#love this ornery bastard
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The Vex Labyrinth: immense hostile computational network of impossible power and memory spanning unfathomable permutations of simulated and parallel universes from before the dawn of time
Asher Mir:
#Destiny 2#post-Lightfall spoilers#not huge spoilers though#my second-favorite grouch#defeating a genocidal algorithm through sheer obstinance#through pure tenured-prof energy#the raw power of ‘don’t you know who I AM!?’#we will win not through violence but through demanding to speak to the manager#love this ornery bastard#miss my first-favorite grouch though :(#love you always Red#this is the wager of existence
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exCUSE ME!!!!
#i love office printers#unironically adore them especially when they're ornery bastards#the worse the better#and this little guy looks like a malignant force of chaos#tumblr#tumblr icon
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Worth the Trouble
Simon/Ghost x Mean!fem!Reader
Warnings: slightly toxic? Reader is verbally mean and ghost Def manipulates the situation so he can have the missus come see him. PiV , Smut MDNI
“Heard LTs lost it, goin around on a rampage.”
“Just about near it. Price thinks he's injured and trying to downplay it. Won't tell him much aside from ‘I'm fine’. Hell for all we know hes just got a man-cold”
“Ach, the poor bastard”
Gaz snorts and continues with the next set, Soap checks for signs of struggle or strain before continuing (a dutiful gym buddy)
“Heard he blew some recruits ear out.”
“Think he backed out entirely, can't blame him - if I weren't already knee deep in this shit I'd tuck tail and run from Ghost”
“You n me both. Well. I did always have a taste for trouble. Probably woulda sought him out and he mighta strangled me.” he muses happily imagining his Lt tossing him around.
“Surprised he hasn't already “ gaz laughs, his eyes determined through the final pushes.
Soap laughs at that, thinks his lt has gotten close once or twice.
“Don't worry much about it though” gaz grunts.
Soap meets gaz's eye, watches a bead of sweat trickle down into his hair line.
“Why not?”
“Captain says he's calling in the secret weapon. Going nuclear.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Johnny questions, thinks of what could possibly be nuclear in regards to Ghost.
“Dunno. But I guess we'll find out.” Gaz finishes, setting the bar back in place and sitting up with a groan. He gives a sniff to his shirt and audibly gags.
“Yea that's rank, you wanna hit the showers?”
“Sayin I stink Garrick?”
“Sayin we should hit the showers”
“Cheeky cunt”
Soap follows his fellow Sargent to freshen up in the shower block, a stealthy sniff to his armpit solidifying his choice in joining.
The issue of the ornery Lieutenant momentarily forgotten.
—----------
He always knew price had an easy time with the ladies, but to parade one around so freely - a young woman at that?
“Well well, did price finally let you out his basement? I knew he had a pretty bird caged away somewhere!”
He reaches out a rugged palm and his smile is all boyish charm.
“Names Soap, nice to meet you bonnie”
She doesn't respond and doesn't move to shake his hand. Her arms remain seated within pockets of the leather jacket she adorns. Just continues to chew a wad of gum, sizing him up like one would an enemy. She looks bored, mildly annoyed.
He can't feel too upset over the snuff, the ample amount of cleavage on display makes up for it.
“Not the sociable type? No problem, work with one of those - I'll break you down”
She looks at price now, who - soaps noticing - looks like he swallowed a lemon laced with depression.
“MacTavish. This young lady is not my bird - lovely as she is - but she is the solution to our problem.”
For once Soap is speechless. Realization kicking in suddenly and with a force so strong his jaw drops.
“.....is that why he's pissed?? Lads gone without a bit of pussy and he's lost the plot? “
“MacTavish”
“Just sayin! Sorry lass, don't mean to be crude” he does mean to be crude actually. He is crude, but usually he waits till the second date before parading that fact around.
“......let's just get this over with. Fuckin bullshit for you to pull me out here. again” She grosses, looking miffed.
“Right, yes. Again, I do sincerely apologize- I wouldn't if I had another option”
“You're his captain, just order the fucker to act right” She scolds him, dissaproval evident in how she sizes him up.
“Unfortunately my lieutenant is a master of malicious compliance. Sweet as sugar with me, but a menace to anyone else.”
She sighs something resigned and annoyed. He watches as she blows a small bubble and pops it with a sharp click. Her brows scrunched and nose wrinkled into a sneer.
“Are…are you actually here to - do I get something like this if I start throwing a fit?!”
He eyes the woman next to his captain as she walks past him, seemingly familiar with the layout of the building.
“MacTavish. Shut up.”
“Yes sir.”
A brief pause
“Is it cause he's a lieutenant? Do I need to be a lieutenant?”
“Give me 50 Sargent MacTavish “
“Yes sir.”
He drops quickly and works through the 50, counting quickly before springing back up and towards the direction his captain and mystery woman left. He catches up to the tail end of their conversation.
“-he won't come out”
“really. Have you tried, I don't know, kicking the door in?”
“No. A bit extreme don't you think?”
He watches as she walks to the door, examines it, and he thinks ‘no, no way’. Watches as she turns and braces herself against the doorframe and thinks ‘Oh she's insane’ as she picks her foot up and slams it back against the door with a solid thump.
She gets 4 in, he notices the damage to the door grows steadily - the odd tinge of arousal at the unhinged behavior of this woman.
Feels his stomach drop to his knees when the door is thrust open and she's dragged inside the darkness.
The door is hardly shut when the screaming begins.
His captain waits patiently while he looks towards him and the door.
His LT is loud but she's managed to be louder. He can't make much out from how fast everything is said, muffled through the slightly askew door
“-acting like a fucking toddler!”
While this isn't his particular brand of dirty talk, he supposes it makes sense for the ghost to want a heavier hand.
Too heavy, it would seem. The loud thump is jarring, enough so that he springs towards the door. Price grabs him, handles him into his side with a fierce look and a sternly mouthed ‘no’
The screaming had stopped. The silence is deafening. Johnny thinks at least one of them is dead. A woman that crazy probably wouldn't go down that easy, even against a ghost.
His body flinches when the door opens, he expects a limp hand to flop out horror movie style- heavily surprised to find the lass perfectly intact, not a hair out of place.
He peeks in the open doorway to see Ghost knelt in a way that can only be described at revenant. He sits at her feet, face pressed to her stomach while he clutches her body to him. she has a hand on each of his shoulders and glares down like an angry God.
“We'll be in the infirmary captain, he's got an infection. Stupid fuck.” She slips from Ghosts grasp with some struggle, swatting at clutching hands as she commands him “up”
Ghost, much like his namesake,rises like the dead and slinks out of the shadows of his room and into the light. He looks, oddly pleased(downright giddy) for a guy just pronounced a ‘stupid fuck’.
He watches as the fury marches towards the medbay, her hellhound shadow tight on her heels - might have even carried her if she didn't look as rabid as she did.
“Captain?”
“That's Doll, Johnny. Ghosts leash, and Simon's keeper. Try to annoy her less yea? She sends ghost after you and there'll be fuck all I can do to stop him.”
“Heard…..doll? Really? I think of a doll, I think sweet and porcelain. Not, pissy with a heavy heaping of crazy. She looks like the type to cut brake lines.”
“Yea well, just don't let her know which car is yours and you'll be fine.”
“Sure she won't just cut them all?”
He sighs, something heavy and worn.
“I'm hoping she's forgotten where we keep them.”
—-------
“Hi just him today, thanks.”
“Oh um, and you are?” Doctor Nicole has seen a lot. Hasn't seen this yet. Might see more if spouses were more common on base.
“Im his voice currently. And his brain. He's not smart enough to use either on his own to tell you about his infection. Left leg, by the way.”
“Oh well. Oh. Um. I - I'll have you hop up on the bed then lieutenant! I'll take a look and. And fix that.”
He doesn't move, stares at the woman(his voice and brain, apparently) like she's the only one in the room - in the world.
His world groans and throws her head back - he chuffs.
“Listen to the fucking doctor , on the bed. Now.”
His steps are heavy and solid as he seats himself on the edge of the bed. Thighs spread and hands limp between his legs. He looks like a hunched beast eyeing his next meal.
The doctor finds that having her keep his attention is better than having it herself.
“Well. Uh, left you said?”
“Yeah. Calf area - knife probably? Something sharp.”
“Well then, uh , lieutenant? Are you able to, to roll your pant leg up for me to see? Or is the pain too severe?” she prods gently, he doesn't respond.
“Roll up your pants.” like a marionette with strings tightly wrapped around her fingers, he moves to roll up his jeans to reveal the sickly wound.
“Oh yeah definitely an infection. Odd for you lieutenant, usually you're better at catching this.”
The woman scoffs and slumps in her seat. He leans towards her as she sends him a scathing look.
“He's a fucking man child. Threw a tantrum to get what he wanted and now he's being pampered.”
“Mhm.” The affirmation is the most sound he's made since coming in here.
“Well I'll just. I'll just get this taken care of” Nicole stumbles put, feeling like an intruder.
“ ‘Priciate that doc. Don't be afraid to make it hurt.” Her tone is tinged with sadistic hope.
“Oh I. I'd never intentionally hurt someone under my care - that's unethical “ the military may not be the most ethical, but she's damn sure going to try to be.
“Pity. He'd deserve it, letting it get this bad-willingly might I add.” She snips at him , face scrunched.
He hums something delighted, and the doctor wonders if she should order a psych evaluation. Remembers the 141 are notorious for dodging said evals and dismisses the thought entirely.
If he likes when women are mean and degrade him, that's his business.
He sits still, moving only when told by the woman in the chair who's now playing on her phone.
He stares at her intently, glares at the phone occasionally. The doctor finishes quickly, grateful that the infection was only in its earliest of stages.
“Okay so I'm prescribing a round of antibiotics, I noticed that you have an allergy to penicillin so I'm giving you doxycycline." She writes the perscriptipn down quickly, grabs a bottle stocked preemptively for cases like this.
"Take it with a meal twice a day every 12 hours until the bottle is empty. Come back within a few days just to make sure it's progressing and then again when the bottle is empty.” She types in a quick series of notes notating the lieutenants upcoming appointments.
“He'll be here. I'll make sure of it” there's a bitter edge to the woman's words, the doctor wonders how anyone could stand to be with someone so angry.
“God I hope you do” ghost groans out, threat either going over his head or straight to his crotch.
The doctor flinches, forgetting the lieutenant capable of speech.
“Well thanks for the help. I'll be getting him back to his captain.” the woman hops up and walks towards the door.
“Oh uh, have a g-good one!”
She smiles politely, drops it quickly when she eyes the once again silent wraith behind her
“Let's go, it would be rude to make your captain wait.”
He nods and follows along after her, like a deformed elongated shadow.
An odd couple, the doctor muses. But not the oddest she's seen. Not even the weirdest.
Another soldier bursts in, she hears the words ‘snake bite’ and ‘penis’, wishes she was stuck back with the ghost and his guide.
—-------
“You alright then, lieutenant? Everything sorted?”
“Affirmative sir. I've got the prescription, doc cleaned me up and changed my bandage. “
“Good. Thank you for coming, Doll.”
“He only acts like this because you let him, you know.”
“I do. But sometimes it's easier to go along the path of least resistance. Trying to argue with a stubborn mut, or handle the fury of his actual commanding officer? I'll take you anyday love.” He finishes with a purr, noting the sudden tenseness in Ghosts shoulders.
“Careful, might put thoughts in a girl's head if you keep talking like that.” She notices too, but eggs the poor lieutenant on - smile a touch cruel.
“Oh? That all it takes? Not a fan of Mactavish then?” semi-joking now. He'd be a liar if he said having a pretty woman snark up at him didn't effect him at all.
“Prefer waking up with mouthful of English breakfast personally. Speaking of-” She turns towards ghost, her face still cold and indifferent as always.
“I'll be in your room. I'll only be here another hour and then I'm gone. Why don't you see if your captain can find it in his heart to dismiss you early”
She smiles something sharp and sinful, takes off in a run that makes Ghost body jolt - he looks like a junkyard dog choking himself on the end of his lead trying to get a bone just out of reach.
“Captain. May I be dismissed.”
“Well-”
“Captain.”
“Simon”
“Captain price, may I please be dismissed, sir”
There's a desperate edge john isn't used to. Something rabid, something hungry. A darkness kept caged wriggling through iron bars.
“dismissed, lieutenant “
The ghost breaks off into a sprint, and the hunt is on. Price can't think too much about how it ends, his trousers already too tight at his twinge of interest.
Similar shades of fucked up, the both of them.
—----
He's panting in your ear, groaning as his hips slap against and bruise your ass.
“fu-fuck. Come on, give it to me. Show me you're- fuck! Show me you're worth all the fuckin trouble - Oh god, simon!” You can't help but scream, hope he doesn't have neighbors.
His pace is mind-numbingly good, making up for the dry start in the beginning. Prepped just enough to fit him but not enough for the ache to be avoided. But he knows your body thoroughly , and with a few well aimed thrusts and a circles of your clit you're dripping down your own AND his thighs.
A mess on his bedsheets - he thinks of it as a present for later, you think you spoil him.
He fucks you like an animal, unhinged and hurried- like he's worried you'll get up and leave, worried you'll realize he's not worth the trouble.
He pins you further under his weight and changes the angle - groans at your wail of ecstasy .
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! You - you better not pull this shit again. I - I let you keep this fuckin job -please don't stop- let you play hero but -oh god, oh god - but don't-”
You gasp, moan something pained and drawn out as you come again along his rigid cock - muffling a scream into his pillow as he grinds up into the sensitive spots in your cunt to draw your orgasm out further.
“k-keep this shit up toy soldier, see how quick I put you back in the box!” You snarl , glaring at him over your shoulder. He groans deep and slams as deep as he can, unloading against the deepest parts of your hole.
He's still hard when he slips from you, wrangling you onto your back before slipping back in. Your legs fit nicely on his shoulders, and you're grateful for your flexibility.
You scoff. “can't cum lookin at a skull , switch to another one or take it off - might have a chance of getting me off then” you wonder how mean he'll be, wonder if he'll actually stop to find a different mask.
Dont have wonder long as he's quick to throw the whole thing off. The black grease around his eyes is streaked from the sweat - hair plastered to his forhead. He looks happy to see you.
“not - not bad! Might be worth all this after- after-after!” You buffer aloud. Like a skipping record, you'd be humiliated if it didn't feel as good as it does.
In fact. You should be mad at his constant interruptions, but he's persistent on fucking through your cunt and into your brain.
“Tell me. Tell me dolly. Tell me sweet heart. I'm worth the trouble, yeah? I'm your trouble right? Gonna keep coming back, keep coming on my cock?” He says it like he doesn't exist somewhere in your rib cage nearest to your heart. Like you don't already live in his.
“Yes, yes!” You promise, the one you will die before you break.
“Yes what?" He implores, a steady chant of 'keep me, keep me, keep me' running through his head.
“To all of it you fuck! Yes! All mine, my cock, my headache, my brute - fuck!” your own mind proclaiming that you'll keep him 'forever, forever, forever"
You're crying now, overstimulated tears as your thighs quiver on his shoulders.
“Yeah. Yeah. All yours, n' you're mine. All fuckin mine. Not Prices and not fuckin Johnnys” he snarls, bitter and possessive.
“Gotta act up, gotta cause a mess. Can't get you here otherwise. “ he continues, pace consistent to further along your impending ruin.
It's getting hard to keep up with the banter. Hate how he's still capable of talking while you're becoming goo.
“J-just fuckin wait till you're off deployment! Fuck!”
“Nu-uh, get too tight n mean when I do. Have to drag you here to give you your fix so you're sweet when I get home. You're my sweet girl right?” He coos mockingly.
You don't respond. too busy clawing red ribbons into his back.
“Right?” He punches your cervix now, enough to make you choke and bite into the meat of his shoulder.
You bite hard. Harder when he moans. You lick at the indents and nose into the hammering pulse at his neck.
You can tells he's close with how his tempo gets thrown off, how his huffs louder. Having forgiven him for making you drive all this way, you give the dog a well earned bone.
“Yours, your sweet girl. You just need to work for it a bit hm? You don't mind huh big guy? My big guy?” You whisper into his ear, whine into it in a way you know drives him crazy.
He comes with a shout, one you know the whole fucking base heard. You're too fucked out to care much, especially when the brute lakes down and settles his weight on you with a contented sigh.
He hums, a touch demanding and you roll your eyes. You rub a hand gently up and down his torn back, scratching gently at his scalp to feel his heavy sigh of contentment.
“You gonna take care of yourself now? Got everything out your system?”
He hums, tone non-committal - fucker. As long as price has your number, as long as the ghost stays restless - you'll be called in eventually. Not a matter of 'if', but 'when".
Thankfully you don't mind being the nuclear option. Not much anyway. Especially if this is what it gets you. A moment of peace, skin pressed against skin - soft breaths evening out against your collarbone.
'Yea', you think. 'He's worth the trouble.'
(End notes: the thump that was heard was actually Simon falling to his knees. Dude goes from 0-100 when it comes to love so he either ghosts(hehe) you or worships you.)
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#odd stories#simon riley smut#simon likes them a lil mean#it makes fucking them sweet taste better#also he just seems the type to enjoy letting some snippy little thing boss him around a lil#just a lil#fem reader
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Hi!! I adore your blog and everything you write, cause it's so wholesome and giving comfort!! I was wondering about your take on this kind of trope between Rocket and the reader (because I can't see anything similar on the internet and I'm biting my walls). But I was thinking about friendly convo with Rocket as a semi new crew member, who's young and maybe more outgoing. Still sarcastic and brave, yet empathetic. And they started to get along, eventually became friends. In my mind it was a late night vibe, maybe something like talking about trauma or just simply comforting. I'm a sucker for anything involving petting him so (👀). Maybe they have something in common, maybe something happened. But some friendly fluff never hurts. I'd love to see your take on this scenario!! I just love your work I'm hoping to see something like that ksjdksjx 🤍🤍
wholesome? are we looking at the same blog lol
dear little sugar cookie sunbeam. you're so sweet and i'm so grateful for this kindness, truly. thank you for your sweet words! i’m so sorry it’s taken so long for me to get around to this. between you and @whitedragoncoranth (who always so kindly sends me adorable raccoon-related videos and little fictions) the two of you have been spinning lovely little thoughts in my head. so this is for the both of you ♡
like, imagine that pete wakes up in the middle of the sleep-shift. there’s something happening in the benetar’s ventilation system, and it doesn’t sound good. a strange sort of pitchy rattle, like something’s come loose. normally pete wouldn’t be the one to notice something like that — rocket’s sensitive hearing would pick up any deviation in the benetar’s normal low murmur long before pete’s “inferior baldbody ears.” but here it is — far too late in the so-called night — and star-lord has noticed something wrong with the ship. and not just any part of the ship — one of the parts most integral to survival in the inhospitable void of space.
so he rises, half-frantic, and goes to find the benetar’s genius creator and resident mechanic.
"goddammit," you mutter, scowling down at the carton of milky-fizz in your hand. normally, you'd be staring out at the stars as they spiraled past: gorgeous glimmering clouds of glitter-dust and refracted light, swirls of color and soft-edged flakes of illumination, haloes and radiant pinpoints — all bright and pulsing against the black jeweler's velvet of an endless sky. tonight, though, you're just pissed, and not even the shimmering specks of a thousand distant suns can ease the cringing ripple of shame prickling up the base of your spine and between your shoulderblades. you hunch your back, trying to shiver it right off your skin.
"hey, kid. what the hell are you doin' out here?"
you pause, shoulders still high under your ears — but when you breathe out, some of your tension goes with it. rocket's an ornery bastard, but he's also your best friend here on the benetar, and if anyone can make you feel better, it's probably him.
not that it had always been that way. your friendship is more or less a recent development. you wouldn’t call yourself new to the crew anymore, but you're definitely the freshest of the guardians family. you'd run into them when they'd stopped back on knowhere after defeating some kind of — god? planet? — and the pilot had clearly not been a fan of further expanding their little crew beyond the recent addition of mantis and, to a lesser extent, kraglin and nebula.
why d'you wanna even do this? he'd sneered. it ain't all fame and fortune.
you'd snorted. fame and fortune? at best, it had seemed the so-called guardians of the galaxy had only earned the suspicious and sometimes-entertained watchfulness of any given band of locals — as if they'd been some troublesome trickster-folkheroes brought to life.
plus, this stupid galaxy's always needing to be saved, rocket had snarked, half-resentfully.
you'd grinned and shrugged. as a matter of fact, i'm here for the job security, you'd only replied, and it had tugged a startled smirk into the corner of his mouth.
"you all right?" he asks now, nearly thirty cycles later.
you sigh. "oh, you know." you wave your carton at the stars behind the armored glass.
rocket snorts. "yeah, i do know," he drawls, one brow winging up. you're not looking at him, so you can't see it — but you can hear it in his voice. "i know exactly what you're doing."
it's your turn to raise an eyebrow. "what am i doing?" you take a swig of your milky-fizz, but rocket doesn't miss a beat.
"beating yourself up for stupid shit."
"ahhhh," you breathe softly into the chill, recycled air. "you would know, then."
"i would," he agrees. "now, c'mon." his hand reaches out and shoves gently at your hip. "you can whine about it while we eat some zargnuts."
you can't help but laugh. after you'd first come aboard, it had only taken a few rotations for the two of you to begin gravitating toward each other. if asked, rocket would have muttered he’d just given you a shot because you’d been the only one who groot seemed to tolerate: mature enough to hold your own with the other guardians, but young enough that rocket's adolescent son somehow — miraculously — hadn’t despised you. luckily for rocket, he'd also quickly learned that you'd been willing to engage in the stupid multi-front prank-wars that he’d had going with almost every other member of the crew. hell, that thing with the frickin’ zargnuts had been your idea — he’d just come up with the tech. the two of you had crept into food storage one rotation, and you’d emptied every bag into jars, then passed each one to rocket. he’d puffed them with air and neatly closed them with the heat-resealing gun he’d crafted as soon as you’d made the suggestion.
drax had been sulky for cycles, and you'd stayed strong, not 'fessing up until mantis had burst into tears after opening her fifteenth empty bag.
still, the majority of the jars of zargnuts are currently residing in the corner of rocket's bunk.
you follow him across the catwalks and down the hatch, passing arched armored-glass windows separating the two of you from the cold void of space. outside the benetar, the galaxy is lit up with spilt-glitter-stars and moons like twinkle-lights. inside, guages and buttons pin the shadows like velvet stage-curtains to the wall, and security orbs stitch them to the edge of the grated floors. most of the other guardians are in bed already, and the narrow corridors are quiet, with only the low hum of the benetar's life support systems echoing a low lullaby. rocket leaps up to tap the sensor that slides open his bunk door, and you throw yourself easily into the pile of cushions in the corner under his hammock. he's one of the lucky bastards with a starboard-side porthole in his bunk, which means the whole little room is softly aglow with the dim blue and mauve haze of stardust. he taps a plasma orb, adding a sheen of gold to the edges of the shadows so that he can dig through his locker more easily, producing a giant, half-eaten jar of zargnuts and sliding it across the thin, faded rug toward you.
"dig in," he orders, and you do — unscrewing the lid and reaching in to pull out a couple of the bite-sized snacks. "you wanna tell me what's got you all knotted up?" he adds casually, tapping the datapad he's got docked on his workbench. some song he's cloned from pete's zune drifts out, melancholy and mellow, across darkness.
"is that california dreamin'?" you ask incredulously.
he listens for a beat, till the chorus hits. "sounds like it," he replies with a shrug, "but you're not gettin' outta answering me, kid."
you sigh and take another sip of your milky-fizz . it goes surprisingly well with the zargnuts. "i almost got pete killed today."
rocket snorts. "what?"
"when that symbiote attacked him, i should've switched over to the disresonator blaster you made, and instead i just sh-shot at it with the rotary cannon and i almost—"
"kid," rocket interrupts, sounding exasperated. "you been in how many fights like this? m'not talking about threatening some jerk with your quadblaster, i mean actually fighting a dozen corrupted klyntar, or some high-powered alien despot, or whatever."
"i dunno," you say dismally. "however many there've been since i started with you guys."
"and this is your first mistake," he reminds you. "and it wasn't even that stupid."
you roll your eyes. "thanks ever so."
"seriously," he says, grabbing another handful of zargnuts. "you know, our second fight was because drax decided to call up the kree accuser we were running from and give 'im our coordinates."
you pause with your milky-fizz halfway to your mouth. "what?"
rocket snickers. "and that jackass is like, old enough to be your dad. at least. he's supposably been fighting way longer." he pauses. "though he did get caught and thrown in the kyln so maybe he was always an idiot about it. what i'm saying is, you don't gotta beat yourself up for doing one stupid thing."
you look at him solemnly, taking in the way the plasma orb gilds the strands of gunmetal and brass in his fur, and the halo of mint-green and rose and purple as you drift past a rainbow-hued nebula.
"what about you?" you ask. the quiet shadows pool around the two of you, cool and just heavy enough to press any anxiety out of your lungs. that's how it always is on these nights with rocket, you think. usually the two of you are on the flightdeck, drinking some of drax's kylosian coffee while rocket flies till you fall asleep — but sometimes you hole up in his bunk or yours, listening to music and telling stories and cracking jokes until one or both of you passed out.
"what about me?"
you wrap the shadows and the starlight around yourself and finish off the milky fizz, setting the plastic carton carefully to one side. "you beat yourself up all the time."
he sighs. "that's different."
"howso?" you challenge, but he slants you a look that glints like red spinels and rubies in the stray starlight, and you know you're not gonna get an answer. you hum a faintly disgruntled, half-playful note. "you know what would make me feel better?"
"no."
you grin, and reach out toward him with both hands, palm-down, rubbing your fingers and thumbs together.
"absolutely frickin' not."
"please?"
"you're annoying."
your fingers don't stop. "you don't have to pretend like you don't like it," you tease him. "i had a friend back on terra—"
he snorts. "you had a friend?"
you pout. "don't be a jackass." you flex your fingers in a grabby motion. "i had a friend on terra and she use to tell me — you know, you are allowed to let yourself enjoy nice things."
he snorts. "oh yeah? and what’d you say to that?"
your grin splits wide. "probably the same thing you’re gonna say to me," you admit with a dip of your head. another gold galaxy swirls slowly past, limning everything: platinum and bronze and sunset edges, melting against the dark violet-blue.
he wings one brow upward. "what’s that?"
you can’t stop the chuckle riding under your ribs. "sounds fake, but okay."
he snickers. "well, you're not wrong."
"c'mon," you wheedle, not letting him out of it that easily. you flex your fingers again, and rub the tips together like you're testing the velvet quality of the shadows, or the fading strains of california dreamin' as they melt into time after time. "please? for me, rocket?"
he raises his brow again, rolling his eyes. they're deep amethysts in the darkness, but every time he moves them, they throw back glimmers of almandine and garnet.
"sounds fake," he mocks, "but okay." he slides across the cushions. "and watch the tail this time. don't need your frickin' elbow leaning on it again."
you fake-scowl. "that was one time," you sulk, winding your arms around him and pulling him in close so you can burrow your fingers into the thick velvet pile of his ears. he immediately cocks his head like he's been secretly waiting for it all night, leaning into the little massage at the base of the twitching appendages. his head his heavy and weighted against your hands, alternating side to side as he tries to push into the pressure of your touch. you'd never point it out to him, of course; he'd stop immediately, you're sure. and you weren't lying — it does make you feel better. millennia of evolution have contributed to this one perfect element of the terran human condition, you suppose: the release of endorphins whenever you get a cuddly animal's fur under your fingertips and palms.
you ease your hands down, stroking long lines over the back of his head, burying your fingers in the fur at the base of his skull and around his shoulders, weaving them into his lush, soft undercoat. it becomes mindless, meditative: his fur gleaming thread by soft thread in the starlight, the hypnotic lullaby of the moons and suns and planets rolling by like round, loose beryls and pearls, the sparkling haze of cosmic dust spilling past the porthole. the music shifting through the dark shadows and puddling in the little pools of light, weaving in between each strand of rocket's fur and the soft valleys between your fingers: fleetwood mac and bowie and kate bush and joy division, all layered into the darkness and the sprinkle of lights — the spray of glitter, the haloed glow; the quiet of your breath and rocket's; the pulse of your shared heartbeats; the sleepy tug of your eyelids. the knowledge that he knows you well enough to recognize when you're ragged at the edges, and the eagerness to help patch you up with zargnuts and music and stories about drax; the knowledge that you'd do the same no matter what. the warmth of him under your hands, his body going relaxed and heavy under your arms, the soft brush of his fur under your chin.
the knowledge that in all of the wide universe, you always have a home with each other.
something rumbles against your belly, where his chest is leaned up against you, and your hands stroke over his back. it's rare that he purrs, and usually brief: but this time he lets it happen, and it grows. the rapid, deep-rooted clicking, like a dark-velvet chirp that never ends, rolls up from his body and into your hands like a gift passed from him to you. it shivers out into the air, tumbling and rippling through the silk shadows, blending with the music, flickering against everything in the tiny room and echoing softly, rebounding, shimmering. you lose yourself in the pattern of it, matched to his inhalations and exhalations. matched to yours. you're drifting into it like an incoming tide, moonlit and starstruck, little waves that lap and tap against your heart and your brain until you begin to doze off while your fingers trace deep little forest-paths into his fur, taking and offering comfort as easily as breathing, as easily as the gentle thump of your hearts against each other. you lose time like that: lost in the sounds of him and the music, lost in the deep blue, the aubergine, the glimmering in and out. you don't so much as stir until there's a thump in the corridor, and then against the frame of the door—
you jolt awake, blinking blearily, and rocket's already torn himself out of your arms and off the cushions as the door slides open.
"what the fuck, quill? i coulda been — i dunno, doing something—"
"there's a problem with the vent system," pete rushes out, sounding nervous and frantic. "i don't know how long it's been going on but there's like a — a rattling, rumbling noise—"
"shut up," rocket snaps, one dark hand extended toward pete in a halting motion, and you freeze as the three of you go still and quiet.
the vents cycle on, hushed and gentle as a breeze in a field of wheat.
you wait.
"i don't frickin' hear anything," rocket growls.
"i don't—" pete starts, looking baffled and almost betrayed by the functioning ventilation system. "it was—"
"what'd it sound like?" you pipe up from the corner, and pete's brows furrow when they focus on you.
"like a kind of a... brrrrrrrrrh," he mimicks, rolling his tongue off the rough of his mouth in a guttural purr.
your eyes go wide, and then shoot over to rocket's. your friend's face is a picture in absolute horror.
"uh," you start, the corners of your mouth twitching as you try to hold back a sudden cackle.
"it's nothing, pete," rocket snaps. "you're imagining shit."
"but—"
"go back to bed!" rocket half-roars, and pete takes one last bewildered glance at the air vents before slinking out the door.
rocket slaps the sensor panel and whirls on you, one claw extended.
"not a fuckin' word," he snarls.
you say nothing. you only smile — eyes sparkling — and reach for him with both hands: palms down, fingertips rubbing against thumbs in a silent demand for more pets.
headcanons & imagines masterlist
#wholesome nonnie#whitedragoncoranth#rfh asks#rfh fluff#rocket raccoon#gotg rocket#rfh headcanons#rocket raccoon headcanon#guardians of the galaxy#rocket raccoon fanfiction#rocket raccoon x you#rocket raccoon x reader#rocket raccoon fluff
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Crying about how Zolf Smith hit rock bottom and shouted at the world that he felt powerless while his god who told him "go forth and do my will" without even telling him what that will was and gave him gifts he didn't ask for and expected him to know what to do with them.
Crying about how Zolf Smith then turned his back on that god and walked his own path and became a literal cleric of HOPE in the face of his overwhelming despair, despite the fact that every single day he existed he continued to struggle with that despair and frequently nearly let it overwhelm him.
Crying about how Zolf Smith saved the world more than once but never saw it as a good he had done, merely a job that had to be done and better he do it than someone else, even though he knew the guilt would eat him alive for the rest of his days.
Crying about how Zolf Smith still found a path to happiness despite all that, even if it was a long and winding path, even if his decisions were frequently bad ones, they were still his decisions and they still led him to a place where he could live with himself (and others) and understand that they cared.
Crying about how he's still an ornery bastard but people love him because of who he is and what he did and how he struggled any way.
Crying about Zolf Smith.
#zolf smith#rusty quill gaming#rusty quill gaming spoilers#that tag's there for my friend who has just started it
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Hi I love your Jealous Dick headcannons and everything to with possessive Dick but.. can we get Bratty Jason headcannons with maybe Dick reaction to that as well?
Let's explore this bratty!Jason headcanon together, @galaxywolfy667; it's still a new fancy of mine so let's see about it LOL. This is a long af reply; as it turns out, I couldn't stop typing hahaha.
Jason retaliating to Dick not giving him attention by demanding said attention. Not explicitly, of course, because that'd go against the bat way of poor communication. Instead - nonverbal cues of making Dick so jealous that he can't possibly ignore Jason for another moment. //u///
Basically Jason being the most manipulative and cunning little bastard who knows how to play Dick like a fucking fiddle
Bonus points to him because Jason loves when Dick gets all intense and possessive ;)
Everyone is fair game in Jason's ploys to get Dick to pay attention to him. Friends, family, nemeses.
Bruce: Where Dick is training Damian and Jason is just impatient af waiting for his turn. He wants to be thrown around too, damn it. Bruce not realizing what's happening and assuming Jason is bored and restless, so he calls Jason over so they can talk about a case. Jason making eye contact with Dick across the way because Dick stops for a split second. And Jason shoots him the cattiest of smirks. 'Sure thing, daddy.' Which Bruce is like, 'whut???' and Dick is ')<' because he liked Jason watching him and now he's turned away, sauntering off like a sassy brat.
Jason making it a point of sitting too close to Bruce at the batcomputer. Leaning over his shoulder, sitting on the desk - their legs bumping together, sitting on the arm of the chair and 'falling' into Bruce's lap with a sheepish laugh and -
Poor Bruce is just wildly unaware of what's going on. Downright oblivious. He has a hand on Jason's hip to steady him and then all of a sudden Dick is calling out at Bruce to spar, come on. Damian protesting because they were in the middle of training, but Dick is resolute.
Bruce senses bloodlust (from Dick). Then just lust (from Jason who is looking over his shoulder at Dick, a wicked smile on his lips).
Tim: Okay Dick doesn't even need to do anything to deserve retaliation, I just think Jason likes to torment Tim to get a rise out of Dick at any and every opportunity. Getting Tim into trouble? Wonderful. The end result of making Dick jealous and bringing out his mean streak (from back in the Discowing era; Jason remembers it fondly), yes please.
What's more is that Tim is aware that Dick and Jason have this thing going. It's a weird sort of foreplay, but hey. Even if the end result is Tim's heart stutter skipping in a moment's rush of adrenaline, that's cool. It's Jason. Tim can't not shoot his shot even if it's never going anywhere.
It never fails that Jason tempts a bit too much and the repercussions are painful. Not literally, of course. Just in a heart clenching, panic inducing sort of way as Dick throws his arm over Tim's shoulders and smiles the most insincere smile Tim has seen in his life - all teeth and bite with a promise of violence.
Jason gets the same heart clenching feels because it never fails that Dick will manhandle him somewhere, somehow and remind Jason who he belongs to/with.
Tim's a little messed up, too. He kind of really enjoys seeing Jason when he comes back all ruffled and flustered and limping, cheeks flushed a pretty pink and a smug, satisfied smile on his bruised lips.
Slade: When Dick has been away from Gotham for too long with no plans of returning, Jason isn't above calling Deathstroke to request the mercenary make an appearance. Jason wants attention and he'll get it. He'll call Dick's nemesis out, no problem. Hell, Jason will play the damsel, too. Slade can wrap him up like a present - nice little shibari situation. Color of the ropes depends on how ornery Jason is feeling and how he wants Dick to react).
But anyway, Slade is always down to humor this. Dick is always intense when it comes to Deathstroke, but there's something very pleasing with how unhinged Dick can get when Slade gets handsy with Jason. Nothing makes Slade happier than Dick getting a little violent, a little cruel. Jason gets hot under the collar watching how hard Dick fights for him - that brutality, just for Jason.
Later, Dick pulling Jason around by the ropes he's tied in. Getting a little mean. And Jason just taunts and torments and challenges Dick until Dick can't keep away and oh my.
And okay, backtracking. Because Dick absolutely turns this play against Jason at some point. He refuses to touch Jason and instead has Slade do so and like, Jason isn't mad but he still whines because for real?? Big sad.
But it's okay because Jason turns it around on Dick again by getting super into Deathstroke. Just moaning like a whore and Dick is so unamused because no, absolutely not Slade fucking Wilson doesn't get to hear his little wing like that no no, nope.
Superman: This is Jason's magnum opus when it comes to being a brat. Because Dick respects and adores Superman so much. So of course Jason uses this to his advantage. It's not even something Jason does when Dick irritates him (like with not giving him enough attention, or when he's being an ass, or when they're having a little domestic lol); it's just Jason taunting Dick. Challenging him.
Can't say I have this one really thought out, but just something with Jason being lifted like the princess he is by Superman while Dick has to stand there being professional while inside he's dying because for fuck's sake, Jason. (ʘ‿ʘ✿)
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Mountain and Dewdrop going on a date?
this is perhaps the sappiest thing i have ever written. you must listen to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley while reading. it's required. and this is not so much a date as . . . well, you'll see.
im not sorry if you tear up a little
To put it bluntly, Dew’s been pissy all afternoon. He’s in a certified Mood, untamable by food, sleep, beverage, or even sex. He snaps at almost everyone who tries to initiate conversation, with varying degrees of bite and malice. They chalk it up to his fire ghoul nature, a wild blaze that just has to burn itself out with time.
But Mountain?
Mountain is ever resilient to the forest fire that is Dewdrop. A point that is illustrated when he takes Dew’s hand late in the evening, pulling him off the couch and out of the common room, ignoring his protests and snapping teeth the entire way. He hadn’t seen the earth ghoul since dinner, yet here he was whisking him away for some unknown reason. He’s confused, ornery, but secretly intrigued.
The path is familiar, the same they take for midnight mass. Mountain rounds the corner to the chapel, its large wooden doors slightly ajar, spilling warm, dim light into the hallway.
“Why the fuck are we here, Mountain?” Dew spits. He expects the earth ghoul to yell at him, tell him off for being rude, like the others. But he doesn’t. His face remains placid, calm. There’s even a hint of a smile, if he squints.
“Wanna show you something,” Mountain says softly, leading them into the chapel. Dew’s already got a retort ready on his lips, but the words die in his throat as they walk past the pews and closer to the pulpit. Dozens, if not hundreds, of candles litter the open space at the front of the chapel, various colors of votives and tall prayer candles in a wide circle on the floor. Their warm flames scatter soft light against the tall stone walls and darkened stained and leaded glass windows. Mountain himself is thrown in a golden relief, honey-brown eyes shining as he looks back at Dew.
The earth ghoul stops in the middle of the circle, dropping Dew’s hand and holding out both of his in a placating gesture. “Just wait; one more thing, okay?” Dew nods, his tense expression already softening.
Mountain walks over to a record player situated against the side wall. He softly flips the switch, and the space fills with that familiar static hum of the start of a record. The melancholy, slightly dissonant chords follow shortly after, echoing off the vaulted ceiling and sitting themselves right in Dew’s heart.
“You bastard,” he says softly as Mountain walks back to him, slotting himself against the fire ghoul’s lithe body. Dewdrop can’t help but melt immediately, guilt and remorse contorting his face into a sad frown. Mountain just holds him close and places a kiss between his horns.
“Hey, fire lily,” the earth ghoul whispers just as the guitar turns sweet, lilting into the song he knows too well. “I just wanted to spend a little time with you. Just the two of us. If that’s okay.”
Dew buries his face into his torso, emotions of all kinds tugging on his heartstrings. He nods his assent, not trusting himself to speak.
I heard there was a secret chord,
That David played and it pleased the Lord.
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
Mountain tucks his chin against the top of Dew’s head, swaying slowly in time with the music. The smaller ghoul tries to keep up, let Mountain move them, but he stumbles over his own feet as they step in small circles.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
“Hey,” Mountain says softly, pulling away to look at Dew, searching those icy-blue eyes turned copper under the candlelight. “Let me?” he asks vaguely.
“What?”
And I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch,
And love is not a victory march,
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.
“Your feet, just—” Mountain toes his shoe underneath Dew’s, encouraging him to put his foot over his own. He does the same with the other, the fire ghoul now perched on the tops of Mountain’s shoes. He realizes too late what the earth ghoul is doing, and a deep crimson blush colors his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he buries his face back into Mountain’s shirt, face now even with his sternum instead of his upper stomach.
Well, there was a time you let me know,
What’s really going on below,
But now never show that to me, do you?
“Come on, trust me,” the earth ghoul whispers into his hair.
But remember when I moved in you,
And the holy dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah?
Dew lets Mountain shuffle him around, waltzing through each verse and chorus effortlessly, light as ever on his feet. He takes all of the smaller ghoul’s weight, rubbing his back and humming that calming baritone against his temple.
And it’s not a cry you hear at night,
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light,
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.
Dew’s engulfed with the sweet smell of cool balsam and crackling pine, with hints of cinnamon and fresh rosemary.
It’s quietly, uniquely them.
#BUTTERRRSSSS YOU DID THIS#ARE YOU HAPPY#i wanna cry. i wanna die. i wanna squeeze something until it POPS#mountain my love#dewdrop ghoul#mountain ghoul#dewdrop x mountain#the band ghost#ask#anon#ficlet#fanfic
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Kintsugi
Just a little sexy ficlet for @wildbornsiren .
Thankyou, lovely @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta!
Words: 1300 ~ Pairing: Rhett Abbott x female reader ~ Content: oral sex, m rec'ing, swears. Summary: You kiss all Rhett's hurts better, but he's more beautiful for the scars.
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It’s late when you hear his key in the door, so late that night has all but folded over into morning.
You’re too sleepy to do much. You waited and waited up. You’d have gone to see him, but for the first time in ages, work clashed, and Rhett didn’t mind. You always did your best to see him ride, after all.
You murmured his name as he dropped into bed beside you, one arm draping habitually across your back, and all was right with the world, and you let yourself sink back into slumber.
**
You wake before him.
He’s spread out in the bed you share, naked save for black boxers slung low on his hips.
There’s a new scratch on his shoulder. A bruise on his hip that’s just purpling. They just add to the cartography of the man you love. Each little scrape attributed to a bull he rode, each bump a step on the journey to being a rodeo champ.
In selfish moments, you wish he’d give it up, but doing this makes him the man he is. You can’t ask him to stop, you would never.
He takes you as you are, and so, you do him the same courtesy.
You use the bathroom, drink some water. He’s stirring when you get back into bed and wrap yourself around him.
“Mmm,” he says, his voice huskier than usual, from hours of deep slumber.
“Mmm yourself.” You kiss his shoulder, smooth back his hair. “How was it?”
“Y’know,” he drawls sleepily.
“How many seconds?”
“Eight.” You hear the smile in his voice.
“Impressive. The bull gave you a few souvenirs, though, didn’t he.” You kiss your fingers over his skin.
Rhett groans into the pillow. “Was an ornery bastard. Stubborn as all hell.”
“Oh yeah? Who does that remind you of?”
He laughs softly, turns to face you. There’s a sleep crease in his cheek and it’s cute. You adore seeing him like this, sleepy, vulnerable. Yours.
“Come over here and say that,” he teases.
“How about I come over here and kiss you, instead?”
“I’d like that,” he drawls.
You shuffle over so you’re closer. The body heat this man gives off is insane. You stroke one gentle finger over the pink-edged scratch on his shoulder. “Does it hurt?”
He grunts non-committally. “Some.”
“Will it help if I kiss it better?”
“Absolutely.”
You lean up on your elbows and brush your lips ever so softly across the healing skin. Rhett tenses for a second and then relaxes into the kiss.
“Best medicine,” he rumbles.
It’s raining outside. The drops patter softly on the bedroom window, but you’re warm and cosy inside, cocooned with the man you love. The early morning light bathes his lean, muscular back, drapes him in bright cloud and grey shadow. He’s so beautiful. Was he always this beautiful? Somehow made more gorgeous by his scars, like kintsugi in human form.
“I’d bottle it for you, if I could,” you say against the dip where his neck and shoulder meet.
He mmms his approval. “It’d be priceless.”
“Well, lucky for you, it wouldn’t be for sale. I’d make it just for you.”
You continue your exploration of his back. His skin is warm, mostly smooth but for the ridges of scars and bumps of bruises or newly healed cuts. He sighs as you press your lips reverently to each one, and you can feel his body relax, muscle by muscle, as you show him your love in this intimate, wordless way.
You reach a long-healed cut in the small of his back, press your lips above it and then along the whitened skin where the scab used to rest. When you smooth your hands over Rhett’s shoulders, massaging the big muscles there, he makes a noise that sounds a little like a sob.
You hesitate, but he says nothing, and then, when you gently knead the soreness from him, he murmurs, the syllables a little broken, “please.”
“I got you, baby boy,” you say, and he lets out a long sigh, like he was just waiting to hear that.
For a little while - you lose track of time - you work him over until he’s putty under you. Knead the big knots and gently rub at the little ones. Brush your lips over new scars and old. Murmur how handsome he is. How you love every one of these little imperfections, because they’re his, and you wouldn’t change him for all the money in the known world.
You straddle him to work him over more effectively, using your weight to help you squeeze his big trapeze muscles, and lean down to kiss the soft fall of his hair.
Then you notice it.
He’s bucking into the mattress. Just little moves of his hips, so slight you might have missed it.
“Something you need?” you whisper into his ear.
He whines a little. It’s a needy sound you rarely hear from him, and it instantly makes you liquid with desire.
“You,” he manages to grind out. “Your hands’re drivin’ me crazy. Can’t touch like this.”
“I don’t want you to touch. I want you to relax.”
He huffs out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-groan. “If I get any more relaxed I’ll be a puddle. Let me touch you. Or touch me. For Christ’s sake.”
You grin at the power you have over him. “I am touching you.”
He grinds his hips into the mattress. “You know fuckin’ well what I mean.”
And he’s so pretty like this, eyes closed and lashes long on his incredible cheekbones, hands by his sides curled into fists, that you give in. You clamber off him.
“Turn over, baby boy.”
He does as you ask, and you slide down his body, easing the black boxers down his hips. He mutters your name like a prayer as you kiss the tip of his aching cock and then take him into the heat of your mouth. Expletives fall from his lips and he buries his hands in your hair. “Holy Christ,” he grates out. “Don’t stop. Fuck.”
You stretch out on the remainder of the bed, get comfy; swirl your tongue around him like he’s a fine ice cream. He bucks under you.
You stop blowing him just long enough to say, “think you can hang on for eight seconds, cowboy?” and then you go to town. You curl your tongue how he likes, use your free hand to stroke that sensitive spot behind his balls, jerk his shaft hard and fast how you’ve watched him do it to himself.
He’s gone in just a few heartbeats, spilling on to your tongue with a deep groan of your name.
You swallow everything he gives you, tongue him until he’s shuddering from over sensitivity. He tugs gently at your hair and you wiggle up the bed, snuggle into him.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says at length, kissing you. His eyes drift closed. “I swear I’ll return the favour.”
“We’ve got all day.” You settle into him. The pieces of you fit the pieces of him perfectly. “It’ll keep.”
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Tagging @juniebugg @green-socks @lorecraft @nerdysuperchick @hederasgarden @callsign-phoenix @sebsxphia @hoe-on-the-range @tallrock35 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @therebeccaw @peakyrogers @lawfulgranola @cowboybarbie
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Round two, by popular demand of @commander-krios and @viennen, lol.
BOLD the FACTS
Everyone's favorite wet alley cat disaster (affectionate), Leo!
Some caution labels for mentions of PTSD, drug use related to mental illness, and struggling with heteronormativity.
PERSONAL
Financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty
Leo identifies as Dash's pathetic little stray alley cat. Before cashing in on Nok Drayen's treasure, Leo's... kind of in-debt with the Black Sun for "damages and defamation." Risha... handles their official finances. Because Leo's ah. just not great with balancing.
Medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non-applicable
He has selective hearing honed as the eldest son of his family and the Family Disappointment, but cybernetic implants help somewhat counterbalance hearing loss in his right ear from a deployment during his army service tenure that killed the rest of his unit. Leo is also something of a chronic insomniac, likely tied to undiagnosed and untreated PTSD.
Class or Caste: upper / middle / working / unsure / other
From an upper-middle to upper class Imperial family prior to his defection to Republic space, but given his work as a smuggler and for odd jobs to make ends meet and help Dash pay rent since taking him in, he's far from such a lifestyle now. And he's just fine with that.
Education: qualified / unqualified / studying / other
Believe it or not, he did finish his medic training. I promise.
Criminal Record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet / yes, but charges were dismissed
Would be wanted for desertion and treason if the Imperial Army knew he was alive [cough]. Has otherwise started a mild history with local security forces on Coruscant between scrapping with the Black Suns and getting his arm twisted into smuggling for them. And there is the perfectly legal transport services. And the absolutely certified stimulants and adrenals he's definitely not toyed with at home.
FAMILY
Children: had a child or children / has no children / wants children
Dash, he hasn't thought about it. He might be open to the idea. He'd also be convinced he's an absolute disaster, so are you certain?
Relationship with Family: close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased
He's close with his younger sister, Liv, though being on now-opposite sides of the lines at least in practice has made it more difficult to keep up with her. His older sister is convinced he was a menace and bad influence and his younger brother's just disappointed in him. Press F, etc. etc.
Affiliation: orphaned / abandoned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable
And officially declared Killed in Action. Love Imperial families <3
TRAITS & TENDENCIES
♦ extroverted / introverted / in-between
♦ disorganized / organized / in-between
♦ close-minded / open-minded / in-between
♦ calm / anxious / in-between / highly contextual
♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in-between
♦ cautious / reckless / in-between / highly contextual
[Coughs] Hypocrite.
♦ patient / impatient / in-between
♦ outspoken / reserved / in-between / highly contextual
♦ leader / follower / in-between
♦ empathetic / vicious bastard / in-between
♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in-between
♦ traditional / modern / in-between
♦ hard-working / lazy / in-between
♦ cultured / uncultured / in-between / unknown
♦ loyal / disloyal / in-between / unknown
Wet alley kitten in a box bonds with Certain People, still ornery years later with them, but, in the end, loyal to His People and loyal to doing right by one's self.
♦ faithful / unfaithful / in-between / unknown
Entirely disconnecting from the strict lines of his raising in a somewhat prominent Imperial family is difficult and the only constants he's really let himself rely on wholly is his own blaster, his sister Liv, and his relationship with Dash. He'd do a lot for them and he doesn't forge that kind of deep trust very easily. So they're always a priority in... most of his decision making. When he's, y'know, not stuck in his own doubts.
BELIEFS
Faith: monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic
The Force... exists. He'd like if it continued to have nothin' to do with him, though. The Jedi can keep their... artifacts and trinkets or whatever. And preferably the Sith will just. Not.
Belief in Ghosts or Spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking
Belief in an Afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking
Belief in Reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking
Belief in Aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care
Religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious
Philosophical: yes / no / highly contextual
SEXUALITY & ROMANCE
Sexuality: heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual
Sex: sex-repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless
Romance: romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless / romance suspicious
Sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious
Experienced as in certainly has had experience. Not all of it has been had under a sound and sober mindset, but it sure has happened.
Potential Sexual Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all
Potential Romantic Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all
Heteronormativity had its impact; Leo's flirted with and had some short relationships with females, but nothing that ever lasted and nothing that ever felt right for him. Part of what takes him so long to puzzle out his feelings for Dash is certainly not wanting to ruin a friendship, but it was also a lot about expectations he hadn't exactly grappled with still... trying to fulfill.
ABILITIES
Combat Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none
Literacy Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none
Artistic Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none
Technical Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none
HABITS
Drinking Alcohol: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / alcoholic
Smoking: tried it / trying to quit / quit / never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / chain-smoker
Recreational Drugs: tried some / never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / addict / former addict
Medicinal Drugs: never / no longer needs medication / some medication needed / frequently / to excess
Leo has blurred the line at times between recreational and medicinal use and experimentation. Generally related to his insomnia and PTSD, but also generally in the place of actual medical diagnosis and treatment.
Unhealthy Food: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / binge eater
Splurge Spending: never / sometimes / frequently / shopaholic
Gambling: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / compulsive gamble
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raise a little hell
Pairing: John Marston x reader
Summary: You, John, and Arthur go out on the town after a successful score. Of course you couldn’t leave it at just one drink.
Warnings: Alcohol mention, canon-typical alcohol use/abuse, shenanigans
Word count: 1,240
A/N: Short and sweet to brace you for the upcoming angst 😘
Series masterlist • AO3
—
The saloon is crowded when you and the boys arrive. Laughter and conversation spill onto the street where you stand hitching your horses. Someone inside plays a jaunty piano tune. Through the window glow you watch patrons dance, eat, drink, sing. The people leaning porchside with lit cigars in their mouths tip a hat and half a smile your way.
Evening closes in on this little town nestled into the wilderness of the West.
The vast darkness that surrounds you is held at bay by the lanterns within, a gentle embrace of artificial light. It welcomes you with open arms, and you’re quick to fall into it with easy grins and pockets full of cash just begging to be spent. The three of you are still riding the high of a successful stagecoach robbery, and though you’re meant to be lying low on your return to camp you all agreed some celebration was in order. With John and Arthur involved, that can mean only one thing; drinks.
“Bartender!” Arthur calls the moment he passes the threshold with a wolfish grin. “Let’s see that top shelf.”
The barkeep rolls his eyes at your rowdy youth, but when Arthur slaps a fistfull of bills on the counter he’s quick to jump on those drinks. Three shot glasses slide down to your spot at the end of the bar, black label and deep amber. You turn to the boys with a grin of your own, clinking the glasses together before tapping them on the bartop and swallowing the shots down.
It burns smooth and strong the way only good whiskey can, lights a fire in your belly and an ember in your eye.
“Cheers to a job well done, boys,” you say.
“Cheers to money, and lots of it,” John adds.
“Cheers to things going according to plan, for once,” Arthur laughs and throws an arm around you both. “You kids made me proud today.”
John wrinkles his nose and shoves him off. “Shut up. You’re barely older than us.”
“Still counts, Johnny Boy.”
You laugh at the looks on their faces and order another round.
—
The drinks go down easy, then easier, ‘til whiskey might as well be water. You can’t quite remember how many you’ve had, but the world has gone a little fuzzy and a lot brighter. Your face hurts from smiling.
John is across the room playing poker - badly. There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks from the drink that softens the sharpness of his features. The locals love him, laugh at all his terrible jokes and smile along with his stories. You suspect it’s largely due to how much money they’re winning off him; Every time he has a good hand he turns around to flash a goofy grin your way. You can’t help but return it even as you laugh at him. Arthur is just as amused beside you.
“You know,” he says, “that boy really does like you.”
“I sure hope so. We’re friends. Best friends, maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe.” There’s a knowing glint in Arthur’s eyes even the haze of alcohol can’t dull. It makes you squirm in place. “You’re lucky, is all I mean. Took a lot longer for me an’ him to get on. Hell, sometimes we still don’t.”
You snort a laugh into your beer bottle. “That’s ‘cause you’re an ornery bastard, Arthur Morgan.”
“Oh yeah? And what are you?”
“Delightful.”
The comment earns you a laugh, surprised but genuine.
“Okay, sure, the sun just shines out your ass, don’t it.”
You clink your bottle to his with a smirk. “I’ll drink to that.”
—
You’re leaned against a back wall in a drunken smog trying and failing to convince one of the working girls to come upstairs with you when you hear the unmistakable sound of glass shattering and Arthur yelling.
Goddamn it.
“S’cuse me jus’ one moment,” you slur. She rolls her painted eyes and scoffs her painted mouth, but you’ve already turned toward the commotion.
It takes all of two seconds for you to register that Arthur has a man by the hair and John is cornered by two others - either his friends or sympathetic bystanders. It’s all you need to stride across the room, roll your sleeves to your elbows, and start swinging.
The fight comes to you in fragments. Someone’s thick forearm around your neck, your teeth sinking in and the taste of blood in your mouth. Dark spots dancing across your vision from a broken nose, the feeling of another man’s cartilage crunching under your fist. Uncontrollable, insane laughter bubbling out of your bloodied mouth between dodged punches. The return of that laughter from your opponents before they slap a firm hand on your shoulder and declare that you’re alright.
“Not so bad for a bunch’a no-good hooligans! You kids sure can pack a punch.”
You think Arthur buys the entire saloon a round of drinks.
It’s hard to remember because he definitely orders plenty for you.
—
The piano player lands on his ass with a thunk and a drunken giggle. Arthur promptly takes his place on the bench and begins playing what you think, distantly, is meant to be the tune of ‘Buffalo Gals’.
He doesn’t hit a single note - doesn’t really do more than ham-fistedly bang along the keys - but you and John sing along at the top of your lungs anyhow. It’s awful and off-key and you slur the verses together in a drunken rasp.
Perfect, is what it feels like. Perfect.
John’s wiry body radiates just enough heat, his arm slung loose around your shoulders like it belongs there. You make the mistake of looking over at him and swear your heart stops. His smile is wide and dopey when he notices you, flushed with good humor and several rounds of drinks too many, and you know the one you reflect back on him is that much wider and dopier.
What a pair you are. Over-served idiots.
He really is your best friend, though. Your heart aches with the fullness of it. With the knowledge it will never be anything more. Maybe the love you have for him wouldn’t be the same without the hurt, locked somewhere deep in your chest, but you don’t think you’ll ever know.
So you smile that much wider and sing even louder and tell yourself that this is good. It’s enough. To have him singing by your side is enough.
—
They kick you out at some point. At least, you remember landing face-first in the street, howling something fierce from the busted nose you’d earned earlier. Arthur laughs, the bastard.
Things after that are… fuzzy.
Someone yells at you for being too loud. One of you flashes a rude gesture while another one takes a piss in the street, laughing. All of you stumbling half-blind and boneless away from something that chases you.
Then nothing.
—
Midafternoon sun streams through your eyelids, forcing you awake. The blinding brightness on top of a pounding headache leaves you hissing out a wince. Your nose aches, too, and your stomach is in pieces.
The past twenty-four hours hide behind the catalogue of misery you’re experiencing, but other things slowly start to fall into place. First, that you’re snuggled between Arthur and John. Second, that you’re caked in mud. And third, with dawning horror, that you’re lying in the middle of someone’s sheep pen.
Last time you’ll ever go drinking with these idiots.
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✪ PARTNERS MUST BE 18 OR OVER ✪
✎ INTRO
Sheb | 27 | He/They | ENG
I'm pretty new to the rp scene. Started on a whim in 2022 and fell in love with it! I'm not a beginner writer though, and I have about 15 years of fiction, fanfiction, and comic scripting under my belt to prove it!
✎ 3rd person, semi-lit to lit. No pressure for timely responses. VERY open to novel-length rps and long, convoluted AUs and plot lines. Will happily keep going until one of us dies.
WILL DO - Adult content (must be over 21), angst, fluff, light gore (think slightly above PG-13), villains, OCxOC, AUs, crossovers
WILL NOT DO - incest/pedo/zoo, self harm, suicide, age regression, bodily waste, homophobia/transphobia/racism/sexism/bigotry of any kind (EVEN if its fictional! I just don't want to), drugs, non-con
ALL smut and romance rp will require clear consent and all parties may revoke consent at any time for any reason.
Exclusively on Discord, Tupperbox or similar preferred.
DM if interested! ૮ • ﻌ - ა
OCs and Fandoms under cut
✎ OCs
Sedgewick Wolke - Alien, 30s, He/Him. Nerd, out of touch, well-meaning, gay. Imprisoned for 8 years after accidentally destroying his kind (whoops!). Trying to make up for it all, needs everyone all day long to like him so much.
Sybil Wolke - Alien, 20s, She/Her. Cunning, dry wit, impulsive, will kill you, bisexual. Thrust into leadership after 90% of her kind was killed, bearer of the curse (chosen from birth to be a messiah. She's handling it really well.) Sedge's sister.
Rin - Wolf, Adult, She/Her. Tough, kind, used to looking our for herself. Bastard child with a strained relationship with her dad, but knows how to swing a staff.
Neska - Wolf, 20s, He/Him. Gooey center with a tough outer shell. Was born to breed new gods and die a horrible violent death by said gods. Mama's boy, large build but frail health.
Ha Forte - "Catgirl" (alien), 30s, She/Her. Rough and tumble, but very short with most of her weight in her tail. Pansexual. Researcher on earth, unfortunately landed in rural Michigan. Something of a tinkerer.
Sophia - Lesser Gryphon, 50s, She/Her. Lesbian. Ornery, crotchety, and desperately lonely. Doesn't like to talk about her past much and prefers to be left alone. Has a soft spot for kids, though.
Harley "Happiness" Stermann - Star Entity, 20s, He/They. Pansexual. Egomaniac, paranoid, flashy, has done things he's not proud of. Has a strained relationship with the truth.
Maxim "Mania" Stermann - Star Entity, 20s, He/They. Pansexual. Even worse than Harley, but doesn't feel any shame about it. Stereotypical villain, loves violence and bloodshed. Can be tamed, but not recommended. Harley's brother.
All my OCs are open to be shipped with yours if you want!
✎ FANDOMS
Wandersong - Miriam mainly, but will happily be Kiwi or Audrey, or any minor characters as needed. LOVE Mirikiwi, Audwi, RGB!! And AUs!
Adventure Time - Ice King / Simon Petrikov is my preferred role, but still flexible. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO WINTERKOV/SIMONCEST WITH ME!! Petricrazy and Wintergrof are also great!
Don't Starve (Together) - If you want Maxwell to berate you for thousands of words, I'm your man! I also like being Wes and Wilson. LOOOOVE Maxwil and Wilwes!!
Homestar Runner - Strong Bad main, yet flexible here too. More than willing to rp my OverloadAU as Homestar. STRONGSTAR NATION!!!
Send me an ask or DM me if you're interested! I might even doodle scenes from rps winkwonk
#rp intro#roleplay#rp search#wandersong#adventure time#dont starve#dont starve together#homestar runner#oc rp#fandom rp#strongstar#winterkov#simoncest#mirikiwi#rgb#petricrazy#maxwil#wilwes
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ayo heard you take requests any chance i could get snatcher x reader whos just as much of a smug bastard as him and they just end up playfully teasing each other
~~~~~~~~~~
~𝕾𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗 x Bratty!Reader Headcanons~
~~~~~~~~~~
I PUT BRATTY BECAUSE THAT IS BRATTY BEHAVIOR AND I LOVE BRATTY BEHAVIOR. BRAT SNATCHER WITH HIS BRAT DARLING 🤩
~Enjoy~
★★★★
𝕾𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗
★★★★
~Okay let me just start off by saying HE LOVES YOU OMG.
~He can poke at you and you poke right back (both with words and physically)
~You and Snatcher have a ton of inside jokes that you both reference constantly, and if somebody says something that reminds you of one of your inside jokes, you and he look at each other at the same time like "are you thinking what I'm thinking"
~He's always excited to see you and he greets you even louder than he greets other people.
~Even if he's tired, he'll keep his eyes shut and mumble teasing little jabs at you.
~Then he opens an eye to see your reaction
~He gets silly and ornery, too, poking at you to tickle you randomly while continuing talking as if he isn't being a brat and trying to make you laugh.
~He'll flick the back of your head and disappear before you spot him.
~Will dramatically pretend to die when you tease him, will pretend to be offended, or will just straight up cackle and get excited to tease you back
~You get him in a silly mood! He always loves the way you tease him and he teases you to keep the relationship fun and interesting, it never gets boring to him. There's always something to joke around about. You make his jack-o'-lantern smile get even bigger just by existing.
~~~~~~~~~~
I LOVE THIS REQUEST LMAO THANK YOU
~~~~~~~~~~
Request Guidelines!
~~~~~~~~~~
Discord Server! Here you can roleplay with and as your favorite characters, get updates on my fanfiction, and get sneak peaks for my upcoming videogames!:
~~~~~~~~~~
~Love, PinkBoots
#snatcher#a hat in time#ahit#snatcher ahit#snatcher a hat in time#snatcher x reader#a hat in time x reader#ahit x reader#snatcher a hat in time x reader
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Can you do a headcanon dump, I’m curious to hear 👀
I have so many that tumblr threw an error and broke down and deleted all the things I wrote so lets see if I can be less verbose (impossible.) My thoughts are mostly fleshing the fuck out of the Phillips family because I love them.
Samuel Phillips's older siblings were from his father's first wife, who died. While still young, his own mother dies in childbirth giving birth to a stillborn daughter.
After this, he's treated poorly by his dad and siblings. He gets really into exploration and new worlds as a way to cope, and he also finds natural talent as a swordsman and horseman, but nothing he excels at is ever enough.
As an adolescent, he forms a strong father-son surrogate bond with his fencing tutor, a wizened old bachelor and veteran of Queen Anne's War (? I need to look at the timeline to see if this works)
Through a mutual friend of his fencing tutor, he is introduced to the idea of joining the army as a light dragoon.
His father is furious at this decision, but by this point, 20-something Sammy Phillips is thrilled to do anything to stick it to the ornery old bastard.
------
I don't have as much fleshed out for Lady Phillips, since most of my headcanons have revolved around Major Phillips, but I have some bits.
She's the eldest daughter of a new-rich merchant.
Her name is Eliza. I also named Mrs. Radcliffe Eliza. The two Elizas became best friends forever at the age of four because they were both named Eliza. This is how it goes when you are four.
The future Mrs. Radcliffe is a ho, but her parents are spacey as hell so she does what she wants. Eliza's parents are more parenty, but still reasonable. Eliza gets bit by the rebellion bug all the same.
Our Eliza and Samuel meet at a ball that they're both attending, although the Elizas kind of maybe crashed the ball. Just a little bit. I need to sort out how.
Our Eliza and Samuel get shotgun wedding'd, although they do love each other.
Him and Eliza have trouble conceiving, and he's then shipped off to war.
He gets wounded heroically and sent back to Britain for a bit - and to be knighted! - where he convalesces and they finally have Sarah. He still has a hankering for war - and some unfinished bidness - and manages to return, despite the wound in his shoulder hampering some of his movement.
The situation in North America is looking good for Britain politically, but its turned very ugly.
When the war is over he comes back to see his infant daughter and breaks down. She looks alot like him - but, more specifically, she looks like his mother, with some of Eliza's features.
Despite loving his family, he's become restless with PTSD and can't resist the call to go back to America. When word of Pontiac's war reaches him, he's practically chomping at the bit to return.
What he returns to is even more frustrating for him, and it also begins his friendship/working relationship with the Shawnee.
He goes back one more time to Britain, but by now is totally over it. His relationship with Eliza is in tatters and Sarah is starting to show some teenage angst. He leaves for a job with the Hudson's Bay Company - which he rapidly abandons to go land speculating.
------
My headcanons for LK-timeline and post-LK are a bit simpler
Lady Phillips, to cope with the stress of everything, became an avid gardener and illustrator of plants in Britain. She brings this with her to America when she moves and, eventually, decides to curate and publish a ladies' gardening magazine with the help of James' printing company.
James is a pigeon guy. He got interested in them when he was living in the streets. Later in life he breeds and races pigeons. Sarah originally wasn't thrilled but turns into the Dads Who Did Not Want Pets meme.
James is also able to sing - not amazingly, but also can hold a tune. When he and Sarah have babies, he discovers he loves singing them lullabies and insists on it.
James will also read them humanist literature because of course he does.
TBH I envision he and Sarah having only daughters, but that is largely due to the fact that I am extremely partial to Family With Only Daughters vibes (myself being a member of a Family With Only Daughters.)
James is completely incapable of denying any of his children anything. It is a problem.
I also imagine they had a little bit of trouble having kids, but they manage to have a few anyway.
Major Phillips is a dry, aloof bastard and at first James doesn't know how to deal with the humor and the stand-offishness, but Major Phillips does grow to like James.
Grandpa Phillips, though not fully able to do fencing any more due to injuries he sustained in war, still has a sword collection.
He also loves to play with his granddaughters, possibly making up for all the time he lost with his own daughter.
James is extremely anxious to ask for Sarah's hand, until Major Phillips point blank tells him to.
Henri doesn't stay in France for long and comes back to be Uncle Henri to the Hillips babies. They love him because of his hijinks and the fact he's always bringing them bonbons and little toys and such.
Major Phillips meets Henri and has no idea what to make of him.
Henri becomes a baker. Because I said so, thats why.
Mrs. Radcliffe and her husband are 18th century swingers. You can't tell me that woman doesn't have the look and mien of a swinger.
Lady Phillips is extremely pissed at Major Phillips for a very long time for good reason. She moves from their old home to America mostly for Sarah, but also because she has no real say in the matter.
Y'all have heard my James and Sarah are horsegirls headcannon. To expand on it, they will sometimes race when they're feeling flirty.
Both of them come to Caesar to talk about their feelings, but especially James. James is not very subtle about it and at least Henri and Moses know he's doing it.
James eventually adopts Caesar and he lives out his final years in good care getting fat on grass.
During the postmaster general timeframe, Sarah's introduced to a neighbor's feisty pony, Flip. She eventually adopts him.
Sarah and James first bone at Yorktown. tbh.
Udney is a himbo. I'm 50/50 on him and Sarah actually messing around a little at one point pre-James courtship - Sarah being mad at James for whatever reason, Udney 100% being her type, and teenagers/young adults not being particularly well-equipped for self control.
I also don't like first-time energies in ships - a quirk of mine - so I've also played around with James having a rebound he doesn't realize is a rebound when Sarah goes to Britain, because again. Teenagers/young adults sometimes make Decisions.
----
Anyway these are just some of my headcanons.
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taxi driver is another fun episode
any episode that has bobby in it can't be all bad, and especially after s7, i adore getting to see bobby. i love that hell hasn't changed him--he's still the same ornery bastard that he's always been, and i love him for that.
naomi's conversation with dean! she's such a master manipulator! (which is why i think she's a great villain to use in fics!) she's using dean's concern about cas to manipulate dean into trying to turn cas in. she's super gaslighting dean and cas both right here, and she's so good at it. "I admire your loyalty. i only wish he felt the same" twist the knife a little more why don't you!
and BENNY! all of dean's boyfriends are so willing to die for him, and benny is no exception. we never truly deserved benny! and he just so easily gives himself up for dean--just because dean ASKED him to.
and dean has to do the deed. he has to look benny in the eyes and ask him to die for him and he has to look him in the eyes when he kills him and then he has to carry around the knowledge that benny isn't coming back and it's partially his fault
*weeps in dean winchester*
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Part 10 here: "Now, let the Fun Begin!" — The Unexpected - Part 10 (tumblr.com)
The Unexpected - Final
Cairo International Airport, Egypt the next morning
After a long night, the fight has ended, DIO was destroyed, and his criminal empire is in shambles. But many tears were shed that day due to the death of many innocent lives, as well as three heroes who risked their lives for an ill mother, leaving only four alive.
Polnareff: *Packing his things*
Jotaro: *Sees Medea coming* There she is.
Medea: *Walks up the men, suitcase in hand, covered in bandages, dried tears on her face, and her missing arm being replaced by a robotic prosthetic* ......
Jotaro: Where have you been? You almost got left behind.
Medea: .... Nowhere, just wanted to pack my things at the mansion. As well as say goodbye to an old friend for everything he's done for us. *Her ear glistens red, she was wearing Kakyoin's earrings.*
Jotaro: .... I'll miss him to.
Joseph: How's the new arm treating you?
Medea: ....... *Lifts her right arm, her right hand spazzed out a little before straightening out*.... It'll take some time getting used to, but I think I can manage... I guess you and I are even now.
Joseph: Speaking of which, I just got a call from the Speedwagon Foundation. Jason's parents found out what he tried to do to me and disowned him, they're dropping all charges against you so now you can return to California. Your parents really wanted to see you again.
Medea: *Surprised*.... *Sadly smiles* I'm so glad to hear that but... I did a lot of awful things under DIO's name that got almost every country in Asia on my bad side, there's no way America would welcome a criminal like me anyway.
Polnareff: Where would you be going then?
Medea: I'm going with Jotaro to Japan, I want to start a new life there with my baby, I want to give them a normal life that I couldn't... Besides, I had a promise to keep for a friend of mine.
Joseph: You sure? Your folks really missed you.
Medea: I'm sure, but when you go home, could you tell my parents that I'll always love them?
Joseph: ...Sure thing... *To Polnareff* So you're really going back to France, Polnareff?... This maybe a bit straightforward, but your family's gone, why don't you come back with me to New York?
Polnareff: *He smiles as he stood up* Mr. Joestar, I know they're gone, but France is the only home I've ever known... it's filled with memories, it's a place I must return to no matter where I go. BUT if you ever need anything, all you have to do is call and I'll be there in a heartbeat.
Joseph: .......We're going to miss you buddy.
Polnareff: .... *Smiles tearfully* It wasn't easy that's for damn sure, but I've had a hell of a time and I'm lucky to be on this adventure with you guys.
Jotaro and Medea: *Smiling at Polnareff*
Joseph: *Looks down* Remember, we're a team, and that's never going to change.
intercom: *Female voice* Calling all passengers to France international airlines flight 92 to France. Please proceed to gate 18
Polnareff: *Gives his three friends a group hug, as they all hugged him back, he then smirks at Joseph* À bientôt you ornery bastard, live long and happy. *To Jotaro and Medea* And you his moody Grandson and cocky Tomboy, you better not forget me. :-)
Joseph: *Smirking* We'll meet again, that is of course you don't hate my guts by then, stubborn jackass. :-)
Jotaro: *Smiling* We wouldn't be able to forget about you even if we wanted to, Polnareff. You be well. :-)
Medea: I'm lucky to have a gobshite like you as my brother. :-)
Polnareff: *Takes his bag with him* Au revoir.
Joseph: Yeah.
Medea: *Waves at him* Slán go deo.
Jotaro: *Waves to* See ya later.
And so they went their separate ways, finally putting an end to the blight that destroyed the Joestars 100 years ago once and for all and allowing Jonathan Joestar to rest on peace.
Tachibana household - Morioh, Japan 1999
At the Tachibana house, it was sunset, and things were sort of quiet. Medea, now 30 years old, is making dinner reserved for a large group of people.
Medea: *Cooking*....
*DING DONG*
Medea: Can someone get that please? I got hot food.
Keiji: You got it, babe.
Medea: Thank yoooou~
Keiji: *Goes to the door and answers it* Hey, Tomo-chan, Josuke!
Tomoko *Hugs him* Heeeey Kei-kun.
Josuke: *Bows to him* Evening Mr. Tachibana.
Noriko: *Comes running down the hall* ONI-CHAAAN! *Hugs Josuke*
Josuke: Hey, Noriko. *Messes with her hair*
Medea: *Comes in with food in hand* Welcome everyone, I'm glad you made it. I just got food ready.
Josuke: Oh good, I'm starving. *Tomoko smacks his head* Whaaaat?
Medea: Oh Noriko, would you mind telling your sister dinner's just about done?
Noriko: Okaaaay! *Noriko runs to the bedrooms, there she comes across a room labeled "sisters"* Onee-Chan...Stefani, mama says that dinner's ready.
Stefani: *Sitting in the room doing her schoolwork, she's a small 10-year-old British-American girl with short messy brown hair, golden eyes, and a star birthmark on her right shoulder* .... *Turns to her half-sister* Sure, Nori-chan...I'll be right there.
THE END
*Stefani - named after Gwen Stefani
#jojo's bizarre adventure#jojo oc#oc#ocs#jotaro kujo#jean pierre polnareff#joseph joestar#tomoko higashikata#josuke higashikata#drabble#alternate timeline
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katsuki casually drop 'i love you' out of nowhere at izuku then the next day acts completely normal around him as it didn't happened while izuku is go into hysteric ok so maybe it was a dream??? only for katsuki to stop by his room, say i love you again and LEAVE. then he does it again the next day and THE NEXT DAY casually over dinner, after izuku got out of a bath, on their morning run, and one time even in the middle of class whispered to his ears only but it's usually when they're alone so izuku has no one to confirm it but himself.
like it's so bizarre, out of character of katsuki, and unprompted with no lead up or even any follow up to the casual confession that izuku is kinda freak out at first and thinks it's some sick, terrible prank but katsuki expects nothing and doesn't taunt him with it at all. when izuku finally approach him, demanding what kind of weird harassment is this?? katsuki gets annoy bc he's a bastard he knows but he wouldn't ever play such cruel joke esp on izuku who he already has such a complicated history. he's not trying to fuck up what they have now.
he knows he doesn't deserve izuku right now bc there's a lot of things he need to still work on but his feelings for izuku is so enormous and heavy that it's bursting at the seam; he's going to explode if he doesn't express it so this is the only way he knows how to let it out. it's just something he needs, something katsuki has to get off his chest and after hearing it daily now izuku just kinda accept it?? like now he finds himself looking forward to hearing katsuki say 'i love you' to him and only him that those words start to take root in his heart. So Katsuki is still ornery, a dick, & competitive with izuku but now there's a secret between them that only they know how everyday katsuki will confess to only to izuku, expecting nothing in return except for the words to one day manifest into reality where izuku will return his feelings.
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