#oh i also need to write out the other planets and some customs....

[glowingreverie]

the palace intrigue that i've always been itching to write...

[justnatoka]

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Poly! The Lost Boys x GN! Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: slight physical violence (manager grabs reader's arm), verbal abuse

Prompt: “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” / “Yes.” / “What if I just break his nose a little?”

Summary: The boys have been coming to the diner you’re waiting tables at for a while. Your manager is not a fan. One night things escalate.

Part 1/2

Next Part

The bell chimed above the door, signaling the arrival of new customers. You looked up after placing the food in front of an older couple, and a bright smile lit up your face as you saw the group of four that just walked in. David and his gang have been coming to the diner for months now. They showed up one night, seemingly curious about the new place that had just opened on the boardwalk. You took their order, they made a few flirty remarks, you flirted right back, and that was it. They obviously took a liking to you and have been coming back every other night. It was honestly the highlight of your day, your stomach flipping in excitement every time. Even if they barely ordered anything, they still spent hours there, and you made an effort to go over to them and chat when work got slower and you had some time.

Your manager clearly didn’t like that. He complained before that they make other customers uncomfortable – although it didn’t seem that way to you –, and chastised you for encouraging them to spend so much time there. He made it a point to give you meaningless tasks so you wouldn’t have time for them, making them leave quicker. He had also been making snide remarks about them and glaring at their table to the point that they started noticing it.

You could basically hear him rolling his eyes from behind the counter as you walked up to their booth and greeted them.

“Hey guys, long time no see,” you joked.

“Hi babe, did you miss us?” Paul purred resting his head in his hand, giving you a dreamy look.

“Maybe,” you smiled coyly. “Maybe not. Who knows?”

“You’re such a tease,” he pouted, but his eyes were smiling.

“You know you like it, Paulie.”

“Oh, I absolutely love it,” he grinned right back at you.

You chuckled. “What can I get you guys? The usual?”

“Can I have you for dinner, sugar? I promise I’ll be gentle. Unless you don’t want me to,” Marko said with a shit eating grin on his face.

“You and gentle are on two different planets when it comes to eating, Marko. Babe, if I were you, I wouldn’t let his teeth near me.”

Marko swatted at Paul, who grabbed a menu to shield himself. “Shut up, dude. You’re no better either. You make even bigger messes than I do.”

“Not true.”

“Who complained about his pants getting ruined just a few days ago? Again.”

“Come on, man, that was one time.”

“Like I said. Again.”

“Yeah? Well you-“

“Boys,” David interjected before it could get any more out of hand. “How about we order already?” His tone sounded casual, but there was an edge to it that caused the other two to begrudgingly back down. It was a good thing too. Some of the other customers were already staring at the commotion, shuffling uncomfortably in their seats and whispering among themselves. You could feel your manager practically glaring holes into the back of your head.

They proceeded to give you their orders one by one, and after writing them down and sending them one last smile, you went to relay the orders to the cook. That’s when your manager walked up to you, his stormy expression promising nothing good.

“I need to talk to you for a second,” he stated.

Holding back an eye roll you nodded, “Sure.”

“I told you before that they are not welcome here,” he started, sending a glance towards their table. “Tell those punks to behave or they’ll get kicked out. This is a respectable establishment. We don’t want some hooligans bringing down our reputation.”

You wondered whether he had the balls to do the kicking out himself, but all you said aloud was “Yes, sir.”

When you brought out their food, Dwayne caught your wrist to get your attention.

“Is he giving you trouble again?” He motioned with his eyes towards the kitchen, and you looked to see your manager staring out the little window cut into the door.

“It’s fine, nothing I can’t deal with,” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. Dwayne gave you a concerned look but nodded, trusting your word.

“Thanks for checking in with me though,” you added, feeling a little bashful all of a sudden, not really used to people caring this much about your well-being.

“Of course,” he smiled back at you.

After giving them their food, you wanted to stay and chat for a bit more, seeing as there weren’t many customers, but you could still feel the glare of your manager so you thought better of it. You went back behind the counter and started wiping it down.

You busied yourself with other tasks for a while, refilling a few coffee cups and making small talk while doing so, cleaning up tables after customers left and taking the orders of new arrivals. Even so, you kept stealing glances at them, blushing when you caught David already looking at you a few times. You noticed that he had a habit of following you around with his eyes while you were working, and although you were slightly unnerved at first, now it felt reassuring to know that he was constantly watching over you.

Tearing your eyes from him you wondered, not for the first time, what their life might be like outside these nightly visits. As much as you’ve gotten to know them these past few months, they were still an enigma in a sense. You haven’t seen them around town during the day before, and every time you asked questions about their background, they skillfully redirected the conversation. So you stopped inquiring, afraid that your prodding will drive them away. For now, you were satisfied with just having them here every other night, brightening up your shift with some light flirting and laughter.

Speaking of laughter, you looked up at the sound of a commotion, only to see Marko dodging a fry chucked at his head by Paul and quickly countering with an attack of his own. Paul barely had time to hold up his menu, the handful of fries bouncing off its surface and onto the seat between them, some of it dropping to the floor. He just let down his impromptu shield, when an onion ring landed right in the middle of his face. The whole table burst out laughing, and he was pointing an accusatory finger at Dwayne, who was shrugging his shoulders with a grin. David was leaning back, watching the food fight with amusement, sipping on his drink.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at their antics, not even bothered that you will have to clean up the mess they created. You headed to the back to get a broom, already thinking about a witty line to tell them off. You just turned around to go back out there, when your manager grabbed your arm. Startled, you let go of the broom and it loudly clattered to the floor.

As you looked into his eyes, you saw that he was seething.

“You tell these low-lives to get the hell out of here right now. Enough is enough. They are loud, not respecting other customers, and now they are making a huge mess by throwing food around. I’ve had it up to here with all this. If they keep coming back I’ll have to do something about it,” he hissed at you, then gave you a look which made you feel like dirt under his shoe. “It would also help a lot if you weren’t encouraging them. Batting your eyelashes like a common whore. You think I couldn’t replace you within a few days? You need to start behaving like a professional or so help me I’ll kick you to the curb.”

His grip on you was tightening with each word, and you tried not to flinch. You’ve never seen him so angry before and it was starting to scare you.

“I’m just trying to be friendly with the customers…”

He wasn’t having any of it. “Enough with the fucking excuses. You go over there and tell them to get out right now.”

“Yes, sir,” you squeaked out and as soon as he let you go, you rushed out of there, broom forgotten on the floor.

David was already looking at you when you approached them. His eyes were on you the second you stepped out of the door, his mood darkening as he took you in. Dwayne picked up on it as well, following his gaze to you. He became alert when he saw your stiff posture, your fingers nervously fidgeting with your apron.

“Hey, dollface,” Paul greeted you with a radiant smile, “have you tried this milkshake before? It’s fucking amazing.”

His grin instantly disappeared from his face when you didn’t smile back.

“Everything okay, babe?” he asked, a bit unsure.

You gave him a sigh before you spoke, “I’m sorry, guys, but you have to leave.” There was silence at the table.

“He did this to you?” Marko’s voice was cold as he asked while staring at your arm, where a bruise was already starting to form.

“Marko, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you tried and failed to calm him down. He looked like he was fuming, ready to explode.

“Sweetheart, that’s not nothing,” Dwayne spoke up next, his jaw tight.

David didn’t say anything, but he was glaring down your manager with such intensity, that you saw him scramble back into the kitchen from the corner of your eye.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Marko stated, and you had no doubt that he would if you let him.

“Please don’t. I need this job to pay my bills,” you sighed. You were getting exhausted at this point, and just wanted this shift to be over.

“Has he done this before? Hurt you?” Paul asked the question all of them wanted to know the answer to.

“No, he just likes to remind me that I’m a failure,” you smiled wryly. “But it’s nothing I can’t deal with. I promise.”

“Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” Marko repeated, this time with the corner of his mouth turning upward into a little smirk.

“Yes.”

“What if I just break his nose a little?” Now he was full on grinning.

You snorted. “Man, I would pay money to see that! But like I said, I really need this job. And if you do break his nose, even just a little bit, I’m sure as hell getting fired.”

David finally spoke up. “Alright, we won’t cause you any more trouble. Let’s go, boys.”

They all stood up, filing out one by one, each of them sending death stares towards your manager peeking through the kitchen door. You watched their retreating figures through the window for a second longer, already dreading how much more boring your shifts are going to be from now on if they don’t come back.

Out in the parking lot Dwayne turned to David. “We’re going to do something about this, right?”

“Yes, we’re definitely doing something about it.” He sent a smirk to the others, and as they silently communicated down the plan, they began grinning as well. They got on their bikes, and with a lot of heavy revving, they sped off into the night. It was a promise for later.

[irondad-defensesquad]

I'm Still Here

Fandom: MCU

Rating: G

Relationships: Peter Parker & Peter Quill

Characters: Peter Parker, Peter Quill; other characters are only mentioned

Summary: “Excuse me, are you waiting in line?”

Peter looks back in surprise, seeing a taller man with short, brown curls, and wearing a band t-shirt he doesn’t know, as well as orange headphones around his neck. The latter suddenly looks concerned and confused.

“Whoa, are you okay?” He asks.

Peter only stares at him in shock, saying just one word:

“... Star-Lord?”

Word count: 1.487

AO3

A/N: An idea I always wanted to write, because I personally love the thought of Peter and Quill bonding (which we sadly didn't get much from canon).

This is my first time writing Quill, so please be nice. ;-;

TRIGGER WARNINGS - major character death (Tony, Aunt May), grief/mourning

--

Starting out life again, alone, is… hard.

‘Hard’ is a soft way to put it.

It’s terrible.

Peter knows he isn’t entirely alone, since he still has Happy. But he doesn’t remember him, and quite literally no one else remembers him, either. Peter also doesn’t want to meddle in their lives again after the chaos that he caused. After… he killed May.

Maybe things are better this way. If he’s not remembered.

Peter is waiting for his order at Delmar’s, who also treats him like every other customer, and not an old friend. Peter is checking his phone to distract himself while the sandwich is not ready. As usual, not a single new text besides one from Happy that he’s going to be away for the next few days, asking if Peter is going to be okay. The teen, like the liar that he is, says that he will be.

He wants to cry.

Right here, right now.

“Excuse me, are you waiting in line?”

Peter looks back in surprise, seeing a taller man with short, brown curls, and wearing a band t-shirt he doesn’t know, as well as orange headphones around his neck. The latter suddenly looks concerned and confused.

“Whoa, are you okay?” He asks.

Peter only stares at him in shock, saying just one word:

“... Star-Lord?”

The other’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Star-Lord, what- what are you doing here? I thought you were in space?”

“I- I’m sorry, who are you?”

The question breaks Peter’s hopes and dreams again. He should’ve known better than to get excited.

“I’m…” he gulps, “Peter. Parker.”

As he avoids the other’s eyes, Peter senses a hand standing out to him, to shake on it.

“You can call me Peter, too.”

The teen manages to smirk. “That’s going to be confusing.”

“Then call me Quill, if you want.”

Finally, Peter is shaking Quill’s hand, feeling a little better with the reassuring smile the latter is giving him.

“Now, Peter,” Quill releases his hand. “How do you know the almighty Star-Lord?”

“Oh, uh… We… kind of battled Thanos together.”

“Thanos? Really?”

“Yeah! I remember you, and that guy with knives, the blue lady with black eyes, the bug lady…” Peter lists. “And I remember you guys talking about a… Gamora?”

Quill’s expression suddenly falls at the mention of her, but not entirely sad. It’s more melancholic and nostalgic.

“Wow. How come I don’t remember you, then?”

Peter sighs. “It’s a long story.”

Quill hums. Suddenly, Delmar is back with Peter’s order and he asks the other’s. As Quill orders his sandwich, Peter awkwardly waits, probably knowing Quill is going to leave soon. He just really needed a friendly face.

“So… how come you’re here?” Peter asks when Delmar is gone.

“Oh, the Guardians kind of… split.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We thought we might go separate ways. We still keep in touch, though.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

I wish I could keep in touch with my friends, too, Peter wants to add, but doesn’t.

“And… I thought you were from Missouri?” He says instead.

“I am, but I thought I might do some traveling. Get to know my home planet better, you know?”

Peter nods, falling in silence.

“So, what have you been doing, Peter?” Quill asks the usual adult questions.

“Nothing much.” He knows there’s no one else in the store right now, but he doesn’t want Delmar to know that he’s Spider-Man.

“Hm.” Quill sounds suspicious.

Right on time, his order arrives. Peter already braces for his departure, knowing he might just want to go on with his life rather than listen to a hopeless teenager.

“Are you… doing anything after this?” Quill wonders.

“W-Why?”

“Ah, you know, we could hang out, talk hero to hero.” The man also implies, I know you might need it.

“Oh. Is- Is that okay?”

“Sure!” Quill smiles. “What do you think, then?”

“I- I’d love to,” Peter laughs nervously.

“Great.” After they pay their orders, Quill is wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get outta here.”

--

“... and then everyone’s memories were wiped, now no one remembers me, so I’m trying to live on my own and start things fresh again.”

Their paper bags have been emptied two hours ago, Peter speaking like an actual chatterbox. Quill, for some reason, doesn’t seem impatient nor cocky like the first time they met.

“You’re completely on your own, then?” Quill asks, frowning.

“Not really. I still have Happy, who was Mr. Stark’s best friend. But he doesn’t actually remember me, he mainly looks after me because of Aunt May. And he’s going to be away for a couple days and I said it’d be fine. It’s- It’s fine.”

“I don’t think it’s fine, Peter. Having no friends or family… I think that might be the worst thing to happen to someone.”

Peter bites his lip. “I mean… my friends are still out there. They were accepted into MIT. Which is nice. But I thought… After everything I did to them, I don’t want them to get hurt again. Maybe it’s best if I let them go, y’know?”

“But it’s not fair to you, buddy.”

Peter wants to cry again.

“I…” his voice gets wet. “I miss everyone. I miss MJ, I miss Ned, Aunt May… I-I miss Mr. Stark and- and my Uncle Ben…” he sniffs. “I keep losing everyone I love. And I’m so tired.”

He feels bad crying to someone who sees him like a stranger, but Peter can’t keep it in anymore.

Quill doesn’t complain.

If anything, he’s opening an arm for Peter to lie on.

So, the teenager does.

It’s so weird, receiving comfort like this from a guy Peter doesn’t know that much. All he remembers is them being snarky to each other and fighting Thanos, with the destiny of the universe in their very hands.

Quill comforts him, cursed with knowledge, too.

Peter realizes… he must still regret screwing up and allowing Thanos to snap half of the universe into dust. Quill must have lost people, too. Like Gamora. Now, he’s back home, trying to start fresh, too.

Peter doesn’t need to ask to know all these answers.

“I’m sorry you went through so much shit, Pete,” Quill exhales.

The boy sniffs timidly. “Yeah.”

They sit on a park bench, the sunny day blessing the town. It’s not too hot, though, and it’s the kind of temperature Peter likes due to his spider-senses. Not too cold, but not scalding, either.

“We all need someone,” Quill says. “We need, and we deserve someone.”

Peter is slowly released so they’re looking at each other.

“You can count on me, Peter,” Quill smiles, determined.

“But… you barely know me,” the other says, lying.

“Nah, I do. More than you think.”

Indeed, he does.

“But don’t you live far away from here?”

“I literally have a spaceship, kid, faster than an airplane. And if I can’t make it for any reason…” Quill is picking something from his pocket. “You can call me.”

… except it’s a super old phone and he’s taking forever to get to the contacts app. Peter can’t help laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re worse than Uncle Ben,” he mocks.

“Hey, go easy on me. I’ve been away for like, twenty years.”

Peter instead takes the phone and registers the number himself or else it might take forever. Quill is a really slow typer for someone who just texts him “hi”.

“I don’t get it, you’re literally Star-Lord,” Peter insists. “Didn’t you use tech like this in space?”

“Trust me, it’s not the same thing. For one, it’s not this tiny.”

Peter snorts. “Okay, then.”

“I do have this, though.”

Quill takes something else and reveals…

“A Zune? I haven’t seen one of those in years.”

“Really? That old?”

“Super old.”

“Ouch.”

Peter laughs.

“Do you… want to try?” Quill offers.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I promise, all the great taste in music is right here.”

Peter rolls his eyes with a grin. He takes it with care and wears the headphones, listening to the first song in the playlist. A calmer, acoustic tune, reminding him of a time things were easier, even if he’s not familiar with the song.

If anything, it reminds him of someone.

Tony.

Now that he thinks of it, Quill and Tony would get along well if they had the chance.

He feels sad by the thought, but he doesn’t break down again. The song brings him a sense of comfort despite the mourning. Not to mention that Quill is next to him, making sure he’s not alone.

When the day is nearing its end, Quill lends his Zune to Peter. Something that Peter knows means the world to him. He wants to reject it, but with Quill’s insistence, wanting him to remember he has a friend out there that knows who Peter Parker is…

At night, Peter is still listening to music.

With the biggest smile on his face.

[innytoes]

Back on my Willie + Furbies bullshit with a fic idea I will never write: Sunset Skater AU where the band makes it big and they have all this money that they can spend on frivolous things, which somehow ends in them each commissioning Long Furby Creator Willie. 

Some of them are well intended, like the first one. Reggie wants to make Bobby Junior, his and Bobby’s child. Obviously it needs to be red and black themed, and Willie has a blast discussing options. He even makes it a little birth certificate to go with it, and swaddles it before putting it in the box to ship.

Bobby is amused, and even more so when Alex recoils, because he thinks it is terrifying.

Obviously the next time Alex really annoys him, he contacts Willie to make the pinkest, gayest, most creepy furby on the planet. Can you get fur in the colour of his hoodie, please? Yes please can it have little creepy hands. Obviously it needs rainbow tufts at the ears. Can it have a little necklace that says ‘come play with me Alex’.

Bobby hides it in Alex’ room, and Willie gets a video, clearly taken from a closet, of Alex walking in, seeing the Furby on his desk chair holding his drumsticks, and shrieking. The video cuts off when Bobby can’t hold his laughter anymore and Alex chases him all over the house.

It’s only then that he realises this is like, Sunset Curve. That’s the drummer he’s had a crush on for the past six months. That means that Reggie and Bobby weren’t just a coincidence, he’s actually been in contact with Reggie Peters and Bobby Shaw!

He sends a little ‘Dear Alex, I’m so sorry I didn’t know this was a Spite Furby, he just wants to love you, let him into your heart’ message to the official Sunset Curve Instagram. He wakes up the next day to find four new private users follow him. When he follows them back, he realises it’s the guys Finstas, the private accounts they use to be normal people (or chaos gremlins).

Reggie’s account is filled with not only cute dogs, but also Bobby Junior having Adventures around their house. Bobby’s has at least two more videos of scaring Alex with the pink Furby. It takes a bit of courage (and some ribbing from his friends about being a coward), but he starts commenting on the Furby posts. And then other ones. And the guys always comment back and heart his comments. And somehow, everything gets kind of flirty? Willie has no idea what’s going on but he’s living for it.

Luke is next, because he’s kind of jealous he doesn’t have a Long Furby now. He’s annoying to Bobby plenty!

For his birthday Bobby and Reggie team up to get him one. It comes with a little orange beanie (with gaps for the ears to stick out). They didn’t ask for that, but Willie’s seen him wear it a lot when he stalks casually looks at the guys’ Instagrams. He gets many delighted comments back. The three Longbois have a tea party on Reggie’s account. They’re found in between the remnants of Luke’s birthday party, passed out and wasted, on Bobby’s page.

Willie delights in it all. On his business account, he posts his non-custom creations, taking inspiration from the guys’ shenanigans. He even brings one of two to Caleb’s house for his monthly ‘gotta have dinner with the Uncle who took me in while he casually grills me about if I’m dating yet but hey free food’ dinner. Caleb watches amused as he wraps the Furby along the banister of the fancy stairwell in the hall. And maybe even gets a ladder so Willie can put one in the chandelier.

When he announces he’s going to be at a convention in LA on his business account, he immediately gets four hearts. He spends a lot of time making new Longbois and other creations for his booth, sometimes working deep into the night with the Sunset Curve soundtrack on.

When he looks at his latest creation, black with a flannel plaid belly, and pretty sparkly eyes, and cute little deer horns and a little cowboy hat accessory, he thinks: oh no.

Because that Furby is clearly for Reggie.

He almost doesn’t take it with him, but well, he needs stuff to fill out his booth. He wraps the Reggie Furby along the bar that holds up his backdrop, hoping nobody will ask him if it’s for sale.

He’s doing alright, selling mostly his smaller pieces, artwork, and furby inspired jewelry, though someone dressed up as Miss Frizzle does purchase the galaxy inspired long Furby he made. She leaves with it draped over her shoulders, and he passes her some extra cards just in case.

And then it happens. What he’d been fearing, dreaming about. From up ahead, he heard a familiar voice say: “Oh my god there it is!”

Sunset Curve had come to the convention. Most of them were in costume, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker and Poe Dameron... and Alex, though his familiar pink hoodie was swapped out with a Baby Yoda t-shirt and jean jacket. Willie didn’t miss how he was using Reggie as a human shield, put between him and the furbies.

“Uh, hi!” he says, trying and failing to be casual. “It’s so nice to meet you in person.”

They talk, he shows off some of his wares. Alex even comes closer to look at some of the non-Furby art Willie is selling, when Reggie’s eyes wander up and he gasps.

“Guys,” he whispers, pointing. “It’s perfect.”

They look up and oh no, there it is. They’ve spotted the Reggie Furby. Willie feels his cheeks flame, but he can’t very well look away. “I ah... maybe made him with you in mind,” he admits. “Not that you have to buy him! I mean I just... I was listening to your album while working and it just happened and...”

A giant wad of cash is slammed on the table, Reggie making grabby hands until Willie unwraps the Furby from the stand and hands it over. He tries to argue that it wasn’t a custom job, so the price is actually lower, but Reggie doesn’t listen, cuddling the Furby close. 

“Well,” Bobby sighs dramatically. “If you feel that bad about it, maybe you should just take us out on a date to make up for it.”

[antvnger]

((Y'ALL!!

An excerpt from Look Out for the Little Guy just dropped and I am STOKED!! September can't get here soon enough, like seriously. I'm going to devour this book when I get my hands on it. I wonder how my writing on here compares....

See below for the whole excerpt from the book.))

HI THERE. HOWDY. HEYA! Man, I hate introductions.

If you’re reading this book, first of all, thank you! Even though I can make my body as large as the Empire State Building, some days my self-esteem gets, well, ant-sized. Maybe that’s an occupational hazard of being an Avenger and working alongside the mightiest and smartest people on Earth, but the feeling is still there. Even when I remember that I did help save half the world.

Anyway, my name is Scott Lang. You may now or at one time have known me as “Ant-Man.” I’ve been involved in some Super Hero stuff you might have heard about, some Super Hero stuff you probably haven’t heard about, and some Super Hero stuff you might be tired of hear­ing about—at least if you’re anything like my immedi­ate family.

But who is Scott Lang? Well, I’m just an average, middle-aged white guy who went to a fancy nerd col­lege, got married, and landed a solid white-collar desk job. I used to work as a computer guy at VistaCorp, a huge tech firm that deals with security. (Oh, the irony of that, but just wait for it!) My wife Maggie and I had a baby girl named Cassie, and we were heading into an uncomplicated, peaceful suburban life outside of San Francisco.

I mean, sure, on our TVs we were watching the world occasionally coming under attack by strange beings. But we also saw this amazing group of Super Heroes called the Avengers, who always managed to show up exactly when they were needed and send those baddies back . . . away. From our planet. And my life.

However, there were still some baddies right here on Earth. Specifically, in my workplace.

As I began to discover over time, my company was not completely on the up-and-up. Under the (mis)guidance of my boss, the company I was working at, VistaCorp, started using its prowess with security to take advantage of customers. Specifically, someone either overlooked or deliberately created a glitch in the payment-processing software, skimming millions of dollars from customer accounts.

I decided I was not okay with that.

After multiple attempts to push back against the company, attempts that one might describe as “legal” or “reasonable” or “advisable,” I decided to go in a dif­ferent direction.

I’d like to start with the positives: I returned five mil­lion dollars to our customers and exposed VistaCorp’s nefarious dealings to the public.

And, on the other side, I also drove an extremely expensive sports car into an extremely expensive pool, and myself into San Quentin Federal Penitentiary for three years.

Even worse, this was also around the time that my marriage to Maggie broke up. I don’t want to get into the specifics of why—that’s strictly Scott-Maggie stuff—but let’s just say “Husband suddenly going to the pen for three years” wasn’t exactly a marriage-saver.

More critically, though, that divorce, plus imprison­ment, effectively separated me from my dear, sweet daughter, Cassie. For way too many of her precious first few years. I wondered if she and I would ever even have the chance to make a connection.

Eventually, I finished my sentence, left San Q, and attempted to rejoin the world. Even if the world didn’t quite seem to know what to do with me yet. I couldn’t get a job with a conviction on my record. I had no funds or place to stay. Even my one joyful attempt to reunite with Cassie was cut short by Maggie and her fiancé, telling me I had to get my life together before we could talk visitation or shared custody.

Fortunately, though, there was one guy who did have a use for me.

Unless you’ve spent the past few years in a cave (or, say, a subatomic realm), you’ve probably at least heard of Pym Technologies. Or at least, Hank Pym.

If you haven’t, Hank Pym was the inventor of the Pym Particle, an incredible scientific breakthrough. Pym Particles have the power to cause molecular reduction or expansion at great scales in either direction. In other words, they can make anything super-small or super-big. Hank and his wife, Janet Van Dyne, put this to direct use on themselves, performing countless heroic deeds as the original Ant-Man and The Wasp.

And outside of the Super Hero game, Hank started a serious R&D operation known as Pym Technologies. But a few years ago, Pym Tech fell into the unscrupulous hands of people who wanted to exploit his discoveries for use on the battlefield—and to sell the resulting technology to folks we really do not want to be in battle with! By then, Hank had been pushed out of the com­pany that literally had his last name on the door. But he knew what was being planned with his invention, and that it had to be stopped. So he . . . let’s say “hired” me to recover his creations from Pym Tech.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, Scott! is probably what you’re saying right now. How did we jump from custody disputes to biotech espionage?

Well, right about the time I was stumbling out of prison, trying to find myself, Hank Pym—whom I didn’t know at the time—found me. Hank had done his research on me and knew I was skilled at both elec­tronics and thievery. And most importantly, he knew that I had nothing left to lose.

Unbeknownst to me, he “tested” me by enticing me to steal the Ant-Man suit from his highly formidable safe. Once I succeeded at that, Hank and his daughter, Hope Van Dyne, kinda “stole” me from police custody, offered me the gig (as if I had a choice!), and then trained me to pull off one of the craziest high-tech heists ever.

So, return the potentially world-threatening military technology to its rightful creator, and it’s back to peace again, right?

Wrong.

Literally no sooner had I pulled off the Pym Tech operation (with an assist from some old prison pals and some extremely skilled ants) than I found myself face-to-face with the Avengers.

Well, two of them, anyway. Captain America and the Falcon. Believe me, two’s more than enough! I’d already had a tussle with the Falcon, but now he and Cap (as I would soon be calling him, no big deal) actually wanted my help.

Wow. I mean, wow! It wasn’t just cranky old semi-retired scientists tracking me down anymore—now I’d caught the attention of Earth’s Mightiest.

So what they wanted me for was . . . a bit messy. Basically, the Avengers had a huge internal divide over something too complicated to get into here, and Cap and Falcon wanted some fresh (and highly size-adaptable) muscle on their side. Especially when all of this culminated in a huge Avengers-vs.-Avengers fracas at an airport in Germany. Germany! I’d just spent three years in a tiny cell. Now I was suddenly “doing Europe”?

I don’t want to get into the details of the conflict (and in fact I am under legal obligation not to), but let’s just

say I might have been on the more “badass” side of it.

In the end, that whole fight got resolved, as I think you know. Otherwise our planet would be a scorched battlefield of never-ending intra-Avengers smackdowns.

So . . . peace on Earth now?

Nope. That’s when—thanks to Thanos—half of all life in the universe disappeared. So no, no peace on Earth or anywhere else.

I wasn’t around for those five years of missing people (you’ll find out why soon), but I came back just in time, jumped to a different timeline, fought, like, every bad guy in the universe on a field in upstate New York, helped the Avengers stop Thanos, and put all the people back where they belonged. Including, last but not least, putting my precious Hope back together with me!

As you might imagine, that was . . . a lot.

So in the time since, I’ve been trying to take things a bit easier. Nursing wounds. Reconnecting with those I’ve missed. Reflecting on what it all means.

Oh yes, and of course, writing this book!

And if you want to really get to know who Scott Lang is, reading this book is where I’d recommend you start.

So at this point, I bet you also have a very serious question—one which I’ve asked myself over a thousand times a day while writing this:

Why on Earth is Scott Lang the first Super Hero writ­ing a book?

I mean, just between us, I’m proud to be an Avenger, but sometimes I also feel like a “latecomer.” Sure, I came through in the ultimate clutch, but in baseball terms, I’m not a starter—I’m a DH (designated hero).

Here’s how I see it: I’m the “everyman Avenger.” I’m the one you could grab a beer with, the one you’d feel okay asking to look after your dog when you’re away or for a drive to the airport. I’m not a Super Soldier or a billionaire (unless this book is super-successful), just a regular dad, a San Francisco Giants fan, and a guy who’s made mistakes I’m still trying to rectify.

In a word, I’m an ordinary guy who’s been thrust—more than once—into extraordinary circumstances.

And I know that still doesn’t completely answer the question of why I wrote this book.

The simple answer is, “The Avengers asked me to.”

One day, Bruce “the Hulk” Banner and Clint “Hawkeye” Barton took me out for lunch. They said they were con­cerned that the world didn’t really know what had hap­pened with Thanos and the Blip and our long struggle to finally put things right again.

At first, as I usually do when confronted with heavy topics, I made a joke: “I’m pretty sure at least half the world knows what happened.”

Bruce responded that yes, of course, billions had experienced these jarring and mind-bending events, but they didn’t know the full story behind them. And ultimately, that’s what people need the most to get through and get past traumatic events: a narrative that helps it all make sense.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Solid plan. So who are you going to get to tell that story?”

Clint answered, “You, Scott. You’re the guy who got scooped up in all this pretty recently. You’ve still got one foot in their world. And you’re a guy everyone likes . . . and trusts.”

And Bruce sealed the deal: “It’s tough stuff, and no one knows how to keep it light like you.”

Well. I still had tons of doubts. I was hardly an eye­witness to almost all that history. I hadn’t been around for the Battle of Wakanda, or any of the events that led to Thanos gathering the various Infinity Stones.

But pretty much immediately, I knew what my answer would be. As far as I’m concerned, when the Avengers ask you do to a job—any job—you say yes. So I did. Two quick handshakes (Bruce—now permanently in his Hulk body—made sure to keep his “not too firm”), and it was settled. They’d supply me all the archival footage and documentation, take me anywhere I needed to go, and let me ask as many questions as I needed.

The only thing is, it wasn’t actually 100 percent set­tled for me—on the inside. From the confidence peak of having two amazing Super Heroes place their trust in you, there was a frighteningly steep plummet into self-doubt. Even with their sensible reasons, the whole affair just stirred up a question that’s been burning inside me most of my adult life:

Why me?

I’ve been asking myself that since before I even met the Avengers. Back when I was working at VistaCorp, why was I the only one who couldn’t sleep at night after learning of all the money they were stealing from cus­tomers? Why did I basically give up my job, give up my marriage, and spend three years in San Quentin, just so I could play Robin Hood?

And finally—and this one still smarts—when VistaCorp’s nasty business became public to the world, why was I the one who ended up going down for it?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. And perhaps I never will.

Not even Doctor Strange can tell me, and believe me, it’s not for my lack of asking. Once the purple dust had settled from the Battle of Earth, I tried bonding with the guy. Let’s just say, he was either unwilling or uninterested in filling me in about any of my 14,000,605 possible pasts.

But here’s what I do know. That VistaCorp/prison experience taught me that our world is broken. And that it’s never going to get fixed unless folks like me—the unlikely ones—step up to the job.

And when Hank Pym plucked me out of the ex-con pool and put me to work as Ant-Man 2.0, I started to see the haziest outlines of a “why” for me. Maybe all those hard years I had just endured were actually preparation for a higher purpose.

Which is a good thing, because right after my first outing as a hero, I was drafted into that aforementioned very scary and sort of confusing business with Avengers fighting other Avengers in Germany, I was sent to an underwater super -SUPER-max prison, and once again, I had to take the fall and spend two more years in deten­tion under house arrest.

Why me again?

Still no perfect lock on the answer, but I was beginning to glimpse one. This is going to sound beyond weird for a guy whose success—and often life—depends on quantum mechanics, but basically, I had a feeling.

Even as I was yanked from one seemingly unthink­able scenario to another, asked to do things I would have never dreamed possible, I began to see that many incredible things were, in fact, possible—and I was doing them. And they started to feel more and more, for lack of a better word, right.

I know this is the kind of feeling my Avengers pals feel mid-mission or mid-battle, and maybe they’ve gotten used to it, but I’m just finally getting there. To the feel­ing that, even when faced with the most terrifying foes imaginable, even with the odds exponentially stacked against you, if you are working side by side with others to serve a greater good, you are in the right place, doing the right thing. For you.

And honestly, that’s the real story behind the entire Avengers saga. It’s the one I thought was most essential to share with all of you. That was the deeper reason I said yes to those two Avengers at the lunch counter. Because I knew that, once again, I was being called to do what seemed impossible (or at least, highly inadvisable)—but instead, I let the feeling take hold, and guide me.

And I realized that I needed to share that feeling with you.

Because at the end of the day, nobody can tell where life is going to yank them, unexpectedly and seemingly beyond their reach. Steve Rogers signed up to fight, imagining he’d only go as far as a scrawny guy can get in wartime. Tony Stark was brilliant and successful, but I know a part of him wondered if he’d ever get out from under his dad’s shadow. Even Doctor Strange in all his professional success could never have imagined becoming a Master of the Mystic Arts—or even that such a thing existed!

And that same unpredictability is just as true for you as it is for me. What would you do if life shrunk you down and tossed you into a bathtub being filled by your former prison buddy? Okay, that one might just be me. But how about when life sends you unexpectedly packing from your gig of three years and straight into a jail cell—because you dared to blow the whistle on your company’s greed?

You don’t ask why. You ask, “Where do I go from here?”

Because that’s the job life has for you, at least right at this moment, and it’s the kind of job you don’t get to quit.

You can run, but you can’t hide—not even if you can shrink yourself down and leap into a bathtub.

Now I know I said before that I don’t, technically, have a super-power. But looked at another way, I actually do. And the even cooler part is, so do all of you.

Having the ability to change my size at will, I’ve seen that the world is full of “big guys” and “little guys.” And unsurprisingly, the former is always stepping on the latter. Sometimes this is by design, but sometimes, just because of their status and drive, the big folks don’t even see the everyday, hard-working folks just trying to get by.

That’s why it’s always the job of people like me—and, as I’m going to show you throughout this book, you—to look out for the little guy. That’s something we all have a super-powered ability to do, if we simply choose to accept the job.

You are in this place and time for a reason, and no one else is. And so—when that next uncertain, unlikely, “impossible” step is revealed to you—I urge you with every particle in my body, Pym or otherwise, to turn that “Why me?” into a “Why not me?”

At least that’s what I tried to do when I promised the Avengers I would tell their story. And the best way I know how to do that is by telling mine at the same time. Because as I’ve learned, whenever I start to talk about something big that happened, I also see the little lessons that can be learned from it, and I want to share that, to help myself and others.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t get the chance to be around my daughter Cassie for so many chunks of her life, to share what I’d learned with her. I’m still working on that, but it’s hard now that she’s a grown-up herself who’s already seen and experienced so much without me to guide her. I missed the boat on that one, but believe me, you are in for an entire book of “Dad wisdom” just burning for a home.

So that’s what I plan to do in this book. I’m going to tell it all, from how I saw it, experienced it, and heard it firsthand from my hero buddies. I’m going to bring you into the hero world.

Along the way, you’ll hear about my story—Scott Lang’s story—from where I started to the (ant-) man I’ve become, and am still becoming. Because I’m so incredibly fascinating? No. Because my life—just like yours—loses half its value if we don’t find a way to share its lessons with others.

And finally, because—if you take nothing else away from my words—what I want to share is that what makes all of us giants is how much we look out for the little guy. How we help out our fellow humans when they need it most. How our greatest super-power can simply be a listening ear, a concerned eye, or an outstretched hand. How we don the “hero’s uniform” by simply showing up and doing the unbelievably unlikely job that life has just handed us.

And speaking of jobs, I’ve got an entire rest of a book to write. Oh, why did I agree to this? WHY ME?

[starksnoirtwo]

call it what you want | the corinthian

pairing: the corinthian (sandman)/fem!reader

tags: coffee shop au, hurt/comfort

warnings: mentions of violence, murder, and obsessive behavior (all on behalf of the corinthian), implied sexual content

note: this is very, very self-indulgent and it’s kind of embarrassing. i noticed that not too many people write for this guy compared to morpheus so i’m throwing this out there: a cliché mess that will hopefully satiate your wildest dreams. some parts were inspired by other fics, namely “Bring me a dream” by @placeinthemiddleofnowhere​, “Nightmare” by @dyns33​, and “Protective” by @bi-bard​. please check those fics out if you’re a corinthian lover like me.

also i highly recommend listening to “call it what you want” then “wildest dreams” by the taylor swift while reading!

You never thought your life was particularly exciting. You had your hobbies, sure, but all-in-all the days just blended together in a blurb of organized chaos every human on the planet had gone through at some point in their lives. Your coffee shop was your rock and business was doing well enough to keep you alive and comfortable in New York. You never expected more.

So when a sharply-dressed man wearing thick black shades and a charming smile waltzed into the shop, you didn’t think much of it. You saw all kinds of people every day, why was he any different? It wasn’t until he spoke that you noticed all the little things about him with never-before-seen clarity. It seemed like you were lucky you happened to be manning the counter that day.

“Hey darlin’,” his voice drawled out, elbow resting on the counter. “Been thinkin’ of trying something new. Any recommendations for me, doll?”

He leaned in slightly on the last sentence. It wasn’t the first time a customer came in with flowery nicknames for you, but no one ever quite executed it as this stranger did. Maybe it was some sort of Southern charm he possessed, or maybe it was the smile but he definitely had something a lot of people didn’t.

You raised a brow at him and smiled, “Maybe a caramel macchiato? It’s one of our bestsellers.”

He nodded and hummed, seemingly pleased with the suggestion, “Gimme a large.”

“That would be four dollars, please. Oh and… your name, sir?” “Just put… Corinthian.”

You wrote it down on the cup, not even bothering to ask. You’ve experienced your fair share of weirdos and pranksters coming in and asking you to write down all sorts of ungodly things on their cups, so it was no big deal.

Five minutes passed and you looked for the man, ready to give him his order. You found him in a corner booth with an arm draped lazily over his seat, one leg rested on top of another, and his other hand tapping on the table. Still, the man was intriguing enough that you decided to add a free muffin to his drink.

“Here’s your order, sir.” He eyed the muffin and shook his head,

“I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house.” The mystery man simply smirked. Then he kept coming back every week.

-

He didn’t know what made him keep coming back to that tiny little coffee shop in New York, but hunting down Ethel Cripps had proved to be a difficult task, even for him, and he needed a break. The coffee was good, but you were better. Cute enough for him to keep visiting.

If he had to describe you he would say you were… interesting. You sat down with him during your break several times over the past two months. The two of you chatted about anything and everything and it had been the highlight of your day. And his, though he would never admit it. Before then, he frequently entertained the idea of eating your eyes. He'd savor every bit of sweetness your humanity had to offer and he'd have a piece of you everywhere he went but that all went down the drain when one day you brought him some cupcakes you baked yourself.

He just finished going over the list of people that might lead him to Ethel for what seemed like the twentieth time. The memory played in the back of his mind over and over again as he leaned back on his chair.

“Oh! I almost forgot. I made these for you! Sorry, they’re not the prettiest but I think they’re pretty good." You pushed a warm paper bag to his side of the table.

He reached for one cupcake, took a bite, and hummed.

When he turned to look at you, you stared at him, eagerly waiting for his reaction. For his approval. It was an odd feeling.

“So…?” you inquired meekly.

“It’s good,” was all he said.

He could never seem to erase the image of your smile from his mind, even weeks after.

In all honesty, he often wondered if he was capable of emotions. Positive ones. He felt bitterness and rage towards his creator, and a sick satisfaction with every new kill, but nothing compared to the sheer fulfillment that came with eating eyes. It made him feel oh-so-human. So much more than a Nightmare, and in a way, that's all he could really hope for: to be more than what Morpheus intended him to be. He never really bothered to make connections with humans for any reason besides his own gain, so now, whenever he thinks of you, he wonders if you were the answer to all his questions all along.

The Corinthian knew he would have to leave when he finally found what he came to New York for, but he did secretly hope he could squeeze in a visit every now and then. You were… good company. He knew about that reality TV show you watched every Friday night, your childhood dog whose ashes and photos you kept around in a special corner of your room, the humble beginnings of your coffee shop, and that old university sweater you brought sometimes because it was, quote-unquote, “the only damn thing that could keep me warm these days.”

Maybe he could keep you warm. Best not to entertain that thought. He had only ever been good at making humans cold. You spoke to him with so much enthusiasm, blissfully unaware of who and what he was. You made him feel so free. Ironically, it's what also made him want to stay. The first time you called him by his name had solidified that.

It was raining and one of your employees caught the flu. Polly was a good kid, so you offered to cover her shift for the day. Maybe you could get her some soup after you were done with your work.

It was a slow day, too. Not many customers came, and even less stayed for longer than ten minutes. Just when you thought it would be good to close the shop early, in walked the man you saw every week: all in his handsome blond glory.

"Oh hey cowboy," you greeted cheekily before getting a mop to continue your work. "I thought you weren't gonna come today."

You got in the habit of calling him nicknames as well. You didn't really know his name, and he never bothered to ask yours since you had a tag. He left his umbrella by the door and walked over to you.

He tilted his head and smiled: a soft smile you rarely saw on him in the two months you've known him, "And what makes you say that?"

"Dunno"—you led him to a seat before you began mopping—"not everyone would bother since there's a storm raging outside."

You could feel him watching you.

"For you, sweetheart? I'd do anything."

"Those are some mighty big words from a guy whose name I don't even know," you giggled.

"Also, are you gonna order something or what? I might close up shop early since I don't think anybody else is coming in."

He ignored your question.

"Oh, but you do know my name," he leaned back in his seat. "You've known since the day we met, doll."

He could see the gears turning in your head before you laughed in disbelief, "What? Corinthian? No offense but either your parents hated you or you're weird. But if that's what you want me to call you, then… hey, Corinthian."

He laughed. A real, genuine laugh, and it shocked him. He didn't remember the last time he did that, or if he did at all. All he knew was that his name sounded so sweet coming from your lips.

-

The Corinthian was, for the lack of a better word, an enigma to you. You knew he was dangerous and yet he was beautiful. It was like being a moth that can't help but be drawn to a flame. He gave your days some much-needed substance and you couldn't help but want to know more about him. Was it risky? Maybe. You weren't sure if his name really was just "Corinthian" or if he was hiding some big secret. Maybe one was true. Maybe both were. Maybe neither were. It didn't really matter when he looked at you like you were telling him the secrets of the world.

You've never seen him without his thoroughly opaque shades. Whenever you asked, he often reasoned that he had a condition that made him sensitive to the light. Sometimes he was in a smooth-talking mood.

"Well, I have to keep them on or else you'll blind me with your beauty, sugar."

His words ranged from the kind that would make you swoon to the kind that made you laugh with how cheesy they were. There were three things about him that you knew for sure: one, he was a massive flirt. This aspect of his personality was found in every word he’s ever said to you. In recent meetings, he's gone as far as bringing you little trinkets from his "work trips". He never told you much about them but he never failed to bring back some sort of souvenir. Among these souvenirs was a wooden carving of a dog that resembled your childhood dog you told him about before. You even asked him if this was the intention and for the first time, the man had been taken aback as if he was caught doing a crime.

"It's as cute as you; thought you'd like it," he teased, leaning close enough that you could smell his cologne.

The second thing you knew about him was that he was definitely well-off. He dressed and acted like it, too. You realized this when his gifts started becoming more and more extravagant: a gold bracelet there, a simple diamond necklace here.

The third thing you knew about him was that… well, he was lonely. Or at least he seemed like it. Perhaps it was a harsh assumption to make, but of all the fantastical stories he told you of canoe rides in Venice and dinners in Singapore, not once did he mention another person. Not one friend, family member, or significant other.

Significant other. The thought made you uncomfortable. You enjoyed this odd friendship you had with him and yet the boundaries seemed so blurry that you began to wonder about things friends would never do.

-

The first time you saw him outside of your coffee shop was at a park nearby. At that point, you’ve been seeing each other regularly at the shop for about three months. The park had lots of dogs during the weekends and it was always nice to see them play and be pups. You had just been enjoying a gentle breeze when that beloved Kentucky accent echoed behind you.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here, doll."

You turned around and there he was. Corinthian. The man who was single-handedly making your days (and your nights).

"Oh, hey!" you greeted him heartily. "Didn't take you for the stroll-in-the-park type."

"And what would my type be?" he asked, sitting down next to you on the bench.

"I dunno, me, probably, since you somehow always manage to find your way back to me," you giggled. And then you realized what you said. "Oh. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He laughed and took your hand in his. You couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together, "Relax, sweetheart. You know you can do that around me"—he squeezed ever so slightly—"hmm?"

You could only nod slowly.

"And for the record, you're right. You are my type."

He kissed the back of your hand, leaving you breathless, "Now, I think I want some ice cream, don't you?"

You would never forget how he licked his lips, and how much you wanted to kiss him right then and there.

-

The first time he kissed you was at a carnival. Since that fateful day at the park, you started seeing him more outside of the coffee shop, and you loved every second of it.

He allowed himself to have this. To enjoy this. He knew that Morpheus has escaped and would be coming for him soon, and so he allowed himself the pleasure of being with you while his creator was busy looking for his tools.

You led him by the hand to a game of darts, your eyes wide and sparkling at the giant teddy bear displayed at the front of the small booth. With what he could only describe as the determination of a massive toddler, you walked up to the booth and handed in ten bucks.

The guy behind the booth looked up from his phone and looked at the two of you, before scoffing and taking the money, "Knock yourself out."

The Corinthian watched you hopelessly try to hit the bullseye, but none of the darts were sticking.

"Wha- This is rigged!" you exclaimed. The boy laughed mockingly at you.

"No, but a couple more tries might do the trick."

Your date rubbed circles on your back to calm you down before stepping forward and handing his own ten bucks. The guy greedily took it and gave him a new set of darts.

The Corinthian winked at you before throwing the dart.

You knew it was gonna land dead center, but what you didn't expect was the force of his throw being so great that it split the board.

You could barely contain your excited squeals before grabbing both of his cheeks and kissing him. Needless to say, he was left speechless.

"She tastes like vanilla and soda," he thought.

-

The first time you saw his "eyes" was just a couple of days later. He had settled wonderfully in your life, and while the two of you never made anything official, you were happy.

He made a dinner reservation at a fancy restaurant you've never been to so naturally, you got all dolled up for him. The dress you wore was the classiest one you could find in your wardrobe. It was plain red: a color he expressed a fondness for on several occasions.

But the taxi driver dropped you off just a little bit earlier than he should've, and you still had to walk for a minute or two to get to your destination. Unfortunately for you, New York was never the safest of places.

"Look what we have here," a man stepped out from an alleyway you passed.

You froze up. Catcalling was not unfamiliar to you, and yet you still couldn't bring yourself to stay calm when it happened. Your heart was racing.

"Come on, sweetcheeks, don't get so shy around us," another man stepped closer to you and you could smell the cigarette smoke and a pungent something emanating from him. "The jacket needs to go, I think, show us that slutty little dress you're wearing."

"No, I don't think she'll be doing any of that, fellas," a familiar voice intervened. "Not unless you want to lose your eyes."

You could almost cry with the amount of relief that washed over you. The two men who were harassing you, however, not so much. If anything, they got even more hostile.

"Ah, this your girl?" one man taunted, tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. The Corinthian hummed and grinned. It was the kind of grin you found to be very menacing at the moment; nothing at all like the cheeky one he would don during your weekly meetings. "After we're done with her, she won't be."

The other man charged at him, a pocket knife ready to stab into the Corinthian's jugular, but nothing happened. You blinked and all you could see was your date, your partner, standing tall as his attacker slowly fell to his knees with heaving breaths. In his hand was his own knife, now bloody.

The first man took a step back, and tried to make a run for it. He pushed you to the side, thinking it would buy him time but the Corinthian placed an arm on his shoulder, and suddenly all hopes of an escape were thrown out the window. Your date helped you up with his other hand and guided you to get behind him.

"Y'know, I don't appreciate filthy fucking bastards like you messing with my girl," he snarled, stepping you closer to the man who was now shaking. The Corinthian brandished his knife once again, ready to strike when you grabbed his wrist. He turned to you with a look of surprise and lowered his weapon when the other man used it as an opportunity to land a weak blow to the Corinthian’s face and run off.

The strike had removed his sunglasses… and then you saw it: the teeth.

You didn’t run, you didn’t scream, but you sure as hell didn’t get any closer to him. What kind of person had TEETH for EYES? Meanwhile, as you stood there in shock, the man in front of you, if you could call him that, calmly picked up his shades from the floor, wiped them with his handkerchief, and removed your grip from his wrist.

“Well, the jig’s up,” he laughed, but it was empty and unlike anything you’d heard from him before. You could only stare at him. The first man to make you feel something in ages was definitely not human. “What? Were you expecting baby blues?” he asked bitterly, almost accusingly. Almost as if he had hoped you wouldn’t react the way you did.

The only thing you could bring yourself to ask was a weak “why?”

He wasn’t expecting that. You had genuinely looked so confused once your fear had somewhat dissipated.

“Why. Why?” he repeated, seemingly in disbelief. He quickly got angrier by the second, “I’m like this because I was made by some heartless fuck who didn’t give two shits about what I wanted! HE ONLY EVER CARED ABOUT THE FACT THAT I DID WHAT HE MADE ME DO!”

“And… and what did he make you do?”

“I’m a NIGHTMARE!” he bellowed out, the harsh truth of his existence finally out in the open. “He made me like THIS,”—he pointed to his eyes—”because he wanted me to scare the living daylights out of people whenever they slept because a-fucking-pparenly, I’m only capable of being a MONSTER. ”

You could barely follow what he was saying, but you saw his brows furrowed in anguish and how his lips quivered ever so slightly at his admission. You pulled him in for a hug then and touched his cheek; a gesture that was enough for him to freeze up. You gently put his shades back on and held his hand. You always knew deep down that there was something about him that was different, but you also knew that he deserved to be heard. It was hard to push him away in that moment when all you could think about were the late night calls, the ice cream dates, and all the little sacred moments in between. He saved you, and the least you could do was take his cold hands in yours and do your best to help.

“Let’s go to my house, and then you can tell me everything,” you murmured. “This isn’t the best place for me to find out about all of this.”

His breathing was slowly going back to normal again, no longer heaving from rage. He didn’t know if he deserved your kindness. Or your love. He wasn’t even sure if he could call what he was feeling “love”, but this… if this wasn’t love, then he would never want to find love with anyone else. You looked into his eyes, two voids behind the teeth, and touched him like he was fragile. His instinct would be to never let you go; it would keep you with him for as long as he wanted, whether you wanted to or not but he knew that the conscious part of himself would do anything you asked him to do at the drop of a hat. And he would still revere you. You were not Dream and so the Corinthian would follow you to the ends of the Earth, of every realm: he would follow you even into the Sunless Lands. He would worship you, knowing that it was the sweetest, greatest act of defiance against his former master.

So he let you lead him into a taxi back to your home, occasionally squeezing his hand all while you leaned into him and breathed in his cologne. He could feel your heart race. If he had one, it might’ve been doing that too. In your house, where in every corner he found a piece of you, he knew this was most authentic feeling of humanity he could ever get. He probably wouldn’t cease his activities, but he would settle for this, whatever this is, if it meant he could stay with you.

In the comfort of your home, he told you about his past and he explained how much there was beyond the waking world: things humans could seldom wrap their head around. He told you of the Endless, of his own creation courtesy of one of said Endless, but he was careful to omit his own involvement in trapping Dream and keeping him under the Burgess Mansion for over a century. He painted a picture for you: a Nightmare seeking to find fulfillment and purpose beyond his intended function, silenced by his oppressive all-powerful master. He told you how once he realized that his master wouldn’t be coming after him anymore, he finally felt free. It was the perfect sob story, and it was mostly true. You will never know the things he’s done, nor will you know the things he will do. He didn’t say anything about Dream’s escape. He would deal with it.

Now, as he lies in your bed with your head resting on his bare chest, two naked bodies intertwined, he thinks he could keep you here forever. He’s already got a new lead anyway: Rose Walker. A dream vortex. He was certain, if anybody was going to solve all of his problems, it would be her. He turned to you, stroking your hair, and pressed a chaste kiss to your head. You smiled in your sleep and nuzzled closer to him.

-

He took you to London, and then Cape Kennedy in Florida. The former you could understand, and as for the latter, not so much.

“Just a treat for my angel for working so hard,” he proclaimed with a kiss on your lips when you asked. You would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. It was a nice change of pace, and you were guaranteed to be spoiled practically every day. You left the coffee shop to Polly and your friends. They encouraged you to go along with your now-boyfriend.

“Oooooh, oh my god, Miss, you should totally go!” she squealed. “I love you but, you need a break. And you need that very hunky boyfriend of yours to help with that.”

You may have pinched her arm for that.

So here you were, a hotel away from the convention your boyfriend had been invited to as a guest speaker. All you knew was that he worked as a consultant, which would explain all the work trips he went to. Perhaps he had been exceptional in his field and was conducting some sort of seminar. Your phone rang while you were getting ready to do some solo exploring.

You picked it up and saw the contact name: cowboy <3

“Hey honey,” you spoke. “What’s up?”

“Uh, nothing much to be honest. Just a bunch of people here who appreciate my work,” he responded nonchalantly.

“Oh, okay. You think they’d give me a ticket or something if I said I was your girlfriend?” you joked. He went silent.

“Baby, I don’t think this is a good place for you to be,” he paused. “Lots of misogynists and cryptocurrency nerds here. But if you insist, make sure you call me beforehand, hmm? I’ll be sure to give you some real… VIP treatment.”

On the other side of the phone, he was confident that once he got into Rose Walker’s head, there would be no problems, but oh, was he very, very wrong. Deep down, he knew Dream would be coming, and it was only a matter of time until one of them managed to sway Rose to their own side. His thoughts were racing as he stepped up on stage and settled for a dignified stance behind the podium. There, in front of him were dozens of “collectors”, humans who adored him and what he did. He… dreamed of a world in his image. These people were just the beginning. One day, he would start everything anew.

Before you, fulfillment came in the form of murder. Of eating their eyes and witnessing everything so unique to humanity. Experiences he’s been robbed of because of Dream.

“I don’t usually speak in public,” he began. “But the opportunity to talk to so many people who share the same passion, the same dream, well it was just too good to pass up… because you are special people; very special people.”

Your plans to take a tour around Cape Kennedy had been cut short by your own need to see your boyfriend. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the convention was being held, given that there was only one other hotel that could serve as a venue.

To your surprise, it was completely unguarded. The guards, nor any of the staff, were nowhere to be found. You saw some of the posters and cards that decorated the lobby, which then gave you the location of the main stage. Oddly enough, you started feeling fatigued with every step you took. In a few moments, you were in front of the big doors that separated you and your lover, given how his speech was scheduled to take place at this time of day. Instead, you could hear him talking, but not in a way someone would when talking to a crowd.

It was muffled, but you could still make out what he was saying, “If you think I’m going back to the Dreaming with you—”

“You’re not going back,” another person replied. You felt shivers run down your spine. You knew that voice. Why did you know that voice?

“I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

“Do you know why I do it?” your lover asked in response. You heard nothing from the other man. “So I can taste what’s it like to be human. And you don’t care about humanity. You only care about yourself, and your realm, and your rules.”

You decide to enter as quietly as you possibly could so that you wouldn’t inadvertently make things worse and so you could be at your partner’s aid if need be.

“I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.”

“Or you might actually feel something,” you watched the Corinthian, now without his shades, staring down the other man. They couldn’t look more different but you knew your boyfriend was the one in danger. “I am not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you… but I created you poorly then, so I must uncreate you now,” the man, who you now knew as Dream, replied with a sense of finality,

Your breath hitched at “uncreate”. The two men finally looked at you, unaware of your presence before then, and watched with wildly different expressions as you walked closer to the stage they were standing on. Dream looked at you with mild surprise and curiosity though he remained mostly indifferent to you. As if there was nothing about you that would change the outcome of this story. The Corinthian, on the other hand, was near his breaking point. All his emotions were bubbling up to the surface, threatening to tear down all his walls at the sight of you. He looked so defeated and scared, but you could see his love. You could see his desperation. His fears and hopes fighting in the name of your safety.

“What- what is going on?” you breathed out.

“What are you doing here, sugar?” he asked you softly, trying to hide his panic. “I thought I told you to call.”

“Please don’t do anything to him, sir,” you approached Dream. “I- I don’t know what’s happening but please, please, don’t do anything to him.”

You wished you were strong enough to stop the tears welling up in your eyes and not look pathetic in front of this cosmic entity, but you would endure if it meant you could save your partner, or at least buy him enough time to get away. Your hands shook so you clasped them together, hoping you could maintain some sort of dignity. You could hear the Corinthian start begging you to stop what you were doing; to have some common sense. How it wasn’t worth it. You tried to block him out. He jumped off the stage and grabbed your shoulders. To hell with Dream. He would touch you one last time if this was to be his end.

“(Y/n),” he gasped out. That finally got your attention. You looked at him, brows furrowed. He never called you by your name. “You… don’t have to do this. You have a whole life ahead of you, doll. Don’t throw it all away for me.”

“But you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to die, but I don’t want you to go where I can’t follow.”

“The Darkness isn’t so bad, I'm a Nightmare, remember? I'll be okay,” he tried to reassure you, though you could see that even he couldn't believe his own words. “I’d just miss you too much.”

You let your tears flow freely onto his suit jacket as you pulled him into a hug. He kissed you. It was so different from all the other kisses you shared. It was desperate. It was full of longing. It was sacred. If anyone else could see you right now, eyes closed and holding each other in a tight embrace, they would think you were just a normal couple. The version of you from six months ago would’ve never thought of dreaming of that monotonous normality she couldn’t escape, but now it was your greatest wish: that you and he could walk out of that room alive and well with no worries besides what you were going to have for dinner and how your coffee shop was doing. You felt him freeze up, just like when you saw his eyes for the first time all those weeks ago.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” he whispered. As he turned to sand your arms, you could do nothing but watch and feel him wither away. You fell to your knees in anguish, looking up at Dream and you knew there was nothing you could give that would bring your lover back.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but this was for the best,” the Endless spoke softly, as if trying to protect you from the grief he caused. “He killed many people over the past century that I was gone, and while he had a true reason for doing so, I cannot let him continue lest I fail my duties. Surely you have wondered what he did for a living?”

You didn’t answer, so he continued, “I know this will not fix the pain I have caused you, but I have his memories. I know his love for you was, no, is true. As is yours. You were the one good thing that happened to him in all those years he wandered this world alone, and I thank you for taking care of him.”

Everything faded to black.

-

In the Dreaming, Lucienne cautiously approached Dream. Unity Kincaid sacrificed her life for her granddaughter, and Rose Walker lived to see another day, now with her brother and her friends who loved her as much as she loved them. The royal librarian, however, could not get over the fact that the Corinthian, of all people, had fallen in love with a human. She then tried to find an answer in the only way she knew how: books, but even that didn’t give her a clear answer. You were an average person.

“My lord, how… how is it possible that the Corinthian found... love? I read the story of her life and there’s nothing of significance in there, nothing that would draw him to her,” she inquired, exasperated.

“My creations are as much a part of me as I of them, Lucienne. All Nightmares and Dreams have the capacity to feel as I do, perhaps I should’ve seen it coming,” he answered truthfully. “What is most surprising is that when I… unmade him, I saw his memories. I saw his devotion. I saw a lot of myself in him in those moments but unlike me, they may have had a chance at a happy ending if I had not intervened. I do not regret taking him away, I’m only sad to be the reason two lovers were torn apart.”

“Do you intend on remaking him, sir?”

“Yes, but not now, the world does not need him yet.”

“But she needs him. You know she does. And while we can hope for the best and expect her to move on, even without her memories of him, she will feel an emptiness. She has been dreaming, my lord. Of him! She shouldn’t be able to do that!”

“What?”

“You know what this means. It’s not often the Fates let soulmates meet,” Lucienne insisted hopefully. "You can erase him from her mind, but her heart will never forget. God forbid you separate the first bonded soulmates to appear in the last thousand years!"

-

You never thought your life was particularly exciting. You had your hobbies, sure, but all-in-all the days just blended together in a blurb of organized chaos every human on the planet had gone through at some point in their lives. Maybe one thing about you was that you had recurring dreams of blond hair, and woody cologne... and being called different petnames? Maybe it was your dating status screaming at you to get laid. Oh well. Your coffee shop was your rock and business was doing well enough to keep you alive and comfortable in New York. You never expected more.

So when a sharply-dressed man wearing thick black shades and a charming smile waltzed into the shop, you didn’t think much of it. You saw all kinds of people every day, why was he any different? Except he was. You couldn’t help but stare and try to remember where you saw him.

Then he spoke with an accent that carried a soft Southern twang, one that was so familiar and comforting, “Did you miss me, sugar?”

He looked up at you from behind his shades, revealing the most beautiful pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

-

bam we got a two-in-one special: coffee shop au and a surprise soulmate au!! hope you enjoyed reading as much as i did writing it <333

[thathelplesshomeschooler]

humans are space orcs (with magic!) *skillz to pay the billz pt 1*

5wow i have been gone for a hot minute but i think i’m gonna tryn write more on here, but school’s starting up again soon so we’ll see how that actually goes. anyway, without further ado, here is another short story or sum, based on how some people can cook, and how some absolutely cannot

also i had to resist so hard from writing that’s what she said at the end so i will have to console myself with writing it up here.

***

The VIV Narrtor was docked at a WayCenter Station for repairs after a gamma burst from a neutron star had fried nearly all the sensors. As it was the humans had decided to designated this as their “vacation” and had put their money together and were renting a small abode for the duration of the repairs. Not wanting to miss out on any possible research, Drerzii had insisted that he and Tygeria rent the room across the street from the humans. 

And so Tygeria found herself the windowsill with a pair of “binoculars” as the humans called it, in her hand. Currently the humans weren’t doing much, in fact it appeared that only one of them was up and active. Uhris, clad only in his undergarments, was in the sustenance preparation room, making ready the pot of dark, steaming liquid that the humans drank every morning. She and Drerzii had suspected it to be either some sort of religious ceremony or a necessity of their species, much like how the dular always had to eat from a plant native to their planet before they ate anything else or they would die. However, neither of them had mustered the courage to ask the humans. If it was indeed a private matter, it might not be appreciated if they suspected they were being studied so thoroughly. And an angry human was not something Tygeria wanted to see. 

As she observed, the rest of the humans slowly arose from their slumber, except for Taurus. Being the largest of them all, Tygeria suspected that he likely needed more rest than the rest of them in order to move his mass around. She noted her thoughts on a holotablet. 

When she resumed her observations, she noted that Uhris was preparing sustenance, and quite a large amount. He must be feeding the entire group. It was strange she thought, since his records didn’t indicate that he had been trained in sustenance preparation, but he seemed quite adept in his actions. Perhaps he had trained in secret, hoping one day to be employed as a sustenance prepare. These “chefs” apparently were quite coveted in any group. 

The group spent most of the morning hours indoors, but what they were doing exactly Tygeria couldn’t say exactly. They were certainly enjoying themselves at the very least. Around midday Uhris and Enara walked out of the building. Tygeria leaned forward, her interested piqued. “Drerzii, Drerzii! They’re headed this way.” Her carapace tingled with mixed fear and excitement. They’d been found out. Surely the humans would be angry at being spied on. Drerzii rose from his resting state. 

“My dear Tygeria, you surely must be mistaken. The humans-” He stopped as he peered out the window, “Oh. You’re quite right Tygeria. But do calm yourself, I doubt they mean us any harm. Likely their simply curious. Their species’ natural inclement is towards curiosity rather than violence; however, I suppose we should be prepared. There, I have a clear line of communication to command should anything happen.” 

Tygeria appreciated his actions, but her carapace still tingled. A minute later there was a knock on the door. She walked quickly across the room and opened the door. Uhris and Enara stood in the entryway. 

Uhris switched his hand from scratching the back of his head to giving them a little wave. “Uh hey. Anne pointed out that you guys were staying across the street from us, and we all agreed that we couldn’t just let you guys stay here.” It was exactly as Tygeria feared, the humans were angry about being spied on. Drerzii’s flashing colors echoed her fear. “So we- Drerzii you okay? You’re putting on a whole light show my dude.”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite fine. For the time being at least.”

“Erm, yeah, whatever that means. Anyway, we’re about to have lunch, so we wanted to know if you guys wanted to join us. We might do something later, but we haven’t decided what yet.”

Tygeria lowered her head so it was on eye-level with the human. It didn’t make much of a difference to her, what with her infrared vision, but apparently it was a human gesture. “You don’t intend us any harm?”

The two humans looked on in confusion. “N-no? I mean why would we want to hurt you? We just wanted to know if you wanted to eat with us, but if you don’t that’s fine too.”

Tygeria was taken aback. Did they not know? “Because we were obs-”

“Of course we would be delighted to enjoy you for a meal. I unfortunately am unable to consume at the current moment, but I would be delighted to participate in your fellowship.”

“Oh. Great, well you guys can head on over then. Enara and I are just going to get some groceries, but we’ll be back in just a few minutes. The door’s unlocked so just head right in”

And so the humans headed off toward the provisions center of the station while Tygeria and Drerzii made their way to the humans rooms. Upon entering the room they were met with ferocious laughter. The terrifying sound of mirth coming from all three of the humans. Taurus, who apparently was in the middle of a story glanced over towards the door, his predatory eyes moving by pure instinct. He motioned with his hand. “Come on over guys, I was just telling them about when I managed to get a screw jammed up my nose.” It took a few minutes of recap for Tygeria and Drerzii to understand the situation, but it was incomprehnsible why the humans found it so funny.

Uhris and Enara arrived shortly after the story was finished. Both had bags filled with consumables in both hands. Taurus hooted from across the room “Uwu, y’all look like a couple, walking in with your groceries.”

Uhris breathed heavily through his nose, what Tygeria believed was called a “snort.” “If I was Jason maybe we’d be a couple.” At that comment Jason started coughing and Enara’s face grew red. Perhaps, Tygeria thought, this has something to do with them ‘liking’ each other.

“Anyway, we’re going to get started on lunch. Y’all just sit tight. Also Tygeria you should be able to eat this, we got food that’s edible for you too.” She clicked her thanks.

It was very considerate that the humans would use sustenance that she would be able to ingest as well. She was, however, concerned. Among her kind she was known to have rather specific preferences. However she couldn’t risk offending the humans by not eating any sustenance they prepared. But as they worked in the kitchen, her olfactory senses began to tingle. The smells of whatever it was they were making piqued her curiosity. How could one prepare food so that it would have such a smell? Was this some form of communication between human. Perhaps it was just a byproduct of whatever processes they were using to prepare the sustenance. 

She peered over to see both Uhris and Enara moving efficiently through the kitchen, handing each others utensils and ingredients as they worked. Occasionally one of them would take a small utensil and taste some of the sustenance, then make a small adjustment to the ratios of ingredients. Sometimes they would ask each others opinions or hand something off to the other. Tygeria was astonished at the ease with which they hurried through their movements. Uhris placed his creation in the heating unit and turned to the rest of them. “Alright, so this should take just a few minutes to bake, and then we’ll be good to go.”

Taurus set out dishes for everyone to eat on, except for Drerzii, who had declined on account of his metabolic processes not being in service for the time being. Once Uhris had deemed the time to be right, he carefully pulled the sustenance from the heating chamber and placed it upon the table. Enara came from the kitchen and placed what she had prepared next to Uhris’. “Just wait for it to cool down and then go ahead and dig in.”

With a laugh Jason raised his hand, “So what exactly is it that we’re eating.”

Uhris bared his teeth, then quickly changed his expression to be less frightening for Tygeria and Drerzii. “What we have here is a magherita flatbread, made completely by hand, with non-native ingredients. I subbed uthara for tomatoes for both the garnish and the sauce, and used tehari cream instead of cheese. And the crust is, actually I don’t know what it is, it just said it could be substituted on my holotablet. But Enara, tell them what you made.”

“What we have here is a fruit salad, also made with ‘non-native’ ingredients, as Uhri put it. And I put in some of the spices they had at the compound for some added flavor.”

Jason laughed, “So basically we’re having alien pizza and alien fruit salad? This is really gonna be the test guys.” With that he took out the first section of the ‘flatbread’ and took a bite. His eyes opened wide and he made a sound deep in his throat. With a mouth full of food he said, “Oh yeah, thish ish the sh*t you guys.” 

What exactly that meant, Tygeria wasn’t sure, but the rest of the humans began consuming the sustenance, and so Tygeria took one of the squares and took a bite of it herself. Her carapace tingled with delight. The flavors burst in her mouth, sweet and salty combining perfectly. She hummed with delight, this was beyond what she would have imagined the humans to be capable of. She then took a portion of the ‘fruit salad’ and ate some of that as well. It complimented the flatbread in a way that she didn’t know was even possible. She quickly secured another few servings, making sure she would have enough for later on. She would have to savor the taste whenever she had the chance. But she couldn’t help but to hum even more as she continued to feed on it. 

“Well it looks like we have one very happy customer.” Uhri said.

* * *

The rest of the day the group simply stayed indoors and talked about a myriad of subjects. Enara’s skill in the kitchen had come about simply because she liked to cook as a past time. It was, as she said, “A pleasure to see my work put smiles on faces. And even better if I can make the food healthy.” Uhri had apparently worked in his family’s business of making food for special events, something called catering, and had picked up his skills from his years helping around the kitchen. He volunteered to make another meal for dinner, but before he could start Anne stopped him. 

She stepped into the kitchen and turned to him “It’s been a while since I’ve made anything for anyone else, but I’d like to try to make something for you guys.”

Uhri shrugged, “Knock yourself out.” Tygeria was startled by this. Why would Anne hit herself so hard as to knock her unconscious? She was about to raise her concern when Uhri spoke, “I didn’t mean it literally. It’s a human saying, kind of like good luck, or go right ahead.” 

She hummed her acknowledgement, but was still confused as to why anyone would say this. 

Taurus paused, “Wait Anne, I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Well I did live by myself for two years in college. And I got sick of instant ramen after the first semester, so I had to learn.” 

This made sense to Tygeria, humans apparently had to fend for themselves once they reached a certain age. Their parents would assist but for the most part they were on their own. Next to her Drerzii trumpeted with delight. “Why, Tygeria I have been fastidiously taking notes of this whole occasion, and I would like to mull over them with you later. We can see what our thoughts are, but this entire time has been so enlightening.”

A few short minutes later Anne huffed out of the kitchen a steaming platter in her hands. The smell coming from it was just as strong as the one coming from the earlier dishes, but not quite so delectable in nature. Anne plopped it down in the middle of the table and introduced the dish. “It’s a bean casserole, or at least as close as I could get to one with what we have.”

Jason was again the first one to take a bite. He slowly pulled his utensil out of his mouth. Anne beamed, “So, what do you think?”

Jason shook slightly, “It’s definitely something else. You’ve got a real flavor there I’ll tell you that.” He timidly placed another portion in his mouth, shutting his eyes as he did so. 

The others began to eat, and had similar reactions. Slow, and usually taking a drink of water after every bite they had. It was a completely different reaction to what they had before. Before she could take a bite, Drerzii whispered in her ear, “Tell me what it tastes like.” 

So she  put a large portion on her plate, and another large portion in her mouth. If it was anything like the bliss she had tasted earlier she would have to start eating the humans food more often. Unfortunately, it was nothing like what she had eaten earlier. It was as if whatever the flavor was meant to be had become evil and was attacking her mouth. And the way it felt, it was incredibly dry, parching her mouth. She quickly grabbed a cup of water and downed it, trying to suppress the taste and texture. She turned to Drerzii and spoke quietly, not wanting to offend Anne, “It’s awful. I would not recommend trying it.” She looked back to see Anne staring directly at her. Her predatory hearing must have heard Tygeria’s report. 

“Is it actually that bad? I know I might have fudged some of the spices, but was it actually that bad?” 

Tygeria started to panic. How could she tell the human that it was possibly the worst thing she had ever tasted? Humans were easily offended when it came to things they made themselves. It wouldn’t do for her to insult the food. But she could thing of no other honest alternative. Right as she was about to confirm, Taurus spoke. “To be honest Anne, it’s not great. It’s pretty dry and you overdid it with the flavoring. But trust me it’s not as bad as my grandmothers cooking. That was a culinary nightmare. I can at least eat this.” 

Anne nodded, liquid gathering at the bottoms of her eyes. Tygeria tilted her head, she had heard that liquid spilled from humans eyes when they got emotional, and the action even had a name. So she asked, “Are you going to cry?”

Instantly Anne stood straight, and shook her head. “Throw the food away. I’ll just go out and grab something pre-made.” With that she dashed out the door. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“I mean, yeah, you aren’t really supposed to ask people if they’re going to cry.” Taurus said, “But at least we don’t have to finish the food. God it was disgusting, I thought I was going to throw up.” 

Enara struck him on the shoulder. “Don’t say that, she tried her best.”

“I mean am I wrong?”

Enara raised her hand as if to cuff him again, but slowly let her arm down. “No, not really, it was pretty terrible. I’m going to go find her, but let’s do try to cheer her up when she comes back.” And with that Enara rose and left the room. As soon as she had Uhris spat out a slimy, semi-chewed portion of the food. “That shit was nasty, I couldn’t bring myself to swallow.”

Tygeria wondered how any human could take the risk of attempting to prepare sustenance of the potential for disaster was this, this massacre of the tastebuds.

[zodiyack]

Waiting

Requested by @nerdydragonwarrior​: Hi! Can I make a request for Henry Cavill as Superman/Clark Kent where the reader works night shifts as a barista and Superman becomes a regular, and during the day the reader is an intern or works part-time at the Daily Planet and becomes acquainted with Clark Kent?

Pairing: Clark Kent / Superman x Female!Reader

Warnings: A cliché?, cuteness, me not proof-reading

Words: 861

Summary: (See request)

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @simonsbluee​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @maan24​, @beckster07890​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

She was cleaning up. Less people visited in the night, but there were still the night owls. Originally, she took the night shift due to her day-part-time-job of interning at the Daily Planet, but some things made her grateful for such choices.

The lack of people, the free coffee a coworker occasionally left her for no reason other than being nice, two jobs she could balance just right...and the guest she never expected to have but soon grew used to.

A cough in front of her caught her attention, tossing the rag into the bucket before attending to the customer. “Hey, man in blue!”

His smile widened as he shook his head. “Man of steel, but close enough.”

“Since when have you cared what I called you?” Y/n joked. She started on his order, him not even needing to tell her what he wanted. After Superman was a customer for about two months, she could practically make his drink in her sleep. Y/n was good with her usual customers’ orders...and her boss wanted everything to be perfect for their famous regular.

“That’s true...” He watched her prepare the coffee. “Why don’t you join me tonight?”

She smiled for a second, but the joyful lift in the corners of her lips fell within seconds, along with the feeling it gave the man. “I would love to but... I’ve got work in the morning. As much as I’d love to brag around the office that I drank coffee with Superman,” they laughed, “I’m also still on my shift.”

“After? I don’t mind waiting.”

Y/n bit her lip and shook her head, sighing heavily. “I leave as soon as I’m done. I- I’m sorry...I’m just really busy, ya know?” He nodded with an understanding grin, taking his coffee from her and tipping her; he made it clear after the first few cups that his tips didn’t go to the tip jar, but her wallet. A demand of his given with a sincere and caring voice. “I’ll uh...see you tomorrow night.”

“I hope so, Y/n. Thanks for the coffee.”

She awoke with a start, scrambling out of bed to shower and dress for work. The breakfast she made for herself before heading to her night shift was still in the fridge, much to her relief. After checking that she had everything, Y/n made her way out the door and locked it behind her.

When she arrived to work, Clark was the first to greet her. Two coffees were in his hand until he took her bag in exchange from one of the warm cups. “Oh thank god.” He chuckled, watching her down a few gulps then realize it was still hot.

“Careful, don’t wanna burn your tongue off.” She nodded, lifting her head from the cup. Clark’s eyes dropped to her lips. He lifted his hand and wiped away some of the coffee that had been left on the skin above her top lip.

“Coffee mustache- Sorry, that’s...embarrassing.”

Clark shook his head as he laughed with her. “No worries. You rock a mustache better than I ever could.”

“Doubt it.”

“Doubt all you want,” the two began walking to Clark’s desk, “it’s the truth.” He took a gulp of his own coffee before setting it down on the desk and sitting down, Y/n leaning her hip against the smooth surface. “So, how long are you going to be here today?”

She grabbed a pen from his desk and began doodling on his arm as he watched with admiration. Not that she noticed. “Probably until lunch. Why? Do you want me to stay longer?” The quirk of her brow battled her smirk; her tone indicated teasing but his answer didn’t seem to surprise her.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been meaning to spend more time with you.”

The two had gotten close ever since she’d started interning. Clark was the person who showed her around and introduced her to others. He was like her new best friend almost immediately. Unfortunately, with her night job, they didn’t really hang out outside of work.

It was always; wake up and eat, go to work, eat lunch, go home and sleep, wake up, get dinner and go to work, then go home and sleep. Then the cycle repeats. She’d planned it out specifically to match her schedule, but after meeting Clark, she regretted not making a time open to hang out with friends. He, however, was understanding and always told her he was fine with waiting.

Like another man she knew.

She clicked the pen in her hand nervously. He took the pen from her, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Clark...”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying. If you want to, and if you can, stay longer, I would love to hang out with you. But if not, I’m content with just spending my lunchbreak catching up with you.” He smiled kindly.

“I’ll be eating lunch too though-”

“That’s alright, if you’re alright with eating lunch with me?” Y/n pretended to think for a moment before nodding eagerly. “Great,” Clark chuckled, “it’s a date.”

“A date?”

“Unless you don’t want it to be.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting.”

[thirstyforcharacters]

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess 

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!”

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

[stopeatingwhales]

vinyl searching (pt. 2) x graham coxon

here’s the second part, hope you guys like it! there’s something about 1999 graham that i just love so much, and i know he was struggling during this time so i wanted to write about caring for him because he clearly needed it during this time. 

Pairing: 1999! graham coxon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 3.166

part one

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Me and Graham decided on meeting in a small bar on the same road, a couple hours later in the evening. Once my shift was over, I had scurred off to my little flat in order to put together an outfit that was appropriate. I didn’t want to wear something that was too overtly sexual - hell, I wouldn’t even have the courage to be able to wear something like that - so I decided upon wearing an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans. Very 90s. However, me meeting up with Graham was probably going to be more for him than it was for me - although I was so happy that me and him finally were able to take our ‘friendship’ somewhere outside of the small record shop that he sees all my life in, it was very evident that he was in need of someone to be there for him. Now, understanding his demeanor and overall attitude to things from the multiple times that we had conversated, I had hoped to be the one that he needed. Although there was many time I could’ve attempted such a gathering previously, you never know when would be the right moment to chip in and attempt to portray the care that you have stored internally for that significant person, and how they would react to that. For Graham it was a much more awkward situation; the only times of our communication were technically only professional, from a worker providing help and service to a customer. That was how esoteric we were to one another - practically known strangers. If I had come across Graham in a supermarket and he had noticed me, chances are that we wouldn’t interact, the only communication we would be able to branch out to one another being a simple ‘Oh hi! You alright?’. You had to build a sort of relationship with someone over a period of time in order to be able to do something like I did, and that is minusing the amount of nerves you'd have, as well as the courage you’d have to give yourself.

After I had finished with my constant worrying about how this meet-up was going to turn out, I left the house to go to the bar. The walk there felt as if I had been repeating the same events that had occurred during the day, just at a different moment in time. Hardly anybody was in the streets, which was quite ordinary at this hour of day, though it always seemed as if nobody left their homes. As I walked past countless convenience stores, hairdressers and fast-food places, which proved to show there was residency above them from the brick wall built on top, contrasted against windows placed as an outlook to life, very ironically used as to convey that nobody was ever leaving their homes, it proved to me just how mundane and repetitive life had become. The distance apart between each sheet of glass to the one adjacent to it being monochrome. Constant. Unchanging. Almost how all of our lives have been built to follow a system of continuous, resolute living, perpetually ignoring how it forces our lives, that have so much undermined potential, to be wasted, to the point we are simply dependent on enjoying life as we admire it. From a window in our bedroom, to which it becomes boring - as all you are ‘admiring’ is the same sight, every single time. And though this way of living may not be satisfactory, or enjoyable in the slightest, protesting against it would not do anything. Strikes from work would not do anything; you still need to live, and to live you need to earn money, money earned from working. It’s a ceaseless cycle which destroys the mere idea of a dream, aspiration, or motivation to carry on. In turn, what is received is the attractiveness of sadness, distress, and melancholy. You cannot shame those for being addicted to something harmful; if there is no point created for their lives except to be a little pawn on the chessboard of this planet, to take a risk and rebel against it is all you can do - though it would only put you in a situation which can cause more harm than good to yourself.

Once I had arrived at the bar, I decided to wait by the entrance so there would not cause confusion for Graham as to whether I was inside the building or not. I had noticed the skies begin to significantly darken in their calming shades of blue, instigating the advent of the evening to commence, however it was not dark enough to see sparkles in the empyrean yet. Though it was beautiful to stare at the single-coloured canvas, questioning the mere idea as to how it had formed such a shade of peace, but also existentially questioning how things come to be. Nevertheless, my admiration for the skies was quickly interrupted. “Hi y/n.”

Shifting my head into alignment with his, I had been greeted by the sight of Graham, facial expression clearly evident of nervousness, though it was attempted to be masked from a small smile curving on the corner of his lip. I noticed he was still in the same clothing as he had been in our previous encounter at the record shop earlier in the day, which caused a grin to paint itself on my facial expression. “Hi Graham,” I chriped, connecting eyes with him for a second, widening my smile that was already plastered on my face. “Let’s go inside.”

Inside the bar was nothing much I hadn’t expected; smoke surrounding the atmosphere from cigarettes, and due to the time being early, the place wasn’t as crowded, but you’d assume it to be from the clouds of smoke that welcomed you once you pushed the door open - you could hardly see the lengthy oak wood table separating you from the myriad amount of drinks that could be supplied to you by a simple asking. Ushering over to the nearest booth available, me and Graham sat opposite each other. The booths were always much more comfortable to sit and relax in, the cushioning of the sofa was almost that of a pillow; it was so cozy it was hard not to fall asleep on them. It was a much better choice of seating rather than the tall timber stools attached to the bar. I never found it appealing to sit there and have a chat with someone; it felt as if my privacy had been snatched away with ears surrounding every place my eyes could land upon. It's a much more peaceful atmosphere in a booth, which I had assumed would be a preferable place for Graham, shown from his quiet demeanour. His quietness was something that engaged me so deeply into him as a person - he wasn’t the type to rush to the bar, get drunk, and go off with the first person he had seen, who he hadn’t properly connected with or perhaps spoken to at all. He was much more down to earth, potentially from the amount of fame he had gained over the past couple years; it makes those yearn for silence, and in turn changes their perspectives and outlooks on simple things like outings with friends, for some may avoid them at all costs out of anxiety and fear of being noticed. You’d think that’s the absolute of their desires, being famous, stealing the hearts of so many, but it becomes so much more than that. The press picking out every ‘flaw’ you have or things that you do, the crowds of youngsters dying to get an autograph as if their lives depend on it, the paparazzi perpetually flicking their cameras only because you trotted on the same street to go to the same shop that every normal person goes to… The amount of eyes constantly on you gets overwhelming. I empathised with those who turned to drugs and alcohol to escape horrible feelings like these. Just like Graham.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked Graham sweetly, my smile still on my face.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have a beer.” He responded, our eyes glued to one another's which made me notice the eyebags that had drooped onto the top of his cheeks; it was very evident that he had attempted to nap before meeting me, which made my heart swell out of pity for him - it was obvious he was struggling to even sleep these days.

I nodded before heading to the bar and ordering our drinks. Waiting for our drinks at the bar gave me time to think over everything that was currently happening. It felt as if my entire day had vanished to this one moment where I had unexpectedly landed myself ordering beverages at a bar with the one and only Graham Coxon. It was a wonder to think about how he was feeling at this current moment. He didn't seem as if he was doing well at the moment, he always seemed so exhausted, and his social skills had become very poor over a couple of weeks. It went from him being very calm and candid in our short encounters, slyly recommending each other music with subtle hints of our liking toward each other, to him forming a much more apparent stutter in comparison to the one he already had, as well as being unable to connect eyes with me for a interminable period of time - it was evident that things were progressively getting worse for him, though I wasn’t going to force him into speaking about anything. I just wanted him to be aware that he had at least a friend there for him, potentially that being the girl that he would always see at his local record store.

Walking over back to the booth, I handed him his pint of beer. “Thank you,” he mustered, almost instantly taking a sip from it before noticing the drink I had bought for myself. “Orange juice?”

I laughed slightly at his shocked reaction as I lit myself a cigarette and took a hit from it, him definitely not expecting that of all drinks. “I don’t really like to drink, it never makes me feel that good.”

“But you smoke?” He questioned, a confused expression plastered on his face, paired with a grin.

“Smoking helps with stress, alcohol makes you drunk and gives you hangovers which simply ruin your day,” I answered back, taking a sip from my drink. “Also orange juice is literally the best juice, alcohol tastes like shit you know.”

A small chuckle escaped out of Graham’s throat, causing my eyes to land back onto him again. I gained the perception that he felt somewhat better about actually speaking with someone, which made me feel so touched and taken aback; I had genuinely felt my heart skip a beat out of sadness and yearning for him. He genuinely deserved better than what was going on with him mentally and physically, and the fact that he couldn’t even celebrate the release of his band’s 6th album was paining - he couldn’t attend a lot of the sessions, not out of detest towards any of his band members, but because he mentally couldn’t bring himself to. He was isolating himself without realising, or he may have realised, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. “I must agree on that… But orange juice is too sweet,” He replied, scoffing. “It’s definitely not that much better than a pint of beer, love.”

Shaking my head out of offense towards his last remark, I inhaled my cigarette once again before exposing the smoke from my lungs. Diverting my stare to the ashtray in the middle of the booth, I examined the built-up ash on the tip from the roll of tobacco crumble off from a single flick of the wrapped up paper. “Anyways, how are you?” I asked him, simultaneously offering him a cigarette whilst doing so to avoid any awkwardness.

After taking a cigarette from the packet I owned, then lighting it, he answered. “I’m alright. What about you?”

“Apart from being offended by you saying orange juice is gross, I’m alright too,” I joked, earning another laugh from Graham. “You seem tired.”

Sighing slightly, I watched him scan the room before answering. “Yeah, I am. What gave that away?”

“Your eye bags, you look like you haven’t slept,” I responded, hoping that what was leaving my mouth wouldn’t come across as offensive in any way. “Not in a rude way, though.”

“In all honesty, I haven’t really been able to sleep recently. Not a clue why.” He replied, taking a hit from his cigarette before copying my actions from earlier and erasing the gathered dust onto the ashtray.

“Oh, I understand that,” I said, taking a long drag of the cancer stick before replying. “Same thing happens to me when I’m stressed.”

As the night went on, we spoke about all sorts of things, trying to get to know one another much more as we were so intrigued by each other’s presence. Over time, he opened up much more, his poise changing from being a quiet, dismal, bereaved person, isolated from society, to one that seemed as if he was enjoying himself by hanging out with a friend. Seeing a beam constantly illustrated on his face made me realise this outing meant more than just ‘meeting a friend’. It was leaving the house for the first time in ages, to simply have a good time with someone. He was gentrifying the bare human emotions that he had forgotten were calloused out of anger inside himself. The atmosphere is much different when we’re separated by the till in the record store, the only conversations we could tend to have surrounding music or the weather that day. I felt so much more connected to Graham in this given moment, and knowing that he was gaining pleasure from this made me feel so much happier. Finally, he seemed content, relaxed, and much more aware of his surroundings, not caught up entirely by his mind and the evilness that he would be manipulated by. It was as if from this simple meet-up, he had realised that there was so much more to life than staying at home, pent up with his own thoughts; to his dismay. And though it can be extremely difficult to overcome the hurdles of not believing everything your brain implements to your mind, the important part was that he was making progress. By merely speaking with another person, about topics completely contrasting the negativity resident in his brain, it takes his mind off of things, and would allow the realisation that he is able to overcome these struggles, with the right support.

We hadn’t realised just how long we had been conversing for, until the room began pouring with young adults ready to enjoy a night with their friends. A quick glance at the clock gave the hour away; it was nearing midnight. The time was hardly wasted, we had both created a friendship and connection with one another which bloomed like roses during the spring seasons. Absolutely beautiful. I knew that what we had formed with each other would last for at least a significant amount of time, and I definitely hoped that it would. “Let’s get going, it’s getting a bit crowded right now.” I said, getting up from my seat - Graham nodding along and following me out.

There was a distinctive change in temperature inside the bar in comparison to the streets. The breeze was more prominent, with the skies now pitch black accompanied with the twinkle of the stars and the picturesque glow of the moon. We both began walking to the end of the street, having no idea what was about to occur, going along with it as if there was nothing else in the world except us two, as if it was just ours, and that nothing else mattered at all. This shared moment between us was the only thing able to plague our minds, for everything else that crossed our minds seemed to be insignificant, with no importance to our lives from here on, no matter how much it had afflicted our minds from apprehension hours prior to this moment. Oh, the vulnerable silence shared between us. How much importance it held towards aiding our minds, providing a certain mental clarity that was simply unheard of, as if a certain point of synchronicity in time was exposed between us, forming it as though, as banal as life is day-to-day was always, there was euphoria. Subconsciously, we were both communicating with each other in a sort of telepathy that was so rare in newly flourished relationships like ours. It was as if I had always been close with Graham, as if he was always a cogent figure in my life, that today was only just another catch-up session after not being able to talk with one another for a significant period of time. We both enjoyed ourselves, and there was no need to say anything about it. It felt as though if one of us spoke, it would erase all the memories of the occasion shared in the bar previously. Nothing could explain the elation my body was feeling at this time; from life seeming so meaningless and dull, experiencing something like this amount of joy came as such a shock to my body - it felt as if I had been drugged with so much alcohol that I was witnessing junctures that were only fragments of my imagination.

Stopping our slow pace at the end of the road, I turned my body to face Graham’s, him copying the same actions as me. Briefly, I stared lovingly into his eyes, a smile perched on my lips, him reciprocating with a beam, purely out of content, not mannerisms. Turning my head to stare at his hands, which awkwardly embraced one another, I mustered enough courage to form an embrace with both my palms - him slightly taken aback at first, to which he quickly went along with the moment. His hands were soft, delicate, and held warmth interlocked with mine. We simply stood there, hands laced together, inhaling the brisk air whilst slow waves of air gushed between us. Nothing could get more perfect than this. It was evident that between us, it was definitely more than a simple friendship, and it was obvious that both participants were not objecting against such passion to be compromised into something more. The action of holding his hand gave the notion that he was not alone in everything that he was undergoing; it was there for reassurance, as if it was me indirectly saying, I know you’re struggling, you don’t have to tell me, and I can tell you seem lonely, but I’m here for you. And I won’t ever leave, or let go.  

“See you soon, Graham.”

[duckprintspress]

Writing Prompts: Characters are a Doctor and a Patient

When we started considering Doctor/Patient as a theme for a prompt list, we had concerns: it has so many inherent potential consent issues, perhaps it would be better not to? But we had a few tempting ideas, and decided...why not give it a try? For the most part, we've tried to avoid consent issues, but of course some will crop up (especially depending on how a story written for one of these prompts actually goes!) and of course if the potential consent problems give you pause and you still want some prompts on this theme, nearly all of our suggestions can be read as platonic instead of romantic or sexual! So, without further ado...prompts!

1. That awkward moment when Doctor enters the examination room to meet their newest Patient...and it’s the barista they’ve been crushing on for months. (And yes, it’s mutual pining, and no, the barista didn’t realize that Doctor was their favorite customer.)

2. For years, Doctor has been developing feelings for Patient, but there was no appropriate way to express them, so Doctor makes small (and, they know, also inappropriate) notes (or poems, or doodles, or something similarly personal and really not supposed to be there) in Patient’s file. Patient finds out when they move away and have their records transferred...and they need to know more.

3. An urgent message comes through on subspace: the creatures of a distant planet need Doctor, stat! Doctor’s ship jumps to hyper-speed to get there as fast as possible, and Doctor is set to treat the Patient(s)...only to discover that there is a massive pheromone incompatibility (...or compatibility, depending on one’s attitude and point of view) between the Doctor’s species and the Patient’s. They experience nigh-irresistible attraction, and it’s mutual, and that might be interesting to explore if the situation wasn’t so dire...

4. Doctor and Patient coincidentally find each other vacationing at the same spot...which turns out to be a favorite among couples. Most of the events there are aimed at couples, and going solo is awkward at best, agonizing at worst. Neither knows anyone else there, and both are lonely, so they decide, maybe just for the week, they’ll play the couple.

5. Doctor sees Patient’s name on their docket for the day, and their first instinct is panic, because they and Patient dated in college (and Doctor is loathe to admit it but they definitely think of Patient as “the one that got away”) but Doctor is determined to be professional. They can handle this! Patient, on the other hand, only finds out that Doctor is their ex when they arrive. Some names are not at all common...and some are really, really common...how was Patient supposed to know?

6. Local snake oil dealer pretends to be Doctor, develops feels for Patient they’re duping, now has a serious problem. What do?!?!

7. The last thing Doctor wants is to treat their friends, and they have strict policy about that - no office privileges for people they know. Unfortunately, that policy is impossible to enforce when Doctor and friend-and-soon-to-be Patient get lost together while on a hike, and Patient falls down a ravine and is injured. Now, Doctor has no choice but to treat them...and that can’t help but expose some awkward truths about one or both of their feelings.

8. “Oh, I don’t date Doctors,” says (maybe, potential, could be) Patient.

“Why not?” asks Doctor.

“I mean, what if your specialty is something obscure, and I have a medical emergency, and you’re the only person in the tri-state area who can treat me? How awkward and awful would it be if that happened and we're a couple? The ethics of it make my head hurt!”

“...you...you realize I’m a Doctor of Philosophy, right?”

“...oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

9. A bright light awakens Patient in the middle of the night, and they’re astonished as a person appears in their home...they blink until their eyes accustom to the light, and when they can finally make out who is there, they discover it’s Doctor. “Look, I don’t have time to explain,” Doctor says, crackling like they’re on a bed cell phone connection. “But you have to find a new Doctor. The future of the world depends on it!”

10. After trekking through the forest, surmounting mountains, and slogging through flooded valleys, Patient finally reaches the hut in which the only Doctor in the province arrives. Patient is in desperate need of help, and they’re prepared to beg for it if necessary...what they’re not prepared for is that their soulmark activates the instant they and Doctor lay eyes on each other.

11. There’s something nigglingly familiar about the person Patient is on a date with, but they don’t think much of it. There’s something nigglingly familiar about the person Doctor is on a date with, but they also don’t think much of it. And it’s a good date. So they go on another, and another, and another, and anyway, it’s somehow six months in before either realizes that they’re dating their Doctor/Patient. (“At least I have the excuse that I only ever see you in a lab coat when you're treating me - what’s your excuse?” “Look, I’m a little face-blind, okay?”)

12. Doctor isn’t actually a Doctor, they just know a little herbalism because they love tea. Unfortunately, no one else in the caravan realizes that - and the tea is very good, and psychosomaticism is a very powerful force. They finally arrive at their destination, where Doctor had hoped to make a fresh start...and they’ve not been there five hours when Doctor is summoned to attend the local Royals. Apparently, the merchants have promised that Doctor can cure one of the Royals - the Patient’s illness - and the consequences for Doctor failing would be dire.

13. Patient has an hour to kill before their appointment with Doctor, so they scroll through their Grindr/Tinder/etc. until they find a promising hook-up...and their hook-up is Doctor, who also had some time to kill.

14. After a miraculous, innovative bit of medical magic, Doctor and Patient are invited to attend a high-profile conference at a fancy hotel. Unfortunately, the hotel’s receptionist staff misunderstood when the conference organizers indicated that Doctor and Patient are traveling together...so only book them one room, with one king bed. And by the time Doctor and Patient arrive, all the other rooms are booked by others attending the conference, so they’re stuck.

15. Patient is a Patient...but Patient is also a Doctor. In fact, they are Doctor’s Doctor. No, it wasn’t on purpose, and each time they see each other in a Patient/Doctor capacity (with either in either role!) they squabble and argue about how best to treat X, Y, and Z, and concede anything they get wrong begrudgingly, and praise the other for being right even more begrudgingly, and each swears - to each other, to their friends, to the nurses, to the schedulers and office staff, to other random Patients in the waiting room - that they’re definitely going to find a different Doctor before their next appointment. But neither ever does. And neither is brave enough to ask why not.

We hope you enjoy these prompts!

Now go forth, and write a thing!

(Like these prompts? Consider supporting us! Our links are in the comments.)

[something-tofightfor]

Christmas in July #7: If The Fates Allow

Pairing: Ezra x Female Reader (’Starlight’ / NSFW Alphabet Ezra and Reader)

Word Count: 2,915

Rating: G? There are some slight mentions of sexual content, but it’s mostly Ezra ... fluff? Who the F am I? This takes place before the events of Prospect, and pretty early on in your relationship with Ezra ... so it’s very much A Good Time. 

Combined these two requests for @the-blind-assassin-12​ and @pheedraws​ for Ezra ... and made it extra sweet. Thank you both for reading and supporting me every step of the way ... and for giving me a chance to write another glimpse of Ezra before he becomes the man as we know him. I imagine this man to be SO FOCUSED on details - we see it in the movie, so why wouldn’t he be like that in every aspect of his life? ALSO. I feel like he is so interested in Earth customs and traditions, even if they’re not the same ones that are celebrated on The Ephrate. I hope you both (and anyone else that reads this) enjoys it. 

If you were being honest with yourself, the relationship you were building with Ezra was surprising. Not because the way you felt about him was surprising, but because of the speed at which things were progressing. Your early Autumn meeting led to a few dates, followed by a weekend away together, and before Final Harvest, you were together, the two of you showing up places arm in arm and introducing each other in an official way. 

It wasn’t that you were shocked by it as a whole; instead, you were surprised that Ezra had been the one to initiate the pairing and progression nearly every step of the way. From the moment he’d first flirted with you on the quad to the suggestion that the two of you spend your first Christmas together, Ezra had taken the lead, and you were more than happy to let him. 

You typically went home to visit your parents, and Ezra traveled for at least a few days to see his brother for the holiday, but neither of those would be the case this year. Because he wanted to spend it with me. It made you happy - just like Ezra made you happy - and since you were on winter break from all of your courses, the two of you had been spending nearly every spare moment together. 

His place was smaller than yours - a single bedroom apartment over an art supply store a few blocks off of campus - but it was inviting nonetheless, and when he’d asked you to come over to spend the night a few days after your break started, you couldn’t agree fast enough. And he said he has a surprise for me. You were smiling as you hurried down the sidewalk and toward his building, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. But what else is new?

Ezra himself was a surprise, and not only because of the way he spoke - the way he treated you was a big part of it, too. You’d dated your fair share of guys in your time at the University, and none of them were like Ezra. Saying one thing but doing another, telling you what they expected without giving you a chance to do the same in return, the same tired physical encounters … every interaction more mundane than the last. But Ezra? That word isn’t even in his vocabulary. 

You’d learned quickly that Ezra’s vocabulary was extensive - and not only limited to the classroom. He was a scholar through and through, and you’d been shocked when you’d first seen his place; a large bookshelf on one wall, notebooks full of his neat handwriting stacked on his desk, relics from other planets and their histories scattered thorough the small space. The way he explained things to you would have been condescending coming from anyone else, but in Ezra’s way, it made sense - it was just who he was, and the way he behaved was yet another callback to the education and area of study that he’d immersed himself in for most of his adult life. 

You couldn’t wait to give him his Christmas gift - a leather bound volume of collected stories from the planet he’d spent the most time researching, and a place he’d admitted that he wanted to visit before he died, even though he knew it was unlikely he’d be able to. You’ll get there, Ezra. Someday. That was another difference between Ezra and most of the other men you knew, you thought as you pulled open the door that led to the staircase up to his place. When Ezra decided to do something, he did it, finding a way to make it happen, making promises to himself that he wouldn’t let opportunities pass him by and sticking with them. Trips to the remote and largely uninhabited Milky Way Galaxy were few and far between, but if anyone was going to make a journey there happen, it would be Ezra. 

Lifting one hand to knock on his door, you waited until he’d called for you to come in to twist the knob. Stepping inside, you were met with the smell of ginger and lemons, the sound of quiet music, and the sight of Ezra standing in front of his small stove and stirring a pot with a long-handled wooden spoon. “Ezra?” You set your bag down on one of the couch cushions and stepped into the kitchen after removing your shoes, unable to keep the smile off of your face. “What are you doing?” He still hadn’t turned to look at you, and so you slid one of your hands up the center of his back, pressing your chest against the arm he wasn’t using to stir whatever it was that he was cooking. 

“I’d hoped to have this done before you got here.” He cleared his throat, turning his head to the side and pressing his lips against the top of your head. “But I was waylaid by finding something else, and so …” He sighed, winding his arm around your waist. “So it’s not done.” There was a long pause, and even though he didn’t sound upset, you knew that he was slightly disappointed in himself. “I’m making us a drink while I wait for what’s in the oven to bake.” Bake? What did you bake? “Get out two coffee mugs.” 

You did as he asked, slipping out of his hold and reaching up into the cupboard to pull them both out, sliding them across the small counter and toward the man. For the first time, you noticed that there were other ingredients waiting on the flat surface - lemon juice in a small glass, a jar of honey, a pair of cinnamon sticks - alongside two bottles of liquor. “Ezra, what -”

“Holiday traditions were … are important to people, correct?” You nodded as he lifted the pot from the stove, pouring the contents between the mugs. “And I thought … that since this is what I know, I’ll show you some of my favorite traditions from the place … and the people that are responsible for us being here today.” Oh. He means … While Ezra was a historian by nature, and his focus was on the history of other planets and people, his focus was on Earth and the people that had lived there. “Some of them are similar to the ones we still have today - needled trees and lights and presents. Spending time with those we care for.” As he spoke, he added ingredients to the mugs - lemon juice and honey, stirring them quickly to combine them. “Whiskey or brandy?” He looked at you, brown eyes sparkling in the overhead lighting. “It’s a matter of preference, both -” “Whiskey.” You chose without pause, and Ezra nodded, unscrewing the cap and adding a generous pour into each mug before adding additional honey and a slice of lemon. “What is this called?” He didn’t speak again until he’d picked up the cinnamon sticks, dropping one into each mug and holding one of the containers out to you. “A ‘Hot Toddy’. It’s not the only traditional Christmas drink, but it’s one that you can savor - especially when it’s cold out, like today.” He lifted his mug, waiting, and yours followed, the rims clinking together before you brought it to your lips and took a cautious sip. That’s good. “You like it.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded in reply, taking a second sip. “This -”

But he was interrupted by the beeping of the oven’s timer, and Ezra’s eyes closed, a furrow appearing in his brow. “Let me have your mug, Ezra.” He handed it to you and then turned away, opening the door and using a towel to pull out the baking sheet within. I know that smell. “Is that gingerbread?” Your eyebrows rose. “I haven’t had that since I was -” “It is.” He set the sheet down, and you saw that he’d already cut the dough into shapes before baking them; the silvery surface covered in cutouts of animals and people. “I wasn’t sure if you …” “My grandmother used to make these cookies.” You were grinning, grip on both mugs tight. “But after she … we never had them again. My mom didn’t have time to bake, and I thought … Ezra, this is… you didn’t have to do all this for me.” He turned the oven and stove off, dropping the towel on the counter before he turned to take his drink back from you. The man’s eyes didn’t leave your face, but you could see that the frown was gone, his expression relaxed again. “What?” Tilting your head to one side, you watched him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Come sit with me?” He spoke quietly, and there was none of his usual flourish - just an honest, simple request. “There’s more.” More? Blinking at him, you nodded, and a few seconds later, the two of you were seated on the couch, drinks on the table in front of you and his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I have always been curious about the people who … the ones that were here before us. The ones that … helped us get here.” You know that - both from the lecture he’d given and from what you’d learned about Ezra in the previous few months of knowing him. “But my fascination with these people and places goes well beyond their circumstances. I want to know what -” “You want to know who they were.” You understood; it wasn’t enough for the man to know history - he wanted and needed to know what motivated the people who’d lived it. “What they did, how they acted. You want to know them the same way you’re getting to know me.” Sitting up, you turned your head to look at Ezra, still smiling. “There should be more people like you, Ezra. More people that care.” He was quiet for long moments, eyes moving over your face as he stared at you. You heard the song change, for the first time realizing that you were unfamiliar with what was playing, and narrowed your eyes as you concentrated on it. “Is this -” “Christmas music. From  Early Earth.” He held up a hand, closing his eyes. “This is one of my favorites, actually. It originated in the 1940’s, and was written for a movie. There are dozens of versions of it, but there’s nothing better than an original.” You both went quiet, listening to the lyrics of the song - a woman singing, her tone sad, even though the words had an uplifting message. You let yourself get lost in the music, barely even registering the fact that Ezra had reached out for you until you felt him squeezing your fingers between his, attention going back to the man’s face just as he began to sing. “Through the years we all will be together, If the fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough … And have yourself a merry little Christmas now…” 

“Ezra…” You were unsure of what you wanted to say - you’d never heard him sing before, and even though he was doing so quietly, his eyes averted to stare at the carpeted floor, you were astounded at the sound of it. Is there anything he can’t do? There weren’t any festive lights or a tree in his apartment, and he hadn’t decorated the same way that you knew most people did for the holiday, but you’d never felt cozier; the man’s eyes warm and inviting when he finally met yours with them, and the feeling of his hand against yours grounding. “I didn’t know you could sing.” 

“There are a great many things that we still have to learn about each other.” He leaned closer and you closed your eyes, ready to kiss him - but he turned his head at the last second, lips glancing off of your cheek and stopping just in front of your ear. “Look up.” Startled, you did as he asked, tilting your head backwards until you found what you were looking for. A bunch of leafy green branches with small white fruits was tied with a red bow and hanging just above where you were sitting on the couch. What is that? Confused, you backed away, eyes moving between the man in front of you and the plant above you. “That is mistletoe.” 

“I’ve never heard of that. Why is it … on the ceiling?” Ezra pulled his hand out from yours and brought it up to your cheek, tracing the tips over the skin there. “Another tradition.” He grinned at you, glancing up, too. “If you’re caught beneath mistletoe with someone, you’re supposed to kiss them. It’s not only for luck, but it symbolizes life, too.” He paused, one eyebrow raised. “Bright green and flourishing in the middle of winter?” That… I get it. “It’s bad luck not to kiss under it.” And he hung it right over the couch. Without blinking, you stared back at Ezra, teeth digging into your lower lip as if you were deep in thought. 

“Well I definitely don’t want any bad luck, Ezra.” Bringing your hand up, you brushed his hair away from his forehead, beginning with the blonde patch and then moving down, curving your fingers back and around his ear to follow the slight waves. “So are you going to kiss me or not?” “Indeed I am.” His lips barely moved as he murmured the words, face inching closer and closer to yours until he was kissing you, hand sliding to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place. It made sense - the way he hadn’t kissed you the moment you’d walked into the kitchen, or when you’d first sat down onto the couch. He was waiting. He wanted it to mean something. 

You tasted the whiskey on his tongue as he kissed you; tinged with the lemon and cinnamon, and you couldn’t help crawling onto Ezra’s lap without separating from him, knees on either side of his thighs and digging into the cushions beneath them. It still shocked you each time Ezra’s lips met yours to feel how much he put into the simple act of affection. They weren’t just kisses; he was sharing himself with you, pouring emotion from his body directly into yours, or letting it wash over your skin - and even thought it was still new, you knew that you wanted it to last. 

When he finally pulled away so that both of you could breathe, you let out a shuddering exhale, feeling that he was stroking over the back of your neck with his thumb, grip possessive but not restrictive. “D’you hang up mistletoe over your couch whenever you have a girl over for the holidays, Ezra?” He scoffed at that, but it was quiet, and he shook his head back and forth. 

“You’re the first. But now that I know it’s a successful means to receiving affection...” That made you laugh, but before you replied, you kissed him quickly on the mouth, tightening your arms around him. 

“I’m surprised that you didn’t hang it above your bed, then.” He froze at that, but you didn’t, pushing off of the couch and to your feet, holding out a hand to the man. “Just about any other guy that I can think of would have done exactly that.” It was the truth - no matter how well-intentioned they were, none of the men that you’d ever dated previously would have passed up an opportunity to incorporate the bedroom into something like kissing beneath mistletoe. But Ezra did. Because he’s not like any other man. 

You moved again, lifting one foot and then the other to stand on the couch, both arms over your head as you pulled the greenery down, your fingers closed around the ribbon-tied stems. “What in Kevva’s name are you doing, woman?” When your feet were both planted firmly on the floor again, you held the mistletoe above his head, looking down at the man still sitting on the couch, both eyes focused on your face and his hands settled against his knees. 

“Thought you said it was bad luck not to kiss if you were under this stuff, Ezra.” He wet his lips as you moved the plants, holding the bunch over you. “I -” His hands were at your waist before he stood, Ezra’s body pressed to yours. There we go. “That’s what I thought.” You managed only a few words before he kissed you again, your arm falling to your side and dropping the mistletoe onto the short table behind you. Arms going around his neck, the two of you held each other and stayed connected by the lips until you needed air, parting reluctantly. 

“I think,” he began, voice low as he tilted his head down, trailing his lips over the side of your throat. “I think that it’s time we start our own Christmas traditions.” You shivered, both hands gripping the ends of hair hair that rested along the nape of his neck. He used one hand to tug the neckline of your shirt down before kissing the hollow at the center of your chest and then straightened back up, pupils blown wide and his lips parted. “Are you amenable to that?” 

You didn’t answer him verbally, instead nodding twice and taking one of his hands in yours before you turned, tugging him even closer to you. Very much, Ezra.

--- 

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[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Perfect Timing.”

Alright everyone. I am beginning to realize that maybe expecting myself to write a story every week day with a job and trying to get into grad school and writing a second novel might be a bit..... excessive?

So I am going to try for three times a week. I hope you all stick around :)

And I hope you enjoy today’s story as well. 

Adam stood with his hands behind his back, feet spread to shoulder width. He would never have noticed by himself, but the men and women around him stood a little straighter and stepped a little faster under his watchful eye. Once upon a time they might have only hastened their work if he directly asked them too, but just his mere presence these days could send his crew scurrying to do their work. He hadn’t really changed anything about the way he commanded his men. He was firm when he needed to be but allowed for brevity when it would suit the situation.

However, a few years and some tough lessons was slowly shaping him into the kind of man who could command thousands, sharp posture, calm confidence, and a keen eye. 

But then again anyone who could appear professional while wearing high top heelies was a man to be reckoned with.

Sunny walked up next to him her pearlescent white armor glowing under the light as she leaned on the shade of her matching spear. Her head was held high like his. Where once she had been locked up, and defensive, she now stood with the calm confidence of someone who understood what control meant.

Together they had come a long way.

She tilted her head, “You really think he’s going to let you race this…. It’s a million dollar piece of military hardware, they don’t stand a chance.”

Adam didn’t move, hands still clasped behind his back as he  stared up at the F-90 Darkfire he was preparing for the race, “I wouldn’t be so sure…. I’ll be lucky to come in last place.”

Sunny frowned confused, “I saw those shuttles, they were junk shows.”

He lifted his head as the F-90 was rolled across the deck.

“This is a race, it isn’t combat. She was built for dogfights which means she is going to be heavier than the others. Wing tip to wing tip she is also going to be a little longer than the other shuttles and jets making maneuvering around obstacles more difficult. Sure she likely has a more powerful engine, but that can be as much of a detriment as it is a leg up.”  He gestured in the vague direction of the race course, “We are going to be racing through the planet’s smaller rocky ring. It has an unusual amount of larger, thick chunks which we are going to have to manuver around: the kind of conditions you might see in science fiction movies when they talk about an asteroid field. Asteroid fields are generally too far apart to cause any real issue, but here the rocks are dense, and my flying is going to have to be on pont, having a more powerful engine is going to make her more touchy, and my fitness on the controls is going to have to be absolute.”

Sunny tilted her head listening as he continued. She liked it when this side of him came out. There was something about the analytical, logical side of Adam she found….. Very appealing.

He walked forward to examine the jet himself, “Furthermore, I don’t know if you noticed, but there were a few jets there that weren’t exactly junk shows. A few of them were pretty top of the line, and most of them were built for racing. Lighter, sleeker, faster, and with more engine control than mine.

A lot of my maneuverability is lost out of the atmosphere. This isn’t about how well you can manipulate wind currents, this is going to be all about the very minute rotation of the rear and and wing engines. Their wings are smaller and closer in meaning they are going to rotate more easily than me.

She walked up with him and put a hand on his shoulder, “You forgot to fact in one thing.”

He frowned and looked up, “Oh, what did I miss.”

She smiled slightly, “The skill of the pilot, and I know for a fact that we have the best pilot this side of Andromeda. You can have the best plane in the world, but if you have a shit pilot, then a good pilot in a flying trash can has a chance of winning.”

He Smiled, “Thanks, I needed that.”

He stepped back, “Still it doesn't pay to be too cocky. I have a feeling these people have raced this before, they are going to know what they are dealing with, and I am going tinto this completely blind. This is a test to see if my instincts are better than their practice…. Who knows it could be a very close run thing.”

He moved forward to do an extra check on the outside of the ship despite having a whole team of people to do it for him. Adam had learned to delegate a lot of his responsibilities onto others to avoid burnout, but this was one thing he never left to other people. He came back after a thorough check of the ship and stopped next to her.

His head was tilted to one side as he looked at the machine sitting before him.

“It is missing something.”

Sunny turned her head to look at him, “What?”

He smiled, “Do we have anyone here who has experience with graffiti?”

***

Donavan Red met him when he entered the hanger, wearing his flight suit and holding his helmet under one arm. He had gone for some of his more simple equipment. Didn’t want to give the guy an excuse to blame his skill on technology.

Red looked him over.

“Nice suit, princess.”

Adam just smiled thinly looking around at the other pilots, “I see I might be under-dressed.”

To be far though, he wasn’t exactly sure what he would have described the dress code, if he had to put it on an invitation. 

The most apt description seemed to have been.

Dress for Pissing contest.

The men and women wore their uniforms in the same way NASCAR drivers might, covered in logos and patterns. Some of them were clearly custom ordered with personal designs on the backs or the helmets, some sporting flames, others cartoon animals, one guy was just covered in black and white skulls.

The affect up close was ok, but from a distance he just looked like an over excited dalmatian, or maybe some kind of flamboyant cow.

A few of them went for color themes, neon red on black. Neon green on blue.

Most of them tried to coordinate with the matching colors on their ship, each trying to outdo the next.

Red smirked.

The docking bay light began to blink red as the airlock was engaged, and the all turned to watch as the doors opened, and Adam’s jet rolled into the docking bay. She was simultaneously both very impressive and very not impressive. She was an instrument of war, and he rockets lined up on either side of her wings said as much. Adam had once considered her rather sleek in comparison to other jets of the day, but looking at her now in comparison with the racing planes and he couldn’t help but compare her to a pitbull or a bulldog next to greyhounds or whippets.

She rolled up slowly and Red raised an eyebrow.

“A whose guy huh?”

Adam smirked, “I don’t know, I kind of like it.”

They both looked up as the F-90 stopped in place, and along her side in delicate blue cursive script was the name Cinderella. The man who had done the graffiti  had even taken the time to add some stylized pink roses to the front and end of the word giving it a finished look.

Donavan seemed both amused and annoyed at the same time.

The men and women around him turned to look over ridicule dying on their lips as they saw the smirk on his face.

It was made pretty clear.

He was going to beat them, and when he beat them, he was going to have a princess logo on the side of his jet, never mind all of their cool paint jobs.

Donavan frowned but then turned to everyone, “Alright load up!.” Adam did as ordered, switching seats with the young pilot in the cockpit and strapping himself in. he adjusted his controls, did a quick once over, and then pulled some power from his engine.  There was going to be an overwhelming desire to go fast, but he knew that speed wasn’t going to win him this race.

The jets began lining up next to each other, and to his surprise, one of the sleek racing models sidled up next to him, and when he looked over, he saw Donovan Red cambering into the cockpit.

That didn’t exactly bode well, but what was there to do about it.

He felt cool oxygen spilling  onto his mouth and nose as the orange tinted visor dropped down over his eyes. He opted not to use the heads up display preferring to see everything around him as he was flying. 

They were all in a line now, and up ahead a large projection appeared on the docking bay doors.

Red lights began to blink as the docking bay was cleared of everyone except for the jets.

The image of a woman appeared on the screen before them.

It was one of the women he had seen before in her cut off jean shorts and tight tank top.

“Ladies and gentlemen start - your - ENGINES!”

All around him the room was filled with a roar as the group of people pushed their engines to an idle.

He could feel the jet underneath him as it thrummed and whined vibrating into his gloves and down into his skin.

His very bones could feel the trembling.

“The course is simple, one lap around the rocky interior ring of the planet. Rules are only this, no leaving the ring, no weapons, and no teams, every man for himself. If the race moderators see any of this, you will be thrown from the race.”

She smiled and leaned back to reveal two green flags in either hand.

She began to wave them.

“On your mark!”

He took a deep calming breath forcing his hand to relax.

“Get set.”

He felt his heart beating  hard against his ribcage, his stomach crawled up into his throat, and he felt the sudden and overwhelming need to pee.

“GO!”

THe airlock doors shot open faster than they should have been able, a clear sign someone had bypassed safety protocols. Caught off guard by this, Adam shot out of the gate slower than he would have liked. Already the racing  jets streaked ahead, their quicker sleeker designs looking right at home against the blackness of space.

He had to remind himself that in space, without wind resistance, sleek didn’t mean shit.

If he was good enough he could have piloted a brick to win.

He gave more joice to the engine and shot forward. He cut under one of his other opponents and then cythed up next to a second.

He was there for only a moment when he saw something coming in from his right.

Instincts had him move fast, and he turned horizontal  shooting upwards just as another jet tried to push him out. He was flying over the two of them now, and gave another burst shooting forward and past them.

This open stretch was the only time he was going to be able to use the power of his engine to his advantage, so he gave her a little more juice and shot forward catching up quickly with the racing models at the front. Two of them cut sideways attempting to block his path. He cursed, forced to fire his engines backwards so as not to go crashing into them. 

The ring was approaching quickly now, and he could see very clearly that they had not been kidding. The belt was dense, less mate out of fine sand, and instead made up of billions of rocks some the size of him, others the size of cars, and even some the size of large houses. It was the strangest sort of formation he had ever seen around a planet, and he wondered idly how they stayed in orbit.

The two jets ahead of him cut right and then left as a rock came barreling towards him.

He shouted and rolled to the side barely avoiding a head on collision, his instincts saving him where his active brain could not.

He snarled.

“Pull it together.”

There was no time to be thinking, there was only time for flying.

WIth a practiced hand he toggled a switch on the side of his thumb, and his helmet was suddenly filled with the sound of music and drums. His brain focused inward and stopped thinking. He shot over and then under rolling between rocks just inches away on either side. Off to his right the planet below was glowing with the light of it’s star, a lightning blue halo around it where the atmosphere glowed.

He cut the left dove down and then rolled up.

He could see the other jets ahead of him cutting in and out through the rocks. His breathing grew even, his body relaxed, his brain heard nothing but the beat of the music and saw nothing but the obstacles ahead of him.

One of the jets pulled up next to him from behind recklessly rolling around one of the rocks. They were racing wing tip to wing tip now.

They cut right and left under and over he rolled left they rolled right. They were shaky just hanging on, but his flying was smooth.

Up ahead one of the other jets lit up with glowing orange as a set of flares broke from it’s back end shatting against the debris behind it.  Rocks were thrown off their normal course and went smashing into each other turning the rock field ahead of them into a meat grinder. Adam shot forward and dived downward while rolling tight, behind him the racer was unable to replicate the move and a piece of rock caught their wing sending them spinning off to the side and out of the ring.

Adam dodged a piece of debris coming in from his left, flipped upside down and shot diving upward and then righting himself just under the jet up front.

He could see the leader now, and recognized it as Red himself .

The jet above him attempted to drop down and knock him out of position, but he gave a burst to the engine and shot forward.

The jet behind him punched downward and nearly collided into a rock before pulling back into the palace.

Adam took their place in second.

Red could see him coming.

Another set of flares was released.

He checked his forward momentum and rolled three or four times to his right. G forces tugged at his consciousness forcing blackness to the edge of his vision. He tightened the muscles of his chest and stomach forcing blood back up into his head as he breathed out in short controlled bursts.

A rock flew overhead, he cut low, bumped up and then executed a rolling turn over a massive rock pulling in behind red and just up to the right to avoid another burst of flares.

The two of them were fighting for the front now.

And red was good, he knew how to handle a jet, but so did Adam.

They roared past a field of rocks splitting apart as a massive chunk came between them. Adam roared forward, and panicked for a single moment as he saw an impenetrable wall of rock appear just before him. Then a crack appeared. He fired the forward engine and cut horizontal passing through an opening that left him only feet to spare. Rock rose up to meet him, and he rotated his engine up dropping vertically before cutting sideways and passing under a rock. Teeth gritted, he punched upward passing through a gap just as it closed behind him.

A yell of exertain escaped his lips as he pulled straight up cutting up the side of a massive mansion-sized rock before diving right back down into the thick of it.

Red was gone, he didn’t see him anymore.

Was he up front?

And then the sleek black jet dropped down from above cutting him off.

He cursed and swerved low past another rock forced to cut diagonal back into line.

He pulled up wing to wing with the men again.

They dove, they pulled up and they took a wide turn ac coordinated together as a military formation never more than four feet apart.

They were going faster than they probably should have reacted. second by second he rolled left Red went right. They both met in a dive rolling past each other, wings almost touching before cutting upwards mirroring each other in opposite directions. The sound of the music melded with the path of his flight.

They were racing side by side just as one of the other jets roared over them careening out of control in a desperate attempt t o reach front. They watched him dive pull up cut left, and then a rock rolled right into their path. The two of them barely had time to react as the rock hit their right wing and then sent them slamming into the next boulder. There was an eruption and a brief ball of fire as oxygen was consumed from inside the cockpit. Debris blossomed up around them in a miniature explosion.

Adam greeted his teeth, eyes wide .

What was once a race suddenly turned into a battlezone. He and Red dove together rolling around the debris desperately trying to avoid getting cut in two. At these speeds, one hit would be the death of them. His heart raced in his chest as he pulled forward cutting  in the triangle made by three boulders side by side. Red mirrored him below.

A chunk of metal shot towards him, and he toggled his right wing burst just in time, lowering his left side just in time for the chunk to go flying past him. He pulled up with a gasp as a massive chunk of rock cut up before him. Red shot below and he rolled over the top coming into second place.

Up ahead a mining barge ascended through the line of rocks.

Adam roared with exertion as he pulled up and leveled out shooting right under the attached arm of the barge. Red lights erupted over it’s hull in a proximity warning as he went just inches overhead.

The barge driver, clearly spooked twisted to the side and the arm of the barge rolled with it, catching a boulder and sending it flying towards the grouping next to it, there was a sudden explosion of rock and again he was forced to roll to the side. Up down, over and under, cything between lines of rock.

He was almost hit once, then twice.

He toggled the forward engines, slowing himself down and then shooting straight up before continuing forward.

The rocks around him were rolling unpredictably colliding and then exploding into smaller pieces. There was no way he was making it through that alive.

He was rolling diving spinning twisting, and then, he felt it…. Something he had only felt on occasion. The world around him went silent, everything seemed to slow, and he was filled with…. With a feeling. It was like light, bursting out from his chest, rolling up through his skin and into his head.

He entered a moment of perfect execution. He cut into a tight roll his wings cything through the minute gaps between debris with timing so perfect it shouldn't have been humanly possible. Rocks passed by him at hundreds of miles an hour inches away  from the glass of his canopy, one wrong move and he’d be dead. He cut through a gap that gave him inches on either side rolld right dove down, turned left, spun once and then twice, and made a completely vertical ascent. Rocks flew past him on his right and on his left.

Up ahead he could see a gap slowly closing before him. He opened up his engine and shot forward so fast everything was a blur.

The rocks collided behind him as they snapped shut, and he flew into the clear firing forward to slow himself, and then red was there too descending from above spinning and wobbling, almost out of control and careening directly towards a house sized boulder.

He panicked firing up and down at the same time and sending him into a spin.

He was heading directly towards the rock .

WIthout thinking Adam locked onto the rock, and fired. A rocket under his wing detached and shot forward exploding violently just in time for Red to pass through unharmed. Red jolted awkwardly and rolled to one side. Adam cut past under from right to left and rolled straight over red to avoid a rock.

There was a moment where the two of them were staring at each other through the clear canopy.

Eyes met for an instant, and Adam could see the wide eyed fear on the man’s face., Then Adam rolled ahead ducking under the last rock and then bursting out into space.

He let the F-90 have her moment, and completely opened the engine shooting forward and cutting through the finish line which flashed bright green. In that moment He was hit with such a sense of exhilaration and joy that he couldn't imagine anything better. Who needed drugs, who needed love, who needed any of that when you could fly.

Hed did a triumphant loop whooping the whole way.

Of course, a feeling like that can never last long and slowly began to fade away. THe reality of what he had just done was both terrifying and amazing to the point he felt his body begging to shake. The tension and fear he had been holding back exploded inside him just like that joy and he found his hands trembling on the joystick.

He let it overtake him. He had been like this since he was young and fighting it would only make things worse. Despite his shaking hands he flew back to the docking bay and landed his jet with the precision of a surgeon. Finally when the engine was off and the flood stable underneath him he slumped back in his seat shaking and racked with rolling tremors. He closed his eyes and breathed long and slow.

Behind him the others came limping in.

None of them were completely unscathed, at least one person was dead. His hands continued to shake as the airlock doors shut, and as soon as the room was pressurized, he opened the cockpit. As soon as it did, Sunny came running into the room and up the ladder. SHeleft her spear on the floor and helped him to climb out.  His legs were shaking and he almost fell if it weren’t for her support.

She knew him too well, sitting him down on the lowest step and kneeling next to him.

“Are you ok?”

He grinned at her, “That was…. Holy shit.”

He held up his hand to watch the shaking, “I’m having an earthquake.”

It was just then that Red jumped out of his jet onto the floor. He staggered when he did but pushed away the men who tried to help, “What the ever loving FUCK just happened. The field had NEVER been like that. Jaz DIED out there, what the FUCK.” 

The people milled around in confusion.

Red turned to him, eyes narrowing as he stalked over. Adam sighed and looked up as the man stopped to stand over him

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

The man paused confused, “What?”

“I broke the rules. Means I forfeit.”

Red looked almost nonplussed, “What are you on about?”

Adam slowly took to his feet taking a few more deep wreaths to steady himself before drawing to his full height. He was stead now and looked down at Red with an unwavering gaze. He held out a hand, “I used weapons during the race, that was against the rules. These weren’t flares to move the rocks. I used a targeted missile during the race and that means I broke the rules.”

Red stared at him.

Then he snorted, “Damn the rules. You saved my ass.” he turned to look at his people, “I am more than man enough to acknowledge that.” HE turned back to Adam, “You saved my life you crazy bastard. I am not even sure how you are still alive ….. Because that flying…. That was….. Holy fuck.” He grinned and took Adam by the shoulder, “you shaking, man.” He held up his hand to show a tremor, “Me too, now let's go get some drinks and talk this out. I owe you after all.”

The two of them walked off through the forest of shaken pilots, “You are the kind of man I can see myself doing business with.”

[zevlors-tail]

Retail Therapy

A/N: If you work retail like I do and get frustrated with your job on a weekly/daily basis, if you’re just fed up of all the crazy at work, this one’s for you! Covid has made it extra garbagey to work retail so here’s a little vent. Also, me writing soft Bakugou content? Yes.

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shouto Todoroki

Warnings: Mentions of Covid in Bakugou’s part. Cursing. Customer invading your personal space (also in Bakugou’s part), tiny mention of anxiety in Todoroki’s scenario.

Summary: You’ve had the most infuriating day at work. Lucky for you, he knows just how to fix it.

Izuku Midoriya

Oh my god this gif is so bright i love it

“Hi baby!” Izuku greets you as you haphazardly toss your shoes on the floor, not caring where they land. One ends up under the dining room table and the other ends up somewhere among the chairs, but you could care less.

You’re pissed. More pissed than you’ve ever been, but specifically with work. You constantly feel like you’re babysitting your coworkers, and they never listen to anything you have to say, even when you’re put in charge of your department- if only for the night. Every time you turn your back, they’re pulling some sort of dumb stunt; how are you supposed to get work done like that? You can hardly focus on your own task when you’re trying to clean up after everyone else. Picking up slack is something you’re used to by now (unfortunately), but it shouldn’t have to be. You shouldn’t have to do your work and everyone else’s work too. Not to mention, you were tired of being the middle man whenever there was drama. Why did everyone feel the need to tell you everything?

“Ughhhh!” You just groan in response, half a smile on your face while a wild look enters your eyes. Izuku knows that look. He can tell you’re frustrated after a long day of work, that you’re at your wits end with your job. “I swear, Izu, I came this close to rage quitting. I mean I wouldn’t, because I’ve got bills to pay and stuff, but, just- this close.”

“Oh yeah?” He gives you a trademark smile despite your woes and invites you to follow him to the dining table where he sits down with you, taking your hand in his. “Tell me all about it.”

And you do. He listens diligently, nodding and getting into the gossip playfully, asking about certain coworkers and making silly comments to get you to laugh. Things like, “But they would never!” and “Oh my god, no they didn’t!” along with your personal favorite, a very dramatic “No!” He even makes over the top facial expressions to go with his comedic comments, and he has you laughing with him in no time, the stress of the day melting away under his electric green gaze. Your vent turns into more of a fun story than it does a bad experience. Izuku is a good listener and he’ll always be there for you.

“It was just ridiculous! Man, I can only take so much in one day. Usually I don’t let them get to me, but I couldn’t take both of them coming up to me every five minutes and complaining about each other. You know, as much as they like to talk about each other not doing their jobs, maybe they would get more work done if they just stopped talking and got back to work in the first place!” As you tell him your story, he hums a response, nods, and gets up from the table. He pats your head as he passes by you on the way to the kitchen, and you follow him with your gaze, questioning him silently.

“I’m still listening, love. I can hear you from here, promise! Do go on.”

You continue, not paying much mind to what he’s doing since you’re so engrossed in your tale of idiocy and annoyance turned silly. And he is listening to you, still making eye contact as he moves about the kitchen, still putting his two cents every once in a while. But before you know it, a savory smell hits your nose, and you realize he’s not only started dinner but that he’s practically finished with it by the time you’re done talking. He wastes no time in making two plates and bringing them over, setting one in front of you and the other in front of his usual spot.

You’re extremely grateful to him for taking the initiative to make dinner while you de-stressed after the day’s events, and you make sure to tell him that as you both dig in to his cooking. He learned from the best (bless mama Midoriya). You’re reminded that no matter how bad your day has been, you get to come home to your favorite human being on the whole planet and love him, and be loved by him in return.

“Thanks for making dinner, Izuku. You’re truly the love of my life.” You say it in such a manner that makes your partner laugh, bits of food falling from his mouth as he struggles to swallow properly. “That’s attractive,” you tease, but you’re laughing too. It’s a happy moment for the both of you.

“Good to know you only love me for my cooking!” He jokes. He eyes your plate before not so subtly reaching over and stealing a piece of food. You gasp in mock surprise, but save your revenge for later. There are plenty of ways to get even with him. But for now...

Izuku: 1

Y/N: 0

Katsuki Bakugou

soft bb

“Shit, fuck! God, I hate today!” you exclaim as you slam the car door shut. Bakugou had been kind enough to pick you up from work, and you were glad that it was him driving and not you behind the wheel. You were shaking in your seat, your hands trembling in anger and teeth grinding in frustration as you glared out of the window silently for a moment.

“Bad day?” Bakugou asked gruffly, foot gently pressing against the gas peddle as you took off on the drive home.

“Yeah, you would not fucking believe people. You’d think everyone would listen to directions and stay home since it’s like, oh, I don’t know- the middle of a fucking pandemic?”

“Oh, believe me, I know. People are stupid. Don’t let them get to you, baby.” 

Maybe those words were odd coming from him considering he used to be so angry all the time himself, but Bakugou had really mellowed out since his days at UA, and he knew how to hold his tongue. Unbeknownst to him, however, this was more than a bad day for you. Bad days you could let go of, but this- this was something else. Not quite the worst time you’d ever had at work, but much more than a bad day. Today had been somewhere in between the two, and you weren’t sure what to call it. You’d been yelled at, berated, understaffed, and blamed for pretty much all the problems going on in your specific area even though you were trying your best. There was only so much you could do yourself, and even though you knew it was better to just let it go, you couldn’t. Especially not after what that wretched customer had done to you.

“I’m trying not to, but it’s really god damned hard not to fucking smack a bitch when they invade your personal space and tap on your shoulder. In a fucking pandemic. Actually, I don’t even think she was wearing a mask now that I think about it. How considerate of her.” The words are like venom spitting from your mouth, your fists clenching as you vent to your partner in confidence.

“They did what?” Normally he’s good about keeping his anger in check. Normally, he could handle you venting to him about anything. But someone else touching his Y/N? No way in hell. And during a period of time where touching people was especially rude and inconsiderate? Fucking no way in hell.

“Yeah! Tapped me right on the damn shoulder and didn’t even say excuse me. Words exist! Just tell me you need something and I’ll get it for you! I hate people who do that shit, it’s so unnecessary and rude! And it violates my personal space and creeps me out. I feel disgusting. If you touch me at work, then I’m not liable for anything that happens to you! You get slapped? Then that’s on you, bitch! Don’t fucking touch me!” You finish up your speech with a wild hand gesture, your head shaking in disbelief while you try not to think about too much.

It takes Bakugou everything he has not to just slam on the breaks right then and there and put the car in reverse to drive back to the store and find that piece of trash. If he could give them a piece of his mind, he would. But he can’t, so he settles for the next best thing: comforting you and making sure you’re okay. You did just have your personal space violated after all, so it’s understandable you’re pretty shaken up and angry about the whole thing. He would be too, honestly. 

The rest of the short drive home is mostly silent, save for the small talk you make with each other and the quiet background noise of the radio station that he let you pick. His general rule of thumb is that the driver picks the music, but he knows you’ve had a hard day, so he doesn’t argue when you change it to your preferred station and start drumming your fingers to the beat. He’d rather you wind down this way than keeping it all bottled up. When the two of you finally arrive to your shared home, you let your shoulders fall a bit and sigh as you trudge to the couch, not even bothering to take your shoes off before plopping down and face planting into the soft cushions. You listen as Bakugou wanders off to the bedroom and returns a moment later with a shirt in his hands.

“You said you felt disgusting earlier, so I brought you a new shirt to change into. Figured you probably didn’t want to stay in your work clothes.” His tone is softer, a little more careful since you’re home now and he knows you don’t like to fall apart in public. Home is where your true heart is, with him. If you’re feeling any sort of negative emotion, it’s more likely to come out here. And he wants to offer his help, but... “Do you want some help with it?”

You shift so that you’re sitting up on the couch and raise your arms slightly for him. “That would be nice, since I’m utterly exhausted and worn out. I’d really appreciate it,” you reply honestly.

He hesitates a bit, unsure of something before he asks you a question. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Your response is immediate. “Of course it is; I trust you. I never mind your touch.”

He smiles at that.

He helps you get changed into the ultra comfy shirt he brought you, and after that the two of you heat up some leftovers before cuddling up in bed together, the worst of the day washed away by Bakugou’s soft fingers running along your side as you lay your head on his chest.

“Thanks for always taking care of me. You do an amazing job at it.” You yawn into his shirt and snuggle your face against it, the soft cotton making you feel safe and secure.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Shouto Todoroki

I’m feeling extra soft for Todoroki recently

“Hi, Y/N. How was your day at-” 

Before Shouto can even finish his sentence, you’re flying into a vent about work, passing right by him on your way to the bathroom as you start to pull of your work uniform angrily.

“Oh my god, it was an absolute disaster!” You’re still breathing heavy from all the stress, eyes darting around wildly and face flushed from being mad and under pressure all night.

“What happened, love?” Todoroki coaxes gently. He comes to stand in the door frame of the bathroom and leans against it, his hands in his pockets and hip cocked out to the side. He has a sympathetic look on his face as you explain all your troubles of the day.

“Everything, Shouto. Everything happened. I mean, not everything, but it sure felt like it! Our delivery showed up late, and we didn’t have product all afternoon, so our customers were really angry and I kept getting yelled at! It’s not my fault it showed up late! If I had the product to put out I would! It’s complete and utter bullshit!” You make your way to the bedroom to pick out pajamas, not really caring about the pair you take out of the drawer or anything else for that matter. Your mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: your day at work.

Sometimes you had a hard time winding down from work, especially on days like these, and Shouto knew that. You usually were able to separate work from home fairly well, but occasionally you just needed a little reminder that it didn’t have to follow you home to bed, and he knew how to help with that. He’d seen you like this before, had witnessed your break downs and freak outs over your job and the stress that came with it. Retail was not for everyone. Todoroki always told you that you had the patience of a saint, though everyone had their own limits, and you must have hit yours tonight.

“I don’t appreciate being called names and told that I’m practically useless. Customers can be real fucking snobs all the time. And I was trying so hard too, but even after the delivery showed up, it was busy as hell, and every time I put something up on the shelf they just kept taking it down! I think I sold through at least three boxes of something I normally have to throw away at the end of the week. Seriously! It was a mess, and we didn’t have enough staff because one of us was still suspended, and our normal person who works the backroom doesn’t work weekends, and even our supervisor called off, so it was just me and this other girl. It was awful. I can’t even- ugh! It’s not fair!”

You started to work yourself up, your anxiety skyrocketing as you thought of everything that went wrong earlier. Rationally you knew there wasn’t much you could do about the situation, but that didn’t mean you felt the same way. You should have done more, pushed yourself harder, but you also didn’t want to stay and work overtime on an empty stomach and not a lot of sleep the night before. Shouto must have seen the guilt in your eyes, because the next thing you knew you were being moved to the bed where he wrapped you in the softest blanket he could find, and then he was telling you he’d be right back as he slipped out of the room.

You sat there, a little confused for a while, before you heard a beeping noise from the kitchen and the door to the microwave open and close. Todoroki returned with a steaming mug in one hand and a book in the other, and he said nothing as he set the book and cup down on the nightstand before working around you, positioning a few pillows against the headboard of the bed. He fluffed them up a few times and grabbed the giant comforter, pulling it up over your lap and practically swaddling you. Finally he sat down behind you on the bed and pulled you into his lap, and you rested your head against his chest as he petted your hair softly. Slowly, you felt all the tension from earlier on in the day ebb away into drowsiness and exhaustion.

“Alright, blanket burrito,” he said, referring to your form all wrapped up in soft cotton, “I warmed up a cup of your favorite drink and brought us a book. Do you want me to read to you, or would you prefer to play a video game or movie?” He gazed down at you with a brow raised in question, a look of amusement on his face at the sight of your head just barely peeking out from the blankets.

“If you don’t mind, could you read to me? I like your voice...it’s soothing.” You melted into his touch, work already forgotten about and a wave of calm washing over you. 

“Of course, dear.” He gave you a precious smile and kiss on the top of your head.

Todoroki always knew how to fix your bad days, and he always did so without hesitation and without you having to ask. He handed you the warm mug first which you took gratefully, and then picked up the book and began reading to you.

How did you get this lucky?

[holdyourbreathfornow]

OOOO 49 with romantic coomer and bubby :D

49. Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

Put this under a read-more to save space! Hope you like it, Lovelace!

You can also find this on my AO3 under the same username!

Harold isn’t expecting for someone to be in his office when he gets to work that morning. He turns the corner to his office and the first thing he notices is the pattern on the ground caused by light shining through the wired glass. His guard up, Harold readjusts his grip on his suitcase so he can use the thing like a club, and heads for the door.

A scientist he doesn’t recognize sits in one of his guest chairs, examining their finger nails, and he figures they must need to see him about something. Some of the tension drains from him and he makes as much casual noise as possible opening the door, so he doesn’t startle his unexpected guest like they startled him.

The scientist shifts their gaze from their nails to Harold as he enters the room, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge his presence in anyway as he sets his briefcase down and shrugs his own labcoat on.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting! I didn’t know anyone was waiting for me this morning.” Harold finally says, plastering his best customer service smile on and extending a hand to his guest. Their grip is barely there as they shake his hand, and they wait until he hesitantly sits down to speak.

“I don’t mind waiting, Dr. Coomer. Sometimes our profession requires a bit of patience, wouldn’t you say?” The scientist smiles, but something it seems… Fake, like they’re testing him on something, though he has no idea what.

“This job has certainly helped me practice that particular virtue, yes.” He agrees, slowly and carefully changing his genial smile into a look of confusion. “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly have you come to see me about?”

“One of the projects in Experimental Biology, specifically one that you seem to have… Befriended, as odd as that is. B-U-88-Y, I believe, should be the identifying tag.”

“...What about xem.” Harold does his best not to seem too affected by the question, but he knows he’s failed when the scientist’s lip twitches minutely, finding amusement in his sudden worry.

“Well, since the two of you were so buddy buddy, I’ve been tasked with informing you that that project’s been disbanded.” When Harold freezes, the scientist cocks their head in confusion. “Dr. Coomer? Are you alright?”

“So, then… Then what will they do with the old project?”

“Oh. Oh, Dr. Coomer, I think you’re concerned over nothing. The project’s only been disbanded because the higher ups figured that the goal’s been accomplished. Even if I always personally thought B-U-88-Y was far from perfect, the final say was never mine.” The scientist watches as Harold sags with relief, and they blink in bemusement. “Xe even has xer own lab now, if you’d like the room designation code.”

“Please.” Harold mutters and the scientist nods, fishing a pen out of a pocket and snatching a pack of Post-Its off of Harold’s desk. “Thank you. For letting me know.”

“Well, the security sector tipped me off to how often you visited.” The scientist mumbles as they write, distracted. “Seems that that group of goons were really rooting for the two of you, much as they could with no audio on those cameras. I was cornered by some very concerned guards this morning, talking about how they felt you should be informed that the lab hosting the B-U-88-Y project was being refurbished so you didn’t walk into a completely new project and think the worst.”

“I’ll have to send them a fruit basket.” Harold chuckles and that makes the scientist snort, ripping the Post-It away from the pack and planting it on Harold’s desk.

“Yes, it seems a fair number of us were rooting for you.” They stand to leave and Harold stands as well as soon as his brain registers what they just said.

“Wait, who all do you mean by ‘us’?”

The only answer he gets is an echoing laugh as the scientist continues on down the hallway.

-

As soon as he has a spare moment, Harold picks up the Post-It still clinging to his desk and heads for the room number listed on it. Bubby’s new lab is in the astronomy sector, and Harold smiles at all the star charts and pictures of other planets’ surfaces. At least Bubby’s found a group just as interested in outer space as xe is.

Speaking of the devil, Harold finally finds the room that matches the number he’s been hunting for. The door doesn’t have a window for him to look into but he can see light filtering out from under it. Harold’s quick to knock on the door, though instead of waiting for an answer, he tries the handle and find it’s unlocked.

Bubby stands in the middle of the room, obviously having been on xer way to see what the knocking was all about. Xe must be able to see the stark relief on Harold’s face, hurrying towards him.

“Harold, is every-?” He cuts xem off, closing the gap between the two of them and dragging Bubby into a crushing hug. “Harold… Can’t… Breathe.”

“Oh, sorry!” He quickly loosens his grip and Bubby wheezes for air as xe rest xer chin on his shoulder.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you…” Bubby starts once they’ve got their breath back, “...But why are you happy enough to break ribs?”

“I didn’t, did I?” Harold asks, pulling away just enough to meet Bubby’s gaze, and Bubby rolls xer eyes and smiles.

“If you did, I’d be a lot more pissy. Now, answers, please?”

“Someone… Well, I found out about your project getting disbanded before I found out about you getting transferred to a new sector and I thought the worst, because. You and I both know it had always been a possibility and-”

“And you thought they killed me or something equally fucked up.” Bubby finishes the thought with a sigh, and Harold nods. “Well, whoever informed you was a dumbass and could have phrased the news so much better! They didn’t need to give you a heart attack! Who was it? I’ll set their ass on fire.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Harold shrugs and smiles, and Bubby’s eyes dart over his face before xe nod.

“I guess you’re right. And! An upside to being out of that damn tube is that we can take our lunch breaks together. And it’s about that time now. So.” Xe disentangle the two of them and hook xer hand into the crook of Harold’s elbow, starting to tug him out of the room. “Let’s go! I want the best seat in the cafeteria, Harold!” He laughs at that and the two of them start hurrying down the hall.

“Very well! Onwards and upwards, my dear!”

[mcwriting]

His Mobius

Lol y'all gonna hate me for this one but what can I say, I'm obsessed with this ship and slightly disappointed in the season finale.

Not my normal jam so sorry to those who only follow me for T. Holland content

Picks up where ep 6 leaves off. Don't read if you don't wanna get spoiled lol.

Ship: Loki vs. Mobius M. Mobius (one-sided)

Word Count: 1212

Warnings: it's sad boi hours in here y'all prepare to have your heart ripped out for a second; also spoilers

⏰

The color had drained from Loki's face as he realized what was going on when he stared at the giant statue of He Who Remains.

With the intense branching of timelines, Sylvie had kicked him into a random, newly-born universe.

He turned back to the man he knew-

No. He didn't know this man.

This was Mobius. M. Mobius, but not his Mobius. M. Mobius.

"I... I- I- I need a tempad, please," Loki begged the not-his-Mobius.

"Don't you have one? Wait- I'm sorry, who are you again? You never answered my question," not-Mobius said with growing suspicion.

He didn't know this Loki, or seem to know any Lokis at all, but he still knew to question guys who came up asking frantic questions and requesting other agents' tempads.

Loki didn't know how to answer.

For once he wanted to tell the truth, but there was no way he'd be able to explain things to this not-Mobius. He didn't have time. He needed to find his Mobius.

With a swift glance, he located not-Mobuis's tempad and with even swifter precision snatched it from the man.

"Hey wait!" he cried, but it was too late.

Loki had already punched in random numbers and opened a portal, stepping through into the unknown.

⏰

The yellow rectangle behind Loki closed as soon as he stepped through, and he knew that with all the chaos, he probably wouldn't ever be found.

As he got his bearings, Loki started to register the sights and sounds around him, along with the humid heat that made his already sweaty skin feel even stickier.

He blinked a couple times before realizing what he was looking at.

Somewhat.

He was in a rainforest.

"Midgard. This- I'm on earth," he muttered to himself, brows furrowed.

Back before the TVA, he'd spent years plotting his takeover of the planet. The Asgardian libraries had contained books filled with knowledge about earth's nature and climate systems, something he'd used to his advantage when planning where he wanted to rule from.

While he didn't know a thing about earth customs or technology, Loki could easily tell the difference between a chimpanzee and a capuchin, or explain how hibiscus flowers were great in tea.

The real question was when is he?

Loki looked at his tempad.

Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica. 2015.

It made sense. Loki remembered that the country was known for its lush landscapes.

There was no telling what universe he was in. He wondered if he could find someone to fill in in the 3 years since the battle of New York, if that had even happened in this timeline.

He took a look around. The foliage was bright green, and he spotted a toucan on a nearby branch. There was the occasional scream of a howler monkey echoing through the trees.

A few feet away, just past a few trees, was a dirt path. Signs that people had walked this trail many times.

Of course, a worry popped into the back of Loki's head that claimed a hungry jaguar had paced there as it looked for a meal, trampling the grass in search of prey.

His fears were quelled, however, when he heard faint voices nearing.

He stepped behind a wide tree and watched carefully as a man in a neon shirt led a family down the trail.

Loki spotted 5 kids, who all looked between the ages of 8 and 18. Interspersed among them were 4 adults who looked to be in their 40s or 50s.

At the back of the pack walked two older men. A shorter guy with snow white hair who looked to be in his 70s, and a taller one whose hair was very much salt-and-peppered, likely in his 60s.

The brightly-clothed guide was explaining to them all of the wonderful things Costa Rica had to offer, from its diverse flora and fauna to the beaches, mountains, and rainforests.

Loki was about to pop out from the wood and ask if this family could explain what the avengers were up to, or if they even existed at all here. He knew he would look ridiculous with his torn up TVA clothes but didn't care.

Finding Mobius was more important.

Before he could call out a greeting, he stopped dead in his tracks, blood running cold.

That voice.

He knew that voice anywhere.

The shorter old guy had cut in to make a joke to his family.

"I need to know where to get a jet ski around here."

Mobius.

That was him, but what was he doing here?

Loki felt weird seeing what it would have looked like for his Mobius to live on earth up to this point, assuming that the TVA variants of him had been plucked from the mid-1990s.

"Daaaad," one of the middle aged women groaned.

He has a daughter. Are those his grandchildren?

"You know we brought you on vacation to get you away from your jet ski, right dad?" another of the middle-agers said, a man who looked to be the youngest in his generation group.

A son as well?

"I'll have you know that the jet ski was the greatest invention of our time, of all history, even!" old-Mobius explained light-heartedly.

The taller man next to him placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I think we can manage a week without, my dear."

Loki gasped.

That was him speaking to old-Mobius. Well, not him, but an old version of him.

It didn't make sense.

Loki was well over 1000 years old. An Asgardian diety. A jotun.

He wouldn't just age like that. Not unless he sacrificed something to do so.

Loki couldn't help but notice, though, that while old-Loki's face was considerably wrinklier than his own, the man he looked at was void of worry lines around his eyes and forehead.

He looked genuinely happy.

Loki shifted as best he could to stay hidden behind the tree as he watched what played out ahead of him.

"Oh, alright, alright. I guess I can manage going without ole Lightning for the week if it means I've got y'all to entertain me. But just know that I'm taking everyone out on the lake as soon as we get back to Texas."

Old-Mobius, or whatever his midgardian name really was, smiled at his old-Loki, placing an hand over his lower back.

"I think that can be arranged," old-Loki agreed, quickly pressing a kiss to old-Mobius's temple as he wrapped an arm over the shorter man's shoulders.

Loki didn't even realize that there were tears sliding down his cheeks until the pang in his heart made him turn away from the happy family.

Because it wasn't just Mobius's family, it was his.

He didn't know how the two had found each other, how this Loki had somehow evaded godhood to live a domestic, midgardian life.

Loki couldn't stay here. He couldn't disturb and be caught by them.

He needed to find his Mobius, maybe figure out how to start a life like that.

It wouldn't be easy, jumping through the multiverse searching for that hard-headed, sarcastic, witty, crazy TVA analyst Loki had somehow fallen for, but he had to try.

So with the coast clear, he reset the tempad and stepped through another portal.

For his Mobius.

⏰

A/N: my heart is going to explode. Why did I feel the need to torture myself in this way? Anyways, I wrote it, so y'all gotta read it.

I don't make the rules.

Let me know what you thought! I love and hate this simultaneously so I'd love some feedback. Thanks for reading!!

Once again, sorry for those who follow me for Tom Holland stuff but I really wanted to write this!

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Not tagging my permanent tag list since this isn't my normal content!