#end of year fic ask | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ragnarokhound · 1 month

Note

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed.

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay?

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air.

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive.

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front.

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later.

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape.

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this.

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’— which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down).

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight.

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers.

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes—

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop.

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.”

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror.

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed.

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way.

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.”

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to.

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric.

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch.

The kiss is— bad. At first.

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch'#'have some jaytim that grew legs on me'#my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!!#prompt fill

61 notes · View notes

sdwolfpup · 4 months

Note

For the Festive Fic prompts, I'd love to see what you do with 14 or 17!

14. family invites a rival/enemy/the boss to a Christmas party/vacation

"What is she doing here?" Jaime hisses to Tyrion as they stand in the receiving line at their father's annual Christmas party. It's always an overblown affair: everyone dressed up like they're about to meet the Queen, the abuse of gold-plated decorations, the persistent jazzy Christmas music soundtrack, and dear god the garlands. It's like a forest exploded all through the house.

Normally, Jaime finds the whole thing tedious and boring and he and Tyrion skip out halfway through to go get drunk on Tywin's most expensive liquor that gets trickier to find every year. The old man hasn't outwitted them on hiding places yet, but it was a near thing last year.

Jaime expects this year to be different, though, because there, large as life, is Brienne Tarth hovering at the end of the receiving line, her hulking shoulders hunched, the austere black of whatever dress she's wearing doing her no favors. She looks like she's at a funeral, not a Christmas party.

Which would suit the dour, frustratingly stubborn woman that is his primary rival in the world of high-end real estate.

"I can't see who you mean but based on the venom in your tone, I suspect you mean Ms. Tarth," Tyrion drawls. "She's here because Father invited her."

"What?" Jaime turns on his brother, completely ignoring the councilmember just holding his hand out to be shaken. "Why?"

Tyrion takes the councilman's empty hand and pumps it aggressively, wishing him a Merry Christmas before turning back to Jaime. "Because he wants to hire her," he says like Jaime's being especially obtuse.

Jaime stares at the woman creeping closer in the line. "But she works for the Starks. She hates us."

"She hates you," Tyrion says cheerfully, taking over for Jaime as he ignores two more people in line to glare at Brienne. "The rest of us she's neutral about."

Jaime scoffs. "That's only because she hasn't met you yet."

Tyrion kisses the hand of a woman and Jaime watches her laugh prettily. His brother lifts his brow smugly. "I'm very charming, Jaime. I'll bet you a case of that scotch we had last year that I can get her to be my friend before you."

The music dips for a moment and Jaime hears Brienne saying, "Merry Christmas" to one of the many Lannister Realty employees down the line from him. Her voice is soft and almost sweet--nothing like she sounds whenever he has the misfortune of talking with her.

"I'm not taking that bet. She'd befriend you just to spite me," he grouses. He shakes a few more hands without really seeing any of the people in front of him, too busy keeping an eye on Brienne's progress as she makes her way.

He can tell the moment she notices him in line, because all of the ease and shyness drains out of her and she straightens, lifting her head like a bear that's just spotted a threat.

Good, he thinks, meeting her gaze with a cool smile. Best she know what's waiting for her if she's considering this.

Jaime's flooded with anxious energy waiting for the line to hurry and deposit her before him and then it finally does. Up close, the black dress turns out to be shorter than he'd thought, and her very long legs stick out of it thick trunks. Her arms and shoulders--her best features, in his opinion--are covered, but an alarmingly broad swatch of her pale, freckled chest is bare except for a jeweled, golden sword hanging from a delicate necklace chain. It looks incongruous, the fragility of the links against the ropey tendons of her neck, like a trail of kisses against her skin.

Jaime blinks and jerks back. "Tarth," he greets her, folding his hands behind his back. "Did you get lost on the way to the Stark holiday party? Or are you hoping to actually enjoy expensive food at a work function for once?"

She grimaces, a familiar look on her wide face. "Lannister." She shoves her hand out at him as though a parent is standing behind her and forcing her to do so. He looks down at it, the wide span of her palm, the mountainous knuckles, and marvels again this woman is as successful a realtor as he is when he looks like he does and she looks like this.

Her hand hangs between them for a long moment before he finally takes it, feels the sting as she squeezes more than is polite. He hides a grunt and squeezes back, enjoys the way her eyes narrow and she puts even more strength into it, a vise slowly crushing the bones of his hand. He returns it, the two of them locked in an escalating battle of pain until Tyrion clears his throat.

"If you two are done trying to rip each others hands off, you're holding up the line." He sounds richly amused and Jaime realizes that the line has bunched up behind Brienne and there's a large space between her and the people ahead of her now.

She yanks her hand away and Jaime is oddly delighted by the stripes of red that flood over her cheeks like fingerpaint. He's less delighted by the way his hand is throbbing. He sees her flex her hand at her side and hopes he gave as good as he got, because he's convinced he'll have bruises in the morning.

"Enjoy the party, Tarth," Jaime tells her as she hurriedly shakes Tyrion's hand and mumbles Christmas wishes. "I don't expect you'll be invited back next year."

Her eyes skate back to him, blue and cold as the ice in the middle of a glacier. "That's because I'll be in the receiving line ahead of you."

Tyrion hoots with laughter because the best realtor gets the dubious honor of being here at the end of the line nearest Tywin and the leadership team.

Brienne's already hurried too far to make a comeback worth it, or even audible, and Jaime swears he won't have a single drink tonight until he's driven Brienne Tarth from the grounds, or at least from his father's perspective employment.

(Festive prompts here)

#jaime x brienne #my fic #festive prompts #asks answered #pearly--rose #this could have gone another 10k easily lol #have to stop somewhere #(spoiler alert: they end up fighting for best realtor and then fall in love and they stand there together next year bc they're engaged)#(the end)

38 notes · View notes

avocadoraisin · 16 days

Text

#its been like a year since the last time i asked so im curious idfk #and if u wanna tell me why u choose what u did then thats bonus points lmao #today is another big push to get most of my fic done. im aiming for this thing to be done by the end of the week or earlier #and when im nose deep in a project i like to be annoying on the internet for socialization so yes!! take my interaction bait!! take it!!#jenna shut up

22 notes · View notes

compacflt · 2 months

Note

question: how do you find your research/sources? yours and dancing disasters' icemav fics are so inside baseball i love it, but how do you go about doing research?

I just read a lot & google stuff I don't know & am curious about. not that hard to start learning. and in terms of reading I've been interested in military history & milfiction my whole life. mostly related to the US army, actually--im extremely new to naval history and naval literature; all of that interest was driven by top gun. I've also been fortunate enough to visit a lot of the places I write about--ive been to Pearl Harbor a couple times & San Diego MANY times, for instance, and I've toured a few aircraft carriers and military bases. I've also finally bitten the bullet and kinda shifted my career path towards aerospace, so I've been learning a lot just by working in the aerospace & defense sector/spending a lot of time with people who do.

that's obviously not to say that I am somehow Educated in all this stuff. im pretty open on this blog about me being young & naive & wrong much of the time about how the real world works. so, you know, a lot of shit I just Make Up according to my preconceived notions of the military & the world.

here is my recommended military/navy reading list, some fiction and some nonfiction.

someone also asked recently if I had read anything good in the last 6 months--yes!! three new additions to my reading list: a) Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk by Ben Fountain. So goddamn good. If you have to read only one novel about the Iraq War, make it this one. It's more about America than it is about Iraq. b) Redeployment by Phil Klay. This one is a collection of short stories about Marines in Iraq, written by a USMC vet, talk about inside baseball. Crazy amounts of jargon in here, basically a "to-google" list. won the national book award which idk if it deserved, but it's good. c) No true glory: A Frontline Account of the Battle of Fallujah by Bing West. currently reading this one, really well done so far, talks a lot about how fucked the US strategy was in Iraq with Fallujah serving as a metonymy/case study for the war itself.

again... this is all mostly close-quarters-combat (infantry) literature, I really am not that interested in the navy/Air Force that much outside of top gun lol

though I did recently remember that in early 2022, before I was into top gun, I read "Wingmen" by Ensan Case, which is actually a gay US naval aviator romance set in WWII published in 1979! it's really authentic and kind of sad, obviously, since it was a 1940s navy gay love story published in 1979. I don't actually think Wingmen influenced how I wrote wwgattai or how I think of TG/TGM but I just remembered that I read that book in February 2022 and going "oh my god they were wingmen" so maybe you might find that book interesting.

#dancingdisaster's 'men like us' Directly inspired wwgattai and is the only other icemav/TG fic Ive ever read so I owe them a lottt #that fic opened my third eye as to 'omg what if ice lived' & then 'omg what if maverick died & ice never told him he loved him'#leading to my fics #thanks for the ask! PLEASE read billy Lynns long halftime walk #if for no other reason than its the best book I've read in 2024 and im already 12 books deep into 2024 #its so well written...... should be on the shortlist for the best great American novel......#a scathing indictment of the American christian conservative.... mmm I eat it up good soup #top gun #military history #guys I just found out yesterday that my ex whom I haven't talked to in 2 years has been stalking my twitter &#has seen me gushing about my gay top gun fanfiction #well he shouldn't have stalked my twitter ... genuinely insane behavior this is why I ended things #love men

29 notes · View notes

sighonaraa · 4 months

Note

🌹🌹🌹🌹

hello hello!! here is a wippet from the beginning of chapter 2 of the ending where you finally find your way home, which i am VERY excited about:

Sam lunged forward at the same time Jamie’s legs gave out beneath him, having been anticipating the eventual collapse for the last five minutes, ever since Jamie’s skin had gone waxen and his eyes had begun darting like a rabbit that’s been caught in a trap. He managed to catch Jamie before his skull connected with the floor, and he hefted him into his arms gently, gently. It was odd, in a through-the-looking-glass sort of way. Sam had jokingly carried Jamie around thousands of times—but never when Jamie had been this young, because Sam had been even younger, and hadn’t yet hit the growth spurt that made it easy now for him to heave almost all of his teammates over a shoulder whenever he wanted to be irritating. Were someone to hold up a mirror to Sam’s face now, he couldn’t be entirely certain that he’d see his proper self staring back. “Is he breathing?” said Jan Maas, venturing closer. It had hurt him more than he was letting on that Jamie hadn’t remembered him; that he’d come from a time before they’d ever met. Sam could tell in the way his mouth pursed at the corners, and in the way his eyes, as they drank in the sight of this newly-twenty-three-again Jamie, were shadowed and pooled, like sunlight darkened by the clouds.

#ask #anon #tyyy for the ask <3 #something something jan maas is actually deeply and incredibly loving and caring thx #something something 23 year old jamie is tinee :')#something something i like to believe that sam has a growth spurt around 25 #that leads to him growing like five inches jsdkj #ITS FUNNY TO ME!!!!#sid speaks #ted lasso #fic: the ending where you finally find your way home

26 notes · View notes

louis-ii-reyes-strand · 4 months

Text

thank god someone is keeping track of the days because i am not! thanks @thisbuildinghasfeelings @strandnreyes @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-tk for the tags 🖤🖤 i hope you're having a good holiday if you're celebrating this time of year 🫶🏻

“I can’t believe you only just moved here,” TK told him after dazedly watching a conversion he didn’t understand between Carlos and an old man selling bread that resulted in them both walking away with off-cuts to taste, and Carlos groaning so obscenely as he chewed that TK had to clench his jaw against commenting on it.

Carlos tilted his head to the side, not unlike Buttercup– his dad’s dog– when he heard a noise he couldn’t find.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem very at ease here. The farmer’s market.”

Carlos hummed, tilting his head back. They continued their steady amble between stalls.

“I grew up here and lived twenty minutes away.”

TK raised his eyebrows. “You know what I mean.”

Carlos continued to lead them in a slow amble towards the next set of market stalls, apparently thinking hard about an answer to TK’s question.

“I am, I guess. I like cooking and I like knowing I’m supporting my local community.”

“You’re kind of perfect,” TK thought out loud. “So what’s wrong with you? There’s gotta be something.” He quickly added, seeing the slight blush colouring Carlos’s cheeks and desperately not wanting to embarrass himself any further.

Carlos stopped, a flow of people diverting to either side of him. He beckoned TK closer, so close that TK could feel the way the air moved in tandem with each breath. He looked over both shoulders, waited until the people were out of hearing range, then leaned even closer to TK, his breath hot on his neck.

“I don’t like mushrooms.”

TK burst out laughing, taking a half step back so he could see Carlos’s smile. “What?”

“They taste like dirt,” He replied with a shrug, trying to seem nonchalant but unable to do anything with the boyish grin on his face.

open tag aaaaaand... (i'm not sure who's already been tagged today)

@liminalmemories21 @theghostofashton @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand @lightningboltreader @chicgeekgirl89 @mikibwrites @birdclowns @thisbuildinghasfeelings @welcometololaland @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

#wip wednesday #cookbook fic #kit writes #don't ask how posting before the end of the year is going... hehe

29 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 4 months

Note

14 & 16 & 17 if it is not to much to aks

Hiya love!

#14: a few fics you think are underrated and deserve more love

this one is hard only because there are so many. this place can be really lopsided with where all of the attention goes.

@deadboyfriendd is out of this world talented and I recommend everything, but for sure Stains in the Granite is a favorite

everything @dr-aculaaa does should have thousands of notes, I love the way they write Steve sm, but I also think about their older Eddie fic Mangoes, Menudo, and Mending on a regular basis.

Exile in Guyville by @chestylarouxx is such an immersive 90's fic and Eddie is so goddamn hot in it. They never miss either, with their writing, it's all fantastic.

(I had another ask for #14, so I'm going to share a few more recs in another post ❤️)

#16: three fics or blogs that you would recommend to someone completely new to this fandom

hmmm for blogs I'm going to say @storiesbyrhi and @myosotisa because they know their shit, but are also very inclusive, and welcoming. Rhi was one of the first ones to curl me into her cleave(r) when I started my page.

also, @mmunson86and @tomtomslongdong reblog commentary is as in depth as it gets, and a new person could find some favorites on their pages.

(sorry that's 4)

#17: your three favorite smuttiest fic recs from this year and why

OH hands down the Come As You Are universe from the great @somnambulic-thing Their smut will rearrange your brain.

absolutely Dirty Words by @morningberriesao3 because holding hands while giving hand jobs

@lonelysatellites did THIS 3 part series which was touching as hell honestly and relatable

#end of year asks #fic recs

18 notes · View notes

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

Note

WHAT IS THIS. WHEN IS THIS. HOW DID THIS OCCUR OH MHMFOD ARI IM GRABBING UR SHOULDSRS AND SHAKING YOU VIOLENTLY

PSHDJXVCV HES SO GORGEOUS…… my babygirl………. i miss him more for every single day that goes by riko T_T

(ALSO that fanart comes from this twt account !! their gojos r always so good sob. i thought it was official when i first saw it pshfjxv)

#we need gojo back before the year ends or im rioting in the streets #ALSO RIKO im almost done w the gumi fic …. hopefully ill get it out later today !! tmrw at worst 🙏🙏#hopefully ull enjoy it !! i even added a tiny tiny tinyyy smidge of angst . just for u #ask tag ✩

21 notes · View notes

fleetsonourgecentral · 2 months

Note

A request: Ebony celebrates Fleetway Super birthday along with the freedom Fighthers celebrathing Sonic's birthday (so Super and Sonic share a birthday celebration :D) but Scourge IS jealous because he doesn't get any gifts

Adfjdasfjds Scourge being jealous for petty reasons my beloved

~~~

"This doesn't seem fair," Scourge grumbled, folding his arms and glaring at his surroundings like he could set the decorations alight with his eyes alone. Unfortunately, getting zapped by the Master Emerald didn't seem to grant him those powers, but hey, it was always worth double checking.

"Life isn't fair," Sonic said, smug smirk fully plastered on his face as he lounged on his throne for the day. The throne in question was nothing more than an old armchair fished out of the dump, and was covered in rips and clearly falling apart, but it was clean (thanks to Tekno's efforts) and it was the nicest chair the Freedom Fighters owned, so they made do.

Scourge was surprised they were putting in the effort at all. Sonic's ego was so big it was a wonder his head didn't swell and become too heavy for his body to carry; there was really no need to stroke his ego by giving him a throne.

For some reason, though, the Freedom Fighters, despite usually being extremely enthusiastic about keeping Sonic's ego in check, had decided today was an exception. It was his birthday, after all.

"How did you even get all this?" Scourge said. Thankfully, none of the cheesy "happy birthday" banners had been strung up on the wall - those were dumped on Ebony's doorstep - but in their place were custom-made banners proudly congratulating the Hero of Mobius on another year of victory over Robotnik. Over the top and unnecessary, considering the victory in question was mostly just his continued survival, and thus his continued ability to be a future pain in the ass.

Not that Robotnik didn't have it coming, but still.

"We made them!" Tails chirped from where he was stringing up another banner, this one declaring today as Sonic Day. "Tekno designed most of the banner so it would look cool enough that Sonic won't complain, and then Amy and I helped decide what they should say, and then we all painted them together!"

"And you didn't invite me?"

"We both know you would've told us all to fuck off if we asked you to help," Amy said, although the teasing smile on her face showed her comment was light-hearted instead of irritated. Gross.

"These aren't new, anyway," Tekno said. "We made these before you arrived, so you couldn't have helped. Unless you found a way to time travel. If you find an easy way to time travel, let me know?"

"Sure, whatever."

And now that Scourge was looking, the banners did seem a little worn. Small rips on the edges, colors dulled, the paper crinkled; obviously reused over the years. He nudged one of the banners crumpled on the floor with his foot, then picked it up to inspect it, holding it with his thumb and forefinger. Sonic's painted winking face greeted him, and Scourge sneered at it. On the back of the banner, he could see a cluster of signatures. Some he recognised - Tails and Amy - while some he'd never heard of - who in the world was Shortfuse? - and some... well, some were just initials, none of which he recognised. He certainly didn't remember any friends of Sonic's who went by J.L.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help?" Amy said, lightly elbowing him as she passed, snatching the banner from his hands.

"What's it look like? I'm gonna stand here."

"No you're not. Help Tekno bring the gifts in."

"I'm not participating in this. You do shit like this then wonder why he's an arrogant dickhead."

"Is it arrogance if it's justified?" Sonic said.

"Justify my foot up your ass," Scourge said, just as Tekno dragged him away.

The pile of presents was bigger than it had any right to be. The Freedom Fighters didn't have much money - apparently fighting for the safety of the entire fucking planet doesn't pay well, or at all, which is bullshit and all the more reason for Scourge to find the whole thing stupid - so none of them could really afford to go all-out with the presents, but the bulk of the pile came from local civilians who had caught wind of the celebration and wanted to express their gratitude. Over the past week during their travels, civilians would stop them, shyly handing over presents and telling them they were for Sonic's birthday, a token of their appreciation for constantly saving their asses, because they couldn't be bothered to do it themselves.

No one said that last bit out loud, but Scourge always made sure to mentally add it.

Why they couldn't express their gratitude with some fucking cash, he did not know.

"Grab the presents by the table?" Tekno said, scooping presents into her arms. For what it was worth, although the pile was bigger than one would expect, at least most of the presents were small.

Groaning with all the contempt he could muster, Scourge shuffled over to the table and started tucking presents under his arms.

"Did you drop off everything at Ebony's?" Tekno said. Her voice was low, hidden by the rustle of the presents, only loud enough for Scourge to hear. Not that he thought Sonic could hear them when they were out here, but better safe than sorry.

"Whaddya take me for? Of course I did," Scourge said, voice equally low, although that was more for Tekno's peace of mind than his own. She'd shush him if she thought he was being too loud, but she was also really bad at shushing people quietly, and ended up attracting attention with her shushes more often than not. It was really counterproductive. Scourge didn't know why Sonic had let it slide for this long.

"Just making sure."

Scourge grunted, but he did give the rest of the presents an obligatory once-over, just to be sure there weren't any that shouldn't be there.

Super's birthday fell on the same day as Sonic's. It was why all the cheesy banners had been dumped on Ebony instead of in the trash where they belonged. The Freedom Fighters - okay, mostly Tekno - thought it was a good idea to send a few presents over from all of them, as a gesture of goodwill and minor bribery to please not turn evil and try to kill them all again. It was a plan Sonic had been conveniently left out of; even with their less strained relationship (although that really wasn't saying much) it was blatantly obvious he still wasn't fond of Super. He wouldn't stop them from giving him birthday presents, or wanting to wish him a happy birthday, but he would wrinkle his nose and mutter a comment under his breath, which was apparently a problem, although Scourge hadn't figured out why.

Ebony had asked if they wanted to stop by, even tentatively offered a joint birthday celebration if that would make things easier, but she was swiftly turned down. Presents were a safe bet, the Freedom Fighters had agreed, because they could be dropped off at any time, and Sonic would never have to know, and they could wish Super a happy birthday without ever leaving Sonic's side on the actual day. And they could send Scourge to be their little delivery boy so none of them would have to do it; despite the olive branch, Tails and Amy were still wary of Super. Apparently Scourge and (somehow) Tekno were the only ones who weren't little bitches about him.

Well, Sonic wasn't a little bitch exactly, but he wasn't as cool and casual about Super as he wanted to be. So he didn't count.

"I'm just saying," Scourge said, hefting as many presents into his arms as he could, "if you're going to make the decorations look like a 'congrats on kicking ass without dying' celebration, we should all be getting presents."

"It's not your birthday, though."

"I'm his boyfriend, though. Shouldn't I get, like, a solidarity present?"

"No, because it isn't your birthday."

Scourge bit back a comment about how if Super got to have a birthday just because he was another Sonic, then logically, so should he. Because, well, it wasn't his birthday, even though all the celebration really made it feel like it should be. He thought birthdays for Sonics were the same across all dimensions - he was pretty sure he shared a birthday with Prime, eugh - but apparently not.

With another exaggerated groan, he shuffled back into the living room with the presents towering high above him, because second trips were for chumps, and dumped them at Sonic's feet. His own gift wasn't in there, but only because he'd already given it to Sonic this morning. The moment he woke up, in fact. Scourge wasn't about to be beaten by anyone in anything, including being the first person to give Sonic a gift.

Not that it was anything special. Scourge wasn't exactly rolling in money either, and Sonic was a pain in the ass to shop for. Humiliation had nipped at his heels when he handed the gift over, ready to burn him, but Sonic seemed to really like it - underneath the obligatory layer of snark - so it was fine.

Probably.

He eyed the pile of presents again, and tried not to gnaw on his lip.

Some of the civilians who gave them presents looked... well, not well-off, but comfortable. Not rich, not even close to rich, but able to at least afford something nice for the Hero of Mobius. More than Scourge could afford.

More than any of the Freedom Fighters could afford, though, and Sonic didn't really give a shit about his fans outside of the inherent bragging rights that come with having fans in the first place. None of those civilians knew what Sonic liked. The Freedom Fighters did. Scourge did.

He doubted any civilian signatures were on the back of the banner he picked up.

A party thrown by civilians probably wouldn't look like this at all. That would be far more elaborate, with more people pitching in to help, even more vomit-worthy banners and decorations hung from every wall and banister, singing the praises of Sonic the Hedgehog. Over the top, and licking his ass, and making a huge deal out of him. Exactly the kind of celebration Sonic would like; he always loved it when people lavished him with praise for his efforts in saving the world, the arrogant bastard.

Sonic didn't have any of that, this year. Oh, sure, the party would stroke his ego, but it wasn't lavish. Compared to what he could have, it was almost humble.

But. He didn't look upset by it. Didn't even feign annoyance that it wasn't as big as it could be.

Scourge couldn't remember any of his own birthdays looking like this growing up. No friends surrounding him, bickering as they hung birthday banners or fetched presents or argued over the cake. No shitty birthday chair fished out of the dump. No lavish party to sing his praises. His birthdays weren't humble like this one, but they weren't extravagant, either.

They were... cold. Empty. There was no soul in the presents, no warmth in the candle of the cake. No signatures on the back of a hand-made birthday banner.

Scourge swallowed down the ugly feeling in his stomach.

Whatever. He didn't need any of that shit. He was Scourge the fucking Hedgehog, he knew exactly how great he was. Who needed a giant party? Not him. He wasn't that fragile.

"Scowl any harder and your face will get stuck."

Scourge flipped Sonic off without even looking. "Eat shit, birthday boy."

"Are you sulking because Pixel Brain jumped on you this morning when he came to wish me a happy birthday?"

"He crushed my fucking ribs," Scourge complained, glad for something to focus on. The interruption had been rude, and Tails was fortunate they were already awake; had he done that shit while Scourge was still asleep, he would've gotten an ass full of quills.

"Right. And you're definitely not sulking because you wanted to cuddle."

"I don't cuddle."

"Bullshit you don't."

"I don't. You have no proof."

"Then you're gonna start."

Before Scourge could say a word of protest, Sonic grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him onto his lap.

"Fuck off and let me go," Scourge snapped, shifting to get comfortable.

"It's my birthday," Sonic said, smirking his stupid, smug, victorious grin. "That means you have to do what I say."

"I'm not doing shit, you can't tell me what to do, birthday or not," Scourge said, leaning further into Sonic when he wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

"You'll get the chair when it's your birthday, if it's any consolation."

"Fuck the chair! What about my presents?"

"We'll see."

"Asshole," Scourge grumbled, biting Sonic lightly on the shoulder to emphasize his point, but he only got an amused chuckle in return.

"You're getting off when the cake gets here," Sonic said.

Huffing, Scourge snuggled further into Sonic. They'd see about that.

#sonic the hedgehog #scourge the hedgehog #fleetway sonic #stc sonic #fleet!sonourge #asks #fanfic #tekno the canary #HIIIIIIIIII I AM. SO FUCKING SORRY. I DID NOT MEAN FOR THIS TO TAKE THIS LONG #'i love writing' i say as i proceed to not write for months #chronically lazy..... but at least it isn't a 'well over a year' wait like some of my other fics.......#me: haha scourge being jealous for petty reasons!#scourge: thinks about how his birthdays have never had the love and care put into them as sonic's #me: oh for fucks sake #author write a fic that doesn't end up dabbling in the internal angst of these boys challenge: failed #i simply cannot control myself #sorry this didn't really have super and ebony in it #couldn't think of a way to include them that didn't involve a joint celebration/party. and i. can't imagine sonic would be happy about THAT #hope you enjoyed anyway!!!#and again i am soooooooo sorry this took so long

11 notes · View notes

gisachi · 1 year

Text

Twenty Words: Shinichi/Ran

Drawing inspiration from prompt challenges. Twenty prompts, twenty sentences of twenty words each. Fluff and angst. Pairing, ShinRan.

Dominant - “What do you mean? We’re not competing,” Shinichi laughs, licking his lips, “We’re in love, ‘course I’ll let you lead.”

Wartime - He reaches for her hand despite every resisting muscle under the armor — after all, how dare he aid the enemy?

Sleep - The tranquilizing dart is ready behind his back, then she says, “Don’t you dare, Shinichi… let me finish for once.”

Pattern - Whenever he returns, she doesn’t say ‘You’re back’ — for a tiresome pattern of two years, he never is, never was.

Discipline - “On your knees, Shinichi,” Ran glares and Shinichi bites back a menacing smirk, taking that as reward more than punishment.

Outcome - The worst combo - murder case during a long-awaited anniversary date - leaves him with the worst outcome: Ran’s week-long silent treatment.

Champion - Shinichi champions himself as a smart man, but Ran somehow manages to dumb him down everytime she smiles like that.

Waste - “It’s not wasted time if spent with people you love…” Shinichi glances at Ran, ears red, his words fading shyly.

Hidden - ‘Wait for me’ — hidden in Shinichi’s study, she reminisces the ten-year-old plea, forlorn smile confirming her final answer to Araide.

Award - To Shinichi, it isn’t the trophy that matters most, but Ran’s grin of victory from the bleachers everytime he scores.

Book - Shinichi can read Ran like an open book - god he wished he couldn’t - because he’s down to the last page.

VCR - Ran smiles, a wistful one, before playing the cassette, a ‘96 news recording, “See, that’s your dad right there, Sakura-chan.”

Mob - She goes past the mob into the source of commotion, stunning Shinichi and the knife-wielding culprit with a roundhouse kick.

Speech - A declaration of love, a fearless kiss – Shinichi’s always one for dramatic flair, and tonight, he jumps off a cliff.

Sinner - Maybe he shouldn’t stay here, wrapped in the arms of an Angel, for sinners like him don’t deserve hundredth chances.

Immortality - Count Shinichi clutches at the faded photograph, and weeps – to live another century without this woman is his death sentence.

Girlfriend - “What if I stop calling you my girlfriend…” before Ran can react, Shinichi’s on one knee, a ring in hand.

Shaking - Ran thought nothing could scare him, until a shaking hand grips hers after the dentist chirps, “This won’t hurt, Kudou-kun!”

Westbound - Of the many times they’ve visited Osaka, they arrive with hands entwined this time, and Heiji and Kazuha are thrilled.

Holiday - May 4th isn’t a holiday, but she leaves work early anyway; otherwise, nobody will light the candles on his grave.

#detective conan #shinran #short fic #fanfic #one-word prompts #a wip makes it out of the drafts yay #dont ask how long it took me to finish this list #yes i get it i used too many comma/em dash. guilty as charged skdjsf #i had fun tho! a great exercise #counting words and shortening sentences #smth smth squeezing some writings before the year ends

123 notes · View notes

legolasghosty · 26 days

Note

Kissing the homies goodnight for Willie (/Willex) because I feel like Willie would.

Ack I'm so sorry this took so long but here you gooo!

Willie ducked into the kitchen to grab the water pitcher and some glasses, praying he wasn't forgetting anything important. They knew it was just their friends crashed across various surfaces in the living room, but it was still nerve-wracking. Willie hadn't been to a sleepover in like... five years, let alone hosted one. They got why the foster care system had to check over people before they could stay overnight, but with the number of times Willie had moved around since entering the system, it just... had never happened.

Caleb had been hesitant at first when Willie asked if they could all stay over, wanting to ensure Willie was settled himself first. And also wanting to meet all of these kids before he let them have free reign of his home.

But it was finally happening. All of Willie's best friends (and his boyfriend, but they hadn't really managed to wrap their head around that one yet) were lounging in his living room at 2 in the morning, some closer to dozing off than others.

Willie wasn't sure which was stronger: the excitement or the terror of messing this up.

He was pretty sure he hit all the main bits on all the 'how to throw a slumber party' lists he'd found online: pizza, way too many types of ice cream toppings (they're not entirely sure how many of those canned cherries Luke ended up fitting in his mouth), random games (he'd never heard of turning pictionary into a drinking game with shots of soda, but apparently that was a thing his friends did), and a movie with lots of popcorn and cozy blankets.

So they're pretty sure they've done alright thus far.

Still, it'd been a long time since Willie did this.

He re-entered the living room just as Alex managed to grab the TV remote and turn off the rolling credits of Legally Blonde. Flynn looked to already be asleep, lying across one of the air mattresses with her feet up on Julie's stomach. Julie had propped herself up a bit on her elbows and was debating...something with Reggie. Both of them looked closer to dozing off than winning though. Luke and Carrie were both sitting upright on one of the couches, madly swiping on their phones and hissing at each other.

"Do I even want to know?" Willie asked Alex quietly, setting the water and cups down on the coffee table and rejoining him on the loveseat.

Alex groaned. "I made the mistake of telling them there's a PvP mode on this tower defense game they both play."

Willie tried to hold back his giggle. He failed.

Alex attempted to glare at them, but mostly just looked sleepily confused. "I'm serious, we're gonna have to take their phones away now if we want them to sleep," he sighed.

Willie winced. "Any chance the game will kick them off after a few rounds?"

Alex shook his head, then leaned over to rest his head on Willie's shoulder. "And they're both too stubborn to give in, I already tried it."

Willie rested their cheek against his hair, letting their lungs adjust to expanding and contracting in time with the light huffs of Alex's breath against their collarbone. "Is it online?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" Alex responded, blinking up at him sleepily in the dim light of the lamp.

Willie smirked and pulled out his phone. Okay, so Caleb hadn't technically given him the password for the router, but like... it hadn't been hard. He opened the app on his phone that connected to the electronic and started typing.

Twin cries of annoyance erupted from the pair on the other couch a moment later, informing Willie of his success.

"It just kicked me off!" Luke complained.

"Same here," Carrie griped. "Willie I think your wifi died."

Willie looked up, attempting to look innocent. "Oh yeah, I think you're right," they agreed. "Ugh, this happens sometimes, it will probably come back in an hour or two, but we just gotta wait it out."

Both Luke and Carrie groaned, but seemed to buy it and tossed their phones aside. Carrie peeled off her sweater and tossed it down next to Flynn's head, before pulling a blanket up and over herself and stretching out along the couch. Luke slid down onto the air mattress beside Reggie, koala cuddling against his back. Reggie laughed and shifted over so Luke could share his pillow, still discussing... Okay Willie was pretty sure they were trying to figure out who in their friend group would be whom in Legally Blonde. Fair enough.

Willie felt Alex's tiny sigh of relief against his neck and shivered. It felt nice, being close like this and knowing it made Alex just as fluttery as it did them.

Alex brought his fingers up to his chin, then let his hand move forward, palm up. Thank you.

Willie tucked his phone away. "Don't mention it," he whispered, daring to brush his lips against Alex's forehead.

Alex's cheeks turned pink, but Julie interrupted before Willie could tease him about it.

"Hey, no PDA unless you're willing to share with the class," she mumbled, eyes heavy.

"You're one to talk," Alex pointed out, glancing pointedly between her and Flynn's feet still resting on her abdomen.

"Oh you wanna wake her up?" Julie snarked back, the words slurring together a bit.

"I don't think any of us have that death wish," Willie chuckled. They tapped Alex lightly on the shoulder in warning, then stood up. "And I don't mind sharing." Before Julie could respond, he ducked down and pecked her on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Juju," they added, throwing a spare blanket over her and heading back toward Alex.

"Hey, we're part of the class too," Reggie called out. When Willie turned, he was sticking his bottom lip out, the puppy eyes mostly hidden by his drooping eyelids.

Willie glanced back at Alex, a little startled, but Alex just shrugged and gave him a sleepy smile. So Willie picked his way around to Reggie and gave him a goodnight kiss too. And then Luke perked up a bit and wanted one. And Carrie said she should get one on Flynn's behalf, since her girlfriend was asleep.

"I guess I should have warned you how clingy we all get this late," Alex murmured when Willie finally made it back to his side. "I kinda forgot you haven't been able to be around this before. Just feels really natural."

"All good," Willie promised around a yawn. "Just tryin'a be a good host."

Alex leaned over and hit the button on the side of the love seat to make it lean back, the extending footrest turning it into more of a bed. "It's perfect," he stated, pulling Willie in to lay beside him.

Willie let out a happy sigh and cuddled in closer. Alex's cool arms soothed the nervous energy that was always humming along their skin. He felt Alex's lips brush against his hairline.

"G'night Lex," they mumbled, eyes slipping shut.

"Good night, Willie."

#legolas tag #julie and the phantoms #legolas ask #jatp #jatp fanfic #willex #alex mercer #willie jatp #Julie molina #reggie peters #luke patterson #carrie wilson #flynn taylor #mentioned good dad caleb #I am so so sorry for how long this took!#I kept only seeing it when I didn't have time to write!#As an apology have some hcs from this whole thing #Willie moved through half a dozen or so foster homes before ending up with Caleb a few months before this fic #Caleb is very much himself but also was a foster kid himself as a teenager so wanted to pass along that support to other kids #also Caleb makes them all really good waffles in the morning for breakfast #Alex is lowkey scared of him #But CPS has managed to keep Willie in the same high school for the last 2 years even with different homes #so that's where he met Alex and everyone #there was a bit of discussion about the Molinas fostering Willie #but they didn't have another spare bedroom that wasn't full of stuff when Reggie moved in there.#and there's all the legal requirements and stuff #but he ended up with Caleb so it's chill!#also who is dating in this fic? who knows!#not the author that's for sure!#Willie and Alex definitely are

9 notes · View notes