#yes I’m battling the clown

[reidmarieprentiss]

Hometown Glory

Summary: Moving back to your hometown was never your plan, and neither was running into the class clown Chip Taylor. But everything happens for a reason, right?

Pairing: Chip Taylor x nurse fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: brief domestic violence (not reader), fights, blood/cuts/gore, alcohol consumption, drunk side character, happy ending, poor sweet baby Chip going through it

Word count: 10.8k

a/n: i love chip so bad, he doesn't deserve anything bad that happened to him :( i'm really trying to get back into my writing headspace thank you all for being so patient with me <3333

main masterlist

You were finally a registered nurse, having recently finished your residency and finally securing your spot as a full-time hospital employee. After a long, grueling shift, you decide to swing by a convenience store to fill up your gas tank and treat yourself to something sweet before heading home.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly comforting as you hum a tune under your breath, scanning the aisles for the perfect snack. Your moment of quiet is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the entrance door.

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice calls out, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” comes the reply, though it’s far from convincing. The man’s voice is low and strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you, uh, have any band-aids?”

“Uh—um, yes, but... you should really see a doctor—”

“No,” the man interjects firmly, his tone impatient. “I just need band-aids. Where are they?”

The cashier hesitates before pointing him toward an aisle, still looking unsure. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you abandon your search for a snack, rounding the corner to catch a glimpse of the man in need of first aid.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Chip?” you blurt out, incredulous. You can’t believe your eyes.

The man turns to face you, and you gasp. His face is a mess—covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. His disheveled appearance sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Jesus, Chip!” you exclaim, your voice filled with both shock and concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

His brows knit together, his expression shifting from confusion to discomfort. “Who—uh, how do you know me?” he asks, his voice cautious.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, studying his battered face with worry. “Chip, it’s me—Y/N. Y/N Y/L? We went to high school together.”

Chip blinked a few times, his bloodshot eyes squinting as he tried to focus on your face. His body language, even through the fog of pain, softened just a little as he registered your name.

"Y/N? Holy shit," he repeated, his voice raspy, either from exhaustion or something worse. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stepped closer, your nurse instincts kicking into overdrive as you scanned his injuries. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, smearing down the side of his face. His knuckles were raw, and a nasty gash across his forearm oozed blood onto his torn sleeve. You could see bruising already forming along his cheekbone, and his lip was split.

"Chip, you look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?" you demanded, your voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," he muttered, brushing off your worry with a weak wave of his hand. He turned his attention to the shelf of first aid supplies, scanning for the bandaids as though they could fix everything. "I just need some bandaids, that's all."

"Bandaids? Are you serious?" You crossed your arms, a mixture of exasperation and worry bubbling in your chest. "Chip, you look like you need a hospital. Not bandaids."

He winced, his eyes darting back to you. "I don't need a hospital, okay? I just... got into a little fight. It's not a big deal."

"A little fight? Chip, you look like you lost a battle with a bear," you shot back, stepping even closer now, invading his personal space in that way only someone truly worried could get away with.

Chip’s attempt at a smirk faltered as he winced again, his injuries clearly causing him more pain than he wanted to let on. "Well, the other guy looks worse," he mumbled, his attempt at bravado falling flat under your sharp gaze.

"Great, you're still sarcastic," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, let me look at you."

"What? No. I'm fine." He started to back away, but you reached out and grabbed his uninjured arm, your grip firm but not harsh.

"Chip, I’m a nurse. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll probably pass out right here in this aisle. So unless you want the cashier to call an ambulance—which, trust me, she’s seconds away from doing—just sit down and let me take care of this."

He hesitated, glancing around the nearly empty store, clearly torn. His pride wrestled with the reality of his situation, the bruises and cuts screaming louder than his ego. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to make a scene," he mumbled, his voice low and almost pleading.

"Too late for that," you said, raising an eyebrow at the cashier who was still nervously watching the two of you.

"Please?" Chip grumbled, his tone softening just enough to sound genuine.

You sighed, relenting. "Sure, Chip. Come on." You quickly paid for your items, tossing them into a plastic bag, and led the way out to the parking lot.

Chip followed you out of the store reluctantly, his steps slow and uneven. You kept a close eye on him, glancing over your shoulder as you reached your car. His face was pale, and you could see the effort it took him to stay upright.

You glanced at him as he shuffled behind you, clearly in no condition to walk far. "Did you drive?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

As you unlocked the doors, you motioned towards the passenger seat. "Get in," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for a split second, his pride clearly still putting up a fight, but the exhaustion and pain finally won out. He slumped into the passenger seat, letting out a low groan as he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince.

You slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, casting him a sideways glance. "You really should’ve gone straight to the hospital," you said, your voice softer now that the two of you were away from prying eyes.

Chip gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing at the movement. "Yeah, well, hospitals ask a lot of questions. I wasn’t really in the mood for that."

You frowned, the wheels in your mind turning. "What kind of questions are you trying to avoid, Chip? Did you get into some kind of trouble?"

His jaw tightened, and he avoided your gaze, staring out the window instead. "It’s complicated," he muttered.

"Complicated?" You scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Chip, you’re sitting in my car, bleeding and bruised, looking like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. I think you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn’t ask for your help, Y/N."

"Too bad," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Because you’re getting it whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Chip glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. He seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay? Got into a fight with some guys who didn’t take kindly to me being there."

"Where’s 'there'?" you pressed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I'm fine. Or at least I will be."

You let out a frustrated sigh but decided not to push further. "Fine. We’ll deal with the details later. Right now, I’m taking you to my place so I can clean you up properly."

Chip’s head snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. "Your place? No, no way. That’s not happening."

"And why not?" you challenged, arching a brow at him.

"Because it’s... weird," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Weird?" You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. "Chip, you’re sitting here covered in blood, and you think going to my place to clean up is the weird part? You’re unbelievable."

He muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he slouched deeper into the seat, clearly too tired to keep up the fight.

The rest of the drive was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Chip as you hit a bump in the road.

When you finally pulled up to your apartment, you parked and turned to him. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

Chip grumbled something inaudible but followed you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. As you led him up the stairs, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"How do you always manage to get yourself into situations like this?" you muttered.

"Talent," he replied with a weak grin.

"Yeah, well, your 'talent' is going to land you in serious trouble one day," you retorted, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

Chip leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your apartment. "Nice place," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Save the commentary for when you’re not dripping blood on my floor," you shot back, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

He chuckled softly, wincing as he eased himself down. "You’ve gotten feisty, Y/N."

"And you’ve gotten dumber," you replied, grabbing your first aid kit.

As you knelt in front of him, unpacking the supplies, Chip watched you quietly. For a moment, he seemed to forget his pain, his gaze softening as he took you in.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when I start cleaning those wounds."

He smirked, the faintest glimmer of his old charm shining through. "I already do."

"Good," you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "That makes this easier."

You grabbed a clean towel and some antiseptic from the first aid kit, shooting Chip a pointed look as you settled on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, this is going to sting like hell. No whining allowed."

Chip raised an eyebrow, his lopsided grin making a reappearance despite his injuries. "When did you get so bossy? You used to be so sweet."

"And you used to be less of a shit talker," you shot back, soaking the towel with antiseptic. "Guess we both changed."

His smirk faltered as you pressed the towel against the gash on his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. "Damn, Y/N. Trying to kill me?"

"Not my fault you’re a baby," you teased, your voice light but your hands steady. "Maybe if you’d gone to the hospital like a normal person, someone else could’ve done this for you."

He chuckled, though it was strained. "Yeah, but they wouldn’t have looked this good doing it."

You paused for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His grin was still there, faint but mischievous, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself. "Flattery isn’t going to make this hurt any less," you muttered, turning your attention back to his arm.

"I’m just saying," he continued, his tone playful now, "if I’d known my high school classmate turned into some kind of Florence Nightingale, I’d have gotten into trouble a lot sooner."

You snorted, dabbing at the cut with perhaps a little more pressure than necessary. "Florence Nightingale would have let you bleed out for being this annoying."

Chip winced, but he didn’t stop talking. "Annoying? Come on, Y/N. I’m charming. You used to have a thing for charm."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I had a thing for Pete’s charm, Chip. And you’re about one bad pickup line away from me calling an ambulance to take you out of my apartment."

He laughed, the sound genuine despite his discomfort. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But seriously, thanks for this. I mean it."

"Don’t thank me yet," you said, leaning in to inspect the cut on his eyebrow. Your knee brushed against his, and you felt his gaze shift, watching you more intently now. "I still have to clean this mess on your face. That’s going to be even worse."

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "I trust you."

You stilled for a moment, your breath catching at the sincerity in his tone. Meeting his eyes, you found something there that wasn’t entirely playful—something softer, more vulnerable. The moment lingered, the air between you suddenly heavier.

Shaking off the feeling, you forced a smirk and reached for another antiseptic wipe. "That’s your first mistake," you said lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Chip grinned again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If this is what a mistake feels like, I think I’ll take my chances."

“Was that a pick up line?” You narrowed your eyes at Chip before you focused on cleaning his eyebrow, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His breath was warm on your cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. This was Chip, for God’s sake. The same Chip who’d spent half of high school cracking jokes in the back of class and charming his way both in and out of trouble.

"Doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would," he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," you replied, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good? More like amazing," he said, his grin widening as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes studied you carefully, flickering with something more contemplative than before. "Can’t believe you came back here after college."

"Why’s that?" you asked, keeping your focus on cleaning the stubborn cut near his cheekbone. You avoided meeting his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words.

"I don’t know," Chip said with a small shrug, though his voice held a quiet sincerity. "You always seemed like you were going to do bigger and better things. You had that spark, you know? Like you were meant for something more."

"Yeah, well," you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you dabbed at the wound. "I wasn’t going to come back. But… things change."

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, the playful energy between you dimming. "What changed?" he asked, his voice softer now, curiosity tinged with genuine concern.

You held your breath, your hands momentarily stilling as you thought about how to answer. The memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, but you pushed them down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mom passed," you said finally, the words quiet but firm. "Dad needed help."

The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of your apartment’s air conditioning the only sound. Chip’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something far more serious. "Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, forcing yourself to keep busy as you finished cleaning the last of his wounds. "It’s okay. It was a while ago now. You know how it is—life happens, and you just… deal with it."

Chip nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering as he watched you work. "Yeah. But still, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, offering him a small, tight smile. "Thanks, Chip." You stood up, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the trash. "Alright, you’re all patched up. Try not to pick any more fights for at least a week, okay?"

He chuckled, though the sound was quieter than before. "I’ll do my best. But no promises."

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the return of his humor. "Seriously, Chip. You should try and take care of yourself. I won’t always be here to clean up your mess."

He grinned, the warmth in his expression taking some of the weight off the conversation. "Good to know you’ve still got that fire in you. Some things don’t change, huh?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe. But some things do."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the air shift again, a quiet intensity settling between you.

"Yeah," Chip said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "Some things do."

—

You sent Chip on his way that night after you finished cleaning him up. Something about him lingered in your mind, pulling at threads of memory and curiosity. He wasn’t the same Chip you remembered from high school—not entirely, anyway. Back then, he was the class clown, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks, his antics loud enough to mask whatever deeper, darker truths he thought no one could see. You noticed, of course. You always did.

You’d thought he was cute back then, with his messy hair and crooked smile, but now? Now, he was handsome in a way that made you pause—a rugged, lived-in kind of attractiveness that spoke to years of experiences, good and bad.

In high school, you never gave much thought to what might’ve been. You’d always had a boyfriend back then—Pete Welsh. Pete, with his soft-spoken kindness and steadfast loyalty, had been the sweetest guy you’d ever known. But Pete never wanted to leave Amarillo. He was content with the small-town life, dreaming of raising a family on the same quiet streets where he grew up.

You, on the other hand, had dreams of moving far, far away. The big city called to you with its bright lights and endless possibilities. But then… Mom got sick.

Everything shifted. Plans for the future faded, replaced with long nights by her bedside and endless days balancing work and care. Amarillo, for all its limitations, became your entire world.

And now, here was Chip, standing on your front steps with that same crooked smile but a different air about him. It made you wonder what had changed for him in all these years—and what was still the same.

“What are you doing here, Chip?” you asked, exasperation clear in your tone as you stood in the doorway. Your arms crossed instinctively, but your gaze softened as it traveled over him.

He looked down, avoiding your eyes as his hands fidgeted, wringing together awkwardly. “I—uh, got kinda… cut,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. The sound was weak, forced, and trailed off quickly as he winced, one hand clutching his side.

Your eyes immediately darted to the hand pressed against his ribs. “Cut?” you echoed, your exasperation melting into concern. “Chip, what did you—”

“Can you help me out?” he interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and hope. His lips pulled into a half-smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but the faint pallor of his face betrayed him.

You sighed, already stepping back to let him in, your mind racing with questions. “Fine. Get in here before you bleed all over the porch.”

He shuffled past you, careful not to brush too close, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his steps were slightly uneven, his posture hunched just enough to protect his injured side.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice firmer now as you pointed to the kitchen. “Sit down, and don’t try to charm your way out of explaining this.”

Chip shot you a lopsided grin despite the situation, but he obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest chair. “I’d never dream of it.”

But of course, he would dream of it. Chip expertly dodged every single question you threw at him, deflecting with vague answers and cheeky grins that only served to wear down your patience further.

“Chip,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You can’t keep showing up here, okay? What if you’re in real danger and I’m not home?”

“You’re home right now,” he countered with a sheepish grin, his tone light and teasing, as if his very presence wasn’t bending every boundary you’d ever set.

“You got lucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, though the flicker of concern in your eyes softened the words.

His grin faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to the floor before returning to you. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

You shook your head, trying not to let his sudden shift tug too hard at your heartstrings. “Seriously, Chip. You can’t keep doing this. What’s going on? Why do you keep coming to me?”

For a moment, you thought he might actually answer, his mouth opening as if to speak. But then he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, the grin creeping back onto his face like armor. “Guess I just like the company.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and worried. “Chip—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he interrupted, giving you a wink that did nothing to ease your concerns. “I’m tougher than I look.”

You sighed again, the weight of his stubbornness settling heavily on your chest. “One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, Chip,” you muttered, turning to grab the first aid supplies.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. “But not tonight.”

—

It kept up like this. Chip kept showing up, like clockwork, and you—against all odds—were always magically home.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling, as if he had some sixth sense for your presence. No matter the time, no matter the day, he’d appear at your door, sometimes with a scrape, sometimes a bruise, and sometimes just that lopsided grin that made you want to roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

And despite your best efforts to keep your walls up, you always let him in.

Even when you answered the door with your arms crossed and an exasperated sigh. Even when you scolded him for not going to the hospital or told him he was too reckless for his own good. Even when you warned him, time and time again, that this wasn’t sustainable—that he couldn’t keep running to you like this.

But you still opened the door, every single time.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, a mixture of hope and mischief that felt impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the quiet moments in between—the ones where he let his guard down, even if just for a fleeting second, and you could see the boy he used to be, buried beneath the man life had clearly roughed up.

Whatever it was, you let him in, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. And Chip? He kept coming back, as if he knew. As if he could sense that, no matter what you said, you’d never actually turn him away.

You sat across from Chip at the kitchen table, the two of you nursing mugs of coffee long after the sun had gone down. The evening had settled into an easy rhythm, the kind where conversation flowed naturally, unhurried by the clock.

“Man, high school feels like it was a hundred years ago,” you said with a laugh, swirling the last bit of coffee in your mug.

“Pete Welsh and you were practically glued at the hip back then,” Chip chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. “I thought for sure you two were going to get married and have that perfect little white-picket-fence life.”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his smirk. “Pete Welsh, huh? I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Chip chuckled, tilting his head. “Mhm. Mr. Perfect Hair and Letterman Jacket? What happened to him, anyway?”

You shrugged, a wry smile crossing your face. “Last I heard, he’s still in Amarillo. Married some sweet girl he met at church, has a couple of kids now. He’s doing great.”

Chip nodded, a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds about right. Bet he’s still mowing his lawn in crisp khakis and a polo shirt, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. That’s Pete to a T.”

Chip’s grin softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “You ever think about how different your life would’ve been if you’d stayed with him? Settled down here, had that picket fence and all?”

You paused, swirling your coffee as the thought settled in. “Honestly? No. Pete’s a great guy, but he always wanted to stay, and I… I needed to see what else was out there. Staying in Amarillo would’ve been the easy choice, but it wouldn’t have been the right one for me.”

Chip hummed, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You were always the type to chase something bigger.”

You smiled at that, tilting your head. “And what about you? You’ve done plenty of chasing yourself, haven’t you?”

He laughed, but it was softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah, I guess. Though I think I was always chasing the wrong things. Or, you know… the wrong people.”

There was a weight to his words, and the way his eyes met yours made your breath hitch. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chip hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I spent all of high school with this dumb crush on you, watching you and Pete from the sidelines...”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Chip…”

He shrugged, his smile crooked and a little shy. “It’s not a big deal. You were way out of my league back then. Still are.”

Your chest tightened. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have mattered?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—nostalgia, surprise, and something undeniably warm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, meeting his gaze.

Chip smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You laughed lightly, the moment settling between you with a weight that neither of you was ready to unpack.

—

“Goddammit, Chip!” Liza screamed, her voice shaking with fury as she grabbed the nearest heavy object—a ceramic vase—and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing his head. “We need money for fucking rent!”

Chip flinched, shrinking into himself as he backed up against the kitchen counter. His hands raised instinctively in defense, his voice stumbling over itself. “I—I know, Liza, I’m sorry. Jo—John said he’d have more work for me soon. I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying?” Liza’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a knife. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you’re not trying hard enough! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking moron, you could get a real job! You ever think about that, genius?”

Chip looked away, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “I’m doing the best I can,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, the frustration and shame threatening to choke him.

“Well, your ‘best’ isn’t good enough,” she snapped, her hands gesturing wildly. “Do you think the landlord’s gonna take your excuses as payment? Do you think I’m gonna keep putting up with this shit? Get your act together, Chip, or we’re both screwed!”

Chip swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. But deep down, he knew—whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Liza’s anger had reached a boiling point, and he was the easiest target.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“You better,” Liza hissed, glaring at him one last time before storming out of the room, leaving behind the broken vase and a silence that felt heavier than anything she could have thrown.

Chip stood there for a moment, staring at the shards on the floor, his jaw tight as he tried to push down the familiar ache in his chest. Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the weight of Liza’s words settling deep into his bones.

—

The two of you were sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room, the kind of night that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. Chip had just told a ridiculous story about one of his old "get-rich-quick schemes," and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“Oh my god, Chip,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “How do you even come up with this stuff? Did you seriously think selling glow-in-the-dark socks was going to make you a millionaire?”

“Hey,” he said, trying to look indignant but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “The market research was solid. I just didn’t account for, you know… shipping costs.”

You burst out laughing again, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable!” you teased, and in a playful burst of energy, you gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

The moment shifted instantly. Chip flinched, his body jerking back like he’d been hit much harder. His grin disappeared, replaced by a fleeting look of alarm that he tried to mask as quickly as it came.

Your laughter died in your throat, your hand frozen mid-air as your brain tried to process what just happened. “Chip?” you said softly, concern creeping into your voice.

He forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, reflex,” he said quickly, rubbing his shoulder even though your punch had been more of a tap. “Guess I’m just jumpy today.”

You didn’t buy it. Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head, studying him carefully. “Chip… did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off, his voice too quick, too dismissive. “It’s nothing, really. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your tone firm but gentle. “You flinched like I was about to deck you. What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t meet your gaze, instead staring down at his hands as he fidgeted nervously. “It’s… it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, you reached out, placing a hand on his knee, offering a touch of comfort. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm. “It’s me. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I said it’s nothing, okay!” Chip snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved your hand off his knee.

The movement startled you, and you flinched, your eyes widening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air thick with tension. You weren’t used to this—being yelled at by the sweet, goofy man who had spent the last hour making you laugh.

You pulled back slightly, your hand hovering uncertainly in your lap. “Chip…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His face fell almost instantly, the anger and frustration draining away as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of regret. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t trying to push you,” you said gently, though your voice trembled slightly. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice thick with guilt. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, okay? I’m sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in your chest softening as you saw the pain etched across his face. Slowly, you nodded, your voice tender as you said, “It’s okay, Chip. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not that easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I know it’s not,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your tone quiet but steady. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You gave him a small, tentative smile, silently hoping he’d let you in someday. Until then, you’d wait, no matter how long it took.

“How about we take a walk? Clear our heads?” you suggest softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

Chip looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nods. Without another word, the two of you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You walk side by side down the quiet street, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chip breaks it.

“I must look like a real winner, huh?” he says, his tone self-effacing, his words laced with a bitter humor that makes your heart ache.

You glance at him, his profile barely visible in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

He huffs out a laugh, the sound quiet and almost bitter. Gently, he nudges his shoulder into yours, a small, tentative gesture. “First, I need you to clean me up. Over and over. And now I can’t even make it through one chat without ruining it.”

“Chip…” you say softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “Didn’t I? I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, your honesty making him glance at you sharply. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Chip stops walking for a moment, looking down at you as if searching for something in your expression. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter. “You are.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, your hands brushing together as you both start walking again. “We all have bad days, Chip. It doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you admit, nudging him lightly. “But I figure as long as you keep showing up, I’ll keep trying.”

Chip looks at you then, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

You don’t respond right away, letting the moment hang in the cool night air. Instead, you glance up at the stars, hoping he feels even half as much comfort in your presence as you do in his.

—

Chip doesn’t come around for a few weeks after that night, and though you tried not to worry, the silence gnawed at you. When he finally shows up, it’s worse than you ever imagined.

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant. When you open it, the sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s standing there with a deep gash running along his cheek, blood crusted at the edges, and his eyes red and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Chip!” you gasp, your heart pounding. “What happened? Get in here, now.”

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, wincing as he speaks.

“Not that bad?” you echo, incredulous. “You’ve got blood on your face, Chip. Sit down before you fall over.”

Without waiting for him to argue, you guide him to the bathroom, your hands firm but gentle as you steer him. He sinks down onto the edge of the tub, his shoulders slumping, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You position yourself between his legs, tilting his chin up with careful fingers so you can get a better look at the wound. “Hold still,” you murmur, your tone softer now.

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against your wrist. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it under the faucet. “Just tell me what happened.”

Chip hesitates, his eyes darting away from yours. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly.

“It’s not nothing,” you counter, your voice steady but firm as you press the damp cloth gently against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t just show up with a gash like this for no reason.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching under your gentle touch. “Liza and I got into it again,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she had a bottle. Things got out of hand.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion as the name registers. “Liza?” you repeat, stepping back slightly, the washcloth dangling in your hand. “Who’s Liza?”

Chip’s eyes widen briefly, like he hadn’t meant to let the name slip. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “She’s, uh… my girlfriend,” he mutters, the words heavy with shame.

“Your girlfriend?” you echo, the word catching in your throat. “Chip, are you telling me your girlfriend did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turn white. Finally, he nods, barely meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s got a temper, and sometimes… I just—I make her mad, you know?”

You stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in your chest. “Chip, no,” you say firmly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “This isn’t about you making her mad. This is about her. This isn’t okay.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like that all the time,” he says defensively. “She’s… she’s just going through a lot. I’m trying to help her.”

“Help her?” you say, stepping closer again, your voice rising slightly. “Chip, look at yourself. She’s hurting you. How is that okay?”

“I can handle it,” he insists, though his voice wavers. “It’s not a big deal.”

You crouch down in front of him, your hand resting gently on his knee. “It is a big deal,” you say softly but firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Chip. No one does.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glassy and full of conflict, as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the overhead light, the weight of his pain filling the small bathroom.

“This isn’t okay, Chip,” you say, your voice firm but trembling with emotion. You grip the edge of the counter behind you, your knuckles white, steadying yourself as you speak.

“I can handle it,” he insists, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor like he’s trying to will the words into being true.

But you won’t let him sink back into that silence, not this time. “Handling it isn’t enough,” you counter, your voice soft but unyielding. “You deserve better than this, Chip.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… leaving, fixing things, I’ve tried everything. And every time, it just gets worse.”

Your heart aches at the rawness in his voice, the hopelessness that seeps through every word. Slowly, you kneel in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Chip, listen to me,” you say gently, placing your hands on his knees. “You don’t have to fix this alone. You don’t have to keep going back. There are people who care about you—I care about you. Let me help.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his emotions swirl just beneath the surface. “What if it doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t get away?”

“You can,” you say firmly, leaning closer. “And you will. But you have to let someone in, Chip. You have to let someone help you.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You squeeze his knees gently, your eyes locked on his. “Because you deserve better,” you say simply. “And I’m not going to let you believe you don’t.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, slowly, he nods, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the despair in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers, the word so faint you almost don’t hear it.

But you do, and it’s enough. It’s a start.

—

“Where have you been?” Liza slurred drunkenly, her voice thick and venomous as Chip quietly closed the trailer door behind him. She was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something strong dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh, nowhere?” Chip replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Liza snorted, her lips curling into a sneer. “What’s her name?” she shot back, leaning forward unsteadily. “Little Miss Nowhere?”

Chip froze, his throat tightening as he searched for something—anything—that might diffuse the situation. “It’s not like that, Liza,” he said carefully, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves.

“Oh, it’s not like that?” she mocked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m stupid, Chip? You come sneaking in here like some guilty teenager, and I’m supposed to believe you were just out… what? Taking a walk?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he mumbled, stepping further into the room, though he kept his distance from her. “I just—needed some air. That’s all.”

“Air, huh?” Liza spat, taking a swig from the bottle and setting it down hard on the coffee table. “Funny how you always seem to need air somewhere else. Who is she, Chip? Huh? Some charity case who feels bad for you?”

“Stop, Liza,” he said softly, his voice pleading. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me what I am,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and swaying slightly. “You’re the one sneaking around, lying to me, and I’m the problem?”

Chip’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and fear. “I’m not lying to you,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sure you’re not,” she hissed, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “But let me tell you something, Chip—you think you can just waltz in and out of here, running to whoever she is? You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

He flinched at her words, his head dipping as he avoided her gaze. “I’m tired, Liza,” he said softly. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Yeah?” she barked, her voice rising. “Well, tough shit, because I’m not done.”

But Chip didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind him, Liza’s words kept coming, sharp and slurred, but he didn’t look back.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, his chest heaving with shaky breaths. The fight had drained him, but your voice—steady and kind from earlier—echoed faintly in his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, Chip.”

And for the first time, he wondered if you might be right.

—

It was like clockwork, hearing the knock on your door. You didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting the usual sheepish face and bruises.

“What is it today, Chip—” you began, but the words died in your throat as you froze.

It wasn’t Chip. It was Liza.

Before you could react, she pushed her way inside, her movements unsteady but fueled by a drunken determination. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol clung to her, and her eyes narrowed as they darted around your space, taking in every detail.

“So you’re the little twinkie my Chip keeps running off to see?” she sneered, her words slurred but cutting.

“What? Um, no,” you stammered, panic rising as you took a step back. “We’re just—uh, we’re friends.”

Liza let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless as she staggered toward you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. “Friends?” she spat. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you tried to stay calm. “Why are you in my home?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

Liza ignored the question, her gaze sweeping the room again before settling back on you. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” she hissed, taking another step closer. “Playing the good little Samaritan, patching him up, feeding him your pity. You think you can just take him from me?”

“No one’s trying to take anyone,” you said, your voice steadier now as you held your ground. “Chip’s my friend, that’s all. But if you’re here to cause trouble, you need to leave.”

Liza’s sneer deepened, her body swaying slightly as she crossed her arms. “Trouble?” she mocked. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Your stomach churned as she stared you down, her presence filling the room with a volatile energy that made it hard to breathe. “Liza, I’m asking you nicely. Get out,” you said, your tone firmer now.

But she just laughed again, the sound colder than before. “Or what?” she challenged, leaning in closer. “You gonna run to Chip? Beg him to save you from big, bad Liza?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for how to handle this without escalating things further. “No,” you said firmly, your voice low and measured. “I don’t need anyone to save me. But you need to leave. Now.”

Liza’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face before she straightened up, wobbling slightly. “Fine,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “But you’d better stay away from him. Because if I find out you’re messing with what’s mine…”

She didn’t finish the threat, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she stumbled out of your home, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what had just happened. Finally, you locked the door, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily.

And all you could think was, What the hell has Chip gotten himself into?

The rest of the day was a blur, the encounter with Liza leaving a sour knot in your stomach. That evening, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t home when Chip came knocking. Work had called, and with bills looming, you couldn’t afford to say no.

When Chip arrived at your door, his knock was softer than usual, almost hesitant. He waited, shuffling on the porch, but there was no answer. He tried again, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced around. Still nothing.

Unsure of what else to do, Chip slumped down onto the steps of your porch, his legs stretched out as the weight of everything pressed down on him. The fight with Liza, the exhaustion from trying to keep it all together, the growing guilt over dragging you into his mess—it all swirled in his head, loud and unrelenting.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a few minutes to collect himself before heading back to the chaos. But the cool night air and the relative safety of your porch lulled him into stillness, and before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy.

By the time you got home, the clock was nearing midnight. You were juggling your keys and a bag of groceries when you noticed the figure curled up on your porch. Your heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in.

“Chip?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stirred at the sound of your voice, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Your chest tightened as you took in the sight of him—his slumped posture, the faint bruise blooming on his jaw, the weariness etched into every line of his face. You crouched down beside him, setting your bag aside. “Chip, you can’t sleep on my porch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your frustration melted at the vulnerability in his tone, replaced by a wave of empathy. “Come on,” you said gently, standing and reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chip hesitated, glancing up at you, his eyes glassy and unsure. But when you offered him a small, reassuring smile, he let out a soft sigh and took your hand.

The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder every so often to make sure Chip hadn’t snuck off. But there he was, sitting at the small table, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, looking more like a lost puppy than the rugged man who had crashed on your porch.

When you placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he blinked at it, then up at you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Just eat,” you said with a small smile, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when he picked up a piece of bacon, his hands trembled slightly. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, though he quickly looked down, blinking hard as if the sight of breakfast had somehow betrayed him.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a hesitant bite, and the words spilled out before you could second-guess them. “Move in with me.”

Chip froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as he choked on the bacon. He coughed, grabbing his coffee to wash it down, and stared at you like you’d just grown a second head. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want you going back to her,” you said simply, your tone steady despite the racing of your heart. “You basically live here already, so why not make it permanent?”

“Y/N…” he stammered, setting his fork down as his brow furrowed. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” you replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you in that situation anymore, Chip. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t pay much in rent,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I own the house, Chip. You’re not paying rent. Just… contribute when you can, okay? Groceries, light bills, whatever. This isn’t about money.”

He stared at you, the conflict in his eyes giving way to something softer, something that looked a lot like hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone, Chip. You don’t have to go back to that trailer.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze dropping to the plate of food you’d made for him. Then he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief washing over you. “Good,” you said with a small smile. “Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Chip nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he picked up his fork. But this time, there was a faint glimmer of something in his expression—a flicker of trust, of gratitude, of believing.

—

That weekend, you decided Chip deserved a break—a real one. So, you took him out for a round of celebratory drinks at your favorite local spot, a small, cozy bar with dim lighting, a jukebox that played everything from old country to classic rock, and a bartender who knew how to pour a drink just right.

For the first time in a long while, there was no drama, no blood, no tension hanging over your heads. Just you and Chip, relaxed and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Okay, okay,” You said, your voice loud enough to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. “But you’re seriously telling me you thought you could just jump off the roof into a pool without calculating the distance first? That’s, like, Physics 101!”

Chip rolled his eyes, tipping his glass toward you. “Hey, I was fifteen, and I thought I was invincible. Plus, I didn’t think anyone was going to snitch to my parents about it.”

You laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Chip couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see you like this, guard down, shoulders loose, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” You teased, taking a sip of your drink. “You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right, I do,” He shot back with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to bad decisions and living to tell the tale.”

You clinked his bottle against your glass, his smile softening as he looked at you. “I’ll drink to that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing easily as you swapped stories, teased each other, and indulged in just a little casual flirting. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but something about the way Chip looked at you that night felt… different.

“Thanks for this,” he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and giving you a small, genuine smile. “I don’t remember the last time I had a night like this. No stress. No bullshit. Just… good company.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you played it cool, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “Well, you deserve it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. “I think that’s all you,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Flattery will get you another round,” you teased, sliding out of your seat.

Chip laughed, shaking his head as he watched you walk toward the bar. And as the night stretched on, filled with more drinks, more laughs, and the kind of easy connection that felt rare and precious, you both couldn’t help but think: Maybe this is how things are supposed to feel.

But, of course, nice things never last. One minute, you were smiling and turning your head to flag down the bartender for another drink while Chip slipped off to the bathroom. The atmosphere was light, carefree. For a fleeting moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

And then, chaos.

The first thing you registered was the searing pain. Your head snapped forward as something—or rather, someone—slammed your face into the edge of the bar. The world spun, and your hands flew up to your nose instinctively, warmth already spreading down your face.

Screams erupted around you, voices blending into a cacophony of panic and confusion. Blinking through the haze, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her—Liza.

Her face was twisted with rage, her body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at you. “You think you can just take him from me?” she spat, her voice slurred and venomous. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Well, guess what, sweetheart—he’s mine!”

Blood dripped between your fingers, your likely broken nose throbbing with every beat of your heart. You staggered back, trying to create space between you and her as bar patrons scrambled out of the way, some yelling for security, others too stunned to react.

“Liza,” you managed, your voice muffled and shaky as you tried to steady yourself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, taking a step toward you, her eyes wild. “You think you can fix him? Save him? He doesn’t need you!”

Before she could lunge again, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back. Chip. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror as he restrained her, his voice shaking as he said, “Liza, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

She fought against his hold, screaming obscenities as her feet kicked against the floor. “You lied to me, Chip!” she shrieked. “You said you’d always be there! You said we’d work it out!”

“Let’s go,” Chip said firmly, dragging her toward the exit as she thrashed in his grip. “You’re done. Get out.”

As they disappeared through the door, the bartender rushed over to you, his face full of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, handing you a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, pressing the napkins against your nose as your vision blurred with tears of pain and shock.

Moments later, Chip returned, his chest heaving as he burst back into the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically until they landed on you, sitting on a stool, blood dripping between your fingers. His face crumpled with guilt and horror.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to your side and crouching down in front of you. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you mumbled through the pain, though your voice trembled, and the blood on your hands told a different story.

“It is,” Chip said, his voice low and filled with self-reproach as he grabbed more napkins from the bartender. “It all is. If I’d just—if I hadn’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he pressed the napkins into your hands. “Here. Hold these tight, okay?”

You didn’t argue, taking the napkins and wincing as you held them against your throbbing nose. The room felt too loud, too crowded, the stares from the other patrons pressing down on you like weights.

Minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance cut through the chaos outside. Chip helped you to your feet, his hand steady on your back as paramedics ushered you into the back of the vehicle. The world felt surreal, the adrenaline in your veins masking the full extent of the pain radiating through your face.

“Stay still,” one of the paramedics instructed as they examined you, their hands gentle but efficient. You caught glimpses of Chip through the open door, standing a few feet away, his posture tense as he spoke with the police.

He gestured animatedly, his words spilling out in hurried bursts. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could see the guilt etched into every movement, the way he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping as he pointed back toward the bar.

When the officer nodded and took notes, Chip glanced back at you, his expression raw and heavy with regret.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic gave you a small smile, her voice calm. “It looks like your nose is broken, but it’s a clean break. We’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flickering back to Chip outside. 

—

When you arrived home that night, the sound of hurried footsteps greeted you even before you stepped through the door. Chip was pacing the living room, his hands raking through his hair in nervous, jittery motions.

The moment the door clicked open, he froze and turned toward you, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and worry. “Y/N? Y/N, oh my god, you’re okay,” he blurted, rushing toward you like a man on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his intensity, though it turned into a groan as the pain in your nose flared. “I’m fine, Chip,” you assured him, though your voice came out a little nasally thanks to the bandages.

Chip stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to get you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You had the car keys, and I—I didn’t know how to—”

“Chip,” you interrupted, smiling despite the ache in your face. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on your bruises and the fresh bandage across your nose. “I still feel like an idiot,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They arrested Liza,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I told them everything. All of it.”

“Everything?” you echoed, your brows lifting slightly despite the stiffness in your face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re gonna want you to testify, though. Against her. I—” He paused, looking up at you, his expression pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation, cutting him off.

Chip’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “She hurt you, Chip. And tonight, she hurt me. I’m not going to let her keep doing this—not to you, not to anyone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You reached out, squeezing his arm gently. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “Together.”

Chip’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, the tension visibly melting away. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long, and for whatever reason his brain cooked up, he decided that right then was the perfect time to kiss you.

Before you could even react, his lips met yours—not hard, not rough, but just enough to remind you that, oh yeah, you had a freshly set nose.

“Ow!” you grunted, pulling back sharply, your hand flying up to cradle your face.

Chip’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

But the ridiculousness of it all hit you before the pain fully registered, and a laugh bubbled out of you. “Chip, seriously?” you managed between giggles, wincing but unable to stop yourself from laughing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red. “Guess I got caught up in the moment or something. Stupid, right?”

You kept laughing, the sound slightly strangled as you tried to avoid moving your nose too much. “You think?” you teased, giving him a playful shove. “Maybe next time don’t kiss someone who just got their face rearranged, genius.”

Chip chuckled, his embarrassment giving way to a genuine laugh as he looked at you. “Noted,” he said, his grin growing. “Maybe I’ll, uh, ask for permission first next time.”

“Good idea,” you replied with a smirk, your hand still gently holding your nose. “But hey, points for effort, I guess.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As the laughter faded, the two of you sat there in the quiet, the moment lighter than it had been all night. And despite the throbbing in your nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth spread through your chest. Even if his timing was terrible, it was still Chip—and maybe, just maybe, there was something to that.

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The Idea krinkels brings up bewitches me

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(Reading out chat message)'how fast would I be unalived if I said to Hank that his drip was chosen by a clown?' I think you’d be fine unless Hank just wanted you dead anyways. Cause, does Hank respond to insults or criticism? That’s hard to say.

I’m just imagining if Hank were like chewing through, y'know, a bunch of agents, and there was like an alleyway— like, imagine if, in MC 6.5, uh you got the guy reading the book inside that- the rift, he’s like the cashier; Sanford and Deimos wanted no part of him, uh, cause he wasn’t part of this. But like if he had put the book down and said like 'You guys look like a couple of clowns!' I think they would have killed him. I don’t think they would’ve like, reflected a moment. Like, 'awwh… he thinks we look like clowns' and then they just leave. …maybe? [long pause]

Well I mean, ultimately what would wind up happening is what is the most entertaining, less what is most realistic. Cause I’d like to imagine the two of them would just sit there like ‘awh man we do look like clowns!' And then they’d have like a fashion show thing where they’re walking in and out of the closet like 'Aw yeah! How about this outfit?' And then like 'no, no, no…’ and then they’d come out all fuckin' battle man-ed(?) like uh, like that commando sequence, then the guy is like 'ah yes! You’re good! You're the prettiest one of the ball now!' And then they leave, and they’re just all set up. That might be… I mean, we’re imagining a scenario I’m not animating, so…

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

this is all your fault @sunsetcougar

in a world where vaggie gets adopted by the little cannibal kid she saved, and then by Rosie, and slips out of cannibal town each night for food that isn't too humane for her tastes-

imagine this version of chaggie meeting at a takeout window in hell

one long, awkward moment of trying not to look at each other...

Charlie: “So! You-"

Vaggie: "Hey."

Charlie: "-hello! Oh sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off-"

Vaggie: "No that was me. You're fine. (why is she in a SUIT) Go on."

Charlie: "Ok. What, uh- (panics in oh no she’s cute and talking to me) (remembers she’s staying in cannibal town) (OH PERFECT A CONVERSATION STARTER!!) -what kind of people do you like?”

Vaggie: “...pardon?”

Charlie: “Oh it's just, I've seen you around and, is that why you’re out on the town a lot? Shopping um, around? (for people to eat)”

Vaggie: “Not really? I’m kinda still.. torn up over my last big life commitment, (literally) so I’m exactly not looking to date anyone right off the bat.”

Charlie: “To date- TO DATE- OH! No no no I wasn’t- I meant dinner!”

Vaggie: “With you?”

Charlie: “IN GENERAL! People you like, as in, to eat? Because you're with the cannibals and haha dinner with me that would be like, a date and-”

Vaggie: “Yeah I’m not into that.”

Charlie: “(dying)-right.”

Vaggie: “The eating people thing. Not the dinner with a pretty woman thing.”

Charlie: “… (charlie.exe has stopped working)…Ah.”

Vaggie: “Right.”

Charlie: “…but Cannibal town?”

Vaggie: “I just live there. I- Junior Meat lives there and I’m sticking with him.”

Charlie: “And Mr. Meat is your…?”

Vaggie: “Kid? Kinda?”

Charlie: “Oh!”

Vaggie: “Yeah.”

Charlie: “That's wonderful! How did you two- sorry no never mind, too much, um. Does he like take out too? Or any non-human snacks?”

Vaggie: “Gummy bears. And dino nugets.

Charlie: "He has very good taste."

Vaggie: "He likes biting the heads off ‘em.”

Charlie: “Aww me too!!! Well, playing with them, not the head biting but. And you?”

Vaggie: “I used to put them into battle formations and march them off to war.”

Charlie: “That’s so cute.”

Vaggie: "..."

Charlie: "..."

Vaggie: “You meant what snacks do I like, huh.”

Charlie: “Heheh. Um. Yes! Sorry I’m not. Doing the whole 'have normal conversation with a beautiful girl' thing very good am I?”

Vaggie: “I’d give you five stars. And practice makes perfect.”

Charlie: "And would you...? I mean I wouldn't want to practice on someone who didn't-"

Vaggie: "Be your practice partner? Sure. Sounds fun."

Charlie: “…! I- I know all the best places in hell for inhuman food! Or wait no, for food that isn’t made of people! My treat?”

Vaggie: “My pleasure. (automatically does the little curtsy and hand kiss Rosie’s been badgering her to learn) (panics) I uh, here's my order, I gotta... go tuck in Junior Meat. You know where I’m at?”

Charlie: “(dazed) Hannibal Clown…. C-Cannibal Town!”

Vaggie: “Right. Think I already mentioned it.”

Charlie: “Yes and I saw you with them- so I guessed that you- I can pick you up?”

Vaggie: “Maybe an hour later than this, so Junior's in bed and doesn’t freak out.”

Charlie: “Oh. (droops) You think I’d scare him? I wouldn’t pull out my horns or tail out…”

Vaggie: “It's not you. He’s just kinda jumpy after the… he had a rough extermination day, is all.”

Charlie: “Looked like you did too.”

Vaggie: “What.”

Charlie: “You seem much better now! Not that you didn’t look great then, I mean. I'm sure you always look-”

Vaggie: “You saw- what did you see?”

“Charlie: “I was walking by when the cannibals were helping you. And I think I saw Junior Meat too? He was the one holding your hand?”

Vaggie: “Yeah…?”

Charlie: “I’m, really glad you all found each other. Even if it was a rough day.”

Vaggie: “… they ate part of me in greeting.”

Charlie: “Ugh! They ate-? I mean, aww?”

Vaggie: "Not a normal thing even in hell?"

Charlie: "The definition of normal is... fluid and not very... it wasn't your EYE was it?"

Vaggie: "Eh, wasn't using it anymore anyway."

Charlie: "I guess it counts as. Recycling?"

Vaggie: "Heh."

Charlie: "Sorry."

Vaggie: “No, you're okay. You’re also right though. Maybe it was worth one rough day.”

Charlie: “I’m right?”

Vaggie: “And you’re picking me up tomorrow for dinner.”

Charlie: “!!!! YES! I am! I will, be there, for you. Tomorrow.”

Vaggie: “And…”

Charlie: “And?”

Vaggie: “Didn’t catch a name earlier.”

Charlie: “Oh it’s Charlie! Charlie Morningstar but it’s just Charlie!”

Vaggie: “As in princess?”

Charlie: “Just Charlie.”

Vaggie: “Sweet. (FUCK) See you soon, Charlie.”

Charlie: “….okay….”

Charlie:

Charlie: “Oh my ****ing dad what just happened.”

Charlie, two hour later: "I DIDN'T EVEN ASK HER NAME??"

-At Rosie's Emporium (of vaggie's pain)-

Vaggie: "Junior's finally asleep, so not matter what I tell you, please don't scream."

Rosie: "A very intriguing start! I'm already tickled! Do go on."

Vaggie: “You might need to just kill me.”

Rosie: “I couldn’t possibly! You haven’t even eaten your take out yet~”

Vaggie: “Aunt Rosie help me.”

Rosie: “A girl, hmm?”

Vaggie: “A girl?? She was in a SUIT. She was tall and awkward kept playing with her hair and should've had a puppy dog tail wagging behind her. I called her pretty and said I’d give her five stars. Then I invited myself to dinner with her. And she’s a fucking DEMON.”

Rosie: “We all are down here, darling. Present company excepted of course.”

Vaggie: “HELP. ME.”

Rosie: “Let’s start with the basics, yes? The niceties? What’s the name of this lucky girl?”

Vaggie: “Charlie.”

Rosie: "Lovely! And does she have a last name?"

Vaggie: "It's just Charlie."

Rosie: "How charming, I like her already~"

Vaggie: "But her last name's Morningstar. Don't scream."

Rosie: (SPITS TEA)

Vaggie: “I know."

Rosie: "Oh... my."

Vaggie: "I know I know!"

Rosie: "An abandoned angel and the princess of hell?"

Vaggie: "She didn't act like a princess of hell! She was like, princess of cute and wearing her heart on her sleeve! Princess of so kissable I could just reach up and grab her bowtie and-"

Vaggie: "FUCK I'm so fucked.”

Rosie: "Not yet you aren't. Don't worry darling, auntie Rosie will get you there~"

Vaggie: "That's not the kind of help I need!"

Rosie: "Speaking of need- a new outfit, yes, something with sparkle and shine, on par with a suit but not one whit more! With a skirt you can move in too of course."

Vaggie: "I DONT NEED A SKIRT I NEED TO STOP BEING GAY OVER THE PRINCESS OF HELL"

Rosie: "Perhaps flowery parasol to hide your dear little spear in..."

[discordantwritings]

Captain’s Orders (Buggy x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, angst, Buggy is bad at feelings, canon typical violence, oral, PiV sex, creampie

WC: 8.4k

Summary: Getting a job as the chronicler of the Buggy pirates was the best, then worst, then best thing that ever happened to you.

Notes: The second I realized I hadn’t done a solo buggy fic I wrote this I’m so sorry buggy

No one tells you how hard it is to keep a job on a pirate ship. Unless you manage to land with a big name captain the chances your job sinks to the bottom of the sea is pretty high. Which is what happened to your last three jobs- you were so tired of ending up on a dingy paddling away from a lost battle that you had no say in. You were a chronicler after all- not exactly a fighting pirate.

Despite being a non-essential crew member a chronicler was a sought after person. Every pirate thinks they are going to be the one to find the One Piece so, naturally, every pirate needs to have someone to log their journey to becoming king of the pirates. It was a little tiring, hearing the same story over and over again, writing the same few chapters only to end up waterlogged and searching for a new ship at the end.

But you needed to eat and you could only afford to live at this tavern for so long. You’d posted your services on the local board, listing your name and where you were staying in hopes of drawing in a pirate captain. One that hopefully won’t be going under in less than a month. And if you were really lucky- one that wasn’t so painfully textbook.

Really you should have known the gods were going to get you for wishing that.

When the clowns first walk into the tavern you wonder if you missed some signage that a carnival was coming into town. But when a distinctly dressed blue haired pirate captain walks in behind them- you put it all together. The Buggy Pirates were docked here. Their chronicler probably had their hands full but at least it wasn’t the same boring-

You notice when the barkeep points Buggy the Clown in your direction. The two of you make eye contact across the room and you quickly run through your memory to try and figure out what you could have possibly done to be hunted down by a big name pirate. As his heavy boots thud against the wooden floors you can’t think of a single time you’ve even brushed shoulders with any clowns let alone pirate ones. As Buggy looms over your table you frantically try and think of a way out of whatever sorry situation you’ve accidentally gotten yourself into only for that hurried train of thought to be abruptly derailed.

“You the chronicler who has that ad posted?”

It takes you probably too long to respond with a squeaky- “Yes?”

“Great!” The clown takes the chair next to you and sits down, quickly putting his feet up on the table. “Do you have examples of a resume or whatever?”

“You don’t already have a chronicler?” The question is out of your mouth before you can stop it and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying more stupid things.

“Nope.” He shrugs and you see the rest of his crew settle in around the tavern.

“Oh. Well-“ You reach off to your side and take out a leather bound journal that has some of your work plastered in it. “Here’s some snippets.”

As you hand it over to Buggy you feel as his sea green eyes rake over you for a few moments before he finally takes the book. He flips to the first page, looks at it for maybe all of two seconds before snapping it shut. “How would you write about me?”

Then why did he even- “Well I think- see people sometimes assume a chronicler only writes down the basic facts are events but I think a real chronicler tells a story that the average person didn’t get to see or hear about. For example a lot of people heard about the Straw Hats taking you out at Orange Town-“

He sits up a bit, gaze hardening but you quickly continue. “But- I think there’s a different story there! They fought the fishmen so soon after your encounter with them and it’s no secret that the Arlong Crew was pushing their luck in the East Blue. So the story there should really be about how you used your genius to let the Straw Hats go and sent the Arlong Crew after them- letting your opponents fight it out and weaken each other.”

There’s a long pause where you feel the clown practically searing holes into your skin with his gaze until he finally breaks into a smile that rivals the one painted on his face. “That’s exactly it! You get it! People just need to hear the right side of the story! Start writing that down. That'll be your first entry as our chronicler.”

That is probably the most presumptuous way you’ve ever been offered a job but you certainly were not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Great!”

It’s only after Buggy then orders a round of drinks in celebration and the cheering begins that you realize something.

“I don’t have to wear a clown costume do I?”

You didn’t have to wear a clown costume but already in the few weeks you’ve been a member of the Buggy Pirates your wardrobe had gotten more colorful. A sequin scarf here- a bright blue shirt there- these things just landed in your bunk and it did help you fit in. You minded it less than you thought you would, being in a crew that actually put thought into how they looked was a pleasant change.

You tied a striped sash around your waist over your pants as you prepared to have your nightly debriefing with your new captain. During the day you flitted about the ship, taking notes on everything that happens. Every night though Buggy always wanted a check in. From letting him know what happened while he was doing other duties, to telling you some previous journeys that he and his crew had been, to embellishing the stories of the day.

It was nice having a captain who actually cared about what you were writing. Most had just left you to your own devices and didn’t much care for your craft beyond the fact it made them look good. But Buggy actually wants to listen to your words and he provides some actual good feedback (admittedly in a sea of crazy unbelievable ideas, but the point still stands).

Journals and pens tucked under your arms you navigate to the captain’s quarters, finally feeling comfortable navigating the large ship after walking this route twice a day. It’s not that long before you’re knocking on the large door and hear Buggy’s voice, muffled through the wood.

“C’mon in.”

You push through the door and see Buggy behind his desk, face laying sideways on a pile of paper. You take a seat across from him.

“You alright?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Being a captain is not all fun and games my dearest chronicler.” He pushes back on the desk, flopping back in his large seat and swinging his feet up on the desk, knocking over the papers in the process. “Responsibility is a heavy burden to bear.”

You look over the mounds of untouched paper work that have been sitting there since you first arrived. “Seems like it.”

“But now you are here to save me. Tell me my story weaver- what is the tale of the day.” When he looks at you you know you have his undivided attention. There was something so fulfilling about capturing his attention, something you’ve learned is so finicky and flighty. But for you? He’s never been distracted.

“Well, it’s been a pretty standard day.” You go into every detail that matters- what acts were practiced, who's flirting with who, what crew member Richie managed to bite a finger off of- that kind of stuff.

“You know- we should have a whole section where we track body parts Richie has eaten and see how many full people can be put together with the parts.” Buggy adds as you finish up your recap and you huff a laugh as you write that down.

“I think we’ll have a lot of spare fingers.” You point out.

“Good point. Full bodies and hands.” Slightly more sensible… kind of.

“Got it. I’ll start logging and asking around for people who have lost limbs to Richie.” You make the note and you see out of the edges of your vision as Buggy’s legs come off the desk and he leans over, getting a bit closer to you.

“Y’know I’ve told you many stories already- what about you?” His head settles in his hands, perched up by his elbows.

“What do you mean what about me?” You tilt your head, genuinely confused.

“Your stories! You said you were the chronicler for a few ships before mine, you must have had some adventures out on the great wide East Blue.”

“Ah, well… no.” You admit a bit awkwardly.

“No?” Buggy raises his eyebrows, clearly looking for more.

“I was just a chronicler. I didn't really do anything on the previous ships I worked on. Hell, you’re the first captain who actually wants to hear about what I’m writing. For everyone else it was just an ego trip to have someone writing for them…” Your pen slips into your journal as a placeholder as you close it and pull it close to your lap.

“That’s…” Buggy frowns. “What losers! Most pirates won’t know talent if it slaps them in the face.”

You try to bite back your smile but it’s pretty ineffective. “You’re very kind captain.”

“You’re going to have to learn to take some compliments because with my crew? We are going all the way to the top and your stories of our journeys are going to be known across all four seas!” As he talked he stood up, wildly gesturing as he talked about his grand plan.

When other captains of yours had talked about getting the One Piece it had always annoyed you for some reason. The hunt for fame and money was… well it was cliche. But there was something about the earnestness that Buggy talked with- the grand scale he always thought on that made you believe it.

“Well, I guess I will have to work on that.” You say as you look up at him.

“Yes. Captain’s orders.” He hops up to sit on his desk just adjacent to you. His right foot lightly knocks against the side of your left calf.

“Then I’ll have to do it.” You smile wide, his energy was infectious.

“But seriously, not a single story? There has to be one fun thing you can tell me.”

“I guess… there was this one time-“

You break into a small, stupid story but Buggy hangs on your every word. The second you’re done he shares a similar experience and you go back and forth like this for hours, journal where you were supposed to write these things down long forgotten. Somewhere along the way you both ended up sitting on the floor, leaned up against the desk and legs side by side as you both gesture wildly through your stories. You don’t know how long this goes on, but when you feel yourself fighting to open your eyes after you blink you think it might be way late.

“I should get to bed.” You nudge Buggy’s shoulder with your own, working up the strength to stand up.

“Oh yeah it’s like-“ His hand detaches and he grabs something off his desk before bringing it down to his face. “Oh shit- 3 already?”

“Wow-“ You look at the clock he grabbed and sure enough, 3:21 am. “Yeah I really need to get to bed. You too, captain.”

You get up with a grunt of effort and once you’re standing you turn around and offer up your hand to help Buggy up. There’s an awkward pause as he looks up at you and he must be just as tired as you are with how long it takes for him to clasp his hand in yours and pull himself up.

“See you tomorrow night captain.” You squeeze his hand before letting go and walking out the door.

You’re not sure why you feel a low buzz in your body, nerves up from some unknown source. It’s not a gnawing anxiety… something else you can’t place. No matter what the second your head hits the pillow you’re out like a light, body getting ready for another long day.

The Buggy Clowns were weirdly affectionate. Not all of them, mind you, you don’t think you’ll ever get Cabaji to even smile at you, but the camaraderie they have is intimate. Most of the time not in a sexual way (though you’d be remiss to ignore the raunchier performers in the circus), but in friendliness and touchiness. Never before have you been on such an affectionate crew.

Every time you put more than 10 seconds into your appearance you got hoots and hollers from most of the crew members. When you grab lunch in the mess people fight over who gets to sit with you and be documented. Even Richie has a soft side- you’ve managed to pet him without adding a body part to the now running list.

It’s been a few months now and they still fight over you at meals- a quirk you would have thought would die out long ago. Everyone is eager to tell you about their day and try and loop you into spending the rest of the day with them. Today the tightrope walkers win out- or at least they think so. Secretly you’ve made a schedule for when you follow each group and no one has caught onto your pattern yet. But it makes it easy for you and makes it so no one is favored.

But when they cheer and lean into you, arms wrapped around your shoulders you still feel like shrinking away in embarrassment. It’s not bad- you can’t deny the little ego boost it gives you- but there’s something that always makes your face burn. But all that is nothing compared to Buggy.

You quickly figure out that, like all crew attitudes, it trickles down from the top.

Of course Buggy isn’t going around hugging crew members (when he’s sober) and he does lose his temper often, but there’s also a softness to him. He’s got nicknames for everyone, and everyone gets their time in the spotlight. He personally reviews all the circus acts and when someone wants to do something new it’s rare he says no.

Everyone in the crew is a misfit, but because of that, no one is. A group of people who have never felt respected or wanted before suddenly find themselves belonging- it makes sense why everyone was surprisingly warm. But you still have a hard time handling it, especially when it comes to Buggy.

It’s the damn nicknames.

Story weaver, dearest chronicler, writing star. And the worst part? It’s always his.

My story weaver.

My star.

Never in a tone that makes you feel owned or degraded- quite the opposite really. You’re treasured, respected, seen. It’s been too long since you felt that way and the reblooming of those emotions was… uncomfortable.

But you don’t think you’d ever want it to stop.

“My lovely chronicler-“ It’s Buggy who suddenly throws you out of your thoughts with affection and a hand on your shoulder. “I have to cancel our meeting tonight.”

“What? Why?” You want to kick yourself for sounding even slightly hurt.

“Not your fault- turns out I’m a few days behind on planning out supply orders for when we dock tomorrow.” By a few days you know he means he hasn’t thought about supplies since they last docked.

“Oh, well, do you need help?” The second you finish your sentence you feel a light elbow in your side from one of the tightrope walkers but before you can turn to look at him your attention is grabbed by a clap from Buggy.

“Great! See you tonight!” He says, already walking away.

You turn to the source of the elbow. “What was that for?”

“I’m sorry, you totally just got suckered into doing all his paper work.” He says apologetically.

“Yeah, he’s done this with just about every crew member. You’re the only one who doesn’t know his trick.” Another one explains.

“Well, he is the captain, he could just make one of us do it.” You say, still very confused about this whole situation.

“Yeah, but then he has to admit that he messed up and needs someone else to do his work. This way he is just, I don’t know, reveling in his crew’s generosity.” Yeah, that sounds like him.

“I’m not going to get any sleep tonight am I.”

“Nope.” You get a few reassuring pats on the back as you slump onto the table.

“Captain?” Later in the day you knock on his door and come in at his usual ‘come in’.

You walk in and see papers everywhere. There’s no organization, no sense that he’s actually began to work on anything, just papers on almost every flat surface you can see. You don’t think half of these are relevant to what needs to be done.

“My darling most beloved star.” Buggy calls from behind his desk. He’s laying it on thick so you don’t run away.

“Did one of your bombs explode in here?” You carefully walk over to his desk, hopping over random papers on your way.

“Yes?” It’s obvious he’s lying.

“Well… I guess we have our work cut out for us.” You make it across from him and start looking at papers, trying to find some sense.

“Yes. I trust you implicitly- now I’m just going to go-“ He stands up and you glare at him.

“You’re not going anywhere.” You’re a little annoyed, but there’s no real malice in your words. Despite that, Buggy still shrinks back.

“But you’ve got this.” He says, confidence quickly draining from his voice.

“It would go a lot faster if we work together. Come on. We will start by organizing. Figure out what actually needs to be done for tomorrow and go from there.” You gesture to the mess on his desk before you get to work on the papers discarded on the floor.

“But-“

“No.” You cut him off without even looking at him- you know he’s using his puppy dog eyes.

“Fine.” He grumbles and you hear the shift of papers that tells you he’s at least pretending to do something.

It takes you hours to get everything sorted but after that the actual work doesn’t take that long. You have a pretty good knowledge of what supplies everyone needs and the average use of those supplies in a day- you write it all down typically. All in all you’re done and dusted just before midnight, an accomplishment really.

Buggy is moping at his desk, the reward of a job well done isn’t really enough for him after he actually had to put in some effort. You’ve set up a schedule for him too- something he’ll probably ignore but you’re pretty hopeful.

“That’s it right?” His voice is partially muffled by his face being smooshed down into the wood of his desk.

“Yes, we are all done for the night.” You reply, straightening out the last stack of files on his desk.

“Yay.” His voice is flat and devoid of all joy.

“You’re pretty childish for a captain, you know that?” You take a seat across the desk, not quite ready to leave.

“That’s part of my charm darling.” He lifts his face so his chin is resting on the desk.

Darling.

That was a new one.

“It’s not your best feature but I guess it is a part of your whole deal.” You admit, still trying to shake off the weird stirring of emotions from the new pet name.

He perks up instantly, sitting up in his chair. “What’s my best feature?”

“Hm?”

“You said it’s not my best feature, which implies you know my best feature. What is it?” His smile is wide, matching his face paint.

“Ah-“ Well. You know exactly what his best feature is but you hesitate to say. It’s not what a pirate captain typically wants to hear but… well he’s anything but typical.

“I think your best feature is that you care. Genuinely. You yell and stomp around at the crew but you always make sure all of our needs are met. To some people finding the One Piece is just the thing pirates do but you care with every fiber of your being. When you want to do something, really want to do it, you throw yourself into it for better or for worse. Your risks end up paying off more often than not and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

There’s an awkward pause where Buggy’s smile drops a bit and he stares at you and you think that you’ve fucked up. He is still a pirate captain with an ego and not telling him that his strength or intellect was his best feature was a dumb mistake. But then he coughs, a fake awkward cough and you’re not sure what’s going on.

“Oh that’s- yeah- I mean what am I if not the best captain to work for in all of the seas.” The smile returns to his face but there’s something you can’t place and you feel like you’ve misstepped.

“It’s late- I should go-“ You stand up and quickly head to the door but Buggy’s voice stops you right before you exit.

“Hey-“ You turn and look at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” There’s more hovering in the space between you but none of it can be put into words.

You leave.

Even if the Buggy pirates were worlds different from any other crew you had worked with they still party like every other pirate crew after a victory. Just a little more explosive. Literally.

You had never seen fireworks before so you were laying down on an upper deck while the loud party raged a few decks down, reveling in the bright and colorful explosions that shattered across the sky. You know Buggy made them all himself, he was surprisingly talented in pyrotechnics. It was overwhelming to your senses in the way that Buggy often was-

You’ve found yourself thinking more and more about him recently. You don’t want to think about what that means so you just shove those things down and focus on the shimmering colors dancing around the sky.

Until, of course, your captain finds you.

“My star! We are all missing our chronicler at the party!” His head peaks up over the ladder as he calls to you but you wave a dismissive hand.

“I’m just enjoying the fireworks, I’ll be down later.” You say, perched up on your elbows.

Buggy pulls himself all the way up the ladder before walking over and taking a seat next to you. “I’m glad someone is enjoying all my hard work.”

“I’d never seen fireworks before tonight.” You admit, laying back down fully.

“Really? Well I’m glad I could introduce you.” He lays down as well, only a few inches separating you two as you both lay flat on your backs.

“It’s- I mean I have no idea how you do it. It’s seriously magic.” You turn your head to look at him, admiring the profile of his face under the multicolored lights of the fireworks.

“It’s all chemicals and patience. I know, surprising that I have that.” He looks at you, a sly smile on his face.

“There really is nothing our fearless captain can’t do when he puts his mind to it.” You half joke, nudging his arm with your elbow. “But really- how do you get all those different colors?”

“Well-“

As the different fireworks explode in the sky he tells you the different chemicals he used to get the respective colors and effects. Somewhere in the explanations and pointing he’s right next to you, arms and thighs pressed together. You can’t help but lean into his warmth against the cool wind of the sea.

“I guess there will have to be a chapter on fireworks in your chronicle.” You say after the fireworks slowly die out, all of them used up by now.

“You can just slide that chapter in when things get too boring. Wake readers up with an explosion!” His hand gestures over both of your bodies.

“I’m not sure there will be any time where your story will be too boring. I’m pretty sure just by being a clown pirate you’re always interesting.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Buggy turn his face towards yours. In turn you move your face as well, and you can feel his warm breath fan over your face.

He’s really quite beautiful in the moonlight.

“Do you really think that?” He asks, so quiet you almost don’t hear him over the low drone of the party below.

“Of course.” You answer automatically.

“I uh-“ You see a panic set over his face and you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. He sits up and you sit up in turn, confusion on your face.

“I should get back down to the party. It’s been-“ He stands up and practically trips over his own feet. “Nice.”

You watch him quickly descend the ladder and you’re suddenly very aware of how cold it is out on the deck at night.

You’re not sure what you did, but you messed something up.

You stop having your nightly meetings. It’s once a week now and he blames it on the recent partnership with Alvida and her crew but you know there’s something else. You got too comfortable with your captain and distance had to be created. You were disrespectful and you needed to learn your place.

You weren’t his anymore.

Chronicler, sure. Star, sometimes. You almost despised when he used your actual name. The burning feeling of being discarded weighs in your chest every time you see him.

It was only after how painful and hard you took the slightest bit of rejection that you realized you might have feelings for your captain. Stupid inappropriate feelings. You hadn’t put the label on it before, pushing any feelings down into the pit of your gut but with how quickly they turned sour you couldn’t help but feel them rise up and burn your throat.

Stupid how you realize these things too late.

Because now there’s a new crew, a new partnership, and plenty of shiny new objects for Buggy to be enamored with. None of them you.

You still did your job through- dutifully chronicling each day. Your emotions will pass and this job is still far and away the best you’ve ever landed. You won’t throw it away over a stupid unrequited crush.

It’ll pass.

Someday.

But today isn’t that day as a pang rings through your chest as you see Buggy loop an arm around Alvida’s shoulder and pull her in close. You know there’s nothing going on between the two of them (you’re fairly confident Alvida doesn’t swing that way) but seeing him pay attention to someone else the way he paid attention to you-

You sounded like a child didn’t you.

You were just about to excuse yourself from the area when Buggy spots you and calls you over with a quick shout of your title. Taking a deep breath you steel yourself and put on a smile before walking over.

“Yes captain?” You say, overly formal as you hold your journal close.

“I was thinking maybe you could do a few weeks with the Alvida pirates, you know, get a better look at their side of things! Wrap them into the story of the Genius Jester!” He gestured grandly with his free hand.

“Oh, well, if that’s okay with captain Alvida…” You look towards the dark haired woman who shrugs.

“I’ve never had a chronicler before so I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing what it’s all about.”

“Great! Our perfect partnership continues!” Buggy looks at you. “How’s a month sound?”

A month. He wants to get rid of you for a whole month. You swallow down your emotions. “When have I ever not followed my captain’s orders?”

“You are a loyal crew member. And it’s not like you aren’t going to see all of your crew mates! It’s just shifting focus for a bit.” It’s true, both crews frequently overlap ships but you know you’re going to be glued to that gaudy pink ship (not that the ship you were currently on wasn’t gaudy, just a different kind).

“Fine by me captain.” You say, making your voice as cheerful as possible.

“Great.”

“Good.”

There’s a long pause where the two of you are just standing there, Alvida casting glances to both of you.

“Well if that’s all I’ll go pack some of my things for my stay.” You say, already taking a step backwards.

“Yes, good idea! Always taking initiative!” He waves goodbye and you turn around as fast as possible, walking at a brisk pace when you really want to run.

Working with Alvida wasn’t bad at all. You checked in with her once a week and she was pretty receptive to your work, provided you added in a lot of extra pages about how beautiful she was. At first it was annoying, but once you got used to it she was surprisingly nice to you.

You were two weeks into your month with her and she was already asking you about how to hire her own chronicler. It was rewarding to know that you’ve done a good enough job so far that she would seek out someone like you. You were working hard, trying to shift your focus from your emotions into something more productive.

It didn’t work.

Every day you found yourself looking around the decks hoping to catch a glimpse of your captain visiting. He was never there.

You saw plenty of your other crew mates- both crews frequented both ships as you sailed together. It was nice having that familiarity, but the reminder that you were specifically sent away while they got to go back to their ship every night stung.

“Ah, chronicler.” Alvida’s voice shook you out of your thoughts, having zoned out while recording what the meals were for the day in the kitchen.

“Hello Alvida, was there something you needed?” Your finger slipped into your journal as a placeholder as you turned your attention to her.

“Yes. I just finished discussing some business with Buggy and your good work came up.” You couldn’t help but puff up a bit- You did want him to know you were still exceeding at your job. “And then he made me an offer that I’d like to extend to you. He said if I wanted you full time I had his permission, so. Would you like to be my chronicler?”

There’s a full 30 seconds that you have to take to process the words that were said to you and come up with a response that doesn’t sound like your heart just got shattered into a million pieces.

“Oh wow, that’s quite the offer I- uh-“ Your mind is struggling to work under the weight of your emotions and Alvida catches on that you’re overwhelmed.

“It’s a big change so you can take some time to think about it. Just come to me when you have your answer.” She gives you a curt nod before heading off, leaving you with your spiraling thoughts.

You manage to hold back your tears until you’re at you bunk, burying your face in your pillow to catch your flow of tears. There was something so painful about being shipped off to someone else, being so unwanted he couldn’t stand to work with you anymore. You’re not even sure what you did wrong which might be the most frustrating part.

If you could lead this all back to one action you took maybe you could make it better- maybe you could go back.

But you didn’t.

You know when you’re not wanted.

Later that day you knock on Alvida’s door and accept her offer. All your stuff is already on her ship so you don’t ever have to step foot on Buggy’s ship ever again.

It’s easier that way.

A month has gone by of officially being the chronicler of the Alvida pirates. It’s… fine. Painfully fine. Perfectly average.

You stop wearing bright colors, swapped out for the pinks and reds that cover the ship. You still keep your old clothes, tucked away in a box that also has the journal you used to chronicle your time the the Buggy pirates. The sequins and stripes keep it safe and far away from you, letting you pull back at the last second before you obsessively repour over the pages to find where you went wrong.

You were getting better.

You stopped crying every night, you stopped longing looking over the bow at Buggy’s ship, you stopped searching for him whenever your old crew came over.

The lingering feelings will pass soon, and you eagerly count down the days until your heart patches itself up and moves on.

It was easy to ignore your emotions during a storm. All your energy focused on locking up your stuff and going where you were needed- you were a chronicler but all hands on deck meant all hands.

It was a nasty storm- lighting and high waves bashing against the hull repeatedly and ruthlessly. You were down below deck, sent on your own to grab emergency medical supplies from deep storage, two crew members had already broken bones and there were probably going to be countless other injuries before the storm let up. Boxes shoved in your arms you were making your way back up to the medical bay when you heard it- the sound you never want to hear below deck.

The sound of wood breaking.

You hear the hit of a strong wave before the groaning of wood and then that dreaded sound. You only have a second to process it before you hear the flood of seawater rushing in. Dropping the boxes you quickly jump to the ladder, scrambling up as you hear water flooding in behind you.

You make it up the ladder and halfway to the next one before the next wave hits. Your world jolts under you and you’re flung to the floor and the back of your head hits the deck- hard.

Your vision swims as you feel sea water rushing over your body and you push yourself up, ignoring the nausea overwhelming your senses. You crawl to the ladder, water threatening to grab and pull you under. Grasping the rung of the ladder you try to pull yourself up before your realize just how hurt you must be.

The pain, the blurry vision, you barely have control over your body. There’s no way you can pull yourself up the ladder. The sea was going to take you and you didn’t have the senses about you to swim. It was over.

You hang your head, watching the water swell up around your body as you wonder if all your works will go missing to the sea. Maybe there will be nothing left of you. Or maybe someone will find your journal- just dry enough that the words haven’t dissolved and run together. Maybe someone will remember you.

Somewhere in the distance someone shouts your name.

You’re confident it’s your addled mind playing tricks on you until it’s louder and right above you- loud and frantic. You look upwards and see Buggy, rain soaked and panicked.

Now you’re really confident you’re seeing things.

“Grab my hand!” He lays down on the deck above you and extends his hand and everything becomes real painfully fast.

“Get out of here! The water- You can’t-“ You yell out, head throbbing.

“I said grab my hand! Captain’s orders!” He shouts and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him so serious.

Gathering up all the strength in your body you pull yourself up a few rungs until you can reach out and grab his hand, quickly being violently pulled up the rest of the way.

“Can you walk?” He asks, yanking you up to your feet. You fall into his body, answering his question for him. “Alright.”

Suddenly one of his arms is under your knees and the other is around your shoulders and you’re being carried, your vision obscured by Buggy’s clothes. It’s better that way, you think hazily, to see him and not your death waiting to swallow you up. Maybe it’s a trick your mind is playing and you’re down in that lower deck, knocked out and drowning. But as you curl up against him and your thoughts fade to nothingness it’s a trick you’re willing to accept.

If your last thoughts are of him it’s not a bad way to go.

You wake up with a start- jolting up in bed before realizing how much that sudden action hurts. Your hand flies to the back of your head and you realize it’s been bandaged up.

“Hey- take it easy.” Eyes flicking up you see Buggy standing up from a chair in the corner of your room.

Your room- back on Buggy’s ship.

“You really should lay back down.” He’s a few steps closer now and in the dimmed light of the room you can finally get a good look at him.

He looks like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, he probably hasn’t shaved in a few days, and his normal face paint is missing. He’s down to just his vest and pants, normal bright accessories missing.

The memories of the ship sinking come rushing back to you and a panic sets into your chest. “Wait what happened- the ship- the crew-“

“Hey, hey, it’s alright calm down.” He sits down on the bed and takes one of your hands in his. “Alvida’s ship sank, but we managed to get everyone out and on here before she went down.”

Your breathing evens out and you relax a bit. “Good.”

“We were calling everyone to get on board here right when you had left to go grab supplies- you were missing so I came and got you.” He explains, putting the remaining pieces together for you.

“You-“

“Just wanted to make sure you woke up alright so now I-“ He drops your hand and stands up. “Will go.”

He gets to the door before your words stop him.

“You shouldn’t have done that. It was- you could have easily died. You can’t swim and you didn’t even-“ You screw your eyes shut, brain still putting itself back together from the hard hit.

“Captain’s duties.” He explains shortly, hand still on the doorknob and not looking at you.

“Yeah but, you’re not my captain. You made it painfully clear you did not want to be my captain.” You swing your feet off the bed, glaring holes into his back as weeks of repressed emotions come leaking out the broken and battered seams.

“It’s not like that-“ He says, forehead meeting the wood of your door.

“Then what is it like then? Because I’m just confused and hurt! I don’t understand!” Your hands fist in the sheets of your bed as tears well up in your eyes.

“Please don’t-“ He turns around and you see the hurt in his eyes. “Don’t cry.”

“Then tell me what I did wrong!” You shout, hot tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong.” He wrings his hands and looks down at the floor. “You’re too- you’re too good for me.”

The words ring in the dim space and confusion comes over your already frazzled mind. “What?”

“You- okay.” He takes a deep breath and shift from foot to foot. “You have this grand idea of who I am. You think I’m smart and caring and a good captain and that’s just not true. I’m not any of those things. I’m just a huge faker. I was never meant to be a captain- I just keep doing it because I have to.”

You look over his anxious form and finally see what he’s been hiding under all those flashy clothes and bright face paint. He was truly and painfully insecure.

You go to stand up, slipping off the bed to try and land on your feet but your vision blurs and you slip and you’re sure you’re going to crack your head on the floor again. But before you can land your being held, Buggy’s hands having quickly detached and grabbed you. The rest of his body runs over only seconds later, connecting his hands back and placing you delicately back on your bed.

You’re sitting up again, Buggy anxiously standing next to the bed as he looks over your body, checking to make sure you’re okay. This time you reach out, taking Buggy’s hand despite the fact you can see him wanting to run away again.

“Buggy, you’re really stupid sometimes.” You see his face shift into pure confusion and you elaborate. “I don’t think those things because of all the acts you put on- I think those things because that’s what I really think after spending so much time with you. I know who you are, don’t think I don’t.”

Buggy practically collapses, sitting next to you on the bed. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” You grip harder on his hand, pulling yourself closer to him.

“Because I don’t want to disappoint you.” He admits, his voice cracking under his emotions.

“You- all this time- Buggy, look at me.” You pull at his hand, urging him to follow your directive.

He does and you see all the emotions you’ve been feeling swirling in his eyes. “I care about you. And I don’t care if you think you’ll disappoint me! I just want you.”

You feel something break as you stare into each others eyes and in a flash he’s on you- lips pressing harshly against yours. He’s messy and harsh and frantic as he overwhelms you and you let him. Your freehand tangles in his hair and holds his head close. Neither of you break the kiss until you absolutely need to, pulling away gasping for air as spit still connects the two of you.

“Do you mean it?” He whispers, forehead pressed against yours.

“Did it feel like I meant it?” You grin, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know… I might have to check again.” You see a smile creep back onto his face and you pull him in again.

He kisses you like a man starved, eagerly throwing himself into you. He nips at your lips, pulling playfully as he slides on top of you, your body sliding down into the bed in turn. You can’t tell if his hands are attached to his body or not as you feel them wandering your skin, pushing up under the hem of your shirt and grabbing onto your waist. You whine into his mouth and he pulls away quickly.

“Did I- sorry is this too fast we can-“ You shut him up by pulling him in for a quick kiss.

“I want more.” You say against his lips and he nods so furiously you think his head might fall off.

His lips trail down, kissing where your jaw and throat meet. As he does so you feel a deft hand undo the fastenings on your pants and sliding into them, plunging past the hem of your underwear and to your folds. Your hips buck up as his fingers ghost over you and you hear him chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You lightly hit his back, unable to stop smiling.

“I’m not, I’m not.” He claims, but you know otherwise. It’s hard to be mad at him though when his fingers pry open your folds and he sucks in a breath when he finally dips in. “Fuck you’re wet.”

“All for-“ You’re cut off by your own moan as two fingers press into you. “All for you.”

His motions still for a second before he’s biting into your neck as his fingers sink all the way into you. “Can’t just say that stuff. Fuck you don’t know what you do to me.”

You feel him grind up against your leg and that sends a thrill through you and you push further. “Missed you so much- thought about you every day-“

“My lovely star-“ He breathes into your skin, fingers pumping in and out of you.

“That- I missed that. Missed you calling me yours.” You admit through moans as his fingers stretched you out.

All of a sudden his fingers are pulling out and you whine as he sits up. In a flash hands are tugging your shirt up and off your body while he shimmies down your bed. Once your shirt is discarded he can pull down your pants, hands smoothing over your thighs. He takes a few moments to just look at you and your face heats up.

“See you still need to learn how to take a compliment.” He jokes as he lays back down, pushing apart your thighs so he can settle between them.

“This is not the same.” You try and argue, your hand drifting to his bright blue hair as he kisses up the inside of your thighs.

“Whatever you say.” You want to argue further but all coherent thoughts leave your brain when you feel his breath on your folds.

You feel his fingers spread you apart before he dives in, tongue eagerly lapping up your slick. Your hand fists in his hair as he pushes his tongue into you, the thick muscle a welcome sensation. When his tongue leaves you, you whine but it quickly dissolves into a moan as he wraps his lips around your clit.

“Fuck- Buggy- Just like that!” You buck your hips up into his mouth and you feel his fingers slip back into you.

He listens, repeating the motion and adding a third finger inside you. His other hand comes around to the back of your leg, hiking it up over his shoulder so he can have better access. His tongue swirls between your clit and thrusting in with his fingers. As your orgasm builds up you pull tighter at his hair in warning and you feel him groan into your folds. The vibration against your clit edges you ever closer so you pull again, not missing the way his hips jerk up against the bed as you do.

He sucks on your clit as his fingers curl inside you and the dam breaks, orgasm washing over you. Buggy slowly pulls his fingers out of you but you still feel his tongue on you, lapping up your slick as you come down.

You gently pull on his hair, urging him to come closer to you. He gets the message, sliding up your body until he’s face to face with you, his lips and chin glistening with your juices.

“Can I repay the favor?” You ask, your hands sliding down his body until he shakes his head.

“Baby- if I even see you on your knees in front of me I’m going to blow my load before I can get inside you.” His confession makes your skin run hot as you surge up to him, kissing him deeply.

“Then get inside me.” You say when you finally pull away, your own taste lingering in your mouth.

“Oh, who’s the captain now?” He grins as he slides off the bed to quickly take off his vest and pants.

You can’t help but stare at his cock, long and curved and you need it inside you now. He sees you staring at it’s the ego boost he needs as he crawls back in bed, slotting his hips between your thighs. His hand guides his tip to rub against your clit and you whine impatiently. He chuckles but lines himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing in.

“You’re so- warm- tight- fuck-“ Buggy thrusts into you despite himself, every inch of him inside you all at once and you practically scream his name.

“Can’t help myself baby you feel-“ His body covers yours as he mouths at your collarbone and throat and whatever skin he can find. “So much better than I thought.”

“You thought about me?” You manage out, breathless.

“Every damn day and night I-“ His thrusts are erratic but you can’t bring yourself to care when he’s still making you feel so good. “Sometimes, after you left our meetings I’d- I’d touch myself the second you left I couldn’t stop imagining you on my desk I- fuck-“

Knowing he thought about you like that did things to you and you drag your nails down his back and hook your legs around his waist, unable to verbalize through your moans. You can tell he’s close already, the throb of his cock and the way his filthy words are getting increasingly slurred. You’re close too, and you reach up and grab Buggy’s hand, urging it down to your sensitive bud. He takes the direction well, his thumb rubbing right circles that make you see stars.

“Where- I’m so close-“ He chokes out and as he goes to pull out you clench your legs tighter, trapping him inside you.

“Fill me up, please Buggy.” You whine and that’s it for him.

You feel hot ropes of cum fill you up as he groans into your neck. He manages to still work your clit so it’s only a few moments after him that you’re orgasming again, milking every drop of cum out of him. Breathless, he collapses on top of you, softening cock still in you.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight as though letting him go means he’d drift away from you again. He nuzzled into your neck and must sense that somethings up.

“‘m not gonna be that stupid again.” He says, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Not gonna let you go.”

“I’m your chronicler again?” You ask, voice weak with emotions.

“Until the end of time.” He promises, and you trust him completely.

[theemporium]

🐈‍⬛ i don’t have a specific request but I can’t get the phrase “don’t hex and drive” out of my head. maybe driver reader who’s witchy and starts cursing anyone who’s rude to her boys right before a race sksjsks

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“What a bunch of little c—”

“Amor, it’s fine.”

You snapped your head around, your eyes narrowing at your boyfriend sitting on the couch. “No, Carlos. No, it’s not.” 

He sighed. “No, but I need you to calm down before you do something stupid.” 

You almost wanted to scoff at him. 

It was ridiculous. It was ridiculous that such a historical and iconic team could make Formula Two teams and lower leagues look like saints. It was ridiculous that you had to watch your boys suffer through mistakes and situations that weren’t their fault. It was ridiculous that just when you thought Ferrari couldn’t fuck up anymore, they always seemed to find a way.

And it was ridiculous the way your boys had been conditioned by their own team to deal with it. 

And maybe you should have been glad that such a fierce competitor was no longer such, but you couldn’t care less about that when it was the loves of your life who were suffering. You didn’t care if it made your races easier. You didn’t care when it was chipping away at the men you love and making them shells of who they were at the start of the reason. 

“They need to get a grip of themselves,” you said bluntly, your brows furrowed together as you glared at the prancing horse logo on the wall of Charles’ driver room.

“Yes, but Carlos is right,” Charles said as he reached his arm out to tug you closer, to pull you down on the couch that both boys were currently sitting on. He nuzzled you to sit between them, squished between both Ferrari drivers who just looked exhausted. “When you get angry, you don’t think clearly.”

“I’m thinking very clearly right now,” you retorted as you crossed your arms over your chest with a huff. “And what I’m thinking is that everyone on that pit wall can enjoy my foot up their—”

“And there she is,” Carlos murmured, though his tone was light-hearted as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side. “We don’t need you fighting our battles, amor.” 

“I know,” you sighed deeply.

“We will sort this out with the team,” he added. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled. 

“So no magic, okay?” 

You paused.

“Cherie,” Charles muttered as you continued to avoid both their stares. “No hexing and driving, remember?”

“But—”

“No magic. We can deal with the grid penalties on our own,” Charles told you in a softer voice. And you believed them. You knew what your boys were capable of, but your lack of faith resided with the team rather than them.

“How about a teeny hex?” You bargained as you looked between them. “Nothing big or serious, it will be harmless.”

Neither Charles nor Carlos looked convinced. 

“Something like…if they fuck up either of your races today, they will have clown noses stuck to their faces for a week?” You suggested, watching the way Charles had to press his lips together to withhold his giggles.

“Mi amor,” Carlos scolded softly but you could see the smile on his face.

“Please?” You murmured, giving the boys your puppy dog eyes that you knew they wouldn’t be able to resist. “If you won’t let me spell the cars with good luck, at least let me do this.” 

The boys shared a look with each other, a few beats of silence passing between you three before Carlos spoke.

“Fine—”

“Yes!” You grinned.

“But nothing more,” Carlos quickly added, shooting you a look. “And this is the only time.” 

“Promise,” you said with a smile on your face that didn’t reassure Carlos in the slightest, but he knew there was no stopping you when it came to defending them. 

“Thank you for caring,” he added in a softer voice.

“Always,” you said as you reached your hands out, taking each of their hands in your own as you intertwined your fingers. “I’ll always defend you both. After all, I like seeing you on the podium with me.”

“In second and third,” Charles commented with a snort.

You shrugged. “I like the view from up on the top spot, you can’t blame me.” 

“If you wanted to look down at us, you just had to ask for us to get on our knees, mi amor,” Carlos commented, grinning a little himself when he watched a blush spread across your cheeks. 

“What was that, Christian? You need me for data review? Okay!” You announced suddenly as you scrambled to get up from the couch, your body flushing at his words and the boys laughing as they tried to pull you back down.

.

[mywitchyblog]

hello! I really love your content, and I’ve been following you for quite some time. i think your opinions on various topics are very thoughtful and accurate, so i have a question.

i’ve been noticing a subject (particularly on shiftok😭) where many people express their dislike of others scripting traumatic events into their realities, included to create a more intense backstory for them. for example, scripting that they lost a parent when they were younger or went through psychotic depression as a child.

i’d like to hear your opinion on this. do you think it’s okay to script some kind of trauma or disorder? personally, I don’t see an issue with it since it doesn’t affect my life or anyone else’s, but i’d love to hear your perspective on this topic!

Oh, honey, you just brought up one of my favorite rant-worthy topics. Grab a snack because we’re diving in! 🍵✨

My ✨Personal✨ Take:

First, thank you for the love, darling! It’s always a vibe connecting with someone who actually gets it. 💅 Now, let’s talk trauma scripting, because whew, the discourse around this is hotter than Satan’s sauna.

Here’s the thing: your DR is YOURS. Period. Full stop. You can script a Disney princess life or the tragic backstory of a brooding anti-hero—it’s entirely up to you. If you want to script a life-altering trauma, go off, babe. As long as you understand what you’re doing, it’s valid.

Let’s debunk the idea that “scripting trauma is bad”: In your DR, you’re living that experience. It’s not just words on paper; it becomes your reality. So if scripting something intense—like losing a parent or battling a mental health condition—helps you process, heal, or simply add depth to your DR self, that’s your business. Trauma, when scripted thoughtfully, can even be therapeutic. For some, it’s about reclaiming control over a narrative that felt chaotic or unresolved in their CR.

But let’s be clear: this isn’t playtime. You will feel what you script. The loss, the grief, the psychotic depression? It will be as real in your DR as it is for someone who’s endured it in their CR. So, if you’re scripting trauma for kicks or because you think it’s “dramatic,” you might want to take a hard look at your intentions.

The Fanfic Shifters Rant (Aka I Hate These Hoes):

Now let me pop off on these Shiftok clowns for a second. 😤 You know exactly the ones I’m talking about: the “everything’s just a quirky little fanfic” crew who waltz into shifting spaces treating their DRs like a bad Wattpad draft.

These hoes (yes, HOES) script trauma the way they’d order a pumpkin spice latte—casually, without thinking. “Oh, I’ll just throw in some childhood abandonment and sprinkle in an abusive relationship for ✨character development✨.” Like, are you dumb? Trauma isn’t a fucking aesthetic. It’s not “flavor” for your DR backstory.

When these people romanticize trauma, they trivialize the pain that real survivors experience. And worse? They make the whole shifting community look like a joke. Imagine someone who’s genuinely trying to use their DR to heal from their CR trauma stumbling upon one of these idiots? Embarrassing. I hate these hoes with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. They treat shifting like a sandbox where nothing matters and then complain when they end up spiraling in their DR because “oops, I didn’t realize depression would feel like that.” 🤡

I cannot stress this enough: your DR isn’t a fanfic. It’s your LIFE. You’ll live it, breathe it, feel it—all of it. If you’re not prepared to shoulder the weight of the trauma you’re scripting, don’t do it. And if you’re scripting trauma because you think it’s cute or cool? Stay far, far away from me. You’re not just irresponsible—you’re dangerous.

TL;DR (But Make It Iconic):

Scripting trauma is okay—as long as you’re doing it with intention and understanding the consequences.

Don’t treat trauma like it’s a quirky little accessory for your DR backstory. It’s serious, babe. Respect it.

To the fanfic shifters romanticizing trauma: I hate you hoes. Y’all are the reason people side-eye our entire community. Fix it.

Remember, shifting is about creating your dream life, not trivializing the experiences of others or glorifying pain you’ve never lived. Be mindful, stay informed, and, most importantly, don’t be a clown. 🤡✨

[coffeegnomee]

Minecraft pvp is so freaking interesting. I was thinking back to watching the Jumper pov of the Minute and Pentar ban and it was so good. Like I was on the edge of my seat and I knew how it ended. We need more group battles in Lifesteal, I beg.

1v1 pvp is just like who can get the most hits in, or just who can quick drop the other person faster. 

But group fights are sooooo different. The actual personality and experience of each member matters so much. And it doesn't show until there's at least 5 people on the battlefield. Preferably 7.

Minute, Pentar, and Jumper came with basically identical kits, very solo-minded towards their approach to pvp. They got overconfident with their secretly-netherite armor durability and 15 stacks of xp (each.)

And they, as far as I know, have very very little experience in large group battles and long pvp battles. They all fought drain season 5, but 4v3 group drain is much different than a 2v2. 

And the fight was LONG. Minute didn’t realize the change in tides until really late, not initiating the run to the trap, their ONLY trap my goodness why didn’t they set up more it’s the final days, so when the trap was already blown up they had zero backup plan. 

They didn’t start calling in people until Minute had like 2-3 stacks of xp left, that’s something you do the second you realize the tides are turning, especially when it’s an uneven 3v4.

And just listening to his coms vs Clown’s coms was just night and day. Minute doesn’t have the experience yet to know how to manage a team in a fight, how to allocate assets, choose targets, and keep the team’s morale up and on target while they’re dying. He’s said it himself that he likes the quicker fights kits with netherite sword and diamond armor.

But Clown is naturally skilled at managing his soldiers. He knows exactly who to target and how, reassigning pvp skill so it’s him, the most skilled, with the least skilled player to do maximum durability damage on Minute. Like every phrase out of his mouth is in service of optimizing the team. 

And then they came with a minor kit adjustments. Clown and Mapicc came with harming arrows because of their net strength 1 from the blessings/curses, but Minute didn’t know that strat. So it was both an: “they’re trolling” moment, but when Clown came with the same kit it was like: “wait did I miss something?” Psychological warfare right there. 

And then Mapicc had his knockback sword and Zam was on water drain duty. Those two small changes to their kit, on just two members, really sealed their victory. Mapicc was such a menace.

Which is so fascinating. Minute had been ruling the server simply through being amazing at getting out of fights and never getting into a slightly outnumbered fight. Same with Jumper. 2v2’s for them were a guaranteed win. 

But once you get 7 people on the battlefield it turns into a completely different mindset on how to turn the tides back in your favor and it’s all about targeting specific players. As Clown was targeting the strongest player on their team, pb&j needed to get drain-drop Ro so it would be a 3v2.5 (with Zam/Spep) 

And Jumper, just because of her skill level and background, doesn’t know the dynamics of who to target and when, when to be aggressive and when to back off, when to call for help and when it’s better to stay in the fight. She did absolutely her best but it was so interesting to see he true smp pvp skill after months of just being like why is she so good in every fight and undefeated against Mapicc and Zam while she says she never practices.

Lifesteal fights, and yes I’ve only ever really watched Lifesteal fights and I am fascinated in theory for how Levels fights used to go, feel so much more dirty than a normal server. It feels like other servers just get a trap off or fight completely even and it’s just skill vs skill. (And I’m feeling that even more now just observing how Flame talks about other smp pvp) 

And Clown coming into the fight with an advantage was so much stronger than Minute deciding an advantage halfway though the fight. Clown does this all the time, not taking a fight until he’s properly prepped for the specific situation. Like bringing the crystals to the finale fight to even out the playing field: he prepares to get the advantage. 

Vs Minute is too good-hearted to think that cutthroat from the start (well, except for changing the durability of their armor) He absolutely thinks cut-throat when he realizes he’s doomed, but off the bat he’s too much a superhero. He thought the fight would just be Mapicc and Ro while Zam would sit out, like what??? It’s Lifesteal, if they’re on they’re all fighting. And then they were surprised when Clown came back on to fight. They were confident, but they should have been thinking defensively and like they were doomed the second it was a 4v3. Maybe not doomed, but not like it was even. 

Much like all the lore of the server, the specific players matter so much in each scenario. Without someone, or with someone, a whole arc is different. Clown changed the tides in that fight simply from being the better team manager. Had someone else been the 4th player it would have gone completely differently. 

-----

jumper pov here

zam here fight starts 2:47:00

[askinkiskarma]

Lo'ak x Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: angst, suggestive language, cursing

Word count: 3,1k words

Notes: surprise!! here I am once more writing things outside of what I had planned to, but people have been asking for a Lo'ak story and you know me besties, I aim to please. I really loved writing Lo'ak in my Cardigan series, so I'm excited about this. enjoy x

Na'vi words used: ma 'ite - daughter; sa'nok - mother; skxawng - idiot; tsantu - good guy, txepvi - spark

next part (x)

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain He wanted a bride, I was making my own name He stayed the same, all of me changed like midnight

You and Lo’ak have been friends for longer than you can remember. Literally. You couldn’t remember becoming friends, because, as Neytiri loves reminding you both, your connection was immediate and permanent.

“Did you know, ma ‘ite, that you and Lo’ak held hands for the first time when you had just been born? Yes, yes… he was just a few months old when we brought him by as you were born, and your little fingers wrapped around him when he reached out for you. You were so tiny, the most precious baby. And I’m pretty sure my son fell in love with you that day.” 

“SA’NOK!” 

You laughed as Lo’ak’s face dropped in shock, and smiled almost bashfully as he shuddered when your fingers made contact with the freckles on his cheek, that shone brighter than they normally do, probably due to the deep contrast between them and the new shade of purple that signalled a beautiful blush, that you could never get used to, no matter how many times you have seen it through the years. 

“Oh, son, am I embarrassing you?” 

He huffed and got up from where he stood, and you joined in as all the family starting laughing at the beautiful boy that left the tent stomping, his tail swishing furiously behind him. 

You scoffed softly and followed him, rolling your eyes as Spider made kissy noises and Neteyam chuckled to himself. 

“Wait up, skxawng.” 

“I’m so damn tired of being my family’s clown.” 

“Oh, Lo’ak…” you caught up to him outside of the village, and took his hand in yours to stop him in his tracks. He didn’t look at you, even as you manoeuvred around him to come face to face with this boy the you loved so much, this boy who knew you, who you knew, who will always be everything to you.

“You’re nobody’s clown, Lo'ak. We all love you so much, but you take things too seriously. It wouldn’t be funny if you didn’t get so upset about it. What’s so bad about your mother said? I think it’s sweet.”

Your hand trailed up his arm slowly, and you saw goosebumps appear in its wake, and you smiled at the reaction his body had to your touch. Your hand stopped as it reached his face, that you caressed, and his lips, lips that you’ve dreamt about, that you loved the thought of, that you could feel on yours in dreams and wishful reveries. The same purple tint took over his features once more, and you couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t help the way your face inched closer to his, closer and closer, until your lips touched. It was so soft - the kiss, his lips, the feelings that enveloped you. It felt like home. He felt like home. 

“I think you’re sweet. And I think I fell in love with you the day I was born, too. I think it's always been you, Lo’ak.” 

He could no longer be upset at his mother after that, not when her meddling led to the happiest day of his life. 

Lo’ak loved watching you get ready for battle. How could he not, when your body, tall and supple, a body that had such grace and elegance to it, he felt everyone else in the world would be privileged to ever get to see, was now covered in war paint that complimented your blue skin so well. Orange and yellow lines travelled from your face to your neck, and Lo’ak stood there, mouth agape, once again needing to thank Eywa for whatever luck or happenstance brought you in his life. 

You looked up at him, a mischievous gleam in your big yellow eyes, one that he knew too well, one that seemed ever-present on your face. This look and all it encompassed is why he called you what he did. Txepvi. Spark. His spark. As much as his family gave him grief about his own behaviour, about this recklessness and propensity to get himself into trouble, you were worse - much worse. Always looking for adventure, for danger, for adrenaline rushes that electrified your senses and set your body ablaze. You told him once that you needed it, needed this. That it made you feel alive. You always said there has to be more to life than sitting in the village every day, learning to weave, learning about plants and how to best combine them to make pastes and ointments. You were bored easily, bored of the same mundane, of the same routines, so you always looked for new ones. And you got exactly what you wanted when the Sky People returned. 

Lo’ak knows you hated it, hated them, that you would have happily watched all of them die at your hands, but he also knew that deep down you loved it. Loved how each day was a new challenge, was a new opportunity to prove to yourself, and to him, and to the Olo’eyktan, that you were an asset, that you would be worthy of one day of being Neytiri’s successor, of your parents’ legacy as warriors that gave their lives in the war that came to their doorstep so many years ago. 

“I want you to mark me. You always bring me good luck. And I need it today. I want your hand on me, on my heart. I need a reminder of what’s good in the world. Of what’s mine.” 

Lo’ak’s heart was booming in his ears at your words. You have always been brave. You had a strong heart. You always knew your own mind, always knew what you wanted, who you wanted. And he still couldn’t believe his luck that what you wanted was him. You pushed the bowl of paint towards him and eyed him expectantly, and he obliged you. He placed his five-fingered hand palm first in the bowl and watched as the paint dripped back in it as he removed it, trying to shake off the excess so it doesn’t mess with the design already on your body. Trying to calm his thoughts, he placed his hand on your chest, right in between your breasts, and felt your own heart beating loudly against him, and he smirked, placated in knowing he wasn’t the only one whose emotions were running wild, whose desires were pulsating through every fibre of his being. 

“I still think it’s unfair you get to fight while I am still stuck being a spotter. You’re younger than me, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I’m better than you, ma tsantu, how many times do I have to prove it to you?” 

He scoffed, and tugged at your beaded top until your lips connected, the white paint on your lips smudged and diffused now, coating his own, and he didn’t care. He thought it was fair, that there were physical traces of you on him, coating his body like you did his being, his heart and soul. Your tongue traced his bottom lip and explored and he let you, meeting you halfway, a messy needy dance that left him panting and weak. He kissed you to shut you up, but now he was the one speechless. How did this always happen? 

You pecked him once more, then moved to reapply the painting that had just been erased. He could hear the small smile in your voice as you spoke. 

“Your father loves you. He doesn’t want you to put yourself at risk. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, and doesn’t want Neteyam to get hurt trying to protect you, like he always does. He doesn’t have the same compulsions with me. That's why you're a spotter and I'm not.” 

You grinned at him, your large, sharp canines coming into view, and he yelped a little as you directed them to his neck, biting on it until a sharp sting traveled through his body. You licked the blood that came out of the two small puncture wounds and he shuddered at your touch. 

“Come, mighty warrior. Let’s go show them what happens when they mess with the Omatikaya.” 

It was surreal to you, how much life changed, how fast life changes. It seemed like yesterday that you were swinging through the trees of the Omatikaya forest, innocent and mild, just happy to exist, happy to be alive, happy that there was air in your lungs and sun shining through the leaves and hitting your bare skin, that soaked it all, that loved it, loved every ray, loved it all. You were different now, so different you could barely recognise yourself. You don’t know if child you would have liked the current you… or vice versa. Current you wanted more. More than just the forest, more than just being, and existing peacefully, more than what every other Omatikaya seemed to be satisfied with. You wanted chaos, and pain. You wanted deep, earth-shattering experiences, you wanted life to course through your veins like ice water through the stream near the village. You wanted to fly and you wanted to fall, you wanted to be remembered, you wanted to be revered. You wanted everything. 

You knew the Sullys would be angry at you for taking their son away again, for bringing him along with you on one of your unprompted and unplanned trips, where you just got on your ikran and didn’t look back for days, until you discovered something new, something more than what you knew. It was your favourite thing to do, outside of what you were currently doing, limbs tangled with this boy that brought light to your life, and shivers down your spine. 

“I can’t believe this place. It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, present company excluded, of course.”

You giggled and propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the beach that surrounded your entire line of sight, on this beautiful small tropical island. You flew until you reached the Eastern Sea, and your sights both locked on this little slice of Paradise, that felt so isolated, so wild and untamed, so untouched by Na’vi or animals alike, and you knew this was the place to spend the night, with nothing but the endless stars watching over you. You never got to see the sky like this in the forest, so clear and unperturbed by all the trees obstructing the view - yet another reason you loved your little adventures. 

“My dad’s going to kill me when I get home, you know? And then he’ll kill you.” 

“I know. But that’s a problem for future me. Present me wants to swim in the ocean, and she wants you to join me. She’ll show you a good time. You won’t think about your dad anymore by the end, I promise.” 

He growled lowly at your words, and followed you as you got up and ran into the water, diving for its depths, revelling in this feeling you hoped would never end, and in his presence, that quieted the tumult that was ever-present in your mind. You loved him. He was your home, your calm. He was the best thing in the world, and he was yours. 

You felt nervous as Lo'ak entered your tent, a troubled, tearful look on his face, one that meant danger, one that meant hurt, for both of you.

“Dad says we have to go. I have to go.” 

Your mind went blank at his words, a new feeling for you. You couldn’t quite understand what he was telling you.

“Go? Go where?” 

“The Metkayina. He says we’re to start a new life there.” 

“But… but you can’t go. He’s the Olo’eyktan, he’s the Toruk Makto. You can’t just up and leave us.” 

You watched as Lo’ak’s face changed from sorrow to anger, directed at you, at his father, at the world - you couldn’t quite tell. 

“Do you think I want to fucking go? Do you think I chose this? I don’t get to choose what happens, none of us do, but this is happening.”

You felt tears pricking at your eyes painfully, but you couldn't shed them yet, not when it felt like there was still so much heartbreak still waiting to ambush you.

“So you’re just going to leave me? Leave what we have behind?” 

His eyes softened at your words, as he approached you and his hands immediately found your face, the face he adored more than everything else in the world. 

“Of course not. I could never leave you. I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life, I have dreamt about your life woven with mine for as long as I can remember. I have always known you were the one, the only one. I never had the courage to tell you, but you did. You told me, and you kissed me, and I am so grateful. So grateful that you chose me, so grateful that I get to know that you’re mine, that our children will be the best warriors this clan has ever seen, just like their mother is.” 

Your heart fluttered upon hearing his confession, and a smile swiftly replaced your deep frown and stubborn tears. You couldn’t help tightening your arms around his waist and pulling his body into yours, until you felt every crevice, every indentation, every scar and mark on it, until you were so close you felt like you were becoming one, unable to ever be separated again. 

“I don’t understand, Lo’ak. What are you saying?” 

“I want you to come with me. You have to come with me. I can’t live without you, and I know you feel the same. We have to be together, and this way we get to.”

It quickly felt like the world quieted around you, dead quiet, like a grave or an unopened tomb, like no life has ever touched it.

You have to come with me. I can’t live without you.

You didn’t notice your arms dropped sluggishly to your side until Lo’ak grabbed them and tugged at them, at you, trying to pull you out of your lethargic state. 

“Ma txepvi… please say you’ll come. Please.” He was pleading now, anguish coating every word as he was pushing them out, and you felt it all, deep within your soul, you felt it overtaking you too, felt it killing you as you knew what you had to do, knew what you had to say. 

“No.”

As soon as the word escaped your lips, so did a pained sob escape Lo’ak’s. 

“No?” 

And there they were, the tears, the hot tears that stung each inch of your body they travelled down to, the tears that signified the end of childhood, the end of peace, the end of your life as you knew it, of happiness as you dreamt it.

“I can’t, Lo’ak. You can’t ask this of me. You know me, you know me better than anyone else. You want me to give up everything I have worked so hard for, everything I have yearned for, everything that’s finally within my grasp, all of it, to come and be at the Metkayina’s beck and call? To be a trainee again, to be useless again? To give up my bow, my mother’s bow, and pick up a spear, to give up my ikran, my sister, for some sea creature that will never compare?” 

He was crying, too, painfully tugging at your arms, hoping that by doing so, you wouldn’t leave him, you would change your mind, you wouldn’t do what he feared you would, what he always dreaded. He always wondered if he would ever be enough for you, and he was terrified that, each moment passed, it seemed as if he got his answer, the monstrous answer he didn’t know if he could deal with.

“I’m asking you to be with me. I’m asking you to love me the way I love you, I am asking you to give us a chance to grow old together.”

 

The pain was shooting through your body like a lightning hit, powerful and all-consuming, and you felt as though you were going to drown in your own tears, and you would welcome it, welcome the sudden death, welcome the chance to be put out of your misery. This is what you wanted, you thought bitterly to yourself. You always wanted pain and hurt. You wanted to feel alive. Now you did. So alive it felt like death, it felt like your demise, it felt like everything and nothing, like the beginning and the end.

“I love you. I will always love you. And I am sorry. But I am more than this. I have more to give to the world, to this clan, than just myself to you. Someone has to stay behind and protect the people when your whole family is gone. Someone has to stay and fight. There’s still so much of the world I’ve yet to see, so much of myself I have yet to meet. I can’t let you take that away from me, Lo’ak. I’m sorry.” 

You didn't wait for his response as you removed your body from his grasp, that all of a sudden felt trapping, felt suffocating, and took off, leaving nothing but heartache and the shattered promises of a picture perfect future, of love and a shiny family, of a life worth living, but one that wasn't yours.

"Good job today. It's been tough dealing with the demons on our own, without our Toruk Makto, but you're doing great. You're indispensable to our clan, to this village. I hope you know that."

"I know, Tarsem. Thank you." you brought your fingers to your forehead and bode the new Olo'eyktan and the Tsa'hik a goodnight, and made your way out of the tent quietly.

This place felt empty in the months following their departure... his departure. You felt his absence in your every bone. You felt it in the loneliness that haunted you every night, in your body that ached for his touch and warmth, in your mind that never knew peace, not anymore. You wondered if he felt the same. If he ever thought about you, about what you had. You wondered if he's doing well, adapting well, if he found himself a girl, quiet and beautiful, smart and kind, that wanted everything you didn't, that was able to fill the hole you left behind. You hoped he did. You hoped he didn't.

I guess sometimes we all get Just what we wanted And I never think of him Except on midnights like this 

dk about a p2 but we'll see how my besties feel x

thank you @firefly-graphics for the dividers xo

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Rings of Power” 2x08 (Season Finale) - Speculation and Clues

As promised, and since I've correctly guessed so many plot twists in 2x07, I’ll try my luck in speculate what will go down in the finale. But I’m putting my clown make-up on this time around, because *that scene* left me baffled and wondering if the show producers will give us anymore of that random shock value bullsh*t "Game of Thrones" style.

What's confirmed for Episode 8/Season 2 Finale?

Númenor plot: The Faithful (to the Valar) are declared traitors; and Isildur kisses Estrid and asks her to go with him to Númenor 

The Dwarves of Khazad-dûm dig out the Balrog 

The Stranger meets the Dark Wizard of Rhûn 

Battle of Eregion

Sauron vs. Galadriel 

Númenor Plot

To me, this will be one of those “Season 3 prep-up" plots of the finale. Mostly because, in Season 3, Sauron will, likely, dwell in the kingdoms of Men to find the Nine ring-bearers for his masterplan.  

"The Stranger" Identity

In Season 2 finale we’ll get the reveal of “The Stranger” identity mystery box, when he’ll find his wizard staff and earn his name. Gandalf. Because, lets’ face it, everyone saw that coming from a mile away, and ever since Season 1 there have been clues that “The Stranger = Gandalf”.  

And as I’ve said before, I’m kind of disappointed, because I was hoping for him to turn out to be one of the Blue Wizards.  

Unsure if the “Dark Wizard" identity will be revealed. But since the clownery is lose, I’ll go ahead and say the Dark Wizard of Rhûn can turned out to be Saruman, after all, even if it doesn’t make any sense, and Saruman was a member of the White Council and only joined Sauron after "The Hobbit" timeline, because why not? Apparently, everything is possible and Elves just casually kiss each other on lips, now. 

Battle of Eregion: Celebrimbor’s Death 

Celebrimbor won't come out alive from Season 2. Sadly. The big question here is: will Sauron kill Celebrimbor, himself? I've already discussed this in my "Season 2 red herrings" post, but I'm inclined to believe that "Sauron killing Celebrimbor" might be a red herring in itself. Mostly because, and even though Sauron did tortured Celebrimbor, he still has respect and admiration for him, as a fellow craftsman. And besides, Sauron hates frivolous friction and wastefulness; he’s Lawful Evil, every action of his has a purpose. I can be completely wrong here, but this is my bet.  

In the books, it is said that Celebrimbor is killed by Sauron and the Orcs turn him into a banner. But the catch is: the Orcs aren’t led by Sauron in the show, so it is possible that it’s Adar (and not Sauron) who kills Celebrimbor?  

I think we have two possible scenarios here: 

Sauron kills Celebrimbor after him disclosing the location of the Nine rings of power, and he goes after Galadriel OR because he refuses to reveal where the Nine are;

Adar kills Celebrimbor in Elrond’s presence: making come full circle Elrond’s father prophecy that, one day, Celebrimbor’s life would be on his hands, which was mentioned in both Season 1 and 2x04. 

Battle of Eregion: “Durin will come”. Or won’t he? 

I already speculated that the Dwarves would only join the Battle of Eregion in 2x08, and with the showrunners “deus ex machina” them, and have them arriving when everything seems to be lost and that all Elves are going to die (pretty much like the Knights of Rohan in Battle of Helm's Deep in “The Two Towers”).

However. There have been some references to Peter Jackson’s LOTR trilogy in “Rings of Power”, and we have Elrond telling Aragorn something along the lines of Dwarves caring only about themselves and blind to the troubles of others (even though this Elrond’s opinion has no base in what Tolkien wrote). So, will Durin, actually, come? 

My guess is: yes. Because we know neither Elrond nor Gil-galad will die, but Eregion will fall, all the same.  

Balrog of Moria - "Durin's Bane"

By bet is: Durin III, guided by his ring of power (controlled by Sauron), will dig out the Balrog himself. And like in the books, the Balrog will kill him, and earn the nickname “Durin’s bane”.

And that’s pretty much it for the Balrog plotline: the Balrog just wants to chill on the mines and be left alone.

Sauron/Galadriel - "Last Temptation"

I've already speculated about this scene quite a bit: I did a megathread on it, after all: Part 1; Part 2 (after 2x07, many of it has been erased); and some wild crack theories Part 3 and Plot Twist Kiss - I'll just throw this last one in for fun and laughs, or if someone wants prompts for fanfiction).

I’ll start by saying, Sauron and Galadriel scenes at the finale will either be: (1) a major anticlimactic letdown, or (2) mind-blowing revelations. I don’t think there will be a middle ground, here. And I would advise every shipper to go into the finale with no expectations whatsoever, in order not to get disappointed. 

What's confirmed for this scene?

Galadriel and Sauron will fight; 

Sauron wants the Nine rings of power, and Celebrimbor gave them to Galadriel in 2x07, so he’ll want to retrieve them from her.

There'll, probably, be visions, too, since 2x04 already teased the "return of King Halbrand", and Charlie Vickers said that Sauron still believes he can get Galadriel to join him.

I’ve already presented all the foreshadowing from 2x01-2x06 leading up to this scene on my megathread, so I’ll talk about 2x07, alone. So, we had: (1) the shock value E+G kiss, (2) Galadriel witnessing Adar performing a funeral ritual to the Orcs and (3) her emotional exchange with Celebrimbor, where she admits that she did want to accept Sauron’s proposal in 1x08, and she desired what he offered her (to be his queen). Then Celebrimbor tells her: "It's not strength that overcomes darkness but light. For in its presence, all darkness must flee.” 

This can foreshadow three outcomes (aside from her “Lady of the Light” character arc): 

Galadriel has found resolve, and will outright resist Sauron;

Season 1 finale rehash: Galadriel temporally succumbs, but snaps out of it;

Galadriel might believe she can actually redeem or keep Sauron “in check” with her Light, and goes with him (this one is just wild to me, but it’s one of the interpretations I took from her scene with Brimby). 

Personally, I’m guessing the “last temptation” can go down: 

The anticlimactic let-down: they fight; Sauron bombards Galadriel with visions, retrieves the Nine when she’s either distracted by his illusions or by force, Galadriel resists him, and he probably leaves her for dead or something. There: all the foreshadowing throughout the season turns out to be red herrings, and the OST title ("last temptation") isn't a red herring, at all;

The “Major revelations” scenario: Sauron and Galadriel disclose the extent of their true feelings for each other (explicitly stated or highly implied), with Sauron revealing that the connection they shared when Galadriel believed him to be “just Halbrand” wasn’t a deception on his part (“Halbrand is Sauron” also appears to be a theme this season).

Most likely scenarios on how this scene might end:

Sauron takes the Nine and leaves Galadriel for dead or badly injured; 

Sauron walks away with the Nine, leaving Galadriel unarmed and saved; 

Galadriel’s sacrifice: Galadriel reluctantly joins Sauron, to “keep him in check” and save Middle-earth.

Honestly, my expectations are so low at the moment, I’m not even going to place any bets here.

Will Adar survive Season 2?

I already did a speculation post on Adar’s fate, where I theorize that Adar will die at Sauron’s hands but not before witnessing him becoming Lord of Mordor. Right now, and after that WTF moment in 2x07, I’m not sure of anything. 

If Adar and Sauron run into each other in 2x08, I believe Adar is toasted and won’t make it to Season 3, that’s my guess. 

[ask-princessandromeda]

Hi pookies!!

Selina, can I dye the boys hair pink? It seems kinda fun. I’m asking you bc you are 100% in charge, screw you luke.

Also if you say yes I will literally make you whatever baked goodies you want :)

-Izzy (ps can I plz join y’all, camp sucks)

Silena: Hiii! Dye their hair pink, you say…? *looks at Luke, then at Chris, grinning mischievously*

Chris: *giggling* OH MY GODS…

Luke: *putting his hands to his temple* Ah, don’t remind me.

Ethan: Remind you of what?

Alabaster: *laughing like crazy* You don’t know?

Ethan: Know what? What happened?!

Alabaster: *barely breathing* So so, a few years ago, when Luke had barely obtained Andromeda, he *giggles* he lost a dare and… dyed his hair pink…

Ethan: NO WAY.

Alabaster: IT’S TRUE!

Ethan: Oh my- do you have pictures!? I want to see!

Chris: Ethan, if any of us dared to take a picture, Luke would have thrown us over the deck for sure. He looked so funny.

Luke: I thought we decided to not talk about this again!

Silena: Try again, my dude. I’ll never let people forget that.

Luke: *sighs* I did not look like the general of an all-powerful Titan. More like a clown.

Chris: He- he spent so much time trying to get it out, jeez! He was so upset. Gosh.

Silena: He was lucky that it was a cheap dye and not some permanent color! He would have been screwed. *laughs*

Luke: *rolls his eyes*

Silena: …So? Would you guys want to reenact the experience?

Ethan: Oh, hell nah. I’m NOT showing up to battle looking like Pinkie Pie or something.

Chris: Pff, me neither! Clarisse would make fun of me forever.

Silena: *laughs*

[OOC: Here’s a drawing I did last year for this particular headcanon. The way we thought about the exact same thing-]

[nuclearplutonium]

Dividers

Ello! I’m Robin.. buuut you can also call me Elliot, Orion, Rory, or Moth :D

more info about me: https://en.pronouns.page/@CH4R71Z4VRVZ

Check out my new and totally awesome strawpage!

Alterhuman therian and fictionkin, my theriotypes are black wolf, snow husky, and a T-Rex <33

I’m an artist and a little bit of a violinist (I mainly speak English but I also speak Russian!)

I am a MINOR!!! I am ok if adults (NOT THE SEX BOTS) interact with my blog or me in general just don’t be creepy or kinky about it please..

My blog is not meant for younger audiences, therefore I am telling you all that this is a 13+ BLOG. mainly because I’ll post art with mildly suggestive themes in it or reblog something weird.. whatever it may be, I just want to protect the little itty bitty babies that happen to stumble upon this beautiful yet horrifying tumblr blog .-.

currently locked in @thesillygoober7’s basement (GO FOLLOW HIM PLEASE THAT MIGHT MAKE HIM FINALLY LET ME OUT OF HERE)

old acc is @charlibugg T_T

Here’s most of the stuff I like ! Purple = ION💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Blue = VERY VEEERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VEEERRYRYYY HYPERFIXATED

Green = LOVE ITTT

Orange = Cool cool I like it

Red = Eh… I mean it’s fine.. II/III, I.O.N/И.О.Н, TNM, BFDI/BFB/BFDIA & TPOT, EEE/THREEEE, BURNER, 5SOS, ONE, CFMOT/ИНМТ, Objectified, TDOS, LoTS, Animatic Battle, Bugbo, Dreamophrenia, Sprunki, Max Design Pro, Warrior Cats, Smiling Friends, ATHF, Gravity Falls, Villainous, Countryhumans, DHMIS, Electric Dreams (1984), Ride the Cyclone, Pink Corruption, Homestar Runner, Regretevator, Great God Grove, Mouthwashing, Homestuck

besides fandoms I hyperfixate on time to time… I also LOVE nuclear reactors, dinosaurs, cats, epic guitar solos in music, whatever the hell plutonium jazz is, and I just genuinely love learning ANYTHING about nuclear physics and energy :3 (oh and lollipops, I love lollipops)

Some games I really like (not Roblox games) are In Stars and Time, JSAB/Just Shapes and Beats, Fallout 4/Fallout: New Vegas (IM SORRY FALLOUT 76 IS SO BORING AND BUGGY AAAAA), Omori, Mouthwashing, Sims 2-4, Tomodachi Life, Miitopia, Cardpocalypse, Wobbledogs, Pikuniku, Ooblets, Great God Grove, Splatoon 2-3, Dragon Quest: Builders 1-2, Minecraft, Wandersong, JSAB, and AC:NH :3

and most of the bands/artists I listen to (current hyperfix band will be written in bold) are MSI, sElf, Will Wood/Will Wood and The Tapeworms, Human Zoo, The Scary Jokes, Sodikken, Machinery of The Human Heart, Lemon Demon, Tally Hall, And One, Nine Inch Nails, STOMACH BOOK, Ken Ashcorp, KSB Muzic, LiteralHat, YFM, Limp Bizkit, Insane Clown Posse, Gorillaz, Tyler the Creator, System Of A Down, Foo Fighters, That Handsome Devil, Sacri, They Might Be Giants, Oingo Boingo, Weird Al, Jhariah, MAMA RUSSIA, Lenin Was A Zombie, and Drive45!

I have Autism, ADHD, (I have some sort of Anxiety disorder too, forgot what it was called though) and Depression.. so sorry if I don’t talk/respond to asks or dms quick enough or I don’t answer them properly… I’m a very shy person. So please text me first if you want to dm me, if you’re a mutual I’d love to talk to you! ^_^

ask box will close down sometimes, it is not a mistake usually, I just don’t feel like taking asks (or I’m being swarmed by donation asks and I feel overwhelmed) :3

I do not have a set DNI, but I will block who I choose to block without warning (I don’t normally block though, I find it kind of rude 0n0)

Places I inhabit:

YouTube: Charlizardsb - CharlieSB

Spotify: Tonsillitis (yes that is my actual name on there shut up)

Pinterest: LIZARDWAZAZOMBIE - charred corpse

Instagram: Charlizardsb

Wattpad: spagheetee

Discord: (please DM me if you want my username)

TikTok: lizzardz.0n.steroidz

(Created: 1/15/24)

(Last updated: 1/6/25)

I reblog WAYY too many posts so if you’re willing to find my art search #bugs goof art

#Charlizard’s rabble ransoms - for random posts that are just filler or me going on a whole rant (will also be tagged for long posts too sometimes)

[mistress-ofmagic]

Around the Realms in 80 days- Chapter 20

Pairing: Reader x Loki

Story summary: You have fallen through a portal during the convergence into Asgard and come face to face with Thor, and his brother Loki. With no way to return, you must travel with the two men and their hoard of asgardian soldiers to get back home. Things get from bad to worse when you have to share a tent with the god of mischief himself.

Notes:

Um so hi!! I hope some of you are still out there!!! I'm so sorry for my insane absence but I have been struggling with some health issues and had to have surgery to have my gallbladder removed! Either way I am back now and I really really hope some of you are still interested in reading this story and can still remember what is going on lmao!

I honestly thought at one point this chapter would be short but I always think that and I am always a clown. We have gotten back to the plot more in this chapter after a couple of silly fun chapters so I hope you enjoy it!

Read this story on a03!

find all parts to this story on Tumblr here

The fire demons were attacking from all sides, with you and Loki in the middle. You were surprisingly calm and felt focused on your task, creating forcefields to protect you and Loki from the firebolts headed your way. Loki’s green magic blasted towards the demons, knocking them with force. 

“Impressive shield work, I suppose you've had ample experience dealing with fiery nuisances.”

You grinned at him in the middle of the battle, “my life is basically a never ending bonfire.” 

The demons retaliated with a torrent of flames and you wielded your staff to make your forcefield stronger. 

Loki flourished his sceptre towards the demons, 

“You’re extremely competent with that staff.” Loki said, impressed. 

“That’s what he said.” 

You both laughed heartily. 

“My dear, your quick wit and fiery spirit are almost as impressive as my powers.” 

Loki shot the rest of the demons with two pistols he drew from his holders attached to his tan leather buckled belt.

There was quiet after, and you dropped your forcefield now the enemy had been dealt with. You looked back at Loki, taking in his brown batwing chaps. You had the sudden desire to be as close to him as possible and you both took strides towards each other. Loki gave you a smouldering look, his eyes full of passion, took you in his arms and leaned in…

“Latte?” 

Who had said that? Loki’s lips had moved but a different voice sounded. Had Loki always had that cowboy hat on?

“Latte.” A singsong voice stated again. 

“Hm? Yes please…” 

There was a gentle chuckling which confused you. What had you said that was funny? 

Come to think of it, what was that strange whirring noise? And what was digging into your head?

Your eyes opened slowly and found Thor and Fandral looking at you, grinning. 

Oh god, you’d fallen asleep on the spacecraft. 

Worse still, you seemed to be resting your head on the shoulder of none other than Loki of Asgard. 

He shoved you off, surprisingly not too sharply.

“You have a bony shoulder.” You mumbled, rubbing the side of your head. 

“How did you fall asleep? I thought you were nervous.” Loki asked, almost slightly impressed. 

“It’s a gift.” You yawned and stretched and ignored Loki’s narrowed eyes. “Are we there yet?” 

“Nearly.” Thor answered as he and Fandral shared a look. “Best prepare yourself.” 

They wandered to the front of the helm with Hogan. Prepare yourself? How could you prepare yourself? Maybe you could take a defensive stance or something? 

Unfortunately the more nervous you got, the loonier your brain tended to get and your dream had knocked you off kilter. 

 “Stop it.” Loki said, sharply.

“Wh-i’m not doing anything.”

You refused to make eye contact with him, the dream still far too fresh in your memory. Jesus, what would have happened if you hadn’t been woken up? 

You stared determinedly at the steel floor. 

“I can tell you are ruminating, you are going to work yourself up, as you usually do.” He added at the end unnecessarily. 

Why did he pick now as an opportunity to be kind of sweet? Well as sweet as Loki could be, which was still rather stern and prickly. 

What was that uncomfortable feeling, were you…

“Are you blushing?” Loki asked incredulously. “Like a fair maiden?” He added smugly. 

“No!” You said too fast. 

Loki’s smugness seemed to grow. 

“I hope you are going to be able to focus on the mission at hand.” 

“Ugh don’t be so gross. It’s just a bit warm in here. And besides I’m allowed to ruminate. Is this 1984? Are you the thought police?” You prattled on.

God you hoped not now would be a really bad time for Loki to be the thought police. 

He raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’ and you stuck your tongue out at him. 

“Very mature.” 

“Well given that I’m not one billion years old like you are I am allowed to have moments of immaturity, especially before I face certain death.” 

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Sif was giving you a strange look from the seats opposite you, and it was not exactly friendly. 

You had kind of forgotten about the additions to your Asgardians pals on this trip and the fact that they weren’t particularly used to seeing mortals. And probably not mortals who argued with their most hated Prince. And you had just blushed too which was so uncool. Oh god, you were never going to beat the sycophant rumours. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. How do I have signal in space you wondered, starting miraculously at your phone. 

The text was from Oliver, a gif of a cat waving goodbye and the light relief made you chuckle. 

“What has amused you my lady?” Fandral asked, sitting down opposite you next to Sif. He sat with his legs very wide, almost touching Loki’s legs with what little gap there was between the two seating benches. 

Loki rolled his eyes and made an irritated noise which Fandral ignored. 

“Nothing really.” You shrugged it off. 

“Well something has got you smiling.” Fandral raised his eyebrows at you, teasingly. 

“Honestly it’s nothing a text.” 

“What’s a text?” Volstagg asked, biting into an apple. 

“Must you always be eating?” Fandral asked, laughing. “A text is a Midgardian form of electronic communication.” He smirked at you, knowingly. 

You fought back the laughter that threatened to escape you at the sight of Volstaggs confused face. 

“That’s right.” 

“But I wonder, who is sending you texts?”

“Just a friend wishing me well.” You replied hastily. 

“Ah” Fandral frowned. “But there is no need for such wishes, you have Asgards mightiest warriors with you.” He winked. 

Loki scoffed, and seemed to be about to say something when the craft suddenly jolted, as if it had hit an invisible wall. 

Thor took a few strides back to face the party. 

“We’re here.”

                                                                        ***

Surtur was huge. And also terrifying. And had you mentioned the huge thing? You could see why the fire demons had made him their leader.

He looked as though he was made completely from molten rock and seemed to remain ablaze. He had two horns sticking out of either side of his skull which alone must have been about the height of a double decker bus.  His eyes were two yellow fires held in the twisted roots of his skull.

You guessed this was sort of the court for the fire demons. Surtar sat at the furthest end of rocky landscape (fire demon architecture left much to be desired) with a few other important looking fire demons surrounding him who seemed to be swagged out with various pieces of gleaming multicoloured rock jewellery. 

There were more of the demons surrounding, snarling at your group as you walked past. Thor and Loki strode ahead of the party, and you had tried to position yourself in the middle, hoping you wouldn’t be noticed. 

God it was hot. You fought the urge to fan yourself and you felt yourself getting a very sexy top upper lip sweat already. Your outfit was doing nothing to help although you were grateful for it. Stark had kitted you out in head to toe Stark tech. The material was flame resistant, as well as having some other properties that seemed helpful but you couldn’t for the life of you remember what they were now.  

Of course, the Asgardians didn’t seem to have worked up a sweat. 

“Your council seem unhappy to see us, Surtur.”

“My council are unused to visits from Odinsons. As am I.” Surtur spoke with a deep, gravely voice that you felt in your stomach.

“We want no trouble.”

“And yet, you bring the God of trouble himself.” His voice reverberated around the room, encouraging the other demons to laugh, a sound that concerned you. 

“We demand answers. Why have you attacked Midgard?” Loki ordered. 

Surtur laughed again,

“Surely you have not come all this way, placed yourself in danger to lecture us about a tiny world that none of us care about?”

Rude, you thought. 

“Midgard is under Asgards protection. My father stopped the frost giants from conquering Midgard many moons ago and I will stop you from doing the same now if I have to.” Thor stated.

“I have no desire for Midgard.” 

Then why attack at all, you wondered.

Luckily, and also scarily, Loki was on the same page as you.

“If Midgard is so wretched, why even bother attacking them?”

Surtur frowned his great big forehead. 

“Midgard had grown complacent, it was time to remind them their fairytales were real.” He opened his mouth into a fiery grin.

You didn’t buy it personally, but you had bigger problems to worry about. One of the Surtur’s burning councilmen was staring directly at you, his eyes glistening like black coals. 

“Come now Surtur, you can’t think us so foolish as to believe that, when for thousands of years you have left the Midgardians alone? Your attacks on Midgard seemed random; attacking three cities and then retreating quickly? Not the strategic planning of the Surtur that we all know and revere.” Loki played to his ego. 

“The attacks on Midgard were just the beginning.” Surtur leant forward in his gigantic throne. 

The fire demon doing his best to stare you out was continuing to make you uncomfortable. You wanted to ask about the disappearances; after Stark had told you about the attacks you had done some googling and it turns out that a number of people in the cities had gone missing during the attacks. They were presumed dead, their bodies left somewhere in the destruction and rubble but something about it felt off to you. You had raised it with Stark and he had agreed. 

You were stuck between mentioning it but not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself. You thought briefly to how Loki sometimes talks to you in your head, a phenomenon you were not particularly fond of. 

Could there be a way you could do the same with him? You weren’t sure exactly how it worked and maybe it was just one of Loki’s irritating tools in his magical toolkit but could there be a way of reaching him in a similar way?

You focused firmly on the back of Loki’s head. 

Ask about the disappearances.

…nothing happened. 

Next, you tried to imagine sending the words from your head and into Loki’s head, but again 

nothing seemed to happen and you felt a bit stupid. You tried again a couple more times, shouting the words louder in your own head. Finally, you closed your eyes and imagined pushing the thought like a wave, crashing down onto him. 

Ask about the disappearances, bitch 

You tried louder and angrier too, in case that helped. 

You watched Loki closely as he shifted slightly. 

By the Norns, can you stop shouting at me? 

Oh my god, it worked. 

How did I do that?

I left the channel between us open and you figured how to tap into it.Even telepathically Loki sounded irritated, as if he regretted doing so. You however, were very pleased he had.

So I’m not telepathic? 

Fortunately not. 

But I did figure out how to do this. You felt very smug.

Congratulations. Loki sounded sarcastic. 

“What do you mean ‘just the beginning’” Thor frowned. 

You snapped back to the conversation happening not in your head. 

Surtur laughed in response. 

You noticed a shared annoyed glance between Loki and Thor. 

“What about the mortal disappearances?” Loki asked.

“So many questions.” Surtur goaded them, “how does it feel to be in the dark Asgardians?”

He was loving this, it was very frustrating. You wanted to punch his massive scorching face. Although, your hand would probably burn which wouldn’t have been ideal. 

Still you thought, he didn’t deny the mortal disappearances which could mean something. Or perhaps he was simply playing with you all. 

Thor scoffed, “Surtur you old fool, Asgard is still the most powerful realm in the Cosmos, do you really think whatever scheme you have bought into is going to prevail?” 

“Odin grows old, Asgard is not what it was. Perhaps it is time for change. The end of things as we know it and the rebirth of something new.”

“The ‘rebirth’?” Loki took a step forward, “careful now Surtur, that sounds suspiciously like…”

“Ragnarok.” Surtur finished in his deep, slow voice. 

The Asgardians around you shifted, and Sif made a noise of disgust. 

What was that word? You thought you could vaguely remember reading it somewhere but you couldn’t remember what it meant. By the reactions of the people around you, you guessed it was not good news. 

“What?” Sif spat and grabbed hold of her sword. 

Loki’s eyes were hard and steely, and his face pale despite the heat but he replied dryly,

“Ragnarok? A tired prophecy Surtur. Surely you can conjure a more original plan than that?” 

“Puny Gods, you cannot stop this. If I were you I would go home and spend your remaining time with your loved ones.” Surtur chuckled. 

You cursed yourself inwardly for not paying more attention to your books, if only you could remember what Ragnarok meant so you knew what they were talking about. 

Thor looked properly angry, a look you had not seen on him before, “Cease this senseless nonsense, this is your warning or Asgard will have no choice but to engage in war.” 

“You will have your war Odinson and you will loose. Ragnarok has already begun and there is no stopping what the fates have decided. The prophecy must come true.” 

“Then you know what we will do, you have signed your people a death sentence.” 

As Thor’s hammer glowed an electric blue, your heart jumped as you realised that a fight might break out. 

Oh god this is really happening. 

“Thor, let’s think rationally about this.” Loki put his hand on Thors shoulder. 

Thor however seemed beyond reason, and he shrugged him off as he held his hammer up and swung it, preparing to fight.

“You have made a grave mistake Odinson.” Surtur stood suddenly and you followed his flaming body with your eyes, amazed and terrified at the size of him now you could see his full height. 

“Don’t say it.” Loki groaned.

“I make grave mistakes all the time, but everything seems to work out.” 

“And you said it.” 

The air crackled with tension for a few seconds, and then before you could comprehend what was happening, fire demons began their attack. 

After a couple of seconds of standing there with your mouth open like a fish without water, you remembered the plan you Thor, Loki and Stark had come up with before your visit here; if a battle starts to get out of harms way as quick as possible. Luckily, the demons rocky architecture you had been judging earlier made for plenty of hiding places. 

As Loki distracted the demons conjuring illusions, you managed to spring yourself into action, ducking and diving behind a large rock. You moved further over to the left, staying low behind the walls where you could be covered and still keep an eye on the action. Gripping hard on your gun that you felt ridiculously underprepared to use you focused intently on what was going on. The weapon you had been supplied with in case of a worst case scenario, wasn’t outrageously powerful or anything, you doubted you would be trusted with anything too deadly however it could cause some damage if needed. 

You hoped however that you would’t need to use it. What had Loki said yesterday? Take any opportunity to leave or hide.

It was alright for him you thought dryly as you studied Loki fighting off a demon. Despite fighting seeming to you more akin to a nightmare, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

In fact, they all did. You watched Thor wielding his precious hammer that you could never remember the name of with unwavering determination, lighting crackling around him. Sif with her sword gleaming in the firelight, moving with grace and precision striking swift and deadly blows. Even Hogan, armed with his mace stood as an immovable force. Sif and Hogan seemed to have some sort of count on, with who could kill the most demons. 

You watched Fandral and Volstagg bantering as they fought off a couple of ugly looking demons. 

Watching them joke around make you feel more confident, as surely nothing bad could happen if the Asgarians didn’t think this was too difficult a feat. 

Where are you you heard Lokis voice. 

Behind some rock you sent back to him.

Very helpful, can’t you be more precise? 

What am I, a compass? I’m somewhere to your left, I can still see you all.  You replied. Directions had never been a strong point of yours. 

Stay hidden. 

You rolled your eyes. As if you were going to do anything else. Did he think you were going to try and take on a fire demon single handedly? You thought about replying something snarky but decided you’d better just let him concentrate. 

Indeed, Loki seemed very busy weaved in and out of reality, appearing and disappearing, his daggers cutting through the fiery adversaries. You knew that Loki’s skills were looked down on by the other warriors, Fandral had made cutting remarks during your time in Asgard but you still couldn’t understand it. You hadn’t had an opportunity to watch him mid action like this before and it truly was a sight to behold; he was lithe and quick while still strong and powerful, thwarting demons like it was his day job. 

It reminded you of something…then it hit you. This was similar in some ways to the dream you had had on the ship. 

Oh my god now is not the time. You physically shook your head to stop yourself from going any further than that route. 

Turning your attention back to the others, you watched Thors hammer crashed into the demons, unleashing thunderous blasts that scattered through their ranks, as Sif and Fandral sliced their swords through the air. 

Despite the fierce onslaught, the demons fought back relentlessly. Their fiery attacks rained down upon the group, testing their mettle. As the battle raged on, the ground shook beneath their feet as flames engulfed the surroundings. 

You wiped the sweat out of your face, looking around you for anyone who might have found your hiding space. However everyone was concentrated on fighting the Asgardians. 

Loki had told you to look out for opportunities to find out information that you might be able to gather more than others, however given the current circumstances you doubted there would be any chance of that. In fact, you felt a little bit useless crouched here watching the rest of them fight. 

Granted, your skills were never going to lie in hand to hand combat, but you still felt desperate to do something to support them. 

Despite Lokis’ warning to stay out of sight, you decided to take a chance. You stayed low and moved swiftly to the next bolder, dodging an ill timed flame headed towards you. From here, you were slightly closer to the action. 

You had a sudden strange feeling of playing laser tag as a child and how this felt much the same; crouching behind walls and hiding in dark corners. Unfortunately, the stakes were much higher now. 

Your eyes drew back to Loki, watching as he used his magic to push back against the demons. You bit down on your lips hard, as there was a close moment he barely missed a fireball that could have burnt his arm.

Can you be more careful you idiot, you sent your concern over to him before you stopped yourself. 

Worried for me mortal? How cute. 

You wish. 

You were though, worried for him. You knew Loki and the rest were seasoned pros at fighting off monsters but you had never been in a battle situation before. 

Come on, you told yourself, pull it together its not like they haven’t done this before, worry about yourself. 

While you were staring at him, you suddenly felt your back get very warm. You turned quickly, clutching your weapon to find the demon that had been staring at you earlier staring down at you. 

Your heart thumped loudly and you panicked, fumbling for the trigger on your weapon as you tried to half stand; an awkward movement due to your panic and trying to ensure the back of you wasn’t left exposed to an open attack.  

Before you could do anything, the demon surprised you by speaking. 

“Your friends are going to die. There is no getting out of this.”

You stared at him, unsure of how to respond to that. Instead of something heroic or even settling for something normal, you blurted, 

“Why haven’t you attacked me yet?” 

“Are you a mortal with a death wish?” His black eyes glinted at you.

“No.” You chocked out.

God seriously get a grip, you chided yourself, stop acting like such a prat. 

“Leave these Asgardians to their demise and come with me, there’s a greater future waiting for you.”

Now you were confused.

“What are you propositioning? What greater future?” 

“The human race is weak and frail.” The demon hissed. “But they can help make you stronger.”

“Who can?” You graciously ignored the insult. 

The demon just grinned at you, menacingly. 

“Who are you working with?” You asked again. “Who has promised you Ragnarok?” 

“You are on the loosing side mortal. Look at you, useless, cowering while the others fight. But that can change if you surrender yourself to them.”

He wasn’t wrong but it still stung a little. Hadn’t you just been thinking that it would be nice to be able to feel more helpful? 

“We can make you powerful.” The demon continued to press you.

Powerful…

You laughed and met the demons eye, drawing yourself up straight for the first time. Maybe that would have been a tempting offer to someone else. Unfortunately, if he was trying to sell you something he was going the wrong way about it. The thing is, you had never been particularly interested in the notion of power. 

“The issue with power is that it usually comes with responsibility. And I really, really hate responsibilities.”

You took a deep breath in. 

“Tell me who you are working with, or I’ll blast you with this…thing.” 

In a flash, you saw the demon narrow his eyes and lift his hand to throw a fireball at you, which at this distance would have killed you. You closed your eyes, let out a scream and pressed the trigger. 

You heard the blast and a noise that sounded suspiciously like something hitting a rock, and opened one eye slowly to see what you had done. Hitting something at close range meant that the weapon had proved to be pretty impressive, and you saw the demon lying in a heap a few feet away from you.

You shuddered, that was horrific. You wondered if Captain America usually shuts his eyes and screams like a ninny when dealing deadly blows. 

You gipped. 

Oh god I’m going to be sick, you thought, dropping your gun and gripping your stomach with one hand and a nearby rock with the other. 

The adrenaline of nearly dying but besting a demon and the gory sight of seeing it laid on the floor had proved too much. You were embarrassed to find tears in the back of your eyes.

Seriously dude, this fire guy was going to kill you and you beat it. Cheer up a bit maybe. You mentally shock yourself. 

It was then you realised that the demon had managed to burn you before you had shot it, your hand that you had held the gun with, that hadn’t been covered in anything was bleeding and sore. 

You’ll have to process this later you told yourself, trying to push it back into your mind so you could focus on the rest of the fight. Your hand stung but it would recover fine.

After a few breaths you pulled yourself around. You still weren’t overly keen on the idea that you had just killed something but you also had a sense of pride too. You had just beaten a demon for Gods sake! Useless human who? And you had been able to find out something interesting too, these mystery figures wanted humans for something. 

You bent back down and picked your gun up, turning back to face the fight. You looked up and made eye contact with Loki. His eyes took in your grimacing expression and caught the dead demon not too far away from you. 

Everything suddenly fell into slow motion. Loki took steps towards you and his mouth opened, you could see him saying your name but you couldn’t hear it. As his attention was turned towards you, a particularly large demon was running towards him from the left. 

Without giving it a second thought you ran straight towards the fight. 

The demon opened his palms to shoot the flames towards Loki and you weren’t going to make it in time.

You changed your direction running towards the demon and shot your weapon as you leapt straight in front of the torrent of fire that was made for Loki. 

It hit you straight in the chest knocking you forcefully back onto the gravely terrain and you cringed as you felt your head hit the floor. 

Someone was shouting your name but you weren’t sure who. There was a ringing in your ears from the impact nearly drowning out the noise of the battle. You could only focus on your chest hurting; it stung and ached and you were winded. You hoped that your outfit had helped a little in preventing burns but given the pain you weren’t so sure. 

Loki’s face appeared in front of you, a little blurry but still looking furious. 

“What the hel were you thinking?” You could tell he was incandescent but you were struggling to focus on anything other than the pain. 

“You’re welcome by the way.” Your mouth tasted like blood and you winced. 

You felt yourself being taken into his arms which you huffed at and he ignored, and he placed a surprisingly freezing cold hand on your burns. You looked down to see your Stark tech top was ripped and the skin under looked red and inflamed. Where Loki rested his hand, his skin was blue. 

“What the fuck?” You tried to move away, the sight taking you by surprise.

Loki shushed you and held you tighter so you couldn’t move.

“Stop fighting me for once.” He paused, his forehead creased 

“You… I would have been…” He stated, his eyes met yours, his forehead creased. He looked confused and vulnerable for a second.  

“Okay, this is dramatic, let’s not tell anyone about this.” You let your head rest in the crook of Loki’s arm. 

Just as you spoke, Thor realised what was happening and after he had finished off his fight came over to see. The others either hadn’t noticed or were holding down the fort with two of their men now fussing over a human. 

As the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain got worse and everything started getting more blurry. Your body felt heavy and tired.

“If you die I’ll go to Hel and bring you back myself so I can kill you again for being so stupid.” 

You tried to keep your eyes open for as long as you could.

“I’ll look forward to it.” 

Then everything went black. 

Notes: What did you think????? Also yes I had to get the AI's sequence in somewhere it was too funny lmao. I so so hope some of you are out there and reading this and I'm not just talking to myself.

Tag list:

@creationsbyme  @kikster606  @slytherinintj13  @th0rswh0res  @huntress-artemiss  @jannieka394 @stefffrs  @misswimberly @thedistractedagglomeration  @yoongissidebitchh  @purplekitten30 @mischief2sarawr  @johnmurphys-sass 

@lonadane  @imalovernotahater @lokisgoodgirl. @laliceee @dlwrish  @paetonnn  @lovelysizzlingbluebird  @reas-writing  @buttercupcookies-blog @acidcasualties

[gosecretscribbles]

Rise August 2024 Day 11: Mud Dogs (What Doesn't Kill You Is Great Comedy Material 1/2)

Summary: The Mud Dogs haven’t been giving Mama enough loot, so she has other plans for them. 

Trigger Warning: short Battle Nexus fight, non-graphic injuries, Big Mama-style manipulation and traps via contract.

Keeping the pace pretty brisk to match the style in Raph’s Ride-Along.  Had a lot of fun with this one!  Enjoy!

Loathsome Leonard dumped the bag of loot on Big Mama’s desk.

“There you go, Big Mama! That’s, uh, that’s actually more than the usual cut! Like fifty percent of it! Haha!”

The loot was a single gold cup and a handful of coins. Leonard knew it wasn’t enough, but he kept up a wide grin anyway.

Big Mama looked down at it for a long moment. Then she lifted her eyes to Loathsome Leonard and his three chums crowded behind him. Leonard didn’t dare turn, but he could feel Dastardly Danny and Malicious Mickey wearing identical nervous grins. Heinous Green grunted. Big Mama still hadn’t moved.

Leonard started to sweat. “See, uh, we haven’t had the best luck, and we haven’t gone out as much – we’ve sort of been running a –”

“Not to worry, my dearwiffle darling,” she purred. “I think this could be your most valuable donation yet.”

“I-it is?”

“Oh yes.” She snapped her fingers. The panels along the walls slid open and the Mud Dogs were immediately surrounded by two dozen of Big Mama’s beefiest body guards. “Take these charming young clowns to the Battle Nexus. They’ll make marvelous entertainment.”

“Hey – wait!”

“We can’t!” Mickey yelped.

“We got prior obligations!” Danny shouted.

“Unnnngh,” Hank groaned.

But the four of them were tied up and tossed into the dungeons anyway. It was one of the bigger rooms, at least, but even at Hank’s smallest size, there wasn’t a lot of room.

Mickey grabbed Danny’s jacket. “What’re we gonna do, Danny?!”

“Cut it out!” Danny planted a clawed hand in Mickey’s face and shoved him away. Then he took a tiny shitzu out of his bright purple jacket. “You’re squishin’ Chaos!”

Chaos yipped adorably.

Mickey clutched at his chest. “What about all the other doggies we’ve been rescuing? They’ll all starve if we can’t get back to them! And Mrs. Num-Num needs her tummy rubbed!”

Leonard stood and ran his hand grimly along the stone walls. “No way outta this, boys,” he said darkly. “This ain’t prison. We can’t escape like we did before. We gotta think of another angle.”

Hank grabbed at the wall. His fingers crushed the rock. He pulled a brick out and chewed it.

Mickey beamed at him. “Aw, Hank! We love you, too!”

Danny scowled. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess, Loathsome Leonard! If we’d stolen the Chalice of Prophetic Destruction, we’d have had enough to keep Big Mama happy! But no! You wanted to steal from some cheap human museum. Who cares about the Holy Grail? It ain’t worth nothin’!”

“Guys, guys!” Mickey pushed the two of them apart. “Fighting won’t get Mrs. Num-Num her belly rubs!”

Leonard growled and looked away. “Fine. I got somethin’ Big Mama’ll want. Oi!” He stuck an arm out of the cell and waved for a guard’s attention. “You hear me? I got somethin’ Big Mama will want more than a buncha rodeo clowns!”

The guard, a bright pink squid yokai, oozed its way down the corridor. “You sure?” it burbled.

“I’m sure,” Leonard said.

The guard blew a bubble between the bars. It blooped over Leonard. The guard reached in and attached a tentacle to the bubble. Then it pulled Leonard out and down the hallway, Leonard bobbing up and down like a balloon.

Mickey looked nervous. “What d’ya think he’s gonna do?”

Danny scowled. “Something dumb.”

Hank groaned, pulled another brick from the wall, and chewed it.

A look of realization crept over Mickey’s face. “Heeey, I think I’ve got an idea!”

It took a couple hours for Hank to eat his way through the wall. They made a mistake the first time and ended up in someone else’s cell. Then they tried getting Hank to tunnel under the cell door, but the floor was made of dirt and even Mickey’s famous mud pies couldn’t make that very appealing. Eventually Hank got annoyed and punched the back wall. The new opening brought them into the long hallway that led straight to the Battle Nexus Arena. As they crawled out, there was a loud cheer. A battle! The three of them rushed to the barred opening, eager to see a good fight.

Mikey screamed. “Leonard! NO!”

Leonard couldn’t hear him. He was battling a massive black scorpion yokai with a whip-like tail and pincers big enough to snap even Hank in half. Leonard darted in and out of the scorpion’s reach. The red stripe over his left eye now had a matching stripe of blood over his right. He was breathing heavily.

Mickey grabbed Danny. “We have to get him out of there!”

“I’m on it!”

Danny shoved Chaos at Mickey and then squeezed under the barred door, contorting his rat yokai muscle and bone. He popped up on the other side just as the scorpion landed a lucky hit, smacking Leonard in the chest so hard he went flying several feet across the gritty arena floor. He didn’t get up. The crowd went wild.

“LEONARD!” Mickey and Danny both screamed. Then Danny had to dive out of the way because Hank ran head-first through the entrance, the bars caught around his neolithic skull. He kept charging until he rammed into the scorpion yokai. It hissed and whipped its tail at him. Danny grabbed a conveniently broken piece of bar and leaped forward to block the blow. Mickey passed Chaos back Danny and leaped on Hank’s fist. Mickey’s eel body lit up with an electric charge and Hank rammed him into the scorpion’s head. The scorpion dropped. The crowd went even wilder.

Mickey and Danny were already sprinting for Leonard. Hank lumbered behind them, groaning. Leonard was still conscious, but his eyes were glazed with pain.

“You’re an idiot!” Danny barked at him. “How is getting yourself killed going to help anything?”

“I’m fixing it,” Leonard coughed. “Big Mama said she’d let us go if I won a fight.”

“You didn’t win,” Big Mama called from her box. The four of them looked up at her.

“He ain’t standin’ up!” Leonard called, pointing at the scorpion.

“Neither are you,” Big Mama cooed. “I’d say it’s a diddly-draw, but your brothers in crime did most of the work!”

She snapped her fingers. Panels around the arena opened, and the same two dozen guards stepped out. They all zeroed in on the Mud Dogs. Danny bit, Mickey cried, and Hank groaned ominously, but the four of them still wound up in a cell – this time with a badly hurt Loathsome Leonard.

“At least get him medical attention!” Danny snapped at their squid guard. The squid guard blew a bubble that went around Danny’s head. He yelled again, then pulled at the bubble, but no sound came out. He sat down in a huff.

“We gotta,” Leonard started, but trailed off coughing. Chaos peeked out of Danny’s jacket and yipped with concern.

“We gotta find help,” Mickey said confidently. “And I think I know just who to ask. Hank! Did that big fight work up an appetite?”

Hank blinked one eye at a time. Then he pulled another brick from the wall and chewed.

“Great! I need to get into the sewers. Danny, you stay here and take care of Leonard. Leonard, you stay here and take care of Chaos. She turns inside-out when she’s stressed.”

Chaos yipped. Then she turned inside out. Leonard braced himself and reached over carefully to tap her nose. She turned right-side out again.

Mickey directed Hank to a spot where he could smell water. Hank pulled and chewed bricks until a new hole formed, this one leading straight down to a tunnel of sewage. Mickey popped the head bubble off of Danny, crammed it onto his own head instead, and dove head-first into the murky water.

Just as he’d thought, the sewage system of the Hidden City connected to the sewage system of New York. (Danny once said this was how New Yorkers got myths about alligators in the sewers. Mickey knew that was dumb – the alligator yokai really did live there! Along with actual alligators.)

Eventually Mickey found a part of the New York sewers covered in turtle-themed graffiti and even one of Lou Jitsu. He brightened. He loved Lou Jitsu! He was a big fan! Maybe if he met another fan, they could help him find the turtles!

He swam further until he heard the sound of voices. A sudden water current dragged him sideways, then straight up until he hit his bubble-helmet on a metal lid. The bubble popped. Mickey held his breath and tried to head-butt the lid, but it wouldn’t budge. Did it unscrew? Oh! Maybe it was like those push-then-unscrew medicine bottles! But how could he push down?

Suddenly he heard voices. There was a rusty squeak and the lid popped off.

“ – when it’s 4 AM, Mikey, there are no alligators in the –”

Two turtles looked down at Mickey. One had a blue bandana and the other had an orange one. All three of them screamed.

“AAAH! IT’S AN ALLIGATOR!” screamed the orange turtle.

“AAAH! IT HAS TERRIBLE SKINCARE!” screamed the blue turtle.

“AAAH! I’M SCREAMING!” screamed Mickey.

“Okay okay okay!” the blue turtle held up its hands. “Who are you and what are you doing in our pipes?”

“I’m trying to find Evil Emerald!” Mickey said, pulling himself up. “My brother in crime has been badly hurt, and we need help escaping Big Mama’s Battle Nexus!”

The blue turtle sighed. “I knew we should’ve shut that thing down, but Donnie’s got such a soft spot for adults who compliment his genius.”

The orange turtle cocked his head. “Evil Emerald? But we don’t have a turtle named Evil. Or Emerald!”

A turtle dressed in purple popped his head out of a ceiling vent. “Why are we discussing Raph’s villainous alter ego?”

“We need his help! My brother in crime is hurt!”

“RAPH’S INJURED BROTHER SENSES ARE TINGLING!”

A huge red-clad turtle punched his way through the nearest wall.

The blue turtle groaned. “Guys, we just moved into this lair, can we not destroy city infrastructure when it directly affects us?”

Mickey’s face brightened. “Evil Emerald!”

The big turtle scowled. “Oh. Evil Mikey. What do you want?”

“It’s Loathsome Leonard! We haven’t been stealing as much because we’ve been running a dog fighter racket –”

“What,” Mikey said flatly. Suddenly he was somehow much bigger and literally glowing with rage. “You run a dog fighting racket?”

“No-no-no, a dog fighter racket! We take people who make dogs fight, steal their dogs, then put the owners in cage matches to fight each other instead. The racket pays for the dogs’ food and vet bills! We’ve rehabilitated several aggression cases and given them super-cute haircuts!”

The red turtle grimaced. “Raph’s sense of justice is conflicted.”

“Mine isn’t,” the orange turtle said, smiling serenely.

The blue turtle shook his head. “Why does something sound so evil but feel so right?”

The purple turtle extended a metal arm to pat the blue one’s head. “Because morality and legality are not the same thing.”

Evil Emerald’s face set in a determined scowl. “We can’t let those poor doggies go hungry! We gotta help the Mud Dogs!”

“Great! Follow me!” Mickey dove back into the sewer.

Unfortunately, Evil Emerald wouldn’t fit through the pipe, so Mickey followed them to the surface to take a portal back to the hidden city. He kept looking around as they walked. The Human City was so big! And colorful! And way less mystical! He learned all the turtle names. It was so weird that Emerald was calling himself ‘Raph,’ but another alias just showed he was a real bona fide criminal. Definitely trustworthy in Mickey’s book!

Finally, they reached the outer wall of the Battle Nexus.

“How are we gonna get in?” Mickey despaired. “She has guards everywhere, and I don’t see another sewer grate.”

“Oh ye of little mystics,” Leo said smugly, and slashed his sword. A glowing blue portal appeared in the air. It led straight into the Mud Dogs cell. Leonard was still laying on the floor, wheezing harshly. Chaos was curled up next to him, yipping anxiously and turning herself inside-outside-inside-outside. Danny had Leonard’s head pillowed in his lap.

“We’re closer than brothers in crime,” Danny blubbered. “We’re – we’re twins in crime!”

Leonard quirked a grin. “I’m older,” he said, and coughed.

“OMIGOSH!” Mickey and Mikey yelled, and dove through together.

“You guys are so close!” Mikey bawled, tears in his eyes.

“I knew you’d make up eventually!” Mickey cried.

“Doctor Leo in the house!” Leonard announced. “Followed by his own and much cooler twin Donnie! And Raph.”

Danny looked up. “Hey, Evil Emerald! Long time no see!”

Raph grunted. “Danny. Leonard. Where’s Heinous Hank?”

Danny looked around, confused. “Hey. He was JUST here. Chaos, did you see where he went?”

Chaos yipped and pointed to a very large hole in the righthand wall.

Donnie stared at the Mud Dogs, then turned to his brothers. “Gentlemen, I apologize for any and all aspersions cast upon your intelligence.”

Danny scowled at him. “’Eeeey, I understood most’a that! I’ve had my hands full, Mr. Fancy College Degree!”

“Scoff! College is for those who wish to clay in the hands of greedy capitalist corporations!”

Leonardo knelt next to Leonard, stethoscope out and ready. “Ignore him, he plans to attend all the Ivy Leagues simultaneously when he hits 18. Okay, I’ve gotta listen to you breathe for a sec. Inhale, aaaand exhale. One more time?”

“What’s the diagonal, doc?” Mickey asked anxiously.

“He means Diagon Alley,” Mikey corrected.

“I hate all of you,” Donnie muttered.

“About six broken ribs and a nasty concussion. You’re gonna want to be totally lazy for like, six months, minimum.”

“But we still need to find Hank!” Leonard cried.

“Uh, guys?” Raph gestured to the bars across the cell. The squid was waving for their attention. It made a series of odd squiggles with its tentacles.

“Big Mama wants to see us?” Mickey asked.

Mikey looked back and forth. “How’d you guess?”

“Oh, I’m real good at charades!” the eel said proudly.

Raph’s face lit up. “You ARE?!”

“Oh, sure! Hank doesn’t talk much, so we gotta be good! Chewing a brick is his way of saying ‘I love you!’”

“Or ‘I’m hungry,’” Leonard added. “Depends on context.”

Leonardo stood up. “Alright, guys, let’s go see Big Mama.”

The squid burbled at them and blew a series of bubbles. They were grouped together in twos, Mikey with Mickey, Leonard with Leonardo, Donny with Danny, Raph with Chaos. The squid toted them through the dungeons, the servant’s quarters, the vendor guest rooms, the guest rooms, and up to Big Mama’s personal office. The doors were opened by an owl and fox youkai pair. Big Mama sat at her desk in human form, smiling primly. The bubbles popped once they floated inside. Leonardo tried to catch Loathesome Leonard, but he still grunted in agony when his ribs shifted.

Big Mama clicked her tongue. “That’s a nasty wickle bruise, Loathesome! But I have some exciting news. You are all free to go!”

Raph raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“What about Hank?” Mickey demanded.

“What about him, dear?” Big Mama simpered. “I said you are all free to go. Hank, on the other hand…”

She gestured. Hank stepped out from the shadows, looking vaguely nervous. It was not a look Hank’s face was used to making. Big Mama held up a new contract and smiled with all her teeth.

“Hank is my new assistant.”

Part 2

@sariphantom

[sparkly-scales]

Pretty Pink Pranks Astarion x Female Tav *Smut*

Pretty Pink Pranks

ObsidianRose96

Summary:

“I’m very upset with you, my love.” You pout. “I have to go around looking like this for the next month and it’s all because of you.” He watches intently as you reach into your satchel and begin to pull out a couple of soft, velvet, ropes “What are you planning on doing with those? Are you going to tie me up?” He asks, flashing a fanged smirk. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear a word from you. Is that understood?” “Or what?” “I’ll gag you.” You say. “And it’s going to be hard to do what I have planned if you’re gagged. So, be a good boy for me, won’t you?” He nods. 

Notes:

Hey guys! Man, I've re-written and re-written this fic several times because of how goofy it is. I got this idea after seeing a Tik-Tok while I was stoned. And I decided, why not. I wonder how this situation would happen. So I present to you all, "Pretty Pink Pranks". Re-written for like the fifth time. Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

It had been a long day. One of those days where you spent most of it slicing and dicing through countless foes. These days were commonplace and you’d think by now that you’d be used to the feeling of blood and viscera caked onto your skin and matted in your hair. But no. You felt absolutely disgusting. So when the day was over and you finally got the chance to take a bath you took it, eager to wash yourself clean of that day's battles. 

Perhaps you were too tired or just weren’t paying close enough attention to notice that something was very wrong with your shampoo. You mindlessly, unknowingly knead the viscous liquid into your wet tresses, just thankful that you were able to actually wash your hair that night. 

Everyone else is in the large suite that neighbors your room, getting ready to eat dinner, when they hear you let out a loud, horrified, shriek. Concern washes over their faces and a few are about to get up to go investigate before they hear Astarion laughing. You would think he’d be more concerned with the fact that his lover was screaming from the other room but he clearly knew something they didn’t. 

“Gods, what did you do?” Asks Karlach, shooting a curious look over at her fellow companion. 

“I put pink dye in her shampoo bottle.” He snickers. 

“You what? Why?” The tiefling asks. “Do you not value your life?”

He smirks. “I’m considering it as a little bit of payback for making me go up on stage with that horrid clown earlier. She had no right to put me on the spot like that.”

“You  weren’t even up there for all that long and we ended up killing the clown anyway.” Says Shadowheart. “I think dying her hair pink is a bit much.”

“Nonsense. It’s just hair.” Says Astarion.  

It doesn’t take long before you’re shoving the doors to the suite open. You’ve gotten over the initial shock and now you’re pissed. 

“Who did this?”

Your companions look over at you and the room erupts with shocked gasps and laughter. You look absolutely livid standing there, ready to carve a new asshole into whoever thought this would be funny. Normally, your companions would have probably taken you more seriously. But at this very moment how could they? Your once fair colored hair was now pink. Bright, bright, pink. And it was hilarious! To some at least. 

You repeat yourself,  much louder this time. “WHO. DID. THIS?”

“God’s, you poor thing! That looks absolutely atrocious!” Exclaims Gale. “If I only knew of a spell to fix that monstrosity sitting upon your head.”

“ Ra’stil, Don’t listen to him. I like it!” Says Lae’zel, not even trying to hide her amused laughter. “You remind me of one of those birds. What are they called again…..flamingos! Yes, a flamingo!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” You shout. “Gods, I look like a fucking clown!”

“It could be worse.” Says Shadowheart. “You could have no hair at all.”

You let out a frustrated cry. I can’t go around looking like this! By the gods when I find out who’s responsible I’m gonna-

“He did it.” Says Karlach, pointing a clawed finger at  Astarion. 

“Seriously? Did you really just out me like that?” He asks, trying to contain his laughter. He knew he was going to get caught at some point but he didn’t think it was going to be this soon. Your gaze turns to him, eyes dangerously narrowed.  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re responsible for this?” 

“Oh come on darling, it’s just a little prank! It honestly doesn’t look all that bad.” 

“A little prank? Astarion, you of all people should know how much my hair means to me!” You shove a finger into his chest, glaring up at him as you say, “You will be paying to get this fixed. And mark my words, I’m going to get you back for this little prank of yours.” He reaches out to grab you, to wrap you in an apologetic hug, but you step away from him before he can lay a hand on you. “Oh, and since you think you’re so funny with this little prank of yours, you can bunk with Gale tonight.” You storm out of the suite before he has the chance to protest, slamming the double doors behind you. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen her this angry since…well, ever.” Says Shadowheart, pouring herself a glass of wine. 

“Right? Man, you really fucked up this time, fangs.” Says Karlach, looking over at the elf. 

He just shrugs. “She’s overreacting. It’ll be fine. Once it’s fixed I’m sure she’ll forget the whole thing ever happened. Besides, now I get to have a snuggle with my good old friend Gale tonight!”

“Absolutely not!” The wizard scoffs. 

**************************************************************************************

A month. You were going to be stuck looking like this for an entire month. You had gone to both of the hairdressers in Baldur’s gate that morning hoping they could fix you but both were booked out for the rest of Uktar. Oh, Astarion would pay dearly for this. While you had been sulking in your room the previous night you had come up with the perfect plan on how you’d get your revenge. He thought it’d be funny to ruin your hair? Fine. You’d ruin his. 

Since you were already out and about you decide to do some shopping, purchasing various bits and bobs you would need to enact on your plan. The first of your purchases is a very enticing piece of lingerie you pick up from the Face makers boutique. It was black, lacy, and deliciously skimpy. A tad bit expensive but you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you in it. Your next few stops are various shops around Baldurs Gate to pick up the other supplies you’d need. By the time you're finished you end up with a satchel full of supplies that would certainly come in handy. You smile deviously to yourself as you take a moment to inspect the items. He was in for one hell of a payback. 

When you get back later that afternoon you make sure Astarion doesn’t see you slip in, sneaking into your shared room to get everything set up. A few hours pass before he finally comes to check on you, surprised to see that your hair is still bright pink and even more surprised to see you clad in the lingerie you had bought earlier. 

“There you are darling! I’ve been looking - oh my! Look at you, and in the middle of the day? Naughty thing!” He glances up at your hair. “And I see you decided to stick with the pink. I think it suits you.” 

You shake your head and fold your arms over your chest. “Not by choice. The only two hairdressers in all of Baldurs Gate are booked out until Uktar.”

“Oh. I’m sorry darling, I hadn’t anticipated that.” He chuckles. Of course he didn’t. “Why did you do this to me Astarion?”

“You remember yesterday when you forced me to go up on stage with that awful clown in front of all those people? That’s why.” He says. “You know how much I despise clowns.”

“You did this because of that? I wasn’t sending you up there to be a bitch Astarion. I saw right through that bastard and I thought you’d be the best person to handle him. Which you were, you took out that shape shifter almost immediately. You could have come and talked to me about it instead of doing this!” You gesture up to your head.

“I’m sorry darling, I didn’t think-

“Of course you didn’t. Now come here. You're being punished.”

“Oh. Am I now?” He asks. “By the way you’re dressed I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I don’t know about that.” You say. “Get on your knees.”

He complies without any resistance.

“I’m very upset with you, my love.” You pout. “I have to go around looking like this for the next month and it’s all because of you.” 

He watches intently as you reach into your satchel and begin to pull out a couple of soft, velvet, ropes

“What are you planning on doing with those? Are you going to tie me up?” He asks, flashing a fanged smirk. 

“Quiet. I don’t want to hear a word from you. Is that understood?” 

“Or what?” 

“I’ll gag you.” You say. “And it’s going to be hard to do what I have planned if you’re gagged. So, be a good boy for me, won’t you?” 

He nods. 

You can see that his cock is already straining through his trousers. It’s obvious he’s eager for whatever you have in store for him. Usually it was he who exhibited dominance in your relationship. But seeing you like this made something stir within him and at this moment, he was happy to be your obedient little pet. But how long would that enthusiasm last, you wonder. 

You help him tug his shirt off, working on his trousers and underwear next. When you're finished with him he looks almost ethereal, sitting there on his knees fully nude. His cock sit’s there freely, hard and wanting, begging to be touched. To be inside of you. You wanted so badly to take him right then and there, to force him on his back so that you could ride his stiff erection. But that would have to wait. 

Sliding the rope over his skin, you bind his hands tightly behind his back in a series of intricate knots, certain that even his dexterous fingers wouldn’t be able to undo them. Then you do the same to his ankles. You step back, taking a moment to admire your handiwork. “Gods if you could see yourself right now.” You say, sliding a hand under his chin. “I didn’t think I’d really appreciate seeing you all tied up. But gods, it’s doing something for me. I wonder how it feels, knowing that I’m the one calling the shots for once.” You force him to look up at you, crashing your lips down onto his. He eagerly kisses you back, making little wanting grunts as he does so. But just as quickly as you initiated it, you end it, giving him a gentle shove backwards. 

He looks at you, almost pleadingly, desperately wanting more. 

Perfect. 

You sit on the bed and spread your legs wide enough so that he has a full view of your scantily clad, dripping cunt. You see him lick his lips as he takes in the sight of it, his cock twitches in anticipation, awaiting your command. With a single finger you slide your thin, lacy, black panties to the side.

“Eat.” 

He obediently obeys your command, leaning forward and shoving his face into your folds, devouring you as if he were a starved man. You moan in approval as his tongue swirls around in your cunt, occasionally hitting that sensitive little bundle of nerves. Gods how you wanted to sit there and enjoy it for a while. But you couldn’t let yourself get too distracted. You had a punishment to dish out after all. 

You reach into your satchel and dig around until you find what you’re looking for. “Keep your eyes down, love.” You instruct. And he does so, focusing all of his attention on your sweet, delectable pussy. That’s when you grab a fistful of his curls, pulling him closer, enjoying the sensation of his tongue going deeper into you for just a moment longer before 

Snip, snip, snip, snip

He jerks his head up and looks at you, horrified to see that you’re not only holding a pair of scissors but a generous handful of his silver colored locks. A short, stubbly, patch is all that remains of what you had just cut.

“Tav, What in the nine hells?!” He shouts.  

“I told you I’d get you back. A fitting punishment wouldn’t you agree?” You smirk down at him, tossing the severed hair into his lap. His crimson colored eyes are narrow slits as he glares up at you. He’s absolutely livid.

Good. Now he knows how you feel. 

“You messed up my hair. It’s only fair that I mess up yours.”

You slide your panties down your leg and his angry gaze follows. “By the way, I told you not to speak, didn’t I? Open.” You command. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” He growls. But ultimately he obeys, opening his mouth wide. 

“Now hold still and let me finish. If you're a good boy I’ll reward you.” You say, running a hand through what remains of his hair. “Maybe I’ll let you finish eating while I sit on your face. Or maybe I’ll ride your cock until my insides are coated in your spend. Who knows? Maybe I’ll do both. But first, you have to let me finish cutting off all of this pretty hair . ”

You gather up another fistful of his tresses and close the blades of the scissors down close to the roots.

Snip, snip, snip, snip

He’s powerless as he watches curtains of his curls fall onto the ground around him. You continue on until he’s left with nothing but a short, stubbly, cut. He looks so different like this. Still incredibly handsome. But different. 

You’re not finished with him yet. 

He eyes you curiously as you reach into the satchel yet again. You smile when you feel what you're looking for, pulling out a pair of steel mechanical clippers. His eyes go wide. 

“I’ve always wondered what you’d look like if you were bald. Haven’t you?” You ask. 

He scowls up at you. A silent warning. But you ignore it and in a quick motion guide the clippers through the center of his head. They leave a wide white strip in their wake and you have to stifle back a giggle when you glance down at him. If only he could see himself right now. Gods how you wish he could, he looked absolutely ridiculous. More so than you. Good. 

“It’s funny. You remind me of another elf I dated a long, long time ago. Solas was his name I think. Lucky for you, you look decent without hair. He resembled an egg.”

By the time you're finished all that’s left on his perfectly shaped head is a tiny amount of pale stubble that blends in almost seamlessly with his scalp. 

“Gods I don’t know how I feel about this.” You say through a fit of giggles. “I can’t wait for the others to see you!” You pull your panties out of his mouth. “You may speak now, my love.”

“After all of this you’d better get over here and let me indulge myself in that delicious cunt of yours.” He growls. 

“Hey, I’m the one in charge right now.” You say, gently pushing him onto his back. “What’s the magic word?” 

“Get your ass over here.” He says, reaching out towards you. 

You yelp in surprise as he pulls you down from off the bed, free from his bindings. Gods damn those dexterous fingers of his!

He guides you up towards his face, getting you into a good position before his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down to his face. His tongue quickly finds your center, hungrily lapping between your folds eager to taste you once more. His name escapes your lips in a series of moans as he unravels you in a way only he knows how to. 

“You taste so, so good my love.” He murmurs into your cunt. You gasp when his tongue finds your clit and he’s relentless when he teases the little bud of nerves. You can feel your stomach tighten and the throbbing between your legs becomes more apparent as he continues to lick and swirl his tongue around your swollen clit. “As-Astarion. I’m gonna c- cum!” You whimper. 

You let out a loud cry as your orgasm ripples through you. Your body trembles as you release the pleasure that had been pent up inside of you. Your lover hums happily beneath you as he laps up your delicious slick. 

You’re about to roll off of him when he grabs you and guides you down towards his cock. “Oh no, I’m not done with you yet! I was obedient! I let you get your revenge! Now ride me like you said you would! I want to be inside of your pretty pussy!”

He lowers you onto his stiff erection. With how wet you are it slides in easily, earning you a breathy moan from your lover. The feeling of his cock finally inside you feels so fucking good! He slowly guides you up and down his shaft

“Fuck you feel so good.” He says. “Ride me.”

He once again hands over all control to you, and you grind your hips down into him, taking all of him inside of you. You grind your hips, slowly at first just to get used to the feeling of being completely filled. But your own arousal quickly overtakes you and you can’t hold back any longer. You thrust your hips forward as quickly and as hard as you can, setting a much more erratic pace. His cock hits the very back of your cunt with each and every thrust. The noises the two of you make are absolutely lewd, a symphony of blissful moans and primal grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your collective ecstasy. You’d be surprised if no one could hear the two of you. 

Your thighs begin to quiver and your walls clench tightly around his cock when you reach your peak, crying out as another orgasm comes to fruition. He follows shortly after, getting a few more thrusts of his own in before emptying his spend deep inside you. You collapse on top of him, taking a moment to catch your breath. 

“That was exhilarating.” He says, gently sliding you off of him. “I think I quite like it when you take control. But gods, if you ever bring a pair of scissors near my head again I’ll do something much worse than mix dye into your shampoo.”  He reaches up and runs a hand over his head. “Ughh, it feels so weird.”

“It looks weird too. I didn’t realize how big your ears were.” You tease. 

“Oh shut up.” He says, covering them with his hands. 

“By the way, I’m not finished with you yet.”

“What do you mean you’re not finished?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You rise up off the ground and walk back to your, pulling out the tin of shaving cream and a razor. “Get in the bathtub.”

*****************************************

You walk into the suite where your friends are gathered, about to have dinner yet again. 

“Hey there soldier! Ah, You’re still pink.” Karlach says, looking up at you. “I thought you were getting that fixed?”

You walk up behind her and lean over her shoulder. “I was but unfortunately they couldn’t get me in. I’m stuck like this for a month. But I did get some sweet, sweet, revenge.” You say, swiping a butter roll from her plate. “Astarion darling, you can come in now.”

All eyes are on the double doors as your lover walks in. He stands there with his arms folded over his chest as the room erupts in laughter. 

“Oh my gods, no fucking way!” Karlach exclaims through her fits of laughter. 

“He looks like a shaved cat!” Says Lae’zel. 

Shadowheart gets up and walks over to him, reaching out a hand towards his head. “I want to touch it.”

“Touch me and you’ll lose that hand, darling.” Astarion warns. He looks to the rest of your companions. “Go on, take it all in.” He says, doing a little spin. 

“Gods, I didn’t realize how big your ears were.” Says Gale. 

“That’s what I said!” You giggle. 

“Oh, will you two shut up!” He shouts. 

“I think it looks good on you Astarion.” Says Minsc, placing an arm around Astarions shoulders. “We really are twins now.”

He sighs, looking over at you. “We’re even now, yes?”

“Yes my love, we’re even now.” You say, taking a bite of your butter roll. 

This was certainly one hell of a payback. 

Notes:

If you made it through this silly fic of mine, thank you for taking the time to read it! I know it was kind of dumb but hey, it was fun to write. I guess the quality of the fic doesn't really matter. What matters is the friends we've made along the way. Anyways, I wrote this because of a Tik-Tok I saw where someone drew Astarion bald and I was like, what would get him in a situation where this would actually happen. Que this idea. So yeah, I hope you enjoyed reading about Astarion becoming Solas from Wish.com. I probably shouldn't write stuff when I'm stoned lol.

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug watches 'The Bad Batch': Tipping Point

It's pretty darn clear that Doug's love of Daddy Warcrimes runs hard and it runs deep, along with his love for Toaster Strudel and Rex, who is the Daddy of Daddies. So you KNOW this episode made him a happy smiley boy.

For as grumpy and grouchy as 'Pabu' made him (and his extremely weird pairing of Mayday and Phee, which haunts me to this day), the amount of smiley faces and emojis I got in this one was the polar opposite. Or maybe that's because the Crimson Tide lost that day. Who knows.

Onto the Doug commentaries of 'Tipping Point' aka 'THE WRATH OF TOASTER STRUDEL'.

CW: "Call your momma if you wanna read my comments, I guess. Shouldn't the kids be watching that Australian dog show, anyway?"

----

Well, it’s a cloudy gross day in wherever. Is this to remind us that Daddy Rambo and the other two clowns are partying in Daytona while everyone else is suffering? I’m still mad OH HOLY HELL IS THAT JORGE?!

It is Jorge! And oh no it’S BLOND JACKASS’S BROTHER. God damn it, do they only hire the children of the corn to run this damn Empire, what the hell. I hope they’re not going to die, I’m still mad about Sassy Park Ranger.

Okay, they’re going out–woah! What’s this? Space battle? With the old school bloop-bloop noise, that’s great.

WHAT, YES! IT'S TOASTER STRUDEL! AND REX! Wait, no, that’s not Rex–who is that? Oh! It’s Jorge’s cousin, Manny! Hell yeah! And his new best friends he picked up from outside of Miami, no doubt doing some weird survival camp in the Everglades, based on their camo gear and grunts. I’ll call ‘em Trigger and Nutsy, for now. 

RAIN HELLFIRE ON THEM, TOASTER STRUDEL! Pretend it’s yo daddy that left yo convection oven momma!

CLENCH YOUR BUTTHOLE AND BITE THE PILLOW, BLOND JACKASS’S BROTHER, YOU ABOUT TO FEEL THE WRATH OF TOASTER STRUDEL AND HIS TEAM OF FLORIDA MEN. 

Holy SHIT, where has THIS SHOW BEEN?! I feel like a little kid watching Star Wars again! This is awesome! Kick everyone’s ass, Trigger and Nutsy! I mean, Jesus, they’re wiping the floor with them! I almost feel bad for the troopers, but they work for the Empire, shoot ‘em and let God sort ‘em out.

Manny remembered his electric bocce ball, love the guy. Go Toaster Strudel, go! 

Seriously, I could watch Toaster Strudel shoot assholes and take over ships and bark orders at Trigger and Nutsy all day, forget dumpster diving with Church Lady and the gang looking for James Franco’s arm in Utah, THIS IS THE SHOW I WANT TO SEE!

(Hold on, my wife is yelling at me to calm down. I should’ve watched this at work on my phone, but I figured I’d watch it on the TV instead while drinking some Abitas. The last two episodes were not good for my blood pressure. )

10/10 would recommend to chug while watching Copy Paste Bois kill.

“Where are you taking those clones” man, Trigger is FIRED UP, and oh there goes BLOND JACKASS’S BROTHER KILLING HIMSELF ON SCREEN. And look at ol’ Nutsy, saving Jorge and handing him guns! Oh Jorge is so happy to see his militia boo and know his cousin Manny’s got his back. God damn I am smiling so much right now. 

Welp, Toaster Strudel can’t download shit, must be the old Limewire acting up. BLOND JACKASS’S BROTHER was probably downloading porn onto the ship’s mainframe and the FBI caught ‘em in the act. The ship was clearly manned by Millenials. 

Uh oh, Empire’s here! With the music! Seriously, I feel like a kid again screaming at the theater in Lafayette. Toaster Strudel and Jorge’s cousins escape! Go, go, go! My boys, my boys! Go!

Oh, man, Dr. Meat Muffin, I am a happy old man right now. So happy. 

And they’re safe with Sonic Special, she’s getting them drinks and figuring out there’s shit going down in the place. Man, we need more of her and Toaster Strudel. If this is all we are getting from either of them, I’ll find the director’s front lawn and take a dump on it. MORE TOASTER STRUDEL PLEASE 

Back in Daytona. Is it bad this place is starting to piss me off? I don’t CARE how pretty it is, I want people kicking ASS and taking NAMES and taking DUMPS on front lawns. At least Julio’s fishing and having fun. Did he just catch an Asian carp? 

Woah! Ryan-from-Accounting clearly wants to die, as he’s got Little Orphan Blondie behind the wheel of the HMS Search Warrant and she’s flinging them across the sky. His bitch wife Laura must have found the posts online that Church Lady did of her and Ryan-from-Accounting, or maybe he got some extra life insurance. Who knows. 

And there’s TOASTER STRUDEL! I love this bald bastard so much! Look at him hugging Little Orphan Blondie! Talking business with Ryan-from-Accounting! Shaking hands with Daddy Rambo! All after he took down an imperial ship and saved Jorge and his brothers! I bet he even brought some gas station chicken for everyone too! When does HE get his own show?! 

Ryan-from-Accounting takes us to his true love, his Windows computer. Maybe he’ll show us his downloaded copies of that show from Japan with the screaming people and the aliens and no one wears a shirt. 

(You mean Dragonball Z? -Dr MM

I guess? My nephew won’t stop watching it since he lost his job. - Doug) 

That computer loves him more than both Church Lady and his bitch wife Laura combined, I bet. Which is okay, Church Lady’s true love is Sassy Park Ranger, he’ll be back someday.

“When will it be enough?” Oh can it and get a job, Daddy Rambo, don’t knock my boy Toaster Strudel like that. He’s a hard working man. 

Oh man, Ryan-from-Accounting is panicking. Daddy Warcrimes is being held prisoner by weirdos, led by Ryan-from-Accounting’s bitchy stepsister, Beth, and Jimmy-the-Scientist. 

“We don’t leave our own behind.” Why does this feel like a set up and Daddy Rambo is going to leave Ryan-from-Accounting behind at a Circle K or something? 

Man, even coked out of his mind Daddy Warcrimes can take a clutch of folks down. Why do these scenes remind me of that show with Ed Harris and cowboys and robots?

Westworld?

Yeah that. Oh man, Daddy Warcrimes. I like those grey jammies on him. Oh man, it’s torture time. If this goes right back to Daddy Rambo’s gang having a kegger I’m serious, I’m taking a dump on the director’s lawn. 

Now he’s getting lectured by Ryan-from-Accounting’s stepsister, Beth. She hates Ryan-from-Accounting because he has friends and she’s stuck in the 9-to-5 working in a place that looks like it smells like mildew and ass. 

(“Where did you come up with the name Beth?”

“She looks like one, and she only drinks almond milk lattes and is a total bitch to waiters. She introduced Ryan-from-Accounting to his Bitch Wife Laura, they were sorority sisters in Alpha Amma Bitcha”)

Ahhh shoot them all, Daddy Warcrimes! Oh, now there’s gas. Is the Joker going to show up? I need Prince doing the soundtrack now. Will the internet get that reference? Michael Keaton was the best Batman.

Oh shit man no, it’s Jimmy-the-Scientist! I wanted the Joker :( 

What’s going to happen next? Are they going to rescue Daddy Warcrimes?! What’s Stepsister Beth up to?!

(I gave up correcting Doug on Mayday and Phee. Just gave up. - Dr MM) 

[jellojelli]

Arataki Itto Boyfriend Headcanons

*a/n: your honor, I just love him and his one braincell that goes around his head like the dvd screen saver*

♡Itto as a boyfriend is honestly the most fun, caring, and goofiest

♡will literally make a clown out of himself to see you smile

♡he would melt if you wanted to go beetle hunting/battling with him

♡tries his best to spoil you, but he has no job and no money

♡Itto will 100% pick flowers for you every day

♡yes, he has brought back naku weeds before and he’ll do it again

♡he would actually start to cause less of a ruckus in town because of you

♡only because he realized jail time = more time away from you

♡he will always try to make himself look super cool in front of you 24/7

♡that does include embellishing his stories, bribing kids with candy to say good things about him, and also winning against kids in his oni kabuto battles when you’re around

♡LOVES to invite you to any and all festivals, even the ones he and his gang make up for fun

♡you can bet that if the festival his stands with those rigged games he going to want to play every single one of them to win you a prize

♡you can also bet he lost almost all of them

♡sings for you😍

♡and no nothing like his birthday rap, like sweet singing/humming

♡his love language is definitely physical touch and quality time

♡Itto will give you piggyback rides and shoulder rides every day if you ask

♡he will beg you to paint his horns for him and make him look cool

♡maybe he jokes around and starts painting his markings on you so you match🥺

♡Itto always has his hands on you in some way

♡fingers interlocked, holding hands, hands on your waist/shoulders, some part of him will be touching you

♡arguments are incredibly rare

♡he would rather die than make you sad and even if the argument is bad he never yells or says things he doesn’t mean

♡he will apologize first a majority of the time

♡all of inazuma knows who you are because Itto will never shut up about you

♡dates are usually fun little adventures

♡if he takes you to a restaurant or food stall you have to watch him

♡he will likely try to order something with soybeans in it and you’ll have to do your best to carry him home if he eats it

♡not Itto, but the gang members love you to pieces

♡you make the boss so happy, how could they not love you?

♡kuki probably loves you most since now he gets into less trouble thanks to you

♡Itto wouldn’t tell you this until later, but he literally has dreams of marrying you

♡the first time he had a dream/daydream about it he started calling you his wifey/hubby

♡he feels a little insecure sometimes because if the things people say about him/you and his relationship

♡hates if people bad mouth you because of him

♡he’s really scared one day you might agree with them or can’t take the rumors anymore

♡please give this man hugs and kisses and tell him you love him

♡Itto will 100% get jealous if you start hanging out with someone too much

♡he is super childish about it too

♡I’m talking full on pouting at you, glaring, going up to you saying stuff like “omg hiiii bby, who’s your new friend :>”

♡it goes back to him being insecure tho

♡he just really loves you and wants you to stay with him forever