#stupid kid in the green hat

[bojackhorsemanobviously]

grumbling....

[b4kuch1n]

THEE audiodrama disguised as podcast

[lunarharp]

uhh another modern au agott follow-up. They've gotten progressively sillier

[al1fers-haven]

"Bring your kid to work day."

Alastor fluff - a continuation of 'Almost Instictual' and 'Instinct.'

"Alastor, love." The radio demon turned around, looking at your disheveled frame before eying the baby in your arms. A gentle smile overtook your features as you attempted to not just fall over and go to sleep right there. "Y/n. Dear, you're not supposed to be up and about yet! Go back and rest-" You shook your head, putting a finger up as you shushed him and continued to rock the two-month-old in your arms. Taking a deep breath before speaking once again.

" I need you to take Maria out today, or just away from me for a little bit- I need to sleep and my stomach has been hurting so much. Please-" Alastor watched as you walked up to him and gently gave him the sleeping girl. He stiffened at the contact. "Y/n- I have a meeting today-" You waved your hand, dismissing his statement and laying back down in bed. You looked horrible. Still recovering from the C-section they had put you through after you went into labor. "I need sleep, I need time away so I don't strangle her. Please just take her for the day, or get a babysitter- I don't care."

Alastor wasn't someone who had much shame or could be embarrassed easily. It wasn't a secret that he would do things without thinking, and this moment was an example of just how bad that was.

"Is thou your offspring, Alastor?" Zestial poked a little black claw into the baby's face, a small chuckle leaving his form as the baby grabbed onto it. A babble left Maria's mouth before Alastor realized that he was being spoken to. "Biologically? No....But I have relations with her mother. Who is recovering from getting surgery and was asked to have the little thing accompany me today while she sleeps." The green man nodded. "Thou was domesticated my eyes see." Alastor laughed a bit himself, gently pushing zestials finger away from the child face before exiting the elevator. Had he truly been that tamed by you?

"Alastor, zestial-" Carmilla pinched the bridge of her nose, staring at the board at the end of the room with her back turned on them. Ready to yell at the two men before she turned around and just stood there. Staring at Alastor.

"Is that a fucking child?"

Alastor gently glared at the woman and covered Maria's ears. "Whoops." Rosie jumped up from her seat and ran towards the two. Smile as bright as ever as Alastor let her take the baby. "Oh, there's my goddaughter! Hi Maria! It's anti-Rosie!" Maria giggled a little bit and grabbed Rosie's hat. Alastor stretched a bit at the loss of weight in his arms. "Alastor where did you..get this child." Alastor deadpanned, gently taking Maria back from Rosie and ignoring the woman pleads to keep holding her. "She's mine, technically. Now- Maria here will be attending today's meeting." Rosie snickered, returning to her seat with Alastor. "Okay then..." The room shifted their gazes over to the doors, three voices laughing about how stupid the meetings were booming throughout the room now as the vees entered the little room.

"You five are late. I expected better than you. Including you, zestial." the old man just chuckled and nodded. The vees seated themselves without a care in the world.

Carmilla pinched the bridge of her nose. "Now, we are all here because-" Valentino raised his hand like a child, his eyes on Alastor who had a baby in his grasp. Carmilla groaned loudly. "What, Valentino?" "Why does Alastor have a child?" Vox glitched a bit, looking at the red demon who seemed completely unphased as the baby girl started to play with his ears. "Okay let's get the elephant out of the room already!" Carmilla stood up, pointing to Alastor and Maria. "The radio demon we all have known to be an asshole now has a baby. Alastor is now 'dating' a woman who has a child and she is not well so he brought her here. Any objections?" "Should we trust that fossil with a baby?" Velvette giggled a bit, raising her hand as well as rosie and alastor glared at her. "I ask you don't swear in her presence. Her mother would kill me" Alastor quickly added on. Vox gawking at the display. "So- you got someone to sleep with you?" Alastor shook his head no. "No! Of course not, i do not with for such....nasty activities. Just dating her mother. Isn't that right maria." "Carmilla, would you mind holding her?" She nodded as alastor handed the baby to her, a small sigh leaving his mouth as he fixed his suit. Looking over to see the baby being passed around. His static screeched to a halt. As soon as the baby got to vox, who was holding her normally. She started to cry. Everyone silent in the room as the baby was passed on to velvette. Who was surprisingly good with calming her down. As soon as she got to valentino tho he didn't know what to do, grimacing as he held the child up like simba. Alastor quickly took the baby and glared at valentino, holding her tight. "Now may we start the meeting? Thank you.”

[megumiluvv]

These next three days are going to be hell. That’s what Toji tells himself at least. You just left on a trip to your family to celebrate your father’s birthday, and Toji didn’t want to go (your father isn’t fond of him), so you left him to watch Megumi.

That means no work, no going to hang out with Shiu, and no gambling, unless he brings the kid. But he doesn’t want to bring Megumi, imagine the looks he’d get! Baby carrier around his body to press the kid against him and keep him close, backpack of baby supplies on his back, he’d be pretty easy to detect while working, and everyone would stare in public!

The first day, he tries just staying in, but to his dread, he forgot to buy formula when shopping, so he has to go to the store. He has to search for a how-to on the baby wrap carrier, and stares at himself for a moment. He thinks he looks funny. A scary man with a dumb-looking baby (Megumi looks just like he did as a baby).

He gets to the store and walks to the baby aisle, grabbing the formula and a spare bottle since he doesn’t remember if one is clean yet. He gets looks from other moms in the aisle and glares at them, daring them to say something.

Toji stops to look at clothes, refusing to admit to himself that he softened up a bit imagining Megumi in the cute little outfits. A blue shirt with bunnies on it, matching shorts attached, and a little hat to keep his head warm. A green onesie with a hood to make the baby a dinosaur. A white shirt with two dogs cuddling, cargo shorts to match. A blue onesie with sharks.

He can’t keep his eyes off of them, so he grabs one of each in Megumi’s size, and one of each in a larger size just in case the baby grows too fast. He double checks that he got what he originally came for, then goes to the self checkout.

When he gets home, he feeds the now-fussy kid, and changes his diaper. He looks at the outfit with bunnies, and puts it on the boy.

“Smile for mommy,” Toji says, only because the kid won’t remember and you’re not around to catch it. He photographs the baby and sends it to you, smirking as you heart the image.

“Guess she found a new lock screen, kiddo. I did good.” He decides to call Shiu over and watch some sports game to somewhat gamble without exposing the kid to smokers and drinkers, as well as loud noises and germs.

“Okay, if they lose, I’ll take that stupid job next week.”

“And if my team loses?” Shiu smirks at the sight of Toji holding Megumi so gently.

“You have to babysit unpaid for the next five times.”

“Deal.”

Toji’s team won, much to Shiu’s dismay, and the two say their goodbyes and Shiu leaves. Toji puts Megumi to bed and lays down. It’s oddly quiet without you. He hasn’t had this silence in so long. He decides to ignore it and sleep.

The next two days are pretty uneventful, he doesn’t go out much, not out of embarrassment anymore, but he’s convinced Megumi will get sick.

You come home in the early hours of the morning, Toji’s loud snores bring your eyes to the couch, your son on his chest, sleeping just like his father. You grin and notice how the house isn’t a mess. Dishes are done, laundry put away, is that a new outfit on Megumi? You smile more. You knew Toji could do it.

Masterlist

[nonbinary-arsonists]

Jimmy, Timmy, Danny, Manny, Jenny, and Dib.

With Dib being on the "bad" side in Globs of Doom, I think he'd have a hard time fitting in with the rest of them.

(Alt text under cut)

ID: Page 1 of a comic featuring Nicktoons characters. Panel 1: Dib Membrane from Invader Zim looks down at a weird device. He is wearing his usual outfit and has dumb hair. Dib says, “Hey Timmy, did you get the energy readings I sent?” Panel 2: Timmy Turner from Fairly Oddparents looks up from a phone while leaning casually on a giant green cartoon hammer in a suburban street. He is wearing a pink hoodie, scuffed jeans, and a backwards hat over a mullet. Timmy says, “Uh. No? What do you expect me to do with them?” Panel 3: Dib and Timmy talk to each other. Dib says, vaguely put off, “What? No, not you, the techie kid with the stupid hair.” Timmy points at him, saying, “Oh, you mean Jimmy!” Panel 4: Timmy looks over his shoulder at Jimmy Neutron and says, “And look who it is! None other than Mr. Chocolate soft-serve himself!” Jimmy is wearing glasses and a red turtleneck under a lab coat and holds a similarly high-tech device to Dib’s. He looks at Timmy, unimpressed, and says, “Can we stop making fun of my hair?” Timmy replies, “Nope!” Panel 5: Jimmy sighs and rubs his face, saying, “Okay, what do you need.”

ID: Page 2 of a comic. Panel 1: Timmy elbows Jimmy playfully and says, “Eh, I dunno. But get this– Dib still doesn’t know our names!” Jimmy looks at Timmy, interested. Dib angrily shouts, “Wh- it’s not my fault your names all sound alike!” Panel 2: Jimmy shrugs and looks at Timmy, saying, “Well, he does have a point.” Timmy looks unimpressed. Panel 3: A close-up of Jimmy saying, “Statistically speaking, it’s much easier for the human brain to distinguish between highly contrasting elements. (I. Brigg, 1978)” Panel 4: A zoomed-out shot of Jimmy, Timmy, and Dib in the street. Jenny Wakeman from My Life as a Teenage Robot is floating down to join them. Jimmy says, “You can’t really blame him when our names are so similar,” with his hands spread diplomatically. Timmy looks incredibly unimpressed. Dib arrogantly says, “Yeah, you all need to get better names.” Panel 5: Jenny appears next to Dib and says, “I am not changing my name.” She looks similarly to her appearance in the show, but has a ponytail and side bangs instead of twin pigtails and is wearing a contrasting maroon vest. Dib is startled and drops his device.

ID: Page 3 of a comic. Panel 1: Jenny appeals to Jimmy, saying, “Anyway, there are other ways to quickly memorize information. Like patterns!” Jimmy looks up with a hand over his mouth, thinking, and says, “Right!” The background is a red and yellow striped pattern. Panel 2: Jenny stands, confident, in front of Timmy and Dib. She says, “Plus, our names already form a recognizable pattern!” Timmy side-eyes Dib, who stares at Jenny, annoyed and confused. Panels 3-5: Jenny starts listing off the members of their group. Panel 3 shows Jimmy and Timmy, looking at each other and smiling. Jenny says, “There’s Jimmy and Timmy,” accenting the last parts of their names. Panel 4 shows Manny Rivera from El Tigre and Danny Phantom. Manny, in his El Tigre outfit, crouches on an awning in the background while Danny, in ghost form, approaches and asks, “Uh… what are we talking about?” Jenny continues, saying, “Danny and Manny,” once again stressing their names. Panel 5 features Jenny, waving a hand in the air while finishing her list, saying “-and Jenny works with that pattern too!” Panel 6: a group shot featuring all of the characters mentioned. Manny leaps down from the left. Danny stands somewhat in the foreground, looking at Jimmy. Timmy stands in the back, looking at Jimmy while thinking. Jimmy and Jenny stand in the middle, continuing their discussion. Jimmy says, “So you’re saying, if anything, Dib should change his name!” Jenny says, “Exactly!” Dib, in the foreground, objects, saying, “W- hang on-“

ID: Page 4 of a comic. Panel 1: Dib holds his hands up in protest, sweating, and says, “I just meant you should- -y’know, give me some slack w-“ Panel 2: Dib is interrupted by a mischievous Timmy, who elbows in and says, “Hey, what do you think about changing your name to Denny?” Dib looks confused. Panel 3: Manny enters from the other side, scratching his chin and grinning. He says, “I dunno, Timmy. He looks more like a Benny to me.” Panel 4: Danny butts in, holding a finger and looking down at Timmy. He says, “Cut it out you two!” Timmy and Manny look confused. Dib looks relieved. Panel 5: Danny finishes his thought, saying “Besides, this guy’s totally a Kenny.” Timmy and Manny both crack up, while Dib looks royally ticked off. He stares straight ahead and says, “That’s it! I’m going back to the syndicate!” Panel 6: A far-out shot of all 6 of the kids. Dib is storming away, angry. Jimmy and Danny follow after him, Jimmy worried and Danny apologetic. Timmy and Manny continue to laugh between themselves while Jenny stands over them and scolds them. (End.)

[trappednyourheart]

A Haunted Doll's new kid

“A Damian and he's haunted doll”

Instead of Jason having Danny as his childhood doll or haunted doll, how about if Damian got haunted doll Danny?

--------------------------------------------

Where a young Talia Al Ghul stumbled across a very old and abandoned mansion in a middle of nowhere, only tall dark trees and harsh winds accompany her outside of the manor, at her vulnerable worse moments, her team was ambushed by a very cunning new group..took a lot of damaged out of her but she survived and now left wandering on her own, without anyway to contact the league or if she will faced punishment for being defeated, she decided to seek shelter inside the lifeless Manor for the time being, but to her surprise inside the manor it was warm as if no sign of abandonment as if it was alive, only one there was a beautiful baby doll.. something those rich young daughters would play at those times she heard from rich society of children..

Only Alive entity keeping her warm and welcome, so she decided to bring it to the League and no matter how childish this action was..she really can't stop letting go until she give it to her son in his 12 birthday, hoping him to take care of the Precious doll as if a heirloom, which it is😅

-----------------------------------------------

Damian knew what this Doll was, it was his mother's doll. A doll so clean and beautiful, he never understand why there was a doll back then at the league.

It was his first everytime to even see a doll up closed than reading and imagining it at textbooks and examples of words in his former lessons, the Doll was strange.

Unlike The doll, it felt alive, warm and cozy like a child would be clingy to it's parent

He could feel waves of emotions he could distinct knowing the Doll's feelings..

No matter how much time passed after his mother gave it to him, he knows understands why he's mother would take care of this Doll.

No matter how much his family freak out at the constant, chairs spinning too see the baby doll sitting in it, finding in other places standing, moving heads, and little joyful laughter's. (Except for Alfred cause he already accepted the doll,)

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Danny was absolutely not amused, after a whole prank war with the fam, Ellie and the others decided to trap him in this stupid girly baby doll, with a brand label with his name💀 and decided to drop him off to a abandoned version of Vlad's house just for funzies if a few mortals ever get scared, but it kinda backfired now he's been getting good care through this girl now turn woman then her son is now taking care of him, he is grateful he isn't some kind of heirloom..right? But it was fun haunting this so called bats, even sending Grey hairs to his new profound kid caretaker,

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Danny appearance as a doll is a female baby doll, that is plump and porcelain, he also has a voice box for the original dolls lines, but he sometimes make some unholy and demonic noises to scare one of the bats except for Alfred or Damian, the doll that he was inside in had Caucasian skin, dark hair and deep blue eyes that look like had stars twinkling in it which he approved, his dress was a plump white dress that had green designs in it that was glowing, a small beautiful beach hat and a cute glowing green heels? Shoes ya that's the description and some cute accessories like a golden bracelet which had unique jewels like emerald, ruby, and etc,

when talia found him, the Girls, Ellie had created a very doll like luggage with his necessities, clothes, things for dolls..which he considers are now his own belongings after being used to the routine in the league and how he accept this as a vacay cause he knows CW is watching him😅

[madamechrissy]

Toji x Reader Christmas

Toji x Reader fluff/smut- set after Dirty Little Secret

"Get this stupid hat off me." Toji grumbles as you put a hat on him, it's Christmas eve and you've got a pink glittery Santa hat. He throws it and you snort. "Brat, wanna get spanked?"

"No gift if you don't." You open your robe then, and his jaw drops.

"Fuck, ma, fine." Toji Fushiguro grunts as you hug him, he's finally home from a long assignment at work. It's been an entire week without you, and you miss him so much, finally you all have a night away from the kids, too.

He's grabbing your ass with his strong, rough hands, kissing you. You feel that scar brushing on your lip, flicking your tongue over it, hearing him moan.

"I missed you Toji. Mmm." He's pressing you against the wall, you had barely let him walk in, he leans back to look at you

"So sexy, fuck. Ya wearing that just f'me, doll?" He's easing you down and standing back, whistling at your sexy little lingerie, a one piece lace number with a bow tied right on your tits. He goes to yank them and you stop him, giggling. "Fuckin brat, lemme see my girls."

"You have to unwrap me under the tree." You dart over to where the Christmas tree is lit up, and he's rolling his dark green eyes, sliding off his leather jacket then, revealing his thick muscled arms. You feel your heart race when you sit near the tree, crooking your finger.

"Santa got you all f'me, huh?" He's unwrapping the ribbin now, moaning when he sees your tits bounce out. "Oh fuck, I can't be on a nice list."

"You're on the naughty list. All day but... so am I." You giggle then grab him, pulling him down, he's sucking on your nipples, the glow of Christmas lights cast against your skin. His stubble tickles you, you laugh breathless.

"Is this another gift?" He asks softly, as he reveals your panties, then he groans. "Oh fuck, 'Daddy's Girl'?"

"Mmhmm. You like? Ah!" Toji has ripped them off of you so quick your head spins.

"Doll, imma fuck you so good you'll not be able to sit at Christmas Dinner." You gasp, and then he is shoving his thick fingers in, and your moans and the wetness of your pussy mixes with the sounds of the Christmas music playing.

Neither of you were making the nice list.

Thought I'd give a little snippet of these two again! ❤️

[gay-dorito-dust]

Okay hear me out ....

after getting kicked out they erase all the memories of the pines after the pines family finds the truth. They find reader and giving her a heart felt apologize for all the stuff they said and did but reader is just confused even when Mabel, tries and shows them the bracelet they still have no clue and just hug Mabel because they feel bad for her. I can image how sad they'll be realizing it pained them so much they erased there mind of them.. also I live your storys there so heart breaking I love it. ❤️

This can take place after Weirdmagedon and they might’ve pulled a mcgucket and erased their memory of it all a second time cuz it was too much.

It hurts even more when Ford doesn’t have anything to show reader in hopes of jogging their memory and neither does Stan, only Mable has the bracelet and it’s not enough.

You’re is stuck with no memories of ever being Ford’s assistant, going anomaly hunting, being possessed by bill nor the past thirty years rebuilding a portal.

‘Please remember.’ She pleads tearfully as her worst fears come true after pulling away from the hug you’ve given her.

You could only stare at the child that once upon a time you would’ve happily risked your life for in confusion. ‘What is there to remember? I’m sorry kid but I don’t know any of you.’

Mabel cried and dipper goes to comfort her while Ford and Stanley only feel just as hopeless as neither of them had anything to jog your memory of them, and now their apology fell on deaf ears because you didn’t know them nor know what they did to you.

You only looked at Mabel with sympathy but stood up regardless and left the weird family that claimed to know you alone to mourn whoever it was they were mourning for, you knew damn well it wasn’t you. However as you were walking you noticed a weird statue of a cartoonish triangle with one eye, bow tie and a top hat with his had out stretched as though making a deal.

You didn’t know why but the statue struck you as familiar but not in the good way, the familiar feeling this statue gave you was pain, betrayal and anger along with the vow to never let certain people back into your life, but what people? Who hurt you? Who betrayed you? Was it that family you left behind? If so why would you ever want them back in your life just so they could mistreat you again?

You shrugged your shoulders and kept it pushing, not noticing that Bill’s eyes glowed a sickening green as it followed you, knowing that even if he didn’t win neither did the Pines Family and that was all he cared about as he cackled in his cell farm far away.

Poor Mabel, not even the stupid bracelet she made could jog your memory and due to the lack of memories made with you by any of them outside of her, you are doomed to wander Gravity Falls memory less of the life you once lived, nor the fact that you wandered the town you single-handedly saved at the cost of your own memories; everyone knew you and you knew them but the Pines Family? They’re just some strangers who claim to know you.

[cosmerelists]

Novelty Souvenirs You Should Pick Up On Your Next Trip To Scadrial

If Scadrial had a thriving interplanetary tourist economy, I bet they'd sell these novelty souvenirs. So next time you stop by, be sure to pick these up!

1. A Soonie Pup

Of course! Soft and classic--perfect for your kids, your niblings or just for yourself.

2. A Novelty Vial of Metal

They have different vials for each of the Mistings plus a slightly bigger and more expensive one labeled "Mistborn." As you shake your Novelty Coinshot Vial, you feel some doubt as to whether that's really metal or whiskey inside--it kinda looks like colored water and glitter. But hey. You can clip it to your belt and it does make you feel cool.

3. A T-Shirt That Says "I Survived The Pits of Hathsin And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt"

The looks some residents give you make you suspect that this shirt might be in poor taste. Whoops.

4. A Glow-in-the-Dark Mistwraith Window Decal

Perfect for Halloween, you think! It's a Mistwraith window decal, and all of the bones inside the illustration glow green.

5. A Hemalurgy Pincushion

This is DEFINITELY in bad taste, but it makes you laugh. It's a little pincushion shaped like a human and when you stick pins in it, well...hemalurgy.

6. An Ashfall Snow Globe

If you shake it, you can watch the black glittery swirl around the tiny buildings of Luthadel. It's...maybe a little bit depressing actually.

7. Some Mist-lets

They sell Mist-versions of a lot of things--there are Mist-hats, Mist-scarfs, Mist-socks, Mist-jorts...but you kinda like the bracelets (er, Mist-lets) with all of the fun wrist tassels.

8. Feruchemy Earrings

Much like the Novelty Metal Vial, you're not sure these chunky, copper-colored earrings are real copper (you expect not, given the price) but you do think they look cool. And they'd match so well with those feruchemy bracelets over there...

9. A Coffee Mug That Says "I Don't Need a Soother; I Have Coffee."

There's another that says, "I Don't Need a Rioter; I Have Coffee." After some thought, you get the former for your brother.

10. A "Disasters for Dummies" Book

It tells you what to do when faced with various disasters, from being caught in a snowstorm to being caught in a flood to meeting denizens from a previously unknown culture in the south. It says it's written by Steris Harms. You buy two.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Clown Without Pity [Pennywise x Reader]

Title: Clown Without Pity [Pennywise x Reader]

Synopsis: You used to be scared of clowns, but that was a long time ago.

For Horrorfest request:

Horrorfest request for random person being followed at a carnival by the lovely clown IT. They think he's just a normal clown at first. Until they see him later outside of the carnival. And then at a Halloween party.

Word count: 1400ish

notes: reader is scared of clowns, implications of death & general horror things, speeding down small town roads and other things you Should Not Do Because It's Irresponsible

The first time you see the clown, you smile. Not because he was particularly delightful–he looked like any other clown at any other carnival–but because he brought back memories. Distant, foggy, something you could see now with rose-tinted glasses:

When you were a child, you were scared of clowns. 

No, not just scared–terrified. There are memories, seen through the sweeter lens of adulthood that takes away the sharp edge of terror you once felt, of you clinging to your father’s leg; begging to leave a carnival, a work event, a birthday party, because there was that all-too-familiar terror looming just ahead—

A clown. 

Like the one at this carnival, handing out balloons to children who pass by. He looks like any clown you’ve ever seen, like the ones that used to have you squeezing your eyes shut until your parents sighed and carried you, sobbing, back to the car. 

White face. Red hair. An outfit with frills and puff-balls. A smile, a laugh (haw-haw-haw) and oh, my, he’s seen you staring.

He waves, cheerily.

You wave back, smile tight. 

Not because you’re scared–you are not a little kid anymore, for heaven’s sake–but because it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Clowns are meant for children.

–

The clown should not be standing across the street from the local liquor store, and yet, there he is, in all his costumed glory. 

He stands out like a sore thumb, and it’s a wonder no one else has pointed him out. Or that no cars honk at him as they whizz by, speeding but uncaring on Halloween night. The police force would be hanging out downtown, keeping an eye on the kids, not lurking by a party store tucked on a back road. 

He doesn’t move from his spot on the side of the road. He only stares straight ahead, eyes almost bulging, and even if he isn’t staring at you–is he?--you can’t help but tear your gaze away.

Because…

Something awfully nostalgic creeps into the back of your skull. A familiar feeling, itching along your scalp until it crawls across your jaw and down your chest; until you clench the paper bag in your arms, hearing it crinkle around the bottles of vodka you spent too much of your paycheck on.

An unwelcome sensation that makes you want to find your father and hide behind him even now, decades later—

Fear.

–

By the time you make it to the party, you’ve chided yourself ten times over for being silly. The clown was probably headed in to buy some booze of his own after a day working a children’s carnival. Handing out all those balloons and smiling at kids all day. He was probably waiting until it was safe to cross the road, and you caught him standing awkwardly.

Halloween night was making you stupid, that’s all. Well. That and the pre-gaming shot you did before you went to the carnival. Sure, sure, you were good to drive–that didn’t mean your thoughts weren’t a little loopy. A little silly.

Now? Now it was time to forget about clowns and childhood fears and get your Halloween party game on. 

Your costume wasn’t anything spectacular. A black dress and a slapped-on witch hat, a smear of green eyeshadow across your eyes and hastily applied eyeliner that you’d only remembered after pulling your car into the cul-de-sac.

Maybe next year you would put more thought into it, but on this night? You just wanted to get drunk, maybe dance, maybe meet someone cute and take them home.

Getting drunk and dancing was on the table for sure, at least. The vodka you brought is a favorite, and you turn to it again and again as the night goes on, until your head is fuzzy enough to make dancing to “Monster Mash” genuinely fun.

You don’t even mind that you haven’t found anyone to hook up with; there’s enough mingling going on that the crowd stuffed into the living room is a mix of couples and singles, groups of friends, groups of strangers, everyone sporting costumes of varying quality and care. 

Sexy nurses and Frankensteins and Harley Quinns; Marios and Hot Dogs and Draculas. Everyone drinking and dancing and having loud conversations that didn’t matter all that much. 

The costumes bleed together with every drink, until you’re not sure if you already talked to that sexy cat or maybe it was the handsome tiger that chatted you up, or maybe it wasn’t a cat at all, maybe your brain got confused with the guy dressed as Roger from 101 Dalmations (he carried a dalmatian plushie) and you’re starting to wonder if you should have someone call you an Uber when there’s a clown standing in the middle of the living room.

Oh but it’s not a clown, it’s the clown. The clown from the carnival, the clown from the street, the clown that is now standing perfectly still amidst a crowd of dancing, drunken strangers. His face looks sallow now, his eyes bigger, but his grin, his grin is the same. Wide and red and were his teeth always so sharp?

A trick of the light, you think, a trick of the booze; but you blink, and think, and blink again, but it remains the same no matter what. 

He’s just standing there. Staring and smiling. And he’s got a balloon–it hadn’t been there before–but no one else so much as stops and stares at this strange clown in a rotting gray suit (oh, oh it had been fine before, all cream and bright red) holding a balloon in the middle of the party.

No one else sees him.

But you do.

And he sees you, too.

Now, now, you feel fear. Not just any fear. That old fear, that childish fear, that starts from your toes and doesn’t stop until it’s prickling at your scalp. The fear that keeps you rooted to the spot. The fear that demands a mom or dad or older sibling with a few years on you, someone who knows enough about the world to keep all the awful things at bay.

“Mommy and daddy aren’t here to help you,” a voice says, and it’s with an awful sinking feeling that you see the clown's mouth move. It’s the clown. The clown is talking. But no one turns. No one else hears. Everyone else is dancing, laughing, carrying on like none of this is happening at all.

The tingling fear is cradled by a heavy dread that settles into your stomach, a dread that tells you the cold hard facts of life as you know it: 

You are alone with the clown in a crowded room and no one is going to help you. No one is going to help you, and you were right to be scared of clowns as a child, and maybe if you hadn’t talked yourself out of it, you wouldn’t be here.

You wouldn’t be standing frozen to the spot, watching as he takes a step forward–big and silly, he laughs as he does it, like he’s tiptoeing quietly to some secret place. As if he needs to be quiet, despite the fact that no one else can hear him or see him.

"I'm coming for you," he says, voice low, awful, despite the silliness of his exaggerated gestures.

He weaves around the party guests like they are hedges in some terrible human maze. And you, you can do nothing but watch as he spins, his mouth making exaggerated “Os” each time he almost rams into someone. 

"I'm getting closer," he says, and you want to run. But you can't. You're too scared. Scared like you used to be; scared in a way you haven't been in decades.

Maybe--

If you hadn’t stopped being afraid, maybe you wouldn’t have come to the party at all. His second sighting on the road would have sent you home, for the safety of the space underneath your bed covers, a night light protecting you all the way up those dark stairs. 

Your jaw wouldn’t be open in a silent cry for help that will not come. Tears would not be streaming down your cheeks, even as the clown does a little spin–”Ta da!”--on his journey across the room. The tears sting with smeared green eyeshadow.

But you are here. Stuck and trapped and damp urine runs down your leg. No one notices, no one sees. No one cares.

And the clown is getting closer. He could be here in two strides, you realize dimly, but he doesn’t want to hurry it along. He wants to take it slow. He wants you to stew–stew in your fear and anguish and the realization that you are a small, stupid insignificant thing and this clown (but It is not a clown) is stronger and older and–

Right in front of you now.

[softpascalito]

Here cums Santa Claus - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Jackson needs a Santa Claus - and Joel is the perfect fit. Getting to have you on his lap is just a bonus.

aka

The one where Joel is dressed up as Santa Claus and you get to ride him.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Christmas Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Unsafe Sex, Established Relationship, Costumes, Lap Sex, Riding, Rough Sex, Creampie, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Alcohol (one glass of whiskey), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Miller as Santa Claus, Age Difference (not specified) Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: pun intended. this is smut. beware.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Is that all of them?”

You try to keep yourself from giggling as you take in the grumpy face of the man beside you. It's half hidden by the fluffy, white fake-beard that's already starting to come off at the edges. His salt-and-pepper hair is hidden by a white and red Christmas hat, matching the rest of his Santa Claus Outfit. It's a little improvised, put together from what you could find in the small clothing selection that Jackson uses to make sure there's enough to go around.

You're still not quite sure how you managed to talk him into this: Dressing up and letting each and every kid in Jackson climb onto the chair and tell him their wishes. The first time he stepped out of his room after changing, you could barely hold it together, the way he looked like the most  miserable Santa Claus you've ever seen, pouting even under his fake beard.

But when the first child comes in and practically storms into his arms, you see the way he changes, a version of him you've rarely been witness to before. He's amazing with the kids, even maneuvering around the more difficult wishes with a smile and a joke that makes them laugh.

Now that you're alone, a small groan leaves Joel's mouth as he gets up, glaring at you and one hand reaches out to pull you a little closer, the green skirt that comes with your own Christmas Elf outfit giving him a way to steer your body towards him. When you're flush against him, his gloved hand gently squeezes your thigh, inching upwards.

“You're supposed to be Santa Claus, not some pervy old man touching his elves,” you mutter as you take in his gaze that has somehow shifted to one a lot more mischievous than it was a minute ago.

“Santa is a hard-working man. I'm sure he is allowed some fun once the kids are gone,” Joel smirks, a low grumble vibrating in his throat as he gives your thigh another squeeze before letting go.

You can practically feel Joel staring at your legs as you hurry back to your house, the red tights under your skirt doing almost nothing to protect you from the cold.

Joel grunts as he kicks off his snowy boots and makes a beeline for the whiskey, sinking into his favorite armchair by the fireplace as he pours himself a glass.

“You want a drink?” He calls through the house and smiles to himself when yell back, “Dying to have one.”

Joel's smile widens a little more when you reappear in the doorway a moment later, carrying a small plate with cookies and placing them on the small table in front of him, muttering “Maybe this stupid outfit has its upsides.”

He hands you your whiskey and you let your glass linger in the air for a few seconds, gently toasting with Joel before you take a few sips.

You're more than aware that the gaze Joel had earlier is back and he shamelessly lets his eyes roam over your body, taking in the way the outfit frames your curves just perfectly. He will never be caught saying it out loud but seeing what you'd wear as his helper if he were to agree to be Santa- it affected his decision more than a little bit.

“They were all really happy, you know? The kids,” you say gently, reaching for a cookie and eating it in one bite.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Joel mumbles, softening a bit. It brought back memories of Christmas before the Outbreak for him as well. His gaze is still on you when he nudges your knee a little, “You didn't get your turn.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, immediately catching up on what he is asking for, “I may be a littler younger than you but I'm not a child anymore.” Joel chuckles softly, taking another sip from his whiskey as he watches you, waiting.

His legs are slightly spread, his broad thighs catching your gaze and with a small sigh you give in, lowering yourself onto his left leg, “Fine.”

“Now, what would you like for Christmas?” Joel asks, his deep voice lower than it was before. You're still naive enough to think that that's all he's trying to do, possibly coax out some wish that he can fulfill for you. It's absolutely not what he’s trying to do.

“Let’s see- a new dress would be nice. Or some coffee,” you answer truthfully and Joel nods. His gaze is focused on his whiskey, the way he balances it on one and you on the other leg, “Anything else?”

You shake your head no as he puts his glass away and reaches for you instead, hand sneaking up your thigh like it had done earlier. A small breath of surprise leaves your throat as you feel his fingers inching over your skin, painfully slowly traveling into the direction of your core.

“And you've been a good girl this year, hm?” He mutters. You open your mouth to reply- when the tips of his fingers finally reach your crotch and despite the tights you're wearing being non-see-through, he knows your body well enough to find your favorite spot instantly. His finger flies over it, teasing you with a gentle, calculated touch and whatever answer you would've given turns into a whiny moan instead.

Joel smirks a little as he sees your body reacting and he uses his free hand to grope your breast, the thin fabric of your costume leaving practically nothing to the imagination.

Your own hands begin wandering as well, cupping his face before you realize he's still wearing that stupid fake beard. A little rougher than you intend, you rip it off. Joel doesn't mind. It only stings for a moment- until your lips are on his, pressing your tongue against his lips eagerly.

“Fuck, Joel-” you whisper when you come up for air, already out of breath. He just grunts slightly, the smirk returning to his face.

“Think you can be a good girl for me now?” He mumbles, focused on twisting your nipples through your shirt and you whimper, nodding at his question.

Maybe you’d make it to the bedroom for once, if you both weren’t so fucking impatient.

Joel is hard in his pants, the erection creating a more than visible bulge on the velvety, red fabric and you massage him gently, fingers ghosting over his cock as you clench down on nothing at the thought of having him fill you up.

The hand on your breast leaves to join the other one between your thighs and in one swift motion, Joel rips your tights apart, growling like an animal as he is met with the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“You're so wet already, darlin’,” he praises, sliding one finger through your folds, “Fucking killed me to see you in that skirt and not be able to do anything about it.”

Your hands almost automatically fly to his belt, your body already shaking with the need to feel him inside of you, to have him as close as he possibly can. Joel pushes his pants down with one hand, just far enough for him to pull his cock out.

He's already fully hard, an indication that he wasn't lying about the way he felt about your skirt. It only makes you more eager.

“Can I ride you?” You ask breathlessly, running your finger down his veiny cock and gently cupping his balls below.

“Fuck, you have to ask?” Joel mutters, chuckling a little at that. He helps you change your position so that you’re hovering above him, his hands placed firmly on your hips for support.

You both groan in unison as you lower yourself onto him, his dick sliding into you with little resistance. It's perfect. You can feel the way his skin brushes against yours inside of you, pushing itself further inside until you're fully seated.

“Taking me so well, darlin’,” Joel whispers, running his hands up and down your sides as he waits for you to adjust to the intrusion. It's a lot, he knows that much, but you've reassured him time and time again that it's the good kind of a lot.

His lips find your throat, nibbling softly on the skin he can reach, occasionally sucking on it and eliciting a few sharp gasps from you. You both simultaneously begin to move, finding a shared rhythm. You bouncing up and down while he moves below you, pistoning himself further into your depths.

“ ‘tis all I need for Christmas,” he breathes, pulling you down onto him with a little more force. “Just need this sweet pussy around my cock, squeezing me so goddamn tight-”

He knows you're already close by the way your muscles are becoming more tense with each thrust, the pleasure that's building in your stomach physically mirrored in them. There's a small sting on the back of his head as you carelessly push his Christmas hat off to bury your fingers in his hair and pull on it, matching his pace.

“Fuck, feels like it’s already Christmas-” You agree, your voice shaking with the way he’s fucking into you. Joel licks a stripe up your neck, “Gonna be a good girl now and come for me?”

Your answer turns into a drawn-out moan as you feel Joel hitting your cervix and a few moments later, you're clenching down on him like your life depends on it, muscles seemingly drawing his cock in further and further.

It feels delicious, the way your body so clearly wants him, wants the one thing that he can give you and Joel fucks you through your orgasm as he too feels himself tipping over the edge. Your walls are painted with ropes of white cum as he finishes inside of you, his arms wrapping themselves around your body to pull you in closer.

His head is buried in your chest as you both slowly come down from your high, your fingers and nose in his hair. He feels the way your breath goes fast on his skin, sighing softly, so content with the way you are so impossibly entangled.

“I love you.”

It's quiet, so quiet that you almost don't hear him. The pleasure that was in your stomach a few moments ago appears again, this time in your chest. You pull Joel a little closer, feeling him soften inside of you as you place a gentle kiss on his head.

“I love you too.”

notes: if you liked this, please consider leaving a little comment or reblogging, it makes me grin just like joel <3

[kartonkartonski]

ONE PIECE Pirate AU

What if OP world had real pirate vibe / What if our 1700s had people strikingly similar to OP characters + magic

DISCLAIMER i have the opposite of Same Face Syndrom + cant draw women lol yes the faces are real human ispired

LUFFY - Brazilian / Caribbean kid from a random ass poor village Hat, vest, pants, sandals - made more historically accurate (mmha)

ZORO - Japanese but raised abroad in Turkey or sth idk Hair - green hair dont exist lol Shirt, pants, boots - mmha Eyepatch - a piratey touch

NAMI - Swedish but adopted and raised in Spain or Italy or idk Clothes - mmha + made her more tomboyish Head cloth - piratey touch

USOPP - Italian mum + African father (unthinkable!) (european colonies in South Africa or sth) Clothes mmha The prankster he is, he carries fake prosthetic hook and peg leg and a fake swordsheath. I bet he has a fake parrot and an eyepatch he doesnt use. The gun is real and replaces slingshot

SANJI - French cook in the Mediterrenean Eyebrows - curly eyebrows dont exest stupid Hair - mmha Suit - mmha Cigs - replaced with a pipe Golden tooth - he got scurvy on that stranded island

CHOPPER - Canadian reindeer (caribou) General look - now he look like a real reindeer huh. No wonder why he was feared by the peeps Hat - early american settler-like Pants - mmha + piratey stripes

NICO - Russian originally associated with mafiozo Krokodil The dress is how i imagine her to dress like when working with Krokodil Hat, boots - mmha + more piratey Riding suit - she looked like cowboy in early OP so i gave her riding clothes

FRANKY - American, self-made clockwork cyborg who uses word "super" quite often (it was a thing in early 1700s!) Hair - Cyan hair dont exist idiot + made it cool and epic for 1700 standards Metal nose - screwed to skull Shirt - mmha Underwear - yes its underwear mmha Robo parts - clockwork coz no steam engines back then + wooden doll-looking Peg leg - hides a gun

BROOK - Austrian musician, his crew died hit by a plague Hat - mmha Afro - no afro in 1600-1700 sorry Justacorps - 1600s-ish coz he old af Yohoho

JIMBEE - Now a real FISHman, a real WHALESHARK and a real INDIAN (Oda said hes indian) yup thats about that FOLLOW FOR MORE

[garbinge]

Secret's Safe

Jax Teller x Ortiz!F!Reader Juice & Sister!Reader 30 Day Fic Challenge

Word Count: 3k A/N: I had more thoughts to make this more of a Juice fic but then.... Jax LOL.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of blood, murder, death, assault, secrets, lying, trauma, abuse.

Word Count: 3k SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

As you opened your eyes, they squinted quickly as the bright sun hit them immediately.  After blinking a few times, they tried to take in your surroundings. You were in the passenger seat of your car, the green signs on the highway were moving extremely quickly past you. It took you a minute to focus to see what was on the signs but soon enough you caught one that said Stockton 75 miles. That meant you weren’t too far off from where you were headed before you ran into the person at the wheel of your truck currently. That thought made you immediately snap your head over to see the blond haired man, hand on the steering wheel, white knuckled, his reaper hat holding back the oiled hair from the sleepless night prior. 

“You look like shit.” You spoke up, clearing your throat as you did, placing his jacket that he had draped over you on his backpack. 

It was the statement he had said to you when you ran into him at the truck stop last night. It was meant to be humorous but once he got a good look at you, he realized it held way more truth than he expected. The genuine concern is what brought him to load his Harley in the bed of your truck, and continue your drive out to Charming for you. 

Staring at the smile growing on his face sent you back to the days you were falling in love with Jax Teller. Back when he had the kutte without the weight of the office patches. 

“Didn’t want you to feel left out.” His voice sent a shiver through your body. It had been half a decade since you last saw him. It made you look him over more closely. His hair was longer, Jax always sported the long blonde look but this was a lot more lengthy than before, like something had happened that led him to forget to get it cut. As you looked at his beard, you thought maybe that was more the sign that things hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing for him. Your eyes moved down to his kutte, despite being new to you, the vice president patch on his right was dirty and worn. 

“You think we could stop somewhere for me to freshen up, I don’t really want to jump scare my brother.” You started to look through your backpack for your toiletries as you spoke. 

“Was planning to go to my place first, I know how you are with him.” His knuckles tightened on the wheel as the sentence left his mouth.  

You weren’t sure whether you were annoyed or comforted by his statement. You knew exactly what he meant, and it was unreal to you that despite the insanity of this situation, you could still fight about the same things you fought about then. 

“And how am I with him?” It was said in a way that you both knew the answer, but you wanted Jax to humor you, or maybe you just wanted to finally win this fight. You stopped your search for whatever in your bag and looked at him, eyebrows raised waiting for an answer. 

“Cautious.” He spoke the word immediately and you felt the argument practically line up in your voice like it was muscle memory. 

Keeping your relationship a secret was ultimately what broke you both up. And that’s what made you move back to the east coast where you and your brother grew up. 

Jax followed up his statement quickly before you could let out a syllable of your argument. “For the record, I get it now. I think I was still a stupid young kid wanting to flaunt my girlfriend around.” 

This was completely new to you. 

You looked him over again and despite the distressed look to it, you caught the fresh stitching. The patch was not only new to you but new to him as well. 

“I guess being the second in command makes you mature.” 

“Makes you see what people can handle, too.” His voice was firm as he spoke, eyes still on the road. 

“He wouldn’t have been able to handle it.” You agreed knowing your brother well. He was fun-loving, caring, hilarious, but he had demons. And if anyone else’s found their way to him, you knew it’d break him because he’d try so hard to take them on his own. Not saying Jax and your relationship was bad, it was surprisingly one of the better ones you’d been in, but you knew by having that, you’d be taking away the one thing that kept your brother stable. 

“He gonna be able to handle what brought you out here?” 

That snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes said it all but he didn’t even need to be looking at them to feel your shock and need for explanation. 

“I saw the blood in the bed of your truck when I was loading my bike. Thought I’d taught you better than to leave behind evidence.” 

“That’s mine.” It was so pointed how you said it. 

That made Jax’s brow arch in curiosity. As fucked up as it sounded, it was relieving to you to be talking to someone who wasn’t shocked by the possibility of mysterious blood or being on the lam from a crime. To be talking to someone who almost found curiosity in the thought of the situation. 

“I got mixed up with this group of friends out east.” He didn’t need to pry the information out of you, this was never an issue between you, sharing your thoughts with each other, talking through everything, was never the problem. Telling other people was. “Real party kids, you know, we were drinking, doing drugs, having a good time, until we weren’t.” You took a deep breath before getting into the depths of the story. 

“We were hanging out on the front porch of someone’s house, it was late, or early, however you wanna describe it, and someone rolled up, I guess someone brought a friend who knew some not so great people.” 

Jax had a feeling he knew where the story was going but he wanted to hear it from your account.

“I got stabbed.” This part of the story was so straight to the point compared to the rest. The context here didn’t matter much compared to the lead up. 

“Still missing the part where you got blood in your truck.” Jax was only saying this because you stopped talking and he knew there were pieces of the story missing. 

This was where it was hard to say what happened, partially because you couldn’t believe how stupid you were to let this happen to begin with, but also since it was traumatic. 

“They tossed me in the bed of the truck and left me there to die.” 

Jax’s grip got tighter against the wheel and he sucked his lips into his teeth, the anger rising as he thought about it. 

“Obviously I didn’t.” You tried to lighten the mood. 

“And you decided to come back here.” Jax nodded, fully understanding the story. 

“After I killed the person who left me to die. Who just happened to be the one who stabbed me.” Again, the words came out with no lead up, just the point. 

Jax’s eyes darted to you when you said it. Funny enough, it was what he expected the situation to be. An ex got abusive, it ended badly, or maybe an accident when you were drunk, but the thought went out once you ended your story. 

“Did–” He was beginning to ask how you handled it, you knew that was what he was wondering. 

“I handled it. No trace. I was coming back here just because I needed my family, needed a familiar face.” 

“Sorry this familiar one looks like shit.” Jax was now trying to lighten the mood. 

“It was an unexpected one too. I wasn’t even going to come to the clubhouse, was going to go straight to a motel and then right to Juice’s.” 

“No love lost, I see.” He let out a laugh. 

“More like too much love lost.” You leaned back in the seat and placed your feet up on the dash. 

__________

You pulled back the shower curtain and wrapped the towel around your body, turning to wipe the fog off the mirror and stare at yourself. The shower brought some life back to your face, but the only thing that was going to make you look well rested was rest. 

As you opened the bathroom door, you started to talk loud, calling out and asking if you could take a nap but your words got cut off as you slammed right into Jax whose hand was raised to knock on the bathroom door. 

“Sorry.” He chuckled and stabilized you by wrapping his hands on your bare arms. 

It was at that moment that the both of you realized this was the closest you’ve been in years. You felt Jax’s breath on your face, it smelt like coffee which made you smile inside. Something about the domesticity of him in his home drinking his morning cup of coffee. 

“I was coming to see if you wanted french toast or waffles.” There was that domesticity again. 

“Jax Teller, who used to burn eggs, is offering me french toast or waffles?” The water was still dripping down your skin as you spoke. 

“Alright.”  his head twisted to the side as he laughed and then looked back at you, his finger now on your shoulder catching one of the stray drops before retracting his hand and looking back at your eyes. “They’re pre-made in a package from the freezer, was just gonna toast ‘em, not get all fancy.” 

“I’ll take both.” 

“Both it is.” He was turning around to go back into the kitchen and you felt your breath exhale the moment he turned. 

You both never got a chance to eat together, he came back to ask you about coffee or orange juice and ended up in his bed. Breakfastless and clothesless. 

As much as it broke you to sneak out, you did it. Sneaking out like this reminded you of what you were trying to leave behind, but now, you had to remind yourself of how safe you felt being here. With Jax. You stepped into the kitchen and saw the toaster housing the burnt french toast accompanied by the burnt waffle in the slot next to it. You laughed and grabbed both, they’d still be better than the junk you were eating on the road. Grabbing a pen you left a note on the table for him. 

Thanks for everything. Taking your burnt breakfast and heading to my brother’s. See you around. xx

With that, you were leaving. It was late afternoon now, meal times didn’t really have a time clock when you were traveling with no sense of time. Driving to your brother’s at this point was like muscle memory, you didn’t have to give it any thought and before you knew it you were there. 

One thing about Juice was that he’d always welcome you with open arms and no questions. Okay some questions, but none that ever felt forced or pointed. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” He was so chipper and genuinely excited to see you as he opened the door. 

“Refugee looking for shelter.” You smiled back and brought him in for a hug. 

“Come in.” Juice pushed the door open completely and with his free hands moved to grab your bag out of your hand. 

Immediately you felt like a piece of scum in his pristine apartment and you hadn’t even had the grime of the ride on you anymore. “You live here or just showcasing the place?” You teased him. 

He sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and made a clicking noise. “I like to keep things neat.” 

“I know we lived in the same house together for years.” You looked at the art on the walls, the only sign that someone made a home of this place. There were pictures of you both, pictures of Juice with your childhood dog, pictures of the club, SOA flags and Harley memorabilia. 

“Hey I have this in my bag.” You smirked and moved to grab your backpack from his hands, he still hadn’t dropped it anywhere likely because he wasn’t sure where it’s place was in his sterile home. 

You pulled the photo out from the side pocket, it was wrinkled and folded, the complete opposite of his. 

“It’s before I started sponsoring, when I just worked at the shop.” He smiled, grabbing the photo from your hands. “You brought me and the guys homemade turkey sandwiches.” 

“You always left your lunch at home.” You shook your head at the memory, “I hated coming by with just food for you.” It was true, you’d make a sandwich for the 4-5 guys that were working that day. It became a sort of bit, the guys were crossing their fingers that whenever Juice was working with them, he’d forgotten his lunch. It helped that you came with a bag of chips and a 6 pack along with the sandwiches. That’s what the picture was. You, Juice, Jax, and Lowell eating turkey sandwiches and washing it down with a beer. 

“Everything okay?” Juice’s voice got solemn as he spoke, still looking down at the photo. 

“It is now.” You nodded with a smile. 

“You need my help with anything?” This time his voice raised an octave, in a more happy way. 

“Just a place to crash.” 

“Second room’s all yours.” He waved his arms in the direction of the room because he knew you were well aware of where it was. 

“I’ll be sure to disinfect my bag before putting it down.” You teased him with a slight push and made your way to the room that used to be yours years ago. 

By the time the two of you caught up, you leaving out the big details that you easily shared with Jax, it was nighttime. He brought you to the clubhouse, excited to share your arrival with the guys, and just happy to have his sister back in town. 

You were plopped on one of the picnic tables as some of the club sat around you, laughing about some joke Tig just said, most of you laughing at him more than with him. Your beer was nestled in your hand as you sipped slow on it, not really feeling like getting drunk much these days. 

“You’re nursing that beer.” Happy’s gruff voice alerted you. It was soft enough that only you heard him. 

“Long drive cross country, it’s making me more tired than anything.” You explained, it was partially true. 

But Happy saw through it. 

“You killed someone.” 

If you had been drinking the beer you would have spit it out by the abruptness of his comment. 

“Excuse me?” You frowned and looked at him, you probably met this member a handful of times but you didn’t know him like you knew some of the other crew. 

“I can tell, you got that vibe.” He nodded his head, his voice extremely raspy. 

“That vibe?” You raised your brows. 

“Yea, that life ain’t hold the same innocence vibe.” He answered you quickly. 

“How would you know what that vibe is?” You were playfully asking now, knowing that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if anyone here knew what you did, but it wasn’t something you were just blurting out. 

He laughed at that and didn’t answer the question. “Don’t worry your secret’s safe with me.”

“You freakin’ out our guest, Happy?” Bobby was walking out from the clubhouse, followed by Juice with a new beer for you despite you still not having this one nearly finished. 

“Happy?” You frowned and looked at Juice as you grabbed the beer. 

Happy grinned and lifted his shirt up to show his abdomen littered with smiley face tattoos and suddenly with no explanation at all, every question you just asked in the last 5 minutes was answered. 

“Oh.” You grabbed your nursed beer and finished it off quickly before moving to the new and cold one. 

Before the conversation could continue, the sound of two motorcycles cut the sound of voices out completely. Your eyes moved to see who it was, even though based on who was here now, the options were limited. You caught a glimpse of his long locks when he took the helmet off. Instinctually your eyes jumped to the movement of the person who came in behind him, tall and burly, and despite him still being far back in the shadows, you knew it had to be Jax’s friend Opie. With ease, your eyes moved back to Jax as he brought his hand through his hair. It was oily again, or still, which had you starting to wonder what his day looked like after you left. 

“Jax!” Juice called out from behind you and it brought you back to the current moment as Jax approached, taking off his riding gloves with a big smile on his face. “Look who's back on the west coast.” Juice was beyond excited to tell Jax, the thought of bringing back the days when the group of you would hang out clearly driving his enthusiasm. 

“Yea, I–” Jax was about to say how he ran into you the night before, you knew it, but your eyes went wide and your head shook just ever so slightly as a hint to let him know you didn’t want Juice to know. Luckily you were behind Juice on the picnic table so he wasn’t able to see it but Jax did clearly. 

What wasn’t clear was how he was taking your action. He seemed a little upset, but also he had a slight smirk on his face. 

“Yea, I see that. It’s good to see you.” He changed his sentence, his eyes staring at you. 

Behind him was Opie who clearly was aware of what happened between the two of you and was trying to hide his smirk from the awkwardness between you and Jax that only you three hopefully could feel. 

Jax took a step forward and you moved off the picnic table to stand. His arm raised to bring you in for a hug. 

“Thank you.” You whispered and squeezed him a little extra. 

“No worries, as always, secret’s safe.” 

[mediumgayitalian]

part one

———

Nico’s memory is…screwy.

The Lethe warped things, but the body stores memory in strange ways. The only image he has of his mother is the gentle swish of her skirts as Zeus incinerated her, the echo of her fond scoff and curled r’s. Even that memory was shown to him. Most of his childhood memories are from the Lotus Casino, really, running after Bianca through the flashing games and then running away from her, laughing, when she forbid him from driving on the racetrack. His sister is the centre of his memories. He keeps them under lock and key, buried in the same place he keeps Mythomagic stats and his constant string of fear.

(The key is rusted and the lock is loose. He sees her in every mirror, now, in every mirror. She was pretty. Beautiful. He always thought so. She hid herself in too-large sweaters and shapeless skirts, crooked stockings and her floppy green hat. Kept her hand curled around his, turned away from the boys who smiled at her, touched her shoulders. She was his entire world, and he is beginning to realize that he was her world, too, only she had no one to care for her. It makes Nico ache to think about, the tears he sometimes saw welling up in her dark eyes, the creases in her angular, beautiful face. Her pain is as familiar in his reflection as the shape of her nose, identical to his.)

(Gorgeous, Will called him.)

Warped as his memories are, Nico isn’t completely stranded — he has dreams.

His dreams, although rare, are clear. He is a spectator of himself, and voyeur of his own life. He does not remember Venice, does not remember his bedroom, the country side, the kitchen table. But he remembers every dream he has.

Including, embarrassingly, a lecture that had both him and Bianca red-cheeked and scowling.

“You-a smart, bambina,” Maria had said to Bianca, squeezing her chin with flour-covered hands. “Una belladonna giovane, si, Niccolò?”

Nico had snickered into his hands, legs kicking, looking at his sister cross-eyed with his tongue sticking out.

“Bianca è una picchia,” Nico had teased, repeating his mother’s words from the last time she’d been scolded. “Una piantagrane!”

Bianca’s eyes had flashed. “Nico, I’m gonna sell your stupido toys —”

“Sonno worries forra my Bianca,” Maria had interrupted, eyebrows raised. “Ragazzi comma running. But you, Niccolò.” She dragged him back by the cuff of his shirt, cutting off his escape attempts. ““È importante, capisci? Lookame. Niccolò. Lookame.”

He spent a lot of time fidgeting, he remembers. Bouncing off the walls.

His mother was patient.

“You gonna be uno marito, un giorno. Gonna marry a nice-a girl. You gotta sai come fate.”

He wakes up from the dream embarrassed.

He knows why it was brought from the depths of his subconscious. He’s not dense. But he wishes, as he rips the sheets off his sweaty body, that it had stayed in those stupid trenches.

His mother’s raspy, cigarette-smoker voice twists with Will’s smooth rumble: You gonna be uno marito, one day. I’ve had a crush on you for forever.

He buries his burning face in his knees. What is Will’s problem. Who says that?

Nico has had crushes before. Telling Percy made him nauseous for three days. And Will just — said it. Said it!

He rolls onto the floor, refusing to think about it any longer. He has things to do today. Children to humble. He cannot afford — distractions.

Of course, he is distracted anyway.

He hears the kids in his sword fighting class whisper to themselves. They usually do, but there’s an audible difference to it; they sound more like the giggling naiads than nervous kids. Nico spends all three of his classes tense as a rod, stiffer than he usually is a suffering for it.

He dismisses each one of his classes early.

By lunchtime, he’s exhausted. He’s tempted to skip all together, but yesterday he ran out of snacks, and if he skips two days in a row Will’ll come marching, which is the last thing he needs. He lingers in the amphitheatre, biting the inside of his thumb, weighing his options. Eat with a crowd of people, go hungry.

In the end, the choice is made for him.

He startled when his name is called by a group of people, each with similar levels of enthusiasm. Leo, Piper, Jason, and Annabeth — Percy is with his mom this week, Nico recalls — approach him, waving.

“We are flagrantly breaking the rules and eating at Jason’s table,” Piper says, smiling. “Sit with us.”

She says it like an offer, but Nico has a feeling it’s more of a command. He nods, hesitantly falling in step with Annabeth.

(His friendship with her startled him. So many years seething with jealousy, simmering with misplaced hate and pain; only to find out she’s stubborn, like he is, and kinda cagey. She knows what it’s like growing up glancing over your shoulder. They stand the same, shoulders loose but knees locked; and eat the same, like they’ll never see food again. She knows when to let him have his silence. He knows when to let her have her space.)

She nods at him, smiling slightly. Her grey hairs are dyed with pink, today. It clashes horribly with her camp shirt. It suits her.

“Kids do alright today?”

“Yeah.”

“Harley blow anything up?”

“Yeah.”

“Impressive, that one.”

Nico smiles. “Yeah.”

They’re the last ones to the dining pavilion. Most tables are already full, conversations rising and lulling, food disappearing from plates. Several people duck close to their friends as they walk by, whispering. Nico pretends not to notice, pretends not to see Annabeth’s frown.

“Nico! Hey! I was just about to come find ya!”

Tripping in his haste to get up from his table — or maybe over his snickering sister’s extended foot — Will bounds up to meet him, hair flopping into his eyes, grin wide and blinding.

Nico’s palms begin to sweat.

“Will,” he acknowledges, after a beat too long.

Will doesn’t seem to notice.

(Everyone else does.)

“Just wanted to let you know that I was up last night digging through the records, and I found a hymn that’ll fix up your face faster. Not that it needs fixing.” He winks, or maybe tries to. What he really does is blink both eyes, beam so bright it forces smile lines. Nico goes bright red. “So just drop by whenever! I’m not on duty today, but it’s cool, just come find me. Better sooner than later, right?”

He doesn’t wait for Nico’s response, already half turned away by the end of his sentence. “See ya!” he shouts, too loud for the limited size of the dining pavilion, already stumbling back to his table, halfway through a new conversation with Austin. He watches him, amused, indulging.

“So,” says a teasing voice, dragging out the vowel, gleeful. Nico turns to find four identical smirks. “He sounded eager.”

“Nope,” Nico says immediately, turning back the way he came. His face continues to grow exponentially more red, which at this point must be some kind of hazard. “Food is overrated. I’m gonna —”

“Oh, no you don’t,” and then there’s a hand clenched in the back of his jacket, pulling, and four echoing cackles, and he’s dragged over to Jason’s table kicking and hissing. “Time for you to spill.”

———

part three

[karlachismylife]

Love this blog you will find me rummaging through your writing like a raccoon in a trash can muwah

Oooh raccoon spottings!! Only the juiciest trash for you, fluffy comrade. This blog loves you back! Since I have been reblogging and doing ask replies a lot lately, feel free to use the masterlist, it's more or less full, only some little things get left in the "juju's grumbles" or "juju's replies" tags. But I reblog a lot of amazing creators, authors, writers and artists, so I do recommend scrolling and checking them out too!!!

And here, have some task force 141 discovering a raccoon in their home headcanons. I even went and found @thecutestgrotto 's raccoon dividers because how could I not, really.

Ghost hears rustling and is immediately on high alert. You're not home, and he would've recognized you regardless of how well you try to be sneaky, so this means there's an intruder. And this intruder chose a home with the scariest guard dog of them all.

Simon is stealth itself as he reaches for his tacticle knives. He could've gone for the gun, but that's too much noise and unwanted attention, would be better if no one knew he has it, since it's for emergencies. And for now this doesn't seem like an emergency, because you're not in danger and it seems like whoever broke in is slow, alone and not very confident in what they're doing.

As Simon stalks through the dark hall towards the back door where he heard the noise, he also realizes - that intruder is small. Could it be a kid? Stupid teenager breaking and entering for a bet? Or someone young and troubled to the point of desperately needing any sourse of cash? Or maybe it's a little one that got lost and just stumbled into someone's home in search of help? By the time Ghost actually reaches the now quiet room, he's already thinking he's going to be giving a stern talking, not a beating.

And then he finally turns the lights on, ready to pounce, and sees a dark fat blob frozen under a chair, beady black eyes staring at what poor racoon can only assume to be the apex predator.

"Bloody hell, where did ya come from, ya trash rat?" He's already assessed the room and made sure it was nothing more than the raccoon, so he sheaths the knife and crouches with a grunt, trying to grab the bugger by its scruff and shove him out of the door - it must've been the cat flap that let it inside. The raccoon, however, finally bolts. But not back to where it came from, no; it buries intself under the kitchen counter next. "Come back ya fookin' vermin, this ain't your hose, get the fuck outta here, bloody Zorro!"

When you finally come home, you're met with a sweaty, grumpy Simon with an icepack on his head, furniture moved around and traces of a proper chase scene. And a raccoon squished between the wall and the couch, nervously fidgeting with the mophead that somehow ended up there without a handle attached.

"Did you even try to lure him out with treats?" - "Fat bastart snatched a whole packet of nuts and bolted. Your turn now."

Price is having some fresh air outside, also known as lounging in a garden chair with his cigar, a pint and a nice book, early in the morning. He actually wasn't expecting to wake up this early, but he just recently got from a long deployment, so his sleep is messed up. Knowing he won't be able to fall back sleep, he decided not to disturb your own sleep, put on his big robe and went to catch sunrise beams. It's a little chilly, big droplets decorating all the greens and pinks of the garden - and the rising sun only makes the flowers look even more rosy as the tiny water diamonds sine and sparkle.

Bird song gets interrupted by snoring really quickly - the peace and serenity of morning garden, everything planted together with you and well taken care of, works on John like a lullaby, and he dozes off peacefully, his cigar snuffed out by a timin breeze, book flat on his chest and his hat slowly sliding down onto his eyes, protecting them from the sunlight. He's sleeping so soundly, even his snores aren't that loud, so the nature just accepts him as a part of the ever-changing landscape for today. Insects landing on him, searching for food and moving on without as much as tickling him. Wet grass sticking to his garden slippers and slowly drying of like that. Little midges getting stuck in his beard, poor thrashing creatures.

There's also someone bigger traversing the morning grounds, returning from the long night of searching for food. Not so stealthy under the sun, a dark shadow trots along the lush rose bushes that provide nice cover still. The hunt must've been not too successful, furry tummy still hungry and big tail dragging defeatedly.

But there's something new in this garden, something that wasn't there the previous day. And it brought something to put on the garden table - where food is often put. That's something worth investigatig, right?

When it turns out the little plate and big glass on the table only have something truly yucky in them (she checked really well), she has no other choice but to look in the chair. Good thing she has some help to recruit.

That's what explains the picture you see, once you wake up and go to look for your husband sleepily, only to find him snoring peacefully with a hat on his face and a whole family of raccoons rummaging through the pockets of his bathrobe and trying to climb up his hairy leg to see what's under the loosely tied belt.

There's raccoon infestation problem in your backyard. Well, it's not a real infestation, you already know that it's just one quite skinny and hungry-looking raccoon coming to rummage through your trash, scattering it around. Even when you stop putting it out, that poor critter keeps coming, bringing dirt onto your porch and sometimes even digging under your plants. You don't want to hurt the animal that's clearly just looking for food, so after some time you just give up and ask Gaz to deal with it.

You married him for his smarts too, you know, he should be able to think of something.

He obviously agrees, gives you a reassuring kiss on your temple and beams with pride just from knowing you think of him being capable to deal with any problem you have, because that's exactly what he's there for, he tells you. And he's confident he can do it, honestly, he has dealt with terrorists and complicated mechanisms, a starving shabby raccoon can't possibly be harder to deal with. You trust that confidence, you trust your husband, so you just leave him to it and forget about the problem.

Weeks pass without any real disturbance - at some point Kyles starts putting the trash outside again, and since it's not getting scattered all over the porch and garden again, you figure he has chased the raccoon away successfully. You would actually like to know how and thank him properly, but since he's still not mentioning it, you decide that he's still testing the results and will come report like a good boy once he's sure that little striped tail won't show up anymore.

You don't even put two and two together when one day, quite early in the morning, Kyle wakes you up with hot kisses behind your ear.

"Hey, angel. Sorry to wake you up, I jus' wanna show ya something. Let me carry you, a'right?" As soon as you stir, still warm and soft, eyes barely able to flutter open, he shushes you and stops you from getting from under the blanket. With a kiss on every eyelid, you get wrapped up in a blanket burrito and curl up in Kyle's arms, sleepy head resting on his shoulder as he carries you over to the door.

He places you on the porch rocking chair carefully, sealing the blanket around our feet so the cool morning air won't bite your toes, and crouches down next to you silently. Still half asleep, you can't even tell whether you wait for long or not, but your eyes try to close back, when suddenly something catches your attention.

It's the slightly more rounded raccoon - still same pattern on his tail, though - trotting directly to your porch with purpose in his stride. You blink, unsure what you're looking at, when that little buddy stops in front of the steps and looks at Kyle, who gives him a nod. Swiftly, the raccoon runs up the stairs and approaches the trash can. carefully, he slides off the lid with its tiny hands, and rummages inside. Just a single wrapper falls out of the whole bunch of things.

Once the raccoon finds some scraps he's been looking for and munches on them, he sniffs around, finds that wrapper and puts it back into the trash can. Then turns back to Kyle, who has a hard time hiding his sly grin as he looks at you, now completely awake and wide-eyes, from the corner of his eyes.

"Nope." Kyle makes an arching gesture with his palm. And the raccoon listens to him, turning to the trash can again and pulling the covering lid back over it. Only then he gets an approving nod from your husband, and just like that, leaves.

There's a moment of silence between you two as you watch that grey shadow disappear under the fence to your neighbours.

"Kyle, did you actually train a raccoon to throw its trash away?.."

You get a feeling when you push your key into the lock and open the door.

It's inexplainable, intuitive, gut feeling that you can't really put a finger on. Something's not right, but it's not the spooky dangerous "not right" like if you found your entrance wide open. No, it's a gnawing suspicion, an anticipation you get, trying to warn you something happened at home while you were away. Same feeling dog owners get when they're not being greeted by eagerly jumping pups because someone has chewed the owner's best pair of shoes up of broke their favourite vase.

Taking into consideration that you're living with John Soap MacTavish, it's either that or he's preparing to prank you.

But no, the TV's on and you hear distinct sounds of snacks being downed by one Scottish specimen, a glass or a bowl clinking from being touched by his clumsy big fingers, so he's not hiding behind the corner to jump at you. The apartment doesn't look trashed too, no hastly wiped blood splatters on the floor, no sight of ambulance or the police at the entrance into the apartment building. Looks like Johnny did't touch his street clothes or shoes either, so he probably didn't run out to throw away evidence like that one time when he forgot he started cooking something with caramel and had to throw away the whole pot.

Everything seems normal. Just your husband being so engolfed by Pocahontas that he doesn't hear you rustling with yout clothes and jiggling keys at the entrance, otherwise he would run out with crumbs of whatever it is he's snacking on in the corners of his mouth and grab you as he always does, spinning you around and looking like his whole life just regained its meaning because you're finally...

Wait. Since when is Johnny a Disney princess fan?

Last time you checked, the only one he approved off was Mulan, even Brave falling under critisism for historical inaccuracies he took too close to heart.

Carefully and sneakily, you tiptoe into the sitting room, going back and forth on whether to spook him as a revenge for the last time or not, but before you can decide, you get noticed.

There's a beat of silence between you, stuck in a creeping pose, Johnny with his hand still in a bowl of little apple slices, and a raccoon. Also sitting with a half-eaten apple slice in front of a slightly mudded water bowl. On the couch. In your living room.

"Soap."

Two pairs of eyes blink at you.

"MacTavish."

He slowly retracts his hand from the bowl and licks his lips, There's apple juice staining his stubble.

"Johnny. What the fuck is a raccoon doing sitting on the couch."

"We're hanging oot."

The raccoon finally moves and shoves the apple slice into its mouth, chewing juicily and reaching its paws in a asking manner. Distracted by that, Soap turns back to the critter and fishes a new slice out of the bowl, which the raccoon immediately snatches from your husband's hand and dips into the water bowl before crunching in the fruit.

"Johnny. Where did you find it."

"They just climbed oanto th' balcony!"

"Johnny, we're living on the 15th floor, how did it-" - "Nae "it", bonnie, 's "they". Ah asked. And their name's Rob Roy."

You fall silent again, watching Johnny hover protectively over the bloody non-binary raccoon. You wouldn't believe the balcony story, but Soap clearly looks like he hasn't left the apartment since you went out.

"It... they probably are someone's pet, Johnny. That ran away. Did you check? Ask around?"

"Ah did." He pouts at you as if he's offended you even doubt his ability to think of such logical solution. "Thay're nae. Jus' chose us, bonnie."

You feel your heard stutter at the implication behind those words and shake your head, pointing at the fiends on your couch.

"No-no-no, John MacTavish, we are not keeping that bloody thing. If it's a wild animal, it doesn't belong in an apartment! We weren't even ready for a cat, what raccoon, Johnny, the fuck you think it will-"

"But thay're cute! Look at 'em, bonnie! Ye wanna throw poor bastart away to starve and freeze tae death?!"

You and Rob Roy make similar pained sounds when Johnny grabs that fat fucker and shoves them into your face. Yeah, the raccoon is cute as hell.

It's Johnny's puppy eyes that do you in, though.