#the world has not appreciated these two enough not anymore anyways

[lalosalamcnca]

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU

Chapter 2:

Chapter 1. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx

----

“No!”

Screaming, you rushed up. Breathe!

In, out. In, out. Blood raced.

In.

Out.

With a shuddering breath, you sighed. You became aware of a presence at your pillow. Glancing, you locked eyes with your second robin. Well, you called this bird a robin, but it was barely that.

The bird was covered in black feathers, with the exception being bright red that covered its head and a small part of its chest. It hardly resembled a robin anymore. This one, you referred to as Hood.

Hood gave a little chirp, hopping over to your lap. It settled down, providing a reassuring weight. You started petting it, just a little. Hood could always tell when you had this particular nightmare.

You didn't have nightmares often, but if you did, it was always the same one. It started simple, an unlucky mistake leading to the meeting of a soulmate (which was nightmarish enough). Your brain never really elaborated on the meeting, as if it couldn’t quite comprehend what it could be like. Instead, the horror appeared when you met your own soul animal.

It was impossible to meet your own soul form until you've met a soulmate, as the animal orbited those you were bound to. Many a novel has been dedicated to those discovering that their soul has taken some unfortunate form, and their journey of self-acceptance. One particular novel you were fond of had the protagonist learning to accept that their form was a snail.

But… in the nightmare, your form wasn't that of a snail. It wasn't the form of a snake, a grasshopper or even a turtle.

It was a robin.

A little, fluttering robin. In green. In yellow.

In red.

You always awoke after that.

You continued petting Hood. Pet pat, pet pat. It always let you have little leniencies like this, after your nightmares. You appreciated it.

For you, a robin was the worst form your soul could possibly have. You had tried previously to logic yourself out of this fear. What was so bad about being a robin? You had four of them already; they weren’t so bad, albeit annoying. You just couldn’t… stand the idea.

It reminded you of the blood on your hands. The sight never really left you. The bodies of soul animals didn't remain, they disappeared just as the soul did after death. The fact both comforted and reassured you. You didn't have to bury the body, but you also didn't have anything to mourn.

You had made a small grave anyway.

You cried. Just a little. Hood gave a small tweet of distress, raising itself up to you. You took the offer, picking the bird up and cuddling its face. Just a little.

You felt sick.

You two stayed like that a while, two souls sheltering from the world. You wondered if your soulmates ever did a similar thing with your soul form. It was times like this that had you considering reaching out. You brushed aside some feathers on Hood’s chest, revealing a faint, scarred Y.

Maybe not.

A scutter of wings could be heard from your kitchen. You groaned, lifting Hood off your lap as you slowly got up. Who was it this time?

Bleary eyes blinked, you slowly made your way over. You were joined by Hood, as it made itself a steady weight on your shoulder. Hood was always a little too heavy for you to carry about easily, but you decided to be kind by not complaining this time.

Staring into your kitchen, it took you a moment to understand the sight in front of you.

A robin darting about, as a bat watched from the top of your fridge. It was a typical image for your home, but why..

Why was the robin… purple? And, was that bat a little smaller than usual?

…

Oh, no.

Strength left your legs as you crumbled to the floor, just staring at the two with an empty gaze. Hood squawked in alarm, fluttering off your shoulder.

You had two new soulmates.

Goddamnit.

~ ~ ~ ~

Somehow, Spoiler and Orphan (you later figured out their identities, none of your soulbonds were subtle) weren't your first surprise bond. No, that dubious honor belonged to the fourth robin.

You had been a little exhausted after a long day being tormented by Wing’s affections. Occasionally Wing has rather clingy days, and it becomes impossible to leave the house. It had only gotten worse after the second robin’s demise. You endured.

As a result, you were sleeping in. That is, until the sounds of high pitched peeping noises stirred you from your slumber. You slowly awoke, your eyes meeting bright green.

“Aaagh!” You shrieked, jumping back and falling off the bed. “Owww.” Groaning, you slowly sat up, taking in the situation.

There was a baby bird. On your bed. “What…?” You muttered. The bird didn't have many feathers, but the ones that it did have were a mixture of black and green. It was this fact, alongside the bird being a robin, that made you register exactly what was going on.

“Ohh my god.” Your head was in your hands. That was how done you were. Most people stopped getting soulmates at one. Sometimes there were bonds of two, maybe even three. Having four bonds was already rather extraordinary (which is why you pretended all your robins were the same one), but now there was a fifth.

Well, at least the baby bird was cute. You reached out, extending a finger to pet it, when it snapped at you. With its beak and everything.

Betrayal.

Since when were baby birds aggressive? All your other soulmates were older than you so you never got to care for any of them. Now you finally have one, and it snaps at you.

Turning away from the bird, you mean to sulk a little, but get interrupted by the Bat fluttering right in front of you. You blink, and the next second it's perched right by your new soulmate. You stare, eagerly anticipating a conflict.

The baby bird stares at the Bat for a second, before making an adoring noise and resting under its wing.

What.

Suffice to say, your initial relationship with Robin didn't start off perfectly. It did seem to warm to you within a few weeks though, so you didn't feel too bad about it.

In all honesty, you were more concerned about what the existence of a fourth robin would mean for the third. Would it be a smooth transition? A simple bestowing of the title like it had been for the first and second robin?

Or would it be tainted with blood, another robin bleeding out in your palms. You shuddered.

You didn't want to find out.

~ ~ ~ ~

Adjusting to two new additions to your bond was a little strange. All your bonds so far had been birth ones, formed at the start of your existence (with the exception of Robin, which formed when Robin started his life). Spoiler and Orphan were delayed bonds, also known as fated bonds. They started later in life, generally after significant events, but they can just randomly pop up too.

Were you going to get a new bond every time Batman trained a new vigilante? Was being a vigilante a requirement? That has some odd implications for you, actually.

You didn't really want to become a ‘hero’.

Enough of that. A few days had passed since the emergence of your two new bonds, and you suspected that the rest of your soulmates had found the change to be about as surprising as you did.

You could tell, because for the first time in a literal month, you were alone! No bat watching from a corner, no bird fluttering around you. Just you, and complete, lovely, isolation.

Honestly, it was so quiet you were a little unnerved. You had gotten so used to the constant chirping and fluttering of wings.

As a result, you've left the house.

You enjoy a nice walk, taking in the sights you usually rush over. Settling into a coffee shop, you treat yourself to a cookie. It was fun just to enjoy the atmosphere for once, without the paranoia of having what occasionally felt like a literal flock of birds following you around.

You've almost finished your drink when a shadow falls over you. A lean man stands before you, clutching a coffee to himself as if it contained the secrets to life. You blink.

“Sorry, I was wondering if I could sit with you?” He gestured to the cafe, and you noticed all the other seats were occupied. Huh, you were so busy being infatuated with your current freedom that you didn't even notice.

“Ah, yeah that's fine.” You replied, giving a small smile.

He smiled back, settling down and pulling out a laptop. Your time passes in simple peace, him on his laptop, and you on your phone. A scuttering noise drew you away from your scrolling though, and you looked up to see a familiar scene.

A blue bird had landed on the man’s coffee, shaking it as if it was trying to knock it over. The laptop man was fighting back though, doing his best to preserve it.

“Ah.” You muttered, staring. They both turned to look at you, exactly at the same time. It was a little creepy.

“Apologies for disturbing you.” Coffee man said. The blue bird jumped off the coffee, turning to you.

“It's alright. Is that your soul animal?” You replied, watching the bird hop closer.

“Ah yeah, he is. My family can be annoying about my caffeine intake sometimes.” There was a pause. “He seems quite interested in you, though.” There was a question in that statement, and you had the inkling that this was leading up to something you wouldn't like.

“What type of animal is it? I can tell it's some type of bird but..” The bird had reached you now, hopping onto your raised hand.

“It's a raven…” The man continued on, starting a tangent about raven facts, but you were too distracted to listen. Instead, you were fixated on the bird that was nuzzling your hand in a very familiar manner.

A bird that wasn't a raven. A bird that recognised you.

A bird that was a robin.

Wing.

You felt like both laughing and crying. Here you are, celebrating finally getting some space from your soulmates, and you meet one? How ridiculous. This was a nightmare.

You need to leave, immediately.

You stood up, your chair making an awful screech as you did so. Coffee man looked a bit surprised, as you peeled Wing off you and handed it to him.

“Sorry about that.” You smiled. “I had some extra bird seed on me from feeding some birds today. Perhaps your soul animal could tell. I've got to be going though, maybe I'll see you some other time.” And with that, you start marching out the shop.

Maybe your behavior was suspicious, but you really couldn't afford to stick around. All it took was for one of your soul animals to appear on you and the game would be up. He’d instantly know that the soul animal would have appeared from your side of the connection. It would be over, the efforts of years upon years.

You couldn't let that happen.

“Wait!” A voice called out, the tapping of footsteps following. You swung back around, meeting the gaze of your soulmate. He extended a card to you.

“This is my number, perhaps we can text in the future. I know we didn't really talk, but I enjoyed your company.” He smiled. It would have been a nice scene if the sight didn't make your gut twist.

You took the card.

“Oh! And before I forget, my name’s Tim.”

You answered back, giving your name.

You prayed that he assumed the shakes of your body were due to the cold.

----

And that's the second chapter! Woohoo! Hope you all enjoyed it, since the third chapter is already half way done! I'm rather excited for it haha ^ ^

As always, feel free to reach out!

[wwilsonbarness]

hello? Mr. Pickle?

pairings:  bucky barnes x reader

summary: Bucky struggles with modern technology, especially autocorrect. 

warnings: none, pure fluff 

word count: 495

a/n: When I was writing i can’t do this anymore my autocorrect changed doll to dill and so this was born - also my first drabble? Huge thanks to @hopelessromantic423 for the title suggestion <33

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist 

From across the room you could hear your phone vibrating so you made a mental note to check it once you finish this chapter of your book. It buzzed again and you debated going over to it but you only had two pages left. Then it buzzed 3 more times, straight after each other. This was when you decided it must be important so you got up and started walking over. It buzzed another two times as you walked over and you started to panic, it could’ve been an emergency. When you saw the messages on your screen you couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It was Bucky who was messaging you. 

Buck

I’m just leaving. What do you want for dinner dill?  dill** dill** This stupid fucking phone. DILL** DILL DILL** Fuck sake I’m phoning you 

You only just finish reading the last message when your phone begins to ring and you try to compose your laughter enough to answer. 

“Hey Buck, or should I say Mr Pickle?” 

“Ha Ha.” He replies sarcastically, “I take it you seen my texts. Stupid phone never works.” 

“It’s just not used to your 40’s lingo babe.” You teased, you were always kidding with him about how much of an old man he was. Not in the way of his literal age but the way he lived, he hated using new technology, he hated social media, and you don’t even want to think back on the time you tried to make him watch a reality show. He tried liking all the modern parts of the world but he missed the old days where things were a lot simpler. He was just glad he had you to help him through it. 

“Yeah well it’s lucky I didn’t throw it out the car.” You hear him mumble something along the lines of “piece of crap” and it makes you giggle. “It’s not funny doll.” 

“It’s kinda funny.” 

“I hate you.” He jokes. 

“No you don’t.” You manage to reply through your laughter. 

“You’re right I don’t. So what do you want for dinner?”

You take a second to think, “I’m kinda craving cheeseburgers.” 

“I could do a cheeseburger, I’m near that burger place anyways.” 

“Could you get some fries too? Oh! And a milkshake? The one with the oreo pieces? Please.” He couldn’t see but your pouty lip had come out. 

“Anything you want doll.” 

“Thanks babe, how long do you think you’ll be?”

“Should be like 20 minutes, do you wanna watch something while we eat?” 

“You read my mind! I’ll set it up in time for you coming home.” 

“Okay, won’t be long. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” Bucky’s about to hang up before you quickly start speaking again. “Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Could you get me extra pickles on my burger?” 

You hear him scoff a little then laugh, “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Byeee.” You trail off until the call ends. You were never gonna let him live this one down.

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Very often I think about Sephiroth crawling in my bed and napping. Cause why not? Headcanons for Sephiroth Angeal Cloud Zack +Tseng and Rufus? if they have consistent access to your home. I doubt they’d do anything too invasive…that doesn’t go for Rufus and Tseng

————————————————————————

Zack

haven’t been paying enough attention to him he’s worried about you, you haven’t sent him your routine messages that let him know you made it to work or when you were heading home and that’s just weird. “What could be more important than thinking about me?”

Love him all you want, he’s eating your favorite snacks like a greedy little monster, it doesn’t matter if you buy enough to accommodate both of you. It takes a lot of food to fuel that man’s body, so that just means you started buying more for him to eat in addition to what he already steals right?

Doesn’t really snoop around while you’re gone but if something catches his attention he’s going to investigate. You’ll catch him with something in his hands that you haven’t seen in ages but still claims he doesn’t actually go through your things…sure buddy

Tries to straighten up messes, most of which he makes, but I dunno man. Something about Zack doesn’t scream world’s most tidy man and he doesn’t pay attention to fine detail. It’s the effort that counts right? He’ll at least take your trash out for you and clean up any obvious messes.

Will find him sprawled out on your couch waiting for you to get home, snoring and drooling all over the arm of your sofa…god he’s so fucking adorable and he’s just waiting for you to get home and cuddle him. After all you gave him a key for anything important.

Cloud

Yall know I’m making the “you like krabby patties don’t you squidward” face mhm..anyways are those most definitely your underwear in his hands that he’s so poorly trying to hide behind his back. Not to mention the underwear hanging out of his pocket. “You know Cloud,I heard you were a perv but fuck.”

After that day he didn’t use his key for a while. No, that’s not what he was there for originally. He was waiting for you to get to your home after an argument the two of you had on the phone to speak to you in person. Who knew that in his boredom his feet would led him to your drawers? There wasn’t too much to argue about anymore, not after asking if he wanted the ones on your ass too. He did and he got them off of you personally.

Will also straighten up things he sees in disarray, especially if he knows you like things a particular way. Will also feed and take care of any other needs your pet has if you have one. He gives your pet way more attention in private than he does around you.

The “Oh I fixed it” guy. If he isn’t there by the time you get back there might be a list of miscellaneous items he fixed. Eventually he stops making the lists considering you didn’t even realize what needed fixing and when, knowing that his actions are always appreciated.

Genesis

Because what more of an excuse does he need to freely enter your home than being Genesis? He’s coming to get your attention and recite Loveless to you while creating parallels between you and the words of his beloved epic.

Mad at him? Ignoring him? That’s not going to work, you better take that key back if you really don’t want him in your face. He’s not going to knock, sweet boy is coming straight in to fix whatever turmoil has risen between the two. Sometimes bearing gifts in these moments but he delivers you gifts when you’re not mad at him as well.

Noticed one thing isn’t very tidy, taken in account that perhaps you’ve been too tired or not in the best of moods lately. He’s going to end up cleaning your home just as he would keep his own. It’s the least he can do to help his darling.

Somehow makes your entire home smell like him, it’s like he has a Febreze can of himself that he sprays around the place. It’s just him spraying his cologne everywhere to mark his territory like a cat.

Sets up cute dates for when you arrive. This is especially convenient considering the two of you have such busy/conflicting schedules. Making sure to take care of anything around your home so you can solely focus on unwinding from the events of the day and on him.

Sometimes you’ll come home to fresh flowers sitting on your living room table. Along with a sickly sweet note, a quote from Loveless thrown in, and addressed to “his goddess”.

Angeal (ily break into my home pls I just wanna talk)

The master at taking care of his “beautiful liege”. Originally got a key to your home to pick up some things you needed for work but seeing the disarray of your apartment causes him to pause. It doesn’t bother him but if you needed help being taken care of you should have asked. Poor baby feels bad for not noticing that he needs to take care of you far more than he already does.

Yeah, you actually never got the things you needed for work that day. Only receiving a short text from Angeal claiming he would “be there soon”. Stepping into your home you can’t help but notice that it smells amazing. Beginning your trek to the couch toss your things down you go to step over some books that you swear were going to get picked up two weeks ago. Looking around you can’t help but notice the whole apartment is spotless. No longer able to hold the irritation you held with Angeal for bailing on you earlier, as you realize why he never showed up.

He refuses to give you back “his” your key after this. He won’t enter without your permission of course, even if you’re home, the man’s polite after all. Certainly wont go through your things unlike Cloud and Zack but can often be found curled up in your bed if it takes a while for you to get home.

You already know this man is cooking for you, normally timing when he’ll finish a meal with the time you get home so it’s fresh cause he “needs the best for his baby”. He’ll also do things like having a bath running for you, will join if you want him to, he’ll wash you up himself since you “shouldn’t have to lift another finger today”. Once again due to such a busy and conflicting schedule this is the easiest routine for you two.

Sometimes it seems like he lives there, seemingly spending more time at your place than at his own. Which is just fine with him, home is where his heart belongs, and his heart belongs with you.

Sephiroth (the cutest one idk i usually write my favorite one last but between Angeal, Seph and Rufus+Tseng idk) {After Genesis goes missing to highlight his emotional state}

To say the look on that man’s face was stressed was an understatement. As you walked into his office, immediately asking our dear Sephi what was wrong. Not one to go into too much detail Sephiroth explains he’d just like to be alone. That right now everything is a bit much for him to deal with and he doesn’t want to be found “unless it’s by you”. Prompting you to offer up your apartment, knowing nobody would look for him there.

Hesitant to accept your offer because he doesn’t want to intrude or make himself an inconvenience to you. A statement that makes you roll your eyes because Sephiroth could never be a bother. It doesn’t take much convincing for him take your keys and disappear from the Shinra building.

When you get home Sephiroth you can tell he’s made himself at home. His shirtless form opens the door for you, giving you a quick kiss and asking how your day has been. Noting that he looks a bit more well rested than he did earlier. As you walk around you can kind of tell what he’s been up to, a few of your books are sitting on the couch along with his laptop. Nothing out of the ordinary really, asking what he’s been up to and if he’s feeling better.

Scooping you up in his arms he carries you to the bedroom, stating that he’s just been “waiting for you”. Giggling at the sight of your bed you gawk at him asking “did you make a pillow fort?!” He actually looks a little prideful when he tells you he did and that “the structural integrity is absolutely astounding.” He’ll only let you leave the fort for good reasons, either food or the bathroom seems to be the only things he lets you get up for so far.

In the morning you give him a spare key, telling him to feel free to use it whenever. And that he does, the next day finding him cocooned in your blankets on the couch. The only thing you can see is his beautiful green eyes peeking at you from his nest of blankets. Hiding in your home definitely becomes a routine for him, only going to his own for clothes and whatever other items he may need. Spending a few nights at his own place every so often to give you space (that you never needed he just worries). Just a few nights every so often though cause why does he need to be there “when everything I want is here”

Rufus+Tseng (they’re definitely a package deal, can’t tell me otherwise) ffff-hi Reno you weren’t supposed to be here but my mind has now put you here

You certainly didn’t give these guys access to your home. Walking through your apartment after a long day, to what you thought was going to be a relaxing evening. Instead being greeted by a massive guard hound, well that wasn’t on your schedule but it seemed to get penciled in “what the fuck is that?” You can’t help but spit out, reaching for your pistol only to be interrupted by a foreign voice

“Now don’t be rude Y/N. The things you just got done doing are far more terrifying than my DarkStar.” Your eyes immediately darting around to find the owner of that voice- Who is this pretty blonde fuck sitting on your couch? Legs crossed, arm propped against the arm rest with his head held up by his hand. It’s almost like he’s trying to look as disinterested as possible in…whatever it was they were here for.

Not to mention the guy standing beside him, long black hair pulled back neatly…yeah, that’s just screaming to be pulled. Drawing his weapon the minute you reached for your own, telling you to drop it and to step towards them slowly. As you start taking steps towards the duo your arm is grabbed and being twisted behind your back. Their chest rumbling against your back as they chuckle.

“Oh, this one is so cute. How do we feel about ‘em bossman?” craning your neck to get a look at your assailant, being greeted by a red head with a goofy grin on his face. My god he was easy on the eyes as well. Sporting a suit similar to the raven haired man, his shirt unbuttoned, leaving his chest deliciously exposed. If it weren’t obvious you were in danger you might’ve thought you were in for a treat. Jumping a bit as his other hand starts roaming your body. Letting out a chuckle as Reno speaks stating that he’s “just checking for weapons, ya know how it goes. Unless..” his tone turning flirtatious to be cut off swiftly by Tseng, requesting you take a seat.

Reno, as the gentleman he is, assists you in your seat. All but shoving you down as he leaves his hands resting on your shoulders. You make it clear not to him “mishandle the merchandise” only for him to tell you he “can do better later.” Quickly shutting down the interaction between Reno and yourself finally asking who they were and why they were here. Rufus does a majority of the talking he is the center of attention of course, going into detail about how the Turks have been tracking you for the past year. Going through the list of atrocities you’ve committed along with some pretty damning evidence.

“Wow, you kill a few people and now the government is breaking into your home? I don’t know if this is really warranted.” At that comment you receive a rather pointed glance from Tseng and a raised eyebrow from Rufus. Finally getting to the point after Tseng lectures you on how this is a serious matter and there’s no time to play. They offer you a job with them, “redemption” as Rufus called it. While sure you’re a criminal, you indirectly solved a lot of their problems and you’re the final loose end they needed secured. “Or, you can go back to prison, but this time for the rest of your life.”

Though Tseng made it clear, if you can’t pass their training and be a successful member of the Turks you’ll be going prison anyway. Your smarts and ability to have snuck through the system this long is what got their attention drawn to you, well Rufus’ attention. Tseng thinks picking up “low-life criminals” to join their forces is far below them. Besides, they don’t really need you anyways, they just want you.

————————————————————————

Crying cause I hate I can tell when I first started writing this and when I finally found it and finished. Saving things to drafts seems like a dangerous game I won’t be playing again. I couldn’t think of anything to add to characters I already wrote for. Definitely making the last hc something bigger and is now main priority.

[veritas-scribblings]

heal - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,191

Come October, Regulus is quiet. Closed in on himself. Almost non-existent. He won’t come out of the bedroom, James says. He’s been shut in there all day and he won’t look at James. 

Sometimes James thinks that Regulus is punishing him for everything that had happened between them. For all the time that was lost. For all the fights that were had. For all the betrayals that occurred on both sides.

James has no regrets. And James has all the regrets. 

James has no guilt. And James has all the guilt.

In October, Lily brings the baby around to visit. He’s not really a baby anymore, honestly. He’s walking (running, really) and speaking in two-to-three word sentences, and he has the funniest little shoes that Sirius bought him and drags a stuffed dragon wherever he goes.

James had been devastated to have missed when little Harry started to really run (or at least as well as a two-year-old can run); he often is when he misses the milestones. So, when Harry begins chasing Regulus’s cat, James doesn’t intervene. If anything, he encourages the behaviour. The cat is a nasty, spiteful little demon anyway. 

‘It’s hard for him,’ Lily says gently. ‘He went through a lot.’

‘We all went through a lot,’ James mutters, frowning. ‘It was war. That’s the definition of war. War is a lot.’

Lily rolls her eyes and takes a sip from her glass of wine. It is Regulus’s wine and he will have a fit when he finds out, but right before shutting down, they’d had a vicious fight and James is still reeling a little from it. ‘Stop being such a little bitch,’ Lily says, her expression entirely reproaching. ‘Callousness doesn’t suit you anymore. Regulus almost died. I think he’s allowed to be a bit torn up about it occasionally. Have you tried…talking to him?’

‘He just ignores me. That’s the problem!’ James groans, looking over to where Harry is trying to crawl under the coffee table to reach Regulus’s little demon cat. ‘Actually, right before the whole ignoring me problem, he told me to fuck off and find someone else to—and I quote—“cast as your trophy husband in your little perfect white-picket fence delusion”. I think he’s trying to break up with me, Lils!’ 

Lily snorts into her glass of wine. Because, of course she does. Regulus might have issues with her, but she’s still always appreciated him for his nasty acid tongue. In some ways, they really are one of a kind, and James occasionally wonders if he has a type.

‘He’s not wrong,’ she says. ‘You have always really loved playing house. Okay, okay, have you tried...just giving him space.’

‘There’s a continent of space between us!’ James exclaims. ‘That’s the problem!’

‘Alright, alright.’ Lily grabs Harry when he starts trying to grab the cat’s tail to yank it out from its hiding place beneath the glass coffee table. ‘Have you tried bitch slapping him, then?’

‘…thanks, you’re such a huge help, Lils.’

‘You can’t force someone to be okay if they’re not, James. You can just be there for them.’

Trapped in Lily’s arms, Harry shouts in protest and starts to squirm around like a fish out of water. He’s a spirited child (a tiny human, as Regulus puts it). Regulus has always loved that about him. That Harry is bold. Tenacious. At times he can be an absolute menace, a quality that Regulus nurtures in him. 

‘I’m just going to…’ James grabs Harry and tucks him under his arm. ‘Give me a moment.’

He races upstairs, Harry giggling and thrashing about excitedly. When he reaches the bedroom, he doesn’t knock; Regulus will not permit him entry if he does. Inside, Regulus sits on the bed staring blankly at a book that is open in his lap. The curtains are drawn, so it’s not like he’d even be able to see well enough to read anyway.

Even in the darkness of his own tiny, private world, Regulus is so beautiful. His hair has grown long recently, the weight pulling his curls looser. James used to love tucking the loose strands behind his ears so he can see Regulus’s silver-grey eyes, so he can see all of Regulus’s face before he kisses him.

And then he realised, after a while, that Regulus lets his hair grow out when he’s not in a good way.

Harry waves exaggeratedly and shouts, ‘Hi!’ because he has yet to work out volume control. He crawls across the bed towards Regulus and perches next to him, reaching up to pat Regulus’s cheek.

‘I’ve come to bribe you with a tiny human,’ James says with a smile. ‘He’s been asking for you, you know.’ 

Regulus sighs and sets the book aside. I’m not in the mood, his expression says. I want to be alone, his expression says. But he, himself, speaks none of this because he’s always so cautious about Harry. So wary of breaking him the way he had been broken as a child. He takes the stuffed dragon that Harry offers him and sits it on his lap.

And then, slowly, he looks up at James. ‘Why am I here?’ 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, James frowns. Because you lived, he wants to say. There is not a day that goes by that James does not thank every higher power in and out of existence that Regulus lived, because he would he would have died with Regulus otherwise. He would not have been able to survive such a loss. Not intact. Not whole. Regulus would have taken every vital part of James with him.

‘Why am I here?’ Regulus repeats.

James reaches over to stroke Harry’s hair. He wants so badly to run his fingers through Regulus’s hair, but he fears that Regulus will not accept touch right now.

‘Because I want you here,’ he whispers. ‘And I love you. And I hope you want to be here too.’ And I hope, he thinks, that you love me too.

‘Why?’ Regulus asks. 

And James knows what he’s asking: why do you love me? It’s just that James does not know how to answer this. He just does. He loves Regulus because he cannot imagine any other way of being. He loves how gentle Regulus is, how simultaneously fragile and strong. He loves how clever Regulus is. How good Regulus is, how good Regulus wants to be. How brazen and forthright, how Regulus always speaks his mind.  How fussy. How loyal. How intense. How proud. How Regulus’s feet always get cold. How Regulus loves cats because they’re independent and particular. How Regulus is slightly addicted to grapes. How he goes crazy if someone dog-ears his books.

James leans over and gently kisses Regulus’s forehead. The tip of his nose. His lips. A soft, chaste, closed-mouth kiss that he hopes says everything he cannot find the words to say right now and will hopefully be able to say one day. Soon.

He needs Regulus to know. To understand. To feel and believe it. That James wants him here. That James would not have it any other way.

[tarosunshine]

Boynextdoor 0t6: Earth,Wind, & Fire being about you or certain lyrics are directed to you (I hope this makes sense 😭)

ִ ۫ ⭒ GIRL, YOU ARE ، ، 보이넥스트도어

𓈒 𝒢enre fluff angst ֢ warnings cheating . boynextdoor fem! reader ، ، i hope this is what you were thinking (or kinda) ⸝⸝ ⌕ ﹙ archιvᥱs ﹚

sungho  ۫ ੭

take my breath away like magic, you're the show. i feel so mad.

sunghon wasn't somebody who was interested in dating people, but when you appeared in his life, you took his breath away. every time he saw you, his heart started to pound, his mind stared to think how it would be to be your boyfriend. his hands became so sweaty, and all that made him feel so mad. he doesn't want to feel this for you. you are his friend, and because of that, sungho is not going to confess.

riwoo  ۫ ੭

you ain't just a girlfriend. that ain't enough, no.

riwoo loves you so much. you being his girlfriend it's the best thing that happenedd to him, his words. he likes to take you on dates, buy you things, although you tell him there it's no need to, and loves to appreciate all of you. ahh, he could pass all day admiring you. the feeling he hid for the past few years was finally something mutual, and the happiness and love he feel it's just too much. you ain't just a girlfriend. that ain't enough, no. you're his everything; his friend, his lover, his confident, the girl that inspires him and his songs.

jaehyun  ۫ ੭

yeah, i wanna hold her hand, a gentleman, you know that we could be golden.

you, the girl that it's on the same group friend, the girl he likes, his friend. jaehyun just doesn't know what to do anymore. every time he sees he just wants to hold your hand, make you laugh. and he hates the fact that the boy next to you is not enough for you. it's an asshole that makes you cry and suffer. and jaehyun, as your friend, it's always by your side, trying to cheer you up and distracting you from the bad thoughts. but he just doesn't understand why you're still there, by the side of that stupid boy. all he can do is stay there, as your best friend.

leehan  ۫ ੭

you are my fire, my wind, you are my flower. you are all that i desire and i need you more.

since that day of elementary school, when you told leehan that you liked fishes, he started liking you, just simply like that. so since he was a kid, you have been the person that he adores the most. all he thinks is you and fishes. he's always around you. he had always been from that day. you're his world, and he it's yours. you're all that he needs to be happy, but he doesn't dimensions the immense love that he has for you. all this time thinking that feeling was just friends love.

taesan  ۫ ੭

you're my darling, right? are you playing my heart?

the rumors of you having another boy reached taesan. you two have a kinda of a situationship but he was sure that he would be your boyfriend, he liked you a lot. so, when some friends told him that they saw you holding hands with some blonde dude, his heart breaked. you were just paying with it. i mean, he knew that you two wasn't something, but he thought that maybe it was. it seems like it wasn't like that.

woonhak  ۫ ੭

tell me that you want me, just say yes, oh, oh, oh.

woonhak knows since a couple of weeks ago that you like him, so all he does is bother you, not telling directly that he knows. he just likes to see how you got all flushed and shy about his comments, but you stand to him anyway. like the other day when he was bothering you again when just were the two of you, and you finally said to him that you liked him, and it was his turn to be flushed and stutter.

[zombee]

I feel like the luckiest Our Flag Means Death fan in the world after the season 2 finale. By a series of incredible circumstances - including a significant metatextual realization that came in at the 11th hour - it was close to perfect for me.

This essay has everything. Completely normal behavior over a television series. Steven Universe references. The David Jenkins School of Whatever is Best for the Bit. Humbling catharsis.

First: this piece does not exist with the central thesis of “it’s okay to not like something but that’s not the same thing as it being bad.” I feel like thousands of words have already been written on this since Thursday, so I’m going to try to not get too in depth on that.

Second, cards on the table, because it’s relevant and I don’t want to waste your time if this is going to sour your ability to hear me out: I’m an Izzy Canyon hater. For MANY reasons, but from way before the concept of the Canyon existed, (some) Izzy fans pinged me in the same way as Snape/Kylo Ren fans did, and before May 2022 was over I went from genuinely enjoying Izzy’s character and place in the narrative to hating him because his fans made it impossible for me to enjoy him anymore.

(SOME! of his fans. Please don’t keep making me say this, although I’m not going to talk about the Canyon directly anymore after this. I know there are a ton of normal Izzy Enjoyers and even Canyonites, I am literally friends with many of them, please take this all in the good faith it’s intended and if you’re not One Of The Bad Ones then you’re fine! I very carefully don’t go anti-Izzy on main, and when I stopped enjoying his character, I stopped writing him into fics. I’m not trying to be a dick, I just want to be honest. Anyway.)

The season 2 finale made me weep over Izzy Goddamn hands.

ALL season long, I was disgruntled. All season long. I really, truly, DEEPLY appreciated what they were doing with his character and arc, I thought it was wildly on brand for the themes of community/queerness in the show, I saw the vision, I liked it!!! But. I wanted a fucking apology, yall. I needed three seconds of “sorry I called you a slur, Ed :/” and that would have been enough. But I had to let it go. It was poisoning my enjoyment of the whole season, which I loved with very little exception (not none!) and I just had to let it go. I wasn’t getting an apology. That didn’t negate what they were doing with his character.

Yall. They withheld the apology on purpose.

THIS FUCKING SHOW!!!

Let’s go back a bit. I was at the episode 6 + 7 screening, and the breakup shook me. Probably a LOT more than if I had watched it alone in bed at 3am on my laptop - five days of no sleep after NYCC, lots of emotions, seeing it on a big screen with a hundred other intense fans, etc etc - but I did see other folks reacting in parallel ways to me when the episodes aired to the regular public, so maybe I would have felt the same way. Regardless, I was mad at Stede and to a lesser extent Ed. I NEEDED AN APOLOGY FOR THAT FISH LINE. I needed it! “Whativah” autocorrects to “WHATIVAH” in my phone. I was going through it.

(When I rewatched the episode when it aired it was not nearly as bad as I remember, lol)

So now the episode 8 screeners go out and the reviews drop and I think I catch one half-glimpse of a “What a heartbreaking ending!” kind of snippet, and some of my friends who are spoiler fiends unintentionally drop little hints about similar ideas (devastating/heartbreaking/split the fandom) type shit.

And I was a fucking WRECK! about it.

I do love this whole show with my whole chest. I do!!! But I’m not rotted because this is an excellent television show, I’m rotted because two old men kiss each other! On the MOUTH!!! in an excellent television show. You get it, right? I’ve written 700,000 words across almost 100 fics and 98% of them are dedicated to those two men falling in love in different universes. 

So it just did not even occur to me the “heartbreak/devastation/fandom split” would be about anything but Gentlebeard.

Another piece of this that was fucking me up - David Jenkins and his “satisfactory” ending biz. My brain was reacting like this show was ENDING ending, even if I knew logically! that this is just season 2!!! And I wasn’t ready for that, because what if it wasn’t personally satisfying, and I’m a mess about it? Why was I so worried about not liking it? I’d liked the whole season! Even if they didn’t nail the landing I wasn’t going to stop writing fic or hanging out with my pirate community & friends. 

…is what I kept trying to tell myself, but the way anxiety disorders work is funny like that lol. What if I did stop writing fic and hanging out in pirate spaces? That would hurt much more than a show I like disappointing me. And for anyone who’s having that experience with ofmd s2, I’m so very, very sorry. It sucks and that’s where my epiphany came from on Wednesday before the finale.

Because it has happened to me before.

I flit from hyperfocus to hyperfocus, as ya do when you’re spicy, but the last thing to get its hooks in me PROPERLY like pirates was Steven Universe. And I did NOT like the way the regular season ended!!! (I actually really did like most of Future; that’s not what I mean. I mean season 5). I don’t like how they handled the Diamonds, tldr; I think the scope of their villainy got too out of hand, and I was left grieving the thing that had meant enough to me I ran a fan convention for four years based around it. 

Side note: imagine if I had channeled the hyperfocus of almost a million words of fanfiction into an American OFMD con instead. We could have made magic :( I did consult with Our Con Means Death though so I am at least a teeny tiny bit of that one!

I did not like the way Steven ended… but I do respect the story they were telling and think they told it well.

I’m still sad about it. Steven is still one of my most beloved, it will always be beautiful and great to me, but that experience did and does sully my memories. There is so, so, so, SO much more good than bad from being in that fandom, and I cherish it. And I hope, if you’re having this experience with OFMD right now, that you’ll find similar comfort.

But, like I said at the top, “it’s okay to not like something but that’s not the same thing as it being bad” has been belabored already by people better at writing about it than me. I just had the incredible privilege to remember my brush with lower case T trauma and having that experience in my last REALLY big deal fandom. That’s why I had been so extra anxious about being disappointed. Because it happened to me before. It helped so much to connect those two.

So the finale happens, and it’s actually about twelve hours of me going from “eh, rushed but fun, whole season was great” to “THIS MAYBE IS THE BEST SHOW OF ALL TIME, ACTUALLY!”

BECAUSE THIS SHOW MADE ME CRY OVER IZZY FUCKING HANDS!!!!

They literally told me this was the story they were telling this season. “Men can change” “The end  of piracy” “Ed leaving Blackbeard behind (ish).”

As for me? I didn’t get an apology for the fish. Instead, I got “Sorry I was a dick.” “You weren’t a dick. Life’s a dick.”

Just… fuckity BAM. THREE FUCKING SENTENCES resolving that fight. Saying so much in so little.

In real life, should these two men have an actual conversation about this shit? Sure!!! But that’s not how OFMD tells its stories!

It works in symbolism. It works in vibes. It works in an hour’s worth of content into each half-hour episode, and for how much lamenting I have done about the pacing, I would prefer that 100x to having to stretch it out too much.

I have said since March 24, 2022 that OFMD wields anachronism as a weapon. First and foremost, it’s fucking funny, but in addition to that, it’s stating clearly: “This is a fantasy world. This is not real history. This show is about romance (and so much more than that), and the rest is just VIBES!!!”

Sometimes vibes can be historical accuracy. Sometimes vibes can be true emotional poignancy. Sometimes vibes can be Ed finding his sunken leathers in the sea, changing underwater somehow, and coming out of the ocean like the Birth of Fucking Venus, because water and rebirth and mermaids and shit is all very prominent this season. And ALSO, and this is very important! BECAUSE IT LOOKS FUCKING COOL!

I don’t want to do much real Izzy meta here. It’s been said by others, and better than me. But it was telegraphed and it was symbolic – he was the paragon of Traditional Piracy in season 1, for goodness’ sake, and Traditional Piracy is Toxic Masculinity, and he was a part of Blackbeard and Ed had to leave Blackbeard behind (yknow, ish), and he got this ABSOLUTLEY FUCKING LOVELY! storyline about appreciating what a (queer) community can do, and god fucking shit fucking dammit… most of all, best of all (for me), was Buttons landing on Izzy’s grave at the end. Men can change. And Izzy DID!!! He did it for Ed. For love. For community. I am puzzled by “it’s fucked up to use Izzy to further Ed’s storyline” because… this was Ed’s season, in the way that season 1 was Stede’s. And Ed cannot be removed from piracy as a whole (neither can Stede!) so to have this old, set in his ways, coded-queerphobic character blossom to the point he can give this gift to Ed and to piracy… idk man. I just find it so fucking beautiful.

It is okay not to like what they did. It’s okay!!! It’s okay, and it’s okay to mourn, and while it’s not okay to do [insert vile behavior here], it’s okay to carefully examine what you think is “bad writing” vs “what you would have preferred to happen” and give good-faith, textually-based criticism on that.

But I want to remind you over and over and over again, this show works on vibes. It tells its stories leaving many, many, many gaps. There are many things I would have liked to see, and y’know what? I would have told the Izzy story differently. I would have personally done it differently. But it’s not my show! It’s not my show, and I am humbled and delighted to remember that, and to appreciate Our Flag Means Death for what it is and not what it isn’t.

Other words have been written better than I could about the 18 months between seasons 1 and 2 and what that does to us as rabid fans with expectations of how things will go. Millions and millions and millions of words have been written about OFMD, fictional and non, and that is going to color our expectations and experience. We had built it up SO MUCH in our minds and along the way I think some of us forgot (INCLUDING ME!!!) that it is first and foremost about Vibes.

The vibes of Izzy’s death are about rebirth and forgiveness and leaving traditional piracy behind. And he got to die in Ed’s arms, knowing (HAPPILY!) that he had been wrong, and giving Ed the gift of letting him know he is loved, and being a part of something. We had a funeral but we also had a wedding. The only constant is change. Men, piracy, Blackbeard; it all changes. And Izzy found peace in that.

Before my last point, I want to @ myself on things I felt versus realizing in the end it is (I will say it until I’m blue in the face) about vibes.

· I was convinced they left Buttons’ transformation ambiguous because they wanted to leave room for it not having been real. NO!!! It is real, until they decided it isn’t. Magic in the OFMD universe? Fucking why not!!! IT’S SYMBOLIC!!! IT’S IMPORTANT TO ED’S STORYLINE AND THE CENTRAL THESES OF THE SHOW!

· I was unhappy, and still am a little, about the Polycule Situation, but now that I realize Oluwande is Zheng’s Stede… I am less so. The Zheng : Auntie :: Ed : Izzy vibes, btw? Fuckin immaculate.

·        Obviously they touched on Stede/Ed’s “killing people trauma” but I’d reallyyyy like Stede to address it, and even though I think Ed’s is left on a very satisfying note, I’d like him to dip a bit more into it as well. But if they don’t, oh well! It’s not like they ignored it, they just didn’t have a Deep Dive like I Wanted Them To!

· They didn’t deal with Ed throwing Stede’s shit away. They just ignored it! Stede started to collect new trinkets, and I believe that was as much about giving the audience back the old feeling of the Revenge as it was anything important (not to say it wasn’t also important thematically!!!). Just like Ed going back to his leathers is both Extremely Important thematically and about putting Taika back in the leathers because that’s what Blackbeard should be wearing for the epic final scenes for the sake of visually keeping the show consistent. That’s Blackbeard’s uniform.

· Stede’s frilly little outfits my beloved. God I hope they give him back some of his frippery in season 3. I think they will re: cursed suit BUT his journey this season was about something else, so!

· Ed’s stupid little non-profit non-apology, oh my god. It was so funny. And there is a transition from eps 5 to 6 where Ed is back in his leathers and the crew is more comfortable around him. They didn’t have to have him do a Real Apology, it’s implied it was all settled. What was the timeline? A day? DOESN’T MATTER, BABY, VIBES!!!

· Lots more, I’m sure, but now that I’ve tried to let it all go, I’m remembering less of what I wanted and appreciating what I got!

And, last point here, I think it is also very very very important to remember that a lot of people are normal about this show. In fact, WAY more people are normal about this show than aren’t. And that is EXTREMELY! IMPORTANT!!! because otherwise it wouldn’t be profitable and we all know what would happen then. We are the core of it, to be sure. Without word of mouth that stems from our intensity, this show would not be NEARLY as successful as it is. I truly, truly believe that.

But.

Do normies need deeply emotional discussions dissecting the central relationships? No. What normies need is Ed and Stede running dramatically toward each other on the beach and kissing. And I am happy, so fucking happy, to realize that’s what I need too. I’ve got fanworks for the rest.

I love this fucking show and this fucking fandom and its fucking creators so much. Fuck.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part nineteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

-

Finally, finally, finally, after the shopping has been done, and his stupid signature leather jacket has been adjusted, and Genesis has given his final bitchy warning about not acting out of character, finally… Sephiroth can have some peace and quiet.

Some day off! Not that the sparring wasn't great, and the clothes were frankly desperately needed, even if he couldn't make his usual colours fit right. All that aside though, he really needs time to himself! There's still so much to figure out! And he really needs to meditate. He needs to sort himself out! And he also, probably, needs to make use of Shinra's archive and records and study some history.

He also really needs a proper mirror in his little single room apartment. The bathroom mirror isn't enough to appreciate the new clothes. To think he used to hate dressing up formally as Shen Yuan. The difference of a few years as Peak Lord makes! And admittedly, Shen Yuan could've never looked anywhere near as good as Sephiroth in a suit like this. Sephiroth, really, looks just too good. Fit for a thousand magazine covers. Which is fitting because he's pretty sure Sephiroth has been on magazine covers back on earth! Which is kinda weird from this perspective! Famous in another world sounds like a damn isekai light novel title. 

Ah, but then his whole life is a mockery of the genre.

Dropping his shopping bags by the wardrobe and his new coats over its door, Sephiroth throws himself on his couch and sighs, running a hand through his long bangs.

He has clothing, his room still needs some improvements and will never be Qing Jing Peak, but it will do. Those were the easiest things to cover, really, and now that they're done, now that he's spent several hours getting used to this body and how it looks and who he's supposed to be… the world he's now part of…

Is he really just going to be Sephiroth from here on out? Is he supposed to forget PIDW and Binghe and Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Just go on being Sephiroth, and put Shen Qingqiu behind him?

… He really isn't sure he can, actually! In a way, Shen Qingqiu had suited him better than Shen Yuan had. Well, once the OOC restrictions had come off and he was free to be himself, anyway. Being a soldier, a super SOLDIER at that, with alien DNA and the lifeblood of the planet in his guts… 

Resting a hand on his stomach, Sephiroth tugs at the blood red shirt he has on.

It's… really a bit like he's Binghe now. He's an alien hybrid thing here, so it's kind of like being a half demon! Or, ah, weirdly accurate biblical angel? What with the angel wing motif these games have going for themselves… Sephiroth's final form was kinda eldritch, from what he recalls. Wings sticking out every which way. Ridiculous and over the top in a way only Final Fantasy can be!

Damn but he hopes he can grow wings at some point. That would be just so cool, he doesn't even care how ludicrous it would get. The whole thing about wings being cause for existential monster angst is a thing he probably would need to consider, but, seriously. Wings! Yes, please, thank you!

It's the lifeblood of the planet that bothers him the most. Not just because of the oil allegory.

It's also how the local reincarnation cycle works. Though it's more like a spiritual composting rather than straight up reincarnation - but still! The energy pumped into his veins comes from the souls of dead things.

Yeah, he can't ignore that anymore.

Sitting up, Sephiroth gets out of the dress pants he'd bought and the button up shirt, switching back to the more comfortable pyjama pants and t-shirt he started the day with. He takes a moment to put purchases away and tidy his room up to peak Feng Shui before sitting down on his bed.

The energy in his gut is thick, massive and near immovable. He'd read up on Mako as much as there was to be read on his phone. The cycle went something like Lifestream to Mako to Materia - so, in the right conditions, the stuff actually crystallises. So, in a way, Materia is spirit stones! And that's kinda what it feels like in his gut - like his energies are condensing, hardening under pressure… crystallising. Except not into a golden core, nah, just one big shapeless lump of dead-weight-energy.

Well, not on his watch!

Relaxing and breathing in and then slowly out, Sephiroth thinks about all the Cultivation tricks he learned cultivating with damaged spiritual veins and incurable poison. Here he kind of has the opposite problem than with Shen Qingqiu, though - Sephiroth's spiritual veins aren't worn and fragile, they're hardened, like… scar tissue. He really feels a bit burnt on the inside!

Shinra's method was all quantity over quality where it comes to this stuff. Brute forcing their way into a semi-functional magic system, and who cares if it scorches the earth when there's instant profit to be made!

What a truly subtle metaphor.

Well… Shen Qingqiu has worked with worse - and at least there's a lot to work with! So as long as Sephiroth manages to avoid the Qi-deviation of the century, he will have one hell of a golden core! Just gotta not burn himself inside out! No pressure!

Qi Condensation stage - done! He couldn't have done better himself.  Foundation Establishment, however… yeah. Sephiroth really has a great body, but it is not prepared for a Golden Core Formation. His energy flow is all whack.

No wonder he cracked like an egg at the slightest bit of mental pressure… a bit like the original goods Shen Qingqiu, really, with his many Qi-deviations.

Right. Never mind that! He has a lot of work and not all the time in the world, alas. No seclusion training in this world!

Time to get to it.

[luffysprincess]

a/n: this is v selfship coded. also i know it’s not thanksgiving yet but i had this thought the other night and had to write it down. also i can’t wait for thanksgiving dinner. literally drooling rn thinking about it ᡣ𐭩

“Look baby, I’m starting to show.”

You turn to the side in front of the mirror, your hands gently placed on the upper and lower curve of the bump of your belly.

“I’m at that stage where people are going to think I’m getting fat,” you sigh as your husband finally walks up besides you. Shoyo meets your eyes and matches your sigh, except his is because he’s reached his wits end with you.

“What on earth are you talking about? You’re not fat, princess.”

He gestures to the dining room you two previously emerged from as he continues.“It’s Thanksgiving. We’ve all got food babies tonight. I’d actually be a little disappointed if you didn’t. I worked hard on that creamed corn.”

“And it was fucking delicious,” you kiss his cheeks in appreciation, “but stop changing the subject and just pretend with me, Sho.”

“Pretend what?”

“That I’m pregnant. That’s the fun part about having a food baby, looking at your reflection and imagining you’re three months into your pregnancy.” Your hands remain on your stomach, moving around the food bump. “Don’t I look cute?”

“You are one weird woman,” he mumbles but moves behind you anyways. His arms come around your waist and his hands land on yours at the same time he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You look good pregnant. Very cute.”

“Right,” you wink at him in the reflection of the mirror before you.

“Sexy even.” Shoyo pulls you closer by the hips, enjoying the feel of your ass against his front.

“O-oh.”

It’s like holding you threw him out of his post-thanksgiving dinner haze. Feeling your bump, although not real, had him fantasizing about a world where you truly were pregnant. A world where a mini version of you and him was growing. A world where he put that baby into you. Fucked it into you himself. And now he wanted to make that fantasy a reality.

“Shoyo darling, what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Just thinking about you, and me,” you felt him gently kiss the side of your neck, lips dragging downard as he mumbled against your skin, “And me in you.”

“Behave. We’re not home Sho.”

“What if I don’t want to pretend anymore?” he ignored you, “What if you let me put a baby inside you? Right here, right now?”

The controlled front you were putting on was slowly breaking with every word he whispered into your ear. His voice, gravelly and thick with want had your knees trembling. But when he nibbled on your earlobe, careful to avoid your earrings, you almost wanted to take his offer.

That is until Natsu walked out of the kitchen and into the hall looking for you two. Hearing her voice calling you back for dessert woke your conscience up. That’s right. You’re in your in laws house. You absolutely can not fuck your husband against the hallway walls with the family just two doors down.

But Shoyo’s mind has been set, and when he wants something, he’ll get it. It’s how he got you in the first place. So instead of joining your in laws for dessert, Shoyo yells out something about you feeling sick and pulls you out to the car with him.

The drive home is fast and maybe he runs past one or two red lights. It’s not his fault, he just really really needs to get home right now. There’s a part of him that desperately needs to be inside you.

You ask him about the dessert he’ll be missing out on—you know his favorite part of the holiday is the cherry pie and ice cream—but he just waves it off with some comment about how he’ll be having a different type of dessert tonight.

And dessert he did have, because filling you up over and over again just wasn’t enough for him. He had to taste himself from your sweet hole before starting all over again. He was determined.

Tonight he would get you pregnant.

[decemebercircus]

Ping list : @jellypouches , Also tagging @shironakuronatasa, @m1dnight-artisan, and @happydeertraveler because they requested it. You will be tagged for all the parts. (There are two left)

If anyone else wishes to be pinged I will reblog this in the near future. Let me know in the comments section so you can be tagged on the reblog on Tumblr.,

This is only part 1 so be warned there will be future pings.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃⍟❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

Don't Blame Me, Love made me Crazy (if it Doesn't You ain't Doing it Right)

Based on Tumblr posts by Ventique18 concerning Malleus and a father's day joke.

I am a bit late but here is the promised fanfiction of Malleus's response.

First of as much as I like Malleus's character I'm not ( in my personal opinion) very good at writing him. However I decided to wing it since I said I was gonna do this story anyway.

Credit to @ventique18 on Tumblr ( I forgot your AO3 name I apologize).

Malleus x Yuusona even though I'm no good at those type stories.

Likewise chapter 1 of this fic is short and has no NSFW content. But chapter 2 will have sexual content so be warned.

Inspired by: Father's Day tease by Ventique18

Alternative Response here

STORY:

"Good morning Tsunotaro... Happy Father's Day!" Andromeda smiled at him. Her cinnamon brown skin, especially her hands, looked like it had golden glitter on it. Today she was wearing her birthday gift from last year: a dark indigo dress with bishop sleeves and a asymmetrical mermaid style skirt that trailed on the floor. The rounded, puffy cowl layer at the waist also had the pale green vine detail. She sat on a chair and made herself comfortable.

He paused as if mentally saying "MalleusDraconia.exe has stopped working due to an error. Would you like to restart?"

It was a meaningless joke, even given they were in an intimate relationship. But they loved each other enough to appreciate each other's efforts to be ~~shameless~~ a playful tease. She was about to drop her punchline, when she was stopped by his astonished face.

Correction: astonished face decorated with a single tear down his cheek.

"oh-- No, I-- I didn't intend for you to tear up-- It's--only" she started.

Malleus knelt in front of her clasping her hands: "Are you pregnant?"

'Ah fuck…'

She began chuckling awkwardly: "Haha, Now listen, I--"

"That's good! I'm not alone in the world anymore. Though I have my grandmother, there has always been a nagging emptiness inside me that I could not fill."

Well, that was heavy. Panic welled in her chest. She felt completely torn, so much, she was sure she had a headache. Because she was, in fact, not pregnant.

"Perhaps it's simply overcompensating for being orphaned, but I've always wished for a family of my own. Wished, and despaired. Despaired that no one in this world would actually want to be with me." He continued.

"Umm. Tsu- Tsunotaro," she blushed. Now that he poured out his feelings she felt the joke was cruel.

"But now, you're here with me. I would have been content with just you and me."

"Oh But you..! Today You're telling me... A product of our love..." He carried on over her comment.

"Funny story about that, Malleus…." She tried again.

'Finally... Another blessing in my wretched life…' he nestled against her breast quite comfortably and she sweatdropped.

"-alleus!"

"Malleus!"

Alarmed at the concern in her tone he snapped out of his reverie.

"Ah!? Yes, what is it?" He startled, then collected himself.

" I've been trying to get your attention for ten minutes, I'm surprised you zoned out so quickly," she said, pushing a a lock of her curly black mane of hair off her shoulder.

"Tsunotaro... Darling... Love of my life..." She started nervously.

"Yes? Is there something you want? You may have it of course, anything for you and the child's happiness," he responded without batting an eyelash.

She startled. "I'm. Not. actually w-with child," she breathed and he hugged her tighter before letting her go. She blinked tearfully at his disappointed expression.

He dried her eyes. Not many tears had fallen but she had gotten worked up wondering how he'd react.

Gulping silently she tried to put the conversation on a lighter note.

"But! but–! You know my Roar Roar Drago? The one we bought and paired as your Tamagotchi's wife?" She grabbed her tamagotchi off her desk.

He inclined his head to show he still heard her. "Um, it just so happens that she's pregnant, even though I am not."

His expression was oddly neutral as if trying to settle an emotion to be for the rest of the day and coming up empty. She laughed nervously. "Sorry for getting your hopes up, I'm really bad at jokes you know…."

The heavy silence was only broken by the beeping of their duo Roar Roar Dragos asking to be fed.

Finally Malleus had a response.

"Ah I see it was one of your jokes." He commented and she went rigid.

"Y-yup one of my poor jokes that aren't actually funny, you're welcome to get even as you see fit," she rambled as she fidgeted with her engagement ring.

Malleus had an unnatural momentary glint in his eyes. "Indeed. I shall think about my response," he said smoothly.

"Well…There aren't any clouds in the sky…" she noted looking out the window. "I'd say that went over pretty well,"

Endnotes:

Andromeda [formerly known as Redacted]

She shares her height with Azul and Cater (176 cm)

Her concept is a conglomeration of Vanessa (both 1959 Little Mermaid and 2023 Live-Action adaptation), Belle (Beauty and the Beast), Tiana (Princess and the Frog)

I was gonna put Andromeda in a recolor version of Maleanor Draconia's dress.

(I hate that I fucking struggled to spell that. And TwstEN added more letters….) But I looked again at ALL the details of the silver parts and quit.

I still did the dress, just… budget version.

Before you go!

The fic is also available on Ao3 under my pseudo name YourGildedCage, similar to one of my Tumblr alternate accounts. That way the fic can be downloaded if desired (when it's complete of course).

The link is here:

Chapter 2 will be up soon!

[w8lkers]

★ | freak

carl grimes x fem!reader

note : not my best writing, but i liked the concept :P does not follow the canon.

warnings : the insult “freak”

new outsiders were recently welcomed into the community of alexandria. a group of outsiders, consisting of seven people in total. to carl, one of them was more noticeable than the rest. it was a girl and she also appeared to be missing an eye. that’s what carl assumed anyways, why else would someone wear a bandana over half their face?

he was shocked that her first words to him were “what are you staring at, freak”.

hearing that question almost stunned him into silence. almost.

all he could possibly muster up was an awkward sounding, “um- what?”. by the heat on his face, he could tell that there was an embarrassing amount of red on his face. this was far from his best first impression.

carl avoided her from then on, realising she might’ve needed some space to adjust to alexandria. maybe he could’ve stared at her less… but he couldn’t help but feel a bit offended by their first encounter, it left a sour taste left in his mouth every time he thought about it. it was both a humiliating and upsetting experience for carl. he didn’t mean to stare at her, he just couldn’t help be a little curious. the only person carl ever saw without an eye was the governor, the reason he refused to wear anything other than a bandage over his eye.

as the other members of the group got more acquainted with alexandria, carl was able to learn more about her - not from her directly of course, but from the other members of her group. he learnt her name was y/n. it was a pretty name, he thought so at least. carl also learnt that she lost her mother recently. that information had him awake for a couple nights, unable to sleep at the recurring thoughts of his own mother’s death. carl understood that pain.

he was slowly understanding why she was so hostile to him. when carl lost his mom, it consumed him. every waking minute was spent hearing her screams on a torturous loop in his mind. that kind of loss makes a person angry at the world and hungry for revenge, sometimes people become blinded by it. he knows he’s had his fair share of moments that he wished he could forget.

there was still the question on how to approach y/n. despite her appalling first impression, he was still curious enough to want to talk to her and clearly observing her from afar was the wrong way to go about it. carl went through multiple different scenarios in his mind, all the different ways he could approach her. more sleepless nights burdened carl’s evenings as he spent them debating with himself over what to say.

one day, he became fed up with thinking about it. his lack of sleep was beginning to show through some passive aggressive comments that rick certainly did not appreciate.

carl marched up to y/n, who was sat on the porch of the house her group had been given. unfortunately, his confidence dissipated the moment he met her eye.

“um-.. i-“ he barely got anything out before y/n interrupted him. she blurted out a question, an uncomfortable expression across her face.

“how did you lose your eye?”

it took carl a few seconds to gather his composure. yet again, another interaction with her that has taken an unexpected turn. at least she didn’t call him a freak this time.

“i got shot.” he doesn’t know what else to say, but he purposefully leaves out anymore detail. it wouldn’t be a good look for alexandria if he said he was shot by an.. ex-resident. there’s an awkward pause and the two just staring at each other. carl can tell there’s something else she wants to ask, but he almost doesn’t want to ask in case she insults him again. he’s rather have some of his dignity intact at the end of their interaction.

it takes y/n an almost unbearable amount of silence to ask, “do you have any spare bandages?”

“um.. yeah, but you could go to the infirmary, we have supplies here- i can show you how to get there if you want?” he’s mostly confused by the question and seeing her wrap her arms around herself in an almost defensive manner furthered his confusion.

“nice try. i’m not leaving the house empty, so someone can come and snoop through our stuff.”

some people took longer to trust alexandria, he understood her current mindset. hell, he’d been there himself.

“look, no one here is after you. it’s not as bad as you think it is and the people here aren’t going to hurt you, if you just give this place more of a chance-“ interrupted yet again.

“i’ve heard this speech from almost everyone here, i don’t need to hear it again.” she was annoyed. this wasn’t going as well as carl wanted it to.

“sorry..” carl mumbles, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. he looks back at y/n and she’s still looking at him. it was slightly unnerving, carl had no idea what to expect from her. another insult, or maybe another personal question.

“i can go get you bandages and come back..?” his voice sounded slightly hesitant, though his offer was genuine.

y/n’s eye narrowed slightly in suspicion, yet carl was unphased by it. he expected her to be guarded, the people she arrived with certainly cautioned the people at alexandria about the attitude she developed.

“really?” she sounded unsure, as if she couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

“sure.. yeah.” he has a small, slightly weary smile on his face that looks more like a wince to y/n.

“okay.” y/n looks down at the ground, her voice becoming quieter as she speaks again, “thank you..”

“yep.” carl spins on his heel and walks away from her, quickening the pace of his walk in the direction of the infirmary. he lets out a deep sigh of relief, it wasn’t going as badly as it could, but he still felt slightly on edge.

“here.” carl tosses each item he retrieved from the infirmary to y/n and she catches them, placing them down in her lap.

“thanks.”

“you’re welcome.” carl smiles hesitantly at her.

“cool..” y/n mumbles, looking down at the roll of bandages, a roll of medical tape and a few plasters.

“have you ever put a bandage over.. your eye? i know i struggled the first few times i had to do it.” carl is reluctant to stop talking to her, strangely she was pleasant to be around when she wasn’t insulting him.

“no, i’ll figure it out though.”

“are you sure? i don’t mind helping you-“

“no.”

“i get it, okay? you don’t trust us yet, but we’re good people. i just want to help, whatever’s under there isn’t anything i haven’t seen before.” carl gains a little more confidence in himself and his words, he stands a bit straighter - he’s determined to prove her wrong about alexandria.

y/n spends a few seconds digesting his words. on the one hand, she could be mean and he’d leave her alone, but on the other hand, she knew she needed help. her mother was the one who tied the bandana over her eye once the wound she had healed. she never took it off after that, but the members of her group began lecturing her about ‘appearances’. the bandana was torn, dirty and even seemed to be charred at some parts.

“come inside.”

carl follows her inside the house. the group had clearly started to decorate their home a bit and carl takes note of the photographs on the wall. unfamiliar faces that he couldn’t recall seeing with the group and he knew why.

“so, how did you lose your eye?” carl asks, following y/n into a bathroom.

“i lost it in a fight with a hungry squirrel.” her voice was nonchalant and carl almost thought she was serious for a second.

he chuckles and stands by the bathroom counter, unravelling the bandages, “you’re funny. how’d you lose it?”

“the world is full of rotten people.”

“not alexandria though, there’s good people here.” carl glances over at y/n as she slowly unties the knot holding the bandana in place around her head. she pulls the fabric away from her face and she turns her head slightly to try shield her eye from carl’s vision.

“you really like it here, huh?” y/n almost sounds bitter about it. he could see why. carl was comfortable, he felt safe in alexandria, but y/n was most likely feeling the opposite.

“yeah, it’s nice here..” carl lifts the bandages and wraps it around y/n’s head to measure the length he would need. using a small pair of scissors he cuts the bandage into a strip long enough to wrap around her head, “i like it at least, it takes some time to get used to though.”

“i got stabbed.. that’s how i lost it.” y/n speaks quietly, looking up at carl once she knew she couldn’t avoid it. he needed to put a plaster over eye, he was going to see it, so she might as well tell the truth.

“people don’t think about it as much as you’d think,” carl speaks as he puts a plaster over her eye, he had seen the damage, “my dad tells me the same thing, but it’s hard to believe someone when their eyes keep going from your eye to.. not your eye.”

y/n laughs. it was more of a chuckle, but it still brought a smile to carl’s face. he didn’t comment about it, but instead revelled in the moment for a few seconds. he worked in silence as he helped y/n secure the bandage over her missing eye. he didn’t mind the silence much, at least now that he knew she didn’t hate him.

“i’m sorry i called you a freak.”

carl smiles at her apology. he didn’t expect her to apologise, but he clearly underestimated her, “it’s water under the bridge.”

he was nice, y/n knew that. it almost felt too nice after the experiences she had with strangers before arriving at alexandria.

“there’s still good people left. i know everything inside you is probably telling you not to trust this place, but it’s safe here.” carl pauses for a few minutes, trying to find the right words to say, “a few people might say some wrong thing, but it’s not on purpose. sometimes.. they just don’t know better, but they mean well...”

“okay.”

“i’m carl by the way.”

“i’m y/n.”

“i know.” the words slip out of carl’s mouth before he can stop himself. the last thing he wanted to do was come across as a creep, “sorry- i just overheard janine talking about you.”

“cool.. thanks for the help.”

carl now has a genuine smile on his face, it didn’t look uncomfortable and forced this time. he nods at her and tidies up the the supplies he used, putting them into the cupboard.

“you know.. there’s gonna be a party.. thing? it’s at the end of the week, but alexandria throws them every time there’s new people..” carl pauses and then continues talking, “it’s not really a party, but the last time they had one here was when me and my group arrived. you should go.”

“i’ll think about it.”

she very obviously didn’t trust him yet, but it seemed like she was trying. her behaviour may come across as abrasive and cold, but it was nothing carl hadn’t seen before. eventually she would have to warm up to him, right?

“cool.”

[writingtraumaforever]

Sonadowtober Day 1: “I found you, Faker!”

Okay! So I know it’s November 1st. But I’m feeling super angsty, and I just joined tumblr a few days ago. So I joined right as all this Sonadowtober stuff was ending and I WANNA DO SOME!! So I will continue to unapologetically write these prompts despite them being late. Sorry not sorry.

Though.. I may be a little sorry for this one. c:0

TW: major character death, depression, grief

Summary: What if Shadow didn’t get to watch Sonic grow old??..

Oneshot:

He never thought about this.

It never even entered his mind.

When Sonic and Shadow made the choice to commit to one another all those years ago, it was understood that it was a win-lose situation. Sonic would grow old and Shadow would stay with him through it and eventually watch him pass with time, grateful for the moments they shared and the love they created.

The adventures they had.

Shadow would lose Sonic, but carry him in his heart forever. A lesson Maria taught him.

Sonic was never taught that lesson.

Sonic has lived in blissful assumption that he’d be the one to go. That he wouldn’t have to live without Shadow. He’d die of old age with Shadow holding him in his sleep and his face buried in his partner’s chest fur and the scent of lavender lulling him to an after life of peace.

But here he is at the ripe age of fifty…

And the monument reads ‘Shadow the Hedgehog’.

His eyes are lifeless. He doesn’t worry about being recognized. No one would spot him like this, so drained and broken. And even if they did, they wouldn’t dare approach..

His ears are folded back against his quills. His quills are longer and duller in color from maturity, going from a cobalt blue to a more muted, dark, cornflower blue. His muzzle is scruffy, the tan fur having messy tufts here and there.. Shadow no longer being around to lick and groom them neat. And Sonic doesn’t bother without him..

Emerald eyes that use to shine with adventure and the promise of tomorrow are now dimmed to orbs that hold no reason. No joy.

He’s never experienced this kind of loss. Even when he has watched other pass into another life, it was always euphoric or riddled with closure and peace.

Shadow’s death was sudden. Unexpected.

Sonic could still see his face. The way the world stopped moving. The way Shadow’s gaze immediately searched out Sonic’s. The way Shadow looked so much like he wanted to speak. Reach out. Say something. Touch him. Even in his final moment, Shadow was just trying to get to Sonic..

There were no words though. No moment of goodbyes where Sonic got to hold his beloved in his arms, cradle him as Shadow weakly smiled up at him and assured him everything would be alright. That they’d meet again someday. That Sonic had to keep going for him. Take care of himself.

No. Anything that hadn’t been instant wouldn’t have been able to kill the Ultimate Lifeform.

Anything less than abrupt and sudden wouldn’t have been sufficient enough to do him in. Shadow was the epitome of perfection. He was powerful. He would’ve gotten through. Would’ve healed. Would’ve recovered.

No. Instead, all Sonic got was a moment of realization. An instant of the two fastest beings alive in the world being able to share a fragment of time measuring less of a second where they knew this was it. Nothing would stop what was coming.

He got a look.

He got a glance.

He got Shadow’s eyes going wide and filling with dread. Not a smile of reassurance. Not peace with his death.

No. Shadow was regretting the fact he wouldn’t get to take care of Sonic anymore.

Shadow was hating himself for not being more careful. For leaving Sonic alone.

Sonic wasn’t fast enough.

And Shadow was gone.

He stares at the memorial.

He had to fight with himself to come here. He hadn’t shown up for the grand reveal. The ceremony. He couldn’t.

It wasn’t for any of those people anyway. It was for him. And maybe that’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t care. They didn’t know Shadow. They didn’t love and appreciate him how he should have been. They only wanted him when they needed him. Sonic always needed him. Even before he wanted him.

‘Shadow the Hedgehog: The Ultimate Lifeform’

That’s all they knew of him. What they made him to be. Not who he was. Not all of him.

It makes Sonic more angry than anything. Honestly, that may not be the worst thing. At least he’s feeling something.

He’ll be okay. It’s all still fresh, he’s broken. Freshly butchered into shattered pieces and unsure what he’s suppose to do now. Where he’s suppose to go from here. What his endgame is anymore.

But time will heal.

It’s a hard battle: time. But it’s doable.

There’s moments of hardship where Sonic wonders if any of this is worth it. If he even wants to be in a world anymore without Shadow. If he even wants adventures anymore if they can’t be shared with his other half.

But he has his friends. Gaia knows without them he wouldn’t have made it far.

Sonic eventually has the strength to pack up and move… and it’s an experience.

Sonic had moved to the guest room after Shadow’s death. Unable to sleep in their bed alone, he moved to the lumpier, smaller one for one miserable night before realizing that he couldn’t possibly sleep there and he moving back in with Tails and his little family. Tails didn’t mind. Anything to help Sonic cope. And Tails’ wife and two adopted kiddos love Sonic. Kept him occupied.. his mind busy with them rather than death. This works for a long time. A little over a year, in fact.

Eventually, though, he does return to his and Shadow’s home.. only to pack up things to move out. He won’t sell it. He can’t. But he can’t live there either. And he can’t stay in Tails’ workshop forever so.. moving it is.

Inevitably, this means Sonic has to deal with Shadow’s belongings as well.

He wears his clothes again, smells his scent for the first time in a long time due to him not touching any of it. Keeping it closed and put away. Shut out. Untouched and unbothered. Still the exact same as Shadow left it all despite everything being different.

But change was inevitable, adjustments needed to be made. And Sonic couldn’t dwell in a home anymore that was meant to be shared.

During this adjustment, Sonic finds Shadow’s journal one day..

It’s filled with entries about Maria.. entries about his nightmares. About how helpless he was. About how he’s suppose to be the Ultimate Lifeform and yet he wasn’t enough to save her..

The entries of nightmares dwindle into entries about his past. Pieces being put together. Then more about his present. His hobbies, things he enjoys.

There’s ones about Sonic. How Sonic confuses Shadow. How he’s annoying and awful and unbearable, but then that’s immediately followed up with ‘must continue thorough and close observation of blue hedgehog’ and Sonic can’t help but smirk and chuckle to himself at Shadow’s oblivious crush.

Entries of Rouge and their missions. Entries of more flashbacks here and there, pieces still being filled after years of waking up again.

‘The blue hedgehog smiles at me too much. I hate when he smiles. It makes my insides twist, and I instantly feel like I could be ill.’

‘Rouge brought home more stollen jewels today. Her unyielding loyalty to her thievery is admirable.’

‘Omega shot me in the leg by accident. He insists it was my fault because he isn’t programmed to make mistakes. I told him the same for myself and then shot him in the leg as well. He found this acceptable. We’re now even.’

‘I ran into the blue faker today. He winks too much.. I’m beginning to wonder if our chaos energy doesn’t mingle well. My muzzle grows heated and my heart hurts with how hard it beats in my chest when he stands close to me. Why does he think he can stand close to me???’

‘Rose invited me over to teach me how to make macaroons today. The texture is interesting. We even made lavender ones. Turns out, lavender doesn’t taste as good as it smells. Like an off-vanilla… the coffee ones were best. Recipe as follows—‘

‘The faker came over today. He asked me to go to lunch with him. I hate him.’

Sonic snorts at that, his smile wide as he reads through the entries. Reading Shadow slowly realize he’s in love with him. Reading Shadow slowly realize he’s gonna be okay. Reading Shadow slowly realize he doesn’t need to remember who he once was, just figure out who he’s gonna be from here on despite all he’s lost. Despite how it sometimes feels too hard to go on.

Maria would want him to.

And so would Sonic.

Sonic cries for a long time that day..

Life goes on.

Sonic moves into an apartment since he isn’t home much anyway. Amy likes it because when he is home, he’s in the city like her and she can visit him often. Sonic likes the company. She takes care of him. She never really hasn’t since he’s known her, honestly.

Sonic goes on adventures still. Even when he’s so old he gets cramps from running, he doesn’t quit. He stays in shape the best he can. He watches his friends grow up. Their families grow. Their lives flourish. It’s everything Sonic ever wanted for all of them.. happiness.

But Shadow isn’t there, so it’s never complete. Never filled full. Never perfect.

Sonic and Amy eventually move in together when Sonic’s adventures aren’t doable anymore. It’s easier that way once they’re older. They take care of one another and have adventures in the city. They’re two of the most rambunctious old people one could ever meet. True hoots.

They have their routines. Sonic waking up and going out for a walk while Amy sleeps in in her room, and every time he comes back, breakfast is ready for him at the table with her sipping her tea by the window with a book. Every Monday is yoga. Every Wednesday is Amy’s book club. Every Thursday is Sonic’s cooking lessons with Cream. Every Friday is the day they get together with their friends and have dinner and game night at someone’s house— typically Knuckles’ and Rouge’s since it’s the biggest. They’re a lively bunch of geezers. But Sonic is happy.

He is..

He thinks about this as he goes to bed one night.. brushing his teeth and wishing Amy goodnight before going to his room to call it quits for the day.

He lays there watching the sky outside the window near his bed. The stars are too dim due to the city lights, but the moon is there.

He fiddles with the inhibitor rings Shadow once wore— having kept them since his death and carrying them everywhere as a comfort of sorts— a content smile on his face as he sighs and shuts his eyes.

He’s had a good life.

Not the best. Not perfect. But it’s been good and real. And he’s happy. He’s been happy for a long time.

Shadow would be proud..

He’d be happy for him.

He’d be—

“Of all places..”

Sonic’s lips part with a quiet gasp, his heart stopping and leaping straight up into his throat, “I found you..”

“…Took you long enough.”

Sonic’s eyes open, looking up to see Shadow standing there with a small quirk of his brow and unimpressed look at Sonic.

Sonic smirks in response, slow and easy, “I wasn’t aware it was a race.”

“Hmph,” Shadow huffs, arms crossing as he cocks his head at the blue hedgehog, “I was under the assumption that everything was a race to you.”

Sonic moves a hand to push off the ground, standing himself up with ease and no aching knees or back, “Yeah? Well you know what they say about people who assume.”

Sonic’s smirk stays. Cocky and filled with anticipation. His toes are tapping on the grass under his feet.

Shadow’s eyes narrow, looking at Sonic a long moment as if to just take him in. Observe him. Size him up.

And then his muzzle curls upward, a slow smile growing on his lips as he shakes his head and looks down with a chuckle.

Sonic beams as he watches him, feeling elated and floaty inside. Itching to touch. To reach. To feel.

Shadow looks back to him, an endearing smile on his face as he gazes at his other half, “…C’mere.”

Sonic doesn’t hesitate. A small gust of wind and Sonic’s body is pressed firm and tight to Shadow’s. Tan arms wrap tight over the ebony hedgehog’s shoulders, squeezing him hard and desperate. Not a breath of air between them.

Shadow just chuckles low in his ear and hugs him right back, arms around his waist and bare fingers rubbing through Sonic’s back quills soothingly. Sonic melts into him. Safe. Secure.

Home.

“I’ve missed you..,” Sonic whispers quietly through tears, feeling Shadow’s kiss press and hold to his temple.

“I’ve missed you,” Shadow murmurs against his fur, his ruby eyes shutting as he clings to Sonic a bit tighter.

He’s so tender with his touches. As if Sonic is so delicate. So fragile. Like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time he couldn’t mend him himself..

His hand rubs along Sonic’s back quills while the other moves to cup the side of Sonic’s head and cradle it to hide Sonic’s face against Shadow’s neck protectively.

Sonic just nuzzles against him, rubbing into him and sighing shaky as silent tears fall and tiny sniffles come from him.

“You’ve done so good, darling..,” Shadow says quietly into his ear, a whimper croaking from Sonic.

He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear that..

“But it’s time for you to come with me..”

Sonic’s head lifts then, looking at Shadow and nodding profusely, “Yes—“ he reaches a hand up to wipe at his own tears as he continues, “Yes, please.”

Shadow hums a chuckle at that, smiling sympathetically as he moves his hand rubbing Sonic’s back to cradle his opposing cheek. Bow cupping Sonic’s face in his hands so delicately, he presses their foreheads together, “I’m so proud of you, hedgehog..”

Sonic sniffles, taking a slow breath and sighing it out as he looks at Shadow achingly sweetly.

Shadow’s head tilts to press an ever so small kiss to Sonic’s lips, Sonic returning it on instinct and longing.

It’s been so long..

They part their kiss and Shadow pulls away to instead simply take Sonic’s hand in his and give a small squeeze,

“Let’s go home..”

“I’ll race you there.”

[aeligsido]

[WM] Prompt 24 — Kid fic.

Rating: G.

TW: Snape being his delightful self.

Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Maeve Lupin (OC), Severus Snape, Fleur Delacour, Ginny Weasley.

Additional Tags: Maeve is Remus’ adopted daughter, she’s also a baby werewolf, Snape has beef with a seven year old and is losing, bigotry, slur I guess?, this awkward moment when you went to prison and your fiance got himself a kid and now you don’t know what your relationship is anymore, Sirius and Remus are both dads, OotP, a bit of Fleur appreciation bc i love her.

Summary: Sirius watches as Fleur and Maeve excitedly talk.

Words count: 813.

A/N: Missing Scene for a fic I haven't written yet lmao. I hope you like it! ❤️

@wolfstarmicrofic

—

Sirius watches as Fleur and Maeve excitedly talk, the little girl making large hand gestures all the while. Fleur joining the Order is surprisingly not surprising, considering what happened just short of two months ago — she barely even took the time to go back to her own country before signing up. And she’s good with kids, never making Maeve feel less because of her young age, which can only endear her to Sirius.

Molly is busying herself in the kitchen once again; her children are scattered around, Ron looking more and more annoyed each time they remind him he can’t tell Harry anything. Ginny doesn’t exactly look better either. The twins are talking to each other in low tones, seemingly unaware of the world around them; Sirius knows better for seeing them react to anyone coming a bit too close to their private discussion. Bill is alternating between trying to help his mother and looking at Fleur with a look in his eyes Sirius knows well.

Remus is drinking his tea beside him, his gaze fixed on Maeve as well. She laughs, and she sounds just like Remus when they were young and invincible. She doesn’t have his hair nor his eyes, or even anything of him, yet she is so jarringly his daughter all the same.

Maeve Lupin, taking their old heart hostage since 1993 and onward. Sirius smiles into his own tea.

Snape suddenly comes in like a bat out of hell (and who should have stayed here). He sneers, his usual expression when in the presence of anything breathing. His sudden arrival stops all motion in the room — even Molly turns around with a new tension in her shoulders — except, of course, for Maeve who somehow manages to not notice him. One of her wide hand gestures ends up with her bumping into Snape, and she blinks owlishly at him as she realizes his presence.

“Oops. Sorry!”

Remus puts down his cup, watching the exchange carefully. Sirius feels ready for a fight. Snape sneers some more.

“Should learn to leash the beast,” he says, and Sirius sees red; Maeve straightens up, scowling, and wonderfully unphased.

“You’re mean and ugly and still wear the same robes than two years ago!”

Remus snorts, a low sound nobody else probably caught. Snape opens his mouth to answer; Sirius has already silenced him.

“Don’t fucking talk to my daughter like that.”

Snape glares and glares and glares some more; then, with a dramatic swish of his cape and a last sneer, he disappears into the corridor.

“Why he's so mean anyways?” Maeve huffs, still scowling, and Sirius hates seeing her like that — she’s a child, she should smile and laugh and be happy.

“Oh, he's just a jealous dick,” comments Ginny, ignoring her mother’s following reprobation to wink at them.

Maeve thinks it over. “Because I'm smart and pretty and he's not?”

“The smartest and the prettiest,” confirms Sirius, and things suddenly feel a bit lighter.

-

When they had to move into Grimmauld Place, the first room they cleaned up and decorated and otherwise made sure looked just right was Maeve’s.

Despite the clutter expected from a seven year old, the room is still clean and perfectly lived-in in a way his parents would have hated. Not enough control, probably.

Technically, Sirius has no reason to be here and kiss Maeve goodnight, but he’ll be damned if he misses it for anything. Maybe it keeps making things weird between him and Remus, because truthfully they still have no idea where they stand with each other, and Maeve calling them both her fathers is delightful and not helping at all. But he'll do it all the same.

That night, Remus grabs his hand as they exit her room and close the door behind them; there’s a look in his eyes, fond and hopeful and a little bit of something else, too, that Sirius recognizes so well.

“You called her your daughter,” he says.

Sirius thinks back to the scene in the kitchen. “I did.” He never had before; Remus is the one who adopted her, not him.

For a few seconds, Remus doesn't say anything, absentmindedly playing with Sirius’ fingers instead; he looks almost shy, as if trying to find his words and failing, and it reminds Sirius of their first year at Hogwarts when Remus was still so afraid of everything.

“I liked it,” he finally admits, and Sirius catches him blushing, and he can’t stop smiling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius lifts his hand to Remus’ cheek; in the dim light of the corridor, he looks just the same as when he kissed him for the first time.

“Good. I don’t plan to stop.”

Remus nods, squeezing his hand before dropping it, offering him a bit of his space back; instead, Sirius bends down and kisses his cheek.

(Maybe they’ll be alright, in the end.)

[kas-e]

The greatest canvas is the one just outside. The world is mad, frustrated, fighting, at war, but I essentially bowed out of the mainstream years ago. Since then I've been living in a little city in a strange region tucked in the valley beside a beautiful mountain range. It's been years now, and my life in America has all but faded from the rearview, all that remains is this tiny dot on the horizon that if I squint hard enough I might be able to make out what it is - but honestly, I don't care enough to strain my eyes.

The so-called friends and family gave up communications around a year ago. It's always been a flimsy connection anyway, so at least I saw that coming. At least my mother still responds sometimes. I'm not looking for pity, it's just the way it is. Reality.

When I was 19 years old I was involved in a horrible tragedy, at which time every person in my life turned their backs on me. Every last one. For a year I heard from nobody, I was hung up on, ignored, and just flat out told to fuck off. I was trying to get myself clean, and there were some months where I was institutionalized. The white walls still haunt me sometimes... but I remember trying to wrap my head around what was going on. The memory is vivid and piercing. Like it was yesterday, despite the fact that it was 25 years ago. It was the greatest lesson of my life.

It was when I realized that I was indeed alone in this life. Every man, and I would imagine plenty of women, come to this conclusion at some point in their life. Some of us are lucky enough to have family, friends, even love. But ultimately, we are alone. When tragedy strikes, this is revealed. The fair-weather friends disappear, and sometimes the family does too. But this doesn't make me sad anymore. It's just a black and white fact of life. Instead it gives me a sense of peace, because with the acceptance of this, I've grown and nurtured a love for myself that is now substantial enough to weather many heavy storms. Furthermore, now, when I do have love, or simply people in my life, I am very grateful for their presence, and it's easier to love and appreciate them back. Now, it's effortlessly reciprocal, whereas before sometimes it was one-sided.

My point of writing all of this is just to remind you, again, that the greatest canvas is just outside. The visions that nature gives us, for free, every day, are mere steps away. This is why I'm a photographer. This is why I shoot incessantly, and have for the past two decades. I'm trying to grab those fleeting moments of beauty and glory, one by one, and present them to whoever wants to see them.

I hope that you enjoy my work as much as I love creating it. Someone once told me that the sun sets and rises every single day, it's our choice if we want to be there for it. Ever since hearing that, I make it a point to be there every chance I have.

Next trip is southern Italy in a few weeks. Can't wait to get out there, and get some good sessions in before the cold grey winter of Eastern Europe sets in for the season.

Peace & Prosperity.

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Grannies - Part 4 (Finale)

Summary: Gordon's committed to the bit. The bit just happens to be an obnoxious amount of granny squares.

A/N- In the finale: warning for a bit of whump. Whole lotta love though. Words for this part come to 2K.

Part 1 here | Part 2 here | Part 3 here | AO3

Thank yous: craftyfam, patient readers, my yarn stash for inspiration, Kat for the read through and assuring me this was post ready. FFXIV I can't thank you because you are a menace and a distraction no matter how much I love you.

*****

Part 4: Finale

Because Gordon never goes half-assed into anything, Virgil is still finding granny squares. 

He has to keep reminding himself that he appreciates Gordon’s dedication. He actually relies on this part of his brother’s character. Frequently, in fact. 

But as he pries a stray granny square out of his sock drawer and tosses it into the project basket housing its companions, Virgil has to roll his eyes. Fondly of course. In the project management world, they call this scope creep - with no real end in sight, the project keeps getting bigger and more involved, and it’s all too easy for it to just keep living on indefinitely. But then, Gordon is one big Scope Creep anyway since he was never one for boundaries in the first place. 

His definition of an appropriate time to stop was very different from Virgil’s. 

At this point, the new square isn’t anything Virgil hasn’t seen before. He knows by now what to expect from Gordon’s work. And, honestly, it’s just like Gordon to somehow manage to desensitize Virgil away from everything he knows about color theory, however briefly. So, neither the presence of the piece of fabric nor the color combination provides any shock value anymore. 

What it does do is remind him that he’s got his own project balancing to do. That of actually… you know… finishing the damn thing. And figuring out what to do with the rest of the squares, he reminds himself as he slides on his socks and laces up his boots for the day. 

The newest acquisition - two rounds of golden yellow followed by two rounds of aubergine purple and a final in white - doesn’t look as visually discordant alongside its peers, the scrambled rainbow they are.  They are all the ones that didn’t make the cut for Gordon’s afghan, the  squares Virgil keeps finding anew, and inevitably the future ones Gordon will continue to make until he receives another lightning strike of an idea.

Right beside it is a second project basket. Gordon likes a big blanket, so enough squares to fit a king sized bed are already packed up and labeled in their sequential order. As he’s had time, Virgil has started sewing them together based on the design Scott helped with. There’s enough space still for him to store the bolt of fabric John helped him find too, once it finally arrives. 

Virgil’s grateful for their help, and their part in the project has made it just that bit more special. He hopes Gordon feels that way too. It took Scott reminding him that it wasn’t his own aesthetic he was trying to please for the design to come together. Otherwise, Virgil has no doubt what he would’ve designed would’ve been lesser for his own misery trying to force order into chaos. 

Somehow, with the power of math, Scott’s perspective on patterns and probability and randomization had been just the ticket. Gordon also probably hadn’t realized just how many squares he’d made that started with the shade of yellow or orange or his typical bright shades. Just that little bit of consistency was all he and Scott needed to figure the rest out as they laid out the squares. It wasn’t a pattern, a fade, or even entirely randomized. But a couple edits later, they had the final layout, the squares numbered, and Virgil had gotten to work joining his own granny stitches into his brother’s work in the only color Gordon considered “neutral” - yellow. 

Unable to resist the smile it brings, Virgil tugs the blanket out of the basket and unfolds the two rows he’s finished, with the third halfway complete. It doesn’t bother him that his connecting yarn is still live - the hook has his last loop stabbed into the working skein, and even if it does come unraveled a little, crochet is not so difficult to start again. 

It had taken a few tries to find the right hook to help him match Gordon’s stitches. Even though Virgil taught him a few years ago, no two makers’ work was exactly alike. And Gordon was as carefree with his gauge as he was in the rest of his life. 

Excitement thrums through him; it’s morning, the birds are chirping, and he’s feeling motivated and productive. The crochet work is soft in his hands, the next square in the sequence visible in the project basket below but hiding the rest of the queue for the third row. It’s the perfect day to grab some coffee, hide away in his studio for a few hours, and let the project surprise him. 

That’s the way a WIP should work: it should inspire along the way. 

Virgil has just thrown a towel over the basket to make it seem like it could be laundry - just in case he runs into a wayward squid - when the alarm in his room sounds and John’s voice comes over comms. 

They have a rescue. 

~*~

Virgil awakes to the smell of antiseptic and the uncomfortable feeling that his mouth tastes like cotton. 

Something about that makes him want to giggle, except he can’t actually do that. 

“Easy, Virg.” Hands, soothing, graze his hairline. “They’ve got you on the good stuff.”

He can tell. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet to know if he’s in a hospital or the infirmary, nor does he know what happened to land him there.

Based on the cotton in his throat and in his head and in his lungs, maybe he ate Gordon’s blanket. 

The giggle turns into a groan. 

“You’re okay now. Rest, Virgil.” 

Since the voice is Scott, he does so.

~*~

The next time he remembers waking, he’s in the infirmary on the island. Again, this he knows not because he’s opened his eyes to figure it out, but because his senses tell him so. Only one brother knows sea shanties enough to be familiar with that one and, if Gordon is here humming it, they’re both definitely not in a hospital.

The words he wants to say trudge through the molasses on their way out.

“Wha’ happ’n?” 

“Virgil!” It’s surprise, and excitement, and relief all rolled into one, but Gordon has the good sense to keep his voice low once the original shock of him waking settles.  

Gordon knows the drill well, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes the blinds and scoops some ice chips into a cup. Virgil’s grateful for the gentle way he moves about the room; he can hear him shuffling around, dictating as he goes. By the time Gordon returns with the cup of blessed relief for the feeling in his esophagus, Virgil has managed to tearily blink his eyes half-open. 

Beneath his brother’s brushed fringe hides a bruise the size of a fist, purpling so harshly at his hairline that Virgil ignores the ice chip Gordon offers him in favor of reaching up to check the injury out for himself. Immediately, his body protests the movement, and Gordon urges him to lower his arm back to the support of the bed.

“Yeah, maybe don’t try that?” Gordon waves him off. “I’m fine. What do you remember?” 

Through the pain in his lower half and the color of Gordon’s face, the memories of the rescue come back clearer. Unfortunately, of all things, they’d been called out to a mudslide. He’d checked Gordon out in the field, he remembers. A panicked civilian with a wayward right hook while Gordon was calming his husband. The man had been incredibly apologetic, and Gordon assured him no harm was done, but Virgil pulled him off duty as a concussion risk and left him in Two with  Grandma talking to him.

Then, when Virgil went after a lifesign in a toppling two-story… 

“A house hit me.” 

“Well, more mud than house. You’re ok though. You were buried from the waist up. Had some compartment syndrome. Everything you’re feeling - or not - is temporary.”  

“You came to get me.” Virgil could argue that grounded meant grounded, that Gordon should never’ve gone after him in such dangerous conditions, that he’s the big brother and Gordon’s the little one and he should keep himself safe when he’s told to do so. But there’s a challenge in his little brother’s warm honey eyes already, and he remembers faintly words spoken in worry and fear, assurances that tighten in a coil around his heart.

“I did. There wasn’t anyone else.”  

He owes Gordon everything.

Virgil hums, “Thank you.”

Between the pain medication and water soothing the grittiness in his throat, he feels more aware by the minute and ready to try sitting up for a time. Gordon helps him settle a few pillows into position and raises the head of the infirmary bed to the appropriate level. He’s got to let Scott know he’s awake - and Grandma -  Gordon tells him. Before either of them decide to have scolded Squid for dinner. 

Virgil doesn’t have the energy to chuckle, but it does as he knows Gordon intended: leave him with a smile for the few moments Gordon needs to step away to communicate Virgil’s situation. 

His heart is music, his soul is color. Where sound is oversaturated with the wisps and hums of machinery tracking his vitals, his heartbeat in rhythm, color becomes his touchstone. Outside the window will be the cerulean of the sky and sea. Green, which he thinks in its most basic form because it’s every combination of the hue throughout the robust plant-life of their Island. Dandelion yellow - the sun and safety and Gordon’s baldric. 

Past the shut blinds, it’s all just a sliver. More prominently, there’s just white and infirmary clean grey.  He has to blink away the dullness, as he tears his gaze away from the window and finally musters the strength to glance at himself and especially at his lower half past the pain where Gordon promised his lack of feeling, muted through painkillers, was temporary. 

Color, so much of it that it’s blinding, greets him with the neon of signage amidst the Las Vegas cityscape and the celebration of the New York Pride parade they attend each year. The blanket draped across his lap is authentic Gordon through and through, in familiar squares assembled in a chaos true to their variety. No rhyme, no reason. 

So much care. 

“Grandma will be in shortly.” Gordon plops into the chair at his side, wiggling in the armchair to reacquire the work he’d placed on the seat cushion. He catches him looking, wide-eyed. “It’s not your project, promise. Though I did bring it in for you to work on when you’re feeling better. It’s over by the holoscreen whenever you want me to bring it over. You’ll be here for a bit healing, so I figured…” He shrugs, trailing off. 

“Gordon?” He slides his fingers between the stitches and curls them gratefully into soft, comforting colors. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m - uh -” Gordon flushes in dim light. “I’m weaving in my ends finally,” he admits, holding up the darning needle. “Sorry if you had another idea for the squares, but once I finished putting yours together, I realized we had enough still to donate some more blankets and those really should be finished.” Gordon weaves a red tail end back and forth between the strands the way Virgil taught him, and the way their mom taught Virgil. “I really did go a little overboard on granny squares didn’t I? I just figured it would be okay for me to help you along. So you could finish what you were working on. Was that ok?”

“More than.” 

It also tells him a significant amount about how serious his injuries were and how long he might have been out of commission, if Gordon’s found the time to finish as much as he has. The concern for what he’s put his family through spikes his heartbeat again, and his younger brother glances up to check on him, the monitors, back at him.

Virgil gives him a weary smile, tugging the blanket further up his chest. “I’m ok,” he assures him. “Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t do it again,” he admonishes, shaking his head.

Neither of them can promise the other, not in their line of work, and they both know it. 

The words go unspoken, but they are woven delicately in the strands of their gifts to each other. Virgil feels the care against his skin, in colors that chase away greys, and soft cotton that sifts fear and worry out through openwork patterning. And when Grandma finally makes her way in to check in on him, his heart is so full with the chance he’s been given, the support he’s always had by the people he cares for, that the love hits him with a wave of exhaustion. 

Into sleep he falls, deeply into dreamless rest by the time Grandma finishes her checks and  Gordon tucks him in with a thankful salute to the stars above.

The End

[marblemoovt]

Tipsy Cuddles - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff with Angst, Reverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

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

------

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

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

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

Note:

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

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

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

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆���｡⋆ ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

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

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

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

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

Reblogs are appreciated!