blood pressure was under control, my blood sugar was perfect without restricting what I ate, my body wasn’t constantly inflamed and in pain, I didn’t have multiple migraines a month, and I didn’t have problems sleeping. I keep asking myself over and over what I did differently then, but I just can’t understand why I got so bad so quickly while they keep telling me it’s my fault because I’m just fat and not eating well or exercising enough. It’s maddening and I’m tired of hearing that. The reason I’m not exercising as much any more is because I’m constantly in pain or dealing with being sick. (And I eat SO well, better than I ever have before like wtf. And I do still exercise to be clear, I’m in nature every change I get.)

I was really hoping that I wasn’t going to face this here like I did in America, but it really seems like doctors just do not care about your symptoms and if you’re not presenting with the exact blood levels they studied to diagnose things, they’re just convinced you’re either making everything up or exaggerating.

So far I know I have: insulin resistance, high blood pressure (managed), PCOS, I’m hypermobile (which has been confirmed but no one’s bothered to look into it and any possible comorbidities), I have lipedema in my arms, hips, and thighs, chronic migraines, subclinical hypothyroidism, iron deficient anemia that I have to keep getting infusions for, and basically my whole life I’ve had headaches and heart palpitations. Phew.

I’m just at a loss here. This past year alone I’ve gained 30 lbs without changing anything, and if I bring this up I’m just told to stop eating carbs which is just absolutely not helpful. It’s clearly a symptom of whatever is going on and not the other way around. I’m so tired! And on top of the usual symptoms, I now spend basically October through April being sick with various coughs, infections, etc with little breaks of being normal in between.

Has anyone else dealt with this and have you found anything that’s helped? I try really hard to take care of myself, but it feels like these days nothing is really making a difference anymore.

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔙𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

Mike munroe x male reader

A request that I received from a really nice person here on tumblr: a small idea I liked for a fic if you like the idea as well. Nothing too big, just a fic about Reader and Chris being brothers and constantly nagging each other about their crushes on Ashley and Mike.

I expanded the request a bit, sorry if I went overboard with it. Hope you enjoyed it.

Tags: set before the event of the game. Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Chris and the reader are brothers. Some very quick shifts of pov between characters. Jealousy. Mike and Jess/ Emily are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Mike is a flirt.

Words count: 4000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

For anyone interested, I took inspiration from this clue that you can find while playing as Chris.

The music thumps in the background, a mix of bass-heavy beats and voices blending into a dull roar. You and Chris sit at a small, round table near the back, well out of the action but with a good view of everyone mingling.

"So," Chris says, taking a long, dramatic sip. "You actually spent the whole night staring at Mike. Dude, seriously, you're lucky your eyes didn't burn a hole in the back of his head."

You scoff, leaning back in your chair with a mock sigh. "Like you're any better. When are you actually gonna talk to Ashley? She's cool, she's cute, she's well, out of your league but hey, a guy can dream.”

"Hey, I do talk to her," Chris retorts, feigning offense.

"Uh-huh," you say, raising an eyebrow. "It’s a lot if you can manage to squeak out a sentence before turning red.”

Chris chuckles, crossing his arms. "Fine. Why don't you go up to Mike and tell him what you think? 'Hey, by the way, I've been thinking about how perfect your jawline is all night!’ I'm sure that'll go over great." He did a horrible interpretation of your voice to mock you even further.

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks flush just a bit. "First of all, I would never phrase it like that. And second, at least I actually know things about him beyond his favorite book."

"Oh, really? Let's see who knows more about their crush. No cheating. No wimping out. Winner gets bragging rights." Chris leans forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Bragging rights? How about you admit I'm objectively hotter than you when I win?" you echoed, folding your arms.

"Sure. Whatever fantasy helps you sleep at night," Chris said, grinning as he dramatically cracked his knuckles. “I'll go first since I know you're just dying to hear all the juicy Ashley knowledge."

You chuckle. "Go with your in-depth research, Sherlock."

Chris clears his throat, sitting up straighter. "Fine. For starters, her favorite color is purple."

You make a face, unimpressed. "That's it? You think knowing her favorite color makes you the expert here?"

"Let me finish, smartass. She loves thriller movies. She also has this little habit of chewing on her nails when she's nervous."

You raise an eyebrow, genuinely impressed but unwilling to give him the satisfaction. "Okay, okay, not bad. But that's kid stuff. Let me show you how it's done."

Chris rolls his eyes, clearly not expecting much. "Alright, hotshot. Give me your best Mike trivia."

You sit forward, lowering your voice like you're letting him in on a secret. You have always been good at noticing things. Maybe it was a result of growing up with Chris and when it came to Mike Munroe, your crush, the small things were more than just interesting, they were revealing.

For one, every morning, without fail, he was up before the sun. He’d go for a quick run to stay in shape. You’d always catch glimpses of him at college heading back to his room in a tank top, earbuds in, eyes focused ahead and glimpses of sweat on his forehead.

He had this tough, confident exterior. He wasn’t loud like some of the others in the group. He had a way of using humor to deflect, to keep people from getting too close. You saw it when he’d brush off any talk about specific topics.

And then there were his tastes.

He likes his coffee black. Pretends it's macho. He had a surprising amount of nostalgia in his preferences. You couldn’t forget the time you’ve talked together casually on the lodge, his face lighting up as he talked about his love for old action movies.

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Alright. Maybe you’re better equipped than me. But, let's be real, you wouldn't even know where to start."

"Better than starting with nothing," you counter. "Besides, I could charm him if I wanted to."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "What would you even say?"

You grin, leaning in like you're revealing a grand plan. "I'd just walk up and ask him about his football season. Mention that time he scored the winning touchdown. You instead are hopeless"

Chris nods, pretending to take you seriously. "Oh, sure, because that'll definitely make him swoon. Hopeless? Me?" Chris laughs, leaning back with a smirk. "At least I don't have to worry about being mistaken for a stalker."

You both burst into laughter. For all the banter, you know neither of you would really judge the other for these harmless crushes. It's what makes the night so much fun.

From across the room, you caught sight of Ashley standing awkwardly near a table stacked with half-empty snack bowls and crumpled napkins. She shifted from foot to foot, clearly trying to blend into the background.

"Hey, Romeo. This is your chance," you said, leaning closer and nudging Chris with your elbow.

Chris snapped out of his trance, his head swiveling toward Ashley. His brows furrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in amusement before settling back into a more thoughtful expression.

Chris groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "What am I supposed to do? Walk up and make everything even more embarrassing?"

"News flash: she knows you're a loser," but she clearly likes you anyway. Stop overthinking it. Just go talk to her. Be romantic for once. She loves that whole 'awkward and sincere' thing you've got going on."

"First of all," Chris said, pointing a finger at you, "I'm not awkward. I'm, uh, charmingly self-aware. Second, what if I say something dumb? Or worse, nothing at all? I can't just walk up to her and-"

"You're a coward," you interrupted, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

"Yep," he said, popping the "p" and lifting his cup in mock toast.

You were scanning the room until your gaze landed on Mike Munroe.

He was leaning casually against the wall, drink in hand, chatting with a girl you vaguely recognized from English class. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, tailored in all the right places, the dark fabric catching the light just enough to highlight his athletic build. The black foulard tied loosely around his neck was an elegant touch, a little different from the usual bow ties and neckties most guys wore. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he hadn't even tried but still managed to look effortlessly handsome.

You felt your chest tighten. For a moment, your imagination betrayed you, painting a picture of Mike turning toward you, smiling like he did when he told one of his dumb jokes when he got elected class president. You could almost hear his laugh, warm and inviting, as if it were just for you. But reality snapped back into focus when the girl he was talking to leaned closer.

"Mike would never look twice at me like that." You mumble more to yourself without thinking, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice.

Chris, placed a hand on your shoulder. His touch was light but reassuring. "Don't do that to yourself. You're a catch. If Mike doesn't see that, he's an idiot."

You looked up at him, grateful but unconvinced. Chris stood up, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket. "I'm getting us drinks. Let's make it through the rest of this night together, yeah?"

You nodded, watching as he made his way to the bar. You glance around, your gaze landing once more on Ashley and an idea strikes you. Chris is now far away from your position. It’s your chance to do something.

You stride over to her, flashing a friendly smile, keeping your movements casual so you wouldn't startle her. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed you, but she relaxed as you softly took her arm.

"Hey," you said, grinning playfully as you gently guided her away from the corner.

Ashley laughed, the sound light and genuine. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement but no resistance as you led her toward your table.

"Come on, you can't let Chris and I have all the fun sitting in the corner judging everyone." you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a mock-serious expression.

"That's what you two have been doing all night? Very productive." She scanned the place as you reached the table and she managed to spot Chris at the bar, meticulously mixing something with an unusual level of focus. But then her gaze shifted, catching Mike watching the two of you.

Jaw set, lips pressed into a firm line, eyes tracked the way you gently tugged Ashley along. His gaze lingered on your hand before flicking back up to your face. Lips pressed together in a faint, almost imperceptible scowl, as though something about the sight of the two of you together unsettled him. There was a slight tension in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed just a bit too stiff for someone casually enjoying a party.

Chris returned with two drinks in hand. "Okay, I've done it," he announced dramatically. "The ultimate drink. If you don't like it, I'm never speaking to you ag-" He cut himself off mid-sentence when he saw Ashley sitting at the table, smiling up at him.

"I... uh..." Chris stammered, turning an impressive shade of pink.

"You made this for me?” Ashley asked sweetly, taking the drink from his hand before he could respond. “Thank you, Mr. Bartender."

Chris blinks and he lets out a nervous laugh, giving you a quick glare as he hands the drink to Ashley.

She giggles, taking a sip and you watch as Chris visibly relaxes. They share a smile and there's a warm, unspoken understanding between them, a quiet moment that you can't help but feel a bit envious of.

The music shifts, slowing into a softer, more romantic melody. Couples move onto the dance floor, swaying together in a slow embrace. Ashley’s eyes light up as she turns to Chris, her cheeks flushed with a faint rosy tint from the slight inebriation she feels. "Come on, Chris," she says, tugging at his hand. "Want to go there for a bit?"

Chris's eyes dart to you, searching your face for reassurance, his expression almost apologetic. He's asking, without words, if you'll be okay.

You manage a smile, giving him a nod.

Chris lets out a laugh, his tension melting away as he lets Ashley pull him onto the dance floor. They disappear into the crowd, leaving you alone at the table. You watch them go, feeling a bittersweet pang in your chest as you take in the sight of them together, laughing and smiling, fitting together so effortlessly. Chris fumbling his way through the first few steps before finding his rhythm.

They looked so happy.

And you were here instead, alone at the table, your thoughts inevitably drifting back to Mike.

Chris feels his heart race as he stands on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on Ashley's waist, her arms draped over his shoulders as they sway to the gentle rhythm of the music. Her gaze meets his every so often, a smile warm and genuine, making him feel like the only person in the room.

"I didn't know you had these moves." she teases, her eyes twinkling.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, trust me, I don't. I'm just doing my best not to crush your toes."

Ashley laughs, her grip tightening on his shoulders as she rolls her eyes. "You're doing just fine. I don't mind if you, you know, relax a little."

"Relax? Yeah, I can... I can do that," he says, voice faltering as he tries to ease into the rhythm, matching her movements as the song continues.

His focus wavers after a while, gaze drifting over her shoulder as he catches sight of his brother sitting across the room at one of the tables with Matt nearby.

There's something off about the way you're holding yourself. You're smiling, sure, even laughing at something Matt is saying, but Chris can tell that the smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. It's the kind of forced expression he's seen on you before, usually when you're trying to act like everything's fine when it really isn't.

Matt, on the other hand, seems entirely oblivious, leaning in a bit too close, his face lit up with that typical over-eager grin. He's almost leaning into your personal space as he chats away, looking way too thrilled to have your undivided attention, his eyes never leaving yours. The proximity feels a bit too familiar, too comfortable, with his arm casually resting on the back of your chair.

Chris feels a pang of protectiveness twist in his gut. He glances around the room, half-expecting Emily to appear and pull Matt back to the dance floor, but there's no sign of her. Instead, he spots her on the far side of the room, tipsy and laughing as she spins around with some stranger she's apparently mistaken for Matt. She's caught up in the music, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend is practically glued to your side.

Ashley notices his distraction, her gaze softening as she studies him. "Chris?" she asks, her voice gentle, bringing him back to the moment. "Is everything okay?"

He blinks, snapping his attention back to her, guilt creeping in as he realizes he's been distracted. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Just... got a lot on my mind."

Ashley smiles, tilting her head as she searches his face. "You sure? You can tell me, you know."

Chris hesitates, glancing around the room one more time. His gaze lands on Mike, who's slow-dancing with the girl in glittering dress. She's leaning against him, her head resting on his chest, but Mike's attention isn't on her.

His eyes are locked in your direction, his brow furrowed and his jaw set in a subtle scowl that's hard to miss. There's a tension in his gaze as he watches you and Matt together. There's a faint scowl tugging at his mouth, a subtle clenching of his jaw that makes it look like he's holding back the urge to step in but doesn't quite know how to act on it. His brows are drawn together and his eyes flick between you and Matt with a guarded intensity.

Chris frowns, glancing back at you. It's clear now that something is brewing beneath the surface, something he doesn't fully understand but can sense all the same. He looks down at Ashley, his expression softening as he makes up his mind.

"Hey, Ash?" he asks quietly, feeling a bit awkward but determined. "Would you mind helping me out with something real quick? I, uh... I owe someone a favor.”

You were mid-laugh at something Matt had said about his latest sports practice when a shadow loomed over the table. You looked up to find Mike standing there, holding his drink loosely in one hand and the other casually tucked in his pocket.

"Hey, Matt," Mike said, his tone light but carrying a subtle edge like he's asking for a favor he already expects to be granted. "Mind if I steal him for a bit?"

Matt's smile falters, and he glances at you, a bit reluctant, as if he doesn't quite want to let go of the moment he's carved out. "Uh... well, we were just-"

"Looks like Emily's about to make out with that guy," Mike interrupted, tilting his head toward the dance floor. "You might wanna handle that before it gets messy."

Matt whipped his head around, his face paling slightly as he spotted Emily drunkenly giggling and leaning far too close to the stranger. "Shit," he muttered, scrambling to his feet. "I'll, uh, catch you later." he says to you, giving you a quick nod before he disappears into the crowd.

"Yeah, sure," Mike said smoothly, his smirk widening as Matt hurried off. You glance back at him just in time to catch a wicked grin flash across his face as he watches Matt weave his way toward Emily.

He turns back to you and without a moment's hesitation, he slides into Matt's now-empty chair, shifting it even closer to yours with an obnoxiously loud scrap of wood against the floor. He dropped into the seat with a satisfied sigh. His arm resting along the back of your chair but soon sliding fully around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, earthy with a hint of spice, made your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. From this close, you could see every detail of his face: the light beard perfectly trimmed along his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the infuriatingly perfect way his smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. He was leaning into his persona, that cocky, playful charm cranked up to eleven and it was doing things to your brain you weren't sure you were ready to admit.

"Well, this is cozy," Mike said, his voice low and smooth. "Didn't think Matt was ever gonna leave. Guy's got some stamina for talking, huh?"

You blinked, struggling to form words. "Uh, yeah. He's chatty"

Mike chuckled, the sound warm and teasing "Chatty? That's the nicest way to put it. Bet he's been boring you to death, huh?"

"Not entirely," you said, though your voice was far too shaky to be convincing. "He's enthusiastic."

Mike raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. "You're too nice, you know that? If I had to sit through more than five minutes of that guy's rambling, I'd be asleep in my chair."

You laughed, though it came out a little too breathy. "Maybe I'm just better at pretending to be interested."

"Pretending, huh?" Mike's smirk widened. "So, what about me? Are you pretending to enjoy this little moment we're having?"

Your brain short-circuited. "I... I mean, no. I-uh... you're not boring. Definitely not boring."

"Good to know," Mike said, his voice dipping slightly as he leaned in just a fraction closer. "I'd hate to think I was putting you to sleep."

"You're not," you managed to say, your face burning.

Mike grinned, clearly reveling in your flustered state. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?"

“I’m not nervous,” you said quickly, though your gaze flickered away from his, betraying you.

“Sure you’re not,” Mike murmured, his fingers brushing just a little too close against your shoulder, the touch lingering for a beat longer than necessary. “What were you and Matt talking about? You looked a little bored." His tone was smooth but there was a faint edge to it now, like he was testing the air.

You noticed the subtle shift in his expression. His jaw tightening just slightly, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second as if he didn’t quite like the idea of you and Matt sharing a private moment.

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Just sport stuff and his latest victory for his team. He was just being friendly,” you added, trying to sound indifferent.

You didn’t miss the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flickered just briefly toward the ground before locking onto yours again.

Mike’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, he looked real friendly.” The smirk that followed didn’t help, pulling at the corner of his mouth as if he was more amused than you thought he should be.

You raised an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Mike just stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Nothing,” he said too quickly, the innocence in his voice so forced that you could almost feel the tension cracking around him. The grin stretched wider, like a challenge. “Just saying, if I didn’t know better, I’d think Matt was hitting on you.”

Your breath caught in your throat and a flush of heat spread across your cheeks. You tried to play it off, but there was no denying the way your heart stuttered in your chest. “He wasn’t,” you said quickly, your voice coming out a little more defensively than you intended.

"Either way. Figured I'd come over and I don't know... make the night more interesting for you. Prom only happens once, right? Gotta make the most of it. Besides—” His voice softens, his gaze locking onto yours with a sincerity that takes you off guard. "—I've been waiting for an excuse to spend some time with you."

You swallow, feeling the heat rise to your face as his words sink in. "You have?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion. "I mean, I could've come over sooner but you were busy with your brother. Then you were with Matt and I figured, maybe it's time I got a little selfish."

The intensity in his gaze makes it hard to breathe and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, caught between disbelief and exhilaration. "I... didn't think you noticed me like that," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike's grin softens, his hand moving from your shoulder to gently rest on your waist, pulling you even closer. "I notice a lot more than you think," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Like how you always look away when you think I'm watching, or how you get that little crease in your forehead when you're trying not to smile too much."

Mike makes a silent note to himself to later thank Chris for the insights he’d shared minutes ago.

You laugh, feeling both embarrassed and overjoyed. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

He chuckles, his arm tightening around your waist as he dips his head a bit closer, his voice a soft murmur. "Can't help it. You’ve got me so close to losing it and you don’t even realize it." His fingers press gently into your side.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with a tenderness that surprises you. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, a vulnerability that makes your heart race. “Let me be the happiest guy in this place tonight.”

You feel your pulse race at the invitation, your mind whirling with both excitement and uncertainty. "What about that girl you were with?" you ask, your voice quiet and hesitant, unable to stop yourself from wondering.

Mike's smirk returns, his hold on your waist tightening slightly as he leans in, his voice a soft, almost possessive murmur. "She's not you. You’re the only one I can’t get out of my head.” His voice is rough, coated in something darker.

You meet his gaze, feeling your breath hitch as you search his face, trying to process the weight of his words.

He takes his chance to lean in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that leaves your heart racing. His lips crashing into yours with a desperate urgency that leaves you reeling. His hand slides around your waist, fingers tightening as he pulls you against him. The heat of his body sears through your clothes, and his thumb traces a slow, deliberate line along your cheek, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, that familiar cocky edge in his eyes. His eyes burn with that familiar, dangerous gleam-a challenge, a promise. His breath is ragged, as if he's barely holding back.

"Still up for that dance? Because I've got this new boyfriend I'd really like to show off." he whispers, his voice low and teasing. His breath brushes your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He looks at you with that trademark mischievous grin, the one that could melt anyone’s defenses.

A rush of warmth floods your chest at his words, a mixture of giddiness and disbelief. Your heart skips, caught between the sweetness of the moment and the thrill of his presence. The corners of your mouth twitch up as you meet his gaze, and though you can barely keep your composure, you nod.

Mike's grin widens and as he takes your hand, guiding you to the dance floor, you feel as if you're floating, lost in the warmth of his gaze and the excitement of being his.

Note: if you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

And YOU will feel healed of the last 15

... when you read this fic. That is, as long as you suffered from an abandonement wound like i did.

Ello lovelies, i have another wonderful fanfic-rec for you! 🤓

But you are an ocean by @ineffably-good

Coverart by @ineffableclassics

What it is about:

After Aziraphale's defection, Crowley tries to figure out how to live life for himself.

Notes:

Ok so, the end of season two broke me. Figured I was maybe done writing stories about these two after that. And yet, several hours later, a sentence appeared in my head, and then this happened. Guessing at chapter totals… I'm finding I like the idea of Crowley going off in a different direction than what I'd initially expect. Not just raging, not sleeping for a century, but actually trying to move on. And why the hell shouldn't he just move to the South Downs by himself? So here we are.

What i like about it:

🩷This fic doesn´t jump in on pushing the story - their story - forward. Instead it goes a totally different path. A quite big part of it is dedicated to Crowley mending the pieces of his broken heart. It´s endearing, it´s breathtaking and it will have you cry. Not only for Crowley but for every single person who ever had to endure heartbreak.

🩷Fun fact no.1: in real life I am a relationship-coach specialised in toxic relationships and heartbreak. And the way Crowley´s heartbreak is described couldn´t be any more accurate. Every thought, every pain, every action he takes, the strength it costs him, the weight of it all - its written absolutely to the point. I could have copied several pages for the "most beloved quote".

🩷So Crowley tries to build a life for himself. Not just living without the angel and rotting in a pit, but really trying to carve out a nice little existence for himself. He is doing his work, he is healing and you can follow along with him, as he learns to build at least new "friendships" - though he would never call it that himself, thanks a lot.

🩷This healing-journey takes quite some time and somewhere in the middle of it i started to think - he could do it. He COULD heal his hurt, mourn the loss and still somehow at least live a life on his own. Maybe feeling the missing part of himself for the rest of his existence, but not being miserable about it the whole time. And that is a thought - a wish - i would have for my dark angel.

I could see him living that life and at one point i almost thought - i would love to see how that would´ve played out for him. A life without Aziraphale. What connections would Crowley have made? How would he have coped with the loss of those humanly connections lifespan after lifespan? Would he have relocated each century? Would he have moved to Australia and learned surfing at one time? Would he have become a timelord and travelled - i mean seriously, Crowley could do that probably?

But you, my dear, are an ocean.

And oceans are ancient

And can survive everything,

Even the wrath of weather and planets.

-- Nikita Gill

SPOILERS AHEAD - if you don´t want to know the plot, stop reading here.

Stop reading if you dont want spoilers!

Ok - you´ve been warned! Here we go: 🤗

🩷Fun fact no.2: I actually downloaded this fic some time ago but had another fic in mind i wanted to start next. So after i finished the last one (also really brilliant, i wrote a rec on it too), i started my e-reader the next day, THIS fic was already open instead on page 1. Huh?

I have absolutely no idea how this is possible, but i DO believe in hints-of-the-universe. Or little demonic miracles on their own. Because i needed this fic.

🩷Because of course - this is a Good Omens fanfic and eventually the other angel arrives. And without giving away to much: Aziraphale has to fight for Crowley. A long long time. He has to be steadfast and consistent and earn the trust of his has-been-companion-for-millenia. Nothing is a given any more.

And i am NOT saying that this is what Aziraphale needs to do or that he was wrong in any way. (The fic doesnt say that either by the way.) But what cracked ME personally about the last 15 was my own abandonement-wound which got triggered massively. I felt retraumatised even.

So reading and feeling that Crowley does not jump on the next best possibility to be back with the angel was a big thing. Having the Angel slowly earning his trust and simply showing up again and again - I needed that. I needed Crowley to take his time, not be the sick lovefool he is often proclaimed to be. For him to have doubts, to feel conflicted, to feel love and the need to self-preserve at the same time.

All these ambiguities we all have. And to take the steps with him. Watch the turning point, when the fear of losing Aziraphale again becomes less and less and the fear of wasting time gets stronger. Taking one step at a time, sometimes even backwards. All those things, typical for a healing process, which is never straight forward but most of the time a rollercoaster instead. I loved this. I needed this. I could sit back, breathe and watch my own heart grow. Just. Wow.

Most beloved quote:

So if you feel like maybe you need a fic in which Aziraphale really shows up and cares while Crowley really takes his time to learn to trust again... And not because one of them has been an idiot, but to experience them both learning and growing together ... and that might be something for your own healing journey, this might be just THE fic for you. I absolutely loved it and so will you.

Reading is therapy! 🤗

[thatnonameuser]

Now that I analyse more of your story, I just noticed that Lilia is very interested in Yuu and tells them that he wants to talk to them more or something like that.

I think he says that because he is aware he has little time to see his children get a partner and get married, so what a perfect opportunity is to have a Darling in an all yandere boy school by pure coincidence. It's like a miracle to him! So he would do anything (like matchmaking) to see one of his children being happy with Yuu no matter the cost. (Even If has to use dirty tricks to have Yuu being with one of the Diasomnia trio)

This is just a theory, a fan theory! 🤓☝️

Your theory is partially right.

Lilia isn’t really that interested in you, he’s not really bothered knowing you’re a darling.

Look, he’s been around this block a thousand times. During his travels spanning over centuries, he’s seen and met countless yanderes and darlings who’ve all acted differently. He practically has a nose for it at this point. So when he popped up in front of you, he had a bit of an inkling you weren’t like your peers, or him. 

But at first he doesn’t pay any mind. Whether you’re a darling or not, it’s not really something to take into consideration. Either you’ll find your way home, or you’ll be taken in by someone else, not really his problem.

That is until he discovers that his boys have feelings for you. 

When Malleus comes back from his nightly walks talking about you with a lovesick smile on his face. When Silver comes to him about seeing you in his dreams with a dreamy look in his eyes, (I’ll get into that later). When Sebek comes back to Diasomnia totally not ranting about a very obvious crush he has on you buried under how bothersome it is to deal with you. He’s not blind to the signs of them falling for you.

And that’s when he gets interested in you. 

Because in all honesty, he’s old. It's about time he makes the evolution to grandfather. (And since Baul isn’t here to guide his very….. very stubborn and tone deaf grandson, he’ll do it for him. But seriously, this stubbornness to love is genetic at this point, Lilia should know he made a joke about about it in his best man speech at his wedding) But Lilia wants to see them get married, to see them worry about becoming parents, to watch them cry from happiness at seeing their first child be born. He wants to spoil his grandkids when they come to visit. He wants to regale them with his war stories and embarrass their parents as when he tells them about his sons’ childhoods. Wants to spoil them rotten and take them away when his parents need Insert winkie face😉 Alone time. And more and more. Is that too much to ask? He doesn’t think so.

But he might not be able to do that. 

He’s old, he knows he’s old. He’s not going to be around forever. So he needs to make sure that he lives long enough to see that.

Meaning like a nosy parent trying to set up his kid, he’s gonna get involved. And not in the way you might like.

He’s not going to be mean about it. He’ll give them pointers, little gift ideas, tips to keep other yanderes away from you, etc. 

But when he learns that not only are you planning to get out of TWST the second the opportunity presents itself, but you callously, in his opinion, reject every attempt his boys make to woo you the nice way (the non yandere way). Well, then you forced his hand, he didn’t want to do this but he has to because you decided to be difficult.

Enter the Lilia who is willing to use more…. Painful techniques to persuade you. 

In other words, he’s getting more involved. At this point you’ve hardened to the yandere world, so he knows that you won’t be able to convince you with words or promises of a better life, so now he has to be cruel. 

Don’t bother trying to convince him this is wrong, and that you should be allowed to return home. Keep in mind he’s grown up and old in this world, he agrees with how it works. And while Maleanor or Levan might disagree with his methods, he’s doing this for a greater good. 

Remember, you’re the reason he had to go this far. He’s not at fault here.

[darqx]

Tbh ever since BTD this is nothing new to me now lol! Before then I'd always be like, pikachu face, because it was so surprising to me.

🤔 It's one of those things where if i hear the right voice then I'll know lol (this is also partly the reason why I made one of my characters mute, so i wouldnt have to think about it |D)

Thank you! I've been drawing ever since i was kid, but it only became more of an actual hobby when i was a teenager. So yes, you could say it's been a long time haha.

I do actually! From a few years back. Well, they're just a bunch of screenshots i put together but the result is the same lol.

Why are you guys so kaypoh about my friendship statuses, ngl that's kinda weird lol. Anyway EP disappeared like a thousand years ago and every now and then me and Gato dm. As noted before, everyone has been off doing their own things for a while now :d

Oh man that was a long time ago, but yes we did once have tentative ideas for an OC fighting game! XD It would have required a lot more programming know how then what we had at the time though (also the slow death of Flash didnt help, as that's what I used to make all my mini games in).

Aust, one, and hm, savory stuff i guess things like pastas/noodles and potato products (mm mash). Oh and soup. I fucking love soup lol.

^ Actual image of me drinking soup

[This ask was in relation to a post i did where i was trying out Sketchbook app on the ipad]. Haha yeh i've been told that Ibis might have a lot of ads, which for how often I use the ipad to draw (hardly ever, as intuos5 still my beloved) is dealbreaker for me when compared to Sketchbook |D So at this point in time something simple just for doodling is working out well :)

Guys cmon half the fandom/the entire fandom does not seriously call me that XD

[dreamwreaver]

For as much Alastor likes to say he's the feared sinner around, a lot of people just don't respect him. Like Carmilla straight up didn't care that he was gone for years, Lucifer has no idea who he was and when he was walking with Zestial, the sinners around them were running from the eldest overlord, not the Radio Demon. The main cast isn't that afraid of him either (aside from Husk but most of the time he's free to gripe and complain about him) and pretty much everyone doesn't let him get a word in.

Charlie, however, does listen to his remarks and give him actual respect for his works. Like the commercial he made for example. She appreciates the work he put into even if she's aware that he meant to mock the hotel, she doesn't dismiss him and even gives out ideas on how he can improve on his work. The same goes for his poster of the hotel, she adds a positive spin on it while keeping his craftsmanship. Alastor, for his part, doesn't mock her for her additions and adds his own input after hers and while it's certainly making jabs at how preposterous her project seems to be, he's still encouraging any possible sinners to try anyway, through playing Charlie's games or going through hills to the hotel. He's not putting her down for her ambition at any point in making the poster and she's not putting him down either.

That's the beauty of Charlie and Alastor's dynamic, despite how different their own perspectives and opinions are, they still work together in their own ways. Respect is evident between them and they work as each other's compass to guide the other to more favorable paths. Even for how long Alastor was gone and how dubious his intentions were, Charlie still considers him a trusted and valuable business partner. She was a princess with an embarrassing reputation and lofty, nonsensical goals but Alastor still saw potential in her. They are aware of each other's background but they don't let their past define how they see one another.

Both of them desire respect and from what they can't get from others, they find in each other instead.

—rambling nonnie

Hey Rambley!

I think he both is and isn't? Like, those who know of the radio demon definitely know to be wary. Angel in the pilot not knowing who he is was so that we the audience could get the info without it stopping the plot. Charlie, the all powerful princess of hell, is afraid when he shows up on her doorstep. So his reputation precedes him enough that he's still a genuine threat. Even Vaggie, who at the absolute shortest has only been in hell about as long as she's been Charlie's girlfriend, knows about him and knows he's a genuine threat when provoked.

That being said, we don't know the canon circumstances around his absence. The leaks imply one thing, and if it's true may explain why Carmilla doesn't care much for where he was or why he was gone. The other popular theory is that Velvette and Valentino stepping in against Alastor during the last major altercation with Vox may have left him weakened enough to strike the deal that keeps his smile in shape. Whatever the reason, the fact that Vox was threatened enough to antagonize him right as soon as he heard the news shows that while Alastor is not a household name as he once was he still holds a significant amount of fear and sway.

And I think to a certain extent Charlie needs that. She has the raw power but neither the finesse nor reputation that allows people to take her seriously. Sinners seem to show a bit more respect to her with the Radio Demon by her side. And in return she opens a place for him in her heart. I don't think she was lying when she said she loved everyone in her life.

[anemia-rp]

He could tell how fragile Naito still was in this moment; he wouldn't get mad at him, he'd rather protect him in this state. And that was what he did as good as he could. "Don't forget I'm still here, too", he reminded Naito. "You don't need to protect me, I can defend myself and our child just as well, I would do so fiercely even." He absentmindedly fondled the other's head. "Although you probably disliked it as well if I'd hurt him, huh?" He could imagine how torn apart Naito must have been. Love and hate were so close to each other. "It wouldn't, nope. But babe, seriously, I doubt you can fix anything as long as you're in a mental state like this. You need to regain your inner strength and develop some physical one, too." This was when he got an idea. "We help you. The clan and me."

@royalxnightmare

Yoko… Kuro… we- we need to talk…

Oh? Do we? Did you perhaps do any mischief?

[imaginepostingonsideblogs]

guy experiencing the 'no knowledge of the passage of time' and 'forgetting about the existence of large swathes of the world when he is not Looking Directly At Them And Even Then Its Like A 50/50 Chance' disorder voice: bwugh

[kettlefire]

Prepare for the unexpected. (DPxDC)

Everyone knew about the reign of Pariah Dark. Even those who did not dabble in those realms have heard the tale of the tyrant. A power-hungry man who ruled over the dead with an iron fist.

Following the rise of Pariah Dark, his realm had been effectively cut off from communication. Many mystics and magic users knew better than to open the door of nightmares that could arise if Pariah Dark's reach went further than his own realm.

Except, the universe had plans to bring the realm of the dead back into the cards.

A new opponent, one that had all of Earth's heroes scrambling for options. A being with powers of a god over weather, destruction was on the horizon. A world ending threat.

It's the only reason the Justice League was doing this. In a deep bunker, far from close civilization as a precaution, the heroes looked on with grim expressions.

The world was already being threatened. It would be destroyed regardless of what the league did. So it only made sense to make the last ditch effort. To summon someone strong enough to defeat the threat.

No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to be the one to pull the realm of the dead back to the living. The consequences were untold if this succeeded. If Pariah Dark was freed and defeated the threat, whose to say he won't want control?

That was a problem for later. For the aftermath. For now, the league could only watch on with bated breath as Constantine completely the summon ritual.

They watched on as the shadows in the room seemed to darken and grow. As the sigil sputtered to life with a glow that was growing increasingly brighter. A sudden gust of wind rushed through the room, the temperature began to drop with eaching ticking second.

And then it was all gone.

The room stood perfectly still. Just as it had been moments before. Nothing changed. No giant king standing before them, no sign that the ritual worked.

The room stood deadly still for another beat before the murmurs started. The team trying to make sense of the situation, figure out what went wrong.

Constantine swore up and down that this was the correct ritual, taking offense that they would even think the problem was on his end. It only made it better when it finally happened.

A loud sound ripped through the room, pulling everyone's attention back to the summoning circle. Just in time to see a tear appear in the space above the circle.

A thin tear that ran the length of eight feet. The fabric of the dimension seems to curl at the edges, pulling back to reveal a deep glowing swirl of greens. A dark gloved hand reached through, fingers curling around the edge of the tear, stretching it even further.

A portal. The ritual had worked, but there had been a delay. A delay that had every hero nerves on edge. Each team member tensed, weapons at the ready as they watched the being stretch the portal to the right size.

Then, a foot stepped out with a heavy thud. A dark boot that looked otherworldly despite its similarity to mortal clothing. A deep black that seemed never-ending. A second foot quickly followed before a full body emerged from the portal.

Not many people in the room have ever seen Pariah Dark, let alone know what to expect. Based on what Constantine and Zatara had said, this wasn't Pariah Dark.

A man had stepped out of the portal, standing at almost seven feet tall, and built like a brick house. One glance at the glowing white hair, deadly red eyes, and shard teeth was enough to know this being was not to be messed with.

But there was no giant show of armor or royal garbs. There is no large crown at the top of his head or jewelry from the infinite realms laced around his neck.

Instead, the man stood before them in combat boots, worn-in ripped jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a spiked leather jacket. Despite his almost normal clothing choice, the man's jacket seemed to be a never-ending depth of the dark night sky. If one was to look closely enough, the cosmos could almost be made out in the sea of darkness.

None of that would have prepared them for when the man spoke. His tone sounded more bored than anything as he took a step forward.

"Oh, so now you need the help of the dead." The man had spoken, running a hand through his hair. When Batman took a step forward to speak, the man raised a hand. Immediately commanding silence in the single gesture. "I'm on babysitting duty and have yet to have a cup of coffee. I'll be right back."

Just like that, both the man and portal vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a group of stunned heroes. Not only was the man not Pariah Dark, but he was also supposedly babysitting.

"Did that just-"

The Flash had been the first voice to speak up, his eyes trained on where the man had once stood. Except he had barely made it through the first few words before the man was suddenly back.

The man that now had a child hanging off his shoulders and another teen being held up by his scruff. Unlike the man, these kids looked human.

Too human for Bruce's liking. The dark black hair and bright blue eyes had every heroes eyes flickering to Batman for just the briefest moment.

"This isn't fair! I'm not even the king. Why do I have to be here!" The teenager had been complaining the moment the man had reappeared. Arms crossed tight over his chest and seemingly used to being held dangling. "Besides, who brings kids to a show down! Wait til I tell mom about this."

"Aw, come on, Danny. This is gonna be fun!!" The younger girl seemed in much better spirits than the teen, Danny. She had climbed up the large man, sitting on his shoulders and resting her arms on the mess of glowing hair. "It's like take your kids to work day! Ooo, Dan! Can we fight too!?"

Unlike the two kids, the man looked purely exhausted and annoyed. The man, Dan, dropped Danny like a sack of potatoes as he took a long drink from the travel cup in his hand.

It didn't take a genius to recognize the look of an exhausted parent in Dan's expression. A look many of the league members were well acquainted to. A look that even had Batman grimacing with sympathy.

"Can it, little shits. You two were grounded, remember." Dan had growled at the kids before shifting his focus back on the team of heroes before them. His glowing eyes set in a deadly glare. "Pariah Dark isn't coming, and he never will. He's been dethroned and banished. We're the best you've got."

A summoning that started with a group of on edge and scared heroes looking for the ghost king, ended in a way no one expected.

No one was even sure if it made any sense. They weren't sure if they should feel hopeful or in despair.

Because truly, what was a ghostly man with two seemingly human children against a godlike foe with the control over the weather?

The unspoken question of power and ability seemed to vanish following Dan downing the metal travel cup of coffee, and crushing it in his fist.

He tossed it to the side, straighting up his posture as he looked over the heroes. Dan might not be a hero, but he's been playing family for too long.

An almost feral, bloodhungry grin spread across the man's face, sharp fangs on full display. The look made the man suddenly look even less human. He looked closer to a demon from the pits of hell rather than the exhausted parent he looked just a few seconds ago.

"Point me in the direction of this bastard. It's been too long since I let loose and had some fun."

[sonknuxadow]

it just hit me that the movie is coming out next month imgonna throw upppppppp