#except its not HIS family but like. whatever. he can pretend a little | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

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Platonic tadc cast with a child reader Who is like :

"hey, wanna see me do a cartwheel :D"

Basically very spontaneous and chaotic in the adventures lol

Ty!! (and remember to drink water) ;3

TADC cast x chaotic!kid!reader ! (Platonic)

Guys I'm literally so tired I just got done baking a ton of stuff, like I'm talking 12ish hours of non stop cooking and baking I'm going insane im trying so hard not to fall asleep rn because I kinda. Feel bad for not really answering requests today

Anywahs

Hope you enjoy anon!

Written on mobile

CAINE:

Well well how the turn tables (writing caines portion last for once)

Very similar to kinger and ragatha in that he supports everything you do; in fact he encourages your behavior as long as no one is getting hurt. Very loudly (and sometimes obnoxiously) cheers for you

While kinger can only cheer and clap, I think Caine sets off sparkles and fireworks... probably has a whole group of bubbles cheering you on too , assuming there can be multiple bubbles at any given time (I personally think there can be, and they all share a hivemind of sorts)

So what was the occasion that prompted that?

A wonky cartwheel, of which you excited called "a sideways front flip"

(Fun fact from the admin, I called my first cartwheel that bc I didnt know it was called a cartwheel yet)

POMNI:

Anxious parental figure and hyper child, a dynamic that's hit or miss at least for me. Really it depends on how its executed

That said I think she struggles to keep up with you

Constantly scrambling around you make sure you dont fall into any danger. Literally and figuratively...

Her attempts to get you to sit down for more than five minutes fail

Your ass is failing the marshmallow test/j

RAGATHA:

No thoughts only that one clip from adventure time where BMO pretends to be a wheathervane before trying to nose dive off the roof, all while calling for finns attention. Thats you and ragatha, basically (in essence, not exact scenario though)... maybe zooble too, but we'll get there when we get there (I am currently having a brain blast)

Says things like "what am I gonna do with you" everyday, always lightheartedly of course and usually accompanied by a tired chuckle

Generally very supportive of you though, just so long as you're not hurting yourself! Sure, this is the digital world and injuries dont really stick, but still! The pain is still there

JAX:

I mentioned the marshmallow test in pomnis part and I feel like jax would do something similar with you. Except the test is rigged and the candy (which he uses in place of the marshmallow( is actually for him and not for you. So if you actually earn the extra candy you dont even get it

That said I do think jax would feel bad when you get upset about the joke

Anyways

I think he finds it funny, as long as you're not tugging on his overalls and screaming at him for something, or interfering with his plans

Hes not a neglectful rolemodel/familial figure, he just has a short fuse with the above I think, regardless of who it is, kid or not

That said he fully embraces your spontaneous nature

KINGER:

Peepaw and his grandchild, that's it that's literally the dynamic

"Kinger is only 48-"

Hush♡

"Oh that's so lovely, (reader)" when you run up to him with your hands full of god knows what

Eagerly claps and cheers when you show him a new trick you learned

Bonus if you try to recreate or one up his embellished stories in order to make him proud of you (hes always proud of you)

ZOOBLE:

As mentioned in ragathas part, the wheathervane BMO thing is basically in essence you guys' dynamic. Except where I think ragatha would be quicker to pay attention to you, zooble may be a little slower. Not because they dont care about whatever you're trying to display to them, but because I think a lot of the times they kind of mentally check out (me too honestly)

Tries to scold you if you do something too dangerous or out of line, may come across as way angrier or upset than they actually are though thanks to their voice being kinda

You know

Zooble gives off "cool older sibling who doesnt care about nothing" energy

GANGLE:

Meekly tries to get you to calm down for a few minutes, especially if theres an IHA going on because she doesnt want you to run off and potentially get hurt. Tries to keep you occupied with arts and crafts. Watches in horror as you impulsively eat the glue

Tends to wrap one of her ribbon hands around yours so she knows you're not running off.. this is more so when theres an IHA going on

As per usual not many ideas for gangle <\3

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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autumn816 · 15 days

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fake dating + pregnancy fic👀

Hehe, here you go. Hope you like it😁

The double vertical lines glare at him.

The results are positive. They are positive. He is pregnant. He can’t be pregnant. There could be a chance that the results are wrong, right? They aren’t always true. But what are the chances that all five of the tests are wrong?

He’s pregnant. He’s pregnant. He’s pregnant.

Knock. Knock.

“George?” Lewis’ voice filters in from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” George croaks, “it’s open.”

Lewis slips in the bathroom. He takes in George sitting on top of the toilet, lid down. Four pregnancy sticks laid on the sink and one in George’s hands. It doesn’t take an intellectual to figure out what it says but Lewis asks anyway.

“Is it—”

“Yeah.”

“All five of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, George thinks. Him and Lewis were two weeks away from staging a fake break-up. They had a whole plan for it. They had come up with that plan together with their teams.

After some fucking media released pictures of George and Lewis from a private event, they had pretended to be dating. Telling the fans they were just fuck buddies wasn’t even an option. So with Mercedes and Ferrari, George and Lewis had agreed they’ll pretend to date for a few months and then break-up. It was all going so smoothly until the night Lewis dropped him home after having dinner with the older man’s family. They had gone long enough without sleeping together when they started fake dating. That night was all it took for them to break their unspoken agreement.

So really this is on them more than anyone or anything (except maybe the condom they used. It clearly didn’t serve its purpose). They shouldn’t have slept together that night.

Cold hands flatten on his stomach.

“Crikey!” George hisses, breaking out of his daze. “What’re you doing? And why are your hands so cold?”

Somewhere during his daze, Lewis had come closer to George. Because Lewis is crouching down between his legs, rubbing circles on his skin. His eyes are on the same level as his stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes, now stop it.” George tries to pull Lewis’ hands away but the older man stays persistent. “Lewis, you aren’t going to feel anything yet. I, on the other hand, am feeling your cold hands. So please take them off.”

“Sorry.” Lewis doesn’t sound sorry at all and takes his hands away very slowly. His gaze stays fixated, nonetheless. “There is a baby in there.”

George snorts. “Yes, thank you for letting me know.”

Lewis looks at George.

“Sorry.” George is the one apologising this time. “I know we are both in shock right now.”

“Shock is a fucking understatement.”

Silence befalls over them for two minutes until George speaks. “We’re supposed to fake a break-up in two weeks.”

“I mean, we still could.” Lewis shrugs his shoulders. “Exes co-parent all the time.”

George rolls his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing at it.

Lewis tugs George’s lip out, swiping his thumb over the flesh. “But, I don’t think we should. I think it would be easier if we’re still—if we still pretend to be together.”

“You still want to do that?”

“Whatever we do,” Lewis says, cupping George’s cheek, “we do it together. You won’t be alone, love.”

George’s breathing slows. He knew Lewis wouldn’t just run away but hearing it is different. It felt good. It calmed him down, no matter how little.

Lewis presses a fleeting kiss on George’ stomach, making the man jump, and stands up. “Come on.”

George places his hand into Lewis’ extended one so Lewis could pull him up. “Where?”

“We can talk about the rest and what to do later. Right now, we’re going back to sleep.”

George opens his mouth to protest.

“We can’t do anything until our minds are clear. The edges of Lewis’ mouth curve upwards. “We have to take baby steps.”

George stares at Lewis.

“Too soon?”

“It hasn’t even been half an hour yet.”

——————

I was originally gonna do gewis fake dating because George is pregnant. So gewis are sleeping together and George falls pregnant. So to avoid backlash and people talking bad about George, him and Lewis decide to tell the others that they are together. But then I remembered one of my wips so this is basically a fic divergence, if you will. I was like what if gewis are already fake dating and George ends up pregnant during that🤔It was a different take to the prompt and I already liked it so I went with it.

—

Mash-up trope

#tw mpreg #thank you for sending <3 #ask games #lesi😈

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kanalaure · 1 year

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feanorian cooking headcanons, because im tired and sad and want to think about something fun

maedhros: makes a lot of soup bc you can make big batches almost more easily than small ones, and usually when he cooks he's babysitting or his little brothers will sidle up wanting some of what he's having. occasionally his parents will wander in from their workshops after a seventeen hour creative binge not sure what day it is but suddenly realizing theyre very hungry. after thangorodrim he has this little skit he loves to do that everyone else hates where he pretends he chopped the veg too hard and cut off his hand, bc what is the point of having all these little brothers if you cant antagonize them with dad jokes and maybe guilt trip them a lil into better behavior

maglor: only knows how to make a handful of things but does them well. dump and pour cook, so everything comes out a lil different each time. has never given anyone food poisoning, unlike some brothers he could name. drives caranthir insane bc he will just throw a handful of peppercorns or whatever in there all casually because they make things taste good and dont you know how much those COST, kano??! probably invented the in-universe equivalent of a sandwich so as to more conveniently eat while composing

celegorm: overall? pretty good, but its a lot of the same things with very minor variation. him being a skilled hunter, it's a lot of deer and small mammals, game birds and fish. probably good with edible plants and herbs growing wild, bc you only need to be made fun of by your entire family for getting scurvy one (1) time before you wise up, so your food would be well seasoned. however. absolutely everything is cooked over a campfire. put him in the wilderness and He Will Provide. stick him in a kitchen with an hearth and a pot rack and he is Lost. like maglor, has never met a measuring spoon he wouldnt ignore

caranthir: will measure spices to the microgram, kano, because he does know how much they cost thankyouverymuch. he's the best (only) baker of the bunch and likes all the math involved in it. just a mediocre cook though, partly bc maedhros invariably got to the kitchen first, and he's really meh about the idea of cooking anyway so he doesn't really protest or try to get in the kitchen on his own time to improve. (exceptions to this: likes making jams and fruit butters.) despite this, has never given anyone food poisoning

curufin: no. nope. no. it's his achilles heel. see mentions of food poisoning above

amrod and amras: got a lot of their cooking know-how straight from celegorm when they were out hunting, so it's all more of the same: deer, rabbit, fish, etc. like caranthir they dont get a lot of time or opportunity to practice bc maedhros beat them to the draw, but like maglor sometimes they will go off and make their own food for the hell of it, or because they were craving a specific thing. they only gave their family food poisoning once, curvo, and that was because they hadn't really nailed the pickling process yet. speaking of, they do a lot of pickling and other longterm things like cheesemaking that have a scientific element to it. they think its neat, and also its one of the few areas none of their older brothers ever tried to break into so for once there's no comparisons to be made, positively or otherwise

#as always feel free to agree disagree and/or add on. i like having conversations about this stuff #obvs this is valinor-based. once they left everything went to hell in a handbasket and changed p drastically #but i am trying to make myself *happier* not *sadder* rn so im not going deep into that #that said i think by the time everyone else was dead and they had e&e around mags was probably doing all the cooking #for mae cooking brings up too many memories and highlights all the empty spaces and silence and its a source of pain now #silmarillion #silm headcanons #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #ambarussa #feanorians #the silmarillion #silmarillion headcanon

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n0n-sen-se · 8 months

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𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬! ― 𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢 𝐈𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨

includes ;; obanai iguro x gn!reader synopsis ;; a mix of birthday related shenanigans + and relationship imagines with our favorite boy ♡ content ;; Slight MANGA SPOILERS included at the end of the chapter! (They are labeled dw!) fluff, bit of angst from iguro, tons of fun a/n ;; thankfully completed these on his b-day! hope you all like these! (forgive me if i update these later! love yall!)

hates his birthday- completely. utterly.

always forgets its his birthday, and not even on purpose.

doesn't like surprise parties or big celebrations. (hates, is a better word) they make him uneasy and so uncomfortable.

if he hears a rumor going around that someone is planning something for him : he will simply not show up. (and no, you are no exception so don't get your hopes up)

if anything: he'd allow something small- it'd be strictly un-birthday related, and between you and him.

and you know what? everyone being so silly and loud towards him today actually makes him laugh (he pretends he was coughing)

but other people also like to acknowledge him on a particular september day by bringing him gifts and wishing him well through cards or letters!

again, he doesn't see the point, but now he has all this stuff so. . .

but like i said, it doesn't stop others from getting him stuff! ( us included amirite guys? )

THE HASHIRA are among those who's gifts he'd even slightly acknowledge.

doesn't open them, with the exception of some gifts (yours included), but lets the others sit forgotten for awhile.

( like giyuu or tanjiro's gifts would physically start collecting dust )

but. . . he thinks of those little tokens for a while, and after a month or two he'll come back to them and let his curiosity take over.

Uzui gives him the most gaudy un-useful thing in the world. Mitsuri would gift him something she made (like food) and you know obanai would choke it all down even if he wasn't even hungry. Rengoku is actually one of the few that respect Obanai's wishes, and instead of getting him anything, he hunts him down and wishes him well in person (very loudly)!

kaburamaru (his snake) comforts him by coiling around his shoulders a little tighter, messing up obanai's hair if he feels his master is being a little too unfair to people today

silently loves the letters and cards he gets.

the first crows to bring them on his birthday actually get him thinking. . . maybe its not too bad. then he's a little flattered someone actually went out of their way to acknowledge him.

keeps the specials ones tucked into his haori. and the words really stick to him.

in some scenarios: he'd use his birthday as an excuse to get away with somethings.

(i personally could imagine him stretching this out to dangerous levels. what could birthday privilege really get him? he'd like to find out)

from then on is scheming.

like how many times could he ask for a birthday kiss before you're straight up sick of him? (this man is about to find out the exact answer)

❛ you said it yourself, its my birthday. i can do whatever i want❜

❛ i don't have to, its my birthday❜

His thoughts on:

Balloons? When they pop they scare kaburamaru (and he thinks they're too silly and childish) So. . . yeah. . . no.

Cake? Prefers savory things and typically won't waste his appetite.

Gifts? Don't waste your time or money.

but really, he does treasure the things he's given, especially when its meaningful or truly heartfelt.

BELOW THE CUT: slight manga spoilers

birthday stuff included- he basically despises the idea of being celebrated

especially if its because of his birth.

because of his family, it literally becomes a day of horrible reminders.

and honestly, the combination of his birthday, and all these people coming up to him, and all these gifts both overwhelm him with thoughts of his family and distract him from it.

would definitely have a good, unbothered, godly sleep at the end of the day. he can just get over his birthday and be at peace for a bit.

but. . . you, mitsuri, the other hashira. . . he thanks you all silently for being there. for him.

needs to lay with you for a long while.

even if it is his birthday, he'd prefer and prioritize you above all else.

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vaniloqu3nce · 11 months

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*coughs* oh where did this come from lol hyperfixations are falling out my pocket oops

The Vittoria and Naenia do not spend time apart very often, though they like wildly different things. This often means you can find them spending time doing each other respective interests. Vittoria will dress Naenia up while Naenia sits there quietly and reads. Or Vittoria will draw whatever story Naenia is writing. Or Vittoria just talking nonstop to Naenia who just nods along while reading books about arachnids.

Leonidas will join dress up if he has nothing better to do than walk around in a dress with one side of his hair braided and Vittoria begs really hard.

Vittoria LOVES her hair, she takes a lot of pride in it and doesn’t let anyone touch of braid her hair except Wednesday. She loves getting her hair styled and changed, she eagerly awaits the day Enid and Wedesday say she old enough to dye her hair. Naenia has Enid cut her hair pretty often, the feeling of hair touching the back of her neck is very uncomfortable for her.

One time Enid came in their room to find Vittoria had cut all of Naenia’s hair with scissors when they were six. Vittoria explained that Nia was getting frustrated and cried because of her hair and she was just trying to help. They all crowded into the bathroom and Enid helped smooth it out and soothe Nia. Naenia hasn’t had long hair since. And she doesn’t let anyone but Enid cut it, she is very particular about the way its cut.

Leo once tried to set Vittoria’s braids on fire and she tried to throw his violin out the window. This ended up in a week long prank war.

Naenia isn’t very talkative, Wednesday likes to believe she takes after lurch. Often Vittoria will speak for her, she has the uncanny ability to know how Naenia is feeling. The younger twin likes to read quietly or observe. Often you can spot her mirroring her family, she loves to be around them.

Wednesday will sit Naenia next to her during her writing hour in her personal office because sometimes Vittoria and Leonidas can get loud with their fighting and she’s sensitive to sounds. Naenia is the only person allowed to do this besides Enid because she is the only person in the family who can be quiet and still for an hour easily. Leonidas has trouble sitting still indoors without physical tasks, and Vittoria doesn’t like not speaking.

Naenia started writing at a young age to communicate with people outside of family. She will talk if it is necessary, or if she’s comfortable but its not often and certainly not to new people. She used to write little stories for her and her siblings to play pretend to. Like “Save The Helpless Child From Cthulhu” and “You’re Being Tortured How Loud Can You Scream”.

Vittoria: Why am I always the one getting tortured?

Leonidas: You torture us enough with your presence. Tie her up, Nae.

Naenia: *nodding while tying Tori to a chair*

Leonidas: If you can last three hours without crying, you can be mother’s favorite

Vittoria: I am mami’s favorite!

Naenia: *thumbs down*

Leonidas: Get the nails, Nia.

Because Naenia does not like loud sounds, she often does not partake in loud parties from the Addams family. Naenia will usually sit in a spare room with Thing to keep her company. Her family comes to check on her or bring her food usually though, especially Vittoria because they are codependent.

Vittoria LOVES Divina and Yoko, every time they visit she somehow manages to convince them and Enid to let her pick out their outfits.

Naenia loves Thing, she will follow thing and Leonidas around very often just to quietly be around them.

Naenia gets a pet tarantula from Wednesday for her birthday, she spends a lot of time just watching her and writing down her behavior. Her and Wednesday feed her together, her name is Lucifer. Naenia just calls her Luci.

Naenia’s idea of fun is sitting at home with all her family on the couch quietly watching horror movies. Or watching animal documentaries. She is a fan of arachnids particularly.

Both the twins make fun of Leonidas because he calls Wednesday “mother”.

Enid is Momma and Wednesday is Mami. Leonidas is just a quirky boy who’s different and calls Wednesday mother. She finds it endearing.

Vittoria has gotten into Enid’s make up multiple times, she loves anything sparkly and colorful.

Wednesday sets aside specific days for each of the kids to pick an activity for them to do together. This was her way of delegating time between writing and spending time with them.

Vittoria always wants to go shopping, she loves getting Wednesday’s opinions and because Wednesday lets her get as many onesies as she wants. They’ll have tea parties, play dress up, watch Tangled (Vittoria’s favorite movie), or Wednesday will let Vittoria do her hair while Wednesday tries to keep up with her gossip.

Naenia always wants Wednesday to read her stories and give feedback, Wednesday is always amused and proud. They will read quietly in the library, look at pictures of spiders and facts, and watch and critique horror movies. Naenia really likes to share arachnid facts, and Wednesday always listens. She remembers every single one.

Leonidas almost always asks Wednesday to fence, he is determined to beat her at least once in his lifetime. Wednesday hasn’t let him win once. He likes playing chess with her, playing music with her, and learning from her. Knife throwing, archery, Leonidas is very competitive but he is currently 178/0 with Wednesday. He’ll win eventually.

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meguwumibear · 8 months

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One With the Force

I wanted to contribute a little something to @strawberrystepmom's it takes a galaxy collab star wars au. no pairing yet but written as a precursor to a more complicated force sensitive!megumi x reader dynamic i have in mind. ft jedi master!gojo. swf but minor description of injuries. not super lore heavy.

By the time Megumi realizes he’s force sensitive, Toji’s dead and gone. The first few nights he doesn’t come home, Megumi figures he’d simply fucked off with a new woman or found some new space casino to hole himself up in for a while, but news of his passing eventually finds its way to him.

The force isn’t exactly hereditary. Megumi’s sensitivity wasn’t guaranteed. It ran in the Zen’in family, sure, but it had skipped his father for some reason or another. It’s been skipping a lot of the Zen’ins lately, much to the family head’s chagrin. There was no reason it shouldn’t skip Megumi too.

Most of his life Megumi thinks the only thing his father ever passed onto him was his massive debt and violent tendencies. Because, like his father, Megumi has a hard time turning down a fight. Nights when he can’t find one, he picks one. The bigger the opponent the better.

Street fights are illegal of course, but they’re a quick and easy way to make money. Credits aren’t easy to come by on his home planet. Neither is quality health care. He’s been fighting for scraps for years just to keep his poor sickly sister alive.

That’s how he finds himself in the ring again tonight. He’s up against some monstrous thing with pulsing tentacles and needle like claws. Odds and bets are against him but that’s just fine. His handler pays him to throw most fights anyway. Tonight is no exception.

Tonight though, he doesn’t even have to pretend he’s the weaker opponent. Not even a minute into the fight the creature has him pinned flat on his back. All the air in his body is expunged in a singular, guttural grunt.

That should be the end of the fight, but the beast on top of him doesn’t relent. A warm, slimy appendage wraps its way around his neck while a set of razor sharp claws rake their way down his torso, cleaving the flesh as if it were nothing but soft fruit. Thick, crimson blood pours from his chest, staining the dirty mat he’s pressed so helplessly against. Megumi tries to scream but doesn’t have the breath to do it so a low, quiet hissing sound escapes him instead.

As dark spots begin to pepper his vision, panic begins to churn in Megumi’s stomach. The fights aren’t supposed to be to the death, but they do occasionally end that way. There’s no rule prohibiting it and no referee is going to interfere. Not when the crowd gets so drunk and rancorous on the violence.

But then he feels…well he isn’t exactly sure what he feels. Something more. Something else. The creature on top of him is no longer just flesh and blood. There’s an energy pulsing through his veins, one Megumi can feel calling out to him.

When he reaches out for it, the unexpected happens. The monster moves. Fast and hard. Whatever Megumi’s tapped into has sent the creature tumbling out of the ring.

The crowd goes silent for a beat before it comes alive with even more vigor than before. Those who bet on him are cheering. Those who bet against him are accusing him of cheating. And someone, somewhere, is screaming about the force.

Only Megumi is too old to have his awakening now. Most people with force sensitivity are discovered in early childhood. Surely someone in the crowd came to his aid. Briefly, stupidly, he thinks maybe it’s his mother.

There’s a sudden surge as the crowd surrounds him. He’s protected only by the four flimsy cables that separate the raised platform from the horde. They groan loudly in protest as hot, sweating bodies swarm them like locusts. It isn’t long before the first of them snaps.

The first person to reach him is a lanky man with hair white as bone. He’s dressed in a simple, earth tone tunic. The garb is familiar to Megumi somehow. He knows it from somewhere. But like an itch he just can’t seem to scratch, he can’t place it.

Instincutually, Megumi raises two clenched fists, prepared for a fight, blood singing with adrenaline, but then the man places a large hand on Megumi’s head and suddenly the two of them are levitating several feet above the other disgruntled patrons.

Only when the pair are safely outside the warehouse does the stranger speak to him. Four simple words dripping with familiarity.

“It’s about time, squirt.”

#this collab is so cute #hope it isnt too late to submit a little something #it takes a galaxy collab #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk x reader #<- just to be safe #like i said no ship yet but in my head it's coming #gojo wants to train megumi #but megumi ends up falling for you #and has a hard time forgoing passion for the jedi code

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gaylittleeddie · 1 year

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Hey! What's up!! I was wondering if you can write something about Ghost opening up to Soap about his past? Maybe not ALL of it, just the parts abt his family.

Like, let's say Soap keeps licking the snakebite scars on Ghost's lips while they're kissing or making out or whatever and Ghost just has a moment of realization that he *loves* Johnny and decides to tell him about his past!

The realization that he loved Johnny hit him like a punch in the face.

Said man was currently on his lap, legs hooked behind his back as they lazily licked in to each others mouths. There was really no heat behind the session. It was more of a curious exploration more than anything else. Every once in a while, Soap’s tongue would graze over the scars on his lips, soothing over the memory of the snake biting onto him and coursing its venom throughout his body.

If Ghost is honest, Johnny has his own form of venom graced in his body. He transfers it to the blond during nights like this when their lips meet and their spit combine. Except, it’s different. It gets him high off of his senses being nothing but the Scot, making him crave more. Need more. His heart would becomes so full of him, it threatened to burst at the seems as he tries to fight off the one feeling he’s run from since that night he found his family dead. Love

Because God, he loves Johnny. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous for men like them to fall in love, much less with each other. The original agreement was that this would be something casual between them — no strings attached. Yet, whenever a recruit flirted with either one of them, they’d make sure that the other would remember one thing. That they’re each others. Ghost never knew he’d be the possessive type and at first it worried him until Johnny met that energy with his own. Never toxic. Just a reminder that they in a way belong to each other without actually saying it out loud.

The Scot pulls back suddenly, bringing his hands up from where they lazily hung behind Ghost’s back to gently stroke the scars along his cheeks. A small, soft smile tugged on his kiss swollen lips and his blue eyes were half lidded. He decided to commit that image to his memory so that when he dies, he’d feel the way his heart aches with love rather than pain when he dies. “Fucking beautiful, sir,” Johnny states.

Ghost’s heart tugs. He wants more. He doesn’t want this to be casual anymore. He fucking loves Johnny. Both Ghost and Simon love this little man with everything they have left. A wicked smirk forms on the sergeants face, eyes searching his before he goes to dive back in with a little more heat this time. If they fall into bed tonight (even though they’re already sat on the edge of it) he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve to tell him what he needs to to make this something real. He’ll hide Simon away again and they’ll wake up tomorrow in their own rooms, back to pretending like nothing happened between them. He doesn’t want that. He wants Johnny to stay, not just tonight but maybe for whatever forever is for them.

So he leans back away from the kiss. Upon seeing this, Johnny moves back himself and rests his weight on Ghost’s lap. A shiver rises in his spine as those hands that were on the lieutenants face before lazily trail down to his shoulders. Soap screwed his features together, eyes once again scanning over his face. Those blue pulls held a little bit of anxiousness in them at the rejection of his advances.

“I don’t want this anymore,” Ghost says. Like an idiot he says. He winces as soon as it’s out. It burns him and he feels Johnny starting to get up as if it burns him too. The taller man tightens his hold, plopping him back down where he rested before.

“Hold on,” Ghost says, frustration at himself in his tone, “That’s not what I meant. Just give me a second to think on how I want to word this. You know I’m not good at that.”

Johnny narrows his eyes at him, cautious. He then lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh before responding, “Don’t I know it. Take your time, Si.” The hands are then brought up to his blond hair, massaging his scalp and bringing him away from Ghost to Simon. Simon who wants to pour his heart out onto a platter and push it to the man sitting delicately on his lap.

Simon looks up at Johnny, immediately knowing what he has to say. Sure, Ghost and Simon are the same people but Ghost is just a protective shield from the world. Oftentimes he forgets about the man underneath it, the one who went through the horrors that he has and just wants to fall into some peace. He wants that peace with Johnny specifically. “I don’t want this,” He starts, “I want more with you.”

Soap tenses up, halting all movements as he nods for the man under him to go on. So, as he’s willing to do anything for this crazy lad that can blow up a whole warehouse with random items he finds around, he does, “I love you, Johnny. You’re the only person I’ve loved this much in so long and I want the whole thing with you. I don’t want you to go to your room after this and for us to walk past each other in the corridor as if there’s nothing going on between us. I want us to sneak casual kisses when no one’s looking rather than us falling into a supply closet or my bed or for us to sit here, hands tracing over each other as we talk about some delusion of us after this is all over in some cottage in Scotland. And I want us to actually get that.”

As he speaks, Johnny’s eyes widen bigger and bigger. Simon tries to not let it dissuade him as he has so much more to say, despite the strong urge of the part of his brain that created Ghost screaming at him that’s it’s not safe and to run. “And even though I’m legally dead, I want to marry you someday. It would probably be technically illegal but I do,” He continues.

Soap furrows his eyebrows together at the legally dead comment, opening his mouth but he’s shushed immediately with a quick, “We’ll get to that. Just let me finish.” Johnny huffs out another laugh at that, his eyes impossibly softening as if the man he’s looking at is something to be cherished. He needs to hear his response to all of this— And it is a lot— so he decides to cut it slightly shorter with a, “There’s a lot to me that you don’t know. And I want to tell you all of it if we’re going to do this. So, if you’ll have me…”

Johnny smiles, big and wide. It reminds him of the how he stares at explosions, full of wonder and adoration. He whispers into the space between them, “Scotland, aye?”

“Well,” He shrugs, “It’s where you’re from. Can’t be too bad.”

“Of course I’ll have you, Simon. Couldn’t imagine being with anybody else. I love you too, ye numpty.”

Johnny leans forward, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Simon immediately sighs through his nose at the sensation, body tingling with relief at the fact that what he felt was reciprocated. So the night doesn’t end with one of them leaving. It ends with the sergeant in his arms, listening to the life story of Simon Riley as said man traces patterns on his arms. Every once in a while, when it’s particularly horrid, Soap will sit up and press a long kiss on his forehead with whispers of how strong he is or how much he loves him. It feels nice. He always thought he would’ve hated that kind of attention but not with him. Never with Johnny.

#author doesn’t write accents #Too nervous about accidentally butchering it and offending people #don’t want to do that #so pretend they’re there #I’ve done research on it but still don’t feel entirely comfortable yet #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap

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cherryjuiceblues · 8 months

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yes absolutely I need demon Harry to get his Bambi a pet cat except it’s a very suspicious cat and acts extremely territorial over his girl and they are constantly at war

BESTIE !!! YOUR BRAIN !! YOU ARE SO RIGHT !!!!

fur baby would be sooooo aware that harry isn’t a human and hiss whenever he gets too close to y/n. and she of course finds the whole thing hilarious because a little kitty has reduced her demon to huffing and puffing in frustration because he can’t cuddle his girlfriend. i’m picturing a black cat too just to really feed into the supernatural element. and harry is convinced the cat is a witch even though he Knows it isn’t because he would be able to tell. but he’s superstitious. (which is hilarious in and of itself because he’s literally a demon.) and i just know bambi would name it something silly and harry would be like, “what is it with people these days and naming their pets after bloody beans and jam jars? what happened to good old fashioned Henry or Ben?” and y/n is outright offended, “i’m Not calling my cat Ben, are you crazy?” and then obviously she rattles off the most preposterous names she can think of just to wind him up. “i think Jellyfish is a wonderful name.” but whatever she calls her baby, harry will pretend not to fall in love with its funny name and subsequently the cat itself after the death stares from across the room eventually calm down and he finally gets to settle his arm around y/n’s shoulders without being attacked. and the day fur baby is content enough to sleep in his lap 🥹 y/n would be so happy with her little family all cosied together ☹️

#vanilla lime #harry concept #demonrry #demon!harry #explodingromancandles

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drabbles-mc · 1 year

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Whatever You Can

Opie Winston & Sister!OFC (Veronica Winston)

For Day 8 of @whumpril 's 2023 Challenge: comfort food

Warnings: 18+, angst, grief, alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I know I write a lot of sibling dynamics when it comes to my OCs. And I love them all and no one can stop me from writing them and making more 😂 But there is just something sooooo specifically tragic about V and Opie that I love so much. I feel like I've put so much of me into her character in the pieces I've written for her and she has such a heavy heart but a good heart. I love her. Also, its a completely separate fic from this one, but I picture this taking place in the same universe as This Fic if you're interested in more angst lmao

SOA Taglist: @littlekittymeow @i-just-read-stuff @fuckyeahopie @justreblogginfics @garbinge @fanfic-n-tabulous @camelia35 @winchestershiresauce @artemiseamoon @passionatewrites @buckybarneshairpullingkink @mijagif @paintballkid711 @frattsparty @jitterbugs927 @nessamc @camelia35 @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Opie saw his sister’s motorcycle parked in the driveway before he even pulled in. Over the years, he’d grown to be able to spot the sleek white bike from yards and yards away. He was trying to take a deep breath as he cruised his own bike in to park next to hers. Given the circumstances and the state of everything, it was perfectly reasonable that she would be at his house. And yet, he had still been thinking, almost hoping that he was going to come home to more emptiness.

Cutting the engine on his bike, he swung his leg over and started to make his way towards the front door, removing his helmet as he went. It was hanging limply from one hand as he reached forward with the other to pull the front door open. He allowed himself a moment of hesitation, like he was really going to turn and walk away from his own house, before finally closing his hand around the doorknob and pulling it open.

When he stepped inside, everything was quiet. He couldn’t hear the kids, not even distantly like they were in the backyard. The television was off, no radio playing music throughout the house. It was nearly silent. Silence was what he expected when he was home, especially over the last few days. But Veronica always brought some kind of noise with her. She always either had a movie playing on the television, or made sure that the radio was on. If a place was silent while she was in it, she must’ve really been feeling the full weight of all that had happened. No one would be able to blame her for that at this point.

Opie kicked off his boots at the door, discarding his helmet there as well. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should call out to her, announce himself somehow to let her know that it was him and not someone else, but he just couldn’t seem to force any words out. He padded through the house, quiet to an impressive degree for someone his size, for someone who had so much weight currently resting on their shoulders.

Once he got closer to the kitchen, he could start to hear a little bit of noise. It wasn’t ruckus, but he knew that she must’ve been getting up to something in his kitchen while he was gone. She had always been one to try and stay busy, but there was no way that she was going to allow herself to have any kind of downtime at this point.

She heard the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet, and greeted him without turning around to face him. “Hey.”

If he hadn’t already been concerned about her for the myriad of other reasons the universe gave him at the moment, Opie’s worry meter would’ve spiked the second that she didn’t look at him when she said hello. He stepped in closer to her, standing right behind her and towering over her the way he did everyone in their family except for his father.

“What’re you doing here, V?” he asked, skipping over the pleasantries entirely. He didn’t have the energy to even try and pretend, especially not with her.

“What does it look like?” she retorted, still not turning around.

Reaching forward, he gently rested his hand on her shoulder. “Look at me.”

She froze for a moment, not turning around, not continuing to fuss with the pans that she had situated on the stove. Opie couldn’t see her face but he could imagine that she was trying to get herself together a little bit. She sniffled and shook her head at herself before finally turning around, causing Opie’s hand to slip from her shoulder.

Opie’s heart had been in a constant state of crushed ever since he had seen Donna’s body laid out on the blacktop a few days before. But the look on his sister’s face as she stared up at him was like another punch in the gut that he didn’t need, one that he hadn’t been ready for. Her lips were turned down in their usual sad frown, her brown eyes heavy with sadness, red and glassy from tears both shed and unshed.

Veronica knew better than to think that Opie was going to start some big, deep conversation about everything that had been going on. She knew that he wasn’t going to want to talk about the funeral, or Donna in general, or the club. If there was one thing in the world she knew about, it was her brother, and that’s why she didn’t wait for him to ask questions before giving the answers to them.

“Mary, uh,” she reached and wiped at the edges of her eyes, like that would stop new tears from appearing, “had to run a couple errands. So I told her to take the kids with her and I would get dinner situated while they were out.”

“I coulda made dinner,” Opie countered.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t have, though.” Her voice didn’t have any malice to it—she was simply stating a fact.

“V…”

“It’s fine,” she followed up, her voice soft. “You know me—I just, I need to be doing something useful.”

Opie knew that it would’ve been the perfect moment to thank her for helping so much with the kids over the last few days while everything had been hitting the fan, but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he nodded to the stove behind her and asked, “What’re you making?”

“Mac and cheese.” She saw the look of confusion on his face and rolled her eyes, a smile almost starting to tug at her lips. “From scratch. All your boxes of Kraft are still in the pantry.”

“You could’ve used them.”

“I know. I just,” she shrugged helplessly as she looked back at the stove, “comfort food, you know? Figured it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Need help?” he asked, knowing full-well that she had it completely under control.

“No. I got it.” She saw him about to take a step back, most likely to head off and lock himself in his room at least until their mother and his kids got back, if not longer. She spoke up before he could step too far. “Could use some company, though.” She paused for a beat when she saw his hesitation. “Please.” She let out a sad laugh. “The only adult I’ve been able to talk to in the last forty-eight hours has been Mary.”

His facial expression didn’t change much, but her remark got a bit of an amused huff out of Opie, a sharp exhale through his nose as he shook his head and went towards the fridge to grab a beer for himself. “Sounds rough.”

Veronica just gave what she could of a smile as she nodded and turned back to the pan on the stove that she had been preparing to put in the oven. Opie leaned back against the counter a few feet away from her, silently watching as she got everything ready. It wasn’t until that moment that Opie realized that everyone had been checking in on him, because of course they would, even if he didn’t want them to. But apparently no one had been going through the trouble of tracking down his sister. He’d never admit to it out loud but he knew that that was the price she paid for being the one of the two of them who knew how to keep it together and take care of everyone during a crisis—no one was offering to help take care of her.

“Kids were okay at your place?” he asked.

She nodded as she pulled the oven door open. “As okay as they can be. I’m not sure, you know, how much all of it has really sunk in yet.” She set the pan in and shut the door. “I’m sure it’ll come in waves for a while.”

“Right.”

She set the timer on the oven before following Opie’s lead and getting herself a beer from the fridge. She hadn’t been drinking at all, despite the fact that she had definitely been wanting to, because her niece and nephew had been staying at her place. She popped the top of the bottle and brought it to her lips, not getting nearly as much relief or satisfaction out of the first sip as she had been hoping for. It was a lot to ask of one beer.

She leaned so that one of her shoulders was resting against the closed door of the fridge. She was facing Opie as he leaned back against his counter. She stared at him while he stared at the floor. Opie wanted nothing more than to go and lock himself in his room, sit on the floor because he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to sleep on the bed. But Veronica never asked him for anything. If him standing there silently was something that he could give her, something that she wanted, it was the least he could do after everything.

He had no idea how long the two of them stood there silently like that. He couldn’t bring himself to look over at her, to see the sadness on her face that he couldn’t do anything about. He couldn’t bring himself to confront his own feelings about it all let alone someone else’s.

Even though he wasn’t saying anything, Veronica could feel the tension and restraint rolling off of him like waves at high tide. It felt like if he was going to drown underneath it all, he wasn’t going to be going down alone.

“Ope?” his name came out cracked with emotion, but still a soft whisper.

It got him to finally look over at her. His frown deepened when he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Yea?”

Setting her beer bottle on the counter, the glass bottom clattering louder than it needed to, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He hesitated for a moment, his intense desire to be alone, to withdraw into himself, battling it out with logically knowing that he needed to be there for his sister. Finally, he got his arms to cooperate as he draped them over her shoulders and hugged her back. He could feel her tears soaking through the fabric that covered his chest—it was the realest thing that he’d felt in days.

Sniffling, she turned so that her cheek was resting against his chest rather than her forehead. Blinking a few more times, inadvertently causing a few more tears to fall, she forced out, “We can’t lose you too.”

He wished that he had something profound or at least comforting to say in response to that, but he didn’t. Even if he tried to string something together, Veronica had never been one to fall for his lies. She might not call him out on them, but she never believed them. There was no use in trying to spoon feed her platitudes now.

Minutes ticked by filled with more silence. Veronica peeled herself away from Opie, wiping fresh tears from her face as she did. She found herself leaning right next to him, the outside of her arm brushing against the outside of his. Grabbing her beer bottle, she took a long drink out of it before letting it dangle from her hand in front of her.

Finally, she said, “I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but you can’t do it all on your own.”

He shook his head. “I’m not planning on anything.”

She waited for him to finally give her a small glance. Her voice came out with more certainty than it had for their entire conversation. “You can’t make your kids lose the only parent they have left in the process of getting even.”

“Getting ev—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, her voice quieting again. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Opie.” She paused and when he gave a nod of assent, she went on, “Whatever the details of this shake out to be, I know someone is going to pay for it. And, and they fucking should. But not if it kills you in the process. Not if it puts you back inside. Your kids don’t deserve that.”

“Nothing’s happening, V.”

“Not yet. But it will. So just, please, okay?”

Even if Opie had wanted to say something in response to that, the timer going off would’ve put a stop to it. Turning around, he reached and shut it off, the lack of beeping sending the house back into silence. Rather than addressing anything that his sister had just said to him, he said, “Come on, dinner’s ready. Mary will be back with the kids soon.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Veronica knew and tried to accept the fact that it was all that she was going to get from Opie for the night. Grabbing the oven mitts, she nodded towards the upper cabinets as a signal to Opie to open them. “Grab the plates for me, then.”

The two of them moved around each other with the ease of two people who spent more time together than not. It’d been a long time since they lived under the same roof, but some muscle memory never went away. Opie watched as his sister used her foot to lift the oven door closed while she held the pan in her hands, the sadness on her face giving way to focus for just a brief second. And in the moment, as fleeting as it was, they were just a brother and sister getting dinner ready for their family. No tragic backstory to be found.

The sound of Mary's car in the driveway brought them back to reality. Veronica looked over at him as he went through the motions of getting glasses and silverware out.

“You promise?” she asked, not elaborating because she knew that she didn’t have to.

He couldn’t lie to her. So, he promised what little he could as the front door opened. “I’ll do what I can."

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday8 #comfort food #soa #sons of anarchy #soa imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction #opie winston #opie winston x oc #oc veronica winston #oc veronica #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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sweetlacerations · 10 months

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the things we do for viscera part one

a not-quite BBU story, featuring whumper POV, extreme and brutal violence, and Girls content warnings graphic descriptions of violence and gore, normalized human trafficking and slavery, (off screen) murder, and lady whump

She bites her thumbnail down till she tastes flesh. Has to make herself stop, then, crouched on her chair like a gargoyle, heel on the worn leather.

The problem is that it's expensive.

Like, too expensive. The kind of expensive a kidney couldn't pay for, the kind of expensive only the truly rich can afford.

The kind of expensive she can't fucking afford.

She bites at her thumb. Tastes flesh, meat, and curls her toes till she touches leather. Gnaws, because she wants so badly it aches in her gut, but-

Money.

Fucking money.

She has to force her hand down. Has to force herself to push away, shoving at the table, chair wheels complaining. Restless, frustrated, energy catches in her throat. Prickles along her back like gooseflesh.

The girl on screen is pretty, so pretty, and Harper wants to sink her fingers into her eyes till they pop.

Harper's a good girl, is the thing.

Everyone says so- people at work, the group of not-quite friends she's managed to worm her way into. Distant family members whose names and faces she doesn't actually recall, because why would she?

She's a good girl. She smiles pretty, even when customers cuss her out, and she's polite, she's nice, she's the kind of girl who'd help an old lady across the street, or take a shift she wasn't even meant for, because Harper is a good girl, really.

It's all a lie, of course. A pretty facade, a happy little game of pretend she's made, just for herself.

At night, when she's alone in her shitty ass flat, when it's just her and the static of her TV, she daydreams about slitting the throats of pretty girls, the kind she's supposed to be, the kind she ain't.

She dreams about getting a Pet, and she dreams about putting bruises on its body, its skin, which isn't really that much of a step outside of her image, because everyone knows Pets need discipline, but also she knows most Pet owners doesn't dream about peeling the skin off their Pet's back, slow and tender, or carving their thighs open till it's all meat, all flesh, all blood and nerves.

Harper's not a good girl. It's just a game she plays, a skin she puts on, because pretty girls don't daydream about violence like she does, and Harper's long since learnt what girls like that gets.

And if the lie wavers at the corners, and if her daydreams happen more, more, and if the games stopped being fun, well- that's not a problem for a good girl like Harper, is it?

(except, of course, lies are only lies, and games are only games, and Harper's world narrows, further and further, each fucking day, and the things she would do, to get her fingers on a Pet. the things she'd do, to taste that wet, red, viscera of a body not her own, but still, cruelly, hers)

She's on her way home from work.

It's late, late enough that the sky is dark and grey, stars spreading out, and Harper's exhausted, really. It's been a long day, a long shift, and she's not really paying much attention, is just letting her feet take her home, coat tucked close around her and scarf pulled up to her nose, the cold not unbearable, but still enough to make her skin prickle.

It's cold, it's late, she's tired, and at first, when the scuffle erupts down the street, she doesn't care. Someone, probably a man by the tone, is yelling, loud and furious, and Harper lets the word fall over her, lets them pass through her, because it is, quite frankly, not her problem.

So she cuts across the street, intent on avoiding whatever fight is brewing, head purposefully turned away, when the word catches her off guard.

Her head snaps around. She stops, in the middle of the street, heels clicking down hard.

The man is the older of the two, grey hair at his temples, a severe cut to his face that stinks of self-importance. He's towering above the other, a girl, younger than him by years, probably Harper's own age- maybe even younger, from the small curl of her body. He's yelling, screaming, and nothing of that matters, except that one word.

Pet, the man had said.

Harper zeroes in like a shark smelling blood.

The girl is long haired. Dark haired, this pretty deep brown, and she's been dolled up, hair shiny and curled, fake pretty. Her skin is pale, the kind of people that's either artificial or manifested. The kind of pale that screams abuse.

Harper's heels click against the sidewalk.

There's a bruise, circling the girl's wrist. Old, already starting to yellow. A new one is starting to spread across it, though, like blood repainting old stains, and Harper's breath hitches.

The man's head rises. His eyes, angry, meets hers.

"What?" he spits, and Harper doesn't think.

It's just good sense, really, to carry a switchblade with her at all times.

She crouches down in the slowly spreading pool of blood, meeting wide, frightened, eyes.

Smiles. As gentle, as kind, as she's ever managed.

"Hello," keeps her voice low. Soft. Like talking to a hurt animal. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

The girl, mouth open in a shocked, frozen, o, doesn't respond. Not instantly.

But then she closes her mouth. Wets her lips.

"Mia."

Another second of hesitation. Harper remembers that pretty little thing on her computer screen, the string of numbers she had wanted to put her fingers to.

"Mia," she says. "That's a very pretty name."

She raises a hand, the one with the switchblade. Brushes her knuckles across Mia's cheeks, smears out the freckles of blood there.

"You're going to be mine, now," she says, and oh, Mia held herself so still for her. "Is that okay, pretty thing?"

Mia looks at the blade. Looks at the dark sheen of blood coating it, and then looks up at her, and her eyes are so big, so wide, so dark. Brown, just like her hair.

She nods.

Harper smiles.

#whump #my writing #bbu #lady whump #the things we do for viscera #it will get whumpier! i promise!!#also no idea when i'll update because this was a VERY spur of the moment decision but also Girls <3 #and yes. this too is yuri

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beabnormal24 · 7 months

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So, Wheels hit the concrete when you need a cup of sweet tea is actually part of a series that I'm trying to compose, where each story has a similar build (the main couple + the third one in the middle)

The first story, is obviously based on Charlos + Pierre.

The second story, as already hinted in the first one, is based on Dando + Carlos.

I am almost finished with it, I'm actually at the +1 part, though I'm not really sure about some passages so I would really really love it if someone would give me some feedback.

I'll give you an example with this little snippet:

1. Bahrain / Australia

It feels like going backwards.

Which, to be fair, it’s something he would’ve never expected to address as one of his emotions, perhaps too used to always moving forward, go straight, take the curve, surpass, go, go, go-

Is it even an emotion, though, to walk in the opposite direction?

It shouldn’t feel as life shattering as it does right now, his heart thumping in his chest in a rhythm of its own as the corners of his eyes start to sting, dirt and smoke and dust all mixing up and reaching through the visor of his helmet that feels so wrong in so many ways.

(Too light, too narrow, too loose, too large, too plastic, too fake, not original, not designed by him. Bought on Amazon? Yeah, probably, he has an image of his search history for ‘motocross helmets’)

He needs the break anyway, no matter how much it hurts to grip at a steering wheel that doesn’t fit exactly right under his fingers and how every time he sets foot on Austrian soil, his chest gets so tight and uncomfortable and there are so many memories rushing back.

He has regrets, it’s not like he’s that immature to not admit it. Allegedly, he does not exactly act his own age, and maybe it’s more the times people don’t take him seriously than the other way around, and he should really start to worry about it since he has surpassed the thirty years old line, but he can admit that.

“Haha, Daniel Ricciardo who has regrets? As if it’s possible!”

Yeah, it is possible, and it is even more possible in moments like this one, lost somewhere in the suburbs of Perth where he can pretend he never made wrong decisions, where there is no car but a bike instead, where there is no doubts about whether he will still be here in Perth this time next year or flying off to the Middle East.

He can pretend he doesn’t care at all about it, too.

No, he doesn’t care, at least for the moment. In this single instant in front of a deserted land and a moon slowly descending and a sky turning into a familiar clear blue that makes his heart skip a few beats, he can pretend that he’s exactly where he wants to be in life.

It isn’t far from the truth, though. He always imagined his retirement to be like this: going back and forth between Australia and LA, but mostly enjoying the outskirts of his hometown not really too far from his childhood home, build his own house, a family perhaps – possibly. Just enjoy the familiarity of it all with a taste of American civilization and obnoxiousness from time to time, a socially friendly twist to Sebastian’s kind of disappearance from the reflectors somewhere remotely in Switzerland.

Except that this isn’t retirement, because he is going between Australia and LA and Milton Keynes.

Or that’s what, at least, he keeps telling himself, the others, his mum when she asks him if he is thinking about finally changing his domicile from Monaco to Perth again for the next year.

“I’ll have more work to do next year, mum. I’ll need to stay closer to the factory” he answers every time, stuffing his mouth with whatever food he has on his plate so that she will get the hint and stop asking questions.

He doesn’t know if it’s true, he doesn’t even know if it will be Italy or England or anywhere else, really.

He is used to having a feeling for things. He always had a feeling when he knew that it was going to be a good race: a tingling on his fingertips, a warm sensation in his stomach, a tickling on the left side of his nose; always something, a little thing, a little hint.

Now it’s like it’s all numb, like his limbs don’t know how to cooperate anymore, his body doesn’t know how to function when he’s not feeling jet lagged 24/7, and his back isn’t accustomed to sleeping on awful beds, and his hands want to desperately grip a real steering wheel, one that was designed just for him and works exactly for his mind, for his way of thinking.

Something that is under his control, for once.

He closes his eyes, takes in the smell of dirt and sweat and open air and a distant one of a flock that must’ve passed right by minutes ago. The thought makes him laugh, the kind of one that leaves him breathless and almost dizzy with the emptiness of his chest, light and airy.

No more than half a year ago, he was used to live in Monaco every other week and now he’s standing in front of this endless expanse of land and if he turns his head to the left and cups his ear just right, he can hear the giggling of the bells wrapped around the necks of sheep.

From Monaco and expensive things and rich people and extravagance all around, to deserted moors and fucking sheep.

From plain obscure skies that looked like a black hole was threatening to swallow him whole, to staring at the sea of stars hovering over his head, bright and clear in the blue of an Australian summer night – the winter of the other hemisphere.

It feels like going backwards, and the thought does something ugly in his stomach.

He shuts off the bike, smirks when the engine protests a bit, chuckles to himself as he hops off the saddle and the exhaust coughs a little cloud of thick grey smoke, the vehicle sagging at the sudden weight loss.

He pats the black leather, traces the corners of a recently new scratch with the tip of his finger and smiles at the way the white foam looks like it’s going to burst out of it at any second.

“You’re just like me, aren’t you?” he asks, mostly to the bike, but it could be also referred to the sky and the stars or the low bushes or the greedy insects that wait for the right moment to attack his skin or the flock of sheep slowly walking away from him.

It could be referred to himself as well, who is just like him but himself, after all?

“Unyielding, perhaps a little pretentious. Isn’t that right?”

He wishes he could get an answer, even though there probably isn’t a proper one for such a question.

The moon is nothing but a smudge of white this night: not a full moon, not even a half, just a hint, a mistake, a wrong brushstroke in the painting coming directly from nature’s hand, looking like it doesn’t belong there at all.

A perfect imperfection, it seems. After all, there’re poems about it, there are dreams of reaching it, of touching it with bare hands, but what do people think about when they have a blue sky in mind? The sun or the moon?

Will people think about him after all of this? Has he actually left something worth remembering?

The sun or the moon?

(He’s still immature enough to pretend he doesn’t care about that.)

His hand slowly slips inside the right pocket of his jacket, fingers wrapping around the sharp edges of his phone as if giving himself time to change his mind.

In the end, he does not, and he cracks a crooked smile instead, catches his distorted reflection on the black screen, scrambling for the front camera with almost trembling fingers that he swears it’s not hesitancy.

His cheek has a trace of thick black motor oil on it, a smidge that almost gets lost in the untrimmed beard he is finally letting himself grow however long he prefers – there’s no itch from balaclavas, no redness from sweat nor tight lines over his cheekbones -, and his curls are plastered all across his forehead, a single one reaching the space between his eyebrows, scarves at the bridge of his nose that is always there in some ways.

His curls are receding, thinning. Well, he guesses his time would’ve come, too, eventually, just like he had endlessly teased Sebastian for. But it’s not like he will actually acknowledge it.

He's everything but perfect, far from the polished imagine he usually walks around with, but he ignores that, too, taking a selfie with a smile that almost doesn’t make it all in the little screen, and being careful of getting the right angle so that the photo will have everything: the thorny bush, the pointy rock, the bright stars, the sheep’s footprints, the moon streak, the scratch on his bike’s saddle that- now that he notices it, it almost looks like the moon in the night sky itself.

He snaps the photo and thinks out loud “Lando would have a good laugh about that” and since here he can do whatever he wants and pretend that there won’t be any repercussions, he just hits send.

He has no idea what hour it is in Monaco. Besides, Lando is probably busy with the last preparations for Bahrain, and if Daniel can still count right in his head, then he should be flying out tomorrow – he can’t. But the younger man still answers in the span of a few minutes, when Daniel has managed to find a comfortable position with his back against the bike, only one knee bent while he lets the other one lean on a pebble, the scalding muffler throwing heat waves behind his head.

Daniel looks at his phone with what he can assume is the dumbest smile ever when he sees Lando’s profile picture pop up on his screen, him and his camera in the reflection of his latest helmet.

(Daniel has a first design sketch tucked away in some remote corner of his phone’s albums, because Lando says he trusts him with his creativity, and Daniel is a weak man and he helps even when Lando doesn’t ask directly, because he doesn’t know how not to. Which is ridiculous for someone of his age, really.)

- Landooo:

[Reply to IMG_0552_.JPG] lookin sharp af!!

Bummer that you can’t be there for first race

Gonna beat some of your ass at FIFA in the upside-down land

Food’s on me

There’s a dumb smile on his face and he knows that because he can feel it, in the way the corners of his mouth indent his cheeks and his lips hurt from stretching so wide.

He wonders, maybe outside of some self-imposed limits, if Lando is writing to him when it’s the middle of the night or early morning. He wonders if Lando is getting enough sleep, if he has been struggling like last year, if the anxiety is till biting at his back, if he’ll ever feel the need again to call Daniel and vent, talk about all the things that course through his head because he needs to empty it.

Sometimes, Daniel had his things, too, and Lando would sit there and look at him with eyes too big for his face and listen to every word like they actually meant something. After, Daniel would feel utterly ridiculous at sharing his thoughts with someone ten years younger, who probably didn’t even know what it meant to feel the things Daniel felt – too old, still young, kind of in the middle – but it was easy to forget that when Lando was just... Lando.

- You:

[Reply to Gonna beat some of you|] Sure you will, babe

[Reply to Dinner’s on me] Nah, my country, my pleasure. I know where to take you

- Landooo:

Deal

U take me whrv you want and I pay. I still make more money than you anyway

Unless you took herding sheep as a side job

You field mouse

Daniel chuckles to himself, lets his thumbs swipe over the keyboard for a few moments, takes in the feeling of his chest swelling, of his heart beating steadily, like it’s common, like everything is as it always was.

- You:

Stop harassing your elders

Or I’ll call your mom

- Landooo:

Yeah right, you grandpa

Ill call *your* mom 😉

- You:

Landooo, not the mom jokes

What are you? Ten?

- Landooo:

I am a ten*

Well, Daniel thinks, true.

- You:

In what scale? From one to me?

- Landooo:

From one to yr mom

- You:

You’re unbelievable

- Landooo:

😙

- You:

Shouldn’t you be flying to Bahrain instead of harassing me?

- Landooo:

Im not harassing

Its my love language

[Reply to Shouldn’t you be fly|] IMG_0553_.JPG

Already here baby!!

But nothing is always like it was before, right? Panta rei and all that shit, he guesses.

Daniel stares at the picture of Carlos sitting at a clothed table - presumably in their hotel’s restaurant if the name stitched on the corners is anything to go by -, lips curled into a soft smile and eyes widened, his hand in the hair doing the peace sign to the camera, someone else’s elbow making it into the corner of the picture – perhaps Carlos’s trainer, or his cousin, whose name he can’t remember for the world… Oh no, right, another Carlos.

He looks like Lando had told him “Smile at the camera, cabrón, it’s for Daniel” and the fact is that he can imagine it clearly, Lando grinning big and bright and cackling like a maniac because he’s that spontaneous and he thought that sending Daniel a photo of Carlos as a reply would be funny.

It is not.

Daniel has no hard feelings towards Carlos, there’s no awkwardness between the two of them even though he had taken a habit of snatching Carlos’ seats in his career. It’s just that- sometimes Daniel feels like he’s intruding, like he’s being shoved in a third chair in the corner of a crooked framing, watching the main characters having a laugh by themselves about something that only they can know because they’re standing close and his chair… His chair is too far away.

It feels like the seat in front of Lando is the only one he can’t take away from Carlos, not even two years as teammates had been enough, and the awareness twists something in his stomach that isn’t exactly pleasant.

He can picture it clearly, Lando smiling at his phone after sending the photo before pocketing it, bringing his chin on his hands and staring at Carlos as they start talking about golf that and golf there, because they are posh kids with money ever since they were born, and Daniel just doesn’t fit in there.

Daniel finds golf boring as hell, and perhaps that’s enough of an explanation for everything.

- You:

Aye cabrón

Say hi from me

His last messages sit there in the chat, left unread and with no reply for minutes to no end, Daniel staring at it with something strangely hopeful in his chest, looking at those words - dull, derivative, perfunctory – as if they will give him any answers to the questions still left unsaid.

Four minutes pass when he decides to finally shut it, watching as the chat turns all black and the distorted reflection doesn’t mirror a smile anymore.

He wonders what it would be like to be swallowed by Monaco’s black hole this time of the year.

He can’t remember.

#dando #lando norris #daniel ricciardo #carlos sainz #fluff #light angst #ao3 fanfic #please I need some advice #do you like it? be honest #f1

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antonio-chandranis-dream-blog · 10 days

Text

THE NEXT DREAM. EARTH YEAR 2005 A.D.

I slept with Alejandro’s gift underneath my head like some idiots supposedly suggested. That is, I woke up after that previous dream and it turned out I was holding the book against my chest already.

It obviously didn't do anything!!

It didn’t? :0

And what’s with you? You usually don't make such tones, djinn.

Anyway, I decided it was best to go speak with my teacher. That cat man is almost as bad as you, djinn, so it's not like it was a huge change excepting the fact that he did what he sometimes does—actually help me out!

With his shitty hints, I was totally able to decode it! >:] But...

But what should I do about Alejandro's real gift?

Within the [UNKNOWN COORDINATES], from that place monstrous forms emerge and cause havoc for our society 100,000 years in the future, we students of the preeminent Protector's class have often saved humans trapped within their dreams and nightmares... Those who become surrounded by such monstrous forms. More often we free ghosts of their monsters, or sometimes nothing that's left at all but a memory. Or even the simple hope of one.

On the rarest occasion... Via a 1 in a five hundred million chance... We’re given something. Gifts. Something parted from a ghostly soul or even their memory as thanks.

Alejandro was given something not that long ago—it was all the buzz across our planet, since he's very well-favored to become the Protector of Worlds. (He won't become the Protector. It is assured.)

It was everywhere across the world through what you call “the television” in the year 2005 A.D. Or was it “the streams”?

Whatever you call it, he was on it. Everyone knows he was gifted something rare.

“The True Angel's Engraving.” Can you believe it? A name that boastful! It’s what they named it across the—on all the streams, or whatever you all say in the year 2005 A.D.

It’s in my hand now—a pleasing multicolored bracelet. Its components look and feel like ordinary stone fragments that fits well together, so cool to the touch, and yet I think they must not be ordinary. Not in a meteoric way or anything. The bracelet is singing with alchemical energy… With “the True Angel’s Engraving,” so to speak.

Earlier…

It felt like something familiar. Like my dad’s alchemy.

Not the way it is now, but like something from a very long time ago.

I’ve been thinking that since I saw it. I’ve been wanting to get away from everything…

Alejandro hid the bracelet away in this book I’d assumed was my main… My main prize of some sort.

On the streams, they kept repeating how it would bring him to the one he wanted to find, no matter what. That his heart was now connected to the bracelet.

Not just who he wanted to find… Who he seriously wanted. They’re obsessed with setting him up with someone these days. Alia. Diego. Khalida. Konna.

Still, enough of the journos mentioned it—that it could lead him to his try-hard brother too. To his family. To his…mother, potentially.

Why would he give it to me?

He must not have believed it. He’s such a fool.

Is he the fool, or are you? You don’t even believe your own words. Like usual. You’re always waiting for him to appear, and now you want to say ‘oh, boo-hoo, he obviously can’t believe that nonsense they say!’

But see, he used to prattle on about saviors. Am I not allowed to have opinions on them? He knows how I feel.

Child. He knows you are worse.

That’s not true. I really can’t stand you.

Do you really think it works both ways? I could—

You surely could!

Shut it. The bracelet… It doesn’t feel like my dad’s alchemy anymore. It feels like Alejandro’s.

I could put it back in the book. Pretend I never solved his stupid riddles.

And sleep holding it?

Do you think he wanted to give it to someone else first? I adore Diego, but you know he’s a little—

Oh, darling. I don’t know.

What should I do? He was too foolish—I can’t wear it in public. If he can’t think to give it to his prissy brother, it really was something to give a paramour. It’s too bad he has no real lover.

The public would have a meltdown even if a friend wore it—which I suppose I count as.

What should I do? I need to at least harangue him.

What should I do? Alejandro Caldera-Altaha. He really bothers me.

I likely slept too long today. I’ll need to eat when I wake. I won’t let mysterious votes choose that, so I’ll bring it up next time, I suppose.

#antonio can't see the tags i the djinn have chosen #character blog #artists on tumblr #Blue Horizon verse by Naila Moonsi #he's on yet another rollercoaster of some sort

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br1ghtestlight · 11 months

Note

I'm in your asks should much, I think I might just start living here

But look at them🥰

Any hcs regarding the pesto family?

THANK YOU FOR INDULGING MY HYPERFIXATION <33 love andy and ollie in this screenshot. just sittin' there

they aren't close like tina/louise/gene (mostly bcuz andy and ollie already have each other for friendship) but jimmy jr does love his little brothers and feels protective of them. he feels responsible for them and generally just tries to keep them out of trouble. also as we see in that one episode he has to hold their hands when they cross the street which i think is adorable!!!! always keeping em safe :)

when andy or ollie has a nightmare and they're scared they ALWAYS go to jimmy jr and he lets them sleep in his bed with him even though its very crowded (the twins will not sleep without each other) he asks them about it and tells them that they're safe and it was just a bad dream <3

andy and ollie think jimmy jr is VERY cool actually!!!! they love his dancing and generally look up to him a lot they're very impressed when he does things like blow a bubble with bubblegum or does a handstand on the monkey bars yknow typical big brother stuff. they're always following him around at recess and its kinda embarrassing but he does think its cute (its also comforting for him to know that his brothers love him no matter what bcuz he doesn't always feel like that way with his parents)

andy and ollie's first word was jimmy jr <3 he knew his parents would be upset about this so he let them believe that their first word was mama or dada and nobody knows the truth except for him

jimmy pesto legally changed their family name to pesto before his kids were born and all of his kids genuinely believe that their family is italian. nobody has ever corrected them for some reason not even their mom

andy and ollie like staying with their mom better and jimmy jr likes staying with their dad better. but the siblings never wanted to be split up so their parents have equal custody

jimmy pesto likes showing his kids old italian movies that he watched when he was younger and its a genuine bonding moment for them!!!! not all the movies they watch are appropriate for kids and there is some murder drug dealing and gangs but thats okay its fine

andy and ollie brought one of his old italian movies to school once for show and tell and it was inappropriate for kids so jimmy pesto got in trouble and told them not to do that anymore FJDMDJDJSKSKS or at least ask him first

jimmy jr babysits andy and ollie when his dad is busy and he is NOT good at it Tbh he mostly just does whatever he wants and leaves them to fend for themselves bcuz he figures they're old enough that they can yell for help if they need him. they usually just raid the fridge or do arts and crafts and end up making a huge mess everywhere that jimmy jr has to clean up (or else he'll get in trouble)

jimmy jr has convinced andy and ollie to play dance games (like just dance on the wii) with him on several occasions and they will TRY but they are extremely bad at dancing and uncoordinated and jimmy jr gets frustrated when they get a low score

andy and ollie like drawing pictures for jimmy jr with crayons or paints or for school assignments and they like giving to him as surprise gifts :) he's probably got a million of them at this point but he keeps them all and hangs them up in his bedroom

andy and ollie LOVE bugging jimmy jr when they're bored and dont have anything else to do they'll go into his bedroom or follow him into the bathroom and just TALK AND TALK abt whatever is on their mind and he is shockingly patient about this. he sometimes gets tired of them and puts headphones in but pretends that he's still listening and they honestly cant even tell the difference

#sorry that there are not many jimmy pesto headcanons he's a fun character but he interacts with his kids uhh not very often!!!!#and from what we see when he DOES interact with them their relationship is not great #but i believe he does love him and he knows that his life would be 100x worse without them in it #he never once considered not taking custody of them after the divorce he loves those freaking kids even when they drive him crazy #bob's burgers #ask #headcanons

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youllallriseintheink · 11 months

Text

Accretion, chapter 2

The end of day bell rang, but Cyrus stayed seated. He pulled out a book to pretend to read. He was far too anxious to actually focus on it.

His mother had wanted to pick him up that day. That probably meant he was in trouble. But for what? His grades had been impeccable lately, and his violin classes had been fine. He couldn’t recall any social behaviour that could have gotten back to her, either. He’d gotten staying out of trouble down to a science. He knew which kids were willing to let him sit near them at recess without bothering him, and that he could get away with keeping to himself two days a week, both for his own preferences and because there were hazards to social behaviour. Bullying and exclusion would get back to his mother as surely as staying alone by choice. He even knew to alternate days so not make his little schedule obvious.

Some time later his mother showed up and took him outside, where a staraptor was waiting for them. Thankfully, she didn’t seem angry. A bit sad, but not angry.

“Where are we going?” Cyrus asked.

“You’ll see,” she replied.

The trip by staraptor took around forty minutes and stopped in front of a large stone building in Hearthome.

“This is Hearthome Boarding School,” Cyrus’ mother explained, stroking its stone wall. “I went here. So do most people in my family, once they’re old enough. Hopefully, you will, too. Let me show you around.”

It was a long tour, with plenty of happy stories from Cyrus’ mother about the times she’d had there. It seemed like she was struggling to keep herself together, and Cyrus did his best to comfort her so she wouldn’t drink that night. It seemed like a nice place. Everything about it was so polished and big compared to his elementary school. Teenagers in uniforms were participating in various after-school clubs. Others hung around the halls or in the well-stocked library with little to no supervision. Some were alone, or only in the company of Pokémon. They all seemed so calm and civilized.

When the two finally left the building, Cyrus mother broke down in tears.

“Don’t fuck up like I did, Cyrus. I gave up my family’s support so I could marry some soldier boy, and what did it get me? A sham of a marriage, two girls that barely contact me anymore, an affair partner that ditched me the second you were conceived, and, well, you.” She gave him a disdainful look. “Your personality won’t make you any friends no matter where you go, but if you get into this school, it’ll look like you’re useful and that I’m raising you right, and my family will accept us again. They’ll have a place for us in the business empire, and our lives will finally make sense again.”

Cyrus nodded in response and kept a neutral face. Nothing could appeal to him less than the controlling approval of people he barely knew, but Hearthome Boarding School did seem like a good place for him.

“The school is grades eight to twelve, so you can start next year,” Cyrus’ mother continued. “The entrance exam is in a month. Unfortunately, we won’t have my family’s connections, so you’ll need a ninety to get in. From there, we’ll get you on an academic path to become whatever the family decides they need you to be.”

Cyrus nodded again. That sounded doable.

Unfortunately, there was too much studying and practice to be done that night for Cyrus to visit his rotom. The next day, though, Cyrus snuck off to the abandoned garage right after school and stuck his pokétch into the motor attachment he’d made. Seeing this, and his friend’s obvious excitement, Rotom rushed into the device.

Well, don’t you seem happy today, bzzt! Came the text on the pokétch.

Cyrus took the device and sat on the floor with it. “Yeah! Yesterday, Mom showed me this boarding school in Hearthome. It’s nice. It has tons of cool specialty classes, I wouldn’t have to see my parents except for on weekends, and there’s little supervision there. And we’re allowed to bring a Pokémon, so we could go there together.”

Bzzt, that’s great for you! Rotom’s smile flipped into a frown. But how many people are there, bzzt? Will they want to turn me into an experiment?

“Well... a lot, but they wouldn’t do that, I don’t think. And I wouldn’t let anyone take you.” Cyrus paused, waiting for Rotom to respond. It didn’t. “You’ll have a few months to decide. You don’t have to come. We’ll still be friends, even if I can’t see you as often anymore. And my mom said that if I get in, I’ll get to go on a Pokémon journey. Just you and me, three weeks, seeing the sights of Sinnoh together.”

Now we’re talking! Bzzt! I wanna see super contests, and the Snowpoint Temple, and meet all the ghosts in the Eterna forest!

Cyrus chuckled. “It’ll be a wonderful time.” He unzipped his backpack. “Perhaps you could come to school with me tomorrow and practice being around people? I know that people are largely unpleasant and unpredictable, but always hiding here must be getting old for you.”

Bzzt. Maybe in another day. I have plans with the other ghosts in the forest tonight. Wanna join us?

---

From behind Cyrus’ bedroom door, he heard the voices of his parents grow increasingly angry. His father was home from deployment. That meant his parents would fight, and that his mother would be drinking and taking out her hurt on whoever was nearest. He didn’t want to be around when that happened. He gathered his books, along with enough money to buy dinner, and snuck out the window.

When Cyrus got to the abandoned garage, Rotom was absent. That wasn’t surprising- he was probably just with his ghostly little friends in the forest. It wasn’t terribly disappointing, either, since Cyrus had to study, anyway.

A few days passed with rotom being nowhere to be seen. This was a bit worrying. Rotom rarely left for this long, and never without telling Cyrus first. Six days into its disappearance, the worry became overwhelming. Maybe Rotom had left for good, either intentionally or because someone else had come along and done something to it. Cyrus tried to push such thoughts away and concentrate on his studies, but he could barely read through a paragraph without his thoughts drifting back to Rotom’s whereabouts. He tossed the book aside and got up. He needed to look for his friend.

A thorough look around the garage told Cyrus that nothing valuable had been moved or stolen. He counted the special motors and found that they were untouched as well, including the tiny one that he’d put onto his toy robot like a backpack.

That was especially disturbing. Rotom loved that form. It was the only one that allowed them to touch. The last time Rotom had left- years ago now- he had taken the robot with him. Had he been forced to leave somehow?

Or does he just no longer care for that form, or anything else I’ve made for him?

Cyrus gathered up the robot and a few motors in his backback. The last time he’d lost his rotom, he’d thrown the motors away in a fit of emotion, and when he changed his mind and went to search for them, Rotom had been waiting for him. Hopefully, the same would occur this time. He scattered the motors at the edge of the junkyard and hoped for the best.

The next day, Cyrus went to the junkyard, but the motors and robot were untouched. Cyrus checked it every day after that point, as well as looking for Rotom in the wooded areas surrounding the garage. It was a good thing that his dad was home to distract his mom, so he could schedule his own studying around his search. Truthfully, he was not doing a good job of that as the entry exam crept up. Aside from the time he spent searching for Rotom, his mind was too full for him sleep, and he was too tired and distracted to concentrate even when he did crack open a book.

Did someone hurt him? he wondered, Can a ghost die?

Or...did he leave because he wanted to?

The older I get, the more we work on machines and the less we run around together. Did he not like that? Was I selfish? And I’m away to study more than I used to be, as well. Maybe he was bored and wanted to find a younger companion.

Did I really mean so little to him that he would leave without a word?

Did he feel pressured to come to boarding school with me? Was that was the last straw?

He seemed so excited to go on a journey with me...

The entrance exam came and went. Cyrus went through it in numb acceptance that he wouldn’t make the grade. Two days later he got the test results: a 79%. Scared to face his mother, he ended up going back to the abandoned garage. It might not have been a place of joy anymore, but it was privacy and safety. He sat down at the workbench to tinker and be alone with his thoughts.

Cyrus’ friendships were typically short-lived and far between. Most people he preferred to keep away, and while he’d found a few different kids he’d gotten along with over the years, in a few weeks or months they always found someone else, and then Cyrus was forgotten. The only person who’d kept a consistent liking for him was his paternal grandfather. Perhaps it was foolish to expect Rotom to be any different. Now that he’d missed his chance to get into boarding school, nothing was likely to get better for him for years. He wasn’t sure how he’d endure it all alone.

As Cyrus got up to retrieve a tool, he caught eye of an open history textbook he’d been studying from. On it were the dignified portraits and short descriptions of several Galaxy Team members, including his ancestor, Captain Cyllene.

A renowned warrior, Captain Cyllene served in the Hoennian wars as young as fourteen. Under her commanding officer Kamado, she served a vital role in defending their people from invaders. When Kamado’s home village was razed by a gyarados who had been attracted by the frequent conflicts, Kamado decided that his best course of action would be to move on to a nation less scarred by war. Cyllene was amongst the first to join him in settling Hisui and served as the Captain of the Galaxy Team’s Survey Corps. Her immediate willingness to leave home and help create a peaceful land for Hoennian immigrants did not surprise Kamado. As he put it, “Cyllene has always been a master of putting her feelings aside and doing what has to be done.”

Cyrus put down the book, gathered his things, and started home. He had been named after Cyllene, and many had compared him to her for his seriousness, solitary nature and tendency to use big, formal words. He had her hair and eyes and was growing into her facial features. If she could survive a warzone, he could survive his own problems. If she could leave everyone behind, he, too, could manage alone.

It was dark by the time Cyrus got home. He rang the doorbell and his mother opened it.

“Where were you?” She demanded. “It’s late.”

Cyrus handed her the test results and watched her face twist in disapproval.

“Well, you’re definitely not going on a Pokémon journey now. And I’m never letting you manage your own studying again.” Her voice was calm. That didn’t mean anything. She was sober.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” Cyrus kept his face even, as Cyllene would have.

“Listen to me, Cyrus. No one will ever love you unless you make yourself useful.”

“I could care less about being loved.”

“Well, you should. Life without love is miserable. Go to your room. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

Cyrus obeyed her. He could hear her uncorking a wine bottle before he even got to his room. He was in for a long night. He didn’t care. He shut himself in his room, took out his journal, and began to write.

I realized quite some time ago that life would be easier if I were a machine. But recently I’ve recognized that this does not apply only to me. If my mother were a machine, she would have no need for her family’s approval. If her family were rational, they wouldn’t have abandoned her for trivial reasons. If my father’s pride didn’t prevent him from caring about me, he would care how she treats me. And Rotom would have at least told me he was leaving for good if he hadn’t been so cowardly.

Further, if the government were run by machines, we would not suffer their greed, bigotry and corruption. Without anger, we would see less violence, and without lust, we’d see fewer broken families.

Everything would be easier if people acted according to logic. Alas, I only have control over myself.

I am named after Captain Cyllene and I will earn that name. I will no longer live in fear, nor care for anyone’s approval. I escape this house as soon as possible, and I will be an engineer and make something that people will love. That will be worth far more than the fragile liking of irrational people.

#pokemon #galactic boss cyrus #rotom #ocs #captain cyllene #my fanfiction #accreation

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kitty35 · 2 years

Text

Don't Touch Anything!

Eddie Munson x Witch!Reader(mostly gender neutral but if there are any pronouns then they're probably she/her)

Warnings - Witchy things and love

Summary - Despite my warnings to not touch anything in my house, Eddie finds himself enthralled with something in a cabinet. Maybe I was being overdramatic with my warnings, or maybe I wasn't, only one way to find out!

This is another part of my Eddie and The Witch series. You probably don't need to read the other two but it would help to understand everything. -> Part One - Part Two

Requested - Kinda, this is for the people in the comments lol. I'm looking at you @urmomgov <3

Right now the two of us, Miso being tucked away in my bag like normal, rushed towards my house. My aunt called saying there was an emergency that needed my help right now. There was no time for me to pretend like it was fine to Eddie, nor was there time for me to fully prepare him for what he might walk into the second he passes through the barrier. While, yes, it was used to keep people out as it’s main purpose, it could also be used to keep things in and I had a feeling that was what was happening right now.

“Eddie, I need you to stay close to me or Miso at all times.” He nodded. “Whatever you do, don’t touch anything.” He had been inside my house only twice before and both of those times I had spent the day before cleaning and hiding things. Things that he didn’t know about yet or things that were dangerous if used or touched incorrectly. But right now, when there was no time to prep for his visit, I didn’t have that luxury of hiding certain items.

“Right.”

“I mean it. Nothing except for your shoes on the floor. We have things that can kill an elephant in seconds. Especially the plants. Do not touch the plants. They don’t like new people.”

“(Y/n), I’m trying not to freak out right now and you aren’t helping!”

“I can’t help it! I don’t want you to get hurt! I can fix you if you do but I just wanna avoid it all together!”

“Stop talking! Please!” It was tense as he screeched into my drive way. In a heart beat, we were at the front door, me in front and Miso in the back to keep Eddie safe.

“Nothing.” I repeated, making sure he understood me crystal clear. With that, we walked inside. A pot was thrown from the kitchen, hitting the wall rather close to us. “Aunt Willow?!” I yelled, running to the kitchen. There, I saw my aunt with a pot lid and wooden spoon. In front of her was her normal potion pot and a grayish red goop…thing inside the pot. Black puffs of smoke erupted from it as it tried to yell and get out of the pot. I watched as the goop formed what looked to be an arm, throwing part of its self towards my aunt. She dogged and the liquid fell to the floor, rather quickly making a sizzling noise and burning a hole through the wooden panels.

“(Y/n)! Get those tiny blue bottles I gave you!”

“The expired ones?!”

“Now!” She yelled, making me kick it into high gear. Grabbing Eddies hand, I ran up stairs.

“The ever loving fuck was that?!” He yelled as I sat him down on my bed.

“Stay.” I moved to grab the tiny bottles I was told to get. I had locked them away in a shelf that was hidden by my own magic, a spell that I had learned from a witch that specialized in different magic then my family, meaning my aunt didn’t understand it. Even if she did understand it, it was a spell that made it so only I could ever open this door and get the content behind it. There was no ‘undo’ for it or way to get around it. “Miso, keep an eye on him here.” They gave me a solute before sitting in front of Eddie. With that, I left to help my aunt. The two of them just sat there for a little. Loud clangs of pots, sizzles of acid and muffles of screamed words could be heard from where he sat.

“Can I look around or do I have to stay right here?” Eddie asked. Miso thought for a second before nodding and getting up.

“It okay!” They said to him. With that, Eddie moved to look around my room. I had accidentally left the shelf door open, allowing him to look inside. The things that laid on the old wood confused him. Books that looked to be thousands of years old with names of creatures that he recognized from DnD, bottles full of unlabeled things—things that he didn’t even try to comprehend— what looked to be perfume bottles, weird dolls, and sticks with crystals attached to them. But those weren’t what caught his eye the most. No, that would be the jewelry. He found himself unable to look away from certain pieces.

They were all locked away in boxes with scribbles of different languages on yellowed paper. The way they glittered and shone even without direct light was captivating. His hand began to rise up, wanting nothing more then to touch it and find out what they felt like. Cold, he was sure. It looked like no one had opened the containers they were held in for hundreds of years. My words circled his head, ‘don’t touch anything,’ but how could he not? Even with the knowledge that things in my house are dangerous, his hand continued almost as if he weren’t the one moving it anymore. Surly it was just a piece of jewelry. There’s no way it could hurt him. Just as his hand was about to touch it, a black thing that resembled a hand stopped him.

The touch must have broke him out of whatever trance he was in, only realizing what had happened now. Miso was holding his hand, a worried expression covering their nonexistent face.

“S-Sorry…No touching, I forgot.” That was obviously a lie but Miso let it slip since nothing bad happened. He sat back down on my bed, admiring the decorations from there. Plants and mushrooms that wiggled and moved littered my walls and shelves. Floating candles hung around corners and in dark spots. He watched as one dripped wax, following with his eyes as it fell and vanished before hitting the floor. Crystals and bottles sat on every surface that they could. Paintings from a different time hung on the walls mixed with anatomy drawings of creatures he had never seen before. His eye looked towards the open shelf once more before quickly looking away.

There was a bad aura that now came from that area of the room. Had it always been like that? Maybe he really was put in a trance and whatever did that didn’t like that Miso broke him from it. Or maybe he was making this all up and was getting worked up over my words. He liked that thought more then the idea of an inanimate object feeling vengeful for him not falling for its trick.

“Okay, everything’s fixed.” My words and the sudden noise of my door opening made Eddie jump. Instantly I felt the bad aura coming from the open shelf. “Shit, I didn’t mean to leave that open.” I quickly closed and locked it. Eddie watched as the old wood of the door slowly morphed to match the shelf next to it. “There, all gone.” I turned to him. “Did Miso stop you?”

“W-what?”

“The jewelry, did Miso stop you from touching it?”

“I-I didn’t-I wouldn’t go against your words!” He quickly tried to correct, eyes refusing to look at me as I sighed and moved closer to the shadow creature who sat on my floor.

“Thank you, remind me to give you an extra treat later.”

“Okay!” They almost sang as my hand petted their head, earning a purr.

“That jewelry, it’s cursed.” I explained, moving to lay next to Eddie on my bed. “It’s been locked away for a very long time, but it wants to be free again. I don’t know how long you looked at it, but if you stare long enough then it starts to talk to you.”

“Jewelry can talk?”

“Those pieces can. They’re convincing too. I’ve almost fallen for their tricks many times before. You know, I told you all those things about not touching for your safety. I don’t care if something breaks or if one of my plants die. I care about you being safe.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling us closer till no space remained between us.

“I love you, d’you know that?”

“Of course I do, and I love you too.” Neither of us were sure when our relationship changed from best friends to something more then that, but here we were. I didn’t mind it. The subtle touches, the loving words. I loved it when he got so happy to see me that he would run across the halls in school and almost tackle me. Loved it when we walked with his arm around my shoulder. The way he made sure I wasn’t the one closest to the road or how he would gently grab my hand if I was getting anxious, it made my heart beat faster. There was no one I would rather bare my whole soul to in the whole world then Eddie Munson.

It was silent for a while as we stayed in each others arms.

“What kind of mushrooms are those?” He asked and I could hear the stupid grin on his face. I knew it was a stupid ‘can I smoke them’ joke.

“Witch drugs.” I responded while pulling my head away so I could meet his eyes. It was obvious he thought I was joking.

“How much do you think I could sell them for?”

“You can’t to humans. I don’t think you guys could handle the trip that they give.”

“What, actually?” I couldn’t help but laugh while nodding my head. “Why do you have those?”

“For potions, didn’t I tell you that?”

“What?! No!”

“Hm, thought I did.”

“So you make witch drugs? Isn’t that… you know?”

“Illegal?” He nodded this time, very much confused.

“No, that kind of thing isn’t illegal for witches. My family are potion makers so it’s only natural that we also dabble in psychedelics. It’s kinda’ part of the territory.”

“Do you…do you think I could try them?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“Do you think you can handle them?”

“Maybe, describe one to me.” It took a second to think of one he would be able to drink.

“There’s this one dream potion that I think you’d like.”

“Dream potion?”

“It’s called that because it makes you lucid dream… kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Well, a lot of people who get night terrors or sleep paralysis buy it. Majority of the time you take it then go to bed. That way, when you start to get those bad dreams, it kicks in and alters it to something better. But there are people who use it while awake.”

“It doesn’t make you fall asleep?”

“Nah, the name is deceiving about that, isn’t it?” I giggled, making him copy me.

“Yeah, a little.”

“If you take it and stay awake…I’d probably compare it to ketamine. It gives you a dreamy reality and when you hallucinate you can change it to things that you want it to be.”

“That sounds wicked.”

“It’s one of the more tame ones. Honestly, using potions just in general kinda’ feels like drugs. D’you remember when I healed your foot after you broke it?”

“Yeah, the hours after that were so cool.”

“It wasn’t hours.” He paused, giving me a confused look. “That potion only lasts ten minutes, just enough time to heal your body.”

“Wha- no, you’re messing with me.”

“I promise you, I’m not. Healing potions are the quickest to wear off but they seriously mess with your perception of time.”

“Fuck, you’re telling me.” Once again, I laughed at his expression. He had learned so much in these past two hours about my life. Things that he didn’t even know existed in this world. It only made his infatuation double. “Can I kiss you?” The words spilt out before he could stop them. Our eyes connected once more and he watched as my cheeks turned pink. Slowly I nodded.

“Yeah…yeah, you can.” With that, our lips met. It wasn’t sparks or fireworks, like the movies made it out to be, but it was warmth. It was something that stirred his chest in the best way possible. He was nervous all over again, just like he had been that first day we met. But this time it was the best nervous. It told him that I could always kick up these feelings of first love nerves that he thought were long gone by now. It made him excited for every single first we would have after this, knowing he would feel these same feelings all over again. He could get addicted to it, addicted to me, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

A/N - I hope you liked it! I really wanted to go more into the witch side of everything in this part. I'm thinking the next part will be more in the 'witch world' but will focus of the growth of their relationship as well as an official 'we're dating' type thing. Let me know if you'd like to see that!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #x reader #xreader #stranger things x reader

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