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#but not okay to throw serious words around like they're nothing
jasontoddssuper · 2 years
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Aang is not abusive to Katara,he is a 12 year old having his first crush and doesn't know how getting together with someone is supposed to be like.Katara is only two years older than him so she's just as much of a child as he is and is not 'too mature' for him and the fact that this is a widely widespread mentality in the atla fandom shows that they see brown girls as Actual Adults™ just because they're responsible and caring
Zuko and Mai are not abusive to eachother,they are two teenage abuse victims who had barely had healthy friendships in their lives when they first got together so they couldn't have known how to properly be good for eachother because of all their trauma that they never got therapy for.Teenagers-who are children-should be allowed to mess up and then apologize and be better without being demonized,especially if the adults in their lives screwed over their mental development,which is literally what happened to Mai and Zuko
The word 'unhealthy' exists for a reason.Use it instead of treating KIDS like monsters
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sant-riley · 1 year
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[Random Task force 141 × gen z! member headcanons]
A/N: Reader goes by the codename Teddy in my writing! Along with she/her pronouns :) I am also extremely biased with Ghost so her main pairing is more towards with him compared to the others <3. I know absolutely nothing about the military so this is not accurate I am so sorry💀.
CWs: Dark Humor, Age gaps, Simping, crude humor, cursing. (not sure what else but lmk!)
Chances are, you're the youngest in the entirety of Task Force 141. Just a good couple of years younger than Gaz.
When Laswell brought her in to meet the group, they couldn't help but stare at her in confusion. A tiny girl who couldn't have been older than any of them. Soap couldn't help but chuckle while Ghost nudged him in the side to shut him up.
"This is your new rookie on the team, her callsign is Teddy. Treat her well."
All the men nodded, watching the younger woman shyly smile and wave towards them.
First they realized that her humor was, in Ghost's words, fucked.
Any minor inconvenience had her saying she wanted to be hit by a car or some type of bodily harm, Price quickly whirling around with eyes widened. "Now, I don't think that warranted that kind of response, don't you think?" "Oh it definitely did, Captain." And she'd walk away without another word.
He swears he gets gray hairs from everytime you make casual talk of you dying. He actively tells the others to check on you bc he genuinely don't know if you're serious or not.
Ghost is not up to date with shit, man uses no social medias oncesoever so everything she spouts is wildly out of pocket. References to basic things like tiktok, Twitter, Instagram? He just silently stares at you like you're on drugs. You can't really use your personal phone on base but you try your best to explain memes to him. He sighs and rubs his forehead with a groan of "I'm too old for this shit, teds." "Oh come on! You have to at LEAST know the meme about the marines eating crayons!" "What the fuck are you on about?
The only ones who know vaguely what the fuck you're on about sometimes are Gaz and Soap, despite them still being a few years older.
Granted, they are not caught up with everything but they actively make it a point on leave to try and be up to date bc of you and your mannerisms. Plus it makes you happy when they fire back a quote they learned.
Can yall imagine Soap on tiktok, what random shit he'd have on his fyp bc he doesn't know how the algorithm works 😭.
Teddy has made every single one of them a personal playlist when she does have her phone, Soap once caught her adding songs and hasn't stopped teasing her since. Price and Ghost pretend not to care and barks at Soap to leave her alone but they're equally curious. Ghost contemplates stealing her phone to see it.
Doesn't matter how serious or dark their job may be, you simp for fictional characters, loudly. Price has learned to tune it out, Ghost although slightly jealous, finds it endearing, Gaz and Soap indulge you and will actively ask about why you like the characters you do and how much you love them bc they like to see you excited. It's a nice feeling when they're always in life or death missions.
You're the smallest one in here okay, everyone can easily throw you without batting an eye so they all take turns training you! They all despite knowing you can take care of yourself, would still like to teach you all they know so should you come against a taller/stronger opponent, you'll be okay.
You are the most protected person in the entire squad, esp when going out for drinks, Ghost will put you in the middle between him and Price and basically make a wall of muscle around you. He says he doesn't care and that he just doesn't want to be pestered by creepy people coming up to you but he will literally stare down any man or woman who even tries. He is the creepy one in everyone else's scenario. Soap just laughs and tosses back his drink.
They all notice your ticks and tells, seeing your leg start to shake when you're anxious, when you start cracking your fingers when you're restless, how you will avoid eye contact at any cost. They start to find ways to soothe you in their own ways. Price will give you a pat on your shoulder, sending you a smile.
Gaz nudges you with his body to take your attention off the situation, or he'll simply start asking you random dumbass questions just to see your face change.
Soap will, if he has gotten permission before, just pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, running around with you while you scream for him to let you go. Is also not against tickling you straight up to get you to smile.
Ghost tried to be as subtle as he can be. If yall are sitting close to each other, he'll make sure some part of his body is gently pressed against yours. Whether it be his foot, thigh, hand, some part of him will ground you. You try and reassure him that you know he doesn't care for personal touch but he just says to shut up.
Meeting Graves was a trip, for everyone involved besides you and Grave. Absolutely having no control over calling him a irl Fix it Felix. You were on Graves shitlist and honestly you wouldn't be surprised he betrayed yall for that one comment bc of how angry it made him.
Constantly being told to be quiet, but you cannot help it and will make little quips over comms. Ghost takes after you and starts to say horrible "dad" jokes that make you choke trying to hold back. Soap hates both of you and calls you unfunny.
They realize you're impulsive, especially when you show the amount of tattoos you have.
"I joined the military to fund my tattoo addiction." "You know what? That's not even a surprise."
Going home on leave is always a bitter experience, you never look excited to go home. So one of the guys (usually ghost) will offer you to come with them. It helps 3/4 all live somewhere in England so it's easy to see them/ take trips to their place.
They're all attached despite knowing better. They can't help it and they know they care for you so much more than other force members.
Ghost and Soap bristle when Alejandro makes a mention that he'd offer you a spot in his team, impressed with how you can take opponents twice your size.
"¿Te interesaría quedarte en México?"
"The Hell she will."
-
If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!
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mcgomega · 2 months
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DP x DC drabble
"Let's pull a Cinderella act"
Summary: The Observants throw another stick into the New Ghost King’s - which is Danny - peaceful life. Behind his back they arranged a marriage between Prince Aragon and Princess Jasmine and there’s nothing Danny or Jazz's boyfriend Jason Todd can do about it. Or is there?
“JASOOON!!!!” Danny's wail echoed through the wast space of the Batcave, scaring a flock of bats into flying frantically all over. 
The vigilante in question whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the distressed call. He and his team of Outlaws have just returned from a very tiresome mission, and, since he and Bruce got on very good terms, the Bat allowed them to rest and eat in his home. The other members of the batfamily decided that it called for the slumber party and insisted that they should call in the Nightingales, since they're practically family at this point. Jason was just about to make a call to his girlfriend when he heard the very distressed voice of her brother carry through the cave.
This never brought good news.
Just as Jason was about to shout back, the half-ghost flew like a bullet and collided with confused and concerned vigilante, knocking the breath out of him and forcing him to fall on the floor. Roy and Artemis raised their weapons and Bizarro growled at the new face, but Jason waved them off: "Stand down! It's alright! That's Tim's boyfriend!"
"Which one of them?" Roy asked with a quirked brow, but did lower his bow.
Jason ignored him to instead focus on the boy squeezing the last bits of life out of him “Woah woah, Danny, calm down! It's okay! You're okay." He could now see that he was shaking. "What happened What are you doing in the batcave?! How did you even…”
He was interrupted by a panicked shout right into his face, while crystalline tears streamed down Danny's face “JASON WE HAVE A PROBLEM! THEY’VE TAKEN JAZZ!”
Immediately Jason froze, face turning grim and eyes shining a brief green. The Pit stirred in his chest, making his skin burn “What?!”
“I tried to stop this!" Danny kept saying frantically, tugging at his white hair and breathing hard as he struggled with words "I did all I could, I swear! But those goddamn eyeballs they… They did it behind my back! No one told me anything! Those fuckers still…”
The air of the cave turned so frigid even Artemis started shivering.
“Danny?” Tim’s voice echoed through the cavern as he and the rest of the family, including Bruce and Alfred, rushed to the garage area near the entrance upon hearing the first ghostly call.
“Tim! Babe!” Immediately Danny flew into his boyfriend’s awaiting arms and squeezed him in a hug. “Tim Tim Tim… I don’t know what to do! Jazz she’s… I… Oh Ancients what should I do?!”
“Shhh… Calm down first of all” Tim soothed in a warm and reassuring voice that Danny loved so much, while rubbing his back. “C’mon, follow my breaths. In 1, 2, 3…”
With Tim’s guidance, Danny finally calmed down enough to stop turning the air so cold from his panic. He was given a glass of water courtesy of Alfred and sat in the lounge area of the cave. Tim placed himself at Danny's right and holding him by shoulders to ground him. Jason was at his left, gripping his guns that he was just in process of unstrapping when his girlfriend’s brother tackled him. The rest of the Bat Clan and the Outlaws found places to perch or lean to in the lounge, postures rigid and ready for action while their eyes were trained on the young half-ghost.
“Now..." Bruce took the initiative as he spoke in his soft but serious voice reserved for questioning scared victims and witnesses "Can you explain what is going on? And what does that have to do with Jazz?”
Danny took another sip of water and a shuddering inhale-exhale. Then blurted: “Jazz is getting married!”
Jason saw red/green upon hearing this as he gripped the leather of the couch, ripping it barehanded “WHAT?!”
“That’s all the Observants’ fault!" Danny rushed to explain, his panic resurfacing "Apparently they’ve been planning this ever since I was crowned!”
“Planning what?” Tim asked as he kept soothing and rubbing Danny's back.
But Danny stood up and started pacing between the Bats as he ranted “Apparently they wanted me to have more political power or some bullshit and for that decided to wed my sister to the most influential ghost - after me - in the Infinite Realms. Naturally there was a whole ass tournament - that I didn’t know about - to decide who’s the most influential! Guess who won?" Danny took a dramatic pause "Prince Aragon!!!”
Tim made a sour face, for he was the most familiar with Danny's list of rogues and other ghosts he was on bad terms with “But he’s a close-minded prick! Didn't he try to make your girlfriend Sam marry him?”
“EXACTLY!" Danny shouted throwing his arms wide "That’s what I said when he barged into our house and took Jazz away into the Infinite Realms!”
“Why didn’t you go after them?” Jason demanded, just barely containing his rage and not knowing where to direct it. Roy and Artemis' hands on his shoulders helped ground him.
Danny whipped at him, eyes blazing green, his aura making the Pit cover “I did! Flew right into the 'Zone! But as soon as I entered, I was stopped by the Observants telling me that Jazz is betrothed!”
“Can’t you do anything about it?! You’re the motherfucking High King of all ghosts!”
“You’d think that! And I thought so too! But when I demanded to cancel the betrothal, those damn eyeballs said that everything has already been agreed upon, UNDER MY NAME! And if I go back on it, it would be like a declaration of war against Aragon’s kingdom and that’s the least of all the crap I need right now!”
“How could it have been agreed upon under your name when you didn’t know about it?” Tim asked, rubbing his chin as his detective mind worked.
“Because, since I’m still young and most of my duties belong to the living realm - y’know, dealing with unruly ghosts and saving the world once in a while - they took it upon themselves to spare me some… minor businesses. Which apparently includes my sisters and their marriages!”
“Fuck!” Suddenly Jason stood up, gripping his guns, eyes blazing green. “You said he won a tournament? Don’t all ghosts settle their arguments with fight? Let me fight this fucker and win Jazz back!”
Danny groaned, the temperature dropped as the half-ghost took a deep breath. “That’s the worst thing, Jason: you can’t!”
The Pit stirred like a storm “The fuck do you mean I can’t?!”
“Because…” Danny seethed through his teeth, sharing Jason's rage “Apparently, only I, as a King, can date and marry whoever I want! Which is why none of the eyeballs had any problems with me, Sam and Tucker and then Tim, Kon and Bernard too! Heck, they even congratulated me for acquiring a Kryptonian Prince as a consort! Oh yeah, get this babe” Danny turned to Tim with an unhinged manic smile that Tim knew meant how much stress he was under “Only Kon and Tucker are acknowledged as my consorts, because Kon is a royalty apparently and Tucker is a reincarnation of a pharaoh! You, Sam and Bernard are considered concubines!" 
That declaration made Tim scrunch his face and then glare at Steph when she snorted and mumbled "You'd rock the Leiya look".
“But back to the problem at hand!” Danny turned back to Jason “I can date whoever I want, but my sisters can’t! I was told that you and Jazz cannot be together because you’re a commoner!”
He was gonna break something at this point. Only Biz could hold him back “That’s bullshit!”
“That’s what I said! You and I both know how much you and Jazz love each other! You are literally soulmates!" Danny floated to the raging revenant, his core sending calming waves to soothe the pit, even though he too was shaking in anger and frustration. "Jason, I swear, I tried, I yelled, I threatened! I did all I could to reverse it! But I was denied all the time! I even asked Clockwork for help but he’s tied by the Observants too! He’s displeased about it too! Said you and Jazz are destined for each other! So I tried finding a way to denote the law that prevents my sisters from marrying whoever they want… but I was told it’s gonna take a decade of paperwork! A time we don’t have!”
“Wait…” suddenly Damian raised his voice, face scrunched in confusion “If your sisters cannot decide who to marry, why didn’t those Observants raise any complaints against mine and Elle’s relationship?”
Danny took another deep tired breath, the manic grin returned as the temperature dropped another grade down. “Another nasty thing I’ve just found out. Congratulations by the way! Because, apparently, Ra’s Al Fucking Ghul made a deal a millennia ago with Pariah Dark - previous Ghost King - that whenever both of them have a fitting progeny, they will be betrothed to each other!!! So yeah, another political marriage! Don’t worry too much though, you have time until you’re both adults. Call Ellie though, she’s freaking out right now”.
Appalled and rightfully enraged, Damian went to do exactly that, followed by supportive Cass as calming presence.
“So what are we gonna do now?” Jason demanded.
Danny deflated and sat back on the couch, looking so much smaller and more vulnerable as he leaned into Tim's embrace. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But we have to do something soon! The wedding is tonight and Aragon is hosting a ball in celebration. If no one challenges and defeats him until midnight… Jazz will be his forever…”
Jason felt his own shoulders slump “But I can’t challenge him because I’m a commoner…”
“Yeah…”
Danny looked up at Jason, tears of ice streaming down his face. “Jay… I swear… I tried all I could”
Jason signed. Holstered his guns and stepped close to ruffle Danny’s hair. “I know buddy. I know you did.”
Danny reached to hug Jason across his waist, sobbing, while Tim rubbed his back. “You two are perfect for each other. I want you two to be together. I don’t want Jazz to marry that prick!”
“I know… I don’t want that too” saying that, Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue box. Everyone gasped as a realization hit them all, including Danny who started crying even harder.
"Fuck..." Roy mumbled as he gripped Jason's shoulder. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"
Jason nodded "I wanted to ask you to be my best man. And Artie, you..."
"It would've been my honour" the amazon assured in earnest. "Jasmine became a great influence to you. You would make a perfect couple and I would've gladly become a witness of your union." Bizarro nodded along with her.
Bruce put a hand to Jason’s shoulder and the two looked at each other. Bruce with both pride and sorrow, as he was also very invested in his middle son’s relationship with a bright and feisty young therapist. That prompted Jason to launch himself into his fathers arms as he was hugged. Then the rest of the batfamily joined the hug, comforting their brother.
“Is there really nothing we can do?” Duke asked to no one in particular.
“Perhaps there might be” a new voice suddenly carried through an entire cave.
Everyone whipped their heads, weapons and battle stances ready, and saw a newcomer: a woman dressed in a vintage, all black outfit with a veil covering her face. But that wasn’t the most striking feature. She looked like she was cut straight from an old black and white movie reel, with imperfections of the film flickering all over her form. It made some of the bats squint and rub their eyes in irritation, but Danny visibly brightened up.
“Lady Gotham?!” he called in disbelief, flying to the Spirit of the City. “What are you doing here?”
The old ghost smiled kindly “I followed the distressed call of your soul, my King. And I’m glad I did. Same as all of you, I have my own personal investment with the blooming love between one of my knights and the princess. That’s why I’m here to provide a helping hand.”
Something like hope oozed off of Danny and the death-touched bats felt it. And then it weakened “But Gotham! I tried everything! There’s no other way to stop the wedding unless someone challenges Aragon for Jazz’s hand. And Jason can’t do that because he’s a…”
“Not royalty? Are you so sure about that, my King?” Gotham's smile widened cryptically. Which was unnerving even to the most seasoned of Bats.
“What do you mean?”
The spirit looked to Jason and her smile warmed and turned motherly, which was... so familiar somehow. “You may not remember it, my child, but when you perished, I collected your ghost. Brought you to my court.” She gently cupped his face. “You may have lived in poverty until my knight took you under his wing. But ever since you were born I watched after you. And when you let out your last breath, I claimed you as mine. My first-mourned. My precious little prince.”
Jason looked at the spirit in confusion, but Danny’s face brightened. “Of course! I heard about that! About a Prince of the kingdom of darkness that vanished one day! That’s you, Jason! You’re the Ghost Prince of Gotham!”
That was news to Jason “What? Me? But… how is that…”
“I know it is confusing for your mortal mind, my dear. So please don’t ponder on it yet. We have an important mission ahead.”
“Right… Yeah! Jazz is a priority right now!" Jason shook himself up and loudly clapped his face "What should I do?”
“You will go to the Infinite Realms, attend Aragon’s ball - with my invitation, mingle with the guests and then, when Aragon will announce his marriage and say the words “is there anyone who challenges my right to marry the princess” you will call out and say “I, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, Son of Willis and Catherine Todd, adopted son of Bruce Wayne, Ghost Prince of Gotham, challenge you, Prince Aragon, for the hand of Princess Jasmine of the Infinite Realms.”
"In those exact words?" Jason cringed.
"Preferably. And the rest is simple: fight Aragon and win.”
“Just like that?”
The spirit hummed as she tapped her chin “Well, you’d need means of transportation and a fitting costume of course, there’s no way you’re gonna be allowed to a royal ball in your vigilante suit. And your motorcycle isn’t fit to traverse the realms.” She turned back to Danny "If I may, Your Majesty?" She outstretched a hand.
For a moment Danny stared at her dumbly and then perked up "Oh right! Ectoplasm! Here, have as much as you want!" He cupped his hands and a glowing green ball of plasma formed in his grasp, lighting up the cave. Lady Gotham breathed in the offered energy like one would smoke a cigarette, and breathed out grey mist reminiscent of the smog covering her city's skies.
"Mmm yes, that should cut it. Follow me everyone, hop hop!" She paced elegantly out of the lounge, like a boss that she was, clicking her heels that send echoes across the cave. Everyone followed her out into the open garage area. She stood and hummed in thought. “What was that spell in that movie? Ah yes! Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!” With a wave she send a splash of darkness fly somewhere. And in the next moment a roar of an engine sounded, followed by…
“An old Batmobile!” Bruce gasped.
Dick gasped in wonder “But that thing is beyond repair! We only kept it as a memento! It can’t ride anymore!”
“Then let’s bring it some new life” with another wave of Lady Gotham’s hand the damaged vehicle broke down, its details swirling in a vortex of darkness until it rearranged itself into… a black carriage built in gothic style with bat motifs and red and silver accents. The interior was furnished with burgundy velvet seats and curtains.
Steph whistled. "Sweet ride! Can we keep it?"
"Of course! It's made of physical materials and will maintain its form even beyond the Infinite Realms. It does need some resilient steeds".
At that moment Damian returned and eyed the carriage critically. "We only have two horses and that wouldn't be enough to carry this vehicle."
"Of course not, Little One. And regular horses wouldn't exactly cut it, no matter what breed they are." The Spirit raised her gaze to the ceiling of the cave. "Are there any volunteers in aiding the members of your colony in these trying times?" Her voice echoed throughout the massive empty space.
For a moment it was silent. And then a series of chirps as six adult bats descended and perched atop the carriage.
"Bats?" Damian cried indignantly. "You're gonna make actual bats carry the carriage?"
"Nah, there has to be some magic behind it" Dick offered. "Haven't you read or watched Cinderella? We're gonna have to fix that if you didn't".
Lady Gotham smiled at that. True to what Dick said, with another splash of darkness the bats turned into beautiful black horses, already dressed in fitting upholstery and harnessed into the carriage.
"Now for the coachman and the outrider" She blew a series of melodic whistles and raised her hand up. The Bats gasped in awe as two tiny birds landed on her fingers.
"Those are robins!"
"Oh are you kidding me?"
"Sticking to the bit till the end it seems."
Lady Gotham ignored the family's jabs and instead turned to Bruce. "You cannot adopt them, by the way. They have families of their own" Then she sofltly gazed at Damian "You however can take care of them once they return to their original forms".
"The bats too?"
"The bats too" Lady Gotham nodded.
Her magic swirled again and the two robins turned into two young men. Their clothes resembled the classic Robin uniform but done in an 18th century style. Eyes covered by domino masks. They also chirped and turned their heads like the birds they are. They bowed to Lady Gotham and quickly took their positions upon the carriage.
“Now that the means of transport are ready, time for dress up”.
“I can lend Jason one of my suits” Bruce offered. “He should fit.”
“With all due respect, Bruce dear, but as luxurious as your wardrobe is… all of it is bland. And our dear prince needs to impress and dazzle everyone! To let everyone know what he’s about! So…” her gaze wandered around the cave, looking for something as she hummed. And then she stopped on the… “Ah! That! That will most certainly do!”
Both Bruce and Jason stiffened as Lady Gotham paced towards the glass case containing Jason’s old and tattered Robin suit. A chill overcame Jason as memories rushed in his head.
“You can’t…” Bruce started and reached his hand but stopped, at loss for words. Jason eyed him cautiously. But Lady Gotham only chuckled.
“Come now, Bruce. You can’t keep clinging to that old thing. Your son’s future is at stake. It’s time to let go of the past.”
Her words helped Jason get a hold of his raging emotions. She was right. What happened - happened, there was no changing that. What's important is what could still be done. And if his old suit can serve its final purpose, so be it.
With a nod and a resigned exhale, Bruce opened the glass case. Lady Gotham waved a hand, the suit flew up and around Jason, spinning faster and faster with swirls of darkness, enveloping Jason and raising him into the air. Panic tried to raise its head in the Pit but he willed it to calm, thinking of Jazz. Of his girlfriend... his bride... his princess... who was waiting for him in an evil dragon's lair.
“Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!”
With a magnificent burst of embers, Jason landed on the ground in a beautiful three-piece suit made of the deepest black silk that seemed to absorb all light. The sleeves and lapels of the jacket were decorated with intricate embroidery depicting feathers in burgundy color that looked more like flames. On the left breast pocket was a golden "R" brooch with a huge ruby embedded in the hole of the letter. Beneath the jacket and black west was a deep red silk shirt with a black tie around the collar. Long and wide cape flowed from Jason’s shoulders all the way to the ground and then some, looking like a shroud of pure darkness. A reddish-black domino mask sat comfortably on Jason’s face. His hair styled just sleek enough to not look messy, with his white streak shining bright just like Danny's ghostly hair do.
“Oh wow”
“Jay you look…”
“Magical!”
“Like a real Prince from a fairytale!”
“It’s… so light…” Jason commented as he took a feel of his attire. “Fits like second skin! It’s like I’m not wearing anything!” He threw a punch, and then a couple of kicks and a roundabout kick, making the cape flow magnificently. “Doesn’t restrict any movements at all! Shit, that’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn!”
Lady Gotham beamed at him “No wonder! It’s made from your old suit after all.”
“Can I keep it?”
“Absolutely! But you must hurry! Only six hours remain until midnight!” She ushered Jason into the carriage. An earpiece was shoved into his hand and some bat equipment tossed into the carriage last minute. All the Bats called their best wishes as they patted him on the back. 
"You got this, Jay!"
"Keep the comm on all the time!"
"You're the most badass Cinderella ever!"
"Knock them dead! I mean... dead-er!"
The moment he was inside the vehicle, the coachman whipped the horses into movement. The carriage sped through the Batcave’s tunnel at the speed only a Batmobile could take. And at the end of the tunnel a green portal opened up, courtesy of Danny.
“As soon as you kick Aragon’s ass, bring Jazz to the King’s Keep so I can marry you two!”
“You got it, little brother!” Jason called back with a smirk.
Once the carriage and Danny slipped into the Infinite Realms, the portal closed.
———
Author’s note: Please leave some comments if you liked it and wanna read a continuation. I’m starving without feedback.
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Text
Bound to Fall in Love
Angel/Demon! 141 x reader
Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish
Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n
A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.
minors dni!
"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."
"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."
You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.
For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.
"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.
"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"
"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.
"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.
"Read the book."
He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.
"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.
"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."
Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.
"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.
"Are you serious?"
"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.
"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.
The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.
It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.
If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.
Something in your gut tells you it's not.
In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.
"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.
"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.
Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.
"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.
"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."
There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.
"They're not dead." They say at the same time.
Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.
"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."
The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.
Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.
"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."
"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.
"Or the neck." The other devil offers.
"Or that vein in they're thigh."
"The sephenous, Johnny."
"Yeah, that."
"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!
"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.
"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."
Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.
"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."
"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"
"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."
You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.
"Rah 'ere?"
"Mhm."
You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.
"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.
"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.
Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.
"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"
Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.
"Do what we do best. Bargain."
"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."
"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."
There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.
"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"
"I didn't want-"
"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.
"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.
"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."
''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."
"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.
"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.
"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.
Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.
"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."
"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.
"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.
"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.
"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"
"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."
"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."
"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."
Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?
"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."
You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.
"Shit."
That's not good.
Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?
"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."
"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.
"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.
Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.
"Just you and us now, stud."
You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.
"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.
"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."
"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.
"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."
"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"
"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.
And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.
So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?
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norrisleclercf1 · 7 months
Note
A request for our boy - can you do something with Elijah starting to get older and goes partying w his friends and makes some bad decisions while drunk. Id imagine Charles to be the most understanding and even tho lando is usually more shy he would be furious because he always says he doesn’t drink and it would catch Elijah reader and Charles off
Party Boy
Words: 1.4K
Warnings: Attempted drunk driving, being drunk, alcohol, blood, hurting friends
Rating: PG-13
Our Boy Masterlist
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"Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!" Cheers erupt as Elijah drinks from the funnel. Sneaking out was the best idea ever. At 19, Elijah was in F2, taking the sport by storm, clearly inheriting all 3 of his father's talents for driving. "Hell yeah!" Elijah yells as Diego, Rafael, and Beau all cheer him on.
"Easy there, you're drinking too much." Elijah shakes off Erza, his Uncle Max's son, older than them all at 24. "Leave me alone. I'm having fun! That's what you all wanted me to do, right? Have fun!" Elijah staggers off, bumping into people as he heads for the kitchen. Beau follows after, telling Ezra he'll watch him. "Yeah, right, you'll egg him on." Waving him off, Beau joins his best friend in the kitchen.
"Elijah, slow down." Beau pleads, seeing Elijah take shot after shot. "Beau, I'm 19 and smoking hot. I don't need to slow down." Elijah laughs, taking another shot. "Maybe this was a bad idea," Rafael whispers to the quiet one of the group. "It's not a bad idea, Raf. I needed to let loose, and I am. Being the oldest, always watch over Cecile. Helping Ma with Callum, I deserve this one night." Elijah garbles, words starting to slur.
"Okay, let's go." Ezra storms into the kitchen, but Elijah throws him off. "Fuck off, Ez." Ezra stumbles, throwing his hands out. The sound of glass breaks, smears of red marking the counter. "Ezra!" Diego moves, grabbing a towel and putting pressure on his hand. "I'm fine, Diego. Check on him." Nodding, Diego spins as Beau and Rafael try to calm him down.
"Oh, shove off!" Grabbing a beer bottle, Elijah throws it, another thing breaking. "God damn, he's drunk drunk." Beau curses, trying to control Elijah. Able to get free, Elijah stumbles out of the kitchen, grabbing his keys. "No, Elijah!" Ezra scrambles up as they rush after him. "You can't drive. You're drunk." Trying to reason with him, Elijah shrugs them off.
"Go away, I can drive. If I can drive dangerous cars for a living, I think I can handle this." Moving quick, Diego snatches the keys, Elijah stumbling but falls to the ground. "Okay, who do we call? We can't call our parents they'll kill us. And we can't drive; we've all been drinking." Diego whines, not liking this. "Hang on." Ezra keeps the towel tight around his hand, digging through Elijah's pockets.
Grabbing his phone, he quickly gets in, dialing a number. "Who are you calling?" Beau asks, making sure Elijah doesn't vomit. "His father."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ugh," Sitting up, Elijah presses the heel of his hands into his eyes. A jackhammer was going off in his head, and he was trying to remember how he got this way. "You're awake." Elijah makes a sound of disimprovement, not wanting to talk.
"Father, please, my head hurts, and I," Elijah stops, looking over and seeing Nico leaning on his counter holding two mugs. "Oh god," Nico says nothing as he walks around, placing the mug in front of his son. "Ezra and your friends brought you over. They're currently sleeping it off." Elijah nods, everything that happened a few hours ago blank.
"You should know I called Y/n, Charles, and Lando." Elijah whimpers, feeling sick, but Nico seems not to care. "What you've done and could've done will have serious consequences. You're lucky your friend Diego took your car keys from you." The pit in his stomach grows bigger hearing those words. "I," Taking a deep breath, he blows it out. "I almost drove drunk?" Turning to look at his father.
"Yes." Nico stares at Elijah, wanting to say more, but this isn't his place. "You're not going to yell at me?" Nico places his mug down, rubbing his forehead. "No, that is up to your parents. Your fathers." Elijah looks away, hating that Nico still doesn't see himself as his father. "You're one of my fathers." Nico laughs, standing as he starts to pace.
"Elijah, I'm not your father the way they are. We had this conversation 3 years ago, not again." A piercing ring has Elijah whimpering, covering his head as Nico goes to answer the door. "Where is he?" Rushing past Nico, you spot your eldest son on the couch, cradling his head. "Elijah." Sitting down next to him, you rub his back. "Mama, I feel sick." Charles sighs, adjusting Callum on his hip, the baby fast asleep.
"It's going to be okay. You're lucky Nico came a picked you up." Charles hated that Elijah got this drunk. It happened to everyone, but the fact his son went so far as to almost drive drunk made him a little sick. "Thank you for doing that." You nod at Nico, who says nothing, glancing at Lando. "It's going to be okay? What the fuck is that, Charles?" Lando sneers, furious beyond means.
"What? Lando, why are you so angry?" You whisper yell, Charles bouncing Callum to keep him asleep. "Angry? I'm fucking furious. I could kill you myself, Elijah." Flinching at his Dad's words Elijah hides his head farther in his knees. "Lando, don't speak to him like that." Charles scolds, but Lando pays him no mind. "Do you understand what you've done tonight?" Not receiving an answer, Lando throws his hands up.
"You shoved Ezra, cutting his hand on the glass. You then proceeded to try to DRIVE DRUNK!" Lando roars. Callum's little body jolts as little whimpers turn into loud cries. "Dammit. I'm sorry, little mouse." Lando whispers, rubbing Callum's back. "Lando, you don't need to yell at our boy like this. He made a mistake." Elijah refuses to look up; he wants nothing more than to cry.
"A mistake? Y/n, he was going to drive drunk. He could've killed someone." Elijah peers up, seeing how furious his Dad is. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Dad." Lando turns, his heart aching, noticing the redness of his boy's eyes. "Elijah, I can't understand why you would try to do this. Why would you drink?" Charles moves, giving Callum to you as he takes your place, comforting his son. "Lando, we all drink and get drunk. It's part of growing up." Charles tries to reason with his husband. "I don't." "Don't what Land?" Callum's little cries die down, nuzzling his face into your shoulder.
"Drink. I don't drink. It's bad for you. It makes people do terrible things. So I don't drink." Elijah giggles, unable to help himself. "Dad, I've seen you drink before. Uncle Carlos and Max always bring your favorite beers for you." Elijah nods, leaning into Charles, who plays with his hair. "Virgin." "What?" Unable to stop your laugh. "They're virgin, nonalcoholic. For this very reason, they bring them to me because they know I don't keep beer at home." Lando opens his arms, Callum being passed to him now.
"Elijah, I don't want to ever see you drink again. Do you understand me? Not in my house. If you can't control yourself, you can't drink in my home. Not with Cecile and Callum living there." Charles studies Lando, knowing why he stopped drinking and looks away. He still regrets that night. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry." Lando steps forward and crouches down.
"Elijah, I love you so much. You....you took away a piece of my trust again. So, your punishment. You're not allowed to drive in the F2 Championship race." Bolting up, Elijah blinks away, the room spinning. "What, NO! Dad, come on, I have a chance of winning it all! A chance to get an F1 seat and drive next to you and Pa. Don't do this." Elijah pleads. You should learn the responsibilities of what it means to drive, Elijah. I won't allow you behind the wheel of any car until you understand what you could've done tonight." Elijah drops back to the couch, now really wanting to cry.
"Elijah, you could've died or killed someone. This might seem harsh now, but you'll understand when you have children. Now let's go home." Elijah nods, lumbering out of the apartment not even saying goodbye to Nico. Lando stops, the last one to leave, as he stares at Nico. "He might have your blood, but he's my son. I only agreed to him having a relationship with you to save my marriage and family. But don't think I'll ever forgive you for what you did. But, thank you." Lando walks out, Nico slamming the door.
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funnylittlelad · 1 year
Text
What's your favorite color? - steddie blurb
It comes as a shock, frankly. No, more like an affront. Maybe both. Either way, Steve finds himself wondering for the first time since they started dating if Eddie is lying to him. The whole conversation started over something stupid. Really, the whole conversation is stupid. Steve is the only one of them with a wrinkle between his brow and a twist on his lips. Eddie is looking at him all soft eyes and easy smiles. They're in their tiny kitchen. Steve has his arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to the landline. Eddie is bracing himself on the little table they got to use as an island for some desperately needed extra counter space.
"You're not being serious," Steve decides out loud.
Eddie laughs, only a little in disbelief. Mostly it's amusement at Steve's current childlike behavior. Eddie thinks he's endlessly cute and endearing when he gets like this. Especially because it's never about anything serious so Eddie never have to worry about it devolving into a real fight. It's just another flavor of conversation.
"I'm being serious!" Eddie insists.
"There's no way, Eds. I mean, have you seen your wardrobe?"
"Yeah, I see it on a pretty regular basis, believe it or not."
Steve levels him with an overly serious, analytical stare.
"Are you seriously telling me that you- Eddie Munson, metalhead extraordinaire- your favorite color isn't black?"
Steve's head shakes a bit in what Eddie would consider a bitchy move. That's okay, Eddie likes when Steve gets bitchy too. Hell, Eddie just likes Steve.
"It's not!" He laughs defensively.
"It's all you wear!"
"So, your favorite color is yellow," Eddie states matter-of-factly.
Steve squints, shaking his head a little more. Steve's hands can't stay still for too long while he's talking, no matter how hard he may try. Eddie has insisted he loves how expressive Steve can get. Even if Steve's parents didn't. Especially because they didn't. One hand breaks free of the opposite arm and begins to fly around as he speaks.
"Since when is my favorite color yellow?" he asks.
Eddie rolls his eyes, but his smile never leaves his face.
"It's all you wear!" he throws Steve's words back at him.
Steve pouts. He knows it's true. There has been a lot of yellow spotted in his wardrobe lately. That's just because he thinks he looks good in it... because Eddie told him once he looks good in it.
"Alright, fine, point taken. What is it then?"
Eddie's face softens. His smile becomes something warm and sweet like chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. He walks around the makeshift island to invade Steve's space. Steve isn't phased in the slightest. Eddie places a quick kiss to the tip of Steve's nose. The act earns him a smile that Steve works hard to fight off.
"Funnily enough, my favorite color is yellow," he answers easily.
Steve's face goes from bitch mode to genuine surprise. Then some confusion trickles in via his eyebrows.
"You're not fucking with me right now? Dustin isn't going to jump out with a camera to catch the dumb look on my face?" Steve questions, playfully looking over Eddie's shoulder like he actually expects Dustin to be there.
Eddie breaths a chuckle across Steve's face. For a moment there's nothing but the scent of mint and cigarettes.
"First of all, your face never looks dumb. No, I'm not fucking with you. My favorite color is yellow," Eddie insists.
"But... why? I mean yellow is so- and you're so- why?" Steve struggles to understand a world where Eddie Munson's favorite color is yellow.
A light blush blooms across Eddie's face.
"Because you wear it a lot and you look really fuckin' good when you do. Now whenever I see it, it makes me think of you," he admits softly.
Steve absolutely melts. How can he not? His arms end up around Eddie's neck as he presses a gentle kiss to his lips. Their foreheads rest against each other when they part.
"You're so cheesy, y'know that?" Steve chuckles lightly.
"Yeah, but you love it," Eddie grins.
"Yeah, I do."
After that, Steve realized that his favorite color is black.
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darklordofthesimp · 1 year
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Reconcile (John Price x Reader)
Anything Verse
Summary: When a Task Force 141 sniper is rushed into your surgery at the end of your shift, you know you're in for a rough night.
A/N: OOOH a Price fic?? In the Anything Verse?? Wish me luck. I'm so sorry if he's OOC I know nothing.
Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Description of Injury, Allusion to PTSD, Swearing.
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The day you met Captain John Price was not a good day. It had been one of the worst shifts of your career, actually.
"Get them straight into surgery!" 
You were no stranger to the horrors of war. Every twisted wound, every deformed face, every tragic passing of a young soldier reminded you of why you enlisted. 
"Vitals are dropping!" 
You remembered the trolley squeaking as you rushed a twisted, limp body to surgery. The shouts of your nurses all worked in tandem to inform you of the signs that this soldier was dying before you. 
"Birdy!" 
You recognised the callsign, horror prodding at your lungs. Forcing down your realization, you focused on the man screaming behind you. He was larger than life, bounding down the hallway after your team. He bellowed the callsign again, his voice desperate as it climbed over the chattering of your medics, begging for a response. 
The body on the bed said nothing. 
"They're critical!" 
The body on the bed barely breathed. 
As you disappeared into the surgical ward, your heart held captive by anxiety, you risked a glance over your shoulder. 
The man's eyes were bloodshot, wild in a way that only love could cause. There was a soldier who held a firm hand to his chest, reminding him that 'Birdy' was going somewhere he couldn't follow. 
His gaze followed the trolley until the doors closed on him. 
John Price had been watching on with the eyes of a man that was already mourning. 
____
Twelve hours. 
Twelve hours spent trying to save a life because of miscommunication
The team had been swapped out on the sixth hour of surgery, your secondary group scrubbing in at around 0100 hours. You didn't take the break. 
Your hands shook as you pushed the doors open, emerging from the surgical ward like you'd just crawled off the battlefield. Your knees were weak, barely holding your body up as you trekked down the hall. 
Images of the crumpled sniper flashed across your vision like a stop motion film, reminding you that although you'd saved their life- this wasn't the end of their struggle. Your heart bled for them, bled for the person that they would have to become to survive this. 
"How are they?" The words attacked you from the side, throwing you off balance as you flinched away. Trying to catch yourself, your arms flailed and a gasp ripped from your throat. You were dizzy, exhausted and low on all forms of fuel, you were definitely going to hit the deck like a sack of shit. 
"Jesus-" A pair of rough hands shot out to grip your shoulders, pulling you upright and steadying you on your feet. You raked in a breath, tilting your head up to glare at the culprit. 
It was the man from earlier. 
"You fuckin' serious?" You tried to straighten up as you growled the words but there was no venom behind them. You didn't have the energy for that, and as you looked into the haunted eyes before you, you knew that he didn't have it either. 
"Sorry." It was muttered as an afterthought, bloodshot eyes barely focused on your features, as though he was looking at you but not actually seeing. "Is Birdy okay?" 
You sighed deeply, scrubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palms. If you rubbed hard enough maybe you could chase away the crippling exhaustion. 
"Yeah," you rasped. "Someone really did a number on 'em though." 
The man's face grew stormy at the words, his jaw clenching. You knew then that there had been no justice for the sniper, that their assaulter had escaped the clutches of the infamous 141. 
"I want the report." The man stated simply, his tone carrying the familiar weight of authority. 
You raised an eyebrow. 
"Are you Birdy's chain-of-command?" You queried, crossing your arms over your chest. 
"Captain John Price," he nodded. 
John Price. 
He was something of a legend within the unit, the forefront of Task Force 141- the leader. You would have been in awe had he not looked like a pathetic shell of the man he should have been. 
Your eyes trailed his figure, stopping at his hands with a startled gasp. 
"Whose blood is that?" You stepped forward, suddenly on alert. You dragged your gaze over his shocked features, analyzing for injury and wounding. 
"Bit of mine," he rasped, eyes wide as he took in the state of his skin, "...mostly Birdy's."
You could have left him there. Your shift had been over 15 hours ago and you were planning on going home and stuffing your gob with whatever you could get your hands on. 
The Captain wasn't your responsibility. 
But the broken man before you was.
"Come with me," you murmured softly, taking a step towards the door. Price didn't move, that thousand yard stare drifting over the entrance to the surgical ward. His body might have been here but his mind was far away. 
You'd seen it millions of times, yet every instance still rips on your heart. 
Gently, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist. Cerulean eyes snapped to meet yours, wide and hard. He gripped your offending limb with his free hand and your heart hammered in your chest. The Captain was fresh from war, blood smeared across his jaw and dried under his nails, he was unpredictable. 
Your hand trembled in his but you didn't loosen your grip. 
John Price was a large man, broad shoulders and a presence that demanded your attention. He was a combatant, he'd been through hell and back and willingly made the journey thousands of times. 
When you dealt with soldiers like this, there was always a security detail to protect you in case they snapped. It was common, it was understood- survival instincts and adrenaline doesn't just disappear overnight. 
But you were alone. 
And Price's grip tightened. 
"John," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. The words wobbled and your body tremored but your gaze remained consistent. Your eyes appealed and pleaded, fixated on the bright blue of his own. "John, let me help you." 
His eyes flickered down to see where he held your hand. 
Then he released a breath. 
"I'm so sorry," Price murmured, broken and small. 
You offered a genuine smile, breath settling as relief flooded your chest. "You're okay, John. Come with me."
You told yourself to say his name often, reminding him of who he was and where he was. It was your job to ground him, to patch him up- body and mind. His grip on your hand loosened but he didn't let go completely, his shaky inhale telling you that he was overwhelmed. 
He wasn't used to being rattled.
Captain Price wasnt supposed to ever get rattled. 
John followed you into your office, letting go of your hand to close the door behind him instinctively. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden isolation, you weren't meant to be alone with a volatile patient. When he turned to face you, he raised a brow at your hesitance. 
"Would you prefer I kept the door open, Doc?"  
You swallowed thickly, controlling your breathing as best as you could. 
"It's not a problem," you lied. 
There was a soft snort, the first sign of humor you'd seen in him. John opened the door back up,  resting it gently against the stopper as he offered you a meaningful glance.
"For my ease of mind," he joked dryly. 
Your lips twitched upward and you ducked your head.
 "Thanks," you whispered quickly before clearing your throat. "And they call me Saint. Not Doc."
"Saint," John trialed the word on his tongue. "Fitting."
You rolled your eyes light-heartedly before gesturing to the tap and basin at the back. "Clean up a little while I prep."
The Captain offered you a nod, sobering as he moved to the sink to scrub the blood off his hands. You prepared your equipment, pretending not to notice the way his body shook as scraped the blood off his skin. 
He was there for longer than he needed to be but you didn't push. You wouldn't rush him, there was nothing more important than letting him watch the crimson stained water disappear down that drain. The way he stared at his hands, those unsoiled palms raised upright, it had you thinking that he could still see his sniper's blood tattooed across his fingers. 
When John finally sat down, his face was drawn and solemn. You took in a sharp breath, taking the anti-bacterial wipe and approaching the Captain slowly until you were inches away. 
His gaze lifted to watch you through his lashes, the scent of gunpowder, sweat and blood rolling off of him in waves. You were used to it, it was a smell that you'd gotten used to over the years. 
"I'm going to wipe the blood from your face and sanitize your wounds," you stated clearly, breath trembling as his attention fell to your lips. 
John said nothing for a long moment, leaving you inches from him, praying to God that he wasn't going to snap. 
"Yeah," he finally rasped. 
You set to work, ignoring the way his eyes followed you emptily. You wished there was emotion  behind it, you wished you could say that he was leering, but the Captain was watching you work as one would watch a plain car go by: no thoughts, simply caught by the movement. 
Thousands of conversation starters fought for use, they begged to be spoken out into the small space between you. All of them fell short, nothing could drown the silence of his grief. 
"Will Birdy recover?"
You were startled by the question, fingers brushing against the heat of his skin as you flinched.  His eyes were glued to yours. They waited hungrily for a response, watching carefully for any indiscretions that could give away a lie. 
"Yes." You replied simply, moving to continue your work. 
"Saint." The Captain's fingers reached upward to grip your wrist gently, lowering your hand from his face. You took in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing. "That's not what I was asking."
The look John gave you was intent and revealing, stripping the veil from your answer. You were bare for him to see, inches away with no room to hide from his gaze. His hand was hot against your skin, burning every square inch that he held. 
You knew what Price was truly asking. You knew that you'd hadn't answered the question he was offering, hidden behind smoke and mirrors. 
Will Birdy forgive me? 
You sucked in a breath, bringing a hand to softly rest against his shoulder. 
"Yes," you said again.
 Only, this time, you lied. 
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heartfullofleeches · 2 months
Note
*slowly opens your closet door and hands you the rest of the chips I was eating in there*
What if. Reader kissed King's scars or traced over them n asked if shed tell them how she got em? I think scars are neat and I dunno about you but personally I'd love to know how she got em. Hope your day is well!
Not a scratch on her.
You distinctly remember the claws of your attacker digging into the exposed meat of the knight's bicep her armor failed to shield yet here there is no mark to prove it. The two of you sat in King's dressing room following the incident, and all the time it took you begging to pull her off them. You thought you'd be fine on your own for a little while without her - clearly word hasn't gotten around the casino that you belong to her just yet. After she checked you over and made sure you weren't hurt it was only fair of you to do the same, but once you scrubbed all that blood off her there really wasn't much else for you to take care of.
"Hm......"
King lifts her head from the pile of pillows you both lay on, dismayed by absence of your hands on her. "Everything okay over there? Seems like you got something on your mind."
"Just thinking.... You've got so many scars, but that other demon didn't even put a scratch on you ... Kinda curious why.."
"Oh, that? That was nothing.-" King sits up, pounding a fist against her chest as she rises. "Takes a lot more than a coward like that to put a dent on this body. Hell, my skin's thicker than the steel I throw on. The stories behind every single one of 'em could the tale of centuries."
"Really?.... Then do you think you could tell me how you got your scars? I actually think they're pretty neat, but I didn't know the right time to ask you about them."
The mountain of pillows crumbles under the heavy swish of King's tail. "Yea....course... we'd be here all week if I told you how I got them all, but I can start off with some of my favorites for now."
King removes her chestplate - gesturing for you to climb in her lap as she regroups the pillows beneath her. She leans back down as she takes your smaller hands in hers, placing them on her abdomen. It was almost impossible to tell where her skin began and the old wounds ended. She guides your fingers to a crescent shaped hole just below her left pec - right over her ribs.
"Feel that? Got that one during the first tournament I feared I might lose. Underestimated the little bastard due to their size - barely came up to my knee in this form, the fucker. Unfortunately for them, they got a little too confident and all it took for me to wipe the floor with that small fry was catching them once.
"Amazing...." Your trace your fingers over the scar, dipping your head until in range to place a soft kiss on her hardened skin. King flinches - tail threatening to foundation of the pillows again as it shoots up with her.
"Wha- Huh?!- The fuck was that?"
"Sorry... Was that not okay? I guess I should've asked before I did that."
King's used to people asking about her scars. She may have been asked to be been kissed once or twice, but that was often by drunken fans - not the little treasure she picked out for herself. You are aware she could snap you in half at any second? You most definitely did, and that she'd never put you in serious danger. Still, you being so careless around a beast like her has got feeling a rush that's incomparable to the surge she feels in battle.
"Nah...." King shifts her tail benath her legs to hide the excitement it gave away. "A warning might've been nice - but your boldness makes it kinda hot. I knew I picked the perfect person to call mine.... Let's move on."
King nudges your fingers further north over her heart to anotger oddly shaped scar over her heart. With three points it almost look like a crudely embroidered crown. "This one. Welcoming gift from the boss themselves. Should'a known not to underestimate that other demon after dealing with them, but they're such an airhead it's easy to forget they can take care of themselves just fine."
Again - you kiss the blemish, the dragon's heart hammering loudly in her chest you can feel its rumble from your lips. There's other's she'd like to show you, but it you're so willing to kiss all her marks....
"Hey, got another one I think you might like."
King lifts her helmet over her jaw - shadows pealing away to unveil the wide, branching scar starting from her lower lip to benath her chin. She grins to show off the extent of the injury, the skin of her lips splitting to reveal more of her gums the further her smile creeps up the side of her face.
"This one? First and only time an angel tried to mess with our staff. Something about some demon winning the soul of someone they were watching over in a gang of cards. Made a huge fuss, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Scar I'm most proudest of."
You ghost your fingers along her jaw, smiling as she slides her large hand down your back. "Uh-huh.... Something tells me there's another reason you wanted to show me this one in particular..."
"Don't get too full of yourself... Heh, who am I kidding." Tossing her mask aside, King pulls you for a kiss - a loud, yet oddly polite banging on the door interrupting the happy moment.
"Ms.King? We are all very glad you have found someone you are willing to protect at any cause, but some guests have raised concerns about your displays of victory. Please stop stringing your prey up over the pool. This is the third time we've had to close it this month."
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poppy-metal · 4 months
Note
fake dating au jordan when you reveal your feelings to them for the first time….!!!!!!! you’re starting to have a harder time keeping your feelings for them a secret because everything is starting to feel so so real. after one too many drinks at a party you end up leaving them a lengthy voicemail where the “i love you” just slips out, but jordan’s so nervous to let somebody in and get too close. they wanna love you the way you deserve but they’re so scared to lose you :(
stop the potential angst,,,,, because they dont acknowledge it. and your memory is fuzzy and you dont know if its a dream or if it actually happened, and you're going a little insane not knowing if you spilled your guts or not and jordan is as cool as ever. then that starts to hurt, because you're becoming more sure it was real, you did drunkenly confess your love, and they just dont care. or they're letting you down easy. so you start to stew and get quiet. by the time you're alone with jordan you're a ball of nerves and you just - throw yourself on their bed dramatically.
"god, just do it!!" you moan into their pillows. they have the softest fucking pillows. "reject me so i can kill myself and move on."
jordan just slowly toes off their shoes, takes their time putting their keys up, shouldering their jacket off. the bed dips as they sit above you against the headboard.
"I'm not rejecting you, you fucking weirdo." they knock their knee against your head. "come up here and talk to me. you've been pouting all day and its fucking with me."
you crawl over to them, but stop short to burry your head in their stomach, wrap around them like a koala - or a sloth. some cute creature that seeks and needs warmth.
"m'not pouting." you pout.
you feel their hand drop down on top of your head, ringed fingers carding through your hair softly. "so," they start. "someone got a little drunk last night."
you groan. "god. do we need to talk about it? i already said everything.... and you didn't. didn't call me back. or mention it all day. so its fine. lets just forget it."
they tug on your hair, you wince, they have it fisted enough to pull your head up so they can look at you.
"you fucking dropped an 'i love you' on me, dude. i needed time to process that shit." their pearl chain necklace shifts as they play with it, "I'm not fucking rejecting you though, so calm the fuck down."
they press their thumb to your bottom lip, till it drops open for them, "stop pouting."
you pout more. "so. you're not leaving me?"
rolled eyes. "no." but then they look down at you, serious. "i dont - i dont know how I feel about you. but you're not someone i can just toss aside like nothing. you're important to me. okay?"
it does sting a little, to not hear the words back but you know jordan is scared. love is a big deal for them - its not something they can just hand out. you know you're already more important to them than any other situationship they've had before.
"okay." you tell them.
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viaoverthemoon · 10 months
Text
Fuck Him.
Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x (GN)Reader
Straight angst.
ummm, sorry y'all. I'm bored.
Tw: Lotsss of Swearing, arguing, emotional damage, Leon being an ass, aka mean Leon, alcohol addiction, mention of alcohol, small moment of violence, ANGST
Enjoy! :)
.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆
"Get the hell out of my house, Kennedy."
He looked at you in disbelief.
"C'mon (Y/N), you don't mean tha-"
"Yes, I do. Get out."
He tries to catch your bluff. He looks you deep in your eyes, looking for some kind of hint that you're joking. But he doesn't find anything. You're 100% serious.
He becomes overwhelmed by his fear of losing you and begins to withdrawal, scoffing in your face.
"Really? You're kicking me out over this? You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm fucking joking, Kennedy?"
"No, you look like you're overreacting. Stop playing around and let's-"
He reaches for you, trying to bring you into his arms. But for once, you don't want him touching you.
You back away from him, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around yourself.
"No. I'm not doing this anymore. Every time this happens, you think you can spew a few words, say some cheesy flirty quote, and then pull me into your arms. Not this time. I'm done Leon."
"Okay, what the fuck are you talking abou-?"
"Are you even listening to me!? Fuck Leon! I'm running in fucking circles with you! I tried my best to support you! I stayed by your side through it all! I gave you my everything! But all of a sudden, when I ask one SIMPLE thing from you, it's a big fucking deal?! Christ! I'm not doing this anymore!"
For once, he has nothing to say. His eyes widen at your outburst, and he can do nothing but watch you as you walk over to his liquor cabinet, pull out a bottle, and throw it towards him. It lands at his feet, the glass shattering everywhere.
"What are you-"
"Get the fuck out of my house and take your stupid fucking addiction with you!" You throw another one in his direction. "I'm not staying with someone who's drinking himself to death!" And another one. "I can't do this anymore!"
The tears flowing freely down your cheeks and the broken sobs scratching up your throat aren't enough to pull his drunken mind from his blind rage.
He grips your wrist before you could grab another one.
"Stop it, (Y/n)" He gritted out as you turned to glare at him. And judging by the way your hand easily slipped from his grasp when you yanked it away, he was going easy on you.
"You're taking this too far. Stop acting like a whiny bitch and-"
He didn't even get to finish his sentence before you slapped him right across his face.
The sting was painful on his cheek and your palm had begun to turn a bright shade of red. But you didn't care.
You lowered your hand and took a step away from him, his face beyond bewildered. He'd completely sobered up now.
"Get the fuck out of my house Leon."
There was silence.
And only when the front door closed, did you let yourself break.
And you bet Leon could hear you all the way outside your door.
But who cares.
Fuck him.
.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆.。.:*☆
I'm procrastinating with these requests y'all. But they're getting there! <3
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loving-jack-kelly · 1 year
Text
davey jacobs is sixteen years old and clutching his brother's elbow as they show up for their first day on the job. he's worried that he can't handle this, worried to set a bad example, worried that he won't be good enough and worried his family will go hungry.
these boys are different from him. they're loud and carefree, they have black eyes and dirt on their faces and holes in their shirts barely mended in much rougher stitches than davey's mama's careful fingers leave behind. they wrap their arms around each other and steal from each other and laugh and give it back, they roughhouse and curse and even the smallest of them looks like he could hold his own in a fight in a way that davey knows he couldn't.
but none of that matters, because what matters is that davey is here to feed his family, and he's here to watch out for les. what the other boys do can't get under his skin, he can't be intimidated by them and god knows he can't wish he was more like them, because he has a role to fill. and it's big brother. it's role model. it's bread winner. it's not friend or goof-off or wisecracker.
but these boys don't accept that. davey watches, helpless, while jack teaches les to tell a convincing lie. while les learns to wrestle in a way they've never been allowed at home. davey watches, helpless, while finch teaches les to pick a pocket and romeo teaches les how to be a distraction while he steals fruit from a vendor. davey watches, helpless, and tries to force himself to stick to the parts he has to play. he doesn't make up a headline because his father taught him not to lie. he doesn't steal because he believes in working for what he needs to survive. he doesn't waste time on silly games, he doesn't let them rope him into their stupid arguments, he doesn't get distracted by the easy camaraderie they seem so determined to spread to him like a disease.
davey has a role to play, and feeding his family doesn't include any of those things.
he doesn't let it bother him when jack throws an arm around his shoulder or pulls him by the tie to someplace new. he doesn't let himself think about what it means when jack laughs and davey's heart beats faster. he doesn't let himself get distracted by the way jack gets a faraway look in his eyes and starts talking about stars and the moon and dreams and plans and hopes in a way that davey has never allowed himself.
davey has a role to play, and falling in love with somebody like jack kelly has nothing to do with it.
every night, davey manages to pull les away from his new friends and brush off the dirt to make it a little less obvious to their parents how little control he has over les during the day. every night, davey dutifully hands the coins they've earned over to abba and promises to do the same tomorrow. every night, davey pretends not to ache with how badly he wishes he was the same as les, that he could come home every night with stories of friends and not just sore feet and the promise of more of the same tomorrow.
and then, davey starts a strike. he knows these boys who are so different from him a little better now. he knows that, for all the playing they do and all the happiness they seem to have, they've been jealous of him since they day they found out he had a family. jealous of the roof over his head, no matter how cramped the apartment. jealous of his shoes that don't have to be lined with old papers when it rains. he knows that for all the playing they do, they work twice as hard. he knows they don't understand why he's so stiff and serious, and that's okay, because he also knows that they deserve better and he doesn't have to understand them to want better for them and for himself, too.
davey starts and strike with jack, and the two of them stand in front of all of these boys and with jack's understanding of who they are and davey's words to describe what they want, what the deserve, from the people trying to starve them...
this is a role davey can fill. what is a big brother if not a leader? what is a leader if not a role model? davey can do this, he knows he can, and for the first time he can remember he's not resigned to be who he has to be, he's proud of it. these boys are different from him, louder and sillier and rougher, but they swallow him into their group and laugh with him, not at him, and they listen when he talks. they put les on their shoulders and promise to keep him safe and davey knows now he can trust them, so he does.
and when jack, the noble idiot, tries to leave them behind, davey holds his own. he's never been more angry in his life, angry at jack and at pulitzer and at the world that's let them be treated like this for so long, and when he starts talking the equally angry kids at the rally shut up and listen. they listen when he talks and trust him enough to let him go talk some sense into jack, and this time, when davey goes home, even though there's less food on the table than there should be and mama and sarah look worried all the time, abba looks proud. proud that his son is taking a stand and proud that his son is refusing to back down from the hardships.
and when the strike is over, davey finds, the roles he has to fill come a lot more naturally and also don't matter much at all. he's a big brother when les runs off with his friends, and he'll be a big brother when he finds him again after lunch. he's a role model when he stays after sundown at the lodging house to help a little kid learn his letters, and he'll be a role model when he kisses his mom on the cheek and gives her the money from a long day's work. he's a breadwinner when he calls out an exciting headline from a street corner, and he'll be a breadwinner when he places a lucky bet on one of race's stupid card games and gets an extra thirty cents from the pot.
he likes it better this way.
now, when davey gets to the yard in the morning, he doesn't hold tight to les's elbow. he doesn't worry so much. these boys aren't so different from him. now, he laughs when les scales the gate before it opens just to prove he can, and he laughs when jack throws an arm around his shoulders, and he laughs when finch hits him square in the nose with a balled-up scrap of yesterday's headline. now, he's learned to take and throw a punch and stands his ground when oscar and morris try to act like they own the place. now, he notices his voice getting louder and prouder when he's with these boys until he matches them completely.
now, when jack gets that faraway look in his eye, davey lets himself sigh and talk about the things he'd do, if he could ever leave. he never will, he knows, because he loves his family and he'd never leave them behind. but he lets himself imagine, like jack, just for a few minutes at a time that he could afford to get out. go to university, maybe, write a book. or write headlines of his own, chase the stories that excite him and write them for others to read.
and now, somehow, he finds himself letting himself think about the things he's avoided so completely before. somehow, he finds that it isn't so scary, the way jack laughs. when jack says, stay the night why don't you? and davey can't come up with an excuse better than the lies jack so readily supplies (say you walked too far, it was too late, we had to go to Brooklyn and you stayed the night over there, c'mon, it'll be fun) and somehow, lying doesn't seem like the end of the world anymore. somehow, it doesn't seem to scary to spend the night lying with his shoulder pressed against jack's on the rooftop, the night just cold enough that they don't want to be far apart. noise comes up from the bedrooms below them, and the city around them, but somehow this rooftop feels isolated and silent anyway.
and somehow, when jack asks, would you get out? if you could?
davey says, no. i couldn't leave you behind.
and it doesn't feel like a betrayal. he's still a big brother. still a role model. still a breadwinner.
but this time, he's also a kid in love for the first time, and somehow, he knows that's okay.
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dindjarindiaries · 1 year
Text
The Warning
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character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)
prompt: "Are they making you uncomfortable? I can do something about it."
main masterlist • prompt masterlist
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Din had warned you that this place would be seedy, but that's not the half of it. Eyes seem to follow you everywhere in the cantina, and for once since being at the Mandalorian's side, you don't think it's because of his shining beskar. You and Din stay close together while he awaits his information and the proximity brings you temporary relief.
Until you happen to catch the gaze of your ex-partner.
You set your hand against your forehead and lean your elbow upon the bar. "This can't be happening," you mutter to yourself.
Still, Din—alert as ever—catches your words. His helmet straightens as it turns in your direction. "What?" he asks, his modulated voice just as hushed as your own. A gloved hand brushes over his holster.
You give your head a shake. "It's nothing serious. Just..." you glance back up and once again meet your ex-partner's gaze, "remember when I told you about my last partner?"
Din tightens his fist as he leans his arm against the bar. "Yes."
"Well," you inhale and feel your chest tighten even more, "they're here. Right now."
Din's visor follows your gaze. His armored shoulders tense. "Why?"
You huff. "I don't know!" You cross your arms and rest them upon the bar. "But it doesn't surprise me."
Your gaze rises once more as you meet theirs for the third time. It's as if their gaze hasn't strayed from you once, a realization that sends a cold and unsettling chill down your spine. You shift your weight and reach for the drink you've barely nursed.
"They won't stop staring."
Din's helmet turns to you in an instant. "Are they making you uncomfortable?" His helmet tilts. "I can do something about it."
While your face warms at his protectiveness, you give your head a shake. "No, it's fine. Really."
Din has since turned his head to stare straight at your ex-partner. If his visor wasn't blocking his eyes, you know his gaze would be nothing short of lethal. Din drums his gloved fingers upon the bar once, then twice, a calculated rhythm. "Okay." He glances back at you. "Then you're not responsible for what happens next."
You furrow your brow. "What do you..."
You trail off when Din pushes off from the bar and heads in your ex-partner's direction. Your eyes double in size while a curse tumbles from your lips. The gaze of your ex-partner only drifts from you once Din is standing in front of them, his frame towering over their own.
"Can I help you?" asks your ex-partner, their voice just as gruff and condescending as you remember. You had let yourself tolerate it, but Din certainly won't.
Din tilts his helmet. "No." His modulated voice is cold and chilling. "But I can help you."
Your ex-partner lifts their brow. "How so?"
Din's hands tighten into fists at his sides. "You've got two eyes right now. If you'd like to keep it that way..." Din lifts a hand and points to their cup, "keep them on your drink."
Their gaze meets yours for a fourth time before they respond. "And if I don't?"
"Then your inability to see will be the least of your problems."
Your ex-partner tries to laugh it off. Your hands tighten around your own cup. "Sure, Mandalorian." They lift their drink in a toast of agreement. "Whatever you say."
Din nods and turns to walk back over to you. Within an instant, your ex-partner starts making the move to throw the rest of their drink on him.
You try to warn Din, but before you can even get the words out, Din ducks under their drink and turns to face them in just one simple step. He takes a tight hold of their wrist and twists it, causing them to cry out in pain as their cup clatters against the cantina floor. Din pulls them by the arm from their seat and drives his knee straight into their gut. Before they can recover whatsoever, Din takes their head and secures it against the bar, making them face him as he speaks to them one last time.
"If I ever catch you looking at them like that again," Din gestures to you with his helmet, "I'll finish what I just started. Understand?"
Your ex-partner struggles to compose a response. Din applies more pressure to their head.
"Tell me you understand."
"I—I understand!" Their exclamation is panicked and desperate.
Din's sly grin is evident in his tone as he replies. "Good." He lets go of your ex-partner, who stumbles for a moment to gather their bearings. Your eyes remain widened in shock as Din approaches you and gestures to the exit. "Come on. We're leaving."
Your brow wrinkles. "But you haven't gotten your information yet."
Din shrugs and leads the way out of the cantina, his gloved hand brushing over your lower back. "That's fine. I'll get it elsewhere."
You try, and fail, to hide a smile as your side brushes along his own. Your voice lowers as you go on. "That was a really bold way of saying 'I love you,' you know."
Din gives you a fond tilt of his helmet. His touch on your back becomes more firm as you imagine the handsome smile that hides beneath his beskar. "I like to use the more... unique ways."
"Trust me." You let your full smile shine up at him. "I know."
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benkeibear · 1 year
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☰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦 - 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐
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⧫ Characters: Draken, Sanzu, Benkei
꒰ ͜͡➸ Kakucho/Taiju/Hanma | ꒰ ͜͡➸ Wakasa/Baji/Kokonoi
⧫ Reader: female
⧫ Summary: Their child insults their mom and how they would handle it
⧫ A/n: don’t want to miss a post? Sign up for my Taglist in my Navi! (This is a repost from my old url!)
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☰ Draken:
ꕤ Shocked af
ꕤ He makes sure not to swear around his precious little child
ꕤ Always vowed to be the best husband and father, being who He wished He had as a child
ꕤ But that...definitely comes from Mikey
ꕤ "Make me lunch you fat cow!"
ꕤ These were the exact words your child used to tell you that they're hungry
ꕤ It wasn't too bad, yes but this wasn't how you three communicated
ꕤ He gave your child "the look" and they immediately knew they messed up
ꕤ Communication is written big in your family so instead of getting grounded or screamed at, Draken prefers to sit down and have a talk
ꕤ Usually that involves reasoning and what to do better next time - After all you're raising your child to be the best possible version of themselves and be kind to others
ꕤ So He sits your child down and sighs "I don't appreciate what you just said to Mommy. Maybe try "Mommy i'm hungry, could you make lunch please?" Next time, yes?" He says gently
ꕤ Your child just nodded, tiny pout on their face
ꕤ He does the whole "throw a plate on the floor and say sorry to it" thing so your child learns that words and actions hurt and a sorry can't fix everything
ꕤ After a while of pouting they finally come to hug your waist "i'm sorry Mommy. Uncle Mikey said it's okay to call you that... But I won't do it again. Pinky promise!" They said sincere, holding out their tiny pinky
ꕤ You of course agree and accept the apology, making Draken and your offspring some food
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☰ Sanzu:
ꕤ Sanzu really tried to be a loving dad
ꕤ Trying not to make the same mistakes as with Senju, wanting his child to be happy
ꕤ But it's moments like these, when it's not so easy where He reaches his limit
ꕤ He doesn't want his hand to slip, it never did
ꕤ But it took a lot of him to stay calm, jaw completely tense when He hears his own child call the love of his life and their mother "a good for nothing, lazy bitch"
ꕤ He wasn't even in the room when it happened but those words were hard to overhear
ꕤ Sanzu wasn't surprised by the swear words, knowing He accidentally swears a lot even though He tries not to
ꕤ But directed at you??? He stormed into the room and grabbed your child's arm rather harsh, immediately letting go again
ꕤ "You better apologize now" He spat and your child refused, making his blood boil even more
ꕤ He went to deliver a whole speech on why you should treat your mother with love and respect
ꕤ He ended up making your child cry by how angry He was
ꕤ After tears shed on all sides, everyone apologized and you got takeout, planning a family evening to make up for all the harsh words said
ꕤ Sanzu isn't a perfect dad but He tries his best
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☰ Benkei:
ꕤ Very similar to Draken, really gentle dad
ꕤ Despite his size he's like the softest guy you ever met
ꕤ Benkei is the fun and chill dad but also values respect and kindness
ꕤ Insists on sitting together once a week to talk about stuff that's going on without shame or punishments
ꕤ Communication is key with this man, very patient and trusting
ꕤ So he's very surprised to hear "Mommy your food tastes like dog poop"
ꕤ It wasn't a heavy insult or anything but it still made you frown
ꕤ He immediately stepped in "hey, that's not a nice thing to say" He said serious, taking the plate away from your child
ꕤ Your child immediately crossed their arms and started pouting "I was still eating, you stupid" they mumbled
ꕤ He sighed "since when do we talk like this little one? And im just doing you a favor, if you don't like mommy’s food, you don't have to eat it" He said unbothered, packing it up and putting it in the fridge
ꕤ There's no punishment of "no dessert" or anything like that because you don't want to make any food special, having them whine for it
ꕤ Once you two finished dinner Benkei cleaned up, sitting back down with your child "if you're still hungry, your food is in the fridge. But I don't want to hear anything like that again, your Mommy is giving Her best" He said serious
ꕤ In the end the food was eaten and everyone was okay
ꕤ Your child did end up apologizing and so did Benkei, trying to blame himself for their behavior but He did everything just right
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Networks: @tokyometronetwork
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illegiblewords · 3 months
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Serious talk about meta under the cut.
I don't know who might need to hear it, but fwiw mental flexibility is a huge part of analysis (and interacting with other humans lol). You need to be able to account for multiple possibilities when examining a work, or understanding a social exchange. You need to be able to separate what is objective fact from your own subjective interpretation and judgment. The most negative interpretation is not automatically the most worthwhile or true. Someone throwing accusations around in-line with their own worst interpretations does not guarantee those accusations are warranted. You are not a bad or stupid person for disagreeing. Shit needs to withstand scrutiny. I don't always strike the right balance myself. I do the best I can but I'm definitely not perfect. Tbh I'm not beyond pettiness either--although I try to keep that out of actual analysis lol. There have been times I've griped to friends privately or blogged about how I felt (sans tags, with spoiler blocks so people can opt out). I've griped recently. I'm bound to gripe again in the future. Some level of griping is inevitable imo and I figure no one is 100% immune.
All that said, even if someone’s take isn't canon AND even if it's something I really dislike--I'd personally rather people follow their passions anyway. Hands down. I could be in the middle of a rant and my answer would still be that the subject of my frustration gets to exist. I'm not the boss and odds are we're going with different versions in our own heads. Discouraging another fan from creating due to my preferences or narrative approach would horrify me. I've seen fandoms where gatekeeping like that killed the creative community and it was fucking awful.
Not everyone is confident in their own judgment. Not everyone faced with a pissed off person trying to use lore and accusations like clubs will feel okay continuing with their own vision. Elitism and manipulation (especially through rhetoric) can be present within analysis. People are not being taught how to recognize those things properly. Analysts aren't always aware or invested enough to even be careful. It’s legit easy to get caught up in ideas or feelings to the point of forgetting about other people’s, and adjusting to account for alternate approaches takes some work. For me at least, I think having a 'no insults' policy and being super careful when it comes to absolute claims (assertions not qualified by 'I think' or 'it could be argued') helps.
Anyway. Just because a person calls something ‘meaningless’ doesn't make it meaningless. Someone pooh-poohing an observation you made doesn't make your observation less true or important. Employing a literary term doesn't mean that individual actually understands the term, how it works, or how to apply it. Which is to say nothing of romantic chemistry or whatever. I encourage readers to extrapolate on this. ‘Shallow’ could apply as much as ‘meaningless’. Denying parallels exist by itself doesn’t actually negate those parallels. Your version of a character may not be the same as the fan next to you’s and that difference doesn't have to detract. There's more I could say on the subject (I've edited out a lot) but basically--just because another fan isn't into what you're doing doesn't automatically make what you're doing wrong, immoral, shoddy, or otherwise less.
Seriously, vet shit. Question the entire premise an analyst tries to establish then decide for yourself if it holds water. Turn over word choices and assertions in your head before deciding if they're appropriate. Do it to me too. I don't care if someone is the holy goddamn emperor of analysts. Just because a person says something is good or bad, true or false, whatever the hell doesn't make it so. Just because a person uses a technical term doesn't mean they're discussing it effectively. Quality of argument matters beyond the packaging it’s wrapped in. It's important to protect yourself from people whose priority is enforcing their own preferences, including dismissing things they aren't partial to.
I just don't want anyone shamed silent man. Not even people whose takes drive me up the fucking wall. Neither I nor any other analyst is an authority here. And there are people who are absolutely ready to take advantage of other people’s insecurities to assert themselves. Might not even be malicious, just indifferent.
For me, analysis feels kind of like uncovering a dinosaur skeleton. I want to share the cool and exciting things I find with other people. Sometimes I might be sorting out what my own thoughts and feelings are. It's also possible to examine why you're uncomfortable with something, or why you love something another person hates, while making very clear what is YOUR READING and not THE READING. Offering a variety of possibilities is very different from presenting yourself as the only correct one. One note at the end when everything else was insulting and intolerant is like a band-aid over a wound.
EDIT: As a last point, that I'm throwing in just-in-case. If anyone reading this thinks they may have overreached and done stuff I've mentioned + feels shitty about it… that's still not the end of the world. It’s okay. This is hard stuff to learn and I really don't think anyone's perfect at it. Worth the effort though. Just gotta take a deep breath, acknowledge you're a fallible human same as everyone else, and do the best you can going forward. Life goes on.
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yanderelegoninjago · 2 years
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Tea Party
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Summary: Lord Garmadon just wants to have a little chat about your intentions with his son
You stared at the four-armed man sitting across from you, who was happily sipping tea. You awkwardly smiled, not looking directly into his eyes.
"So... Y/n-"
Now you made eye contact, and he was straight faced. You gulped, not knowing why this man was here, across from you, after demanding you throw him a 'tea party.'
"Garmadon..."
He rose an eyebrow, as he watched you eat one of the pastries.
"Nice weather?" You awkwardly laugh, as he puts down his cup.
"I'm not going to beat around the already dead bush. Why are you dating my son?"
"Excuse me?"
He laughs, causing you to frown. Your eyebrows knitted together and you crossed your arms.
"What's so funny?"
He stops, his face going back to his dead stare, "Why do you think I'm laughing?"
"I don't know, that's why I asked."
"I want what's best for my son."
It was now your turn to laugh, which then caused him to frown.
"You can't be serious. You were never there for Lloyd. How dare you interrogate me? I've ALWAYS been there for him, especially when you weren't, moments he needed his parents. Your pathetic you know that?"
He picks up the pot and pours more tea, unaffected by your words. "I know I've been a terrible father, but I'm trying my best. And the best is to know if your good enough for my son."
"I can't believe this!"
He just stares at you emotionless.
"You may be his father, but you're barely that."
He looked towards the door, as a knock came through, before it opened. They're stood Lloyd, wide eyed, staring at both of you, having what looked like to be a tea party.
"Not a good time?"
You stood up, "Actually LLoyd, you couldn't have come at a better time."
"Okay.... I think... What's going on?"
"Nothing important." Garmadon quickly spoke, as Lloyd just looked around, confused, though not saying anything, probably because he didn't know how to resoond.
"Okay. You know what. I'll come back later."
You grab Lloyd's hand stopping him, "You don't wanna stay? Talk to your dad?" You gave him a look, your eyes darting towards Garmadon and he gave you the realization look.
"We'll talk about it later," he kissed your cheek and headed back out, going to wherever he came from.
You could hear him slurping his tea, and you groaned, before looking back at him. You looked back at him, "Could you stop that?"
He laughed, "You really are meant to be huh? You both sure know how to put me in my place. I'm glad someone can be there for him, especially cause I never was."
"That's the difference between you and me. While you keep leaving and breaking his heart, I'll always be there to pick him back up."
He frowned, but didn't say anything more.
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PLEASE MORE PREGGOS SAP N DNN PLEASEEE either angst or fluff
Alright I'm going to set a timer for 20 minutes and write as much as I can :)
944 words, not proofread, Mpreg, no smut, one mention of weight gain/loss
"I feel awful," Sapnap grumbles, lying down on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He really has - waking up every morning with horrible vomiting and fatigue, unable to do much of anything except lie down and sleep, and he can't even do that half the time.
"I know," Dream walks past and touches Sapnap's head before putting a cup of tea on the little table beside him. It's ginger tea, supposed to soothe his upset stomach.
Sapnap sips at it weakly, exhausted. "What even causes this stuff anyways?"
"It's probably just a virus," Dream assures as George walks into the room, spotting Sapnap and Dream on the couch and making a beeline for them both.
"It can't be a virus," George comments casually, leaning onto Sapnap like a nosy cat. "You've been sick for like a week now and none of us have caught it."
Sapnap sighs. "Do you think it's going to go away?"
"Probably," Dream assures. "If you throw up tomorrow we'll go to the doctor's."
"Mm," Sapnap mumbles, rolling over a little and burying himself in throw pillows and blankets, wanting nothing more then to nap for a while and hopefully sleep this off.
George inches closer until they're cuddled up against one another and Dream smiles at them both, gently leaning to kiss Sapnap's forehead and George's cheek, before standing. "I've got some work to do in my office, okay? But I promise I'll be right back when I'm done, we can watch a movie or play a game."
"Okay," Sapnap mumbles. "Can you email someone for me and tell them I can't stream?"
"Of course," Dream assures. "Love you."
"Love you too," Sapnap mumbles, sighing as he finally sinks into the mattress and into a dreamless sleep.
-
George is deeply suspicious of this.
For one, Sapnap throwing up constantly without getting Dream and George sick is weird enough on it's own, but there's other things he's picking up on that neither Sapnap nor Dream seem to notice.
Sapnap frequently leaving their bed in the middle of the night, avoiding foods he used to like while gravitating towards stuff he normally hates, the slight weight gain even though they've been working out all the time.
All signs point to Sapnap being pregnant, which is completely ridiculous because Sapnap can't get pregnant.
Which is why George hasn't brought it up.
But today's as good a day as any to bring this up to Dream and ask what he thinks. George is getting a little sick of feeling like the only person around here with eyeballs.
He releases Sapnap gently, running his hand over his boyfriend's midsection just in case, wondering if he's actually right, if there is a little baby growing inside Sapnap. Sapnap whines in his sleep and rolls over, away from George, and George slips out of the living room and to Dream's office.
"Can we talk?" He asks, knocking at the open door.
Dream tugs off his headphones. "Yeah, what's up?"
George sighs. This is going to be a weird conversation so he might as well get it out of the way. "I think Sapnap's pregnant."
Dream stares at him for a long moment before snorting, amused. "Okay. That's pretty funny - just because he's caught something or had food poisioning doesn't mean he's-"
"I'm serious," George frowns at him. "He's getting up all the time, has all this weird food stuff, sleeps all day, he's sick, and on top of that he's gained a little weight. He's pregnant."
Dream looks at George for a long moment, trying to process that information. "But... George he's - he can't get pregnant, he doesn't even have a like... uterus. That's impossible."
"It's either that or he's got some weird illness that's masqerading as pregnancy," George sighs. "Look it couldn't hurt to take a pregnancy test, can it?"
Dream looks skeptical. "Yeah, that won't hurt, but good luck convincing Sapnap he's pregnant."
George slinks off, ordering a pregnancy test for same-day delivery online as he does so, and trots back to the living room.
-
Turns out Sapnap is extremely easy to convince he needs to take a pregnancy test. He thinks it's a joke and humors George by taking it.
And then it comes back positive. He's pregnant. He really is pregnant. Sapnap is pregnant.
"This doesn't- I'm not even- I shouldn't-" Sapnap mutters, sitting down at a barstool while Dream and George get food for the three of them. "This shouldn't even be possible."
"Well... we'll get a good look at the doctor's office tomorrow," Dream sighs, before walking over to kiss Sapnap's head. "But until then you probably need to rest for a little, okay?"
Sapnap agrees, purely because he's really tired and just wants to nap in their bed. He also wants them to snuggle with him, and he wants the cats to snuggle with him too, even though they're entirely disinterested in doing that.
Except Patches, who leans against him and purrs while he sleeps, warm and safe in their big bed. Dream joins him a little later with a laptop to work on, and George climbs in with his phone. He likes resting his hand on Sapnap's tummy.
George loves it, loves feeling like he's holding a baby inside Sapnap, a little jelly bean. Their baby, all three of them. Their little baby growing inside Sapnap. He loves it. He loves them already, because they're a part of Sapnap and George loves Sapnap and he loves Dream and he loves whatever this is.
Even if this is all a false alarm. But that's a worry for tomorrow. Today George is happy with his boyfriends and their baby.
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