#so you know WHAT!! FINE!!! if i can’t beat em join em

[sopuu]

oomf in law i need ur thoughts on mcsm but. cats cat world

is this a ploy to get me to draw mcsm warrior cats because i will absolutely fall for it

bonus gay cats <3 jesskas exists in every world bc i said so

[munson-blurbs]

eddie/wedding/tequila 🍻

Drunk Eddie is my favorite Eddie to write hehehe 💚

Warnings: alcohol consumption, Eddie is absolutely plastered, allusion to smut

WC: 989

Join my 2k followers celebration!

--

The band plays the final note of The Police’s “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” and begins the opening chords of “Truly Madly Deeply.”

“Okay, let’s slow things down for all the lovebirds out there,” the lead singer croons into the mic. “Grab your sweetheart and bring ‘em onto the dance floor.”

You make your way over to your table and extend your hand. “May I have this dance?” you ask sweetly, frowning when the metalhead shakes his head. A lock of his curly brown hair comes loose from the bun at the nape of his neck. “Why not?”

“I’d love to,” Eddie slurs, taking another sip of his drink, “but ‘m married to the love of my life. I only wan’ dance with her.”

Stifling a giggle, you sit in the chair next to him and rub his back. “I know that. Because I’m your wife, Eddie.” You motion to the diamond on your ring finger and the silver band on his. “We’ve been married for two years.”

“No fuckin’ way!” he exclaims. “That’s awesome. ‘Cause you’re, like, s’fucking beautiful.” He gasps. “Holy shit, my wife is beautiful!”

The scent of tequila wafts from his breath, and you crinkle your nose. “Eds, how many shots did you and Robin do?”

Eddie whines and throws his head back. “Don’t make me do math at a party!” He rests his head on your shoulder and grabs your hand, placing it atop his scalp. “Can you give me scratches?”

You oblige, kissing just above his ear. “C’mon, puppy dog,” you tease. “Let’s get you back to the hotel room.” Starting to help him up, you spot Steve making his rounds, bow tie undone and face flushed from dancing. You send up a silent prayer that Eddie won’t attract his attention, but it must get intercepted. 

“Harrington!” your husband calls out. Multiple guests turn to face you; it is a Harrington wedding, afterall. “Get over here, big boy!” He stumbles towards the groom and claps a ringed hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, buddy,” Steve says with a chuckle. “Y’havin’ a good time?”

“The best.” Eddie is fully leaning on his friend now, and you mouth Sorry in Steve’s direction. “Dude, my wife is so hot.”

You bury your head in your hands; your cheeks are burning with embarrassment. “Let’s go, Eddie,” you insist, grateful that Steve appears unfazed by the comment. 

“Stevie, you ever been in love?” Eddie asks, suddenly serious. His eyes are glassy and half-lidded; it’s only a matter of time before he falls asleep. 

Steve looks around at the hotel ballroom, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah. I just got married, like, three hours ago. You were a groomsman.”

“Shit, yeah!” Eddie sounds as though he’s receiving brand-new information. “Congrats, man. Anyway,” he presses on, ignoring you tugging on his sleeve, “I jus’ want you to know that I, Eddie Munson, am also in love. With this girl right here.” He flails his free arm around until he finds your waist and pulls you into him. 

“Well, I’m, uh, happy to hear that,” Steve manages, and you shoot him another apologetic glance before dragging Eddie to the elevator and into the hotel room. You can’t turn the key fast enough. 

Eddie flops onto the bed, still fully dressed in his tuxedo and shoes. You take a moment to appreciate the silence before he pipes up:

“We gotta beat Steve.”

Despite your better judgment, you respond with an incredulous, “what?”

“We gotta beat Steve,” Eddie repeats. “We got married, but now he’s married, too. So we’re not winning anymore.” He pouts for a millisecond before sitting up suddenly, steadying himself on the sheets. “We should have a baby!”

You burst out laughing. “Babe, I love you. But I am not bringing new life into this world just so you can win some imaginary competition against Steve.”

“Fine,” Eddie slumps down, defeated. 

You figure that will be the end of the discussion, but you should know better at this point. You’re rifling through your suitcase for a pair of pajamas when you hear the mini fridge door open. 

“What are you doing now?” you hiss. 

“‘M wooing you so you’ll have my baby,” he hiccups, pulling out a small bottle of Patrón and unscrewing the cap. “I call this one the ‘wraparound.’” Eddie proceeds to drag the bottle around his head, spilling tequila everywhere. “Oopsie daisy!” He cackles like it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

You pluck the half-empty bottle from his grasp and set it on the nightstand. “Eddie, get out of those clothes and Go. To. Bed.” you say through gritted teeth. 

Eddie snorts. “If you wanna see me naked, you gotta take me out to dinner first.” But he obliges, sleeping as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you snuggle in next to him. He rarely drinks beyond an occasional post-work beer, so you’re glad he let loose tonight. You just wish you didn’t have to babysit him. 

Eddie stirs, wrapping a tattooed arm around your waist. “My sexy lil’ wife,” he mumbles. “Prettiest girl ‘ve ever seen.” He nestles into the crook of your neck. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Eds,” you tell him, brushing the stray hair from his face and kissing his forehead. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “Big day tomorrow. Gotta make a baby so we can beat Harrington.”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply tersely, rolling your eyes. 

But the next morning, after a cup of black coffee and two Advil, Eddie’s ushering you back into bed. 

“I was serious about that baby, sweetheart,” he muses. “And not because of a contest with Steve.” 

You smile, bringing your lips to his soft, plush ones. “Really?”

“Really,” he affirms, climbing on top of you and peppering your face with kisses. “But if there was a contest, we would totally be the superior couple.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

--

[lootsofathousandsworld]

Flint x Reader Hurt Oneshot

Good lord I had this short story in my grammery for a long time. X'D

Anyway hope you like this folks. I'm trying to get my groove back on writing these stuff. I miss doing them :')

And as always sorry if you see any grammer errors.

“What the hell happened?!” You’ve gotten used to Flint’s temper after living with him for a while now. This time, however, he was yelling at his crew member after getting hurt from doing something stupid. 

And oh man, this is probably the new record on his wrath that made your heart beat out of fright. 

And also your wound wasn’t too bad. It was only a scratch on your palm. Not too long ago, you wanted to try that dagger trick after you saw someone performing it on the street.

But you accidentally cut yourself after your feet stumbled and grabbed the blades instead of the handle. 

“S-sir we kept an eye on 'er!” One crew protested. "And to be fair cap'n, she wanted to perform this stunt. We didn't make 'er do it!" 

"Is that so?" You saw him look at you coldly which made you bite your lips holding your hand where the wounded were.

He exhales his nostril in irritation and turns his men, mostly at his first mate, Billy. "Take 'em to my ship. I'll be there shortly." 

"Aye, sir!" Billy replied. Then the Captain turns to you and grabs your arm. 

"You and I going have a little talk on yer act," With that, you and he walked away from the crew. When you and he are alone in the dark ally he speaks lowly.

"Let me see yer hand,"  

At first, your instinct tells you not to. Since you are afraid of what he’ll say or do to you. Then you hear your captain repeat in a strict tone.

“Let. Me. See. Yer. Hand.” 

You show your wound nervously and you watch him examine it carefully. After about a few seconds he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Just what the hell were ye thinkin'?” 

You lowered your head in embarrassment. 

“It’s only a scratch,” You muttered. 

“But that stunt could’ve gotten yourself killed ye know that?!” Flint almost shouts. 

You flinch and manage to reply. “I know it was stupid.” You added while trying not to sound afraid. “I just. I only want to impress your men that’s all.”  

In the corner of your eyes, you watch him shake his head and take a few breaths silently to calm himself. You then feel your chin gently lift and your face is looking at his. 

His face was now a hint of worrying that he never showed this side to his crew. He also was on his knees so you can see his face better. 

“ Lass you don’t need to show your impression on my men. Since you joined my crew ye been improved your strength and agility. That dumb stunt is never the bonus. My men and I were already impressed with your skills lass." He brushes your cheeks with his thumb-bony finger and finishes.

" And what impresses me more is your improvement over a month living on my ship," 

You felt your cheeks almost blush at his compliment on your endurance living on his ship. But then your face made a frown when your Captain said this. 

"And from now on no more handling daggers unless yer supervised. “ 

“Then how am I going to defend myself without one?” You asked. Feeling upset you can’t have one after that stunt.

“That until you be taught how to handle it properly.” As he spoke he took out his ray cloth from his coat pocket and wrapped it around your palm to stop the bleeding.    

“Now promise me you'll follow this order, for yer safe sake.” He looked at you long and you made a silent huff, looking down with disappointment.  

Y/N." He spoke sternly.  

"Okay fine I promise, swear to pirate code," You gave in. Not because of his tone. More of there's no point in arguing with him. You felt it wouldn't change anything the more you tried to argue with him. 

Also, you want to be done with this situation. You were embarrassed enough by that dagger stunt. Instead, you muttered for him to hear. 

"Can we go back now Captain?" You hear him make a slight chuckle and begins to lead you back to his ship. While on the way he spoke lowly. 

"Once ye handle some daggers properly, I can perhaps give ya a few tricks of mine." 

"And how long that'll be until?" You asked, looking up at him. 

"A year." 

"A year?" You almost laugh. "Come on can you give me a month?"  

"No," 

"Please?" You did your best giving a puppy pleading, thanks to B.E.N. showing you how to do it. You watch him avoiding your gaze and he clinches his teeth in frustration.  

Soon he rolled all his eyes, "Remind me to punish B.E.N. on teaching ye how to beg when we get back. 

"So is that a yes?" You grinned. 

 He snorted. "Maybe." That made your hope up, knowing he'll change his mind once you and him are on his ship...or as he puts it. Maybe. 

[badfanfictionaire]

Five years, three days, and nine hours.

That’s how long he’s been in love with her.

The problem used to be that she was taken, betrothed to another man.

Lately there was an even bigger problem: she was missing.

And the other compounding problem was that Eddie was being blamed for her disappearance.

See, Chrissy had out of the blue asked to meet in the woods to buy some dope off of him. He didn’t say no, obviously, he wasn’t crazy enough to turn down the Queen herself. One thing had led to another, and while he didn’t end up making a sale, he did make plans. Chrissy was set to come by his place later, not to pick up weed but to borrow some tapes of his. But then she didn’t show. At first he thought she chickened out, but then when he saw on the news the next morning that she was missing, he went out to help look for her and found her bike propped up by the front step. He thought he could move it and no one would be any wiser, but someone had already seen it, because next thing he knew he was right there on the news next to her, but with wanted scrawled underneath his ugly mug.

Thank Satan for his friends, because they knew better than to believe everything they saw. They got his side of the story, and agreed to hide him away until they figured out what really happened to Chrissy Cunningham that night.

It was March, still a little too cold at night to do much more than sit inside and stare at the woods surrounding Rick’s boathouse. The kids had been by earlier to bring him some dinner and Steve had dropped off a case of beer. His stomach was full and he was a little drowsy. That’s why when the candle on the mantle place randomly flickered to life he thought maybe he was drunker, or more tired, than he realized. First of all, why did Rick of all people have a scented candle over his mantle place? As if that was going to cover up the smell of all the fucking weed. And second of all, why the fuck would he, Eddie Munson, have lit said scented candle?

“I need to go to bed,” he mutters to himself, blowing the candle out.

He turns off the light and goes to walk down the brief hall to the bedroom when the candle lights again.

“Umm, what the fuck?”

He rubs at his eyes, but the candle is still aflame.

“…Chrissy?” he asks the empty room, “If this is some sort of sick prank, you can stop now. I get it, poor little freak is about to shit his pants over a candle. Did Jason put you up to this?”

He moves to blow the candle out again but as he does a wave of cold air washes over him and he freezes.

“Come on Chrissy, I don’t like this.”

The candle flame flutters like someone is half heartedly blowing at it, but not enough to blow it out.

“Ok, um, I’m gonna leave. Please don’t burn down Rick’s place, he’ll kill me.”

The candle flickers again.

“Is that a no or a yes?!”

Nothing.

Frustrated he pulls at his hair. “Ok, ok, fine, I’ll play the game you creepy demon ghost thing. One flicker for yes, two for no, got it?”

The candle flame bobs once.

“Ok, cool, I’m officially fucking losing my mind.” If you can’t beat your delusions, join ‘em…

“So, are you Chrissy?”

One flicker.

“Wonderful, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be haunted by. Um, ok, next question… are you, uh, dead?”

Two flickers.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank fuck. Ok, so, just invisible then. That’s… unnerving. Have you been following me this whole time?”

One flicker.

“Cool cool cool. Can I like, undo this invisibility thing somehow?”

One flicker.

“Great, uh, ok, I might have to ask for some backup-”

The flame bobs twice.

“Hey, I’m a super senior here, I don’t exactly know how to undo voodoo. You’re going to have to let me bring in an expert on weird shit.”

One flicker.

“So we’re on the same page then, lovely. Fuck, why did you wait until today to contact me? I’ve been here for two fucking days, and you could have just candle messaged me in the trailer! Nope, you know what, it’s fine! I’m sure there’s a valid reason. Like… maybe it takes a long time for ghost powers to accumulate enough for candle magic.”

One flicker.

“Of course, because why would anything ever be easy right off the bat… I’m sorry I called you a demon... You haven’t been, like, watching me sleep or anything have you?”

Two flickers.

“Yeah, that would be weird.” It’s not like I don’t dream about you every night though… “Is there and easier way to do this? Is candle shit difficult?”

Two flickers.

“Ok, good.”

He plops down on the sofa and buries his face in his hands.

“Maybe we should call it a night, I’m not thinking clearly and you’re invisible. I think I need coffee before I can wrap my head around how you just poofed out of existence.”

The candle bobs twice and then goes out completely. The wave of cold air washes over him again and he realizes it’s Chrissy’s presence that he’s feeling.

Once again he starts for the bedroom, but then the faucet in the kitchen turns on full blast.

“Holy shit,” he shrieks, running to shut it off before the splashes completely soak everything. His hand is on the knob when he spies the glass coffee carafe being nudged along the counter toward him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Cunningham. I meant in the morning!”

He swears he can see her crossing her arms over her chest and pouting at him.

“Fine, fine. I imagine you’re anxious to be un-invisibled.”

Begrudgingly he fills the carafe and dumps the water in the machine. Once the pot is full enough he gets a mug down and then pauses.

“Can you drink or anything? Oh wait, how am I supposed to ask you without the candle?”

A fridge magnet lands on the counter.

“Uhh, ok. If it’s no, flip the magnet over I guess.”

The magnet flips to the backside.

“So no coffee then, got it.”

He pours himself a cup and adds some of the powdered creamer Rick keeps in a porcelain cow shaped container. There’s no sugar, so just cream it is.

After a few slurps he looks back over at the magnet. “This would be so much easier if you could just write shit down.”

The magnet flips so it’s on its side.

“Yeah, I know, too much to ask. Jesus H. Christ, I’m taking to a magnet right now, I mean I’m assuming I’m talking to a person but there’s a 50% chance I’m high as tits right now and I’m talking to a goddamn magnet.”

The magnet reattaches itself to the fridge, and instead a different magnet flops to the counter. This one is a cutout of Betty Boop riding a horse and twirling a lasso.

“Rick’s late wife was named Betty,” he tells Chrissy, “She didn’t look a thing like Betty Boop, but, that was what Rick called her. Boop, or Boopie, or Boopadoodle. Kind of disgustingly sweet in a stoner kind of way. I’m sure Carver called you all kinds of cute-”

The magnet aggressively flips over.

“Ok, Carver’s a sore subject I see. Well that’s alright sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about him. Rather not, actually, since he’s currently dying for my head on a pike over your being gone. Speaking of, do you have any idea how this happened?”

The magnet flips to its front.

“Genie?”

Back.

“Old hag?”

Nothing.

“Shooting star?”

Betty Boop reappears.

“Seriously? You what, wished on a shooting star to disappear, and you did? In my front yard nonetheless, Jesus H. Christ.”

He downs the rest of his coffee.

“So I’m assuming we probably need to un-wish this to bring you back onto the visible plane.”

Betty Boop stares at him.

“Fucking great,” he groans, “I’m definitely gonna have to bring in the geek squad for this, I have zero idea how to predict when there’s a suitable shooting star or if it’s just a fucking statillite. And I don’t want to fuck this up, because I kind of was looking forward to hanging out.”

Betty doesn’t move.

“Did you want to hang out?” he asks, suddenly feeling quite shy.

Betty stays put.

“Oh. Good. God, I wish I could hear your voice right now. Or I wish I could see your face at least, talking to my-”

The lights in the boathouse shut off abruptly.

“Chrissy, that’s not fucking funny!”

“That wasn’t me,” a voice says in the darkness.

Eddie scrambles for the light switch. And there, in the middle of Rick’s putrid yellow kitchen, is Chrissy Cunningham herself.

“Welcome back,” he smiles.

The sight of Chrissy smiling back at him is the best thing he’s ever seen in his whole fucking life.

👻👻👻👻

(Read on AO3)

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

Gem’s sitting on the edge of the plank that hangs over their hill.

“Why’s your eye blue?”

“I don’t know, Scott, why’s half of my body overtaken by a dark, unknown substance that’s slowly eating me out from the inside?” Gem replies, staring at the water a hundred feet down.

“Well, you wouldn’t want me to stroll up and ask you why you’re fifty percent possessed.” Scott doesn’t sit down, but starts munching on a potato. “Plus, I have experience with sudden heterochromia too, you know.”

It’s a light conversation, but the undertones are obvious, like skating on the thin ice lying on the surface of a deep river. Gem sighs.

“It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, I know, Cub and that fog. That was sculk, I have no idea what this is.”

Gem winces as a cherry leaf brushes across her face.

“It hurts?” Scott asks, his expression concerned.

“No, it…” Gem turns to look at Scott for the first time in the whole exchange. Her face is half human, half shadow, and the eye on the afflicted side is, indeed, a murky, dimly glowing navy. “Scott, that’s why I’m worried. It doesn’t feel just fine, it feels… good. Like it was always meant to be this way.”

“Oh,” Scott says. “That sounds wrong.”

“Do you have any ideas what it could be?”

“Well, uh… we could ask Grian, check if it might be a yellow side effect.”

-

“No chance.”

Grian’s rolled up the sleeves of his demure red sweater, standing in the middle of a cow pen outside of the hollowed-out mountain Etho, Cleo, and he calls home. He squints at Gem.

“I mean, come on, or all the other yellows would’ve gotten it too.” The former Watcher elaborates, before jumping out of the pen to closer inspect Gem’s new look. “I’ve never seen this before. The only thing I can think of that’s… infecting you is the End, but you didn’t even go into the portal. Why ask me?”

“We thought you would know, being, you know, Watcher-related…” Scott grins nervously.

“I thought you weren’t a big fan of them in the first place.” Grian says, obtaining a quick nod from Gem before prodding the affected arm.

“Well, you know…” Scott chuckles sheepishly.

“The End?” Gem asks, still a few sentences behind.

“Yes, the End,” Grian doesn’t straighten up since he’s shorter than Gem anyway. “But you didn’t even go in- how- I have no idea. Stop asking me!”

He groans. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so grumpy, it’s just- when you got here it was like there was a conflicting presence. Oh, I sound crazy.”

“Wow, you hate me?” Gem jokes. “I’m hurt.”

“Not you, it’s the-” Grian frowns and gestures to her left side. “Ugh! I feel really- like there’s some sort of eavesdropper around. I mean, normally even that wouldn’t bother me, but it’s different. Like more… persistent.”

Scott, who has had one too many run-ins with the higher entities between being a winner and having a history with Jimmy, has caught on. “Oh, is it because of the Watchers’ rivalry with the Li-?”

“I’m not a Watcher!” Grian quickly interrupts him. “Just hurry up and leave before I stab you, it’s not your fault, I just feel like there’s someone spying. Stop listening!” He suddenly shouts to no one.

No one. Unless…

“Grian, you sure you’re oka-” Gem is cut off by Scott hastily saying “Gem, let’s just go now.”

“Right.” Gem, who is incredibly confused, scurries away with Scott.

-

And then she’s back in her base again, lying on the bed and holding her arm above her to watch how the blue glimmers in the light.

It’s captivating. She knows it should be bad, but she’s pretty sure it’s already taken half her soul by now, and she can’t help but fall into its trap.

The question is, what is it?

It must’ve been the End. She created the army that would defeat the dimension’s ruler, and the End… remembers. It must be some kind of revenge, some sort of punishment, to drag her over to the darkness. If you can’t beat ‘em, make ‘em join you.

Somehow she feels like that isn’t all.

Despite all of Grian’s superficial denials, everyone knows that the winged Watcher is… well, a Watcher, probably because he still has the wings.

He felt wrong when Gem was around. Like someone was hearing them- no, listening to them.

Gem watches her left hand curl up into a fist, outlined by the torch’s light. She remembers Scott’s words. Is it because of the Watchers’ rivalry with the Li-

Her eyes open, then open again.

And for half a second, she can hear every conversation, every whisper, every secret.

She Listens.

[section-chief-prentiss]

Breakdown

Summary: Your first loss in the field leaves you shaken up. Fortunately, Emily is there to comfort you.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Word Count: 918

Ao3

This case had taken a mental toll on you. You’d promised the victim that you would catch the UnSub, and you had, but not before he circled back and killed the woman you’d promised you’d save.

At the station, after the arrest, the team kept a watchful eye on you. For once, you found yourself grateful that you were spending a night in a hotel instead of flying home right away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to stay composed on the long flight home.

You had just enough strength to keep yourself together in front of them and in the car on the way back to the hotel, but when you made it up to your room and closed the door behind you, the floodgates opened.

You leaned against the closed door, unable to make it further. Your vision blurred with unshed tears, and there was a tightness in your chest that made each breath more difficult than the last.

You panted out shallow breaths, unable to fill your lungs with air. You wrapped your arms around your torso, hoping that the pressure would keep you from completely falling apart.

“Oh, Y/N,” a gentle voice said from somewhere in the room.

You swatted at the tears in your eyes, clearing your vision enough to find that Emily was standing on the opposite side of the room.

“Em,” you sniffed. “Sorry, am I in the wrong room?”

You glanced around, but sure enough, your go-bag was sitting in its usual spot in the corner.

“No,” she said, taking a few tentative steps forward. “I coerced a key from the front desk worker. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

That earned a small smirk from you. “How’d you manage that?”

“I may have flashed my badge,” she said with a shrug.

“Well, I’m fine,” you lied. “You can go back to your room.”

You stepped away from the door to make space for her. She closed the distance between the two of you, but to your surprise, instead of leaving, she took your hand and guided you forward.

“No,” she said. “You’re not okay. And I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

Your voice trembled. “I promised Maria she would be okay. I promised–” Your voice broke, and you couldn’t continue.

Unable to support your own weight anymore, you collapsed onto the bed, turning away from Emily. You were mortified that she was seeing you fall apart. You’d been harboring a crush on her since the day you were introduced at the BAU, and every day you worked together, every time you were partnered in the field, you fell harder and deeper. It was becoming more difficult to hide your feelings for her, and you didn’t want her to see you this vulnerable, risk her running away and losing her completely.

But Emily wasn’t phased. She joined you on the bed, sitting up, and resting her back against the headboard.

“Hey,” Emily said, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Don’t do that; you don’t have to hide from me.”

Hesitantly, you turned back around and used her legs as a pillow. Emily gently combed her fingers through your hair.

“The first loss is the hardest,” Emily said knowingly. “Not that they get easier, but with time, you learn how to cope. You lean on your team; it’s what we’re here for.”

“I can’t do this,” you said, exhaling a shaky breath.

“I know it’s hard,” Emily said. “But you’re an amazing agent, and you’re meant to be in the field. I know you can do this, but if you need a break, we can talk to Hotch—”

“No,” you said, sitting up to meet her dark eyes. “I can’t do this with you.”

Emily said nothing as you took a deep breath and continued. “I can’t pretend like I don’t love you anymore.”

Emily’s face fell, and your heart plummeted into your stomach.

“Oh, love,” Emily said, cupping her palm around your cheek. “Have I not made it obvious enough? How completely in love I am with you?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had, in fact, not noticed that at all. You were so sure you were reading into things, seeing signs that weren’t there…

Emily ran her thumb across your furrowed forehead. “I love that you’re such an open book—I can always tell when you’re thinking, or overthinking.”

“Why do you think I always volunteer to pair with you in the field?” She asked.

“Well, I knew we were friends, but I never thought—”

“Why do you think I spend more time at your place than my own?”

“You said you liked my place better!”

“And why do you think I jumped in front of a bullet for you last month?”

“Because—” you cut yourself off, the realization dawning on you. “Oh my god. You’re in love with me.”

Emily flushed. “Finally, you notice,” she said, crushing her lips against yours.

As happy as you were, it didn’t erase the ache in your heart from the loss you experienced. When you pulled away from Emily, your eyes were watering once more.

“Come here, love,” Emily said, pulling the blankets aside, crawling under them, and patting the space next to her.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You shimmied under the covers, and Emily wrapped her arms around you, holding you close.

You spent the rest of the night with her in your arms, and you couldn’t imagine ever letting go.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Blanket Buddies🤍

The cold winter air crept into our little apartment, wrapping around everything like a frosty blanket. I had decided to go full cocoon mode, layering myself in every blanket I could find. The result? I looked less like a person and more like a walking marshmallow, with my head poking out and arms flailing helplessly.

As I snuggled deeper into my fortress of warmth on the couch, I heard the front door creak open. My boyfriend, Jason, stepped inside, his cheeks flushed from the cold. I peeked out just enough to see him remove his jacket, and I couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked with his tousled hair and bright eyes.

“Uh, what are you doing? Hiding from the abominable snowman?” he joked, raising an eyebrow at my blanket-clad figure.

I sat up a bit straighter, fluffing my layers dramatically. “I’m not hiding! I’m… um, I’m an elegant winter creature!” I declared, striking a ridiculous pose that had my arms flailing even more.

Jason burst into laughter, the kind that made his shoulders shake. “You look like a burrito with legs! A very short burrito at that.”

I tried to glare at him, but it was hard to take myself seriously when I was wrapped in so many blankets. “At least I’m warm! You should try it!” I teased, wiggling my fingers through the blanket’s opening.

He crossed his arms, giving me a mock-serious look. “I’d look good in blankets too. But I have to admit, you’ve set the bar pretty high for fashion today.”

“High for a burrito, maybe!” I shot back, trying to stifle my laughter.

“Alright, fine. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” He grinned and started rummaging through the pile of blankets we kept in the corner. He pulled out a colorful patchwork blanket, draping it around himself. But instead of looking cute, he ended up looking like a colorful, oversized monster.

“Roar! I’m the Snuggle Beast!” he declared, attempting to stomp towards me but tripping over the blanket.

I couldn’t hold back my laughter anymore, rolling on the couch and clutching my stomach. “The Snuggle Beast is going to be the death of me!”

Jason laughed, finally regaining his balance and puffing out his chest. “You underestimate my powers!” He lunged at me, the blanket trailing behind him, and landed right next to me on the couch.

The moment turned quiet as we both caught our breath, still wrapped in our ridiculous blankets. I turned to face him, my heart warming despite the chill in the air. “You know, I think we make a pretty good team, even if we look ridiculous.”

“Especially because we look ridiculous!” he replied, giving me a playful nudge. “We’re cozy monsters together!”

“Cozy monsters for life,” I echoed, leaning in closer.

As he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into his side, I felt the warmth of his body seep through the layers of our blankets. The cold outside didn’t seem so bad anymore; with Jason beside me, I felt like we could take on any winter chill, one laugh at a time.

“Just promise me one thing,” I said, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Anything,” he replied, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

“Next time, you have to wear more blankets than I do!”

Jason  laughed, tilting his head back dramatically. “Challenge accepted!”

As we settled in together, surrounded by our cozy monster blankets, I knew that the laughter and warmth we shared would always be my favorite part of winter.

[slightlystupidhun]

Ain’t Misbehavin’

Fic inspired by the art of lovely @dizzy-n-busy . After taking out a member of the Shade gang who attacked his favorite detective, Milo Greer, a mafioso of the Shaw clan, finds himself in an interrogation room of his own with his detective running the interview.

“Mr.Greer, this isn’t the first time you’ve been in this room.” They said as they propped themself up in the corner of the room. They sat backwards on a chair arms resting against the back of it and facing him.

“Well, I hope for both my joy and yours, it ain’t the last.” He said with a grin that could knock the detective clear off their feet, but this was business and they had to handle work first. “However, usually folks take each other out to dinner before they break out the handcuffs.” He winked at them.

“Very funny Mr.Greer, nevertheless you have answers that I want.” They sighed as they moved to the table and lifted the tan colored file off of it. It’s pages scrapped lightly against their fingers.“How was your night last night?”

“Was quite fun, I went out with some friends, got into some trouble. Why you wanna join me?” He winked at them, picking up on the way their hands squeezed the file a little tighter and their eyes darted away from him.

“I need you to give me exact locations Greer. Because let me tell you, the evidence, is not in your favor…” they sighed pinching at the bridge of their nose.

“It never is, yet somehow you never have enough to pin me… unless you’re so infatuated that you’ve been letting me go every time in hopes to see me again.” He smiled at them. His accent thick, his charm thicker. So thick they felt as though they would suffocate from it. Maybe they wanted too… but they couldn’t.

“We’ll let me tell you what I have. A notorious member of the shade gang is found dead from an alley way you were seen leaving about 20 minutes before. You look like hell. You’re bloody, bruised. Hell you even got a gunshot wound in your abdomen” They set the file down on the table and put their arms against it. Their warm hands a stark contract of the cold mahogany. “Just what did you do last night.”

He smiled at them and leaned back in his chair. His gelled hair swooping over his face and his gold earrings reflecting the harsh light back in the detectives eyes. “Which one kicked the bucket? Was is the one that was buggin you a few days ago?” He didn’t need confirmation, he already knew that’s who laid dead in the alley.

He waited for that man to head back home from the bar he was at and pulled him in the alley. It was a bloody beating and Milo was winning until the guy pulled out a gun and shot him. What a sore loser, having to cheat like that. Nonetheless, Milo finished the job and tried to clean himself up, but about 30 minutes later, detectives arrived at his house.

The stealth rolled their eyes pinched their nose again to hide the fact that they bit their lip. “That doesn’t matter. Greer. Tell me what I need to know. Why did you kill that man and how?”

Milo smiled, he was completely smug as he leaned forward, his face mere inches from theirs. “I could ask for a lawyer ya know. But you’re lucky I like talkin to ya.” He then glanced to the side and saw the box of cigarettes on the table. “Can I get a light, detective?”

“Will you talk?” They said reaching into their pockets.

“Maybe, I’ll definitely talk to you, but about what I can’t say.” He smiled as they put the cigar in his mouth and promptly lit it. “So when can I take ya out?”

“For a date or with a gun?” They shot back at him as they started walking around the room. He laughed at their response and spoke again.

“It’s be easier to have this cigarette if my hands were in cuffs. Can I have just one of ‘em back?” He looked up at them with fake puppy dog eyes.

“Give me something and I’ll give you something.”

“Okay, fine I was in the alley last night. And I did see your corpse” He nodded over to the cuffs for them to release one of his hands. They did as promised and sat on the table in front of him. “But I didn’t see your man. I left an entire twenty minutes before he was found. And the wounds I got ere are from a bar fight I got into on the wrong side of town.” Their face fell as they couldn’t argue with what he just said. They had no way to prove his story was true unless.

“Do you have a witness for it?” They said raising their eyebrow at him.

“You wanna being in Gabriel Shaw?” He smirked as he rested his arm on the table. “I know you want this lead but, Sweetheart, Mr.Shaw is a hard man to reach, very busy.”

They smiled at him and crossed their arms. “I think I’ll take that chance Mr.Greer. Oh and don’t misbehave while I’m gone.”

“No worries sweetheart, I ain’t misbehaving, just savin my love for you.” He sang out the popular song with a wickedly charming grin.

[annoyed-galaxy]

Fictober 2024 ~ 25

"it consumes me"

Fanfiction: DAI Honestly, this went in a different direction than I was planning, but I pulled an all-nighter and am sleep deprived. Trying so desperately to beat Inquisition before Veilguard comes out and I don't know if I'm going to make it in time lol Can also be found on Ao3

Willow stared into her cup full of dark liquor. This was her third? She wasn’t feeling drunk, maybe only slightly tipsy. The others around her were speaking, laughing, and chatting. She looked away from her cup and smiled at her friends. 

Times like these were nice. A moment of peace in the middle of a war was always welcomed. She had declined joining the game of Wicked Grace for the night, but she watched with an amused look on her face. Cullen was losing horribly. She peeked at his cards and just shook her head slowly as she heard him obviously bluff. He leaned back in his chair, a confident grin on his face. His arm slung across the back of her chair and subconsciously wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her in. She smiled and leaned into it. 

No one commented on their relationship anymore, though Dorian did throw a knowing smile at her. Varric called Cullen on his bet and Willow noticed Cullen’s jaw tense just slightly. She took a drink. Iron Bull called the bet as well. He definitely would have caught the subtle movement of Cullen’s face. 

“Alright Curly, show ‘em,” Varric motioned to his cards. 

Cullen removed his arm from Willow’s shoulder and looked at his cards. His face fell and he laid the cards out. “I got nothing,” he sighed in defeat. 

“I knew it,” Bull announced, laughing and taking a large swig from his own cup. 

“Now now, Tiny, we still need to see who wins: me or you,” Varric said. 

Bull scoffed and revealed his cards. “Beat that.”

Varric smiled gleefully and laid his cards out. He did, in fact, beat Bull’s hand—barely. 

“Oh come on!” Bull cried out. The table burst out into laughter as Varric took the pot, chuckling as he did so. 

“Can’t beat the master,” he bragged. 

Willow watched as they set up another round. She took another sip of her drink, but suddenly, pain shot up her arm. She cried out and the cup fell from her hand as the green light of the Anchor sparked to life. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her in concern as she held her hand close to her chest, hissing as the pain subsided. 

“You okay?” Varric was the first to ask. Cullen had put his hands on her shoulder, worry flooding his face.

Willow nodded and then took a deep breath. She shook her hand and grunted. “It does that sometimes,” she explained. 

“Is it bad?” Bull asked, his eyes serious and showing his care for her. 

“Just a bit surprising most of the time.” She rubbed her palm. “Sometimes, the pain gets so bad it consumes me entirely. Falling to the ground and just laying there until it passes.” 

“Maybe have Chuckles look at it again and see if he can figure something out to alleviate the pain?” Varric suggested. 

Willow shrugged. “It’s fine for now. I think whenever I go a long time not closing rifts, it gets antsy.” She let out a dry chuckle. “It’s like I need to use it otherwise it’ll just start hurting.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” Cullen asked her, his face soft with overwhelming love and concern. 

She smiled and patted his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Curly,” she replied. “Not the worst thing to happen to me…just the weirdest.” 

“Oh?” Dorian piped up. “Not the traveling through time?” 

She snapped her fingers and pointed. “Yeah, nevermind, that was the weirdest thing.” There was a round of chuckles. Willow picked her cup off the floor and only then did she realize that the rest of her alcohol had actually fell on her lap. The pain had numbed the feeling of her wet clothes. “Ah dammit,” she groaned, standing up and wiping, unsuccessfully, at the liquid. 

“Someone needs a wardrobe change,” Dorian smirked. 

She chuckled. “I think that’s my cue to go to bed. It is getting late.” 

“Aww come on, boss, we’re about to beat your boyfriend’s ass again,” Bull joked. 

“Yeah right,” Cullen retorted, but there was a slight flush on his face. He was horrible at Wicked Grace. 

Willow chuckled and just leaned down and gave Cullen a kiss on the cheek. “Well try not to kick it too much. I still need him.” The boys roared with laughter. She ruffled Cullen’s hair. “Good night guys. Have fun.” 

They waved her out as she walked out, Cullen watching her go, sadly, but admiring the sway of her hips. 

“Hey, Commander, focus,” Varric snapped his fingers. 

Cullen shook his head and cleared his throat whipping his head back to the table. “I-I am!” 

“The Inquisitor’s ass is not the game,” Bull smirked, knowingly. Cullen just sighed and let his head fall, failing to hide the blush rising on his face. 

“Don’t worry, dear Cullen, I’ll appreciate it for you,” Dorian joked. That made another roar of laughter rise around the table. 

Cullen just groaned. “Let’s get this next round going. I am not losing this time.” 

He lost. 

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after a less-than-easy mission, you can't help but feel like a deadweight among the strong crew you'd joined. kanan is sent to solve your mood, offering words of comfort.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ghost crew x gn!reader, kanan x gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: self doubt, mention of wounds, requested by @ohnonixll

The hum and vibrations of the Ghost buzzed across your body, the cold durasteel floor pressing into your back as you stared up at the cargo’s ceiling. Not much had changed in the spiderwebs spinning in the uppermost corners; you would know. You’d been staring up at ‘em for well over an hour.

The skid of someone sliding down the ladder and the thunk of their boots hitting the floor jolted you back to reality. You peeked up, eyes straining to spy who approached, when the orange of Ezra’s cargo pants came into view.

He gave you an odd look. “Weather good down there?”

“Peachy,” you said, sighing deeply. “If you can call being doomed by uselessness peachy.”

Ezra took one look at the forlorn shadow in your eyes and turned tail. “Yeah, hope that goes well.”

“Screw you!”

You flopped back down in your pile of self-misery, while Ezra made a beeline for someone more qualified to deal with your… predicament.

And to his great luck, he ran right into the best possible candidate in his opinion. Ezra stumbled back, bracing one arm on the wall as he looked up at Kanan. He puffed a sigh of relief, getting a raised brow from his mentor. Kanan had a sigh locked and loaded before Ezra ever got a word out.

“What is it?”

“It’s Y/N,” Ezra exasperated. “They’re wallowing in the cargo.” He patted Kanan’s shoulder as he swept by, off to his room. “I think you got that handled.”

“Why not Hera?” Kanan called after him rather desperately.

Ezra waved a dismissive hand. “She’s out with Sabine, remember?”

“Oh,” said Kanan. “Right.” Just my luck.

But—you needed help, apparently. So as much as he dreaded these sort of confrontations, Kanan made his way to the cargo bay, running several questions over before settling on simply winging it. 

You lay unmoved from your position where Ezra found you, hands folded on your chest adn eyes locked on the ceiling. Kanan peered down from the railing, sighed a rallying sigh, and climbed down the ladder to reach you. Kanan slid to the floor, crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees. Glancing between you and whatever you were staring at, he leaned to nudge your arm. 

“What’re we looking at?”

You gave a hefty puff. “Nothin’. Ezra sent you?”

Caught. Kanan shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. He was worried.”

“Tch.” Clearly, you disagreed. That, or you just didn’t care. Either way, Kanan too felt concern gnaw at him, your behavior odd to say the least. 

“Mind if I ask what’s wrong?” Before you could quip back something snappy, he beat you to it. “Because obviously something’s on your mind. You’ve been off for a few days now.” 

Ever since that last mission, he noticed silently. Kanan tried to think of anything that might have triggered such a reaction, yet he came up short. “Listen… can we skip the part where upi pretend to be fine? You know whatever you say won’t leave me.”

You gave a hefty sigh and adjusted to sit up, shuffling toward the wall to rest against it. You nodded to the space beside you, Kanan soon occupying it. For some time all you did was fiddle with your hands, lips sealed shut. “I can’t even dress my own wounds.”

Kanan quirked a brow, eyes wandering confusedly, till… oh. He zeroed in on the gauze wrapped around your bicep, expertly tied off by Sabine that morning. You’d been shot with blaster, leaving a nasty burn behind. “Neither can Ezra.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” you scoffed, brows knit. 

He rubbed at his neck. “Yeah, it’s supposed to.”

“Well it’s not.” You shifted further away from Kanan. “I just… I want to be more useful.”

There it is. Kanan tilted his head, trying to catch your fleeting gaze. “What made you think you were?”

You sputtered over fractured words, grabbing at them frantically. “Just look at me! That last mission could’ve gotten screwed up because of me.” You coiled your knees into your chest. “And on top of it all, I got myself hurt too.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“But it is! If I only knew how to fight…” You huffed, puffing out a breath. “I’m not a pilot or a Jedi or a warrior… I don’t even know why I’m here anymore…”

Immediately Kanan’s face fell. In the tense silence to follow, he set a gentle hand on your shoulder. In a soft tone, he cooed your name, saying, “You’re not here for anything you can do.” When you only sighed further, he said, “None of us are. We’re here because we believe in the same cause. Freedom.”

Lifting your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath and nodded solemnly. “Still, doesn’t make this wound any less my fault.”

Kanan ticked his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Then let it heal and I’ll teach you to fight myself.” Your head swiveled around, lips agape. Kanan offered you a smile. “You’re here for a reason. You may not know what it is now, but one day you will.

“Besides—” Kanan stood to his feet, reaching out to take your hand “—I want you here. Everyone else does too. The ship wouldn’t be the same without you, kid.”

Heart swelling, you gave a shaky nod and jumped to your feet, doing your best to stifle a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Sudden trampling echoed out from the balcony and seconds later Ezra jumped out, sliding down the ladder and making for the control panel. He pressed a large button and flipped a switch and the hatch to the cargo bay began to lower. “Sabine and Hera are back.”

Sure enough, the two women walked up the ramp, a box of supplies in hand. A grin tugged at your lips, only widening as Sabine ruffled your hair as she passed and Hera’s smile met yours tenfold. Yet it all fell apart when you caught Kanan’s I told you so gaze, and you forced your lips into a stiff frown. 

Ezra broke the moment as Hera called to Kanan, the boy’s eyes stuck on the corner you’d previously been staring at. “Wait, that spiderweb is kinda cool.”

You rolled your eyes. “Idiot,” you scoffed, heading off into the ship's depths with Sabine, unwilling to acknowledge the warm fuzzy feeling unfurling in your chest. You would learn to fight, and then maybe you wouldn’t be so useless���or, perhaps, start to believe Kanan, and you would accept this little family more and more, bit by bit.

[fanofstuff01]

Yeahh.. A small piece of Highschool AU I managed to write. It doesn’t have Adamsapple, sadly, only a bit of holydust. If you don’t know about it, I suggest you to look at @things-arent-what-they-seem66 ‘s account. (a way to tag you bud heheh)

Enjoy! Also slight Emilute

Can you fucking believe all the work I wrote got deleted and I had to rewrite it?!

Adam took their usual, plain food on his tray with dissapointment. Someone needed to tell the fucker who decided these that they were preparing food for highschool kids and not for some criminals.

“Move faster!” He yelled at the line, receiving some swears but no movement. He sighed.

“Adam!”

He turned his head to the voice. Emily was waving happily at him, waiting with Lute. He smiled weakly and mouthed “go without me”. Though they didn’t.

“Hey girls.” He went straight to them when he finally got out of that damned line. He fist bumped Lute as best as he could and began walking.

“Why did you two wait for me?”

“Tolerating them is easier when you’re not alone.” Lute pointed at the Vee’s. Adam groaned, fucking wednesdays. “And Michael isn’t around.”

“Lucky prick.”

The certain group were talking about the same topic again. Adam cursed on the inside. Couldn’t they have a single lunch where no one ever mentioned Alastor?

“So… Oh. Adam. Lute.” Vox greeted them, though it didn’t sound like one. “We were just talking about how to get rid of Alastor. Why don’t you join us?”

“Suure.” Adam gave Lute “Get Em Out Of Here” eye and she understood the signal.

“Hey Em, can we talk?”

“Now?”

“Yes. It can’t wait.” Lute smirked playfully and took Emily’s hand.

“O-oh. Okay.” Emily flushed. Adam rolled his eyes in the background. Sure, this had to be the way Lute did it.

Adam sat down as the girls walked away, playing with his meal as he waited the group to threw another one of their crazy ideas. Sure, he wanted Alastor to have it worse, who wouldn’t but nowadays the things they suggested were no longer cruel, rather straight up illegal. Vox offered to burn him alive for fuck’s sake!

“So, as I was saying, we can’t physically hurt him. Any other ideas?”

“Getting him expelled?”

“I tried that.”

“Exposing him as a groomer?”

“How the fuck is your mind working Val?! No one would believe that!”

“Then what do YOU have in mind Voxxie?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“Weakening him socially?” Velvette looked up from her phone, popping a bubblegum.

“Oh how genious! And how are we doing that, Dollface?”

“By beating one of his friends? Then everyone would be away? Really Vox?”

“…”

“This is why you’re my favorite Vel.”

“Hey!”

“So we’re doing it?”

“We’ll need someone first. Hmmm… Then who could be that lucky fella… Hunter?”

“He’s pretty useful.” Val sipped his apple juice.

“You’re right. Morningstar?”

“Alastor? Caring about Morningstar eating shit? That’s a laugh. Also that guy is no joke. He can fuck us.”

“I meant the spoiled Princess.”

“Same ending. And don’t even RECOMMEND Nifty freak, Val.”

“Why would I?!”

“Who else, who else…” Vox tapped his chin, then his face lit up. “Aha! How about *Angel’s surname*? He is-“

“No.” Adam was listening them half ears until now, but he heard that surname loud and clear. And he didn’t like that it was being mentioned on their murder table.

“No, what?” Vox spoke, half annoyed-half angry. Adam would be dead fucking meat (in social life, probably) if he wasn’t at the same status as them.

“No, you are not touching him. I may not be a part of your twisted shit, but you will not be bringing him into this.”

“Oh, you’re letting Alastor humiliate us? Only for a street whore?” Vox’s voice took a more threatening turn. The other did not care the slightest.

“Does Alastor look like he cares for anyone to you? Please.”

“Pssh. It’s still a great way to get him to be left alone. You really need to let go of your stupid weakness for that slut.”

“I don’t plan to. And, I think if you want to keep your rep safe here, you really need to stop telling me what to do.”

“Fine, fine. God. Why are you this sensitive about him anyway?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Whatever. How about we..”

They kept their blood conversation going but Adam wasn’t listening anymore. His mind took him to a complete different moment. A pretty meaningless memory from his past, nothing much.

Adam wrinkled his nose as he took out a dead mouse from his bag. Cliché much, huh? It didn’t scare him, only disgusting a bit. He threw it away and returned to his food.

“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” A cheerful voice spoke. Adam lifted his head up.

A blonde boy he didn’t knew had picked this table to sit. What a wrong move.

“No?”

“Theen.. Can I?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“Thank you!” He exclaimed happily and sat down.

“Why did you chose to sit here in all places?” Maybe he should warn him.

“I don’t know. The other tables scared me, they are too loud! And you seem nice.”

Yep. He was definitely a new student.

“Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Adam.”

“Nice name. Mine’s actually Antonio, but Dad said it’s Anthony now. When we moved here. Which is fine, I love Anthony. Use the one you like.”

“Ok-kay…” Adam wondered where he came from but couldn’t bring himself to ask. He thought of warning him for a second time but his thoughts were interrupted.

“Sorry, I talked too much right? My brother usually says this. Not like he loves anyone talking though. He’s boring. Mom says he’s lot like my father. Do you have any siblings?“

“I don’t.”

“I wish I didn’t too. I bet it must be amazing. But I would miss my twin sister, she gets a pass. I’d still be fine without my brother.”

“Why aren’t you sitting with her then?” God this boy was right, he talked too much and too fast it overwhelmed Adam’s brain.

Anthony bit his lip. “Dad said she’ll be in a different school. I don’t know why. He often makes weird decisions, it only makes both me and Molly sad.”

“Hm.” What else could Adam say? He was used to having nobody with him in this state.

I should definitely get him to go away.

“Sorry! I don’t realize it when I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind it.” Adam looked around. It should’ve been happening by now. “Listen-“

“You don’t?!”

“Yes but-“

A fit of giggles and laughs came from behind. Adam didn’t have to look to see who they were. Usual girl group, on their daily torture visit for Adam. How were they this sneaky?

“You found someone from your kind, Kadmon? From the trash can?”

“Go away!” He yelled.

“Okay weirdo! Have fun with your stupid Italian friend!” They walked off. Huh. It was quick. Adam returned to the now confused boy.

“Look, uh, Anthony. You should go.”

“What? Why?”

Adam rolled his eyes. Was he dumb?

“Trust me you wouldn’t want to be seen as my friend in here.”

“By who? Is that- Ooh.” It finally clicked in him. “Is that why you are sitting alone?”

“I-“

“Well I’m staying anyway.” He shrugged.

“Wait, what?” Adam was caught off guard by this.

“You said it was okay for me to talk! Barely anyone I know thinks like this! And I’m not letting go of someone who did, thank you.”

“Huh? I didn’t-“

A hand was pressed on his face, covering it slightly with mashed potatoes. “You already said it!”

“Hey!” He slapped his hand away, annoyed.

“Why are you this dead serious! Relax!” He giggled and went back to his seat.

“Oh, this is funny?” He threw a spoonful of broccolis at him. And couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped away when Anthony was absolutely disgusted by them.

“You’re laughing though!”

Adam was brought back to the present day. He shook his head, trying to focus on nothing but the meal infront of him.

————

I wrote this at 3 am sorry if some parts are stupid af.

[justicerikai]

Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #105 Aaaah~

Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.

Let me know if I missed something!

TL note:

Fumiya tells Ohse to say “猿、猿を探してこい” to Sarukawa. The joke is that “saru” in Sarukawa means monkey. It lit. translates to “Saru (monkey), go look for the monkeys (saru).” However~ I have refrained from translating Saru as monkey as a whole, due to this simply not sounding right, and it is a name with double meaning. Instead has been turned into a bit of a ruder sounding joke, forgive me Saru-chan!

柊 (hiiragi) means holly olive, holly, spotnape ponyfish (<- is that a real fish?). Hiiragi is the kunyomi (Japanese reading), while Shuu is the onyomi (sound reading, aka Chinese reading).

(Terra getting into hot water)

Terra: Ack! Ngh, h-hot, kgh…mmgnh!!!

(Sarukawa getting into hot water)

Sarukawa: Gah! Hmmnghhhh euugh Aaahhhhg~

(Fumiya getting into hot water)

Fumiya: A, ah, ah, haaahn

(Ohse getting into hot water)

Ohse: Ackk,,gghhk,,kghnngh,hkaagh

(Rikai getting into hot water)

Rikai: AGHJGHfhothohotafdhgffeelshhhotfhfhg

(Amahiko getting into hot water)

Amahiko: OUGHNNmmfghgoohhmoooohhhhhhh

(Iori getting into hot water)

Iori: BNGHJHOhohohohoho! Aahhhhooothhohhhjgh

The seven of them: Aaah~....

Rikai: Healing, isn’t it~

Fumiya: I’m melting away~

Terra: Say, don’t like, monkeys show up around here?

Amahiko: Eh? Aah, I wonder

Fumiya: Yeah they do. Kei, go look for ‘em

Sarukawa: Why, cut this shit out dude

Ohse: Hehe

Terra: Oh come on, go find ‘em~  It’s a once in a lifetime request from Terra-kun

Amahiko: Sarukawa-kun GO!

Sarukawa: Why me though! YOU go!

Fumiya: Ohse

(Fumiya sneakily whispering him something)

Ohse: ? …Hm, mhm mhm…

Ohse: Saru, go reunite with your family

Sarukawa: AAAH! The fuck are you goin' with the flow for! Get your ass over here!

(Ohse and Sarukawa jostling)

(Terra and Rikai trying to stop them)

Fumiya: Hahahaha

Sarukawa: It was YOUR doing, huh! I fuckin’ knew it!

Fumiya: Ah!

(Fumiya and Sarukawa jostling)

(Terra, Ohse and Rikai trying to stop them)

Iori: Yawn~…

Amahiko: Iori-san? Are you feeling alright?

Iori: I’m sleepy… sorry, I couldn’t be of service.

Amahiko: It’s fine, please rest easily.

Iori: I dun’ wannaaa~~

Amahiko: You have to, it’s an order, okay?

Iori: ……I have to be full of energy

Iori: Because…

Iori: I’m the heart of this house

Amahiko: Eh?

Iori: Hehe… hehehe

Amahiko & Iori: …Fufufu… ahahah…

(Ohse staring at something)

Rikai: Ohse-kun? What are you looking at?

Ohse: Snow…

Rikai: Aaah, it’s your favorite, isn’t it.

Ohse: Yes… Ri-Rikai-san.

Rikai: ?

Ohse: Can I take a dive?

Rikai: Eeeh!? Now!?

Terra: Go ahead Ghost-kun, Terra-kun will join you

Rikai: No, no you can’t! You’ll catch a cold again!

(Terra, Rikai and Ohse being noisy)

Fumiya: Hahahaha

Amahiko: Fufu… 

Sarukawa: Oh? Oi Amahiko, what’cha smiling for

Amahiko: Nothing beats nudity, the form people ought to naturally be. 

Amahiko: Everyone is sexy through and through. There’s much left to learn on my part.

Rikai: Amahiko-san, I am of the same opinion when you put it like that.

Rikai: Wondering how this world can be further improved made me fully aware of my own shortcomings.

Terra: Me too, I have to love Terra-kun even more!

Ohse: I need to disappear quickly

Iori: Self-sacrifice! Contribution! Free service!

Amahiko: Everyone! Let us all come together!!

The five of them: Ei, ei, oooooh!

Sarukawa: Quit it

The five of them: Ei, ei, oooooh!

Sarukawa: STOOOOOOP! DON’T UNIONIZEEEEE!!

Fumiya: Hahaha, hahahahaha

Fumiya: ….

Iori: Fumiya-san? What’s on your mind?

Fumiya: Nothing special

Iori: Reallyyyy~?

Terra: Shady…

Fumiya: I want hot sake

(The six of them getting mad)

The six of them: HEY! C’MON! FUMIYA-SAN! YOU CAN’T!!

Fumiya: ….What, what’cha being so serious for

The six of them: BECAUSE WE HAVE TO!!

Rikai: ….Feels nice, doesn’t it.

Terra: It’s the best

Iori: Hope this is okay…

Ohse: I wonder if this is okay…

Sarukawa: HMPH! I ain’t having fun AT ALL!

The seven of them: Aaaaah~~~~...

Terra: By the way, Tora-san

Torahime: Eh? Ah, y-y-y-yes

Terra: What’s your name?

Torahime: Eh!? My given name!?

Torahime: ……It’s Shuu.

Amahiko: Shuu?

Iori: Torahime Shuu

Torahime: Yes…

The seven of them: Eeeeh~

Sarukawa: What kanji

Torahime: EH!?

Torahime: ….Just the one kanji for hiiragi.

The seven of them: Eeeeh~

Rikai: A wonderful name.

Torahime: HWEH!?

Torahime: …….Thank you very much

Fumiya: Heh… hehe

The six of them: Hah…hahaha

Torahime: Eh? ….Ahaha… haha… ahaha

[a-strange-inkling]

Day 21: Hugs

(Part Two of Day 16: Traditions)

Chicago, Illinois 1986

“Woaw! Hey! Holy shit!” Eddie exclaims. 

Wayne chuckles under his breath from across the table at Chrissy pulling a fast one over him.

Eddie ignores his uncle, watching her with wide eyes, frozen in shock as she comes back up from knocking back that entire shot of homemade moonshine. 

“You—You okay?” 

Her face immediately screws up as she hisses inwardly, shaking her head back and forth. 

“Yep, there it is,” he quips, tightening his hold on her. “I told you.”

“It’s not that bad.” she’s barely able to say between coughs, eyes watering. “Really.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to chuckle, leaning his forehead against his shoulder. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“Burns in the best way, doesn’t it Chrissy girl?” Wayne asks with a fond smile. 

“Sure does.” she wheezes before breaking off into another fit of coughs, hitting her fist to her chest a few times. “Burns so good.”

“Easy, easy, easy there, hotshot,” Eddie keeps his eyes on her. 

“I’m fine,” she tells him with a nod as she catches her breath. “I think I could even do another.”

“Ah ha. Ha.” Eddie grins up at her. “No.”

She stares at him blankly a moment, before she starts giggling. 

“What?” 

She curls her finger at him for him to come closer. He tentatively obliges, leaning into her. “What?”

“I can’t feel my face.” she whispers, her giggling turning into a fit of hysterical laughter. 

“Oh, boy.” he breathes another chuckle, unable to stop his amused smile from spreading. 

“Can you feel your face, Wayne?” she asks suddenly, flinging herself up to face him, almost falling off Eddie’s lap. He dutifully catches her and sits her back up right. 

Wayne contemplates the question, touching his chin then his cheek. “Uh… yeah, I can feel it.” 

“Good, good.” she abruptly cups Eddie around the ears, turning him up to look at her, gently pushing and rolling at his skin in deep contemplation. “Can you feel your face?”

“Yes, Chrissy, I can feel my face,” he sighs. “You know why? Because you stole my shot.” 

She sputters a laugh as if that were the funniest thing in the whole world and Wayne joins in merrily, making Eddie deadpan in annoyance. It really is no fun being the sensible, sober one.

“Well,” he sighs, tipping the mason jar to refill his empty shot glass. “If you can’t beat em, join em, I guess.” 

“Oh, I want to do another one too!” she squeals, reaching for his glass once it’s full. 

Yeah, not this time, honey. 

He snatches her wrist. “No way in hell, you are going to go lay down.” 

She pouts. “But…”

“Go on,” he kicks her up off his knee, turning her toward the bedroom. “You’ll thank me later.” 

“But, it’s Christmas, I can’t go to sleep without my hugs.” she says, turning her big sad eyes over to Wayne. 

“Ah, come here, darling.” He holds his arms out, ever the pushover for her. 

“One hug.” Eddie tells her, lifting an authoritative finger as she scurries over to the other side of the table. “Then you go lay down.” 

“Okay,” she wraps her arms around Wayne, who smiles and pats her on the back. “Sleep tight, sweetheart.” 

Eddie watches her carefully as she comes back around to him, holding out her arms. “You too, please.” 

“Alright, baby,” he relents, slipping his hands around her waist and giving her a squeeze, feeling her arms weave around his shoulders. “Now you really need to go lay down, that shit is going to knock you right off your…”

Just as he pulls back he realizes in terror that she stretched a hand behind his back and snagged the shot glass again. 

She gives him a cheeky smile before throwing it back a second time.

“Chrissy!”

@hellcheerxmas

[meadowmines]

RGG Tactics Substories: Canned Whoopass

[A little background: Tactics has two "business" sideplots, Cat Cafe Grand Prix and Chef League. The latter is pretty much what it says on the tin: an Iron Chef-esque cooking battle pitting Aoyagi and a team of assistant cooks against other chef teams. Chef League's bosses include the mushroom-loving mafia boss from Y0, the head chef from Komian, and... wee babby teenage Zhao. When you defeat the bosses, they join your team.

Anyway, this substory opens up after you beat Zhao and walk past a Chinese restaurant somewhere in Sotenbori.]

Aoyagi: Mmm, Chinese food... man, I can’t stop thinkin’ about that Zhao kid’s chili shrimp. He gave me the recipe, but I’m short a few ingredients. Guess I’ll take a stroll around and see what I can find.

[You'll find a seedy-looking bodega in South Shofukucho with a big guy blocking the door.]

Aoyagi: Huh! A Chinese grocery store. Bingo! ‘Scuse me, bud--

Big guy: Store’s closed.

Aoyagi: ...okay? What time do ya open, then?

Big guy: We don’t. Get lost.

Aoyagi: Oh. I get it. Wholesale only, right? Cool. I run a restaurant in town, so what do I gotta do to get set up with ya?

Big guy: Your ears don’t work so good, do they?

Aoyagi [annoyed]: What the hell kinda business are ya runnin’ here, then? Closed in the middle of the day, ya don’t want my wholesale money, what are ya--

[Several more guys come out of the store to flank the big guy. You have absolutely without question stumbled into a triad front.]

Aoyagi: .....oh. That kinda business.

[Tactical battle against one really big guy and several slightly less big guys ensues]

Big guy: Huff... huff... this yakuza bastard’s not taking no for an answer! Kill him!

[scary guys draw guns and knives and all kinds of other implements of destruction]

Aoyagi: C’mon, man! I just wanted some spices n’ shit--

???: Yo! Hold up! Everyone chill!

Big guy: Huh?

[The interloper is wee babby teenage Zhao]

Big guy: Y-young Master!?

Zhao: This old fart’s cool. Let him in.

Aoyagi, Age 34: “Old fart!?”

Big guy: ...I don’t know about this.

Zhao: No, for real. He’s on my Chef League team.

Aoyagi: Excuse you? Who’s on whose team?

Zhao: [aside to Aoyagi] You want the good shit or nah?

Aoyagi: [sigh] ...yes, chef.

Zhao [shit-eating grin]: See? It’s all good.

Big guy: Well... if you say so. All right, then. Sorry for the misunderstanding. Here’s your membership card. Buy whatever you want. Good shit’s in the back.

Aoyagi: Oh. Heh. Okay! Cool! Thanks! You sure about this? You’re not gonna get in trouble with yer boss about it, are ya? I mean, I ain’t yakuza myself but I kinda do have ties with 'em...

Big guy: No worries. If you’re supporting the Young Master, it’s fine!

Aoyagi: Supporting the... right. Sure. That’s what I’m doin’. (Phew... I got a feeling this kid’s gonna grow up to be a great big pain in somebody’s ass...)

[You now have access to the Golden Tiger Trading Company’s shop, which stocks rare ingredients in the front and gear in the back.]

[aaternum-a]

@phantasmaw appeared, ❝ Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. ❞ - from chae!

Personal perception of beauty skewers the world, doesn’t it? We decorate graves and paint after images of ghosts in spite of ugly truths. But it’s a requisite of peace to make poetry of loss. The hardest part of joining the fight is making sense of what you couldn’t save. And even in the face of a hundred victories, somehow a single defeat feels heavier. At least, to her, it does. She’s peeling off the skin of a clementine, letting thoughts fall freely from her lips as layers fall to the ground. “Y’know that should be a good thing. It really should. Sometimes an end really is a new beginning even if it hurts. But..” The slayer clicks her tongue in some off-beat pattern, trying to piece together her words. Diplomacy is hardly amongst her strengths when it comes to voicing the mess in her head, but she wants to make sense. “--People can be so cynical. And I know, I know. Maybe I should just let ‘em be that way. But I’m no good at minding my business. Especially when something hurt is in front of me.” She strips one slice away from the bunch and reaches over to place it in Chaewon’s palm, fine creases varying between her brows.

“I mean, here, in theory .. if I left these orange peels on the ground, someone could say I’m careless and sloppy. I made a mess. But y’know what, maybe the grass here could have used some new fertilizer. And now it's a beautiful mess making way for some garden flowers or bushes.” She sits in her analogy a moment, places a single slice between her lips. Of course, people are nuanced creatures with a laundry list of issues that can obscure optimism. Hope. She knows she can’t heal everyone, but god does she try. Driven by naivety and stubborn idealism. There can be balance with acknowledging the unjust and making something of it. That’s not delusional– at least she's convinced herself it isn’t. There’s a fine line where sanguinity bleeds into fantasy, but that hasn’t been crossed yet. Or so she believes. 

“Caring about others kind of sucks doesn’t it?”

Her nose crinkles as she lets out a soft, defeated laugh,dropping back dramatically to the ground, silver strands a wintery mess behind her head. She peels back another slice and extends her hand to offer. “Or maybe I’m the cynical one and I just have to hope every broken home I leave will somehow make use of the pieces left." A gasp for playful dramatics, but there’s an evident divide within herself. The reality that taking part in the battles still doesn’t offer anymore clarity than being a bystander. It just gives you more to do. It’s hard to love humanity in spite of the hurt it causes. She shakes her head as if to will the thought away, “I don’t know, we’ve only been traveling a short while. I’d love to hear your words of wisdom. I think I’ve spoken enough for the both of us.” Her lips curl in a lopsided grin, curious brow wriggling. 

“Are you the poet or the cynic, Deung?”

[spotconln]

the tragedy (turned success) of girls in the strike is something so dear to me. i especially love it when the vulnerability is talked about. yes, spot said no at first, but she wasn’t doing it to be cruel. she had to be certain and cautious. she may be a strong leader, but she’s still a girl. she can be nervous and scared and unsure. uk spot has genuinely become my favorite character because of how much more depth she gets from not only being a girl, but a woman of color.

and, talking about spot being vulnerable, i’ve got quite a few scenes in what i call my 92sies girlsies rewrite where she goes back and forth on the merits of joining the strike. because i love this fic:

“Okay, fine,” Spot concedes, sighing. “Jus’ distracted, is all.”

“Over what the boys said?” continues Stray.

She nods, fidgeting with the fabric tied around her neck. “It’s jus’... do ya girls really think this strike could do somethin’? Be worth the trouble?”

A thoughtful silence takes over the group.

“I mean, ya did make some points earlier,” Mack offers, “‘bout tryna keep everyone safe. ‘Specially the youngers.”

“Yeah,” Scope agrees, “The job ain’t perfect, but we got free range’a the turf. Can’t say the same for the factory or industry kids. Newsies don’t lose limbs, don’t get stuffy air hours a day. An’ it’s sure better than…” she pauses with a grimace, “The alternative, for the older gals.”

A collective shudder passes through them. Finding work in the seedier areas of the city isn’t anyone’s first choice, most refuse to consider it an option. Spot can only hope, for herself and her siblings, that when she ages out of being a newsie, there’s more favorable work available for her. She’d even take the lowest factory job if it keeps her siblings fed.

When she ages out of being a newsie. For all she knows, she may not even be a newsie by next week, never mind in several months. The thought of what comes next doesn’t cross her mind often, only as a passing thought she pushes aside until the next time it pops up.

“They’s all protected with us,” adds Pips, “If any’a them are bein’ beat on, they got all’a us’ta back ‘em up. They got us makin’ sure they got food an’ lodgin’ for the night. I doubt they’ll get that sorta treatment anywhere else.”

“More than that, I ain’t sure if we can trust ‘em guys jus’ yet,” admits Stray.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Spot nods.

“They’s impulsive, most’a them probably didn’t think beyond emotions and jumped right into strikin’. They’re wild an’ might make this whole deal more trouble than it’s worth. Get us into more trouble than we can handle.”

“An’ there’s no tellin’ how long a strike could go on for,” Spot nods. “Days, weeks, months. ‘Less we all find different work, we ain’t gonna last that long.”

“New work jus’ means we’s given up,” Lucky argues, shaking her head. “Means we don’t care ‘bout what we’s fightin’ for enough. Ain’t that what you was jus’ tellin’ Kelly?”

“It’s more than jus’ havin’ the emotional an’ physical strength, Luck. We gotta have the financial strength too.” Spot explains. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but ya got Clover workin’ her own job, makin’ enough for the both’a ya. If we do go broke from strikin’, at least ya got some sort’a backup.”

“Look, Medda’s a doll, truly, but even then Belle’s barely makin’ enough to cover herself, much less me. I need the money like the rest’a you. An’ I get the arguments, but I’m with ‘Hattan. Strikin’s the best course of action. Price hike may be manageable the first, what—days, weeks, but that sixty’s gonna affect us at some point. We’ll be losin’ more than we spend.”

“I agree with that,” Ritz says. “We’s gonna lose the money anyhow. I’d rather it be for good reason. Fightin’ for what’s right.”

Spot’s hands twist themselves in the fabric. While her previous thoughts being validated is a minor relief, the differing opinions tear her even further from a solid decision. “We can preach righteousness all we want, but it ain’t gonna change the fact that if it fails it’ll be a waste.”

“We don’t know that, Spot,” says Pips gently, catching her attention with a hand on her arm. “Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. But we won’t know ‘til we try.”

“But what if…” Spot shuts her eyes with a sigh, “Is it selfish to say I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout what this’d do to me? Maybe I was a little harsh sayin’ the other boroughs would turn on me—us, but ya can’t rule it out as an option, right?”

“It’s not a complete chance of zero,” Mack says, “But like the boys said, folks respect ya too much for that. An’ for good reason. Managin’ to wrangle all’a Brooklyn’s newsies into a fiercesome group’a kids like you have? I don’t think bein’ a girl or Filipino’s gonna change that,” she considers her words, then shrugs. “For most, at least.”

thinking about a newsies production where the last scab right before the seize the day dance break is a girl. or even all three of them. historically girls were more often scabs—something something they have to be more cautious about keeping their jobs. they’re more hesitant about where to put their trust (them or them?).