#who has never done anything wrong in his entire life

[yuurivoice]

Uncle Yuuri what is the name of Auron's sassy horse?

Grace, aka Gracie!

She was adopted by him later in life after he renounced his knighthood or whatever the fuck. So she has not known him in a time of war, and has only seen him doing mercenary work.

Essentially, she's a good girl who ain't never done anything wrong in her life, ya see. <3

Other than that, we've settled on what she looks like. I'm not entirely sure when you'll meet her, but maybe one day! She is definitely with Auron at the time of Faust's Origin but I think she's put up in a stable during the course of that episode.

Auron likes to spoil her, and grooms her regularly. She is a very well kept horse, and an insightful handler would recognize that she's happy and adores her partner in crime. I'm not certain yet, but I think their meeting was under tragic circumstances, and her previous rider asked that Auron not leave her alone.

They probably took a while to warm up to each other, though. Grace doesn't like the tough guy act.

[harperskele]

Twenty Years

@cheerchy's prize for winning my scavenger hunt event! Enjoy!

As every work of mine is, this was beta read by the fabulous @mysteriahatya!

WARNING: Contains blood(jam) and violence.

~

“My darling, what’s the matter? Why do you look so forlorn?” Pure Vanilla asks, reaching out to hold his son’s shoulder. The young prince strikes his hand away with a gloved fist, scoffing.

“Do not touch me, healer,” Dark Choco sneers, storming past him and through the Citadel gates. The guards watch them in shock while Pure Vanilla frantically rushes after his son. His entire body screams at him to run, to get away from whatever darkness is shrouding his boy, but he can’t. He has to help him.

“Choco, please! Wait!” He hollers, chasing him through the halls as the boy stalks towards the throne room. “What’s wrong? Please, talk to me.”

“I said, leave me be!” Dark Choco shouts, whipping around and glaring at him. He shrinks back, eyes widening. His son has never behaved like this before. Ever. He searches the boy’s face for any sign of remorse or shock at his own temper, but he finds nothing but contempt in those ruby eyes. Servants who were once busy around them trickle away, leaving the two of them alone.

A shiver runs up his spine when his son rests his hand over a black sword pommel, stark against the white of his tunic. It’s a threat, and he knows it, but he presses on. “You know very well I can’t do that. You’re my son, Dark Choco; your father and I baked you ourselves. I love you, my sweet boy. Please, talk to me. Tell me what troubles you.” He reaches up, taking his son’s face in his hands. “You can tell me anything. I am here for you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a hint of confusion in his eyes before they harden again. Dark Choco shoves him back and draws his blade, pointing it directly at his throat. His Soul Jam screams at him to move, to flee, but he can’t. The blade at his throat, it isn’t normal. He can practically hear its hypnotic song from here, and the red gem wedged in its cross guard glints maliciously. He sees the same strange glint in his son’s eyes.

“I told you not to touch me, fool!” The prince bellows. His hands are trembling, but the sword remains steady, a hair’s breadth from his Soul Jam. One misstep and he’s as good as crumbs. He raises his hands in placation, keeping them in view. “Dark Choco… Put the blade down. Please.” His voice is just barely a whisper. He doesn’t even know how he manages to keep them steady. “Throw down your weapon. I can see what it is, what it’s doing to you. I can heal what it has done. But you have to drop it first.”

Again, his son’s eyes lose that horrible sheen. Dark Choco heaves a shuddering breath, but the sword doesn’t lower. “I-I can’t-- I don’t-- It won’t--” He grunts suddenly and falls to one knee, using the sword for support to hold himself up. He clutches his head, crying out in pain, and Pure Vanilla moves on instinct.

He drops down next to his son, taking his face in his hands once more. “It’s alright, my boy, just fight it. Fight it for me, please.” He rushes to heal his son’s mind, hoping to work while the sword’s influence wavers, but he isn’t fast enough.

The blade is colder than anything he’s ever felt in his life.

He chokes, looking down at the hilt of the sword jutting out of his stomach. Already, warm jam slips around the metal, dripping to the floor between them. The blade, nestled among his insides and so unnaturally cold, sings with satisfaction. The red gem glows brighter, illuminating his jam in an eerie glow. He can already feel it draining him, but he can’t do anything but whimper. He slumps forward, eyes wide as he stares straight ahead. He’s just been stabbed. He’s just been stabbed by his son. He grips at Dark Choco’s tunic, gasping for breath into his son’s shoulder. 

His son is wide-eyed, staring down at him in horror. “Appa, I-I--”

“What have you done?!”

Dark Cacao barrels down the hallway towards the two of them. His own blade is already drawn, and his own Soul Jam glistens ferociously. His eyes are wild and dangerous, teeth bared in a snarl. It’s like a switch is flipped, and Dark Choco shoves him away and yanks his blade from his abdomen, making him scream. He raises the jam-coated blade just in time to block Dark Cacao’s strike.

Pure Vanilla chokes on his blood, pressing his hands over the wound as hard as he can. Jam, hot and sticky, bubbles up and around the pressure, continuing to fall. He frantically begins healing himself. He has to stop this before it gets out of hand. Dark Choco just stabbed him, yes, but that wasn’t him. It was the sword. He knows it was the sword. His boy would never do something like that. His magic burns as he tries to heal himself, drawing another scream from his lips. The wound slowly pulls itself back together, leaving a massive, discolored scar in its place. He struggles back to his feet.

His husband and son are locked in a vicious fight, neither managing to land a blow on the other. He knows that won’t last long; Dark Choco may be young and agile, but his father far surpasses him in experience and strength. 

“Stop!” He cries, using his staff to support himself. He hobbles closer. They’ll hurt each other if he doesn’t intervene; they’ll kill each other. “Stop fighting! Drop your weapons!”

Dark Cacao blocks another blow, casting a glance his way before he jumps away from Dark Choco, panting for breath. “Explain yourself, boy.” His grip on his sword is tight, and Pure Vanilla can see his hands shaking as he holds himself back. He makes his way over in the silence, grasping the arm holding his sword gently. Still, his husband doesn’t relent. There’s another beat, and Dark Cacao growls, “I said explain yourself!”

“I owe nothing to you, old man. Not an apology nor an explanation.” Dark Choco crouches down, readying himself for another attack. “The fool angered me. I warned him, and he did not listen.”

“Enough of this! Both of you!” Pure Vanilla shouts. The effort makes him sway on his feet, and Dark Cacao drops his sword to support him before he falls. He grips his husband’s robes, looking up into his alarmed face. “The sword! The sword- It’s not-- He can’t--”

Dark Choco suddenly rushes at them, and Dark Cacao is too late to block his slash. The great king roars in pain as the blade slices through his back, carving a gash from shoulder to hip. He twists around, managing to slash Dark Choco across the face before he falls to his knees with Pure Vanilla clinging to him. Pure Vanilla thinks he might be screaming, but he can’t be sure. His hands wander the vast wound, trying to settle on a good place to heal first. Between the blade draining his energy and having to heal himself, he’s not sure he’ll be able to heal it completely.

He can feel hot tears falling down his cheeks as guards flood the corridor and shout commands, but he doesn’t listen. He runs his fingers over the wound over and over, healing it bit by bit. Dark Cacao keeps shouting and trying to get up, but he doesn’t manage to stand until Pure Vanilla finishes healing him with what little magic he had left. “Leave!” He bellows, picking up his greatsword. Even wounded, he levels the sword and points it at their son without wavering. “Leave, and…” He pauses, looking down at Pure Vanilla. Frantically, he shakes his head. He looks at their son, clutching his face in one hand and his sword in the other. His remaining eye stares at them, and he can’t pick out the emotions writhing behind the sheen of that wretched sword. Still, that’s his son. His boy.

“No, my love. Please, don’t…” He begs, grasping his cape. He sobs, bowing his head in supplication. “Please don’t do it…”

Dark Cacao frowns, seeming swayed for a moment before he sees the jam covering him and the scarred dough shown by his torn robes. His gaze hardens and he turns back to Dark Choco. His voice doesn’t shake even when Pure Vanilla lets out an anguished wail. “Leave! And never return!”

~~~

Pure Vanilla knows that today will be a hard day before he even opens his eyes. His body is stiff and his head is throbbing. He groans, groping around next to him to find his husband, and finds nothing but cold sheets. He sits up with a huff and grabs his staff from its spot at his bedside. He looks around the room and finds it empty except for himself. Dark Cacao must be in the throne room already.

He feels chilled to the bone as he gets ready for the day, going through each motion like nothing more than a marionette on a string. The cold seeps into his very essence, dragging him down. He wants nothing more than to climb back in bed, but that isn’t an option right now. He has work to do.

He glances at the small calendar hanging above the dresser, and his heart just about stops. No, it can’t be that day. Already? He could have sworn it wasn’t for another month. Had it really been twenty years since he last saw his son? He stumbles back into the bed, sitting down as his knees buckle under him. He hasn’t seen Dark Choco in two decades as of today. He hears the door swing open and shut across the room, but he can’t find it in himself to look up, not as he hangs his head and buries his face in his hands. 

His little boy. He remembers it like it was yesterday, allowing his son to venture out on his own. His confident smile as he waved goodbye and strode off into the winter forests would haunt his memory forever, knowing it was the last time he ever saw his son as himself. He was so different when he came back, like a piece of him was missing. He remembers his Soul Jam crying out and recoiling from the ominous presence looming over the boy he once cherished.

A weight dips the bed beside him and strong arms pull him close to the smell of sandalwood and cocoa powder. He lifts his head to look his husband in the eye, even as his vision is blurred by tears. “Twenty years…”

“I know, ‘Nilla. I know.” Dark Cacao brushes his hair from his face, kissing his nose. “I brought you some tea, and we don’t have to speak to anyone today. We can stay here.”

As guilty as he feels for shirking his duties, the relief far outweighs it. No half-hearted condolences or whispers of ‘the traitor,’ as people seemed so keen on referring to their son. He nods slowly and takes the cup of tea from his husband, sniffling and wiping his tears away. “Thank you. I don’t think I can face anyone today.” He takes a small sip, letting the warm chamomile soothe his aching throat. He feels more tears dripping from his lashes, but Dark Cacao wipes them away before he can move.

“Neither can I.”

They sit in silence for some time, quietly sipping tea and staying close to one another’s warmth. Once he finishes his tea, Pure Vanilla shuffles and tucks his legs beneath himself, leaning on Dark Cacao. He realizes after a moment that his shoulders are shaking, and he peeks at his husband’s face. 

“Oh, my love…” He whispers, cupping his cheeks. He wipes away the tears with his thumbs as Dark Cacao had done for him. He takes the cold cup from him and wiggles into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Dark Cacao heaves a soft sob and pulls him close, weeping into his chest.

“Our son… Our boy…” He gasps, clutching at Pure Vanilla’s nightshirt like he’ll fall apart if he lets go. “I should have done more to help him… I should have listened!”

“None of that,” Pure Vanilla hiccups, feeling his own throat grow tight with cries he tries to hold back. “It is in the past now. There is nothing we can do besides wait.”

Only a month into the prince’s exile, he finally managed to tell Dark Cacao the situation after he had been avoiding the subject. He made an announcement clearing the prince’s name and calling for his return, but he never showed up. Pure Vanilla remembers poring over old tomes for an explanation and finding out that his poor son had found the Strawberry Jam Sword, which was known to possess its user and drive them to violence.

He remembers the utter horror on Dark Cacao’s face when he told him, the guilt of having hurt his son while he was under the influence of some dark power. He remembers holding each other and watching the Citadel gates together for months, praying for their son to come back. He glances out the window at the frigid landscape and the unwavering walls of the Citadel. Twenty years they’ve waited with nothing to show for it except broken hearts. 

Dark Cacao sobs again, and Pure Vanilla runs his fingers through his hair. “I miss him, too. Every single day,” He whispers, voice cracking. He sniffles and rubs his cheek before hugging his husband once more, running his fingertips over the large scar on his back.

“Do you remember what he told us that morning? Before he left?” Dark Cacao chokes out, looking up at him. “He told us he was going to better the kingdom somehow and that exploring was the first step to finding ways to improve.”

Pure Vanilla’s throat tightens up. That had always been Choco’s dream. He wanted the kingdom to thrive, no matter who ruled. He just wanted his people to be happy and healthy. His tongue is dry as he opens his mouth, but he’s stopped short by frantic pounding on the door. He gasps as Dark Cacao grasps his waist and moves him to the bed, storming towards the disruption.

“What?!” He barks at the poor soul behind the interruption.

“The prince!” A courier squeaks out. Pure Vanilla can hear the tremble in their voice. “Th-The prince has returned! He waits at the Citadel gates!” And just like that, they flee down the hallway.

Pure Vanilla stands on shaky legs, clutching his heart as it threatens to beat its way out of his chest. He rushes to grab his staff and locks eyes with his husband. Without a word, he grabs his cloak and grabs Dark Cacao’s hand, sprinting down the hallways towards the gates. 

Surely, it can’t be true. This must be some sort of ploy or cruel joke. Has his son truly come back? 

The snow hardly feels cold under his bare feet as he stumbles his way outside. He doesn’t care, not when his stomach is doing flips and his hands tremble this way. Dark Cacao is the only thing keeping him from falling on his face at this point, although he doesn’t seem much better. He practically flies down the steps as a crowd comes into view at the gates. A watcher spots them and hollers for the others to move, parting to make way for the kings. Pure Vanilla freezes in his tracks, and Dark Cacao is right behind him. He feels his hand on his shoulder, and he rests his own hand over it. His hand is warm and the cold of the outdoors is stinging, so this can’t be a dream.

It really is him.

He looks different now, but somehow just the same. He’s still a carbon copy of his father with those white streaks in his hair and that solemn look in his eye. His hair is chopped short and obscures one side of his face, but he can see a scar peeking out from behind the onyx tresses. The armor he wears is dented and rusty, and he can see a gauntness to his face he wished he could unsee. He bears no weapon, but he has a scabbard strapped to his belt.

“Choco…?” His voice doesn’t feel like his own anymore. They step closer to one another, and his eye darts between Pure Vanilla and Dark Cacao. He stops in front of them and falls to his knee, bowing his head low. 

“Your Majesties. I have come to beg forgiveness for my past transgressions.” Dark Choco’s voice is raspy and low, so different from all those years ago. But still, it’s him. It’s the same timbre he remembers from those last few minutes. He raises his head, looking between the two of them with that ruby eye he’s seen over and over again in his memories. There is no more hateful sheen or dullness, only his son. “I have no excuse for my actions, but I shall do my best to atone for what I have done to you and to this kingdom. I can only hope that--”

Pure Vanilla drops to his knees, wrapping his arms around his son with a wail he can’t keep in anymore. His cry echoes off the walls of the Citadel, mirrored only by Dark Cacao’s as he follows suit. He takes both Choco and Pure Vanilla in his arms, squeezing them tight to his chest. Dark Choco stiffens in shock, but neither of them stop.

Pure Vanilla’s face hurts from how widely he smiles as he takes his son’s face in his hands. The tears are hot on his cheeks, and his son’s skin is rough under his fingertips. His heart flutters like a dove sprung from a cage. With all these sensations, this surely must be real. 

“Our son…” He sobs, pressing a frantic kiss to Choco’s forehead. The stunned man only watches him. “You’re home. You’re really home, it’s--” He chokes on a sob, and tries again, “I can’t believe it’s you!” He pulls Choco closer, practically squeezing him to death.

Dark Cacao doesn’t seem to be faring much better. He sobs under his breath, keeping both of them tucked close to his chest and wrapped in his heavy cloak. He blocks out the cold like a wall, keeping them all warm in spite of the fact that they’re all sitting in the snow. “Our boy. My son, I’m so sorry…” He hiccups, mimicking Pure Vanilla’s kiss to his forehead. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you, for what happened.”

“We know it wasn’t your fault,” Pure Vanilla sniffles, bringing Choco’s attention to him again. “That sword, it was evil. But you got rid of it.” He rubs his thumbs under his son’s eyes, watching as tears begin to gather on his lashes. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so grateful you’re home.”

Dark Choco’s lip trembles. “Appa… Father…” He whispers, finally shifting to hug him back. He’s overly cautious with his actions, hugging Pure Vanilla like he’ll disappear if he makes one wrong move. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you both. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Hush now, sweet boy…” Pure Vanilla whispers, patting his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and wipes at his eyes. “Everything is alright now. You have apologized enough, and we have waited so long to hold our boy again… You’re home now, and that’s all we care about.”

[sterekchub]

Derek as a fitness influencer and Stiles as one of those guys who makes ridiculous food challenges like a giant butterfinger bar or something…and Derek ends up on Stiles’s show eating his creations.

Oooh. This gives "hanging out with Stiles made me fat" and "How did I end up as the fattest one?!" Derek is the fitness influencer who has never actually struggled a day in his life to stay fit or thin. He posts the videos that are easy for werewolves, almost impossible for any humans who are dedicated gym gurus, and has the opinion of "I'm not putting anything into my body that isn't nutritious and fresh" and comes across like he thinks anyone who isn't TRYING to get fit is doing something terribly wrong. Stiles is not above admitting the man is still hot, but he at least mutes his workout videos when he jerks off to them. He doesn't need to be fat-shamed, when Stiles' brand is....straddling that line between being an obvious gainer and just making food content. He makes the crazy food challenges for his video, takes a few bites and BAM. Video done. Except Stiles is never one to waste food (and most of his food challenges look pretty damn good) so he normally eats the entire thing anyway while he's editing the videos. Which makes him the perfect candidate for someone from Derek's PR team to reach out to about a 'collab'. Which is code for- Derek wants to make an example out of Stiles, bark at him like a drill sergeant from a porno until Stiles sheds the weight, and get more content. Stiles isn't stupid. He's not going to be in any of Derek's videos, if Derek isn't in his. It ends up as a huge disaster. For Derek. Stiles refuses to stick to ANY diet plan. Grabs lunch with Derek and makes a big show about ordering the fattiest thing on the menu, taking a forkful of carbonara like he's having an orgasm. Derek snaps at him and swaps their plates, insists Stiles would like salads if he actually gave them a try. Stiles doesn't finish the salad. Derek finishes the entire plate of pasta. In the gym? It's unusable content. Stiles is whining and bitching and gives up through an exercise because "fat guys don't run, Derek. It's a proven fact." and mostly there's a lot of hate sex in the locker room as Derek is grabbing Stiles' love handle and pulling him up against a wall, growling that he doesn't understand why he's being so difficult. It's like Stiles likes having all this excess weight making him waddle around. (Stiles insisting he doesn't waddle is cut off by a strangled moan and Derek running his teeth against Stiles inner thigh) For Stiles? Energetic sex like that is the most he's worked out in ages. Derek? Is getting barely any workout because so much of his time is dedicated to trying to get Stiles into shape. annnnnd then come the videos he owes Stiles. Where Stiles a few times has to poke Derek and remind him "Come on, what sort of bite was that?! A little bit of sugar and cream isn't going to hurt anyway." It's mostly to prove a point to Stiles. To get back at him for the pigtail pulling, stubborn complains in the gym. So Derek tries to beat Stiles at his own game, decide he's going to eat the entire damn thing. Eats the butter finger bar the same length and thickness as his forearm, and then somehow stumbles into his apartment with the most achingly full middle he's ever had and can't figure out why he's hard. So what starts as Derek showing Stiles he's going to give his 100%, so Stiles should do the same...ends up with Derek eating the food challenges like he's training to be a competitive eater. Challenges which Stiles goes out of his way to make bigger and bigger. The video views get higher and higher, enough that Derek doesn't feel so badly taking a break from his own content (mostly because he doesn't feel like going to the gym when he's still sluggish and bloated from the "Multi layer pies" video the day before.) Stiles knows his audience - and his new followers all want one thing- to watch the jock go from fit to fat.

[marisatomay]

“I can’t believe Tom Cruise of all people would stand up for his agent, a Muslim Libyan-American woman, who was being publicly blacklisted for her support of Palestine and calling out the ongoing genocide, including making a rare in-person appearance to CAA headquarters in LA to express his support for her. What a strange person who can ever guess what opinions he will have.”

Look. I’ve studied Tom Cruise a lot. One could even call me a Cruisologist. (Not to be confused with. Well.) And, it’s actually really easy to predict Tom Cruise’s opinion on something. The tricky part is whether it will be made public in a timely manner or not and, if it’s made public at all, will it be a lede buried in favor of pushing a narrative sold on background by a studio exec he pissed off because he didn’t roll over and take their bullshit.

[evilfarmin]

"me": shen jiu we're gonna get you some friends on god.

shen jiu: don't want 'em!!!

Coda 𝄌: alternative icebreakers:

Shen Jiu and Wen Kexing manifesto VvVvV they don't even both like fans.

the THING. is that wkx is charismatic in a way that sj is not. Shen Yuan is charismatic. wkx is charismatic. we can see him charming uh zhao jing and the rest of the five lakes alliance. he has his off-putting swagger sure but he also. cannn....play pretty nice and cool and human if it serves him. and shen jiu, when he is feeling unsafe and ill at ease, cannot. he does not have that skill. (he could have a different charisma probably but he just doesn't seem to want to. We have no idea what shen jiu wants he's a black box. he doesn't "like" "anything")

but does he like fans?

Shen Jiu is a fan of the fans as a signifier of class and dignity and he can hide behind them. They might make him look like a whore but that's better than looking like an immature rage filled little at least whores are good people. Shen Jiu likes fans for their aesthetic value primarily. He would hold the fan if it wasn't a weapon. For Shen Jiu it issss like a security blanket.

Wen Kexing, on the other hand, couldn't care less truly. He likes the fan because it is a socially acceptable hidden weapon to wave around, but he'd stab someone with a chopstick. or a recorder. Wen Kexing likes the fan because he can impress his crush with all the cool fan tricks he knows (around the world, anyone?) Petition to get this man a butterfly knife.

For Shen Jiu, the fan is a personal identity thing. The fan is the one accessory that has never betrayed him. For Wen Kexing, this is a stim toy he could kill someone with. It is personal for Shen Jiu in a way that it is not for Wen Kexing.

[papa-evershed]

Rob James-Collier as Thomas Barrow DOWNTON ABBEY S03EP01

[the-mighty-toast-wizard]

Yall

Rex changed his name because he is literally a clone of Rex and is trying to keep his memory alive

He isn't trying to become Rex. He's quite clearly his own person

[coquelicoq]

something is rotten in the state of southern qing. jesus christ.

[shipperwolf1]

I was almost certain we'd run into the ancient boys again in pandae tier 3 and honestly my biggest concern was that elidibus would look at us and go "oh yeah. You. Friend-turned-enemy. I don't like you as much now" and that shit would have broken my heart, but no, he looked at us and praised us even through Athena's evil influence, and once free he immediately called us "friend".

I am somehow compromised and cured at the same time also transformed!Elidibus is hot

[animazi]

genuinely impressive how every piece of media seems to have One Guy who just gets turned into the most pathetic never done anything wrong in his entire life sad little meow meow entirely regardless of whatever his canon portrayal is...

[pastelchad]

Ada Wong moodboard

[omg-snakes]

My perfect thick idiot son, Calvin, who has never done anything wrong in his entire life except today when I let him climb my young redbud tree and he went to the highest branch and wedged himself in the crook of it and wouldn't budge and he's so big I was afraid that he might break the branch so I had to get a stepladder and get him down while the neighborhood jays that come by for peanuts whenever they see me in the yard freaked out and sat screaming on the fence to warn me that there's a snake very near me because I'm obviously too stupid to see it and clearly in mortal peril.

[seumyo]

kenma going to the gym for the sole purpose of being strong enough to lift his daughter whenever she wants.

Kenma Kozume had done a lot of things he never expected in life. But somehow, somehow, the hardest thing he had ever done… was carrying around your four-year-old daughter like she was an accessory strapped to his body.

It started off fine. She was small. Lightweight. Kenma barely noticed it when she’d reach up at him with those big, golden eyes, arms raised expectantly as she said, “Up, Daddy!”

And, of course, like an absolute fool, he always picked her up.

Always.

Now, however, things were different. Kiano was growing.

Which was great! Wonderful, even!

All he ever wanted was a happy wife. Check. And a healthy baby. Check.

Except for the part where she was getting heavier, and Kenma, who had not done a single muscle-related workout since high school volleyball, was starting to feel it. His arms ached. His back tensed up. There were days when, after holding her for too long, he would just sit down at his desk and stare blankly at his keyboard, fingers refusing to move because they were still recovering from holding your daughter for half the day.

“Kenma, you should just go to bed if you’re not feeling well,” you told him when you brought him some midnight snacks.

And your daughter, Kiano, she did not care.

She still reached up, still expected to be carried without hesitation the following morning.

And because Kenma was a weak, weak man, he never said no.

Which was how he found himself at the gym, standing at the front desk with his old gym keycard in hand, while Kuroo Tetsurou of all people stood beside him, grinning like a complete idiot.

“Hold on, hold on,” Kuroo said, leaning against the counter as he processed what was happening. “Let me get this straight. You’re renewing your gym membership—not because you wanna get in shape, not because you had some life-changing revelation, but because your four-year-old daughter is getting too heavy for you?”

Kenma scowled, tossing his gym keycard at Kuroo’s face. “Shut up.”

Kuroo laughed, easily catching it. “Kenma, this is hilarious.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the receptionist processed his renewal.

He knew Kuroo was going to be like this. That was the whole reason he had debated bringing him along in the first place. But Kenma also knew that if he walked into a gym alone after years of avoiding them, he would probably just stand in the corner, regret all his life choices, and leave without doing anything.

He needed moral support. Unfortunately, that support came in the form of Kuroo, who was currently laughing at his pain.

“It’s not that funny,” Kenma grumbled.

Kuroo shot him a look. “Kenma, you literally built your entire brand on being an indoors guy. And now you’re out here, willingly lifting weights, all because your tiny daughter says ‘Up, Daddy’ and you can’t say no to her.”

Kenma refused to make eye contact.

Because yeah, that was… basically the situation.

The receptionist handed back his renewed membership card, smiling. “Welcome back, Mr. Kozume! Need a trainer, or will you be working out alone?”

“Alone,” Kenma muttered quickly.

“Wrong!” Kuroo interrupted, slinging an arm around Kenma’s shoulders before he could escape. “He’ll be working out with me. You know, actual workouts, not just the bare minimum.”

“You’re acting like I won’t just cancel this membership next month.”

“Not if Kiano has anything to say about it.”

Kenma frowned, thinking about it for a second.

…Yeah. That kid was persistent.

Guess who she got it from? Ding, ding! You, of course.

If he so much as hinted at the idea of quitting, Kiano would probably just guilt-trip him with those big eyes, telling him, “Daddy, you said you’d carry me if I did well in school!” and then he’d look like the world’s weakest dad to your daughter forever.

Damn it.

He exhaled. “Fine.”

Kuroo grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit, Daddy Kenma.”

Kenma cringed. “Never call me that again.”

Kuroo did call him that again.

-

An hour later, Kenma remembered exactly why he hated going to the gym.

He had been peer-pressured into lifting actual weights, had attempted (and failed) to use a pull-up bar, and nearly died trying to keep up with Kuroo, who, despite his stupid corporate job, was somehow still in peak physical condition.

Kenma, on the other hand, felt like he had been hit by a truck.

Kuroo, the bastard, was barely sweating. “You good?” he asked, grinning.

Kenma, lying face-down on the floor, made a vague, suffering noise.

Kuroo laughed. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got. What happened to that volleyball stamina?”

“That was ten years ago,” Kenma groaned. “I’m pushing thirty in two years, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kuroo crouched next to him, smirking. “But hey, just think about it—if you don’t get into shape soon, you’ll place Kiano down and never carry her forever!”

Kenma slowly turned his head to glare at him. “That is not comforting.”

“Kids grow up way quicker than you think, Kenma. You won’t know when you’ll ever be able to carry them, like when they were babies.”

“Is that why you’re worried that your 7-month-old son is going to get daycare soon, really? When he just start enjoying his tummy time?”

“Time goes fast.”

“Uh-huh. Right.”

Kuroo cackled, standing up and stretching. “Changing the subject,” he tuts softly. “I can’t believe this is what finally got you back in a gym. A four-year-old child has you completely wrapped around her tiny little fingers.”

Kenma didn’t even try to argue. Because, well.

It was true.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[eddiegettingshot]

okay so let's just recap what happened. maddie tells buck he should try making new friends because he's not coping well with his only friend eddie being gone. so buck tries to make friends with eddie's replacement, looking like a complete loser in the process, due to he doesn't know how to make friends and eddie's just a freak disguised as a pretty cool and normal dude. they manage to settle on an activity that eddie should probably not haunt (drinking) except for that buck is really intent on making sure eddie haunts everything and everyone so he spends the entire time talking about how he is eddie's princess and eddie is soooo good at stuff and has never done anything wrong in his life and he's so much fun, let's play this drinking game he taught me! ravi who is sick of this forcibly inserts tommy in his place and gets the hell out of there before buck can say eddie's name a billionth time. tommy doesn't really get what he's supposed to be doing there and doesn't give a shit until he learns that eddie is gone, upon which he Turns It On and they end up going back to. well. (tommy voice) eddie's house. buck has not unpacked a single thing and is never even there so they have tequila-drunk sex on a bare mattress without sheets or anything, there is definitely no lube available so it's definitely dry as fuck, and afterwards buck (drunk, just had sex) still has the wherewithal to change into his sleepytime shirt (he doesn't take his watch off though) before falling asleep, so it probably isn't all that athletic either. in the morning buck wakes up in an empty (sheetsless) bed and is like Haha okay he probably just left! but no. tommy's in eddie's kitchen and he has cooked 1 pound of bacon and 17 eggs and an entire fruit salad and chopped up celery and carrots and also cut 4 bagels AND brought champagne. to celebrate their dry ex sex they had on buck's bare mattress in eddie's house, which by the way he thinks it's super weird that they're in eddie's house, but hee hee eddie's gone so he can ignore it and GET IN THERE!!!!! like he's been waiting to do for months apparently. then for some reason when buck asks him if he's not afraid buck will break his heart anymore he decides the best response is to be like WELL YEAH NOW THAT YOUR BEST FRIEND HAS MOVED TO A DIFFERENT STATE. YOU KNOW, BECAUSE OF HIS FAMILY FALLING APART DUE TO HIS GRIEF. YEAH HE'S OUT OF THE WAY NOW SO IT'S ALL GOOD OVER HERE. HOW ABOUT SOME BUBBLY? and buck, understandably, is weirded out, and also freaked out, but even he is like. Ummmm. first of all eddie rented this house. and he's straight. so you're wrong about my feelings for him, which neither of those things address. also i don't have feelings for you btw. and then tommy walks out, leaving buck with approximately 80 united states dollars' worth of breakfast, so he can call an uber from eddie's front porch. and he has to sit there and wait for his uber, and probably he's thinking, Wow if i told buck i was getting an uber right now, buck would probably say, "me and eddie got an uber once!"

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Beyond Misconceptions

summary: joaquin is usually the poster child for positivity, but sometimes the doubt creeps in.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: angst, jealous/insecure!joaquin, arguing, depictions of anxiety

wc: 1,675

an: based on this requested concept! it went a bit different than expected but i hope yall still enjoy <3 (and also hope it will hold yall over until vuelve pt. v is done!!!)

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Most of the time, Joaquin loves his job. He loves the brother he’s found in Sam, the tangible way he sees himself helping people day in and day out. The feeling of soaring through the sky, the invincibility that he seems to find in the wind.

But, what Joaquin doesn’t love about the job is the rift that it can sometimes create between you. One could say he’s being dramatic by using the word rift— you have never once complained, never made him feel guilty for the unpredictability of his schedule.

You always tell him that you know what you signed up for when you fell in love with him. And you do.

Joaquin is certainly grateful for your love and understanding, but it’s days like today that make him want to find some 9-5 to nurse.

When he steps into the party you two were meant to attend together an hour and a half late, he’s eager to see you. That eagerness twists into something ugly when he sees you. You, standing in a group, but primarily talking to some guy he doesn’t recognize.

You look…happy. Happy to be talking with a guy who showed up on time. With a guy who doesn’t put his life on the line, and your relationship on hold at the drop of a hat.

He can’t decide what he wants to do more— leave and let you be happy or put himself between you and this mystery guy.

As if you can feel him, you glance over in his direction, lighting up at the sight of him. That restless mix of jealousy and guilt fades a little with you so excited to see him.

“Quino,” You call to him, waving him over. When he makes it to you, you reach for his hand immediately, drawing him so that you can place a kiss on his cheek. “Made in one piece, I see, cariño.”

“Siempre lo hago,” he murmurs, snaking an arm around your waist. “So who’s this?”

You introduce Joaquin to the guy easily, slipping him into the conversation without missing a beat. Paul. Joaquin nods along, lets you pull him closer, listens as you chat, and laughs like nothing is wrong. Like he wasn’t late. Like you weren’t having a perfectly good time without him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He does. It’s just that tonight feels like a reminder of everything he isn’t—someone who shows up on time, someone whose job doesn’t put you second. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it doesn’t matter, but it still twists something sharp in his chest.

His grip tightens just slightly on your waist. You glance up at him, brows furrowing in quiet question, but he just shakes his head, forcing a small smile. You don’t push, but something in your gaze lingers. You know him too well. You always do.

You’re driving the two of you home, music spilling softly out of the speaker when you decide to break the tension that’s been building.

“So what was that?”

“What was what?”

“You were being…possessive?” The word comes out of your mouth like a question because you’re not entirely sure. Nothing like this has ever happened with Joaquin— it’s unfamiliar territory.

“Claro que no,” he insists.

You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes. “Yeah, because that wasn’t defensive at all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes flicker over at him momentarily, and you soften at his visible tension. You’re gentler when you speak again, “Soy yo, Quino. We don’t lie to each other, we don’t do this… jealous thing that you did tonight. I don’t know that guy, I probably won’t ever see him again and I’m fine with that.”

“It wasn’t about that.”

“Oh, but it was about something? What could I have possibly done when I hadn’t seen you in days?”

“Querida— you didn’t do anything— it’s not… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You purse your lips, feeling a little frustrated. “I want you to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. And if you can’t now, then think about it and we’ll talk about it before bed. Deal?”

The silence stretches between you, the music sounding much louder in the wake of your breaths.

Eventually, Joaquin says begrudgingly, “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you want?”

“You,” He says softly, and nothing more.

—

Once you and Joaquin get home, you don’t push. You refuse to when he’s being so elusive, so guarded in a way he’s never been. You aren’t really sure what to do with it and it makes your stomach churn. You make your way straight to the shower without so much of a glance in his direction.

Joaquin wants to call after you, but can’t find his voice. Not a surprise when he feels his mind is completely scrambled.

All of this has tilted you off your axis. You make sure the water is scalding hot, hoping that the steam will steep out your thoughts of insecurity and unease. By the time you make it out, it just feels like they’ve grown louder, rooting deeper into your brain stem.

You make your way into the kitchen, walking past Joaquin where he’s sat on the couch. He watches you quietly as you make tea, unsure if you still want to talk or if he’s created the catalyst for his worst fear; losing you.

“So are we gonna talk about it or are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“Mi amor—“

You huff as you sit the chair across from him, “No, don’t mi amor me when you won’t even tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not that I won’t, it’s that—“

“If you say you can’t, Joaquin, te juro por Dios.”

“I was gonna say that I’m struggling to figure out how. There’s too much up here, you know that. Usually, it’s just cheery.”

“I’m not asking you to be cheery, I’m asking you to be honest.”

Joaquin sighs, leaning forward to place his face in his hands. “When I saw you with him, I just— it made me wonder if you deserve better than me.”

Your brow furrows. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re in a relationship with a man you’re going to outlive. I’m never home, I’m always late as hell. Every day I force you to wait— for me or for a call that’ll break your heart. Don’t you think you deserve somebody that can be there for you? Someone, you aren’t afraid of losing every damn day?”

“I knew what I was getting into when I chose to start this with you. I know that you want to be around and be more consistent, but Quino, you’re out there saving the world. I can’t ask you to put down your dreams because you missed the first hour of a party.”

“I‘ve missed more than just an hour of a party. What happens when it’s our wedding? Or if you get sick? What if you need me and I miss something big? That guy, he could give you that.”

You lean forward, reaching across the coffee table to place your hand over his. “Then we’ll reschedule. Or my parents will take care of me. Or I’ll need you and I’ll be really sad that you’re not there but eventually, you will be. I don’t give a fuck about that guy. I don’t even remember his name. What I do remember, is how much I love you and how long it took me to have the courage to tell you that.”

Joaquin looks down at your hands before interlacing your fingers together. Your words soothe him even as he wrestles with the fact that he wants to give you more. He’ll try to give you more— you deserve it and so does the health of your relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?” you challenge, wanting him to truly think about it.

There are things about your relationship with Joaquin that are less than ideal and certainly compromise but that’s part of love. Compromising and making things work with the people that you love. Joaquin is loyal, loving, and tender; he always makes you laugh and takes your feelings seriously. He just happens to be a superhero, one you have to share with the world.

How selfish would it be to take him away from people that need him?

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “I’m sure. ¿Me dirás si algo cambia?”

“Lo prometo.”

Joaquin leans back into the couch, patting his lap, “Ven.”

You quickly make your way to sit in his lap, wrapping both your arms around his neck as you let your legs dangle across the couch.

“Te amo, princesa.”

“I know, I love you too,” you murmur, running a hand affectionately through his hair.

Joaquin’s eyes fall to your lips, and when he finally leans in, his mouth brushes yours softly, a quiet promise that everything will be okay. His thumb traces your cheek, and it feels like all the unsaid words are finally spoken in the wax and wane of this gentle kiss. You close your eyes, grounding yourself in the feeling of him, of home. As he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shaky, and you both linger there, knowing that in this moment, everything is enough.

After several moments of silence, Joaquin’s lips find your ear, “Paul.”

You lean away from where you’d gotten comfortable on his chest to look at him quizzically. “What?”

“The guy’s name— fucking Paul.”

You laugh, shaking the both of you. “I’ve already forgotten again. I’m more focused on this marriage you’ve mentioned.”

“I’m thinking under the cherry blossoms.”

“You should think about the blow your bank account is gonna take getting me a ring.”

Joaquin raises a brow at you, “Who says I don’t already have it, hermosa?”

You squint at him— usually, you’re pretty good at telling if he’s bluffing but his features are smoothed into the perfect poker face. “You lying?”

“Guess you’ll just have to find out, baby.”

lmk if you'd like to be on the sfw (or nsfw for 18+) joaquin taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @moonymeloncholymoney

[pastelaeqy]

very generic swap AU for ava. Lots of yap below the cut where I talk about important changes and my thoughts about the differences between victim and Mitsi here.

couple important differences between her and victim

The big one is that she doesn't actually pursue revenge until she realises the guy who tortured her malewife would give her access to the guy who killed her malewife; before this, she basically has a big personality change, becomes a bit bitter, cold, managing with an iron fist etc and changes Rocket Corp's focus from general tech to arms/defence using blueprints victim had made.

unlike victim, who loses like 90% of his workforce and tanks the share prices, Mitsi instead sells to the gov because they are now obviously wanting some protection against terrorists. Whereas victim is too caught up in his own trauma to think of any other future for the company, Mitsi capitalises off the fear The Disappearance caused and quickly becomes the wealthiest figure in the entire Outernet. I think she’d be an absolutely terrifying boss using her old personality as more of a Customer Service mask. This would definitely be obvious though and I think it would make her more terrifying if anything 

As to how victim dies in the disappearance, my best guess is once people start disappearing from the party, he realises it’s to do with Newgrounds very quickly and he rushes over there with the rocket he fixed probably not long after he landed. He gets there, finds her, and saves her in a final moment of self sacrifice. I think this is a good setup because it puts Mitsi (and Agent) in the exact position Agent is in canon whilst also allowing Mitsi to see who the culprit was. I think it’s a good (temporary…) ending for victim as well, since he dies on his own terms rather than that of his creator’s

It's not until The Showdown that she realises she has a proper shot at getting revenge AND getting victim back; I'm certain victim has at least told her a little about how he was made, and she realises that she could totally get that revenge she's been craving for years whilst also convincing victim's creator to "make him again". Another big difference between victim and Mitsi here is that whilst victim quite obviously stews in his rage and grief for an extensive period of time (and quite frankly never actually has any real proof TCO and Alan are working together and simply just assumes that until he gets that showdown clip), Mitsi doesn’t let it show until she knows it’s actionable i.e. she has solid proof that going after TCO would give her access to Alan. 

Something else to add on here is that where victim is more or less using Mitsi’s death as an excuse for revenge, Mitsi is using her love for victim as a motivator. Because Mitsi simply doesn’t have the sort of background victim does (the disappearance is like THE traumatic event of her life rather than one of several), victim takes the emotional centre of her eventual desire for revenge. In canon, it’s pretty clear victim is more obsessed with getting revenge on Alan than getting revenge on TCO (still absolutely brutal towards TCO though, don’t get me wrong); his hatred for Alan/TCO outshines his love for Mitsi.

Big flaw here is that she doesn't really grasp how bad Alan was to victim; she’s so deadset on getting him back that she won’t stop and think “how might this actually be a bad thing”. I wouldn’t imagine he would be normal after being revived again and I think this would work as a good climactic point of conflict for like act 3. Where in canon there’s a good chance Mitsi will be revived no immediate consequences (thanks orange), victim would be redrawn the same way he had been all those years ago (and hence would not actually look like the victim Mitsi knew in the first place). A nice touch of “revived but came back wrong” to get Mitsi to hop off the revenge train. Another big aspect here is that victim would be like “what have you done to our company” much in the same way id assume Mitsi would in canon.

Overall I think the events we see in canon (other than the ones I have described) would play out about the same. I think it would be clearer that Rocket Corp. has a way bigger presence in the Outernet rather than being some weird creepy company that people vaguely remember as having a change in management some time after the disappearance. Mitsi would be probably more precise (and markedly less brutal) in capturing and extracting information from TCO because Mitsi doesn’t have the inferiority complex victim does. I think he’d still take a couple hits though, but Mitsi has no need to exemplify her control over TCO like victim does; she just needs to weaken him enough to make him talk.

That’s all i’ve really thought about so far. She’s spinning around in my mind like she’s in a microwave.