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lovebugism · 4 months

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66. you’re sick and I feel bad because I’m pretty sure i gave it to you, so I bring you some of my great grandmother’s soup and watch movies with you with Eddie Spaghetti please 🥺

ty for requesting!! — eddie makes you soup (like the angel he is) after accidentally getting you sick (friends in love, fluff, 1.5k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

It’s a virtually impossible thing, you realize, to operate like a normal human being when you’re sick.

You’re reduced to a withering thing on your couch, rotting from the inside and out, and drowning in a sea of crumpled-up tissues. In your fever-induced hysteria, you’re pretty sure you’re dying when a knock sounds at your door.

You shout a hoarse “come in” with all the strength you have left. The last person you expect to walk in is Eddie Munson.

He’s wearing smudged eyeliner and a pink smile when enters your living room. His chestnut hair is more wild than you’re used to, but his eyes are made of a familiar melted chocolate. There’s a plastic bag in his pale, ringed hand, full of stuff you can’t make out.

You think he might be an angel.

“Eddie?” you sigh in a tiny voice, scratchy and quiet.

You look at him like no one’s ever looked at him before. Not like you’re excited to see him. No, it’s more than that — it’s like you’re relieved. Like out of a billion people that could’ve stepped through that doorway, you’re happiest that it’s him.

He cowers under the weight of your twinkling, tired gaze.

“Yeah. Hi. Sorry to, like, come over without calling or anything,” he apologizes, laughing awkwardly as he shifts his weight on his dirty sneakers. “But I felt a little bad about getting you sick at Steve’s the other night. I was gonna stay home, but Dustin wanted me to go. He insisted on it, actually—”

He’s rambling like an idiot, making a total fool of himself. He doesn’t know why you’re smiling so gently at him like you find it all endearing. “It’s not your fault, Eds,” you assure, voice slightly stuffy, as you shake your head at him.

“Well, it kinda is, actually, so…” Another awkward laugh tumbles from his smiling mouth. In his shyness, his gaze flits from yours to the bag in his hand. “I, uh— I wanted to do something nice, you know? Like, make you soup or something. But then I realized I don’t actually know how to cook, so I went to the store and got some of the canned stuff.”

“Oh,” you hum, then sniffle. “Thank you, Eddie. That’s— That’s really nice of you.”

“It’s no problem. Really. I can make it for you if you want. Or microwave it, I guess. So you can, you know, rest of whatever.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“I want to.”

“I just don’t want you to get sick,” you agonize, face scrunched with a distant worry.

Eddie grins at your concern and shrugs off every ounce of it. “I already had it. So I’m basically immune at this point, right? I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s how the science works, anyway.”

You laugh for the first time in three days. You forget how sick you are until the action makes your chest ache. Your smile is weighed down by exhaustion, but it doesn’t waver once when you look at him. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Even though your muscles are achy, you manage to walk yourself to the kitchen. You tell Eddie you can put the soup on yourself, but he isn’t having any of it. He walks you back to the couch and warms it up for you — even puts it in a heart-shaped bowl he found in your cabinet, ‘cause he thought it might make you feel a little better.

He tastes it with a separate spoon to make sure it isn’t too hot, then rushes back to your side in record time.

“Thank you,” you murmur when he passes you the newly warmed-up soup. The words come out more scratchy than you mean for them to. You try to clear your throat, but you don’t think it makes it any better.

“Don’t thank me— I’m the reason you’re in this mess,” he laughs and sits on the couch beside you. He keeps a cushion of space between you, lest he get any closer and make you uncomfortable. “So, I’m not, like, above spoon-feeding it to you or anything.”

You try to laugh at his dumb joke. It comes out in a single, hoarse breath that makes your chest sting. “I think I got it from here. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Eddie runs out of stupid things to say and the apartment goes silent.

Your TV plays so low it’s basically on mute, and your neighbors talk on their porch outside — the sound of both gets increasingly louder without either of you talking over them.

He doesn’t know what to say — how to tell you that he’d like to spend more time with you without actually having to say the words. Confessing his schoolboy crush out loud, to the pretty girl he got sick, would be the least metal thing he’s ever done.

“Do you wanna, like, put on a movie or something?” he offers suddenly, rubbing his ringed fingers on his dark jeans to make them feel less clammy. “I can run to Family Video and bother Steve until he lets me take something for free? Unless you’re, like, totally sick of me— which would be totally understandable—”

“No,” you interject with a shake of your head, still trying to smile even though it takes so much energy out of you. “I mean, I’d like that, but…”

“But?” Eddie repeats when you trail off, brows raised behind his fluffy bangs.

You tilt your chin to your chest and peer at him through your lashes. Your eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, still pretty enough to drown in. “Don’t you have a show tonight?” you remind him in a gentle whisper.

His heart would swell at the thought of you knowing his show schedule if it wasn’t already dropping to his ass. He’d nearly forgotten all about it, too worried about you to remember the ten people at The Hideout waiting for him.

“Fuck…” he groans and slumps against the couch. His head tilts back and bears his pretty neck for you. You can see his pale jaw clench and his adam’s apple bob when he swallows. He’s too beautiful for his own good.

“You can go. It’s okay,” you assure gently.

His chocolate eyes melt for you when he opens them again. He looks sincerely apologetic, like leaving you hurts him the most. “I’d totally stay, but—”

“I get it. It’s fine,” you repeat, still grinning ‘cause you don’t know how else to look at him. You duck your sheepish gaze to the bowl in your lap and try to joke. “I’ll survive until tomorrow… I think.”

Eddie sits up again and leans closer to you. You get a better whiff of his musky cologne and the nicotine on his breath. “You better. ‘Cause I’m definitely coming over, and we’re definitely watching a movie, alright? All day until you’re sick of me.”

Your smile grows despite your exhaustion. You feel like this is his way of asking you out — like you’re too sick and he’s too nervous, and he’d love to do it some other way, but this is all he’s got for now. It’s more than enough for you.

“Sure,” you say with a firm nod.

“I can bring you more food, too, if you want! Whatever you feel like— say that word, and you got it.”

You falter for an answer to his sudden question.

He shakes his head. “That’s okay. Call me later if you want. I should be home around ten, if that’s not too late?”

“Okay,” you smile, then clear your throat when the word gets caught there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow— Feel better by then, okay? That’s an order,” he jokes and stands back up again.

He doesn’t know what compels him to kiss you on the cheek — only that it felt right to do it and that he didn’t even realize he was doing it until his lips brushed your warm jaw.

His cinnamon eyes go wide. His rosy mouth falls softly agape. He looks more surprised than you do, but you’re not entirely sure that’s possible. A moment you’ve been thinking about for ages just happened before you could blink.

You don’t think that’s very fair.

Eddie tries to laugh it off. “Forget I just did that… That was— That was really weird. Sorry.”

Your cheeks burn like fire. Not from the fever this time, but from the boy in front of you. From the yearning to feel him close again.

“I’ll talk to you tonight,” you promise, even though your throat still burns. You’re not sure you care too much, anymore. You wanna talk to him until you can’t anymore.

“Yeah,” he sighs, breathless for a reason he can’t name. He walks backwards towards the door. “See you around,” he says finally, before spinning on his sneakers and nearly tripping over your carpet.

You blink, and he’s gone. Again.

Your burning cheek still tingles with the imprint of his mouth. He’d asked you to forget, but you don’t think that’s possible. There’s no forgetting him at all.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: blurbcember

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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Have you heard about this new scam the banks have going? No, I don’t mean all of global capitalism, because that will just take too long to write about in this word hole. What I’m talking about is the purchase of distressed debt.

When someone can’t pay their student debt, or health debt, or student lunch debt, the faceless institution who gave them the money will eventually give up on getting them to pay it. They turn around and sell the rights to that debt to some other faceless institution, one that can afford to put a little more effort into it. Eventually, they give up too, and turn around and sell the bad debt in a big soup of other bad debt to some other, even more vicious asshole, who will turn a profit if they can collect, like, seventeen bucks of it, because that’s what they paid.

On the face of it, this is kind of insulting. How can someone who paid seventeen bucks for your debt turn around and demand that you give them fifty grand for that university degree that taught you several French words for “butthole” but couldn’t help you find a job or even a grad student position? If you think about it a little more, however, this is a grand opportunity. A lot of well-meaning individuals are buying up this debt... and then forgiving it. If you can buy $50k worth of student debt for $17, ripping that shit up will give you a lot more than $17 worth of good karma. Which will maybe convince the universe to give you that small little bit of an edge the next time you need it – negotiating for a good deal on a shitbox, blowing past a state trooper doing a large integer multiple of the speed limit, or getting into some dicey times with a malevolent operator of a logging truck while you’re working on your first screenplay.

Correcting the impulses of usurious monsters sounded like a good idea to get into, in order to benefit the human race. Unfortunately, yours truly is not exactly a fiscal mastermind, and the Banking Types can see him coming from a mile away. Even if I were to hose off the old man stench and hair from a Brooks Brothers suit I found at Goodwill, they’d know instantly that it’s not this year’s style and clam up. This is, of course, where the ominously-named proxy corporation comes in. My shark of an attorney, Max, set one up for me just for the purpose of buying debt, and then doing the corporate equivalent of shitting itself to death. For just a few bucks that I would otherwise have spent on old Plymouths, I helped a couple people out with their struggles.

Did I do it for a good reason? No. Am I telling you this to brag about it? Absolutely not. Is this a big, complicated story, intended to distract you from writing that ticket just long enough for my accomplice to finish cutting the transmission out of your patrol cruiser? You’ll have a lot of time on the walk home to think about it, officer.

#best of

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cloudcountry · 1 year

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shortcake!

Genre/Tropes: Height differences (short reader.)

Summary: for this short, i think it'd be funny if the reader needed to get something from a high shelf and climbed up to get it. his reaction to that can be whatever, it'd be funny if he scolded the reader for not going to him cause he's such a big, tall eel and more safe than stacked stools

Author's Comments: Floyd has definitely balanced on at least ten stools for fun. His record is ten. He's tried to add more and has fallen over.

~~~~~

Floyd was used to doing things other people disapproved of. He was used to being on the receiving end of scolding and accusatory expressions that he found rather boring. You seemed to be his only refuge, his tiny little Shrimpy that understood how he operated. You were funny and adorable, but sometimes you even gave Floyd a run for his chaotically earned money.

“Shrimpyyy, what are you doing on the counter?” he huffed, wrapping his hands around your waist and taking you down with ease, “It’s dangerous up there. You wouldn’t want to slip and hit your head, now would you?”

“Floyd, I was trying to get something! Jade said he needed flour for his cream of mushroom soup so I went to get it for him.” you squirmed, pouting up at him when he didn’t set you on the ground.

He looked up at the cabinets as you dangled in the air, humming thoughtfully.

“Sneaky Jade.” he giggled, pulling you into his chest with too little effort, “Shrimpy, come get me next time, okay? Jade must have put the flour up high to mess with you.”

“Of course he did.” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your legs around his waist, “And here I was looking forward to the octopus dish he promised me.”

“Aww, a little Shrimpy like you wants to eat an octopus?” he laughed, easily grabbing the flour for you, “You’re so devious for such a tiny little thing!”

“I wasn’t gonna eat it in front of Azul! I’m not like you guys!” you huffed, jabbing him in the ribs, “But thank you for grabbing me the flour. I appreciate it.”

“Next time you need something, come get me. I’ll get it for you! You have a big strong eel right here, Shrimpy.” Floyd smiled, revealing his menacing sharp teeth.

“Uh huh. I don’t get to climb stools but you do.” you faked a dramatic sigh before pressing a grateful kiss to his cheek, “Because that’s fair.”

“Shrimpyyyy, you don’t understand. You can climb on me.” he giggled, setting you on the counter so he could pinch your cheeks, “I’m wayyyy more fun than some stools! I can sway and jump and swing you around!”

“Floyd...how is that any more safe than stacking stools on top of one another?” you laughed, staring up at your delighted boyfriend lovingly.

“It’s safe because it’s me. Duh.” he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’d never let you fall. Ya think wood is gonna hold you better than me?”

“No, of course not.” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his middle, “I should really get back to Jade now, though.”

“Awww, you’re gonna leave?” he huffed, throwing his arms around you and nuzzling the top of your head affectionately, “But I don’t want you to.”

“Floyd, I pinky promise I’ll hang out with you after I give Jade this flour.” you said, holding out your pinky as you pulled away.

“Fine.” he grumbled, hooking his pinky with yours.

You cupped his cheeks and pulled him forward, giving him a gentle forehead kiss before you hopped off the counter.

“I’ll be right back.” you smiled up at him, clutching the flour to your chest.

“You better be.” Floyd pouted, waving his pinky in the air, “You promised.”

#auburn's fics <3 #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #short reader #as a tall fanfiction writer whenever i write for short readers im like 👁️#i should write more tall reader content #tall reader content is very rare #octavinelle my beloveds

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stuckasmain · 4 months

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Hal’s deactivation is hard hitting across both the movie and the book. It’s been dissected a million times and likely more in the future. Most recently in the way of Hal having little agency…he has no arms to ward off his attacker or means of defense (but I’d argue killing Frank and the others was his defense, especially in the movie when his reasoning is more ambiguous). I do love the idea this is following and hope to see more of it in the future, however the way I’m approaching it is with a more romantic lense.

The entire lobotomy sequence is heart wrenching and almost worse in the novel purely because we get to see Dave’s thoughts on it. Not only do we hear Hal’s frightened pleas for his life but we get the ‘attacker’ perspective and it’s… an act of mercy.

While there is the themes of survival and violence this is approached with a softer touch. It’s much more that he is putting Hal out of his misery. Ending his suffering. Not putting him down like an animal but rather the harsh decision faced when one has an ill/dying lover.

“The only answer was to cut out the higher centers of this sick but brilliant brain, and to leave the purely automatic regulating systems in operation” 155

After the job is done Dave forgives Hal incredibly quickly once all of the facts are in. He can quickly pull together the mental break that must’ve happened and recognizes that Hal had the very human ‘fight or flight’ response to what he had been through. He had always been treated like a sixth crew member, respected and talked to like anyone else but it is only “post Mortem” that Dave recognizes how human Hal was and that true emotion might be more than theorizing.

“And yet, in one very real sense, he was not alone. Before he could be safe, be must be lonelier still.” 153

The fact that Dave genuinely sees Hal as his last true connection. Even after the murders. How he fights and forgives and comes up with excuses to not have to go through with the enviable because then will he be truly alone… but he also knows logically- Hal isn’t right and can’t be left active. Despite his feelings safety and protocol come first.

Hal is human in Dave’s eyes and it makes things all the more tragic, it’s what turns shutting off functions into lobotomy, into murder. He thinks he won’t feel pain, not because he’s machine but because there’s no sense in the human cortex. So human that his “true” voice is unrecognizable and horrifying.

“Bowman could bare no more. He jerked out the last unit, and Hal was silent forever.” 157

It’s not rage which he makes the final blow, it’s sorrow. It’s pulling the plug.

Some of Hal’s lines in the book particularly, as we get more insight into him as well and some of his pleading. His honest to god confusion and panic because he’s so young and has no idea of sleep and …

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me. . . You are destroying my mind. . . Don’t you understand? I will become childish. . . I will be nothing. . .” 156

I don’t know, I’m becoming borderline incoherent but there’s something here that’s so tender and sorrowful that I have to address it. I’m a sucker for the violence = intimacy metaphor just as anyone but the unwitting murderer is also an angle I have to adore.

Maybe in another life Hal got to be a little gay Victorian with someone to hold his hand on his sick bed rather than be murdered. I just think he deserves better; they both do.

Computer death sad -> he should be fed soup

This is when you know you should go to bed.

#sorry that it’s a bit disconjointed - it glitched during the initial draft and half my wording and idea were lost #hal 9000 #meta #2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso #space odyssey #dave bowman #david bowman #metaphor #science fiction #halman #scene analysis #ramble #a space odyssey #2001 meta

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mochalate · 3 months

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"no body, no crime" ; f!reader/osamu miya Osamu has heard people say it's not the dark itself that anyone's scared of, it's what could be waiting inside it. He thinks that what all fear boils down to, ultimately — exposure to the unknown. (Osamu has never been afraid of the dark, but now he sees it in your eyes.)

w/c: 1.6k ; fluff angst idk, vibes c/w: involuntary unaliving (you and Osamu are fine, dw), abusive relationship (ditto) a/n: just a little break from the two (TWO!! What was I thinking!) longfics I'm outlining/writing. the banner doesn't match the vibe of the fic tbh, but I just love how it came out lol, look how cute the little skull is

The lightbulb dims and flickers.

Onigiri Miya’s kitchen is plunged into a strange, incandescent twilight; and Osamu pauses mid-step, despite the heavy stack of freshly washed plates in his arms.

He’s never been scared of the dark. But there’s something unsettling about the way the space is transformed so easily; how this blurring of the line between light and shadow makes everything that had been familiar not a second ago, seem uncanny.

Osamu sees you look up from the sink you’re cleaning, the motion made staccato by the flickering bulb.

“We really need to replace that thing,” you huff, face obscured by the shadows. “It’s creepy.”

You’re silhouetted against the window above the sink; looking out on the narrow, deserted street behind the restaurant— more a glorified alley than not. It’s dark out, past eleven. The glow from the closest streetlight barely reaches.

“Ya don’t need to be scared when I’m here,” Osamu says with a grin, as he moves towards the rack. “Gonna protect you from the ghosts an’ all.”

The bulb stabilises, and now he has a clear view of the way you roll your eyes at him. “Oh, so our restaurant is haunted now?”

The plates clink as Osamu puts them away, louder than usual in the silence. “I’ve got a Bluebeard type operation going on here, ya see. Really think you’re my first girlfriend?”

You laugh as you return your attention to the sink. “Wow, shame you didn’t open with that line on the first date.” The steel wool makes harsh, scraping squeals as you scrub. “Nothing like reminding a girl her date could be a murderer. Makes everything a little more exciting.”

“Noted for my next victim,” he concedes. “And I’ll order a new bulb when we get home. Didn’t think it was makin’ ya that uncomfortable.”

You smile gratefully at him over your shoulder as you turn on the faucet and give the sink a final rinse. “We need some new knives too. Those kids you were training for the part time work really wore out the ones we have now.”

Osamu nods. “You okay to finish up and meet me outside? I’ll start pullin’ down the shutters.”

You agree, just like you always do.

Emi would fit right in with those ghosts that (did not) haunt Onigiri Miya.

You’re sitting with her at the only occupied table. There’s a light rain tonight, and the raindrops pattering against the windows drown out what little conversation he would have been able to hear from the counter.

She’s a wisp of a woman, huddled under a mud-coloured cardigan that blends into the restaurant’s wood panelling. She sits incredibly still. Her long, dark hair hangs loose around a pale and unmemorable face. Barely there. Almost a trick of the light.

Osamu watches as you take her hand, telling her something urgently. She never raises her eyes from her lap. Her shoulders are hunched, but her face is impassive.

He wonders what she’s thinking.

“Who’s Sadako over there?” Atsumu asks, reaching for another rice ball.

Osamu slaps his hand away. “Are ya paying for any of that? This ain’t a soup kitchen. And lord, yer rude.”

Atsumu withdraws sulkily. “Stingy.”

It’s easy to tell what Atsumu’s thinking. He says everything that crosses his mind; but even when he doesn’t, it’s written all over his face. Growing up with him, Osamu had to learn that people could lie; and lie well.

That woman looks pitiful, is what Atsumu is thinking right now, glancing over his shoulder with furrowed brows. Is she okay?

“That’s her friend,” Osamu says. “From college. Emi.”

“Yeah? What’s her problem?”

“Shitty boyfriend.”

“I thought you were dating—”

Osamu smacks him upside the head.

The new light bulbs come in. Osamu replaces the one in the kitchen, but it still flickers.

He expects you to comment, make a joke about ghosts; but you just keep scrubbing the sink. You haven’t said much at all, today.

The steel wool screams. Osamu’s worried you’ll cut through your gloves.

“Hey,” he says, because he’s not sure what else he can say, “Easy.”

You start, as if jerked out of a trance. “Sorry.”

The silence after, where you stand with your head hanging over the sink, too far away for him to touch, is suffocating and cavernous all at once. He’s afraid to say the wrong thing, and having to watch it echo and bounce, amplifying itself into something grotesque.

“Emi will get justice. They’ll find out who did it.”

You turn on him so suddenly, so violently, that he instinctively takes a step back; even though you’re half his size.

“I know who did it, it was him,” you spit, face venomous and unfamiliar. “If the police would just listen to me and Emi’s sister—”

“He has an alibi,” Osamu reminds you gently. “There’s no proof.”

You blink, and seem to deflate. “Right, no proof. The police can’t do anything.” You chew on your thumbnail as you mumble, speaking more to yourself than to him, the rest of your fingers curled in a fist.

Your anger seems to have evaporated in an instant, quick as the flickering light. You’re you again. At least, that’s what he wants to believe.

He needs to fix that light. It’s making you look damn scary.

Emi’s sister comes by to see you a lot, after they find the body. Osamu’s not sure what you speak to her about. He’s also not sure why he feels like he shouldn’t ask.

It’s been gnawing at him, lately. This feeling of not sure, not knowing. It's always present, always sapping at his strength. It’s the real ghost in Onigiri Miya, only he’s not sure who it’s haunting— him, or you.

You seem different. He finds himself watching you from a distance, trying to understand what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. It used to be easy; a language he was fluent in.

Now, his tongue feels rusty. He can never find the words that feel right.

You don’t speak as much as you did before, either. The silence after closing used to be warm and comfortable, the time he got to spend with you at the end of a bustling day. But now it isn’t calming. It’s tense, as if he’s constantly waiting for something to explosively fill it in.

There’s just you.

“Osamu, what time is it?” you ask, stripping off your gloves. “Could you check my phone? It’s right next to you.”

He looks at you curiously. You usually left it out front with his, charging under the register. Why the change? He can’t bring himself to ask.

“Osamu.” Your voice is stretched taut.

He swallows and hastily taps at your screen. “Ten.” It’s later than he expected.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Is it okay with you if I leave a little early? Emi’s sister invited me to dinner. I forgot to tell you. It’s at eleven. I want to go home and get ready.”

The photographs the detectives showed you at the restaurant last week flash through his mind. He’d wanted to pummel the man for upsetting you that much. “I don’t want you walkin’ alone—”

“I’ll be fine. It’s only ten.”

Osamu notices you don’t wait for him to agree as you gather your things into your purse.

Emi’s boyfriend is missing.

Osamu doesn’t tell the police the knives they’re taking away are almost brand new.

He doesn’t tell them that you took the old ones to the recycling centre two weeks ago.

He tells them you left the restaurant at ten, and that it was eleven thirty when he finished; a little later than usual, but that was to be expected— he didn’t have your help, after all.

He doesn’t tell them it should have been well past midnight.

You don’t say anything at all, merely watching the detective as you wash out the splattered soy stains on a napkin a clumsy customer had been using. The water runs brown.

He can't get Atsumu's words out of his head.

‘Is everything alright between you two?’

Osamu is watching you clean the sink again. He should be mopping the floor tonight, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

‘Sorry, I don't mean to be nosy.”

You turn on the faucet, washing away the soap with a face that’s far too serious for what you’re doing.

‘She just looks like there’s something on her mind lately.’

Did you? Osamu doesn’t know anymore. When did you start feeling like a stranger?

He doesn’t want it to be like this. “I haven’t seen Emi’s sister around—” he starts.

“We decided to stop seeing each other,” you reply, never turning back. “Too painful. For both of us.”

You never told him that. He tries to convince himself it’s only because he didn’t ask, but he never had to, before. Osamu realises he doesn’t even know the sister’s name.

The faucet shuts off, but you just stand there, palms resting on the edge of the sink, head hanging over it. Despite everything, his heart wrenches. When he reaches out to touch your shoulder, you don’t tense like he’d been expecting— like he’d been afraid of.

No, you lean into his touch; and he finds the courage to gently pull you back, turn you to face him. You look at him, really look, for the first time in days. Osamu can’t imagine how he could think your face would ever be unfamiliar to him.

The moment is perfect. He could pretend everything is fine now, he thinks. It wouldn’t even be that hard. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask you to meet him outside, while he gets started on the shutters.

He doesn’t know why he says, “Is there something… I should know?”

Something changes.

Your mouth is a straight line. Neutral.

Impassive.

Just like Emi.

The light bulb flickers.

please like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed :) [my other fics]

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #my fic

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 • 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐈𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

“So if I get missing, these are my last wishes..I hope you get ‘em right, girl if I don’t make it home tonight.”

synopsis: Connie has never been one to pour his emotions out or even wear his heart on his sleeve. But when you two have a much needed heart to heart about his lifestyle and future, he lets you know exactly what’s on his mind. But a deal gone wrong brings his words to fruition far too soon.

content warning and themes: black fem reader, plug connie, dancer reader pet names, angst, mentions of drug use/selling, mentions of death and gun violence, use of AAVE (connie is hc’d as afro-latino in this), heavy language, comfort, pregnancy mention, hospital visit

This is a commission request for @animelover-77! I love Connie and it’s been a minute since I’ve written a full story for him so I’m super excited for this one. Thank you so much for your support, patience and trust in me to create this for you!

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*: .･*:｡.･*:｡.･

sounds of whirring sirens rang from outside of the apartment complex..police vehicles speeding by along with the souped up sports cars they were in pursuit of. It was the unfortunate norm around this neighborhood and the noises oftentimes kept the residents up at night but others? They thrived in this lifestyle. They welcomed the idea of chaos and trouble..including Connie Springer and his girl..his long time ride-or-die (Y/N) (L/N). On the third floor of Paradise Villa; the cream colored and lavender exterior of the high rise apartments were the living quarters and..operational front for the local drug dealer. “Aye (Y/N), mama...hand me that.” alluding to the box of baking soda sitting on the counter top across from you. Your boyfriend, standing at the stove with a spoon in hand and a Pyrex mixing glass on the opposite side. You, on the other hand, were seated at the dinner table but no meal was being served.

Rather, you were nursing a blunt with a spaced out glare over the thud of music softly playing into the background. Feet curled up on the chair, dressed in your bonnet and black shorts with a pink sports bra covering your chest as you thumbed through several stacks of money. Dirty dollars earned in blood by him through various deals right there in their complex and surrounding areas. Everyone knew of his reputation and all of the people that Connie rolled with. They had the entire city underneath their fingers and were making money faster than they could spend it.

It seemed as if it were a pretty lucrative venture and that for the two twenty somethings, it was a reality that only anyone could dream of..but behind that glamor of new clothes, expensive cars, chains and shopping sprees were an entirely separate underbelly of danger, deception and hardships that most couldn’t dare fathom. But here you were, knee deep in this treacherous lifestyle, standing ten toes beside the man you swore you’d do this crazy ride with forever. But as it stood..the way things were going, you couldn’t be so sure if there was a limit on that. If your clock was ticking and that at any time, you’d have to part ways. It was an emotion and concern you were on your sleeve daily. Through the shopping trips, parties and great sex, the stress could clearly be seen on your face. Connie knew the toll it took..worrying that he'll never come home. That the cops could get the door in on you guys at any time or that you may end up with a phone call saying that he had been hurt or worse in a deal gone wrong. Sometimes, the thoughts plagued your mind so vividly, that they’d keep you up for hours on end, hell, if you even slept at all. This life wasn’t exactly new to you and quite frankly, it was far better than the one you came from but it didn’t make it any easier. However, your boyfriend could only hope that the material possessions could be of some consolation to the chaos.

“Nine bands. That’s just from tonight’s drops for your two runners.” it was news very pleasing to his ears, so much so, he’d turn the stove off and come sprinting over to you in complete glee; even planting a kiss on your cheek. “Shit, that’s what they supposed to do. ‘Bout time they start moving some real fucking weight.” clearly alluding to the fact that he had to threaten or harm two of his underlings to get the results he needed. Doing so by the hand of his plethora of semi-automatic weapons. From the AK47 and M9 he kept stowed away in the bedroom to the 45MM pistol that stayed loaded and tucked away under his shirt. He was a dangerous man as is but knowing the type of heat he and his boys were known to tote..everyone knew better than to even think of testing their luck. But there was another reason the hotheaded dealer remained so guarded, because it wasn’t just his life in the balance. Perhaps the only reason he was so protective and cautious about how he moved was because you were by his side. His choices would’ve landed him in a jail cell or a grave long ago had you not been around to give him something to stay grounded for. Granted it wasn’t easy coming out of this lifestyle and neither of you were born with silver spoons in your mouths so it wasn’t exactly something you were ready to quit cold turkey either. What was for certain was that as long as you had one another, nothing was impossible. Draping an arm around the back of your shoulders, dressed in his typical black wife beater, gold cuban link and black joggers, he’d begin peppering you with a plethora of kisses, hoping to shift that smile on your face from a frown to a wide smile..the only consolation in this cruel world sometimes was seeing you happy. But tonight, you couldn’t fake it..not even for him. Mainly due in part that something was weighing heavy on your mind. A dream from the other evening..

more so a nightmare. One that had awakened you from your sleep in a cold sweat and loud cries, screaming out Connie’s name, only to find that he hadn’t made it back home. Just a one off premonition or unfortunate foreshadowing, you’d never know but since that night, you had been weary of him leaving your sight. Scared that when you watched him walk out the door, it’d be for the very last time. The vision? A very horrid, vivid imagery of him lying in a pool of blood, mouth agape and eyes wide open as he stared blankly to the sky. Fading into a black abyss of darkness, departing this world without so much as even telling you goodbye. You were at home, waiting patiently for his return when his boys delivered the news at your doorstep an hour later because they couldn’t bear the thought of telling you over the phone, standing there as you inevitably fell to your knees. Collapsing under the weight of sorrow and grief as you sobbed into their arms. They were fighting back tears of their own but knew they had to remain strong for you..and the unborn child growing inside of you. Such a tragic and horrible thing to see in slumber but all you could do is pray that it never became reality. Hence why you were dreading this drop he had to do tonight. The last thing you ever wanted to do was agitate him or get in his way when trying to conduct business. It was one of the only few pet peeves he had in your fairly perfect relationship. Despite the toxic environment, you two very seldom had fights about anything. Most of the time you had together was spent making jokes or making good love..never allowing your circumstances to cloud the happiness you brought one another. Besides, you couldn’t blame him much when you made your money with an occupation most would deem less than savory as well. Stripping at a local club and earning your fair share of change as well. So you tried to keep your concerns to a minimum.

“Hey, talk to me, mama. What’s up with you tonight. You not acting like yourself and ion’ like that, for real.”

His seemingly flustered tone finally snapping you from your disastrous train of thought. You were so spaced out that you didn’t even realize he had been talking to you for a few minutes and it all sounded like distant chatter. Releasing a sigh, you’d turn around to face him with a mustered up smile. “Sorry, baby. I’m alright..just got a lot on my mind.” but that clearly wasn’t sufficient enough because the last thing he ever wanted was to see you upset or leave while he let your mind wander astray. Taking the seat next to you and holding your hand, Connie brushed his thumb pad across the back of it..as he always did to ease your tension. Even placing a kiss at your temple and it was then that you had to hold your composure to keep from crying. “Well I’m right here..tell me what’s going on.” This was the side of him that no one else got to see. That vulnerable, nurturing, loving man that you cared for so deeply. One you didn’t want to lose for anything. “I’m scared, Connie.” eliciting a laugh from him at first because for the life of him, he couldn’t understand what you had to be afraid of. He had more weapons than the Army, he’d beat anybody’s ass who’d even think of crossing you and a whole team of equally wild friends who’d do the same. He had this town on lock so why would you, his girl be afraid of anyone or anything?

“What are you talking about, baby? What are you scared of? Somebody tried you at the club ‘cause I’ll go kill them mothe– “No, Connie! Nobody..nobody tried me, alright? This ain’t about that..please, just listen to me.” in his seemingly irate mood, mere seconds away from hopping from his seat and sprinting out the door to find the person who wronged his woman, you’d be quick to clutch his wrist. Holding it tightly as if you refused to let him go. That’s when it really sank in that something was really causing you inner turmoil. What was it? What had you so rattled and shaken all of a sudden? To the point that you could barely even function or be your normally sweet and funny self? Hazel eyes locked in on you with genuine concern before he took his seat yet again and this time..listened to what you had to say.

“(Y/N), for real..what’s wrong?” hearing the shakiness in his voice now and making you reluctant to even share your feelings. “I don’t want you to go tonight. It can wait, okay?” stating so matter of factly but Connie just wasn’t understanding where this sudden fright was coming from. It was a drop just like the countless others he had done, so what was the big deal now? “Bae, I’m only gon’ be gone for an hour. I swear it won’t take long but you know dis’ is important. I gotta make this move tonight.” and it wasn’t as if it were something he could entrust to anyone else. This was a deal worth at least fifteen bands and it would set them up to lay low for a while, especially now that their block was getting hot. They could stack this bread and be good for at least six months or so without drawing suspicion. Even so, you had this horrible gnawing in your gut and spirit that something was going to go wrong and you could never live with yourself if you let him leave and not say something. Just then, those tears that had been welling in the ducts of your eyes finally began to fall and he was quick to swipe them away and grasp your hand. There was something he had to say to you and this may not have eased your concerns in the slightest but he had to get it off his chest regardless. “It’s gon’ be alright, I promise..there’s sum’ I need to tell you, (y/n) and I know this ain’t gon’ be easy to hear but..listen to me.” Filling your heart with anxiety and dread, just imagining what was going to come out of his mouth. Looking you in the face as he confessed what was on his heart as well.

“This life ain’t easy, ma. We both know that..you done held me down through all this shit. Been through all of it with me and that’s why I’mma always make sure you straight. I love you, (y/n). You know this..” in the midst of his speech, you’d see a single tear trickle down his face right before he began to laugh, worrying you even more. Causing palpitations in your chest. You knew that Connie hardly cried for anything in his life. He wasn’t an emotional person by a long shot. Always either extremely happy or irate, a true hothead to his core when the time arised. He didn’t tolerate any mess and was quick to go and make a bad situation worse. But this time? He had much to consider and he didn’t want to tell you this, but even he feared for his safety. He was afraid that something could go wrong on a drop like this one. This particular set was incredibly dangerous and powerful. Word was always getting around about this crew they knocked and this big bad leader that they made into their bitch. Even so, that’s what this lifestyle was all about: risks and danger but they were things you had to persist through if you wanted to survive. So the only way to ensure that in the event he was gone, you’d be okay..was to give you the cold hard truth. “So..I hope that you can do something else for me. If I don’t come back home tonight, I need you– “..please, Connie. I can’t–” but he needed to get his point across. He knew you wouldn’t be able to stomach hearing these dreaded words. “(y/n)..you got to. If I don’t come back..I need you to make sure that my mama’s straight. Make sure my folks are taken care of. My boys, you know they always got you and gone look out. So you don’t ever have to worry. I need you to make sure that you gone be strong if sum’ happens. You gone carry this on for me..we did this together and I want you to keep going. You gotta promise me that. I don’t want you to be sad.” which he knew was an impossible feat to ask of you. But he knew you were the only one who could keep this crew afloat in his absence. The last thing either of you wanted was to see him in a casket or jail but it was a possibility that you needed to prepare for. Sitting at that kitchen table, you’d find yourself full on sobbing as he listed each and every one of his demands. You’d listen..hear and take each one to heart. You wanted him to know that you would do the absolute best you could and not let him down. With your heart breaking with each passing second and the imagery of what could become, flashing through your mind, he’d place a kiss to your forehead, releasing your hands as he stood to his feet. Just then, the deafening silence that settled over the room momentarily was broken through by the long awaited ringing of his phone. It was a call from one of his boys and they were ready to move. But as you were walking him to the door, still teary eyed and upset but trying to hold it together, Connie would turn to you and reach for his own neck. Unclasping the small gold chain wrapping around it, he’d hoist it over his head and onto your own.

to him, it was a promise that he’d return to you regardless but in your mind, you felt as if it were his way of saying farewell. As if this would be the only piece of him left behind. “Aight, ma. I’m outta here. ‘Member what I said.” assuring that he was going to keep good on his promise and return home to what was precious to him. (Y/N) tugged on the charm dangling in front of it and sniffled. You’d kiss once more before bidding adieu. “See you later.” and it was at that moment, you were left all alone, standing still as a statue as you watched your boyfriend..your beloved Connie dash down the stairs and into the fray of his boys, who were equally as amped to go do this. Two black Dodge Challengers with dark tints and chrome wheels peeled away from the parking lot with Connie inside and all you were left to do was sit and play an agonizing waiting game. Forced to sit on the sidelines as you worried about his safety. Ten o’ clock came and went, eleven and twelve did the same..pacing the floor, checking your phone for any sort of update. Police presence had slowed to almost a complete halt by the time one am made its way around and you could no longer withstand the agonizing waiting game. You just needed him to come home already and be with you. You needed to know that he was just fine. But merely thirty minutes later, you’d get the news you had been dreading. For a moment, it was all a blur. Your phone rang, you’d answer and the only thing you’d hear in the background were the whirring sounds of ambulances and the voice of one of his closest friends…you couldn’t hear what was said, maybe due in part to the loud noises or the fact it was all a blur. Possibly because you didn’t want to hear any of it. Either way, all you’d recall was collapsing to the floor and sobbing into a broken mess. You were shattered..your entire world gone in an instant. “Connieeeee!” Calling out as you clawed your hands into the floor; tears flowing and falling in droplets around your crouched knees. You didn’t hear a thing but you knew that cries and screams were coming from your mouth, not a sound…anything. Yet, you were hysterical and seemingly unable to escape this hell you were trapped in.

that was until you heard a knock at the door….prompting you to hop up! As it turns out, you were merely sleeping and your horrid experience was nothing more than a cruel, brutish nightmare. Beelining for the front door, straight from your brief slumber, you’d swing it open and right there, you’d fall apart yet again.

only this time…. “Connieeee!”

they were tears of pure joy. He was just fine after all. There was your beloved, unscathed, alive and well. You’d rush to drape your arms around the back of his neck, coiling him into the tightest hug as you cried. The two of you fell right there in the doorway and he’d cradle you as closely as possible. With a single tear falling down his face and brandishing a bag in his hand..he’d hold you and gently scale his palm up and down your back to console you.

“It’s alright, ma. I told you I’d make it home tonight.”

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Text

spoken from the stars III

summary: voicelines characters would have in sagau! ft. zhongli, ayato, heizou, and two bonuses :)

word count: ~720

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, minor spoilers for ayato and chongyun lore

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified traveller (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

zhongli

about us: the traveller

the traveller is a brave and brilliant soul, and i wish them the best of luck on their journey. though, now that i think about it… i’m not certain they’d ever need my blessing.

about us: the creator

friendship lv. 4

even the strongest stone cannot withstand erosion forever. the winds of time and sands of memories past will grate at its surface, scraping away the smallest amount with every breath. there are, of course, methods to restore even the harshest of removals, but… *sigh* no mortal can undo time.

about you: worship

friendship lv. 6

everything that can be seen in liyue could not have been made without your blessing. i have shaped the harbor, created the coin around which teyvat operates, and yet none of it could ever have been done without you. i dedicate myself and my creations to you and your glory, and hope that liyue is to your liking. …i hope that i am as well.

ayato

about us: the traveller

the traveller has been a large and key part of overturning the vision hunt decree, and has assisted the nations of teyvat greatly. ive been meaning to invite them back for a game of chess, but they always seem rather busy… it can’t be helped, i suppose.

about us: the creator

friendship lv. 4

everything around us, from the evergreens to the fallen sakura blooms, was all planted by design. year after year, they sprout, bloom, and fall, always returning back to the posts they’d abandoned months before… perhaps that is true loyalty.

about you: worship

friendship lv. 6

when i first received my vision, i had taken it as a sign that it was time to find my own way. i had assumed i was to walk the path of commissioner alone, that it would be my lone light. i… was wrong. you were there. …for this and everything else, i pledge both my allegiance and the allegiance of the yashiro commission as well. should you need anything, trust that the entirety of my resources are at your disposal. it is the least i could offer.

heizou

about us: the traveller

ah, the traveller… an interesting character, with plenty of stories to tell. the hero of three of teyvat’s— oh, four? …well well, seems like they’ve been getting busy. with all the work they’re doing, i might be out of a job soon, haha.

about us: the creator

friendship lv. 4

here in teyvat, it’s impossible to truly measure the extent of a criminal’s transgressions, and hence impossible to ever be able to tell if a punishment was fit or not. a thief might have brought a family to financial ruin, and a murderer often scars more than just the victim. as a detective, it’s my job to account for strictly quantifiable crimes, but… it doesn’t matter. in the end, even the sneakiest of thieves will meet their maker.

about you: worship

friendship lv. 6

my success is often attributed to my intuition — typically by new officers who assume i can solve any case by simply looking at it — but this conclusion is entirely unfounded. every gift i have isn’t innate, it’s a blessing; one that i’m immensely lucky to have. what i’m saying is that i would never have gotten this far without you, and that i swear to repay this debt however is necessary. doushin shikanoin, at your service.

xingqiu

about the creator: penmanship

sometimes i wonder how the universe came to be. obviously such an event was powered by the strength of the divine, but… was an artifact used to channel this energy? if so, would it be more equivalent to a vision, or, say, a pen? do you think such a device could be adapted to work with vision users? wh— hey, leave my handwriting out of this! it’s a serious question

chongyun

about the creator: energy

do you think that if the creator were to visit a haunted location, that the evil spirits would be driven away? or would they be exorcised? obviously, they tend to run away when faced with my yang energy, but what would demons do when faced with the divine? hm…

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swampstew · 11 months

Note

Hi Raven! I hope you’re having a wonderful day! If you have the time and interest, may I request something short with Beckman and Shanks keeping a sick partner company while they rest? I don’t know if you do poly ships, so just know separate is equally cool too! (Would he/him pronouns for reader be possible? I don’t want to overwhelm you!) I’m just being a bit childish and pouty about being sick. Thank you for your time and all of your hard work! (I’m off to see if I can snag a commission! Toodaloo!!!)

Hi Star, I'm sorry you're not feeling well and wish you a speedy recovery! I hope this little story lifts your spirit up a bit♥

Word count: 500 | Warnings: none, SFW, fluff noodle soup for the soul, Red Hair Shanks x Reader (he/him) x Benn Beckman, poly relationship

“Not feeling too good are ya?” Shanks looked down at you with a sad look on his face.

You wearily shake your head; no, you actually feel like you got hit by a sea train. Head pounding, temples throbbing, throat dry and scratchy, everything SUCKED. You looked and felt like shit, no matter how much Shanks and Benn told you you only looked a little under the weather. That couldn’t be right, your body didn’t feel right to look ‘just under the weather.’ The weather turned tide long ago and wreaked havoc on your weary body.

“That’s incredibly helpful, Captain. Great job,” Benn glared at Shanks in exasperation, in between his hands was a steaming bowl of soup. “Have you taken his temperature? Y/N when’s the last time you had water? Are your eyes dry?”

Your eyes flare open at Benn’s rapid questioning, your head too dull and achy to process it all. “Uhhhhh,” you could only let out a pained whine.

“Hmm his temperature is at 99.6 Fahrenheit, that’s definitely higher than this morning. Could be a cold,” Shank’s frown deepened in worry. “Let’s get some more steam going in the bathroom. Y/N we’re sorry but we’re going to have to move you around a bit. Don’t think you’ll like the neti pot too much but we should clear your sinuses and throat.”

“Let him eat first! Before he has that rinse coats his senses!”

Stomach full of fluids, sinuses flushed with saline solution that helped your throat loosen and feel a degree better, you couldn’t say you were feeling healed but some of the overwhelming symptoms had faded some and if you were being honest, you liked that they were taking care of you. Your partners.

Shanks and Benn ran the whole operation, so they were busy a lot of the time. Never enough to make you feel neglected, and never enough to impede on the Captain’s schedule of drinking and lazing about. It made you feel happy and treasured that they were here nursing you back to health instead of being laid up in the doctor’s cabin. To feel the love they had for you in every action, question, comment, stupid joke – everything. It was all with love and care for you.

Tears pricked your eyes and you let out a wet sniffle.

“Oh no, Y/N are you feeling worse?” Shanks looked like he wanted to cry.

“Can you tell us what you need?” Benn stood by your bedside; arms crossed over his chest but the concern on his face was unmistakable. He wasn’t even smoking in your shared cabin, and he loved smoking – especially when he was feeling stressed like now.

“N-no I’m just,” you take a shaky breath, “I’m just really grateful I have you both.”

“AWWWWWWWWWWW,” Shanks hand was clutching his face. “Y/N YOU’RE SO SWEET EVEN ON YOUR DEATHBED!!”

Benn slapped Shanks upside the head.

“I hope you get whatever he’s got, ya idiot,” Benn growled. “Of course, Y/N. You’re our whole world.”

#akagami no shanks #swampstew bedtime stories #shanks x reader #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman #polyamarous #reader insert #op fanfic #red hair shanks #shanks x you #shanks x reader x benn beckman #shanks x y/n #benn beckman x you #swampstew stories #swampstew

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fire-fira · 2 years

Text

Okay, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while but kept getting derailed. Thankfully I’m fully caught up on Rise (though it took me forever) and I was able to mostly sort out the in-universe order for the episodes.

Because fun fact-- something I noticed way back in season 1-- is that the episodes weren’t released in in-universe order. This was true on cable, this has held true on netflix and hbo-max paramount+ (I goofed, oops), and while [turtlepedia] does have them listed in tv broadcast order and has the episode production codes listed, neither of those entirely match up with the various in-episode context clues for what order things happen in.

And believe me, some of those context clues, those in-episode “signposts” are subtle enough to be blink-and-you’ll-miss-it details (like the fact that the background video for Donnie and Mikey in Hypno! Part Deux! implies that it’s happening at the same time as Repomantis). Needless to say it’s taken a lot of work and a lot of paying attention. And thankfully season 2 wasn’t as all over the place (mainly due to more of the episodes not having any distinct signposts beyond things that made it obvious they took place after season 1).

(I’ve done my best to get it as nailed down as possible. Episodes that occur at the same time are listed on the same bulletpoint in recommended watching order.)

So good news if you’re like me and you’d like to watch the episodes in in-universe order, because this is that list!

Without further ado, I give you:

The In-Universe Rise Episode Timeline

Season 1:

Mystic Mayhem

Origami Tsunami

Donnie’s Gifts

Smart Lair

War And Pizza

Newsworthy

Repomantis & Hypno! Part Deux!

Down With The Sickness (Due to not really having any more than one possible signpost, this one could take place either before or after the previous point or The Purple Jacket. I don’t think it’s any later than that, but it’s debatable.)

The Purple Jacket

Minotaur Maze

The Longest Fight

The Fast And The Furriest

Stuck On You

Hot Soup: The Game

Mascot Melee

The Gumbus

Shell In A Cell

Pizza Pit

Bug Busters

Mrs. Cuddles (Like Down With The Sickness this one has very few signposts, only two that I spotted and one of those is debatable, but it does take place sometime after The Fast And The Furriest.)

Al Be Back

The Evil League of Mutants

Late Fee

Bullhop

Portal Jacked!

Mind Meld

Nothing But Truffle

Warren And Hypno, Sitting In A Tree

Shadow Of Evil

You Got Served

Operation: Normal

The Mutant Menace

Sparring Partner (This is another one where the placement isn’t entirely certain, but it is after Origami Tsunami, The Fast and the Furriest, and Shadow of Evil.)

How To Make Enemies And Bend People To Your Will

Mystic Library (This is another one where there aren’t enough signposts to be sure where this one belongs exactly, but this was my best guess.)

The Purple Game

Jupiter Jim Ahoy!

Cloak and Swaggert

Man Vs. Sewer

The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek

Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man

One Man’s Junk

Snow Day (Yet another one where the time placement isn’t certain and this is my best guess, though it does take place sometime after Late Fee and possibly Jupiter Jim Ahoy!)

Insane in the Mama Train

End Game

Season 2

Many Unhappy Returns

Todd Scouts

Goyles, Goyles, Goyles

Flushed But Never Forgotten

Lair Games

Breaking Purple

Repairin’ the Baron

Air Turtle

Pizza Puffs

Sidekick Ahoy!

The Hidden City Job

Always Be Brownies

Mystery Meat

Donnie vs. Witch-Town, Raph’s Ride-Along, Hidden City’s Most Wanted, Bad Hair Day

Fists of Furry

The Clothes Don’t Make the Turtle

Battle Nexus: New York

Finale Part 1: E-Turtle Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Finale Part 2: Shreddy or Not

Finale Part 3: Anatawa Hitorijanai

Finale Part 4: Rise

Rise of the TMNT, the movie

Go forth and enjoy!

(And if anyone wants my rationalization on any of this, just hit me up and I can go in detail.)

#TMNT #ROTTMNT #Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #episode list #I'm a nerd and you're welcome

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euphoricfilter · 9 months

Note

For the drabble game: "Can I kiss you?" with Taehyung, please!! Fluff, Android AU, if that's ok!! Thank you!!

even if you aren’t human

pairing: human! taehyung x android! reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au || android au || friends to lovers???

summary: if taehyung would have known, he would have asked you to be his years ago

tags/ warnings: just fluff, human feelings and two cuties

notes: thinking of maybe opening drabble requests again because the ones in my inbox are uninspiring or so vague i’m scared i’m gonna write the prompt wrong just to keep me going for the next month until i move and actually start writing for real again… anyways feedback is always encouraged!!

notes 2: this is a story so i don’t wanna hear any ethical questions about android-human relationships. pretend it’s normal, they’re kinda just, idk advanced humans in this anyways, kinda… just don’t think about it

drabble masterlist || my main masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“Can I kiss you?” You blink over at Taehyung.

He coughs, hand cradling his chest as his spoon drops into his bowl. Your eyes glazing over the spilt soup that splashes onto the table.

He’d have thought that by now, he’d be used to you and you’re constant stream of questions. You’d been living with him for long enough for him to understand how you worked. An endless stream of patience especially stored just for you in his heart, otherwise he’s pretty sure he would have lost his mind by now.

You were awfully curious about humans, and a lot more intelligent that you gave yourself credit for. Complex coding constantly being written as you experience life, emotions typed in numbers and human thoughts slowly whittling their way into your android mind.

As much as you like to tell him that you are yet to understand the full extent of human emotion, he’s pretty sure you feel insecure about not being a living, breathing, person like he was. Or every other mortal being that resided on planet earth.

He never understood your obsession with wanting to be human. Not when you essentially functioned as one, maybe an odd life form, but nearly human nonetheless. Still unused to certain social norms or the deemed ‘right way to act’.

“Pardon?” He splutters, “What did you say?”

“I wanted to know if I could kiss you” you say, eyebrows furrowing in the slightest.

Taehyung’s lips tug into an unsure smile, “You shouldn’t joke about those things”

“I’m not joking” you shake your head, “See I’m not smiling” you point to your lips.

Taehyung sighs.

“If you’re uncomfortable then that’s okay. You’ve told me that I should ask before acting when it comes to things like these, per human etiquette, so I was just asking”

Taehyung hums, “You know what a kiss usually means right?” He decides to ask, he’s sure you’ve scoured the internet by now, or chewed Namjoon’s ear off about the more intimate sides of human relationships. The things you never seem to want to ask Taehyung, and no matter how much he prods, you never want to tell him why.

He wouldn’t exactly say it’s jealousy.. you were allowed to interact with other people after all. He thinks it’s a perfect way for you to observe humans, a pass time he knows you enjoy. Though he will admit, that it makes him feel slightly useless when you go to his friend, instead of him for your endless stream of questions.

You blink, and Taehyung worries that if you operating sytem were to work any harder, he’d be able to hear your fan start whirring beneath your skin.

“Love?” You say, and Taehyung nods.

“That’s why I was taken aback” he tell you honestly, because that’s what you need. You’d expressed your frustration in not being able to pick up on certain things, and he’d promised you from that moment he would be completely transparent. “Just wasn’t expecting that from you”

Your eyes flit around the room in thought before they settle back on Taehyung, “But what if I were to love you?”

Taehyung pushes his bowl away from him, “Well, do you?”

Silence settles over the room, and Taehyung wants to ask you what you’re thinking.

A sound similar to a sigh slips past your open lips, “I think so, yes” you nod, “Is that okay?”

Taehyung’s head tips back in a laugh, “You think so?”

You hum, pulling your chair closer to the table, fingers fidgeting with with the table cloth.

And he wonders if this is your first true experience being nervous.

“Yes, I think so”

“And what does love feel like to you?” he urges, not missing the way your shoulders sag. But he was curious, any way to understand you better would always be a win for him.

“I feel happy” you start, “When the two of us are together, I feel good. My synthetic heart beats too fast, and I think I just like you a lot that it must be love. I don’t really understand it, but it’s nice”

Taehyung nods, lips curling up into a smile, “I like you a lot too”

Your eyes widen a fraction, and if Taehyung didn’t know you then he wouldn’t know you weren’t human.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t like you, I love you” you tell him.

“Means the same thing” he huffs out a laugh.

“Really? But i’m not—“ you start but Taehyung raises a hand to stop you.

“No stupid android spiel. I know you, for what you are, and I like you. Even if you aren’t like me. Even if you aren’t human”

“Why did you never say anything?” you ask, “It’s a strange feeling when you like someone and have to hold it in without saying anything” you tell him, trying your hardest not to smile. Happiness catching up to you.

“I weren’t sure how you felt” he waves you off, “Plus I didn’t invite you to live with me just so i could make you uncomfortable a year later by confessing my feelings for you. Especially because you’ve consistently told me you haven’t grasped the concept of human emotion yet”

You part your lips, fingers skimming over your chest right above where your heart would be, “You’re a very considerate person, Taehyung”

Taehyung thinks his cheeks must have flushed the lightest shade of pink, “Only for you”

You shake your head, “No. You’re very considerate of all your other friends too”

And if he wasn’t absolutely enamored by you, Tae might have wanted to face plant the table at your oblivious response.

“I just tried to flirt with you” he runs a hand over his face, refusing to meet your eyes.

You sit up straighter at that, “Really? How fascinating” you nod, “I’ll have to research more so I can flirt too” you push yourself to stand, tucking your chair back under the table. Dinner long forgotten as you slink into the living room.

“You’re not allowed to flirt with anyone but me, okay?” he calls after you.

“Okay” you call back over your shoulder, “And I would like to postpone my kiss until later after i’m done”

He hums. Leaving you as he washes up, planning out exactly how he’ll explain he doesn’t want to be only friends anymore. Because he knows asking you out isn’t going to be as straight forward as he thinks it’ll be.

Because as much as you wanted to be human, he doesn’t think he’d want you any other way.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung imagine #taehyung #taehyung x you #bts aus #bts non idol au

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danime25 · 5 months

Text

You Had Me At Soup

masterlist // ao3

*Summary: While in the Sierra program, Six never got sick. Now that he was adapting to civilian life with Claire and the woman he roped in to play Claire's mom, he seemed to be down with a bug of some kind.

*Rating: T For Teen

*Content/Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fake Dating, Pining, So Much Mutual Pining, Sickfic

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

A gift for a friend, enjoy!

Six heard the plink of fat raindrops hit the window of his bedroom. In between the rhythm of the precipitation, a splitting pounding in his head. He tried to sit up, but that seemed to only make the pain worse for him. His stirring woke up the woman beside him and she saw as he curled back up under the covers.

“Six?” She asked him. She sat up and her hand ended up resting on his forehead, “Oh you’re burning up.”

“I need to take Claire…” He made an effort to sit back up before deciding getting up was overrated

“I’ll take her to school. You have to rest.” She said in a soft tone. Sure it was soft, but he knew it wasn’t a suggestion.

“Okay.” He sighed, “Tell Claire I love her.”

“I will. I’ll go wake her up.” She got up and closed the door behind her. As quickly as he woke up, he went back to sleep. It was only a 30 minute nap, he confirmed so with a quick glance at his phone. He sighed and checked his phone,

“Sent 1 Minute Ago

Got Claire to school, be home soon.”

“Okay.” He whispered to himself before getting up to go to the bathroom. He looked like shit. He’d never been this laid up over the flu before, but he supposed his immune system wasn’t operating at 100 percent just yet. Something about the healing process after almost dying. He managed to muster enough energy to hop in the shower and clean up his facial hair but even that seemed like too much. He crawled back into bed bitterly and looked up at the ceiling. By the time he was back in bed he heard the door jingle open and she called out into the house,

“I’m home!”

“Hi.” He tried to shout back, but this only brought on a fit of coughs. She opened the bedroom door and came over to him

“How long did you sleep for?” She asked him. It was like she was a nurse doing rounds.

“About 30 minutes.”

“Six.” She tisked, “Get some more rest. I’ll wake you up after I’ve made lunch.”

“Yes ma’am.” He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. She stood by his side until she saw the weight of his body sink into the mattress and went down into the kitchen.

---

He jolted up in bed and looked at his phone to check the time. 2 hours and 14 minutes. Better. He got up out of bed and wrapped the spare blanket around his shoulders to walk down to the kitchen.

“Hey.” She turned around to face him, “I just finished… I could’ve brought it up to you.”

“It’s okay.” He sat down at the island, hunched over and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Here.” She brought the tray over to him. A roll of saltine crackers, some soup that was warm to the touch but not scalding, and bowl of peeled oranges

“I could’ve peeled the orange myself.” He said to her, popping a wedge into his mouth

“I know you could’ve.” She returned his highly guarded sarcasm with a cold wall that worked just as hard to keep him out as it kept her inside herself. He wanted to break it. He needed to know how she felt… felt about the situation he’d pulled her into. About him.

“Thank you.” He replied after a couple seconds of silence. He took the spoon and blew on the soup before bringing it up to his lips. He let the soup linger on his tongue for a little too long just to make sure his taste buds were still intact. Practically the only sense of his not shot to hell. It tasted… wonderful. It was somewhere between made from scratch and straight from a can but the line seemed to blur. The pulled pieces of chicken were tender, but the noodles weren’t melting into nothingness. He tried to skirt around the piece of celery and carrots that were floating in the broth, until he saw her leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. He looked back down at his bowl and took a spoonful of the veggies up to his mouth. She nodded silently and turned around to start working on dishes. He had to force himself to get the celery down, but he managed to finish it and went back to savoring the fruit. He got up to grab a drink and she pointed at a glass to her side, filled with water. He nodded and took it back to his seat. When he was done with his meal he thumbed around with the cabinets on his side of the island to grab a piece of gum. He wasn’t able to find any so he grumbled quietly and went to rest on the couch. He turned the TV on to just flip through his options. It gave his fingers something to do while the rest of him was bedridden. He decided on something he’d seen a couple of times as a kid and just listened to it. It reminded him of days when he’d watch something with his brother… it was just what he needed to lull himself back to sleep. He woke again a couple of hours later when the house door opened. Clare tried to be quiet, but she couldn’t help running over to Six to tell her about her day.

“Hey, Six.” She smiled at him, “Guess what?”

“What?” He sat up

“You know that math test I was freaking out about?”

“Yes I do.”

“I passed it.” She pulled the paper from her backpack and showed it to him, “I got a couple of answers wrong, but I got the foundation down. I talked to Mr. Garcia about what I could do better next time, and he helped me figure it out.”

“I’m so proud of you.” He gave her head a little scruff, “Didn’t it pay off to work on it?”

“Yeah. You know it’s my hardest subject.” She sighed, “I just hope I can remember it for the final.”

“You will.” He reassured her before she stole the TV remote from the footrest in front of Six. She started flipping through channels before stopping on a teen drama of some kind.

“I know you’re quiet Six, but you’re not normally this quiet.”

“It’s fine Claire.” He replied

“He’s been sick all day.” His partner peaked her head into the room and explained to Claire

“Six.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been taking care of him all day.” She walked in and put a fruity electrolyte drink in front of him. With his daughter and her looking at him, he took a swig of it and swallowed it down. It wasn’t bad tasting by any means, but his body wasn’t used to it. After he took a minute to grow accustomed to it, he drank it down quickly.

“That’s good.” Claire sighed, “You’ll be okay tomorrow though right?”

“Yeah. It’s just another Thursday.” He smiled at her, “I’m going to head up to my room. Let me know if you need me.”

“I won’t, get some rest.” Claire yelled after him as he was halfway up the stairs. Like a shadow, the woman followed him up the stairs and went to the master bathroom. He heard her rummaging for a minute before she opened the door.

“What did you do?” He raised an eyebrow

“Just made you a bath.”

“You saying I stink?”

“It’s good for the sinuses.” She replied as she got under the covers of their bed and pulled out the book she’d been working on for the past couple of nights.

“Fine.” He went into the bathroom and saw the water waiting for him. He removed his pajamas and sunk in as far as he could fit in the tub. He let his head rest along the edge and took a deep breath. Something peppermint smelling wafted through the air. It was relaxing. Despite having slept the whole day away, he could have fallen asleep there. Would tonight be the night? When he finally let go of all reason and kissed her forehead in a way only a husband and wife should. Would she give into the desperate pleas in his eyes as he wanted to be held all through the night? With a sigh he pulled himself out of the lukewarm water and grabbed a towel. He went back into the bedroom and saw her curled up to her side of the bed, resting her head against the back of her hand on her pillowcase. Slowly he inched forward and as he was about to kiss her cheek, he pulled away fearing she might still be awake. When she didn’t react to him in her space, he laid next to her on his side. He faced away from her and shut his eyes. He felt the weight in the bed shift but stayed still. He felt the tips of her fingers linger along his spine and her face pressed into his back. This being before her lips touched the spot where his shoulders met with his spine. He controlled the shiver he felt as she made contact with him and acted as though he was out cold.

“Feel better.” She whispered, the air pushing against his skin before she rolled back over. Six waited in silence until he knew she was fully asleep before getting up out of bed and walking down to the kitchen.

“I’ve gotta go.” Claire hung up on whoever she was talking to and looked over her shoulder, “Hi Six.”

“Hi.” He replied, sitting down next to her

“Aren’t you going to ask who I was on the phone with? Oh it was just a friend from school, don’t worry Six. Hey…”

“I’m fine Claire.” He insisted, when Claire picked up that he wasn’t responding to her usual dry sense of humor

“No you’re not. Is it because you’re sick?”

“No.”

“Is it because of her?”

“No.” He lied

“Six.” She sighed, “Just tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t have anything to tell her.”

“Well then you should show her.”

“There’s nothing to show her.”

“Six you’re so frustrating to deal with sometimes.” She huffed, “I need to go to bed anyway. Good night.”

“Good night.” He sighed as she left. He grabbed a pack of gum to chew on while he sat and contemplated. He couldn’t keep this up. This would breach every rule he learned in the Sierra program, to let himself be vulnerable with her and tell her how he feels. Still it killed a piece of him every day knowing that she wouldn’t crack before he did. “Why me…” He shook his head and went back upstairs to finish sleeping for the night. He woke up the next morning feeling about as well as he did the day before, if only slightly better. He was able to get up on his own, but at her insistence she drove Claire to school that day again. When she got back she did another check on him.

“Not nearly as feverish, but still high.”

“That sucks.” He sighed

“I’ll make you lunch again.” She said, matter of fact

“Fine.”

“Do you want something different?”

“Surprise me.” He curled back under the covers, knowing she’d tell him to anyway. She went downstairs and started making noise as she looked for an appliance. While she was distracted with that, he decided to hit the shower once more. He didn’t feel like he could nap again even if his life depended on it, so he decided to flip through one of her books she had finished while he waited for the smells from the kitchen to waft up the vents. He lost himself in the book though, because he saw her attempting to open the door while holding his tray of food. He rushed to the door and held it open for her and she quietly thanked him. He nodded and got back into bed. “Smells good.”

“Thank you.” She replied. It looked like she had more to say, but whatever it was she didn’t. He looked over the tray, the soup didn’t have veggies floating in it but was a pureed consistency with a bright yellow base. There were some spices sitting on the top layer, and without bothering to look at what she had put on the side, he dug in. It was warm and comforting, and it felt more nourishing. He put down the spoon and drank it straight from the bowl before muttering about how good it was.

“Thank you.” Her face cracked with a gentle smile. He moved on to the bread on the side, pulling it apart with his fingers and looked over at the bowl of fruit. Strawberries today. Not his favorite, but surely she had a reason to give him those so he ate them with the little fork she had included on the side. She sat on the edge of the bed as he finished up and he pushed it away from himself. “I’ll go take this downstairs.” She leaned in, and Six leaned in towards her. Her body not anticipating this, her lips nearly brushed up against his forehead. They both sat still and she darted her eyes away from his gaze. He took her head into his hand and forced her eyes back up to meet his. He let everything that he felt pour into his eyes before she broke contact and kissed his forehead. He took a hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. He held her hand against his chest before kissing it once more. She moved closer to him and tilted her head so as to kiss him before he stopped her. When she looked at him with confusion he explained,

“I don’t want you to get sick too.”

“Maybe it’s worth it.” She said before her lips made contact with his. He wrapped his hands back around her neck as he made an effort to deepen the kiss.

“I’ve… fallen for you.” He said, not wanting to admit how long he’s wanted this

“I have too…”

“Be honest with me.” He said, with the implication of ‘Bare your soul to me’

“Yes?”

“How long have you felt this way for me?”

“I…” She didn’t want to tell him, she had built this wall around herself and if she said anything her protection from feeling was gone. Six knew it all too well, which is why he wanted to hear from her first. “The first couple of months after you told me you needed someone to act as your wife was fine. I fell in love with Claire as though she was my own daughter the minute I met her…. And you, it felt as natural as breathing to feel as though we were in love.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never had to act because I’ve felt from the bottom of my heart that you were my ‘one’. I was just afraid that you didn’t return my feelings.”

“I understand.” He sighed, “I’ve had feelings for you pretty much since the same time. The way you take care of Claire… when you chewed out the admin.”

“You like me yelling?” She raised an eyebrow

“It was cute honestly.” He smirked back, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man in so much fear before. I was a little scared too.”

“You have nothing to fear, my love.” She kissed his cheek with a smile as she pulled away, “Now… you should rest.”

“I should.” He sighed, “But would it be too much if I asked you to stay by my side?”

“How?”

“Just lie in bed with me.” He replied

“Okay.” She put his tray on the side table and got under the covers with him. They stared at each other before Six closed the space between them with her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest for a second before he said,

“I…”

“Yes?” She looked up at him with doe eyes

“I have to tell you, I wasn’t asleep last night… When you kissed me. It gave me the courage I needed to tell you how I felt today.”

“Oh.” She said before hiding her face back into him

“Can you… hold me like that?”

“You want me to spoon you?” She asked

“Yes please.”

“Anything for you.” She kissed his cheek before he rolled over. Her arms were like magnets to his torso and they pulled his back into the front of her body. She moved up in the bed so her head could comfortably rest on his shoulder and she kissed the back of his neck. His hand worked its way over one of hers and threaded his fingers in between the spaces left by hers. He took a deep sigh as he felt the weight in his chest lift. Sure he was still sick, but with her by his side he had a feeling that he’d recover that much quicker.

#my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #sierra six #courtland gentry #sierra six/reader fic #sierra six/reader #sickfic #caretaking

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photoboothphotos · 2 years

Text

The Summer of Love

Jake Peralta x Reader - Taking care of each other when you get sick [1.08K Words]

“Babe, come on, open up!” Jake called into your apartment door.

It had been days since Jake had last seen you. Since he last saw you, work had turned into a chore and the nights he spent without you felt lonely. The Brooklyn summer was supposed to bring in what Jake had planned to be the Summer of Love featuring his favorite actors: drive-in movies to see your favorite films, Sunday mornings spent with your parents at brunch, and weekday nights making gummy worm pancakes in celebration of solving whichever case you two had been partnered on. Instead, the intense New York sun had brought in a haze of dryness and a waft of heat that put you in a sickly trance.

Jake knocked on your door once more, before deciding enough was enough. “Okay, I’m coming in!” He warned as he fished the spare key to your place out of his jean pocket. The keys jingled wildly as he jimmied his way through the door. He burst into the apartment, taking in the scene. The room was something close to a crime scene, take out boxes stacked haphazardly on your counters, empty tissue boxes decorating your carpet, with a trail of loose socks leading into your room.

You groaned at the sight of your boyfriend, shielding yourself under your covers.

“Awe I love it when you call me Argh Huff Mmurr,” The detective joked sarcastically mimicking your grunts while throwing your stray socks into your laundry hamper with a soft Jordan when it fell into the basket. “It’s always so endearing.” Jake took in your sleep messed up hair and cough syrup tinted lips. Your condition was worse than Jake had anticipated, he was going to need to call for back-up.

In record time the rest of the squad had arrived, masked up and ready to be assigned a task. “Thank you all for coming here today on your weekend off,” Jake greeted. “I’m calling this Operation: Heal the Babe, the babe being (Y/N) and healing being the goal of this mission.”

The squad collectively raised their eyebrows, “Yes, there was no need to explain any of that.” Jeffords started.

“And do you have to make everything a movie mission Peralta?” Holt questioned, agreeing with the sergeant.

“Babe is also such an outdated nickname, speaks loudly on your modern take of feminism Jake.” Santiago teased earning a smirk from Diaz.

The gang quieted down their taunting as Jake admitted the flaws in his mission name and began assigning positions. With the responsibilities assigned, the group broke out in a quiet Nine-Nine cheer as to not disturb your sleepened state. Boyle had begun whipping up what he would describe as a fabulous blend of legumes brewed in a blend of Tahitian spices and chicken broth. With his hands full sprinkling egg noodles into the soup, the chef continued to hum happily at the concoction he was stewing. At the other corner of the room Holt and Santiago had begun the task of organizing all the piled up mail and missed package slips you’ve neglected. The others - Jeffords, Linetti, and Diaz - ventured off to the pharmacy for snacks and supplies.

Although Hitchcock and Scully had originally joined the mix, the pair had drifted off in their own mission. Without either of the two being seen by anyone, Jake had tasked himself with dealing with the mess. Once Jake had bagged the evidence of your food containers and slewn garbage, he promptly snuck his way back into your bedroom for some recon. He jumped over the trenches of your stacked pillows and shimmied under the vent of your blanket fort before hitting the jackpot - your adorable face.

Your cheeks were dusted red due to your fever and a similar tint shown on your crinkled nose. “Jake,” you rasped his name in protest. “Get out, I don’t want to get you sick.” Your whine came out soft, dismissing any harness in your tone.

Jake shook his head with a smile before planting a soft kiss on your pouted mouth. “Rule number one of police work: never shy away from a challenge.” Peralta whispered before giving you another kiss, this one feeling deeper than the first.

You let out a small laugh accepting defeat, “I’m pretty sure the first rule of policing is to protect and serve,” You countered. “Thank you for coming to save me.” You reach up to brush a fallen curl away from your boyfriend's face, dragging your thumb down his cheeks, familiarizing yourself with the curve of his jaw.

Peralta’s corner lip lifted up further as he noticed you wearing his old police academy training shirt, “What can i say? I missed my partner. This was supposed to be the Summer of Love!” He leaned his cheek into your palm, finding comfort in your touch. The detective had forgotten how soft your hands were. “Plus the glowy skin your fever is giving you is doing something for me.” Jake winked, beaming despite your eye rolling. He knew there was no hate in your actions, and the long nights without you had made him throw all caution into the wind. He snaked his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. Jake had leaned into your presence once more, making you erupt with giggles as his lips teased your shoulder and neck.

Before long, away with the wind, Jake's immune system was also tossed to the side. As soon as you had gotten better, you saw that Peralta was missing from your first day back at the precinct. Before you could reach the seat of your desk your phone rang with a text notification. You unlocked your phone revealing a picture of Jake in your old police academy t-shirt, the hem riding up his stomach as the shirt fit over him tightly, fitting a size too small. Jake’s happy expression despite his sickened state made you smile. You chuckled, as you cleared your evening schedule while asking Boyle for his chicken noodle soup recipe.

As life would have it, the Summer of Love had a recasting of its feature actors. The movie now starred: days of you nursing Jake back to health, a month's worth of the both of you catching up on missed work, and a string of late nights spent over boxes of pizza and confusing case files. Although your summer had not turned out like how either of you had wanted, you were happy to finally have spent some time together.

And on cue Hitchcock and Scully had finally returned during one of your late night missions with a steaming thermos filled with sweet coffee. “Hey Jakey, the ladies at the coffee shop gave us these tickets to the drive-in movie this weekend. Did you want them?”

Jake smiled looking your way, “That’d be nice,” he said leaning in to give you a kiss, not a worry in his mind. “The Summer of Love reprise sounds like a great movie.”

#jake peralta x reader #jake peralta x y/n #jake peralta imagine #jake peralta blurb #jake peralta #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine imagine #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta oneshot #jake peralta one shot #jake peralta drabble #jake peralta fiction #jake peralta fic #jake peralta reader #jake peralta fluff

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cabezadeperro · 3 months

Note

for the spotify wrapped prompt:

— Cody/Fox or Jango/Obi-Wan

— song #42

hiiiii!!!! i went with jango/obi-wan, it's been a while since the last time i wrote them and i miss them.

it got a tiiiny bit out of hand. the song was los chicos tristes, by hermanos gutiérrez. AU, around 1k, T.

---

The tide is an unrepentant, careless thief. It takes and takes and takes: Jango’s found old Roman and Viking coins buried in the narrow slash of black sand between the water and the rocks. He’s found cheap sandals, running shoes caught in the shoals, and empty water bottles, doll heads, plastic bags, cigarette butts. He picks it all up, puts it in a trash bag, throws it in the bin once it’s full, but the tide is a thief, and soon enough the narrow stretch of sand and stone and water in front of Jango’s home is once again brimming with its treasures.

He never expected the tide to steal itself a man.

The man drags himself out of the waves and stumbles to his knees. He’s barefoot but still dressed, and his soaked clothes drag him to the ground. He kneels there for long minutes, wet hair in his pale face, and then he stands up again, starts limping his way up the beach and towards the road. He’s seen Jango’s house.

Jango breathes out and leaves the knife on the cutting board. It’s late afternoon, but most of the lights are on: it’s been raining on and off throughout the whole day, and the insides of the small house are dark, full of a velvety kind of shadow.

He grabs his raincoat and an umbrella before opening the door, and then he waits there while the man picks his way across the rocks. There’s blood on his face: it’s stained the neck of his off-white shirt, and it drips while he walks. Jango sighs. He opens his umbrella and meets the man half-way, the wind trying its best to rip the umbrella off his hand.

D’you need a hand?

Jango has to raise his voice to be heard over the crashing of the waves and the whistling of the storm. The man pauses, looks up—his eyes are the same colour as the sea and the thunderous sky: murky grey-blue. His face is a shock of white, pale as bone under the sticky black sand and the blood.

He opens his mouth and says something—Jango doesn’t hear it, the wind ripping it away.

Jango’s clothes are too small on him. The man—Obi-Wan—sits at Jango’s table, his bare ankles obvious and almost shining in the shadows under it, and eats his soup in silence. Jango lets him use his phone, and he will let him spend the night in the coach in the ground floor living room.

He doesn’t know how he feels about having him there. He’s been perfectly polite for a man who almost drowned, but it makes Jango’s perfectly adequate house seem smaller and quieter and older and just—worse.

He appears to be in his early thirties. He’s tall and broad shouldered, and he bites his nails. The knuckles of his right hand are a mess, and his nose looks like it’s been broken more than once, and there are bruises and healing cuts on his face and on his bare arms.

Jango thinks about the distance between his house and the town and then about the shotgun in the box under his bed, the revolver in the kitchen drawer, and then he pours more coffee while Obi-Wan finishes his food.

He’s obviously exhausted, half-dead on his feet, but Obi-Wan finds it in himself to start asking questions once he’s done eating. Jango watches him washing the dishes, his rough hands turning red in the hot soapy water and the sleeves of his borrowed jumper rolled up to his elbows, and tries his best to answer them.

I didn’t know the lighthouse was still in operation.

It isn’t.

Thanks for saving my life.

It’s nothing.

What do you do, then, if you’re not the lighthouse keeper?

I’m retired.

You’re too young to be retired.

I am older than I look.

At this, Obi-Wan laughs out loud, smiling at Jango over his shoulder, and says: I doubt that.

The house is old and small, more of a cabin than an actual house, square and squat. Jango bought it years ago, and he never expected to live in it, not really. He leaves a few blankets and an extra pillow on the old couch in what passes for his living room. It’s still early, but the sun’s going down behind the clouds, and the shadows inside the house are growing deeper and darker. Obi-Wan stands in front of the wide windows and looks at the raging sea through the warped glass panes.

In the morning, Jango will drive him to the town, to the old docks. A friend of his will be there to pick him up with his boat.

Jango thinks about the tide, and about what it gives and what it takes from you, and then Obi-Wan’s turning to look at Jango over his shoulder, face in shadow.

It’s been a long, long time since Jango had anyone else in the house. Ghosts don’t count.

Obi-Wan doesn’t look like the kind of man unused to finding himself lost at sea. He’s not scared: he regards Jango and Jango’s house with the confidence of a man who’s survived the winter tides more than once.

He accepts the cup of coffee Jango offers to him, bruised hands wrapping around the chipped porcelain with relish, and he smiles.

He calls Jango kind.

(Jango hasn’t been kind in a very long time.)

He’s too big for Jango’s small house. That night, he hits his head against the sloping ceiling of Jango’s bedroom in the dark, and Jango finds himself laughing, tucking his laughter in the curve of Obi-Wan’s jaw.

The car drive to town is quick and easy. They listen to the radio—local news, 80s pop music. Obi-Wan knows most of the songs, mouths along with the words, his gaze fixed in the sea through the window. It’s noon, and the sun’s shining, high and white in the pure blue sky: it’s bitterly cold.

Obi-Wan kisses him once and then he gets on his friend’s boat, leaves with the winter tide, and Jango thinks about treasures hidden in the sand, about coins and broken bottles and the detritus of other people’s lives, and then he gets in his car and drives back home.

#jangobi #kenfetti #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #maría writes #ao3 wrapped writing meme

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adriaticmidnight · 8 months

Text

Don't go to Gotham Without Reading the Pamphlet

24k words and counting

In a time before the Metahuman Protection Acts:

When Danny Fenton's identity reveal goes horribly wrong, he finds himself in Gotham, hiding away from the GIW.

Cue metahuman traffickers intrigued by this new homeless teen and a bat family who are trying to take them down.

Chapter 1:

Danny clutched his arm across his stomach, desperately trying to keep his insides staying that way. His back against the rough stonework of the building he had just escaped, his eyes darted around frantically.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this!

Just then he caught it, the smell of lilacs.

A barrage of moments flashed across his vision.

His mother's warm embrace after skinning his knee on the playground.

The way the sharp metal gleamed from the overhead operating light.

His mom bringing him hot soup when he was young and sick, before she became obsessed with her work.

The cold gloved hands, peeling back his skin . Digging through his chest .

The heavy thuds of footsteps snapped him out of it, his mother’s perfume still in the air. Danny forced himself to his feet, forced himself to stay quiet. He was too weak to use his invisibility, if they caught him now, he didn’t think he’d make it.

He’d transformed in front of them, hopeful for the first time in years that they would accept him, that they’d see their son. Not Phantom.

What an idiot he’d been.

He’d yelled at them, Screamed at them before they even cut him open that he was Danny, that they couldn’t do this to their son.

It would have been better if they had said something to him, anything that he could refute and challenge them with. But instead, they had been silent, only talking to each other in low voices and taking notes as they poked and prodded him. As they cut away pieces of him. Small at first.

At first.

He was lucky to have regenerative powers, though, how lucky could one be to be able to lose the same hand three times? The wound on his chest had begun to try and heal a few times but they just re-opened it, each time caring less about how cleanly they cut.

He stumbled a few feet and caught bright teal in the corner of his vision. He moved as quickly as he could behind some warehouse boxes and held his breath.

“Where is he? We can’t let him go Jack, not after what he did!”

“I’m tracking him now Mads, it won’t be long.”

Shit.

Danny inched along the wall further away from the two. How had he forgotten that? How long had he been in that place? Days? Weeks? His head was swimming from the drugs they’d pumped him full of. None to ease his pain, no, only to keep him sedated enough and test and see what kind of reaction a ghost body would have with different combinations.

It was because of him that they had created some of their best work. Weapons that could destroy a ghost.

Molecule by molecule.

His breath quickened and he forced his feet to move faster, ignoring the warm ectoplasm that ran down his jumpsuit.

A hand clamped down on his new and still tender right hand and he screamed.

—

The scream that had come from Danny had been more of a wheeze. It was so ridiculous that he began to laugh, harsh barely there laughter, but laughter all the same. He was going to die and he couldn’t even scream. Even B-rate horror movie characters could do that.

“Danny it’s me!”

Danny’s eyes focused and he gazed into blue eyes across from him.

“Jazz?” he wheezed

“Shush baby brother, follow me”

Jazz lead him around the buildings. He couldn’t even bring himself to care how much her grip on his hand hurt, she was here and he was going to be okay. He could feel tears threatening to escape.

Everything was going to be fine.

Jazz was here.

Everything would be fine.

Danny almost didn’t hear the sound of an ecto-gun charging up.

On instinct, he pushed Jazz away from him and turned to take the hit himself.

A searing pain invaded his back and spread its hot fingers through his limbs. His teeth began to chatter even as the heat spread through him. His core pulsed harder and harder to try and cool him down.

His knees gave out and he fell to the asphalt below, gasping in air.

He could hear muffled sounds as Jazz screamed something.

All of a sudden there was a whoosh of air and the GAV was between Danny and his parents. An arm covered in stockings pulled him into the vehicle and another person shone light into his eyes, opening them more to see better. Danny didn’t have the energy to swat their hand away.

“Shit, Sam drive faster!” Jazz said

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

He was so tired, ancients he was tired. Maybe he could just take a nap here, where it was safe. His eyelids fluttered closed. Someone began smacking his face

“No no, we’re not doing that! Stay with me Danny, stay awake!” Jazz said

The GAV swerved right and left, seemingly at random.

“Sam! GIW on the side!” Tucker shouted

“I see them! Hang on!” Sam said as she swerved hard and everything in the van moved to the left.

Danny yelped in pain as Jazz bumped into his stomach.

“Jesus you’re burning up. Hold on”

Jazz rattled around in her bag and pulled out 2 ecto-dejectos, giving Danny the shots as carefully as she could while in a frantically moving van. Jazz moved away from him and began filling a backpack.

“Okay Danny, Danny? Hey! Eyes on me! Good, I know this is a lot but you have to pay attention, there isn’t much time.”

“About 5 minutes out!” Tucker said

Jazz closed her eyes tight and huffed out a harsh breath. Opening her eyes she stared at Danny with determination.

“There is food in this bag, ecto-dejecto, money, first aid, a knife, a Fenton thermos,-”

“You’re not coming?” Danny said

Jazz swallowed hard, “No, at least not yet. We need to get you away from this as fast as possible. We’re going to distract the GIW and mom and dad, what matters is that you get out of here now.”

“But the tracker-” Danny eeked out

Jazz grimaced, “So we’re going to need to take some blood. Not a lot, just a few vials so that it pings on their radar. We’re all going to take one and run in opposite directions, that way they won't be able to tell which one is you.”

Danny’s obsession burned in his chest, he was the one who was supposed to be protecting them . Not the other way around.

Jazz placed her hand gently on his shoulder, “Please Danny”

He shouldn’t be leaving. He shouldn’t be abandoning his friends. He shouldn’t let them take this risk for him. He shouldn’t have told his parents, if he hadn’t done that none of this would be happening.

There are a lot of things he shouldn’t have done.

He held out his arm, “Just do it”

After dodging the GIW and his parents, who were none too happy that their van was stolen, they made it to a semi-secluded train yard. Their pursuers were just a few minutes behind. The sound of their engines and the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air.

Danny could stand now at least and stumbled out of the GAV, they all hugged and said their goodbyes, goodbyes that they promised each other were not their last. And they bolted into separate directions, Sam peeled out of the train yard and honked her horn to get the attention of the GIW away from the rest of them, at least for the moment.

Danny jogged up to the train slowly moving away from him and with his last burst of energy jumped into the train car. He lay there for a moment catching his breath before turning on his side and watching as the white vans split off into separate directions, ecto shots racing after his best friends. He lifted one of his hands, focusing on the tire of the closest van, willing himself to use an ectoblast. But no green power came and Danny was left to stare at Amity until it disappeared from view.

—

Danny spent the next few days in and out of consciousness. The first time he woke up he knew he had to deal with the giant cut in his chest. He had already put it off for too long. He had de-transformed in his sleep, that much was evident when he felt the pain roll through his body. He took a small peek at the cuts by lifting up his new shirt that had been stuffed in the bag. The thin layer of ice was still on it from the previous night. At least it helped with the pain a little.

He hyped himself up, muttering to himself that he could do this as he put the fishing wire through the needle and began haphazardly stitching himself shut. Thick hot tears pooled down his cheeks as he tried to remember to breathe through it.

He raffled through the bag and injected some more ecto-dejecto, a deep sigh leaving his body as the cold liquid eased some of the pain.

The sounds of the rattling train car lulled him to sleep, his head propped up on a small bit of hay that was stacked against the walls of the otherwise empty train car.

On the second day, he rationed his food and took note of everything he had in his pack. Just like Jazz had said he had some food, 4 ecto-dejectos left, money, first aid, a knife, and a Fenton thermos but also a t-shirt and pants that he was very thankful for. Sam had given him a frankly ridiculous sum of cash but considering he didn’t know how long he’d have to live off it, he was glad to have it.

His mind had once again traveled back to his friends, hoping against hope that they were fine and were able to trick the GIW easily and would be in contact with him soon. His only solace was that he knew Sam's parents had good lawyers so at least if they were caught Sam could talk her parents into helping Tucker and Jazz.

On the third day, some of the GIW had become wise to the plan and he had had to switch multiple trains to avoid detection. Luckily something was messing with their sensors and he was able to get away.

The drugs and adrenaline had worn off, and Danny fully felt the pain his parents had caused him. He checked on his chest but the cuts were still as raw as ever. Any other wound and he would be halfway healed by now, but he had a bad feeling this one would be different.

Today he had had to hide from another homeless person (crazy to think that he was homeless now) before the other man moved on after a few stops.

What was he going to do? Where was he going to live? He could never go back, that much he knew for certain. Not even if he died all the way, they would still be after him. He would never be able to rest.

Danny sat back against the train car, the dying sunlight of yet another day bathing him as he sobbed.

#dpxdc #dpxdc fanfic #dpxdc crossover

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