#em was definitely taller when they were little

[vecnuthy]

Steddie first kiss scenario

Accident: mistaken identity due to Steve being absolutely hammered | wc 893 |

Two hours into a Harrington house party, Eddie was getting near the end of his inventory and his social battery. The cup of punch-colored alcohol he'd been nursing had kept him nice and fuzzy for a while, but with the end in sight, he dumped the rest down the kitchen sink, tossed the cup in the trash, then turned, opting to walk out the back yard rather than navigate through the packed house.

But his progress was stopped in an empty hall by the man of the house himself, Steve Harrington.

A very drunk Steve Harrington, at that, considering the extra droop of his pretty eyes, lazy smile, overly loose movements, and the way he crashed into Eddie, pinning him against a small table, slurring loudly, "Nance! There'y'are."

He looked and smelled absolutely sloshed as he swayed further into Eddie's space.

"Steve, wha-"

"Been loogin for y' everywhere."

Before Eddie could even do anything, Steve's hands were buried in his curls and pulling him in until their lips met and - wow, that was definitely Steve Harrington's rum-soaked tongue in his mouth, making his stomach swoop, the heat from Steve's flushed face igniting a fire that tore across Eddie's skin, burning faster with every movement of Steve's lips. Lips that were soft, unlike the fingers curling, pulling Eddie's roots enough to make Eddie's hips press into Steve's, make him want to moa-

"You taste different. Like smoke and.....and peaches, hv'you been smoking?!" He frowned and shook his head. "S'not good for you."

He paused in thought as Eddie's heart hammered in his chest, mouth and scalp tingling from Steve's onslaught. His brain refused to make sense of anything happening. Were he not half propped up by the table against the wall and Steve's hold, Eddie would probably be on the floor.

"Wanna smoke now, achlly," Steve said as he put enough space between them to pat at his pockets before realizing with a laugh, "Oh wai', you've got 'em!"

He started patting at the pockets of a very shell-shocked Eddie as he continued to ramble, "And peashes. Where'd you ge' peashes? Y'llergic to the fuzz. You 'idn't eat that, d'you?"

Steve patted a little too far over the front of his jeans, making Eddie, honestly on the verge of blacking out, yelp. Steve giggled out, "Ticklish," then added, "You're taller," before pouting, "Ugh, your pockets 'r so full. When d'you put jeans on?" Steve let out a frustrated whine before huffing, "God, I can't find'em, just - "

Steve paused then smiled like he remembered the secret of life, and muttered, "You've got the smoke."

And just like that, Eddie's face was smooshed between Steve's hands, breath barely ghosting over Eddie's lips before he breathed Eddie in, eyes closed, probably imagining nicotine flooding his system.

Eddie would make a run for it if he were able to move, but he couldn't will his body to do anything but buzz from shock yet sing for Steve's touch.

Steve opened his eyes, and he took a long, glazed-over look at Eddie's face, settling on his lips.

"You kind of look different. Your lips....they're bigger." His eyes closed slowly then grew comically large. "D'you eat the fuzz, Nance?!" Steve panicked, then looked Eddie in the eyes again, and took a shuddering breath. "Your eyes, though, they....th' look, look kinda brown like -" Steve's face softened "- like his."

"Steve?"

To Eddie's immense horror, a very confused Barbara Holland had appeared behind Steve.

"Barrrb! Hey, guess what? Nance's been smoking!" he giggled.

"What?" Barb's eyes flicked back and forth between a very panicked, frozen Eddie.

"She tastes like smoke! Nancy Wheeler, smoking!" He cackled gleefully, but made it known that he was proud of her by turning back to Eddie and slurring, "You're so cool, 's like it's Halloween. Dressed up like Munson? Y' look so cool, baby." And he swooped in and kissed Eddie one more time.

"Okay, Steve!" Barb shrieked and pulled him away. "Let's get you some water!" She shot Eddie a wide-eyed questioning look and steered a stumbling Steve toward the kitchen.

"He's so wasted, he thought I was Nancy!" Eddie rushed out quietly, which made Barb snort.

Eddie's face burned, numb to everything except where Steve had touched him. Which was kind of everywhere, actually, so he felt on fire. "And it happened before I could even- I didn't know what to d-"

"Eddie!" She cut off his rambling, then sighed. "Don't worry, you're fine. You're fine. Understand?" She was waiting for a response.

Eddie, head still swimming, nodded cautiously.

"Good," she said, letting some of her tension melt away, which Eddie tried to copy. "Doubt he'll remember any of it, anyway. I know I don't want to."

Eddie winced at that.

"No, it's not you, it's just-" she huffed then shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Drive safe, Eddie."

And just like that, she was gone.

Eddie followed suit with Steve's voice echoing in his head, an overlapping manic cacophony of

"Your lips....they're bigger."

"Your eyes, though, they....th' look, look kinda brown like...like his."

"Dressed up like Munson? Y' look so cool, baby."

Two kisses because Steve thought Eddie was his girl.

And her best friend had seen the second.

Actual fucking kisses because Steve thought he was his.

Thought Eddie was his.

Said he tasted like smoke and peaches.

Eddie drove home in a daze.

#eddie: just gonna head out #steve: my girlfriend! who's suddenly taller! with brown eyes! and in jeans with /full pockets/! look SO good #steve: like eddie #eddie: 👁👄👁 (404 not found) #barb wasn't a fan of steve's #barb goes missing from the harrington house two weeks later #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #cw: alcohol

[vhstown]

hobie brown ★ general headcanons

content/warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of violence, implied abandonment (?), depictions of fictional dystopian govt + police

a/n: it's about time innit 😭😭😭 a couple little thoughts about the guy that has taken over my brain for the past 6 months give it up for spider punk ‼️ very much inspired by @qiupachups's hcs go check em out here

Hobie tends to code-switch a lot depending on who he's around. At the Spider-society, he tones his accent down so people can understand him, but speaks in his natural accent around the mandem & people he likes (e.g. Miles 😁) He's the menace EVER though so he dials the Cockney up to 100 when he's fighting cops outside of the East End because they don't understand it 💀

Even though his handwriting is... atrocious, it's actually because he's picked up the style of ransom notes. In his universe, any sort of communication can be intercepted, so it's better that he can't be identified by his handwriting. That's why it's always changing, and he's half-decent at forgery too.

Speaking of writing, he can do a bunch of pen tricks. It's almost annoying how good he is at it, and if you were to ask him how, he'd just shrug. He's just that guy, you know?

His universe's Aunt May is a lovely lady from the West Indies and she runs F.E.A.S.T in Camden. They're not actually related, but he'll always see her as his aunt. She definitely helped him out after a rough patch in his life, and he volunteers often at the shelter. Everyone there has just accepted the 7ft punk walking around a couple days a week giving out breakfast and coffee.

Hobie is also bizarrely resourceful. He has a LOT of plants in his boat, and some of them grow vegetables! He knows all about gardening and makes the best preserves and soups. It's a good time to be at F.E.A.S.T when Hobie comes in with his little cloth bag full of veggie goodness.

About the rest of his family, Hobie's parents... He doesn't even know who they are himself, to be honest — not like he wants to. However, he does have siblings and a few close cousins. They're all separated, but Hobie does his best to find them. He's the oldest of them all (so far, at least?) and though they don't see him much like a brother at first, he makes sure they're taken care of, regardless of how much younger they are than him. They're always running around F.E.A.S.T, so on the days where Hobie isn't there, he can be sure that Aunt May has a few little helpers (though they're quickly growing taller than her...)

Good with animals. Even the ones that seem a bit rabid warm up to him after a little while. He knows when to leave them alone, when to give them attention, what to feed them, etc. That's why it's not unusual to see them following him around, and a bunch of kittens at his feet eating while he eats his own lunch.

Not actually a big drinker. I like to think he only has a couple of drinks or is just an insane heavyweight because there's no way he's gonna be dismantling the dictatorship if he's piss drunk. There's been a couple times where he's knackered after a night out, though. Just another reason to hate mornings, it looks like.

Most of the stickers on his guitar are from different shows and rallies he's been to, and/or organised, but only a few out of the hundreds he's been to (there's only so much space on a guitar, after all.) It's almost like a little look through his life since he joined the punk scene. Besides, who wouldn't want to beat your local government-made villain over the head with a picture of a cartoon dog?

Absolutely, utterly, undeniably terrible at singing — or is he? Not exactly. He can hum just fine, so singing should be a piece of cake, right? He's alright at a few songs, but "happy birthday" isn't exactly something you'd be performing at the Royal Opera House (he does anyway, but that's a story for another day. Fisk's 56th birthday goes just swimmingly with Spider-Punk on the front of the news.)

Despite that, he's not particularly fond of being known as "Spider-Punk". His Spider identity isn't really meant to be identified, despite how loud his whole get-up is. He's got a lot of people depending on him, and he's careful to never leave a trace of his real identity. That also means, however, that pretty much every punk in the area has a target on their back — let's just say Hobie's got a little "BEATING UP BLUE BOTTLES 101" on a Saturday morning for all his punk friends.

Since the government's got little recording devices and cameras everywhere, Hobie's taken it upon himself to... "borrow" them. He's got a couple mates good with tech, so he's on the scene pretty fast with his own crime-tracking network — pretty sick.

In fact, Hobie's friends (in his universe and others) are pretty useful for more than a few things. For pretty much every situation, he "knows a guy", whether that's related to tech, music, clothing, art, putting together a bunch of random stolen parts to make a dimension watch...

iN CAse

it dON'T

WoRK ouT

— HoBie

🎸💫🕸️

@phoenixinthefiles (since i alr tagged chewy lol)

hey hey hi these r a bit shorter than usual but i just wanted to put these little thoughts out there ^^ might make a part 2 if i have any more thoughts idk we'll see!

rbs super appreciated have a good day and check out my atsv masterlist here!

#hobie brown #hobart brown #spider punk #hobie brown headcanons #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv headcanons #vhstown

[florvaine]

silver spikes and pastel ribbons.

headcannons of Hobie with an opposite aesthetic gf. (afab! reader)

genre: mainly fluff, slight angst, nsfw(?)

warnings: little nsfw if you squint, crying, some kid gets a car lobbed at him 😭

i imaginee the two of you actually met at one of his gigs 🫶🏻

He was on the stage, flicking his roughened fingertips on each string on his guitar, a harsh rift sounding through the amp on the edge of platform as he moves his hand further up the fretboard.

Then he looks in the crowd, right by the barrier of sweaty, headbanging and most likely hammered fans, and you’re right there.

Directly in front of him, pressed against the metal-barred barrier that security was struggling to keep people from hopping over.

What caught him off guard wasn’t only the fact you were fuckin’ gorgeous, but the fluttery, light pink dress that was just above the middle of your thighs. White lace trimmed the v-shaped neckline that was held up by thin, spaghetti straps.

Strips of silky ribbon cascade from the wrap around your waist, dangling pearls and a small-chain necklace decorate your collarbones and shimmer like the sheen of sweat that held stray hairs against your temples and your forehead.

And your shoes - a pair of white, glossy, open-toed high heels that added a few extra inches to your height (Hobie secretly wanted to give you a few other inches), but even with them Hobie could still tell from the stage that he was way taller than you.

He misses a single strum of his guitar, so he temporarily redirects his attention back to the gig, his hickory eyes still wandering over to you from under his mask.

100% got the security to practically hunt you down so you could meet him backstage.

He’s a little anxious because they were taking a while, and he’s slightly disappointed at the thought you already left.

But then there’s a knock at the door and one of the security guards speaks muffled through his private backstage room.

“Hobie, got the girl you were askin’ for.”

The rest is history, really. You were officially dating after 7 painfully long months.

You got along well, even if everything else about each other was contrasting, you’re political ideals, music taste and humour are practically a copy and paste.

The two of you get undoubtably get some stares.

A man clad in black leather and silver spikes and a woman dressed like a doll stood out a lot against the Nike trackies of London.

“Everyone’s staring, Hobie.”

“Ignore ‘em, hun. They’re pissed JD is shut.”

Every now and then he takes you to a more quiet, downtown street with a collection of thrift stores and craft shops.

Hobie’s definitely caught in Hobbycraft at least twice a week 😭😭

Literally loves your style - everything from your jewellery to the way you get your nails done.

He’s whipped ‼️

Loves everything about you, but especially your hair.

If you wear wigs he’s helping you install it, if you have naturally curly hair he’s taking note of each step for later on, he reads the labels of every hair product you own.

I feel like he has a thing for curly hair idk why I just get the vibe.🤭

Hobie definatly told Pav and Gwen about you when you first met, like the next day he’s at the Spider Society talking even more than usual.

“She was stunnin’, I’m tellin’ ya’ now. Really nice eyes,” He turns away from them and mutters under his breath, “And tits.”

Gwen smirks, “You’ve told us, I’m pretty sure.” She nudges Pav, and he’s giggling like an excited schoolgirl.

“Never thought I’d see Hobie have a full-blown crush!” Pav comments.

Hobie hums, a small smile on his face as he stares infront of him. Gwen and Pav share a look before they imitate the way he looks - like a lovestruck idiot.

It’s funny with one of you in the other’s room - Hobie, dressed in dark blues and blacks with an overall threatening aura just sat on your pretty pink bedsheets in your floral-scented room.

Sometimes you’ll randomly go on a tangent about a new dress or concert tickets whilst doing something else, and you’re convinced he’s uninterested.

Next time he’s at yours he had that new dress in a silk scarf wrap, or he pulls the tickets out of one of his pockets.

You’re in the kitchen of your apartment, stirring the milk into your tea as Hobie scrapes butter onto two slices of toast you had put in.

When he’s finished, he slides the plate over to you before leaning back on the counter and looking at your over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Bee,” You pick up the plate, moving it closer to you for easier access to the toast.

There’s two rectangular, shimmery-sheened tickets underneath the circular plate.

You’re shocked, looking at the ticket now in your hand, eyes moving from the words and numbers printed onto it and your boyfriend.

“Hobie, you didn’t have to!” You say.

“You said that ya’ wanted to see them, so I got us tickets.” He shrugs, a small proud smirk on his lips.

Movie nights every Friday after dinner 💕

Sometimes he has to leave early or he shows up later on, but he makes up for the time lost by bringing you your favourite food and drink from the local corner shop.

If you’re in college or uni, he will swing in every break and check in on you and everything.

When it comes to cuddling, he’s the big spoon 95% of the time unless he had a really shitty day.

Like really shitty.

It’s not very often Hobie crys, and even when he does it’s not for very long.

The man prides himself in being Spider-Punk, saving civilians whilst preaching his beliefs to his followers that feel more like a family than fans.

He can only hold on so long, and it’s only a matter of time before he can’t save someone.

Sure, the little boy wasn’t dead, he was in hospital after a car had been carelessly tossed into him by the anomaly he was supposed to contain.

After visiting the boy in hospital, chanting apologies and ‘get well soon’s like a broken record, he goes to the first place he can think of.

Yours.

There was something so special, so serene and comforting in the confines of your cluttered shelves and organised wardrobe pressed against the walls of your bedroom.

Hobie knew it wasn’t the room, but it was you.

You, so different and relaxing. Calming and exciting, understanding and motivating. Anywhere was safe if you were there.

He swings through shadowed alleys, reaching your apartment over the bustling roads and honking horns of the cars below.

Hobie perches on your small balcony, and taps on the window.

In his reflection, Spider-Punk looks back at him. Strong, unbeatable, selfless and stubborn. But as he pulls the mask off, the fabric hanging limp like a ragdoll cat in his had, Hobie Brown stares back at him.

Tattered, exhausted, overwhelmed and in desperate need to be in your arms.

The window opens. His mental image of himself splits away as soon as he sees your face.

“Rough night?” You ask, voice slightly raspy and muffled, yet still as soothing as hot tea and honey on a sore throat.

The routine begins when Hobie nods. He clambers in, he takes off his boots and jacket and leaves them by your desk, his mask discarded somewhere beside them.

You pull out one of his white, soft cotton shirts from your dresser, and a pair of dark grey shorts. He gets changed, you make a cup of tea.

Then he cries. Salty droplets of embodied sorrows paired with the pinch of his eyebrows and the slight quiver of his bottom lip.

Each time a tear drips down his soft cheeks you wipe it away with your equally as soft hands, smearing the liquidated sadness into his now clumpy lashes.

You count sixteen droplets this time before he stops, and you stand up to offer the silk scarf he wrapped your gifted babydoll dress in, and he takes it before wrapping the coarse, black wicks that topped his head.

And then he’s curling his back against your chest, holding the hand of your arm that loosely covers his waist.

Their consciousness fades into two seperate slumbers. A comforting silence drapes over the two lovers, knowing that the other will be there when they awake.

-—-

#*{ ‘. florawrites<3 #hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie headcanons #hobart brown #into the spider verse #spider man: across the spider verse #x reader #spider punk #spiderman x reader

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - A John Shelby/Vampire OFC Story.

Well, guys. It's happening. Kinda happening. Testing the waters, yep. We'll go with that. I'm not convinced it's any good despite my best efforts, so I thought I'd see what you thought by sharing the prologue. Who knows? You might love it and then I could feel a little much-needed cheer when I'm going through a bit of a black spot at present, but if not then I know I have to go away and work harder on it. Either way, your feedback matters to me, and I thank in advance those kind enough to leave it.

The story will differ slightly from canon here and there, as you will notice, but not so much that's unrecognisable. Slightly AU, shall we say!

Here we go!

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 1,956

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

Prologue

He stumbled, muttering cusses that fluttered off to permeate the silence of the night, rooting his feet as he straightened, pulling his overcoat around himself more. The cobbles underfoot already twinkled with a smattering of frost, the air thick with winter mist and pungent coal smoke, John feeling his pale skin tremble. The bitter December cold greeted him with her usual sting upon that night.  

“Don’t get so pie-eyed that you don’t know what’s what, John. That goes for all of us.” 

John Shelby wasn’t always the most proficient at following orders, especially when a bad business day had led to his arrival at The Garrison, a decision to sink nine whiskies one after the other and six pints, thus leading to him sitting there sloshed and grinning.  

His troubles had been far behind him as he’d revelled in merriment, loudly championing to his cohorts exactly what he would like to do to Clara Bow, for instance, should he have the screen siren within his lustful clutches for long enough. He’d heeded Tommy’s advice to begin with, but on that day, the loss of over a grand thanks to a horse who should have lost, and a jockey with other ideas, his elder brother’s words of warning had fallen on deaf ears.  

“Fucking Rasmussen’s,” he muttered, sniffing as he at least attempted to walk up Watery Lane in a straight-ish line. “Bastards can fucking try and ‘ave me, but they won’t. Fucking Geordie cunts.”  

The Rasmussen’s, of the family Rasmussen, were a definite thorn in the side of anyone with the surname Shelby at that moment, the Newcastle criminal outfit currently making their presence known, and loudly. Barges that moved through the canal systems anywhere close to their areas within the north had been firebombed, their cargo sunk, Shelby bookmaking stands ransacked at the races, and threats to the family delivered with malicious intent; stay out of the north, or else.  

The Shelby’s were not the type to simply back off, though. They were the type to be on their guard against any reprisal attacks, vengeance against the kind of Shelby retribution the likes of which had - after quite the bloodied brawl - sent the Rasmussen’s scarpering from a race meet in Derby two weekend’s past.  

The family would not simply roll over and take the threat lying down, and neither would the Rasmussen’s. They were great in number, and where hand to hand strength lay, perhaps the most formidable in force that the Shelby’s had ever encountered. That strength did not seem normal, more deity gifted than naturally arising.  

They bred ‘em hard as nails in the north, apparently.  

As he staggered, lying down was exactly what John wished to be doing, once again standing to root his feet upon the slippery cobbles, looking up at a streetlamp which had begun to flicker slightly, the bulb then suddenly popping with an audible bang.  

First assuming a stray bullet had been responsible, it was just the sobering shock he needed to quickly take stock, his sky-blue eyes scanning the darkened street for any kind of movement through the thick fog, drawing himself up taller as his hand automatically hovered over the gun nestled within his ever-present holster. Bang, bang, bang, another three streetlamp bulbs all shattered, plunging the lane into darkness, John feeling the effects of the whiskey diminish as his senses prickled on high alert.  

He stood statuesque, his ears pricked, eyes still darting from left to right while his hand curled around the thick handle of the gun, primed, ready. They wouldn’t get the better of him, oh fuck no. He blinked, and a figure finally came into view a couple of hundred yards ahead, seemingly appearing from nowhere. He blinked again and saw that the woman dressed in white and stained with blood had moved again, John shaking his head in confusion.  

It must have been the drink. People did not move from one side of the street to the other at such a speed, seemingly vanishing and appearing once more within a blink.  

She appeared to be on high alert, John watching as she sniffed the air, a deep, foreboding rumble sounding through the night. He wondered whose dog was out at that hour, until it hit him; the growl was coming from her. It was a noise neither of human nor beast, an eerie, echoless reverberation, his heartbeat amping up a notch as he watched.  

Another blink and she was once again moved, a tearing sound filling the air, followed by a shrill cry, gurgling noises, spluttering. Looking to his right, he witnessed the woman dragging a man who had been concealed within the shadows out into the street, her mouth clamped upon his neck. John stood motionless, his eyes widening as he viewed the scene, a cold snap of horror shocking his bones as he witnessed her yank the man’s head clean from his neck with frighteningly swift finesse.  

His jaw began to tremor, his grip upon the gun in his hand tight as she walked to him, her fingers tangled in the black hair of the severed head she carried, a shock of crimson painting her chin and neck from where she had gorged upon the blood of the now lifeless, headless body slumped upon the cobbles.  

“Who the...” he began as she halted before him, changing track. “What the fuck are you?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk, holding the severed head aloft, blood and sinew dripping onto the ground below. “I am the one who saved you from Samuel Rasmussen. He waited for you.” Her head jerked back a fraction in the direction of the darkened lane. “Same as his three friends.”  

The silken purr of her voice was so alluring, it almost overrode the fact that John stood so terrified, he honestly did not know what on earth to say next. Had he truly seen what he saw? Was this merely a whiskey hazed dream? Surely, he was about to wake with a start, a thumping headache accompanying the morning that followed such peculiar dreams, for this couldn’t be real. 

Could it? 

Dropping the head to the floor, her hand reached for him, John’s shaking grip upon the gun solidifying as he thrust his arm forth, attempting to press the barrel to her skull. He found himself disarmed faster than he could comprehend, the Webley revolver landing with a clatter upon the ground.  

“Shhh,” she soothed, her enchanting eyes flitting over him, her long nails gently trailing his cheeks as she viewed him intently. “I mean you no harm.”  

Studying her up close properly, it was then that he noticed them, the two long, pointed teeth in place of where her canines should have sat, the smooth white smudged with red. His heart pounded like a war drum, his entire body feeling light. The lithe muscles of his form pinched tightly in fear, yet a juxtaposing sense of calm seemed to swirl through him at her softly delivered words. 

“You can trust me. I wish nothing more than to instil that within you.” What on earth was that accent? He couldn’t place it at all. 

How exactly, he could trust a woman who had just decapitated a man with her bare hands after drinking his blood, he didn’t know, but he felt on an instinctual level that he could. Unless it was the whiskey. Whiskey, of course, had the power to lie.  

The woman, though, seemed to be earnest in what she had told him, her nails stroking her cheeks as she studied him, her blue eyes flitting, taking him in. Oh, how she approved of what she gazed upon. He was magnificently handsome. Her nails stroked a hail of goose bumps over his alabaster skin, reaching his neck as she leaned forward, sniffing him. A contented sigh fluttered over her lips. 

“Your blood smells like earth and fire, honey and dark orchids.”  

What?  

He frowned, perplexed, opening his mouth to speak. No words came forth. He was so overcome by her that speech was beyond him. It felt like she was pouring soothing waves of calm into him, and little did he realise, but he was correct. Her kind could transmit energies to humans in order to placate their fears. 

Staring down at her, it struck him sharply, how much she didn’t quite look like she belonged there. Striking she was, with her milky skin that matched his own, her throat and chest covered in tattoos, symbols and swirls he didn’t recognise whatsoever. He knew tattooed ladies existed, but he was yet to witness one up until then, the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman smiling, her nails like sensual daggers upon his neck. 

She was unlike anyone else he’d ever encountered, a woman of distinct enigma.  

There was something about her that didn’t fit, decapitation and blood drinking aside. She looked as if she’d come from another time, a different age. This yanked at his interest almost as much as her allure, her pale skin seeming to glow beneath the light of the moon, now unincumbered by clouds as it shone its rays down upon them.  

“You are perhaps the most beautiful creature I have seen in a long, long time.”  

No, it was not he who uttered those words. It was the woman, her statement one of parting, John blinking and finding her vanished once more into the night. She’d left him breathless, with every hair on his body feeling like it was standing on end.  

Vampires tended to have that effect on the living. 

While the third youngest of the Shelby men made his way into their abode, the vampire moved at speed, perching herself atop the roof of one of the opposing back-to-back houses. The dark slate tingled against her bare feet, but being a creature of zero body heat unless she was sitting close to a source of warmth, it was of no bother to her.  

She sharpened her senses to the night, listening intently to every noise, every rustle. A bottle rolled over and tinkled over the cobbles a few streets away, a gentleman a few further on than that regurgitated the many beers he’d sunk in a nearby pub into the gutter, too, but other than that, all was quiet.  

Well, mostly all.  

Within the homestead she had been watching over, she heard the brand-new object of her desire being berated by the woman named Polly, as she’d gathered. Closing her eyes, she saw the one she knew to be named John there in her mind, a throb reverberating through her. Goodness, how handsome he was close up, perhaps the most divine man she’d encountered in a while.  

He carried himself with such pride and confidence, being a member of a notable criminal outfit, of course he would. A vampire of her age could tell so much more about a person, though, just by studying them, as she had with him and his family from the shadows. For all his acts of violence and authority, of which she had witnessed a couple, she sensed a man a little less ruthless than his elder brothers, with a heart a touch softer.  

It was the softness within him that pulled her in the most.  

She had gone there that night with the view of a single-minded agenda, only to encounter John Shelby up close for the first time and realise that her plight was perhaps not going to be quite as polarised as she’d first envisioned. Confident that the family were safe from any further acts of violent subterfuge, the vampire took one last look at the house.  

“Until next time, beautiful creature.”  

She was gone into the darkness within a blink.  

#john shelby #john shelby fanfiction #john shelby x ofc #john shelby smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic

[marwhoa]

request: a humble request, for 2k12 raph x reader (g/n or fem) yk that pairing where it’s grumpy x sunshine, reader is raph’s lil ball of happiness but acts like they aren’t and then gets a little jealous when reader’s attention is elsewhere, raph totally overthinking things like ‘i tot they only smile at me that way~~’ or just some inner angst where reader has to calm him down/reassure him >\\\\<

🝮 “ teensy-weensy hiccup, oops! ”

2012!raph x reader

author’s note: a new fic? so soon after the other? i may or may not have had time… may have done a li’l bit of writing in class, too… But! My first 2012 request! I hope you like uwu, thankies !!

word count: 1.8k (exactly! isn’t that crazy?)

“ Pay attention t’me. “

Y/N looked up from their place on the floor. Around them laid all kinds of craft materials, from pins to scissors, to glue guns and threads. A tablet was leaning against a box of fabrics, playing a “ How to Make Cute Plushies and Clothes! ” video—currently paused as they struggled to catch up. Their eyes met Raph’s green hues, wavering with an emotion they couldn’t quite pinpoint just yet.

“ What? “

Raph stiffened up visibly, his fists clenching—not out of anger, of course. He would never hurt you, and you were all too aware of that.

“ I just, ya spend so much time with my brothers! What about me, aren’t I just as cool as ‘em? “

Y/N sat stunned for a moment—had you really been paying so little attention to him? Roll the cameras real quick!

You recalled a memory earlier this week, when you had first come down to the lair.

———

“ Y/N, hey! Can you come hold something for me? “

Donnie called to you, from his doorway almost immediately after you stepped through the turnstile. Had it not been for this taking your attention, you might have caught Raph standing in the doorway of his room, frozen in a “ running-out-to-see-you ” position. His face faltered at the big goofy grin that you flashed Donnie, quick to rush in over and see just what kind of strange experiment you would have the pleasure to engage with—it couldn’t be that dangerous! Otherwise he would have asked Mikey, but then again, maybe it was slightly above Mikey-level of safety and right at Y/N-level of safety!

Slipping past the makeshift curtain door, into the taller violet scientist’s lab, Raph would give a huff and close his door, unbeknownst to your gaze.

———

You grimaced at the memory, sucking air through your teeth with a nervous little criss-crossing of your legs. It was then that another memory had come in.

———

“ Oh, Oh, Y/N! Come here, come here and try this that I made—I found a cooking book! “

That had piqued Y/N’s attention enough as they vaulted across the turnstile with a grin that quickly changed to skepticism.

“ Hey, you didn’t put anything weird in it, right? “

Their eyes narrowed at the orange banded turtle holding a moderately safe looking Tupperware of baked macaroni. But, could anyone truly be safe when a meal of Mikey’s came into the room? He eats pepperoni pizza out of the trash, jellybeans and anchovies on custom made pizzas, and happily ate the most nuclearly offensive sludge ever for how many years?! There was no way he didn’t slip SOMETHING strange into here!

“ Y/N, when have I ever made anything that wasn’t a MASTERPIECE, now try it! “

Mikey held a spoonful to Y/N, prompting them to accept spoon-fed food with a giggle that caused a certain red-bandana’d turtle to stir from his nappy-nap on the couch. It was here that he’d see the much-too-homey exchange between Mikey and Y/N—one that quickly dissolved into a screaming chase with the following dialogue:

“ MIKEY, WHAT IS THAT!? IT BLINKED AT ME! “

“ JUST TRY IT, I PROMISE ITS TAAAASTYYYYY!! “

“ NO, GET IT AWAY FROM ME, MIKEY I’M SO SERIOUS! “

Y/N and Mikey ran all around the living space—with you running for your ever-loving life and Mikey running playfully behind you with a much-too-unsettling smirk. This was most definitely a classic sibling move going on, and you would be damned if that Mac touched your tongue!

This memory ended with you leaping into Raph’s embrace—which almost didn’t work if his reflexes hadn’t caught you. Your face buried into his shoulder, muffling your screams, led you to not notice the soft smile that he had for a second before then deciding to protect you from your assailant!

———

Now this memory had Y/N glancing back to Raph to defend themselves, like “ hey, I did do this! cut me some slack, will ya? ” but that was halted by the last memory of the week stirring.

———

“ Y/N, can you come here a second? “

Y/N had come to the lair for a specific reason this time—a movie night planned for just them and Raph! Saturdays were always for the two of them, and they had never missed one!

That is, until tonight. They sidetracked for Leo, expecting it to truly be just a second or two and then straight to Raph’s room!

Instead, you had managed to spend nearly the entire night being scolded, lectured, and then trained by Leo. He had a point for most of it—you weren’t the most perceptive at times, and there was a point this week where it had almost cost you. The brothers had an unfortunate run in with the latest mutated victim, some sort of … possum monster? Well, you had obviously been heading back home from an after-school event when a tail shot towards you and coiled tightly around your waist.

There was only a few seconds for you to understand what was going on. A blur in your peripheral, a tightness around your waist, and a shout that you recognized—Raph! Your head turned to see him with a hand outstretched to you before your frame was lifted from the sidewalk and into the air. A startled screech left your mouth at the sudden whirling danger.

Thankfully, they resolved it quickly, but you hadn’t noticed how Raph huffed under his breath when Leo saved you. It made him uncomfortable how your arms reached out for Leo instead of him! Of course, that was dumb to be jealous about because at least you were safe and Leo always was a bit faster when it came to saving folks, but still! He knew it was dumb to be angry, but he wanted you to save those open arms for him. He wanted to be your knight, your hero, not Leo.

———

So, with those memories floating in their mind, Y/N patted beside them for Raph to sit. By now, the tablet had shut off, leaving the two in silence while surrounded by materials and a little somethin’-somethin’ that was covertly slid right on behind their back.

Not well enough, though!

“ What’s that? “

Raph asked, suspicious of what Y/N decided just HAD to be hidden right this second.

“ I’m sorry—I realize I may have been a tad bit … “

Y/N’s body shifted, facing Raph—swiftly ensuring the hidden treat stayed out of his gaze, of course— then raised their hand to cup his cheek as soft as a kiss as their thumb stroked him lovingly. He leaned into it, albeit still with the long, pouting face and emerald eyes that tried to fixate on the floor but always returned to your own gorgeous hues.

“ I have been a bit negligent with our time… I’m sorry about that, but do know that you’ve been on my mind the entire time! I swear. “

“ Psh, yeah, and that’s why you hung out with my brothers instead? Why you seem to give them more attention? More of your time? “

His voice may have seemed frightening to anyone else, but not you. No, you knew the truth of his tone. Raph wasn’t angry, he was simply worried. Worried you might see more in his brothers, the ones who were much more “ in control “ of their emotions, or at least more than he was. He was just the hothead, and he was just afraid that would scare you away.

“ Weeeeelllll, “

Y/N gave a nervous grin and twiddled their fingers.

“ That was more so a minor hiccup on my part, but here, I can prove it. “

From behind their back, Y/N held up a little turtle plushie. The nervous grin seemed to get wider as they rocked it back and forth with a sing-songy hum. While it had the cute shell on its back, the front plastron was more so like cute little overalls (which totally wasn’t because you may or may not have hiccuped on the steps, not at all, completely on purpose.) there were little dark green buttons as eyes—which you were still iffy about— but not yet a mouth.

“ I got a bit distracted… But, I’ve been trying to do this—you know, since I know the incident with Spike, er, Slash? I know you really loved him, so I figured, ‘hey, what if I made him something?’ A-And what better than a—umph! “

Your spiel was cut short as Raph hugged you suddenly, tightly. Silence followed, up until the softest “ thank you ” escaped him. You loosened up, hugging him back with a growing grin and laughs welling up in your chest.

“ I take it you like it? “

“ … I’m … sorry. “

Whispered ever so quietly was his apology, which you assumed was because of his earlier jealousy. The held-back laughs slipped out as your hold on him tightened comfortably.

“ No need to apologize, it’s my bad! I didn’t mean to push our quality time so far away, Raphie. “

At that nickname, you felt him stiffen for a second, as if contemplating something, before then wordlessly loosening up. Instead, his finger started tracing little circles upon your shoulder blade, hesitating to speak.

“ … So, am I special to you? “

“ Say what now? “

“ Special, like important! “

He pulled back with a blush dusting his cheeks. This time he nailed the whole “ avoid-eye-contact ” thing.

“ Of course, why wouldn’t you be the most important to me? I love you. “

“ Because, y’know… You flash your cute smile at everyone else, I was kind of hoping it was just for m—hey, what’s with that look? “

The most dazed, dumbfounded, disconnected-from-reality-for-a-second look had been plastered across Y/N’s face as a lovesick smirk tugged upwards on the side of their mouth.

“ You think my smile’s cute? “

“ THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE FOCUSED ON? “

“ YOOOUUUU SAAAAAIDDD IIIITTT~~~!! RAPHIE THINKS I’M CU—hWAAAA! “

In a sing-songy voice again, Y/N teased the red banded Raph in front of them. And did so a tad bit too far as he quickly pounced them down, initiating a playful fight-for-one’s-life (and by that, I mean he was trying to do his usual “ blows raspberries on your tummy ”, but who in their right mind would allow that? It tickled! It was silly! Unhand me, I beg of thee!)

After the both of you settled down with giggles, he came to be laying upon his back with his eyes up to the ceiling. You rested upon his plastron, cheek pressed against your arm.

“ You know I love you, right? You mean the world to me, Raph. “

Raph tilted his head, looking at you for a few seconds of silence. He rolled his eyes then pulled you over up onto him more to just hug you closer to him. Consider it his way of saying, “ yes, and I hope you know it’s the exact same for me. “

#Raph x reader #raphael x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader #2012 raph x reader #2012 Raphael x reader #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt x reader

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Summary: Bartolomeo is your neighbor and has it really bad for you. The kind of bad where your stuff is out of place and going missing. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature, SFW chapter TW: Stalking, breaking and entering, obsessive behavior Ao3 Link: Chapter One (3,510 words)

You moved to the city about four months ago. Life had become stagnant and suffocating, especially after finishing college. You needed to get away; from overbearing parents, from your snobbish peers, from everyone. The only good connection you made in college was able to get you an archivist job in the heart of the city, and you snapped it right up. You applied for whatever apartments were in the area that you could afford, and went for the first one that became available.

That might’ve been your first mistake, really. For one thing, it was in a grittier part of town. It was also small, barely the size of two dorm rooms put together, and the neighbors below you were always yelling at each other or loudly fucking each other. But the building was clean, the rent was cheap, and the neighbor across the hall was friendly enough. A bit crass and blunt, but friendly.

His name was Bartolomeo. He was a mean-looking motherfucker by all accounts: wild green hair, septum piercing, tattoos — he was exactly the kind of person people from your hometown would have hated on appearance alone. He had an odd sort of overbite that showed his long canines like a vampire, except that all his teeth were equally sharp, and at first you’d been intimidated by both that and his impressive height. (After a few trips on the train to and from work, you noticed much stranger and much taller folks, and figured it must have just been a quirk of diverse city life).

Despite all appearances, however, Bartolomeo was nice. He held the elevator if he saw you running up, even if it was nearly shut. Some days you’d see him in the hall and he’d stop to chat for a while. One day you realized you two had been talking for almost thirty minutes, and only stopped because he’d gotten a call from his coworker asking him where the hell he was. Even running late, he still moved and talked with an aloof sort of air about him, like nothing could get to him. 

Early on, maybe a few weeks after moving in, you admitted to him that you’d never lived fully alone before, and wondered if maybe you made the right choice to live in such a rough part of town. Bartolomeo had laughed, like finding the neighborhood rough was something he’d never considered. You still remembered what he’d told you:

“People around here aren’t too big on hospitality, but they mind their own business. Don’t mess with them, they won’t mess with you.” He then smiled wide, showing off the rest of his uniquely sharp teeth. “Tell you what — since you’re so nervous about it, if anyone does mess with you, let me know. I’ll take care of ‘em for ya.”

Just the memory of how he had smiled that day brought a faint blush to your cheeks. Fine, you’d admit it: aside from being nice, Bartolomeo was also frustratingly attractive. His devil-may-care charm was hard not to be lured in by, and you couldn’t help but feel some of it rubbing off on you the more you got to chatting. He was loud and so were his friends, and the landlord rarely stuck around long if he stepped into the hallway. You definitely felt a little safer knowing he was around.

Two months ago, the troubles began.

It had been a day like any other. Average shift, average commute, about the only exciting part of the work day had been your coworker, Robin, inviting you for drinks on Friday. You came home and went to your bedroom to change into comfier clothes, but something was off. You couldn’t tell at first, but when you reached for the top drawer of your dresser to pull out some pajama pants — 

It was already open. 

Just slightly, with the edge of your pajama pants stuck in the drawer’s track. 

Now, you weren’t necessarily a meticulous person, but in general you kept your dresser pretty tidy, so it seemed odd to find it this way. Puzzled, you pulled out the pants and a loose t-shirt, frowning as you put them on. Had you been in a hurry that morning? It was possible, since you were struggling to remember what you had for breakfast. Hustling through your routine and being a bit careless with the drawer as a result wasn’t totally out of the question. You pushed down the knot in your stomach and moved on with your evening, the incident forgotten.

Or at least, it would have been forgotten, had there not been further incidents.

Another day, you had been unexpectedly called off. There had been a power outage on the block your workplace was on, and they hadn’t been able to get the emergency lights working. You spent the morning getting your laundry done and putting fresh bed sheets on the bed, and left to run extra errands. When you came back, exhausted but satisfied with your personal productivity, you went to jump into your bed for a quick nap before dinner.

You stopped just short literally jumping in when you found the comforter was already disheveled somehow. As if someone had been laying on top of it.

The frequency of problems seemed to only increase from there. You came home to find your door was unlocked, when you were nigh-obsessive on double-checking it before leaving. Your favorite t-shirt to sleep in had gone missing, and you had just put it in the hamper the night before. You had a journal in your nightstand that you didn’t write in terribly often, but with the strange things happening you felt it’d be nice to get it all documented — you opened it and found creases in a couple of the pages, like it had been clumsily closed and tossed back into the drawer.

You had convinced yourself that everything was fine. Maybe you lost your t-shirt at the laundromat. Maybe you thought you double-checked the door but you hadn’t. Maybe you were nodding off the last time you handled your journal. Maybe, maybe, maybe. At this point, the only thing you were sure of was that you were in denial that any of this was fine.

In hindsight, you really should have brought it up to Bartolomeo sooner than you did.

Drinks with Robin and a few other coworkers became a biweekly affair, lining up with payday. The weather was finally warming up after a particularly cold April, so you put on one of your frillier blouses that you were saving for such an occasion and a pair of jeans. Then you spent way too long looking for your favorite perfume. 

“Motherfucker!”

You slammed your palm against the wall in frustration. Of course. Why the fuck not? With all the other weird happenings, why wouldn’t that fall victim to the bullshit, too? Shaking the sting out of your hand, you got up from the bathroom floor and stormed off, snatching up your purse. You’d just have to hope no one noticed the blouse was a little stuffy-smelling from being put away for so long. Frustrated, you slammed the apartment door on your way out, triple-checking the lock and muttering curses the whole way.

“You good?”

Bartolomeo’s voice behind you made you jump and fumble your keys. With a deep sigh you crouched down and scooped them up, running a hand through your hair. “I’ll be fine. Just running late for payday drinks.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, and you saw him lean to one side in your peripherals. “That’s tonight. When are you guys gonna come out to my bar, huh?”

“When I’m more confident that they won’t mind the heavy metal music,” you said and stood upright, smiling and adding, “Which might be sooner than you think.”

As usual, Bartolomeo was the picture of nonchalance, leaning against his doorframe in a Cannibal Corpse t-shirt that had seen better days. He gave you a sort of half-smirk then nodded to your door. “You sure you’re okay? Sounded like you might’ve hurt yourself in there.”

“Yeah, just...” you sighed and shook your head, “kinda frustrated. I can’t find my good perfume.” You paused, remembering your conversation with him when you first moved in. “Hey, uh, Barto?”

He stood up slightly straighter at the nickname. “Yeah?”

“Can you, uh...” you paused again, twisting the strap on your purse. His suddenly intense stare made you blush and avert your eyes. “Would you mind keeping an eye on my apartment when I’m gone? Like, if you’re around, let me know if you hear or see anything?”

“Yeah, sure!” he answered with surprising eagerness, before he cleared his throat and quickly reverted to the casual tone. “I mean — can I ask why?”

You would have laughed at the outburst, had you not been trying to find the words to explain you thought someone was breaking into your apartment. “It’s just... I don’t know. Some of my stuff’s gone missing. Random things. And sometimes I come home and there’ll be something out of place, or a little off. Like... someone else has been there.”

“Oh, shit.” Bartolomeo pushed off the doorframe, the chain hanging from his belt clinking as he took a step closer. “How long’s this been goin’ on for?”

You continued avoiding his gaze. “Two months, maybe?”

“What?”

“I figured I was just forgetting things,” you said quickly. “It happens, I can be a little spacey. But... not like this. It feels different.” You finally looked at him again with a sheepish smile, your heart melting a bit at the worried look he had. “I probably should have mentioned something sooner. I’m sorry to freak you out like this.”

He shrugged, now suddenly avoiding your gaze. “At least you said somethin’ before it got any worse.”

A chill went down your spine. You didn’t want to think about what “worse” entailed.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I told ya you could come to me if anyone was messin’ with you.” He smiled, his fully-bared teeth all the more imposing as he punched one fist into the opposite palm. “I’ll keep an eye out for ya. If I catch anyone hangin’ around where they don’t belong, they’ll be shittin’ sideways for the rest of their life.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. All things considered, you felt lucky that you had such a cool neighbor.

Relief gave way to panic when your phone pinged; a reminder that you had somewhere to be. You cussed under your breath and started rushing toward the elevator, but not before turning and waving to Bartolomeo, shouting as you ran, “Thank you! I owe you one!”

“Don’t mention it!” he called and waved back, watching you turn the corner for the elevator. He leaned against the wall next to his door, shoving his hands in his pockets and listening for the soft ding of the elevator’s arrival. Once he was sure you were out of earshot, he stepped back into his apartment and shut the door, taking a deep breath.

“FUCK!”

Bartolomeo put both his hands over his face, yelling every curse word he knew. How could he have gotten so careless?! He knew he’d gotten way too comfortable with sneaking into your apartment, but two months? You’d been onto him for two months?! He groaned and dragged his hands down, wincing when one of his fingers tugged on his nose ring. No, that wasn’t right; you weren’t onto him, specifically. You only noticed the missing stuff, and whatever it was you meant by “something out of place”.

(He knew exactly what you meant by that, considering his favorite thing to do in your apartment was lie down on your bed and cuddle your pillows.)

Admittedly, part of him was relieved. You asked him for help! Sure, from the time you noticed to the time you said something had him a little concerned, and sure, it was his doing to begin with — but you weren’t aware of the second part! And, if you hadn’t said something, it would only have been a matter of time before he got caught in the act. He had time to correct that now. With you asking for help, it meant he’d be seeing you more, so he wouldn’t have to break into your apartment anymore, and he could act like it never happened!

(He was aware, on some level, that it wouldn’t be that simple. It wouldn’t be enough just to see you more. He had to be with you.)

Bartolomeo groaned again and sat down on the couch, head still in his hands. His heart had finally calmed down, having been racing just from talking to you. You were so cute, from how you fidgeted when you were nervous, to how your laugh sounded, to how you looked in that outfit (well, he thought you always looked nice in any outfit, but that was beside the point). And your eyes — what he wouldn’t give to be able to look into your eyes for more than a handful of seconds. He’d started a habit of looking at your nose when you two chatted, just to keep from turning his head away when your eyes were too much, but it only led to him fighting the insatiable urge to kiss it. He wanted to kiss your whole face, really, but if he started thinking about that, his heart rate was bound to pick up again.

All this to say, Bartolomeo had it bad for you. Real bad.

It started out innocently enough when you moved in across the hall. He thought you were cute from the start, and wanted to be nicer than usual; holding the door if he saw you coming, taking time to chat with you. But then the more he saw you, the more you two talked, the more he found himself looking forward to it. Before he knew it, he was listening for the elevator every time he could, just so he had a chance to talk to you again.

Even though it wasn’t hard to tell you lived alone, you admitting out loud that it was the first time about sent him into shock. Seriously? And in the shittiest neighborhoods you could have possibly ended up in? Something in his brain cranked up to eleven, and he was determined you needed someone looking out for you. Someone close by, who knew the area well, and had more than enough street smarts under his belt. Of course, that someone would be him. Why wouldn’t it be? And so, he came up with something to ease your worries (it was mostly true, in that at the very least the people in the building and running businesses around the neighborhood minded their own), and offered help. The relief on your face was well worth it.

Bartolomeo hadn’t intended for things to get this... intense, though.

The first time he’d broken in had been on impulse. See, the apartment building had older fire escapes, where the ladder wasn’t as compact as it really should be and about half of it hung down below the bottom landing. Most people still couldn’t reach it without significant effort, either by dragging over something to climb on or risking their neck by trying to parkour that shit.

Bartolomeo, however, was not most people. Standing at seven-foot-three, he just had to reach up and haul his own weight for a few rungs. He only did it to prove to himself that he could, in case you were ever in trouble and he needed to get in quickly without fighting with the front door.

Then, he wondered if it would take very long to get to the fourth floor, where both of you lived. He knew he wouldn’t have to worry about the tenants on the way up making a fuss; the unit on the second floor was used by the landlord for storage, and the people directly below you were always too busy arguing or fucking to notice anything.

And then it just. Happened. You weren’t home, and the window was so easy to open, and he had to know everything. How you lived, what you showered with, what sort of stuff did you keep. He had a general idea from talking to you, but he wanted, needed more.

The first time, Bartolomeo just sat on the windowsill, looking around and taking in the bedroom. You kept the floor clear, so if he felt brave enough to venture further in the room he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping and breaking something. You had a desk with a bookshelf built around it that was full of books and video games and figurines, and one of those desktop computers with the rainbow lights on the tower. Your bed was neatly made, adorned with overstuffed pillows, with a storage bench at the foot that was currently being commandeered by a collection of plushies dressed like pirates. The bed itself looked wide enough for two, though he might have to get a little creative to make it work with his taller height.

Not that. He was thinking about laying next to you. Or holding you close. Or watching you fall asleep.

(He absolutely was thinking those things. But in his bed, not yours. What could he say? He needed his California King. It wasn’t perfect, but he couldn’t afford one of the fancy custom beds that other city dwellers somehow got their hands on.)

Bartolomeo resolved that breaking in was fine, so long as he always took off his boots (couldn’t rightfully wear shoes into your apartment now, could he?) and didn’t touch anything. That way you’d never know. He stuck to that for the first handful of trips. Then one time he couldn’t resist picking up and fawning over your monkey plushie at the foot of the bed, so he decided it was okay to touch things, but he had to put them back exactly as he found them. Before he knew it, one day he was poking around the jewelry trays on your dresser, and...

He only had the top drawer open for a minute. Two, tops. Any longer and he would have gotten dizzy from how much blood was rushing downwards. He slammed it shut and made a beeline for the fire escape, nearly forgetting his boots in the process. He told himself he wouldn’t be looking in there without your permission, otherwise the temptation would be too great and he'd steal something he really shouldn’t.

(Which is why he eventually stole your shirt instead.)

Okay. So Bartolomeo let his little guilty pleasure get out of control. He just hadn’t realized how easily that happened. Now that you said something to him, he was going to ease off. He pushed up off the couch and sauntered to his room, putting his hands back in his pockets, flinching when one hand touched something he forgot he’d still had on his person. Frowning, he pulled the perfume bottle out, a slight twist in his stomach at the thought he’d frustrated you with his antics. He really hadn’t intended to keep it — honest. He only swiped it because the shirt under his pillow was starting to smell like the rest of his stuff. Not necessarily a bad thing, as it wasn’t like he was unclean (he was unkempt and dirty minded, even peed in the shower sometimes, but not unclean), but. The whole reason he took the shirt was because it smelled like you.

He turned the bottle over in his hands and sat on the edge of his bed. The label on it just said “Elegia” — why couldn’t the names of these things be simple? Fucking vanilla, or flowers, or whatever, so that he could put it back and get something similar. He supposed at least this way he could try to find another bottle online, so he could get it exact, but still... what a pain. Point being, if it had been easier to remember the name, he wouldn’t have had to take it.

...Okay, fine, Bartolomeo stole it thinking you wouldn’t notice. You had a few others, he figured it’d be fine.

With a sigh he reached under his pillows for your shirt, unable to keep from smiling when he saw it. It was light purple, with the words “Bite Me” on it in a black, drippy font. He saw you wear it on laundry day once; it took an immeasurable amount of self control not to take it as an invitation. He then uncapped the perfume and sighed again, his eyes rolling back just a bit. At least he guessed right; this was definitely the one you wore the most often. It smelled like vanilla and strawberries.

Like you.

Shaking out of his reverie, he sprayed the shirt and folded it back up under his pillows. It had been in his possession for too long for him to give it up without arousing suspicion, so he’d settle for returning the perfume.

While you were gone, of course.

#bartolomeo #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #bartolomeo x reader #bartolomeo x you #one piece x reader #reader insert #yandere!bartolomeo #yandere #i'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time #ifdyokaat #hehehehehe i'm posting this from work #the other three chapters are up on AO3 but i'll put them here too if there's interest

[alectoperdita]

Heeyyy there, can you do 36, 30 or 7 from the ask game???? Joukai of course. Thank uouuuuu!!!

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

36. Avalanche/huddle for warmth & 30. Only one bed

Ahhhhhh! Sorry this one took so long. It's longer than usual, though, so I hope that makes up for the wait. Thanks for your patience. ;;;_;;;

tags: hurt/comfort, minor injury word count: 3,265 words

---

Skiing was stupid. People who skied were even dumber.

Case in point, rich, arrogant good-for-nothing assholes skied.

Kaiba skied.

Jounouchi's argument was ironclad. Unassailable even.

"Watch it, you oaf," a voice colder than the biting wind howling around them snapped in his numb ear.

"I should leave you to become a popsicle," he grumbled, firming his stance in the soft, powdery snow and readjusting his grip on Kaiba, careful not to jostle the other man and set off another tirade of complaints.

"I could say the same."

The fingers burrowed under the fold of Jounouchi's scarf bit into the nape of his neck. Hard to tell if it was because of an involuntary reaction to pain or a deliberate warning. Either way, it and Kaiba's words took the wind right out of Jounouchi's sails.

Yeah, skiing might be stupid, but it was even dumber to attempt a slope above his novice ability only to get lost off the trail. Especially as a winter storm brewed. But he couldn't stand how effortlessly Kaiba made everything appear, so suave and eye-catching in his ski gear. Or how he turned up his nose at Jounouchi.

It inspired a familiar feeling, one that drove him to act recklessly.

So it was Jounouchi's rotten luck that Kaiba, as the most experienced skier in the group, ultimately tracked him down. Kaiba predictably berated him for his idiocy, Jounouchi snapped back, and they fought. And then, in a begrudging attempt to extract Jounouchi from a ditch, the man fell and busted his leg instead.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he studied Kaiba's beet-red face. Kaiba wore his ski goggles atop his head like a hairband, pulling back his bangs and exposing his forehead. So it wasn't hard to spot the pained grimace wrinkling his brow. Flurries clung to his long lashes, no matter how often he tried to blink them away. He was sweating buckets despite the frigid temperature.

Jounouchi sympathized with that. Underneath his thick winter coat, his own clothing stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He'd kill to be back at the lodge and enjoying a hot shower.

"We need to get out of the open," Kaiba declared.

Jounouchi swept a critical eye across the windswept landscape. There were trees and snow as far as he could see, but his range was limited. Visibility plummeted as the storm intensified.

"Can't you, like, call for help? Doncha have a satellite uplink on you all the damn time?" asked Jounouchi.

"Atmospheric conditions affect satellite communication," Kaiba sneered, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

It probably was to a guy like him. Jounouchi merely rolled his eyes and focused on their terrestrial concern, repeatedly putting one foot in front of the other to make the most painstaking progress. It was the only way they'd get out of this if they couldn't count on rescue incoming.

"Who would've guessed you had such dainty ankles?" he said, then winced when it sounded like a shout as the howling wind died down at that precise moment.

"Excuse me," hissed Kaiba, tightening his grip. Ouch, ouch, he was definitely squeezing his neck on purpose.

Jounouchi had already dug his hole, so whatever. "I think you need more calcium in your diet, dude. Ya twisted that ankle like nothing. If you're not careful, you're gonna start breaking your hip like 'em little old ladies."

"First of all, it's not a fractured ankle, it's a fractured tibia. Second, my calcium intake is fine. Better than yours, given the trash I've seen you shovel into your mouth. And third, I'm taller, which means I have a higher center of gravity, which affects..."

Jounouchi tuned out the rest of the rant. He could feel the nervous energy flowing from Kaiba to him. As long as Kaiba kept running his mouth, it meant he stayed awake and alert. It meant he kept working with Jounouchi to cross the increasingly treacherous and snow-blind slope.

A stark shiver wracked their bodies. Jounouchi paused to assess his companion again.

Kaiba's teeth chattered. Sweat blanketed his forehead. Neither were good signs.

"You okay? Cold? In pain?" he asked softly.

"Yes," was Kaiba's reply. Which was as clear and helpful as mud.

Jounouchi sighed and urged them onward. He could only guide them toward what he hoped was the downward direction and pray that they stumbled back onto the trail.

After limping for what felt like hours, their footsteps dragged heavier and heavier behind them as snowfall and fatigue weighed them down in equal parts. That was when Jounouchi spotted what he prayed wasn't a mirage beyond a thicket of trees.

Slanted rooftop, horizontal wooden slats, the glint of glass windows—a cabin!

Giddy from the sudden shot of adrenaline, he nudged Kaiba. "Hey, hey. There's a cabin up ahead!"

Kaiba blinked blearily. He'd grown strangely quiet during the recent stretch. Now, he squinted, scrutinizing the building in the distance, perhaps wondering like Jounouchi if it was real.

The decision made itself.

"Let's go. You know what? I'm gonna carry you on my back. It'll be faster." Jounouchi was already carefully lowering Kaiba onto the snow-blanketed ground while keeping the weight off his injured ankle.

"No," Kaiba snapped. He clung to Jounouchi's biceps.

"It'll be fine, ya stubborn bastard. I swear I'll never tell another living soul so your damn pride can stay intact. I dunno about you, but I wanna get out of the cold ASAP."

"And if you drop me? Or you break your ankles next? What then?" challenged Kaiba. There was an increasingly frantic light shining in his eyes.

"Trust me. I don't wanna die out here any more than you do!"

For several terrifying beats, Kaiba stared at him. His claws were locked in rictus, threatening to rip into Jounouchi's padded winter jacket.

"C'mon, we're both freezing our butts off."

Jounouchi didn't know what convinced Kaiba in the end. Maybe the poor bastard was too wrung out to pick a fight.

"You drop me and it'll be the last thing you ever do." The threat lacked teeth, though.

Kaiba's hands trembled as they released Jounouchi's sleeve. They shook when they planted themselves on Jounouchi's shoulders. Kaiba was heavier than anticipated. Turns out there was meat on those bones after all. But it was a weight Jounouchi could shoulder.

The strangest sensation by far was the hot and heavy feeling of Kaiba breathing down his neck. Yet it was a soothing reminder that Kaiba was alive. Jounouchi huffed and puffed the final stretch to the tiny cabin, but he never dropped Kaiba.

Once they climbed onto the raised porch, Jounouchi deposited him against the railing and shook the accumulated snow from his gear. Eyes drilled into his back as he pulled off his beanie and brushed his hair clean.

The dog comparison he was certain was incoming never materialized, though. Kaiba must really be tired.

Hobbling on his feet, Kaiba's gaze stayed fixed on the door. "How do you propose we get inside?"

"Uh... Key under the mat?"

Kaiba leveled a disgusted look at him. He banged twice on the door with his fist. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Right. Also, wouldn't hurt to check if there were already people inside. Preferably someone who could help them and wasn't going to hunt them across the mountainside for sport. He blamed Bakura for that last thought.

Leaning close, Jounouchi peered into the window, straining to see through the gap between the curtains. It was dark inside. There was no movement. No one was home. That made sense. The ski racks out front stood barren.

They'd long abandoned their equipment, too. No point in dragging extra weight along when Kaiba was already injured.

"Stay here. I'll check around back," ordered Jounouchi before hopping off the porch.

He circled the perimeter. It hardly took any time. To call it a cabin was probably generous to someone like Kaiba. But it looked sturdy, and it offered shelter from the storm. As he passed one window on the side, he noticed a small sign in it that read "Ski Patrol."

He jogged back to Kaiba. "Cabin belongs to ski patrol. There might even be a phone inside!"

Kaiba turned and greeted him with a key ring dangling from his index finger.

"Where'd you find those?"

"Hideaway inside a fake rock." Kaiba gestured to a pile sitting in the porch's corner.

Jounouchi laughed. "So I was right. That's basically under the mat. God, I hope they're the spares to this place."

He was glad they didn't have to go with his backup plan of busting through a window.

Braced against the doorframe, Kaiba went through two keys on the ring before he unlocked the door. Jounouchi whooped in celebration. Then, he moved forward to shoulder Kaiba's weight and usher them inside.

To Jounouchi's relief, the cabin came equipped with indoor plumbing and even a gas stove in the open kitchen out in the main room. There was a small round table and several chairs, but nowhere to lie down. But in another interior room, he found a bed.

One cramped twin-sized bed squeezed between the wall and a narrow nightstand. There wasn't room for much else.

He went back to the main room to report his findings. Kaiba sat at the dining table where Jounouchi left him, but he had his injured leg propped up on a second chair, ski boot and all.

"Phone's down," Kaiba grunted. "There's electricity, but there's no telling how long the generator will hold up. It's best if we don't use it until we must."

Jounouchi groaned. Guess it was too much to hope for. "Cool, well, there's only one bed."

Kaiba stared at him, unblinking for long lengths. Yeesh, did the bastard really think he was going to fight an injured person for the sole bed?

He approached the table. "You should take it. You're the one with the busted ankle. Want me to carry ya, princess?"

Laughing, he barely dodged the ski goggles Kaiba flung at his head. Somehow, that restored the equilibrium between them.

"Make yourself useful and find a first aid kit," barked Kaiba.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Inside a kitchenette cabinet, he located a red bag with a white cross.

"Found it!"

A soft swear answered him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Kaiba hunched over his elevated foot, struggling with his bootstraps. Jounouchi heaved a sigh, and on his way back to the table, he grabbed an afghan blanket folded on a shelf. He deposited the first aid kit on the tabletop and the blanket onto Kaiba's head, where his hair turned damp from the melting snow.

Kaiba cursed, louder this time, his limbs flailing under the blanket. Jounouchi kneeled down next to him, shed his gloves, and started working the snaps open. Above him came a snarl. He peered up just in time to see the outrage on Kaiba's face melt into shock after he ripped the wool away. Fighting a sudden wave of self-consciousness, Jounouchi lowered his gaze and kept going. His fingers, slowly warming, fumbled briefly on the next catch.

He waited for Kaiba to say something. Anything. Bark an order. Throw an insult. But Kaiba had gone deadly quiet, howling in his silence. The behavior was so strange Jounouchi wondered if Kaiba also hit his head when he fell.

Either way, Jounouchi felt the other man's stare drill through the top of his head.

Next came the hard part: getting the boot off without further agitating Kaiba's injury.

Again, his eyes flicked up to Kaiba's face, where he noted the almost contemplative expression that now dominated its planes. "Ya ready for this?"

Kaiba squared his shoulders, then nodded.

Yet afterward, the man's forehead was drenched with sweat, his face stripped of all color. Jounouchi went straight to the first aid kit and fished out the painkillers. With trembling hands, Kaiba snapped up the packet, tore it open, and swallowed two pills before Jounouchi could ask if he wanted a glass of water.

Figures Kaiba was the kind of freak that could swallow pills dry.

As Kaiba slumped forward and placed his head down atop the table, Jounouchi helped him out of the other ski boot as well. He set the footwear, both emblazoned with fancy KC logos, aside.

"Thank you."

The words stunned Jounouchi. His head whipped up, and he gawked at Kaiba. He couldn't see Kaiba's face, but the tips of his ears blazed bright red.

After several seconds of awkward silence, Jounouchi replied, "That should be my line. You're the one that found me after I got my dumbass self lost. So thanks for coming to get me."

To his surprise, Kaiba didn't lift his head. His bangs smeared across the tabletop as he nodded, though.

"And sorry you got hurt because of that," Jounouchi added quietly. His eyes darted back to Kaiba's elevated leg, but the thick pants made it impossible to gauge the severity of his condition. "How bad do you think it is?"

The table muffled Kaiba's reply. "Are there scissors in that kit?"

"Yeah."

"Cut the pant leg up to the knee."

Knowing that the alternative was somehow peeling Kaiba out of said pants, Jounouchi obeyed without complaint. He worked carefully, though, not wanting to cut Kaiba. A gigantic bruise sat halfway up to Kaiba's knee, right around where his ski boot ended. The entire area was swollen, but there was no sign of blood.

"No bone pushing through the skin, so that's a good sign." Kaiba said, suddenly right next to Jounouchi's ear. His warm breath puffed over Jounouchi's cheek.

Jounouchi jerked back, grabbing the chair's back to steady himself.

Thankfully, Kaiba was too preoccupied with examining his leg to notice his overreaction. "I should splint it."

Jounouchi jumped to his feet. "Splint, yeah, makes sense. Ya need a stick or something, right? I'll look for one."

As luck would have it, he dug up segments of PVC pipes already cut in half. Kaiba also appeared pleased when he presented them, kindling a warm glow within Jounouchi's ribcage.

"Can I help with anything else?" he asked, despite not knowing how to make a splint.

Kaiba hesitated before replying, "I have it handled. But I'll let you know if I need anything."

Jounouchi nodded automatically. He bounced between one foot and the other as Kaiba worked. But when Kaiba peered up at him for a second, something inside him snapped. He spun on his heels before declaring, "I saw a firewood shed out back. Gonna see if I can get a fire going for us."

Without waiting for a response, he fled the small cabin. The cold hit him in the face like a slap. It was invigorating. Got his blood pumping in a good way.

It wasn't until he dropped several split logs that he realized he'd left his gloves inside. Instead of going to retrieve them, he sank to his knees and cupped his numb hands to his mouth, blowing hot air over him. He couldn't say how long he stayed like that before the chill finally drove him back into the cabin.

Kaiba barely acknowledged him when he returned. That made Jounouchi feel simultaneously better and worse. The bastard hadn't even waited for Jounouchi to return before he somehow hobbled his way over to the loveseat close to the fireplace.

He focused on the fireplace instead.

Once the fire got going, the temperature inside warmed considerably. Unsurprisingly, Kaiba had to be bullied out of his outerwear before he could be swathed with blankets over his shoulders and his newly splinted leg.

Save for the seldom pop and crackle of the fire, it was silent.

Kaiba glared at his smartphone, occasionally adjusting its position as if that would catch a stray signal bar. Jounouchi also checked his phone, but he was sure his coverage was shit compared to Kaiba's.

Jounouchi also hung up his jacket to dry and shed his ski boots by the door. He didn't hesitate snatching the quilt off the bed in the other room, huddling under it while standing next to the fire.

"You stand any closer and you'll catch fire," came a dry quip from behind him.

He turned to face Kaiba and found the man with his phone facedown on his lap while squeezing the bridge of his nose. He lay lengthwise along the too-small loveseat with his legs elevated on the armrest and his sock-clad toes peeking out from under a blanket.

Despite that, Kaiba looked cozy? Shit, Jounouchi felt a bit insane even thinking about that. But Kaiba appeared comfy. His sharp angles and harsh lines blunted under woolen curves.

Disarmed. Soft. Jounouchi had never seen him that way before.

"What?" snapped Kaiba, jerking Jounouchi from his hazy thoughts. When he shivered, though, the entire fabric mass shook with him.

"Still cold?" Jounouchi asked as he padded closer.

Kaiba dropped his gaze to his pale hands clasped on his lap. "Nothing to be alarmed about. I've always had circulation issues."

Jounouchi laughed. "Cuz you're a skinny beanpole."

Kaiba glared, but he didn't argue.

Another insane thought crossed Jounouchi's mind. One he shouldn't dare entertain, but being cold probably wasn't good for Kaiba's leg in his current state. He had already dedicated himself to Kaiba's well-being to this point. Might as well ensure neither of them became popsicles before Kaiba could get proper medical attention.

"Alright, budge up."

Kaiba should hurry. Before Jounouchi lost his nerves.

"Excuse me."

"Ya heard me. Make room. We're gonna share body heat."

"Why?" Kaiba's voice rose an octave. He gave Jounouchi a frantic once-over from head to toe.

"So we don't freeze, duh."

Kaiba looked at him as if he was insane.

Jounouchi felt insane.

"Look, you're still cold, and I'm not giving you this blanket too. It's the last one," he argued.

For a moment, Kaiba looked as if he might eject Jounouchi from the cabin entirely, busted leg be damned. But then a miracle happened. Kaiba, after lowering his gaze, scooted forward, leaving space for Jounouchi to join him on the furniture. With his heart in his throat, Jounouchi squeezed in, carefully wiggling until he bracketed Kaiba's tense form with his legs. Without asking, because he was positive the answer would be no, Jounouchi pulled the other man's back flush to his chest.

Kaiba stiffened. He froze as if he had been left outside in sub-zero temperatures. That gave Jounouchi an opening to slip an arm around Kaiba's waist, but he left the limb atop a layer of quilt.

From this angle, he could only make out the back of Kaiba's head and the tip of his flaming ears.

Kaiba remained strangely mute. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest signaled his consciousness. Another shudder wracked through his body, and Jounouchi could feel it, from the hissing inhale to the tensing of back muscles to the exhale and shoulder slumping under the woolen weight.

Kaiba stopped shivering afterward, though. So that counted as a success, right?

"Don't worry, I don't mind sharing the bed with you if you want a space heater there too," Jounouchi joked. A hard lump formed in his throat, and he fought the urge to tighten his arms.

In response, Kaiba elbowed him in the stomach. But it was a light touch for him.

Jounouchi wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was content to remain here. Just the two of them huddled under blankets until the storm finally passed. And when Kaiba leaned back against him, he gave the impression he didn't mind either.

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

#replies #lorennaaaaaaaa #yugioh #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #my fanfiction #writing prompts #in case you're wondering i imagine them as skiing in Nagano #look at them and their dumb crushes on each other but channeling it into being competitive with each other instead #i still have two more of these to go #will hopefully get to them soon #thanks again for your patience <3

[mail-me-a-snail]

oc interview: ✨✨vance✨✨

thank you to @swearingcactus AND @glitchinginthegarden AND!! @v-eats-bugs for tagging me !! finally got to sit down and answer this :3

let's hit it !

🧡 Name?

"Just call me V."

his first chosen name was penn, but he started going by vance after his medical transition. he doesn't give it out freely bc that was the name arasaka knew him by; he doesn't mention his surname, either, bc it's a pretty prominent one with much of its members still working for the megacorp in question.

🧡 Nickname?

"...Well, last I checked, 's still V."

apart from "mano" from jackie, vance doesn't have much in terms of nicknames. his old netrunning handle was N3tH0und (net hound); it's a retired username that's been largely scrubbed from the net, but sometimes he signs his major hacks with it just to fuck with people. it's a ghost's name, and it's fun to haunt the net only when he knows for certain that it can't be traced back to him.

🧡 Gender?

"Guy! Never been asked that outright before."

🧡 Star sign?

"'s not my scene--can't say I know much about it--but Misty's got me down as a Cancer, whatever that means. Says that's probably why I'm, er, so 'intuitive', as she called it. You ask me, that's just the merc work--bein' able to read a room, that is."

i first drew vance on july 7, 2023, so i consider that his birthday. like vance, i have no idea how being a cancer applies to him, but google says cancers are loyal, domestically inclined, and committed to their loved ones, so that sounds about right!

🧡 Height?

"Six flat. Johnny's pretty sure I'm taller than 'im...but he's slouchin' all the time, so don't think he's got a say in it."

🧡 Orientation?

"Usually go for other guys. But I guess the definition of that is pretty loose these days, 'specially in NC, huh. The hell does it matter to me if you've got certain...parts. If you're a guy, you're a guy, and if you're down, I'm down, y'know?"

vance is a gay man with a preference for masculine-identifying individuals. like he said, if you identify as a "guy" in any form, then that's good enough for him. he's not one to talk about having "appropriate" parts, and he thinks it's dumb that they're gendered in the first place. he's not usually looking for anything serious and he's more than okay with just being an input and having one as well.

🧡 Nationality/ethnicity?

"Nay's Indian. Tay's Filipino. Ya ask anyone, I look more like my mom."

nanay and tatay are the filipino words for mother and father, respectively. vance has a very limited grasp of either language but he at least knows that much from his dad's mother tongue.

🧡 Favorite fruit?

"Oh, man, 's been a while--this one time when I was growin' up, think I was ten or eleven, 'Saka sent Dad a basket of 'ganic fruit. For his 50 years o' service, I think it was. Anyway, had my first apple then. What I wouldn't fuckin' give for one right now."

he likes fuji apples the best :3

🧡 Favorite season?

"Gotta be winter. I got to go a lot of places back in '65--Europe, mostly--an' most of them were snowy. Loved seein' my breath fog up. You don't get that here. You get hot rains and the pavement steamin'--guess it's pretty, in its way, with all the city's neon shinin' through the rain.

"But it ain't a real winter without snow."

🧡 Favorite flower?

"If ya hike it out to the Badlands in the summer, you'll find these little white flowers blooming on the cacti; Net says they're called Saguaro blooms. I like their...tenacity, I 'spose."

"But if I had to give ya a traditional answer...blue hydrangeas. Maya--she used to grow 'em in her apartment, still don't know how she did it--she gave me some blooms for my birthday back in '70. A welcome home kinda thing. Don't got her green thumb, so they died a week later...but they were real pretty. Somethin' to look forward to comin' home to."

🧡 Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

"Coffee--can't say it works for me, though."

he likes all three and refuses to drink his coffee black. he will put so much milk and creamer in that cup that it might as well be a dessert. johnny is disgusted (affectionate).

🧡 Average hours of sleep?

"...Hours, plural?"

vance is a champ at power naps and between the relic and an insomnia left over from his arasaka days, he doesn't get to bed much. if you do somehow get him into bed by morning, however, be prepared to not see him until near-evening the next day.

🧡 Dog or cat person?

note: those 10,000 photos are just the ones he has on his phone; do not look at the cloud where his kiroshi photos are stored.

🧡 Dream trip?

"...Was actually, erm, thinkin' of--well, when we get all this shit sorted out--I was thinkin'...might bring Johnny somewhere colder. Somewhere with snow. Said he hasn't seen snow before, so, I-unno, thought he might like it out there."

please take this time to imagine johnny in his android body nuzzled up to vance in the snow, red-faced and, for the first time in a long time, in awe. they're going to have hot chocolate later in some cabin vance rented out for the season--but right now, they're watching their shared breath cloud together in the air, simpatico even in this.

🧡 Favorite fictional character?

"Oh, oh--there's this real old holovid I used to loop when I was fifteen. 's fucked how they got most of it right. Anyhow, Rick Deckard. I used to think he was so damn cool."

deckard, with his big-collared jacket and general gruffness, was definitely one of vance's transition goals. that, and he watched br2049 right after--with how deckard was treating K, vance started projecting Really Fucking Heavily on K. like wow! you're a total killing machine with a father who just might love you. that's crazay man. could not be me

🧡 Number of blankets you sleep with?

"Run pretty warm as it is already, so just the one. Like the...texture of it, as it were. The weight o' it."

get this man a weighted blanket please god. i think it would fix him. alternatively, just lay on top of him and he'll be happy.

🧡 Random fact?

"I used to klep a lotta shit when I was a kid. Wires, chips, motherboards--mostly tech, really, from the vendin' machines and bus stops 'round the city. Sold 'em for a pretty eddie down in Heywood; got no buyers in the Hill, not when we could all afford the tech those Heywood kids were tryin' to kitbash together in the first place. Don't really know why I did it.

"To strike out, maybe? Maybe I liked the challenge. There's somethin' about makin' a machine give its own parts to you; get a vending machine to dispense its motherboard, a bus stop sign its LED, and ya feel like ya can make anythin' bend to your will."

--

thank you again for the tags!! this was a lot of fun to do :3

tagging @netripper , @knuckle-cluster, @matapang-coffee, and

@nakitengoku AND whoever else would like to do this! no pressure to do so ofc!!

if u ever dont want to be tagged in these kinds of posts, just lmk!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cbp2077 #cp2077 #cp77 #male v #digital art #doodle #mine #my art #vance #WHOOWEE this was a long one but i had a lot of fun doing it #hes so dead wife core here tbh

[copperbadge]

That litterbox looks different to what I’m used to. Much more space efficient. Is that just a type I’ve never seen before or is that an invention of yours?

Definitely not my invention! It's just a top-entry litterbox, they sell 'em on most pet store websites. I used to have a front-entry "Omega Paw" rolling litterbox which I loved because scooping was super easy, but my cats are "gardeners" who like to kick litter around and I was constantly sweeping up litter. Some friends I catsit for had a top-entry box for theirs, and I thought it might solve the problem; it requires more scooping but overall I'm pleased with it and while they still spill some litter, they definitely spill less. The lid is hinged with a loose latch, so when you want to scoop it you just flip the lid up.

Checking my purchase history it ran me about $30 roughly two years ago. I will say I don't know how well it would work for larger cats; my friends' cats are twice the size of mine and seemed fine with it but mine, who are 6lb each, have to hunch a little if they want to use one side of it.

That one is the Frisco 'large' box available here. It's 23" long by 15" high; if I were going to replace it I'd probably look for a slightly taller box of the same length.

#cats #litter #renee-mariposa

[lillylvjy]

What if reader is ranboos older sister?? And ranboo finds out wilbur has a crush on reader and is somehow both very "you can do it! Shed definetly say yes!" And "Look at her again and face your doom. I am 1 inch taller than you wilbur!" (Also. Could yn be almost as tall as wilbur? As a tall [5'10 or so] it would be greatly appreciated!!)

-someone whod like to be 🍄 anon if possible

Anon this is so freaking good! Also welcome 🍄 anon:)

Also so sorry this isn’t long but I’ll definitely have to expand on it!! This is female reader also!

Ranboo was always protective of you, even as your little brother. He felt like it was his job to keep you safe and make sure you that guys treated your right. But once Ranboo found out Wilbur liked you, he was ecstatic! One of his close friends likes his sister, and he knows you like him back! So why wouldn’t he try to get you two together.

“Hey Ranboo, is Y/n coming today?” Wilbur asked Ranboo as they walked together. Wilbur, Ranboo, and whole group of their friends were getting together and hanging out around town. Ranboo invited you because he knew you were close with everyone in the group.

“Oh yeah! Why’d you ask?” Ranboo questions.

“Well…. Do you think if I asked her out she would say yes?” Wilbur asked Ranboo, doubting the fact that she actually likes him.

“Oh yeah! She’d definitely say yes! Trust me, I know her.” Ranboo said as Wilbur sighed in relief.

“Really? You think so?!” Wilbur asked again to make sure.

“Wilbur! Yes I do! But one thing, if you ever hurt her or make her feel unloved in any way, your done for. I am taller than you and will take advantage of that.” Ranboo said in a hushed voice.

“Wil! Ran!” They heard a voice yell. They both looked across the street and say you with Tommy and Em, waving them over. As Wilbur smiled at you, Ranboo looked at the lovestruck look on his face.

“Treat her good Wilbur. That’s all I wish for.” Ranboo concluded as he walked across the street.

Wilbur smiled at Ranboo nodded. “I promise I’ll treat her like royalty. It’s what she deserves.”

“Your right about that one.” Ranboo said, smiling at you as he went in to hug you.

“What is he right about?” You asked him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Nothing love, let’s go meet with the others.” Wilbur said as he took your hand in his and started walking with you.

“Ugh, look at them. Hopelessly in love.” Tommy said,m disgustedly.

“Tom! You have no place to say anything when I’m holding your hand.” Em says.

“I’m allowed to! He’s my brother.”

#lilly writes #lilly’s ask #🍄 anon #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt x reader #dsmp wilbur

[khazadspoon]

If you're still doing prompts can I request #24 Blondie/Tuco? 👉👈🥺

I definitely am!!! I’m up for prompts anytime. If you see one you like whether I’ve reblogged a list or not just send ‘em over!!

24: “That’s a very stupid idea.”

———

“I suggest we bury the gold, a few thousand in each location, and mark it on a map so we can find it again later.”

Blondie didn’t look impressed.

“That’s a very stupid idea.”

Ah. He definitely wasn’t impressed, then.

“Is it? Well, my friend, I think it’s better than taking it all to the same bank. All it takes is the wrong person finding out and then… Boom! The wall is blown up, the safe is gone, and so is our gold! Take it from me, Blondie; robbing a bank is hard but it isn’t impossible.”

He snatched the cigar from Blondie’s lips and took a drag, blew the smoke out in rings as his partner contemplated his unquestionable statement. He could tell Blondie knew he was right. They had both seen the effect of a bank being robbed, had both heard the (slightly exaggerated) list of Tuco’s crimes at more than a handful of short-lived executions. Tuco was no fool.

Blondie thoughtfully rubbed at his chin before taking the cigar back more delicately than it had been taken from him. He pressed his tongue to the end, bit down on it and rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other as though trying to savour the taste. The motion was captivating and Tuco forgot what they were arguing about for a moment.

He mentally shook himself and patted Blondie’s thigh. “Besides… if we both know where it all is, we both have equal responsibility for it right? If something happens, it’ll be just the two of us to blame.”

Blondie levelled him with a look that spoke volumes. It told Tuco he wasn’t happy with the plan, but that it was going to happen despite his feelings on the matter. It was a look Tuco had begun to know very well after finding his ex-partner and now no longer ex-partner with several thousand dollars already spent on liquor and horse tack. And a new pair of boots. And a gun cleaning set that looked far too expensive for what it did.

“Blondie,” he drawled, shuffling closer on the hard dirt and leaning against the taller man, “trust me. I’ve got as much to lose as you have. Maybe more, since I haven’t spent mine yet.”

Blondie smiled, slow and soft and just a little affectionate, the smile he only smiled when it was Tuco he was looking at. “You haven’t spent it yet. And that’s only because you were looking for me.”

Tuco sighed perhaps a little more dramatically than was needed. He rested his hand on Blondie’s thigh and squeezed lightly, didn’t miss the way that smile faltered at the pressure. “I’ll always come looking for you, amigo. We are bound together, you and I, for good or for bad. Why d’you think you can’t get rid of me, eh? There are forces at work stronger than fate when it comes to the two of us.”

Tuco found himself faltering as a hand dropped onto his atop Blondie’s thigh. Their fingers wove together and Blondie squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah,” he said under his breath, “I guess there are.”

His pulse skipped as Blondie watched him for a long time, his body relaxed but something tensing below the surface. For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as though Blondie might kiss him. Tuco kind of hoped he would.

But the man took his hand away and used a stick to poke and prod at the fire.

“Get some sleep, Tuco. We’ll have to figure out some locations tomorrow.”

Tuco bedded down for the night, not sleeping as well as he wanted, still thinking of that moment where anything could have happened.

Forces stronger than fate, he thought, what a strange world they lived in.

#blonco #the good the bad and the ugly #tuco ramirez #Blondie #I love them your honor and I love their weird connection that can’t be broken

[queenbeeibee]

@jabbers-wild-world - semi-plotted starter for ALASTOR!

This was going to be the greatest prank Beelzebub had ever done. The Sin was practically bouncing in excitement, checking her appearance over one final time in the mirror, scrutinizing the entire look. "What'cha think, Jackson? Is Charlie gonna be surprised or what?"

"I'm certain the Princess will be very shocked, Your Highness. Perhaps a bit too much. Are you sure you won't reconsider-?"

Bee turned on her heels, the black dress she wore flaring out around her hips as she looked up at her friend, a frown pulling down her lips. "No, I won't. Charlie hasn't seen me like this in forever, she's gonna flip when she realizes who I am! That's what'll make this such a great gag. Besides..." She raised a hand, carefully placing it over her face, "I don't get to look like this every day. So please, please don't ask me to reconsider. Okay?"

The old Wolfhound looked at his Queen for a long moment before huffing out a sigh. "Very well. Are you ready to depart, then?"

"Yep! My coat's already in the car. It's time to head up to the Hazbin Hotel." She grinned manically, turning to look over her shoulder at the human girl reflected in the mirror. "They aren't gonna know what hit 'em."

+ + +

The doors to the Hazbin Hotel loomed in front of Beelzebub as she walked up the steps, feeling far taller than they actually were. She could barely keep herself from bouncing again as she grabbed the door knocker, lifting it up and bringing it down twice, two hard BANGS! Definitely enough to get someone's attention inside. She grinned, pushing a lock of her fluorescing hair back from her face, before schooling her expression into some sort of neutrality. She expected Charlie would be the one to open the door, as she'd been most other times Bee had come to visit, would be confused to see a human before her, and then Bee would laugh and turn back into her normal self. A silly little prank that might garner a giggle or two from the Princess, before they went inside to discuss more serious matters. It was practically fool proof.

"C'moooooon, Charlie... open the door..."

#jabbers wild world #. [ нєℓℓ ℓєт тнєм єαт ¢σттσи ¢αи∂у | νєяѕє ] #. [ α ∂єєя αи∂ α fσχ ωαℓк тняσυgн α нσтєℓ | ρяαик тняєα∂ ] #. [ 🌸 the realization that this comes just before april fools LOL ]

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Okay take two because I think tumblr didn’t let me submit this unfortunately but I won’t stop talking about baby girl soap!(Thank you for answering all my asks I get excited to bond over my interest with people and I love always seeing your writing <3)So let’s say prices goes on leave for a couple of days (man's need a vacation from dealing with everyone’s shit) and gaz just gets even more menacing when price leaves. Him and soap do bets and dare more than ever since price and gone even with ghosts tells them to stop (gaz see’s that as a challenge and plans to make the 2 weeks that price is gone living hell for the simps) . So he gets to work and dares soap to wear a ghost's hoodie for the day (ghost definitely ran to get soap, a hoodie he would forever deny that tho) and he literally loses it when he sees soap in his hoodie. The other beg soap to wear their clothes he does and quite often to the point it’s a regular thing and they lose it gaz takes it a step further to get the best blackmail he makes soap wear shorts, thigh highs with a matching collar that broke the dam so people try to flirt with soap they are immediately met with the most threatening stare from like 4 different guys.

Firstly) I fuckin love baby girl Soap. God damn is it good.

Secondly) Thank you so much!! I actually love responding to asks and people’s prompts, it’s so much fun. So I’m glad you’ve been submitting them 😁

Thirdly) I realised I’ve been writing these with the sort of idea of Soap getting with everyone (just Ghost being like the first or main) and I haven’t been tagging everyone else! Guys, I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it when I get the chance.

But onwards!! So I can imagine Soap actually trying to steal Ghost’s hoodie at first because he’s more than fairly sure the man won’t let him borrow it for the bet he just lost with Gaz.

Ghost catches him obviously and Soap very nearly loses his fingers for it but when he says he has to wear it because he lost a bet Ghost nearly carks it. Man’s freezes and stares and imagines the sergeant in every piece of clothing he owns and fuck… he’s gonna give it to him.

So there Soap goes, walking around base with Ghost’s hoodie for the day with said man following close behind. Soap’s pretty built, no doubt about it, but Ghost is even more so. So the hoodie sits a little loose on the younger, sleeves slipping past his palms and hem sitting just below his ass, it’s a sight that’s for sure.

When the rest of 141 see it they immediately try and ask him to wear their clothes. I reckon Rudy would try getting the man to wear his track pants because he likes wearing them a little tight whereas Soap wears ‘em loose, so the pants are just a bit of a squeeze for the man with an ass but he manages.

Alejandro likes getting him to wear his turtlenecks because while he’s taller than Soap the other is just a little wider than him. So Johnny fills them out really nicely but the sleeves and hem sag a little at the ends of his torso and arms and it’s really fuckin cute.

König I reckon gave Soap a hoodie once (because one look at the rest of his wardrobe and they were immediately out of the question) and the shorter was absolutely swimming in it. It was beyond adorable and everyone found themselves hard pressed to be jealous or disappointed when Soap was peeking out from under that hood with the brightest smile and sweater paws.

Johnny - poor, oblivious, adorable Johnny - has no idea why everyone is suddenly giving him clothes to wear and why half his wardrobe has now been replaced. He’s not really complaining because he finds it comforting to have things of his teammates with him. Likes the comfort of sleeping in König’s jumper when he’s going to sleep, and the way Rudy’s track pants and Alejandro’s turtle neck show off his hard earned muscles. He also loves curling up in Ghost’s hoodie when he’s had a rough day because it smells like him and it’s comfortable.

Now that Gaz knows Soap barely owns any of his own clothes he ramps it up a notch, positively ecstatic to send his captain this next batch of blackmail material because it’s absolutely glorious and he feels as if his captain might be getting a tad bit bored while on his leave. So he gets these footy shorts he saw while in Australia one time - they’re short, black and silky feeling - along with some thigh highs and a collar and a slew of other things.

Soap fuckin hates him for it but he’s a man of his word and he’ll be damned if he lets Gaz hold that over his head (never mind all the embarrassing outfits and humiliating scenarios he gets in)

So next time Soap walks into the mess hall, blushing a deep af red but holding his head high regardless, he very nearly causes some severe accidents. The bet this time was the footy shorts and Ghost’s hoodie, which means there’s only a strip of black showing at the edge of the jumper before it’s just pale legs and bare feet (cause Gaz is a shit and stole his shoes)

The 141 are in varying states of horny silence and utter shock while the rest of the base are in all sorts of disarray. Some guys are already making fun of him, pointing and laughing, while others are in the same boat as the 141. Soap’s a looker, it’s hard not to be attracted to him.

Then the thigh highs and matching collar come out and it’s too fuckin much. Rudy’s praying for strength, Alejandro is trying so very fucking hard to speak English but his brain has left the chat. König could very well be passed out on the table at the moment - nobody knows - and Ghost is about two seconds away from slinging the man over his shoulder and making an escape with him.

The 141 are quick to snap out of it when some rookie - a new guy from the latest squadron on base - goes up to Soap and starts flirting like his life depends on it. Now it wouldn’t be too bad if Soap was his usual oblivious self and just returned it with a smile and friendly nod, but he doesn’t.

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish - maybe for the first time in his entire life - catches onto the flirting and returns it. He blushes and plays coy, hiding the bottom of his face behind the collar of Alejandro’s turtle neck as he laughs at whatever the fuck the rookie is saying and it’s enough to send the whole squad into a murderous rage.

Ghost is the first to move, hand already pulling a knife out as his eyes stay zoned on the asshole that’s got his hands on Soap. Rudy and Alejandro aren’t far behind cursing up a storm in Spanish as König lumbers after them.

Ghost uses his bulk to get between them, Rudy and Alejandro blocking Soap from the rest of the base’s eyes as the former takes off his jacket and hangs it on Soap’s shoulders. König uses his height and bulk to pick Soap up and hide him from view before leaving with him. It’s such an obvious claim and blatant ‘don’t touch what’s ours’ that the rest of the base quickly learn to avert their eyes whenever Soap enters a room dressed in anything less than military gear.

Gaz feels as if he should feel bad for what he’s done but honestly? It’s too funny. Plus, Price left him a very detailed message on what he would do to the guys if he came back and he was one military personnel short because of Gaz’s stupid bets and dares.

#fic prompt #fuck off haters #i’m looking at you die hard cod players #ghost x soap #call of duty #ghost #johnny ‘soap’ mctavish #simon ‘ghost’ riley #prompt #fic #baby girl soap #soap’s got an ass #oblivious soap #babygirlifies your soap #soapghost #jealous ghost #ghost being in denial as usual #protective ghost #alejandro vargas #konig #kyle ‘gaz’ garrick #dad price #poor price still suffering #Gaz is a shit #possessive ghost #possessive 141 #141 making claims #reply #response #rodolfo parra

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x ofc

Chapter 19: A Native American in Paris

Summary: When he returns, he hands Zenie a postcard with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it. “It’s not as good as having a picture taken in front of it, but, you know, I thought that it might be somethin’.” A/N: When I first started writing this fic, I always imagined D-Day as the beginning of a "Part Two" in the story. Regardless of what act we're in, this definitely feels like an intermission point for me. So I just wanted to take the time to say thank you for sticking with me this far, and I hope you'll hang around for the rest of the story <3 Warnings: mentions of war, drinking, implied sex Taglist: @latibvles @lady-cheeky @liebgotts-lovergirl @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs @ithinkabouttzu

France, 1944

Passes all around! It’s so much different from life back at Toccoa. It feels so long ago now that Zenie’s hands would clench into fists at her side when Captain Sobel would make up some excuse to revoke her pass. Maybe this is to make up for the fact that they got so few of these back in Georgia.

Paris is the keyword floating all around the barracks. All Zenie’s friends score passes to the City of Light. After the dreary days of sitting in mud in Holland, the prospect of exploring the city seems like a marvelous makeup for the eighty-something days stuck waiting. Zenie finds herself with a forty-eight hour pass to the famed city in her hands. The idea of someday getting the chance to brag to Marilyn that she visited the Eifel Tower makes her laugh. Then Shifty meets her eye from across the room and announces that he also has a pass to Paris – and on the same day as her. And suddenly the city that Zenie has hardly ever spared a thought for seems brighter and full of more possibilities than anything Marilyn used to describe while fawning over her books.

Especially because they still haven’t been alone.

Having friends is such a change of pace from Zenie’s life before running away. She loves them, and being with them. Lately, however, it seems like she can’t get a second away from them.

Mourmelon-le-Grand for R&R. Except the Rest in “Rest and Relaxation” has somehow turned into preparing for a football game that Zenie cannot seem to come up with a good enough excuse to not play in.

“Look,” she finally tells Babe one day in the barracks when he won’t stop pestering her about it. “I’m no good at football. My older brother played baseball, so that’s what I was taught. It’d be different if you wanted me to be a pitcher.” Or if we were playing any game that wouldn’t get me tackled, crushed, and exposed, she doesn’t add.

Babe swats his hand, pushing away her words. “Well lucky for you, you’ve got me to teach you. And I’m great at football, Tommy. I could have you ready for this game in a matter of days.”

“You tryin’ to get little Tommy a Purple Heart by getting’ all his bones crushed, ya mean?”

Everyone in the barracks jumps at the sound of a familiar voice – one whose absence has been heavily felt.

“Bill!”

The Italian spreads his arms as wide as his smile as he fully enters the room. He’s limping, but it doesn’t damper his smile. “What? Ya think you’d never see me again or somethin’?”

“Didn’t know how long ya were gonna baby that leg,” Babe quips, ducking when the taller man makes a move to affectionately ruffle his hair.

“Baby it? Yeah right. You know who you’re talkin’ to, Heffron? I made ‘em cut the cast off early so I could get back here and keep your ass in line!”

“Yeah, and God knows we needed that, because he keeps trying to get Tommy killed,” Joe says from his place on his bunk.

A cloud of seriousness crosses Bill’s face as he turns to her. “You really that bad at football?”

Well I should be, considering that I’ve never played, Zenie thinks. Instead, she nods. “The worst.”

“Someone could probably fix that. Not right now, though.” His smile returns as he glances over their group, a glint in his eye. “Any of you up for a little trip to Lulu’s?”

In the moment, there’s nothing particularly special about Lulu’s or the night that they spend there. (Besides, maybe, the fact that Bill missed the party with the Red Devils, and they feel the need to make up for all the fun he missed.) They drink too much and dance too fast and sing too loudly. On the way back to barracks, they cling to each other and laugh brightly as they haul each other home – a real team effort. With promising days of R&R ahead of them, they go to bed, already thinking of having this kind of fun night after night.

The place is a frenzy of excitement. The football game creeps ever closer and practices pick up with the mounting tensions. (Personally, Zenie’s not sure why anyone would worry when Joe Toye is playing for their team.) Passes are being taken into the cities, and each time a group of soldiers returns to brag about the fun he had, the harder Zenie’s heart pounds in her chest when she thinks about how she and Shifty both have passes to Paris.

“Two more days,” she notes as casually as she can in line for breakfast one day. “Never heard of half the places people are talking about.”

“Me neither. But a lot of the fellas seem to think it’s mighty fun there. Lots to do.”

Zenie hums in agreement. “Probably a lot of walking around the city.”

“Probably.”

“Lots of time to talk.”

As he scoops eggs onto his plate, Zenie catches him biting his lip. It doesn’t hide his smile. “Definitely.”

Lucky does not even begin to describe how Zenie feels when she learns that she and Shifty seem to be the only ones of their friends to have passes to Paris. After every chance that she might have had to speak with him has been thwarted, part of her is on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting something else to keep them apart.

They leave the barracks amiably enough. They make small talk as they board the train and make their way towards the city.

“This is my third time,” one of the soldiers in their train car brags as they ride. He quirks an eyebrow at them. “You ever been to Paris?”

“Never,” Zenie replies as Shifty shakes his head.

The soldier only nods. “Well, it doesn’t disappoint, I’ll tell you that much. You just have to know all the right places to look if you want to have a good time.”

“I think we’ll manage.”   

And they do. Shifty has already seen the city while out on a different pass with Popeye. Once they get off the train, though, he only smiles at Zenie and lets her take the lead, making suggestions about the fastest way to get places as they go.

As they weave their way through the people and the streets, they talk. Not in the way that Zenie has been waiting for them to, but at least they’re talking. More than they have been lately, too, which is enough for her. It’s enough just to see him smile at her as he regales her with stories of what he and Popeye saw and did while using their passes, and she tells him about Marilyn’s travel books that her sister would stare at for hours at night. It’s enough for their fingers to brush when Shifty buys a piece of pain au chocolat, then breaks it down the middle and hands her half. It's enough to watch his eyes light up when she uses a gentle finger to wipe a smudge of chocolate off his upper lip. This is what she imagined when she pictured them having a secret relationship. This is what she’s been missing.

But, she has to remind herself, this is what Shifty was worried would get them caught. The memory of that night at the brothel makes her chest ache. He didn’t think this would be possible until after the war. And maybe he still doesn’t want it until then. She won’t know until they get to talk – really talk.

“It’s big, ain’t it?” Shifty asks when they stop in front of the Eiffel Tower.

The famed tower is impressive. With the elevators not operational, though, there isn’t much to do but stand under it and admire it from different angles. Zenie tries to soak it up in her mind so that she can remember it later.

“Here.” As if he can read her mind, Shifty steps away, heading towards an older woman with a cart. He counts out some money and hands it to her. She smiles as she hands him something. When he returns, he hands Zenie a postcard with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it. “It’s not as good as having a picture taken in front of it, but, you know, I thought that it might be somethin’.”

“It’s perfect,” Zenie rushes to assure him. “Thank you, Shifty.”

 The Virginian smiles, his cheeks tinged pink.

“You know,” he says. “If you’ve seen everything that you want to, I know somewhere that we can go. Away.”

As if to prove his point, a group of American soldiers walks behind them. Zenie and Shifty might have come here alone, without any of their other friends, but they’re not truly alone. Not yet.

Zenie pockets the postcard. “Lead the way.”

People bustle up and down the streets, laughing as they go. A few little kids point at her when they spot her, yelling in their excitement. It’s a bit like being back in Holland – well, the better part of being in Holland, when all the people had come out to welcome them with open arms. Zenie always makes sure to smile back, and salutes them just for the fun of it. It’s a nice distraction from the clammy feeling in her palms as she waits.

She spins around as the door of the hotel opens. Every time she’s hoped that it’s Shifty returning. This time, it really is him. He nods to her and flashes a key.

Up and up and up. The only sound on the stairwell is that of their boots echoing against the walls as they climb. Zenie glances at Shifty every now and then, feels him doing the same to her, but neither makes a move to speak. Maybe, like her, he’s trying to work out everything that he wants to say.

Peeling paint covers the door to their room. It’s at the end of the hallway, secluded, quiet. Zenie still glances over her shoulder as Shifty opens the door and ushers her inside.

This room is nothing like the one they talked in that night at the brothel. Whereas that room was dark and contained only a bed, this one is full of light and has not only a fluffy looking bed, but a vanity and a small doorway that leads to a bathroom. Something about the place makes it feel warm, and not just in temperature.

Closing the door behind her, Zenie stays in place even as Shifty walks further into the room. He glances back at her and, like that night at the brothel, gestures toward the bed.

“You wanna . . . ?”

The bed is just as fluffy as Zenie suspected it would be. It dips under their weight as they seat themselves. Also like that night, and against her better judgement, they sit close to each other. Really, what reason is there to not? Just like back in the foxholes of Holland, their knees bump into each other. They leave them there, pressing into each other.

This won’t be like last time, Zenie assures her heart as it pounds against her ribcage. Well, last time they had been holding hands when Shifty dropped the news –

No, he didn’t drop the news. He didn’t even get to finish what he wanted to say because Earl had started firing his gun and they had to leave the building. He was going to ask her to wait. And now . . . ?

She tries to find something to say, anything. They both start to speak at the same time. Words overlapping, they pause, each offering the other a small smile.

“Sorry,” Shifty says. “You first.”

Her first, with hardly a word at the ready. She says the first one that comes to mind, which is the only one she can properly associate with the whole situation that’s been playing out these past few months.

“I’m sorry. I wish we could start over.”

Slowly, Shifty nods. “Me, too. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He pauses, pushing a short sigh out through his nose. “When I was tryin’ to ask you to wait until after the war, I thought that I was protectin’ you. From this – “ He gestures around the room. “ – The sneaking around, and all that. But I didn’t consider, see, hurtin’ your feelings indirectly. I wanted to tell you, when I realized what had happened. But I could never seem to find you by yourself . . .”

Zenie cringes at the memory of dodging Shifty’s presence, of not meeting his eyes or looking directly at him until that night at the pub when Skinny asked him what he wanted to do after the war.

“That was my fault, and I’m sorry. I –“ She has to laugh, almost, at how stupid it seems now, to have been avoiding him. “ – I was trying to protect myself, and instead I ended up hurting you. And I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to.”

Silence falls over them. Then, like that night at the brothel, Shifty holds out his hand. There is no hesitation on Zenie’s part; of course she takes it, intwining their fingers together and relishing the feeling it sends down her spine.

“This is what we’ve been missing,” she realizes aloud.

Shifty nods. He lets out an unexpected laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I was gonna put this off until the end of the war. Coulda been doin’ it the whole time.”

“But you were right to be worried. About being caught, I mean.”

“Maybe. After everythin’ we’ve been through, though, is it really worth the wait?”

This time, Zenie tries to take in the full meaning of his words instead of just assuming she knows what he means, or what’s about to happen.

“What do you mean?”

“The end of the war might be a long way off, you know,” Shifty says. “And, I don’t know. After all we’ve been through, I guess I’ve realized that nothin’ is for certain.” He pauses and meets her eye. He stares so deeply into her that it feels like he’s trying to read her mind. “I don’t mind it – the sneakin’ around, I mean – if you don’t. And the end of the war . . . Well, if you want, we can figure it out when we get there. Whenever that may be.”

Her heart lurches, ready to take the plunge with him.

“You want us to court?” She clarifies. Nothing will be left to chance or interpretation this time.

“Yes.”

Going with Shifty Powers. Of course she will, and she tells him as much. She only wishes she could tell her past self, all the way back in Toccoa, that this was coming; that version of Zenie would have never seen this coming.

Her hands shake. She wonders if he can feel them trembling against his. A laugh, a sigh of relief, and a jubilant cry all gather at the back of her throat. When she opens her mouth, she’s not sure which will come out.

“You know,” she says instead. “I think you’ve just made me the happiest girl in Paris.”

Shifty grins. “Zena, when we make it out of this war, I’ll make sure you’re the happiest girl in the whole world.”

The rest of the war, Zenie prays, will be kind to them.

With the forty-eight-hour pass, they don’t have to wait until the end of the war for Shifty to make her the happiest girl in the world. Alone in their hotel room, with nothing but a slant of moonlight that sneaks in through the crack in the curtains, they make up for all their lost time.

The next morning, they discover that the towels in the bathroom are just as fluffy as the bedding. The soft, white fabric leaves little trails of fuzz covering their bodies, and they giggle as they gently swat each other, trying to remove it.

Putting on her uniform after the night they have feels strange. For a day, she’s been Zenie again. Her performance has enjoyed an intermission. Now, as they wander the streets of Paris one last time before boarding the train that will take them back to Mourmelon-le-Grand, she’s stepping back into her role and heading into the second act as a changed woman.

Changed for the better, she hopes.

#band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers x original female character #band of brothers #band of brothers x ofc #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing #like a girl (like a man)

[dragon-giggles]

I've only been in the Mario fandom for like a week! But hey, imma try and make some headcanons about the bros with the little knowledge I have anyway

Let's goooo

(Oh wait, keep in mind that a lot of my hcs might be inspired or based off the 80s cartoon, cause that's one way I've been trying to get into the fandom)

. Mario and Luigi's voices are a lot deeper than what they sound like in any of the games. Like, kind of what they sounded like in the old cartoons.

. Mario is good with children, he just gets them. When he was a teen, he was a popular babysitter with all the kids around the neighborhood.

.Luigi on the other hand is good with animals rather than kids. He can be ok with a kid for a while but freaks out if there's a point where he doesn't know what to do. For ex: He's all good with a baby... until it starts crying, then he starts freaking out and instantly hands it to Mario to take care of. But animals are his thing! While Mario was known for babysitting, Luigi was the neighborhood dog walker!

. Mario is only older than Luigi by about a year. Still, as kids he would try and use his age as an excuse to boss Luigi around. 9 year old Mario would tell his mother that he was capable of babysitting 8 year old Luigi lol.

. Mario is bi/ace, I can't unsee it. Peach is too. So it's bi for bi <3

. I know a lot of people would probably go ballistic over this and disagree and all that, but Luigi is aromantic/ace. BUT, he is all up for a queer platonic relationship. He realized when he was younger that the thought of an actual serious romantic relationship was scary, and that's how he found out he was aromantic, the end.

. Mario's eyes have always been blue, but Luigi's are brown (it's canon in the old cartoons)

. The bros grew up never knowing who their father was so Mario took it upon himself to be the closest thing to a father figure that Luigi could have while also still acting like a sibling

. It's Mario's fault but Luigi can barely ever hug someone half the time without stiffening up or getting jumpy. It's because whenever he would hug Mario when they were younger, he'd end up getting a noogie of being tickled half to death half the time cause Mario was a little gremlin like that. It happened so much that it's just become habit for Luigi to involuntarily start smiling like a goof or move his arms down to his sides when someone raps their arms around him.

. The bros are super close but they definitely bicker quite a bit. At least half of their conversations with each other throughout the day consists of arguments over unimportant things. What can I say, they're siblings and that's what sibs do. None of their arguments are actually serious though, they mostly consist of stuff like who's going to do which chore and stuff like that.

. Like I said before, Luigi is good with animals but he also knows a lot of cool facts about them as well. He loves to throw off little random facts when he can!

. Though Luigi is the taller of the two, both of the bros are pretty short. Mario is 4'8 and Luigi is 4'11

. Their job may be to fix pipes, but the bros did all kinds of different side jobs aside from just being plumbers. They loved to help out their friends with tasks or chores and were known well around their neighborhood for it! One day they may be helping stock cans in a friend's store, then the next day they may be painting someone's house!

. Mario is definitely a tough guy but he's also really goofy. One second, he'll be in complete serious mode, the next, he's breaking out into a silly smile and laughing his butt off at one of the stupidest jokes ever.

Ok I tried my hand at headcanons with these two. Guess I'll just throw em out here and see what people think

#Super Mario Bros #Mario #Luigi #Headcanons

[rossithepixie]

rossi!!! 💗 can i get uhhh 1, 7, 10, 11, 17, 18 for whoever you want and even multiple!!! i wanna hear all about ‘em ✨

selfship asks

!!! Hi Kayleigh I want you to know i felt liek i wasin one of those bits where someone opens a locker and suddenly gets hit by a bunch of letters when i got this ask. -cracks knuckles- this will probably end up up partially under a readmore because it's gonna get long. So I don't utterly fry my brain doing this since i'm a little migrainey today I'm probably gonna stick with a polyship with Aven and Ratio. edit: I feel like a liar, i decided to add in tighnari because i love my fox. But again for my sanity i promise that's it this time!

1 nose kisses or forehead kisses?

Aventurine: With Aven we're actually very close in height (take away the heels on his shoes and that's especially true) so cute pecks on the nose aren't uncommon between us. Unless we're in bed, in which case whoever is the sleepiest and resting their head on the other often gets subjected to forehead kisses.

Ratio: being taller he's a giver of forehead kisses when he decides to be

--- Tighnari: forehead kisses despite us being about the same height. He'll often place a hand on the back of my neck and tilt me foreward so he can kiss my forehead.

7. romantic dinners at fancy restaurants or take out dinners on the couch

Aventurine: Fancy dinners, he absolutely insists on them. Will flutter his lashes and sweet talk me until he can convince me to leave the safety of my solitude and practically drag me out somewhere fancy.

Ratio: he's an even split on being convinced to go out for fancy dinners or staying in, though he has a habit of continuing to work when we eat in.

___

Tighnari: We eat in! He's really not much for going to fancy restaurant dinners all that much. Especially since people tend to interupt us to ask about his tail and ears or to ask for pictures with him. And while he can begrudgingly tolerate it i will lose my temper at people being rude.

10. Constantly saying "I love you" or only saying it during serious moments?

Aventurine: Hmmm i know this is an either or but i think we're more middle of the road on this one, leaning toward more serious or at least private moments. Or love tends to be conveyed in actions.

Ratio: Definitely leans toward the serious moments. Feels that his love is obvious by him spending quality time with the two of us.

___ Tighnari: we actually say it rather often!

11. calling eachother by your names plain and simple, or calling eachother really flowery pet names?

Aventurine: Already answered!

Ratio: Has been known to slip in a darling here and there. I picked up on calling him just doc or doctor on occasion because of aven calling him that but i often do just call him Veritas. Unlike aven he tends to call me 'roswell' if he does use my name instead of the shortened rossi. And if I call him "love" on occasion well he doesn't mind.

---

tighnari: Mostly just or names or variations of out names. Most commonly we call eachother Rossi and Nari.

17. Love at first sight or slow burn?

Aventurine: I don't know if it was love at first sight but certainly immediate interest followed by us testing the waters. Okay more he decided to test the waters because i kind of just assumed he wouldn't have an interest in me which is admittedly my knee jerk reaction.

Ratio: I actually met ratio before meeting Aven and given our personalities we were distinctly more slow burn. In fact nothing may have happened between the two of us if not for aventurine.

___

Tighnari: Love at first sight, at least on my end. I was instantly enamored with him and quickly found him to be very comforting. We were students at the same time at the akademiya and he helped me adjust to living in sumeru. We didn't act on our feelings immediately but they were certainly there.

18. Cuddle in bed or need space to sleep? Aventurine: Cuddle! As long as it's not too hot we end up a tangled pile of limbs.

Ratio: Completely depends on his mood but he is the most likely to avoid the cuddle pile.

---

Tighnari: Cuddles all the way humidity and heat be damned much to my dismay. He will curl himself around me partway through the night.

#the pixie speaks #just selfship things #mooties: kayleigh #i considered also doing kaeya and wanderer/scara but this singular post would have gotten too long