#outlaw peanut

[justanoutlawfic]

Happy Father’s Day ❤️

#ouat #once upon a time #daddy charming #knight rook #light believer #papafire #daddyfire #outlaw peanut #outlaw dimples #Jefferson x grace #henry sr x Regina

[daggzandarrowsnew]

Forgiveness

Prompt: Peanut finds out about Zelena and is upset that her parents forgave her, "it takes a lot of courage to try & change your life."

"A foot will come crashing through that ceiling one day soon," Regina sighed as she whisked the pancake batter, shaking her head at the unrelenting thuds from above as their children raced to get ready despite Robin having woken them all a good half hour ago, "I can guarantee it."

"You love the chaos," he grinned, catching her by the waist and stepping in close as he dropped a kiss upon her shoulder before resting his chin there, that handsome grin still visible in her peripheral causing her own lips to curve at the ends despite herself. 

He was right, of course he was right. All she had ever wanted was a house filled with the laughter and infectious energy of children. Ever since she was just a young girl herself, and though there had been a time in her life when such things had felt so out of her reach, here she was, a mother of 3 with another well on the way for them. She couldn't deny her adoration for their household and not to Robin especially. Still, she shrugged, feigning denial without voicing it and revelling in his low and delicious chuckle as he smoothed his palms over her round stomach.

"I can't believe we're doing this all over again."

"I know," she breathed, unable to hold her faux annoyance and shaking her head in wonder this time as she placed the mixture on the countertop and began turning slowly to face him when his arms loosened enough for her to do so. She laughed with him when her belly pressed into his, dislodging his sweater a little from his jeans before she lifted her arms to drape them over his shoulders and swirled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Are you ready for it all again?"

His eyes moved lovingly over her face, studying Regina in the same way he always had, as though drinking her in before she disappeared. He grinned down at her, "With you? Always, my love."

Her smile matched his own before she was lifting herself onto her toes - heels had finally been relinquished when her feet had swollen and wearing them had verged on excruciating - and capturing his lips in a soft kiss, humming happily against his mouth when his hands rubbed gently over the small of her aching back.

"Eurgh, seriously!?" Roland cringed as he came bounding into the kitchen, moving instantly over to the cupboard to grab himself a bowl and some cereal, popping a frosted flake into his mouth and crunching on it as he set himself up at the kitchen counter and began pouring the contents into his bowl, "will you ever stop doing that?"

Robin had yet to let go of Regina as he pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning to their son and answering with a simple, "Nope," that had her laughing softly as Roland's eyes rolled - ever the teenager.

"I'm gonna move in with Henry, I swear."

"Good luck trying to convince him," Robin replied, his hands not leaving her until she was too far for him to reach as she moved to begin cooking the pancakes, "I'd say he's all set to ask his girl to move in with him."

"What?!"

Robin’s focus moved from his son to his wife, her look of horror apparently amusing to him with the way his lips curled before he nodded and told her, "He hasn’t told me outright, but he was moving some things around when I paid him a visit the other day. Clearing some space, that kind of thing."

"But they're too young!"

"Mom," Roland spoke next, a look of amused incredulity on his face as he pointed out, "they've been together forever!"

"And they are adults now," Robin added.

"Young adults," she amended for him, ignoring their laughter as she shook her head, so not ready for her first baby to take this big of a step. "He's twenty-three not-"

"What? Like fifty?" Roland sassed, pulling a snort of laughter from his father and a glare from his mother. "You'd still have him living here, tucking him in at night and reading him stories if you could."

Her mouth dropped open, spatula held frozen in mid-air as she looked from son to husband and back again, unable to come up with an appropriate response because, yes, actually, she would. Instead, she merely snapped her mouth shut and turned back to the pancakes, busying herself with their breakfast as Robin laughed sympathetically and moved towards her.

"Let's not upset your mother this early, Ro, hmm?"

"Aw," he groaned, his seat scraping against the floor as he pushed up and off of it, "you're gonna get all gross again aren't you."

"You better believe it, my boy."

"I am so out."

Robin chuckled, hands finding Regina's hips as he watched him leave before his chin found its place on her shoulder again. He squeezed gently when she remained silent and asked, "You okay, sweetheart?" and then, when she didn't reply, he assured, "we were only teasing, we didn't mean anything by it."

"I know," she replied after a long moment, because she did, of course she did, "it's just…"

"What?"

She frowned as she transferred the first set of pancakes from the pan to a plate before turning to glance at her husband. Her eyes fell from his own, to his lips and back again as she swallowed and confessed, "I'm not ready for Henry to not need me anymore."

His concern faded from his face as an incredulous smile curled his mouth and he breathed a laugh through his nose.

"What?"

Robin shook his head, dropping his lips to her shoulder to place a soft kiss there before lifting his head and finding her eyes once more. "If you truly believe that your boy, or any of our children for that matter, will ever stop needing you," he pecked her cheek, "then you are sorely mistaken, my love."

She didn't reply with words, but he could still see the doubt in her lovely eyes, the want to believe him but the inability to despite the closeness she shared with all of their children. It had been so very many years since she’d struggled with accepting her place in their lives, with accepting that she had people who cared for and worried for her and most days it was never a doubt in her mind now but every now and then, those old insecurities managed to whisper in her ear once more. 

“Besides,” he continued, swaying them gently from side to side, “he’s dropping a load of laundry by later this afternoon.”

Her fear broke with a breath of laughter as she rolled her eyes and replied, “Of course he is.”

_____________________

“Where the hell did you manage to find this many!?" she feigned frustration even as a smile curled her lips because, sure enough, the moment she came to a stop beneath the mistletoe, Robin's hands found her waist and spun her around to face him, his grin smug and far too attractive in her opinion.

"I have my sources."

"Mmm," she hummed, hands sliding up and over his chest to wrap her arms loosely around his neck, "I'm sure you do, thief."

It began with nothing but a press of his lips to her own at first, a beautifully tender kiss that had her humming low in her throat as his hands moved to rub at the base of her back in a way he knew she adored with the strain of her pregnancy. He sucked gently at her top lip before slipping his tongue into her mouth when she opened for him and sliding it against her own.

They kept it slow, deliciously so, as they simply enjoyed one another on this blessed holiday because, despite their many years of being together, they were even more in love now than they ever had been.

"Every single time," Henry whined from the doorway, levelling the pair with an overly dramatic grimace when they parted with a wet smack and turned their heads to look at him. "I swear," he shook his head, "it's like you wait until I'm coming over!"

"You think I don't snog your Mom every chance I get?" Robin teased, pressing one last kiss to Regina's cheek before moving towards Henry and pulling him in for a tight hug with a chuckle at his son's expression, "because you'd be severely mistaken if that were the case."

"Yeah, well…" Henry cleared his throat with an awkward cough before looking to Regina with a sheepish smile curling his lips, "I brought you an early Christmas present!"

"I'm honoured," she replied with a deadpan expression before making her own way towards him and taking his laundry bag with a roll of her eyes as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You can come help me load the washing machine though," she instructed, glad to hear his footsteps echoing her own, "and tell me all about this little rumour I've been hearing."

"And what rumour is that?"

_____________________

"I can't believe you told her!"

"She's my wife!" Robin defended as he watched mother and son enter the kitchen, the former with a rather evil little smirk curling her lips as she moved to stand beside him. His arm came up to wrap around her shoulders and pull her close – she wrapped one arm around his waist whilst the other came across her body to rest her hand on his chest – as he shrugged at Henry, "besides, she was going to find out soon enough anyway."

"I haven't even asked Grace yet though," Henry replied with a heavy sigh, "the moment hasn't yet presented itself."

"And it never will," Robin replied honestly, continuing at the twin frowns from both Regina and Henry. "You'll want everything to be perfect – the weather, the time of day, the setting – but the truth is," he lifted his free hand to rest it over Regina's on his chest as his thumb rubbed gently over her engagement and wedding ring, "any moment together will be good enough for the simple fact that you are together."

It was a long moment before anyone spoke as both took in his words but, as expected, Regina's head lowered to rest on his shoulder as she squeezed him around the middle affectionately and Henry replied, "You know, sometimes you're sappier than Grandpa C."

Robin's laughter rumbled freely in his chest as Regina's shoulders bounced with her own.

"But I guess you're right," Henry continued with a sigh, "I'm just putting it off for fear that she'll say no."

"Then you're not as intelligent as I raised you to be," Regina replied with a laugh as she straightened up once more but remained close to Robin, the hand on his chest dropping to rest on her stomach, "that girl is besotted with you."

"And she practically lives at your place already!" Robin added with an eyeroll because of the simple truth of it. "It's a rarity for us to come over and find you alone as it is. Just ask your girl to move in with you and be done with it. It'll be the best decision you'll ever make."

"Save for giving us Grandbabies," Regina pointed out with a smirk.

"One day, Mom," Henry laughed before they all startled a little at the sound of the front door opening having lost track of time.

There was the sound of the door slamming shut before they heard a pair of footsteps much faster and louder than the other as Roland called out, "Scar, just wait!"

"Roland?" Robin called, his frown just as deep as Regina's at the sound of their son's voice as both began making their way to the door with Henry following close behind.

Their youngest and only daughter was storming across the foyer, a murderous expression on her face that Regina knew to be inherited as she asked, "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

But when Scarlett only ignored her, Robin instructed, "Answer your mother, Scarlett."

She let out a sarcastic laugh – a horrible sound coming from her angelic little body – before she turned with eyes full of rage and spat, "She's not my mother," levelling Regina with an awful snarl for a long moment before she took off at speed and ran up the stairs and out of sight.

Regina's heart was pounding in her chest, her throat tight with emotion as she looked from the space Scarlett had just been filling to Roland.

"What was that about?" Robin was the one to ask, his arm tightening around Regina for he could feel her trembling in his arms as Henry's hand came to rest on her shoulder, support from the only other person who'd ever uttered those words to her and knew how they broke her.

Roland looked from the stairs to his parents, apologetic eyes instantly finding Regina's as he explained, "She knows about Zelena."

"No…" Regina breathed as the tears in her eyes finally fell, "How could she-"

"She was waiting outside of school when we finished."

"She's back?!"

"She knows not to speak to her!" Robin and Regina spoke at the same time as Roland shook his head and moved closer to them.

"She didn't or, well, she wasn't going to. I think she just wanted to see her, but that idiot Eli saw her and shouted for Scarlett to speak to her 'witchy mommy'. I told her to just ignore him but then some of the others joined in and she begged me to tell her the truth on the way back," he shook his head dejectedly as he added, "I'm sorry guys."

"It isn't your fault, Roland," Regina replied with a voice heartbreakingly thick as tears glistened in her eyes. She patted Robin's hand – a quiet plea for him to let her go – before she made her way out into the foyer and slowly began to climb the stairs. Despite her heartbreak at hearing those words from Scarlett's mouth, she wasn't one to allow wounds to fester.

_____________________

Regina sank to the floor with her back against the wood of Scarlett's door at her daughter's continued silence. They'd had many a conversation – or lack thereof – in this position for Scarlett had most certainly inherited the Mills' stubbornness, but Regina knew that this was most definitely one of if not the most important conversations they were going to have, active participants or not. So, with a hand taking comfort from the generous swell of her stomach, she began.

"Things were so very different before you were born, sweetheart. Your father and I almost lost one another too many times to count in the space of just a year. We had absolutely no idea what was going to happen from one day to the next except for one thing. The moment we knew that you were going to be coming into our lives, we understood that there was a bigger purpose for us and our family. We were supposed to be together, all of us.

"It was one of the hardest things we've ever had to do, coming to terms with what my sister had done to your father simply to punish me but there was never a doubt in anyone's mind that we wanted you." She swallowed thickly as her head thudded softly against the door, hearing no sound from within as she closed her eyes and pushed on.

"Zelena was allowed very little time with you once you were born and certainly none of which was alone time. We were always there, present and watching. Things were difficult but we made it work and then one day your father told Zelena that, though he would never like her, he forgave her." Regina allowed a wistful smile to curl her lips as she confessed, "Impossibly, I fell even deeper in love with him that day. It takes a lot of courage to try and change your life and that was what he was doing that day. He was putting aside every ill feeling – deservedly felt – and giving my sister the chance to change.

"She did change," she shook her head despite knowing Scarlett wouldn't be able to see it, "but not in the way he'd hoped. Without that hatred, without that burning anger in your father, Zelena had nothing to cling to but acceptance and so, with no idea what to do with it, she fled. I managed to track her down in Oz not too long after your first birthday and I told her that she was never to contact us again. We'd given her far more than she deserved already and still she couldn't see the right path. She didn't deserve you and you didn't deserve the hurt of her return for her to leave once again. It was unforgivable what she did.

"You are one of the most precious things in my life, Scarlett Marian Locksley, and the thought of giving you up as she had is absolutely unimaginable to me…but I know that I have let you down in not telling you this sooner. You deserve to know where you come from, to discover who you are for yourself with all of the facts. We only kept it from you to protect you, but I see now that it has only hurt you anyway and my heart breaks to think that I was the cause of that," she sniffed as tears fell from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, "I truly am sorry, my darling."

Regina took a moment to compose herself, taking a steadying breath to keep from crying any further – she felt as though she could quite easily drown in her tears – before shifting forward onto her knees and opening her eyes only to find a swirling cloud of pale pink smoke forming. Scarlett's arms were around her neck before she was even able to see her face properly.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Mama." It'd been a long time since her thirteen-year-old had called her such a name and it had Regina's tears falling once more as she clung on to her girl as best she could with her bump between them, "I was angry and embarrassed, but I shouldn't have been mean to you. You are the best Mom I could ever ask for. I don't need anyone else."

Later, when Regina is able to let go of her daughter – though it's still too soon for Regina – they'll talk it out as a family and both Henry and Roland will explain to Scarlett that, though she didn't grow in Regina's tummy, much like they didn't, she grew in Regina's heart. It'll still take some time – and Zelena's disappearance once more – but she knows they will get there eventually for they have one another and that is where they were always meant to be. Every single one of them.

I am back in an OQ rewatch and writing my feelings so feel free to submit any prompts you may have :) I am open to writing Regina x Friendships too!

#outlaw queen #baby peanut #ouat #oq ff #outlaw queen ff #oq prompt

[otdiaftg]

They have time to kill in Atlanta, so as soon as Wymack confirms their gate hasn't changed he lets them wander the airport for an hour.

Andrew's lot spent most of that time wandering from one store to another. Aaron picked up a book while Nicky loaded up on junk food. Andrew disappeared, but Neil finally spotted him near a glass case of figurines. It was an odd thing for Andrew to be distracted by, but Neil didn't have long to think about it. Kevin and Nicky were two seconds away from getting into it because Kevin was trying to put Nicky's snacks back on the shelf. "It's not all for me," Nicky insisted, trying to wrestle out of Kevin's grip without dropping anything. "There's enough to go around." "No one needs to eat this before a game," Kevin said. "Eat some granola or protein if you're that hungry." "Hello, there's protein in the peanut butter," Nicky said. "Let go of me before I tell Andrew you're outlawing chocolate. I said let go. You're not the boss of me. Ouch! Did you seriously just hit me?" "I'm walking away and pretending I don't know you," Aaron said. "Traitor," Nicky called after him. "Kevin, just let him go," Neil said. "It's not worth fighting over." "When our defense is sluggish we all suffer," Kevin said. "You aren't serious," Nicky said. "We've got how many hours until serve? This will all be out of my system by then. You can watch me take a shit if you don't believe me. I didn't think you were into that kind of thing but—ha," he crowed when Kevin stomped off. He flashed Neil a triumphant grin, oblivious to the way the store clerks were staring at them. "I am a master at persuasion." "Or self-delusion," Neil said. Nicky's eyebrows shot up. "Oh my god, did you try to make a joke? Did it hurt a little?"

Day: Friday, January 12th Time: 2:30 PM EST

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #tkm #the kings men #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #palmetto state university #psu foxes #andreil #on this day in aftg #otdiaftg #palmetto state foxes #otdi all for the game #nora sakavic #the foxes #on this day in all for the game #kevin day #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #coach wymack #betsy dobson #abby winfield #matt boyd #dan wilds #renee walker #allison reynolds

[socialjusticeinamerica]

This Koch/Walton group blamed teachers unions for teaching wokeness and lgbt lifestyles. Curious since the number one goal of the right-wing oligarchs has always been to bust labor unions so oligarchs and their corporations can save money while dehumanizing employees and taking us back to the gilded age. DeVos and other oligarchs have invested heavily in for profit charter schools that pay faculty and staff peanuts and for the most part are failing schools not held to the high standards of public schools. An uneducated and uninformed populace allows fascist (RepubliKKKan) politicians and employers to do virtually whatever they want with no one standing in their way.

Nothing that comes out of the RepubliKKKan side is grassroots or a popular movement. Everything is a top down hierarchy created by political operatives for the purpose of controlling the masses. A truly informed public would never vote against their own best interests by supporting a party that openly works only for the 1% and their corporations.

We are facing a crisis that is worse than the past Trump administration. The oligarchs are using their RepubliKKKan puppets to wage a war against us for control of the country. We are seeing a tidal wave of legislation that can’t be undone by a Democratic president. Resist now. Fight as hard as you can in any way that you can before we are living in a police state where you have no personal freedoms and your lifestyle and very existence is outlawed.

[rt-lots]

fuck you fuck you fuck you heres my pet headcanons for misc hypnospace outlaw characters

zane - he SO fucking has a hamster. its technically his moms so its named some shit like cupcake even though its a BOY and he calls him awesome sickle vengeance or whatever combo of edgy words sound cool to him

corey paul - OLD ASS DOG like a REALLY FUCKING OLD DOG it can barely move thing walks at like .5 mph and it has a bunch of fucking fat rolls and its been in the family longer than he has. its named buddy

tim - ok he either has ONE cat thats so fucking mean to him but loves him deep down because its a saved stray or like a flock of small birds. like 6 parakeets maybe more. hes writing edgy fanfic about mind hacks meanwhile peanut is shitting on his headband

tiffany - no pets but really wants a black cat. or a parrot. tim tells her stories about his birds and shes like "woah... thats so cool" and tim begs his mom to let him get more to impress her

roddy - ok side note but i fucking mix up all the dnd nerd bitches in the starport with eachother so bare with me if i am thinking of someone totally different when im talking about roddy. but, hear me out, i think hed have a fucking horse. technically it lives with his cousin because he had to move but its like an hour or two drive so he visits it every weekend. i think he'd also have like weird reptiles. iguana...

samantha - ORANGE CAT NEXT QUESTION. its a girl and has a cute little pink collar. and after the time skip its fucking DEAD obvi i think she fosters kittens and one of them is dark gray w little white paws. shes out here solving the case of the mind crash and mittens is fucking chewing on her headband cord. i think shed also have a super old dog too but its like a small dog

dylan merchant - hes so small dog core... its like a chihuahua maybe ?? or one of those bitches that are like... that but more fur... and itd have little tufts on its ears... and its filled with thoughts of violence but never acts on them. after the mindcrash it looks into dylands eyes with a look of understanding and disappointment. its collar is yellow

adrian merchant - ok assuming he and dylan dont literally just have the same pet i think hed also have a small dog but one of those white, crusty eyed ankle biters. and guinea pigs. he has like those enclosures where theyre tiered you know? like a double decker bus. like they got the fucking stairs and shit from each space to another. they dont have a single plastic toy its all wood and been chewed like halfway through. theyre all named really dumb shit. like mr merchant. and software

linda - GERBIL

#me speaks #hypnospace outlaw #thanks for coming to my ted talk #umm i was gonna do more but then the wiki fucking BROKE and im a fake fan so i cant remember more guys without it #sorry for all the times i say fuck in this. and also the lack of commas

[memes-saved-me]

Cowboy/Western AU Silhouette piece for Harringrove Week Day 4

This is the end of the line, isn't it?

It is, my dear but...no matter where we end up I will find you. As I did in this world, I shall in the next

Steven Harrington knew nothing more than his simple family farm until one day he runs into known outlaw Billy Hargrove and somehow ends up hiding him in their barn. Except, the life he knew becomes the life he no longer craves as his feelings for the criminal hiding within the hay grow until finally he runs off with him. Abandoning his home for a life of danger, of robbing the rich and living on the road.

No matter how many banks they robbed, towns and counties they fled the bounties only kept growing. Their crimes and years of merely escaping the rope finally caught up as they ran through the open plains only to be shot down by two perfectly aimed bullets. Steven falling into Billy's arms as they both bled out.

Their final words a promise, an oath no bounty hunter or law maker could break...

Thank you to @peanut-booi for as always being an amazing support and helping me with a few poses!❤

#did someone say angsty outlaws? #you can see where I ran out of time lmao #this took way too long but it was fun #harringrove #harringrove week #harringroveweek #my art #sort of #edit

[wellthebardsdead]

Some deaths prison au for you??? ~Bambi

———

Cole: Woah woah now what’s going on?!

76: Winston’s being a dick.

Winston: Jack wants a dog.

Cole: and? Let him get a dog. Brigitte’s got a cat.

Winston: He wants a pit bull!

Cole: and??

Winston: Any dog declared a dangerous species isn’t permitted on the premises! If someone gets bitten that’ll be a mountain of paperwork I have to deal with!

Cole: winston you are a 600 pound scientifically modified gorilla. Normal gorillas can do a lot worse than just bite humans. We have an active war unit omnic strolling the facility. A former outlaw, myself, in command of our new blackwatch division. A genetically modified hamster riding in a mech. A girl who can teleport with her pet fox, two heavily radiated mutants from the Australian outback, and two ninjas with pet dragons. I think we can handle a dog, regardless of their species.

76: … *looks at winston*

Winston: *sighs* fine. *turns and wanders off* just another thing I have to share peanut butter with…

76: thank you Cassie.

Cole: don’t mention it. Why you want a pit bull anyway? You always struck me as more of a sheepdog type of guy.

76: oh they’re not for me. They’re for Gabe.

Cole: pa?

76: *shows him a video he took of Gabe*

Gabe: *sitting in his wheelchair smiling at videos of pit bulls getting the whole body wiggles from happily wagging their tails*

#deaths prison au #overwatch #overwatch shitposts #cole cassidy #jack morrison #gabriel reyes #r76 #Winston #soldier 76

[altarbled]

eaten  or  rotten.     i  am  all  mouth.

basics.

given  name.     akami  sakurai. nickname.     mimi,   aki,   give  them  some. label.     the  bloodhound. age.     thirty-one. place  of  birth.     los  angeles,   california. gender  identity.     non-binary   (   they   +   she   ). orientation.     pansexual. occupation.     outlaw  at  the  campsite. moral  alignment.     neutral   /   chaotic  evil. character  inspiration.     frankenstein’s  monster   (   frankenstein   ),   power   (   chainsaw  man   ),   pearl   (   x  film  series   ),   jinx   (   arcane   ),   libby  day   (   dark  places   ),   thomasin   (   the  vvitch   ),   anakin  skywalker   /   darth  vader   (   star  wars   ),   dani  ardor   (   midsommar   ),   rebecca   (   cyberpunk:   edgerunners   ).

background.

a  mother  dreams  of  her  child,   congealed  into  the  walls  of  her  womb.     her  poorly-shelled  little  peanut.     you  are  a  soft  thing  once   ––   indented  by  fingerprints  that  can’t  be  your  own   ––   gently  swaddled  in  jelly  that  should’ve  grown  into  muscle.     soft  like  tears  leaking  through  their  eyelids.     where  her  skin  is  weakest;   where  her  fingers  cannot  press  deep  enough  to  crack  you  open  into  her  own  hands.     you  will  be  cruel,   and  seep  through  her  belly  button  under  a  blanket  of  moonlight.     ensuring  a  mother’s  body  betrays  her.     again  and  again.     she  stops  sleeping.     her  body  swells  until  she  feels  a  heartbeat  at  the  harsh  crest  of  her  belly.

in  her  unblinking  haze,   a  man  thumbs  her  bruised  eyebags.     a  man  who  birthed  none  yet  fathers  many.     a  perfect  baby,   he  says,   who  will  perfectly  live.     you  tear  into  the  world,   instead,   blood  wetting  your  tongue  like  spit.     a  birth-bed  kills  when  delivering  you.     mottled  by  lungfuls  of  cries,   and  your  mother’s  newly  barren  body.     a  neutered  woman;   her  purpose  fulfilled.     akami  will  think  this,   meanly,   as  they  christen  a  new  knife.     you  are  heavy  in  her  arms:   a  baby  skull  harder  than  her  reedy  collarbone.     and  now  she  is  the  only  blood  you  can  share.     there  will  never  be  another  of  your  kind.     you’ve  atoned,   he  says,   for  being  born.     she  will  sleep,   and  you  will  continue  to  wake.

your  mother  cradles  you  loosely,   once  your  raven  hair  can  braid.     in  her  grip,   with  your  enfleshed  body,   you  would  fall  without  your  whitened  knuckles  clutching  tightly  at  her.     to  mewl  at  your  mother’s  feet.     those  fingers  pick  knots  from  your  hair;   too  afraid  to  scruff  you  truly.     you  leave  bite-marks  on  the  meat  of  her  palm.     your  mother  has  two  hands:   one  for  the  lord  and  the  other  for  her  own  heart.     all  that  remains,   then,   is  the  father.     who  will  find  you,   as  he  always  does,   alone  at  the  riverbank.     plopping  rocks  into  the  abyss  where  you  poured  your  friend.     the  one  who  would  lie  upon  the  mossy  ground  beside  you,   smearing  mud  on  your  cheeks,   and  scaring  away  a  pair  of  torch-lit,   glowing  eyes.     pushed  to  the  bottom  of  the  riverbed,   she  will  no  longer  see  the  stars  up  in  the  black,   night  sky.

this  father’s  eyes  glint,   looking  down  upon  you.     just  like  hers.     do  you  miss  her,   he  asks.     miss  her  how,   you  reply.     his  thumb  finds  the  unbruised,   tender  spot  on  your  forehead.     do  you  miss  her?     tears  glass  your  eyes.     no,   you  reply.     he  presses  harder  for  a  moment,   before  pulling  you  close.     his  heartbeat  rests  at  your  temple.     red  pain   /   bruised  song.     and  what  is  pain,   if  not  a  held  hand?     you  clench  your  fists  tighter;   he  starts  to  rock  you.

(   our  father  who  art  in  my  arms.   )

his  brother  sees  you,   in  a  way  you  care  little  for.     with  an  axe  in  hand,   cutting  wood  from  a  sap-soaked  tree.     there,   he says,   you  blacken  the  green  language  of  earth.     the  forest  rejects  you,   like  sacred  ground  burns  a  sinner’s  skin.     oh,   how  ungodly  the  land  makes  you.     how  the  father  chooses  his  brother   ––   toothed  shears  fray  the  string  you  linked  to  both  of  your  wrists   ––   who  wouldn’t  miss  him.     who  wouldn’t  flower  his  grave,   more  than  a  week  after  his  death.     unloved  and  unloving.     born  of  the  same  ilk,   and  he  casts  you  away  all  the  same.

his  blood  paints  the  flowing  waters,   along  with  trickles  from  your  clutched  abdomen  and  scarred  brow bone.     you  allow  it  to  leak,   to  touch  his  dead  lips  somewhere  along  the  river’s  trail.     in  the  afterlife,   he  will  drink  wine  in  remembrance  of  you.     a  parting  gift  from  daughter  to  father.     he  will  not  return  to  dust,   but  to  the  empty  fish  stomachs  that  once  bore  a  hunger  called  our  own.

#westworldintro #death mention // #body horror // #emotional abuse mention // #kinda? #unhealthy parental relationship basically #my father is the worst man & i am his favourite daughter vibes #if there are mistakes no there are not 💕

[glennjaminhow]

Nuts

The ER is packed.

Thanks to Mac’s hideously grotesque features and labored breathing, they get to cut in front of all the other bozos with broken arms and screaming babies. It’s a good thing too because Dennis isn’t sure how much longer he can stand the distorted, puffy face or the Godawful wheezing. The face is one thing; he looks like a monster, but he’s still Mac underneath all the swelling. But the wheezing is another story. He doesn’t like it. It’s loud and annoying and generally unpleasant, and it makes him want to rip his hair right out of his skull.

He wouldn’t look good bald. Everyone knows this.

Dennis attempts to read the news on his phone, but he can’t focus on it. He has a massive headache building right behind his eyes. The lights are too bright, and the constant repetitive noises from the emergency room weigh heavily on him. Instead, he leans back in an uncomfortable plastic chair and rubs his forehead with trembling, cold fingers. He concentrates on keeping his breathing even and deliberate.

He can’t lose it now.

Mac needs him.

The dude’s a Goddamn idiot for continuing to eat those Fancy Nuts.

Some doctor gives Dennis the lowdown, informing him that Mac will have to spend the night here on oxygen with periodic albuterol treatments. He’s got an IV pumping him full of antihistamines to relieve the worst of his symptoms. An allergy test was performed on Mac like he’s some kind of lab rat. The test confirmed that he’s allergic to both peanuts and tree nuts.

Apparently, allergies can develop over time and with age.

As soon as he hears the word ‘age,’ Dennis cuts the doc off.

Mac’s got an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. The horrendous swelling is nearly gone. He stares at Dennis with droopy, bloodshot eyes. Mac reaches out with his free hand – the one without the IV and pulse ox attached to it – and smiles unevenly. Dennis takes it and rubs his thumb over red knuckles.

There’s a piercing shriek followed by a strange flushing noise off to their right. Dennis flinches hard, drawing his shoulders up and hunching in on himself. He shakes his head and tries not to scream. Of course these idiots wouldn’t give Mac a private room. Of course he’s stuck out here with the loonies. Of course. When the sound happens again, he bites his tongue so hard it trickles blood inside his mouth.

Mac must notice because he gently squeezes Dennis’ hand.

And no. Just no. Dennis should be the one comforting Mac, not the other way around.

“How’re you feeling?” Dennis asks quietly. He takes a seat in the chair behind him; he doesn’t let go of Mac's hand.

Mac clears his throat. “’m ‘kay. Wanna g’home.” His voice is garbled, thin and painful.

Dennis nods. “I know, bud, but you gotta stay here tonight. The doctors wanna make sure your breathing is okay.”

“M’breathing’s…” Mac wheezes and inhales sharply. “Great.”

He’s about to roll his eyes, but then that fucking shriek-flush happens again, and, Jesus Christ, is someone actively dying on the shitter? The noise makes his skin crawl. He wants to yell. Scream until he’s blue in the face because how dare some toilet-screaming psychopath interrupt Mac’s healing process. Don’t they know he’s suffering from an extreme allergic reaction? Don’t they know he needs to rest and recover? Don’t they know that SCREAMING in a fucking HOSPITAL should be outlawed? God forbid HE be the one screaming.

And he can feel himself slipping. Slipping back into the old Dennis. The old Dennis who absolutely would scream back at a moment’s notice. The old Dennis who isn’t on a cocktail of mood stabilizers to help calm him down. The old Dennis who doesn't listen to reason. The old Dennis who isn’t going to therapy once a week to try and sort out this… his… issues.

He doesn’t want to be that guy anymore. He’s… He’s evolved. He’s…

“You’re okay, Den,” he hears Mac whisper. “You’re good.”

Dennis bites his bottom lip. Nods. Looks into Mac’s swollen brownie eyes. He’s supposed to be here for Mac, but he isn’t doing that. He’s too focused on the hospital making its noises. He’s gotta focus his time, his energy, om keeping Mac safe. On making Mac feel better.

He swallows thickly. Rubs the back of his neck. Takes a deep breath.

“Do you need anything?” Dennis asks. He tries not to acknowledge the faintness of his own voice.

Mac shakes his head. “Jus’ you.”

Dennis rubs his thumb over Mac’s knuckles again and leans back in his seat.

He isn’t going anywhere.

~

Morning comes, but not quickly enough.

Mac’s woken up in regular intervals throughout the night for breathing treatments. Dennis doesn’t sleep, his nerves raw. The shriek-flushing eventually stops, but the constant beeping from monitors and the rustling of sheets and curtains floods his brain. It’s too much. It’s just too much. But he knows there’s an end in sight.

The doctors discharge Mac around 8:30, after a hellish 18 hours of hospitalization. He’s prescribed two EpiPens for the nut allergies, along with extra strength Benadryl and an inhaler for the leftover side effects of anaphylaxis. Dennis elects himself in charge of the EpiPens, which Mac is okay with in his exhausted state. There’s no way he can trust Mac to hold onto something so vital, so crucial to his safety. Mac never worries about himself; he’s always more concerned with Dennis. That’s not gonna fly here. No, Dennis will oversee the EpiPens, just like how Mac oversees Dennis’ eating schedule.

Mac is shaking as Dennis loads him into the passenger seat of the Range Rover. He grabs the plushy blue blanket from the trunk – the one Mac put there for cold mornings and nights during their work commute – and drapes it over Mac, who instantly melts into the fabric. Dennis smiles sadly as Mac buries his face in the quilt. Within seconds of putting the Rover in drive, Mac is sound asleep, wheezing slightly with his chin dipped to his chest. The thirty minute ride is silent, just quiet enough to begin thawing out Dennis’ knotted nerves.

He’s pulling into a parking space at their apartment when Mac coughs himself awake. It’s riddled with mucus, but somehow empty sounding at the same time. He doubles over, saliva pooling on his Dickies. Dennis immediately reaches out and rubs his back, wincing at the redness of Mac’s face, the harshness of his breathing, the heat bleeding through his jacket. When it’s obvious this coughing fit isn’t subsiding on its own, Dennis pulls the inhaler out of his jeans and presses down on the canister once Mac is ready for it. The medicine seems to help quickly. Mac breathes easier and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Thanks, Den…”

“Let’s just get you up to bed, pal.”

Dennis is not Mac, meaning that Dennis cannot carry Mac. He has too much mass. And excuse him for not wanting to live in the gym and look like some kind of huge freak. He’s svelte and lithe, and, okay, maybe he has lost some weight recently, a loss he’s trying to hide with slightly oversized flannels, but that doesn’t concern anyone. But what does concern him right now is that, fuck, maybe he should’ve been working out more to prepare for emergencies like this. Maybe he should’ve been tacking on mass too instead of getting rid of it.

Maybe then he’d be able to help his buddy out of this jam.

“C’mon, Mac,” Dennis grunts, as he shoulders most of his roommate’s weight. Mac leans heavily against him as they walk inside their apartment building, an arm wrapped sluggishly around Dennis’ neck. He’s beyond grateful for their service elevator at moments like these. They don’t typically use it, not unless they’re carrying a shit ton of groceries or liquor, but it turns out to be a saving grace. Dennis unlocks the door in one swift motion with Mac wobbling and sticking to him like glue.

It’s then that Dennis realizes they have a problem. A big problem.

Their bed is filled with Fancy Nuts. Dennis remembers sleeping on them – or with them? – a couple days ago, back when he and Charlie weren’t sure Mac was gonna pull through this.

“Just… Just sit here for a few minutes,” Dennis says, gently pushing Mac down into the pink inflatable chair.

Mac shakes his head. His brown eyes swell with tears. “Wanna go to bed, Den…”

“I know, baby boy. But I gotta clean our bed.”

A couple tears stream down Mac’s cheeks; Dennis wipes them away.

“Don’t feel good…” Mac whines, hiccupping messily.

Dennis’ insides clench.

He presses a kiss to Mac’s temple and runs his fingers through his hair for good measure. Mac sniffles and leans into the touch.

“I’ll be quick, okay? I just gotta change the sheets and sweep the floor.”

He should mop too, but he can do that later, once Mac is safely tucked into bed.

“You’re slow as shit at everything though,” Mac whimpers.

Dennis rolls his eyes. He removes the nut-filled sheets, blankets, and pillowcases and tosses them into the trash. He can’t handle if anything else happens to Mac, so he isn't taking any chances. He checks all the nooks and crannies of their inflatable couch-bed for nut dust. He sweeps their floor and puts their bed back together again. By the time Dennis is finished, he’s sweating, and Mac has his head in his hands, hunched in on himself and trying not to cry.

“Bedtime,” he whispers as he coaxes Mac up by his elbow.

Mac obliges wordlessly. He stumbles a little bit, catches his balance, and plops face-first into bed. He quickly rolls onto his back when he realizes he still can’t breathe for shit. He pants and coughs dryly. Dennis yanks his boots off and pulls the covers up to his shoulders. He’s about to go sit at the kitchen table to read and try to fully calm himself down when Mac grabs his forearm with clammy fingers.

“Don’t go…”

Dennis sighs and scrubs a hand down his now stubbly cheeks.

“Fine,” he huffs.

He toes off his shoes and lies down on the bed. Mac immediately moves until his head is on Dennis’ chest. Dennis tenses up at first but quickly relents once he realizes how comfortable – how safe – he feels. It doesn’t take long before his eyes start to get heavy and flutter. He tries to stay awake, just in case Mac needs anything, but he gives in not longer after Mac drapes an arm over his middle.

Dennis’ eyes droop closed, surrounded by warmth and peace.

~

The next morning, it’s obvious that Mac still feels like shit.

The dude may have slept most of the day away yesterday, only waking up to take medicine and piss, but he’s still really out of it. He can’t string more than a few words together before he’s zapped of energy for the next several hours, unable to do anything other than lay in bed.

Dennis finally convinces him to take a shower, brush his teeth, and get comfortable, from which Mac emerges soaked to the bone, unable to even dress himself. Dennis gets him into boxers and a baggy t-shirt, has him brush his teeth in bed, and bundles him in blankets. Mac is furiously hot to the touch; Dennis wonders if this could possibly get any worse.

He doesn’t like it when Mac is under the weather. He hates it, if he’s being honest. Mac is such a constant force in his life that him not being annoying is actually more annoying than him being annoying. When Mac is sick, he gets all quiet and mopey. He loses his spark and falls into himself. He will neglect his wellbeing in favor of sitting around with a dangerously high fever or coughing up his lungs until his face turns blue. Last December, Mac caught the flu from Dennis, and he had to be dragged to the hospital because his fever was so high and wouldn’t go down no matter what Dennis tried.

Dennis cleans their apartment from top to bottom while Mac sleeps. He gets rid of every single food item containing peanuts and/or tree nuts, including his own favorite brand of peanut butter. If he wants it in the future (which is unlikely given Mac’s new allergies), he can hide it in his dresser like he does with his cigarettes and razor blades. He tosses out protein bars, miniature Reese’s cups, peanut butter crackers, and almond milk. He isn’t even sure if almonds are a tree nut, but he is sticking to being safe rather than sorry.

He sweeps again and mops every room. He dusts, does several loads of laundry, and wipes every surface. He doesn’t want to take any chances. He can’t take any chances.

When Mac is out of commission, nothing feels right.

He hates this new level of vulnerability he feels creeping over him and slowly morphing him into someone who gives a shit. He hates taking meds twice a day and going to therapy once a week. He hates trying to follow an eating schedule. The only thing he likes about his ‘mental health journey’ (as Mac’s been calling it) is that Mac’s around. Dennis is trying to be… less.

Less explody. Less ragey. Less angry.

Mac is the only one who notices, but he supposes that’s okay.

Dennis is in the middle of folding his pajama when Mac stirs. He stretches out like a cat and smacks his chapped lips. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles and looks all of five years old while doing it. Dennis tries to ignore the way his pulse throbs in his throat.

“What’re you doin’?” Mac slurs, voice raspy.

“I’m compulsively cleaning the apartment,” Dennis answers truthfully.

Mac’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

Dennis scoffs. “Why?” he asks incredulously. “Because you almost died! You… You had a reaction to those fucking Fancy Nuts, and now I have to –”

He stops himself. Takes a deep breath. Pinches the bridge of his nose.

Breathe.

There’s no use in getting upset. He can’t change anything that’s already happened.

Just breathe.

“Dude, did you just stop yourself from freaking out on me?” Mac asks.

Dennis inhales deeply and nods.

“That’s awesome!” Mac exclaims, followed by a round of wheezy coughing. “I’m so proud of you, Den!”

He rolls his eyes. Keeps folding his laundry. Tries not to smile.

“D’we have any popsicles?” Mac rasps, moving past it. “My throat hurts.”

Dennis nods. “What kind do you want?”

“Blue.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Blue is not a flavor, Mac.”

Mac looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Blue’s the best flavor, Den.”

“But it’s not a…” He lets himself trail off. “Right. You’re right.”

Mac smirks. “Course. ‘m always right.”

Dennis grabs a blue raspberry popsicle out of the freezer. He opens it and wraps the exposed stick in a paper towel just in case it starts to melt. Mac sits up ever so slightly and makes grabby hands as Dennis approaches. His fingers linger – just a little bit – as he grabs the popsicle, and Dennis tries not to focus on the lump growing in his throat. Mac looks… different like this. No hair gel. Comically oversized t-shirt. Droopy, bloodshot eyes. It’s the kind of Mac that he likes coming home to daily, versus the one who’s always invading his personal space without permission or the Mac who irritates the hell out of him for no reason at all.

“Can we watch a movie? I’m bored,” Mac pouts. His lips are stained blue.

“I doubt you’ll make it twenty minutes into a movie,” Dennis says. “Why don’t we watch TV instead?”

Mac’s bottom lip juts out. He looks ridiculous. “But I wanna watch Predator, Den.”

He keeps licking and sucking on the popsicle. Dennis tries hard to ignore it.

“Fine.”

So that’s what they do.

Dennis abandons folding laundry for popping in the DVD and settling down in bed. Mac finishes his popsicle, throws the trash on the floor, and immediately sinks down until his head is nestled on Dennis’ shoulder. Dennis pulls the covers over both of them.

It turns out that Dennis is right, as he always is. Mac makes it fifteen minutes into Predator before falls asleep, snoring softly against the skin of Dennis’ neck.

~

Dennis drives out to the bar that night.

Honestly, he’s terrified about leaving Mac alone, but he doubts he’ll even stir while he’s gone. Mac ate a healthy dinner of chicken tenders and fries about an hour ago; he passed out less than five minutes after he finished his plate. Dennis made sure to bundle him up, keep the TV on since Mac has this thing about the dark, and leave a note on his own pillow just in case he wakes while he’s gone.

He doesn’t intend on being away for more than an hour.

Dennis enters Paddy’s to find Charlie covered from head to toe in marshmallow, his hair sticking up straight with the stuff. Dee and Frank have splotches of it on their clothing too. The bar smells of fresh baked goods, but in a weirdly off-putting way. Almost like rancid vanilla. He doesn’t know, nor does he care. This part of the gang – the part without Dennis and Mac – is… dumb as shit, for the lack of a more elegant phrase.

He heads behind the bar with a huff and begins emptying all the bowls of peanuts into the trash.

This, of course, sparks a controversy.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, dude?” Charlie screeches, waving his arms around like the Goddamn idiot he is.

“Mac’s allergic to peanuts,” Dennis says simply. “So I’m throwing away all the peanuts.”

“Like hell you are!” Frank exclaims, spitting as he speaks. “Free peanuts are the cornerstone of Paddy’s!”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “I thought that was thin limes?”

“Thick limes!” Frank yells. Then he looks confused. “Wait a minute. What side was I on for the lime thing?”

“I don’t care,” Dennis answers. He starts to clean the bar with Clorox wipes, knocking peanut shells to the floor.

“I’m with Charlie and Frank on this one,” Dee interjects because of course she does. Fucking bird.

“Dee… We were, like, talking,” Charlie says.

Frank nods. “No one asked you, bird.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! My opinion is important. Right, Dennis?”

Dennis finishes wiping the bar and moves onto sweeping the floor. “I don’t care,” he repeats.

Jesus Christ, there are so many fucking peanuts and peanut shells down here. This is definitely not a safe environment for Mac.

Mac.

He tries not to think about Mac waking up alone and sick in the apartment.

Dennis starts to speed up his cleaning process while remaining thorough and diligent about making the bar peanut free.

“Are you even listening to us, man?” Charlie asks, stepping in front of Dennis’ trash pile. His battered Vans are caked in marshmallow fluff.

“No.”

“I see what this is,” Dee says. “He’s all worked up about Mac.”

Dennis stops sweeping. “He’s sick. Of course I’m worked up.”

“He’s not sick, asshole. He’s just allergic to peanuts.”

“And tree nuts!” Dennis exclaims. “He’s allergic to peanuts and tree nuts, and this bar is absolutely riddled with them!”

“Aw, look at you taking care of him,” Dee teases, sipping at her beer.

Dennis’ eyes narrow. He chooses not to interact. He chooses not to explode into a rage-filled ball. He chooses to ignore.

He wants to threaten to cut her into a billion tiny, unrecognizable pieces, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he just pinches the bridge of his nose.

Dee continues on making her noises and shit. Charlie and Frank do too. But Dennis doesn’t care.

He mops the floor. Gets rid of their peanut inventory in the storeroom. Takes out the garbage. Washes his hands in the bathroom. Fills the former peanut bowls with chips. Puts on his coat. Listens to 3/5 of the gang scream over each other about some shit he couldn’t care less about. 

“No more nuts,” Dennis announces as he’s about to leave Paddy’s.

They all wave him off.

~

After three days of recuperating, Mac feels well enough to go to work.

Dennis finishes putting anti-itch ointment on the last of Mac’s hives. “Are you sure you don’t want to take it easy for another day?”

“Nah. I feel fine.”

Mac coughs wetly, and Dennis’ eyes widen.

“Mostly fine,” Mac interjects with a shrug.

“Are you sure? You still look really tired, and I don’t want you to over–”

“Dennis, I’m fine.”

He nods. Mac rolls down his shirtsleeve once the ointment is mostly dry.

The drive to work is peaceful. Dennis lets Mac pick the music. Mac is quiet and keeps stealing glances at Dennis when he thinks Dennis isn't watching.

When they arrive at the bar, Charlie is waiting at the front door. "Guys, I have news!" he exclaims.

"Why don't we let Mac get settled in first before we spring the news on him, huh?" Dennis asks, placing his hand on the small of Mac's back and guiding him into Paddy's. He keeps his hand there until Mac is seated on a barstool with zero possibility of danger. He pats his jeans pocket for the thousandth time this afternoon, feeling for Mac's EpiPen. 

"Beer?" Dennis asks Mac, ignoring everyone else around them.

Mac nods. "Sure."

Dennis opens it for him. Mac takes a tentative sip. 

"Can I tell you my news now?" Charlie asks, his voice becoming increasingly high pitched and annoying.

"Sure, pal," Dennis says.

"Great! So it all started when Frank -"

But Dennis isn't listening. Obviously, neither is Mac. Because Mac's eyes are focused on the chip - formerly peanut - bowls in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, he rubs the rim of the bowl with his index finger and looks sheepishly at Dennis.

Dennis shrugs nonchalantly and takes a swig of his own beer. 

Mac smiles, small and thankful. 

~

"You replaced the peanuts with chips," Mac says as they enter the apartment. He drapes his leather jacket over the pink inflatable chair. 

Dennis swallows thickly. "Uh... yeah. I did."

"And you cleaned our whole apartment."

"From top to bottom."

Mac just looks at him, a kind of look that makes Dennis wildly uncomfortable. "And you did all of that for me?"

"Well it certainly wasn't for me," Dennis says. He toes off his tennis shoes and settles them by the front door. He doesn't like where this conversation is going.

Mac sighs. "Huh."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dennis asks.

"That was nice of you," is all Mac says.

Dennis' eyebrows furrow this time. "I'm always nice, Mac."

Mac shakes his head. "No, you're definitely not," he says. "But you're getting nicer. Since you started taking your meds and stuff again. I like it."

Dennis nods, skin burning brightly. He kicks his socked toe at invisible dust on the floor, hands stuffed deep into his jeans pockets. "Yeah, well..." He isn't sure what to say next, so he doesn't say anything at all. 

"Thanks, Den... Y'know, for looking out for me and making me feel more better."

Mac takes a seat on the inflatable couch. Dennis follows suit, unsure of what to do or how to make this horrible, bubbly feeling inside him go away. 

"You're welcome, man. I like taking care of you."

"I like taking care of you too."

An uneasy silence falls upon the apartment, the kind of silence that slices Dennis to his core. He doesn't like all this... this tenderness. It makes him feel weak and strange.

But Mac's staring at him, puppy dog eyes shining brightly in the faint Philadelphia night.

Dennis flinches when Mac puts his hand on his forearm.

"Can I kiss you?" Mac asks softly, so softly Dennis almost doesn't register the question.

Dennis nods.

Mac's lips are soft. He tastes like cherry chapstick, the stuff he often steals from Dennis. It tastes sweet, like freshly pulled taffy on a hot summer afternoon. 

He can get used to this. 

#macdennis #macdennis fic #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds #iasip #iasip fic #it's always sunny #it's always sunny in philadelphia #iasip s16 #the gang inflates #fic #fanfiction

[mochie85]

Hi! I love your Loki series and one shots💚💚

Can I request a Loki x villain!Reader. Like, she do some shity things and the avenger defeat her, but her powers are kinda a mystery so them decided to secured her in the compound for study her powers (like something to do with darkness or fire). Loki started to "visite" her. She's mean, egocentric, and gets under his skin. But at the same time he is amazed of her.

Just Breathe - Chapter 1

Just Breathe Masterlist Complete Masterlist

A/N: Sorry, Nonny, I got carried away and made this into a series. I'm sorry I made you wait too long. I know you requested this a while ago. So, thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you like it. Edit: Thanks to Inkywinds on AO3 for the German translations. Pairing: Loki x Female Villain Reader Word Count: under 3k Warnings: Angst, history of trauma, some cursing, mild violence, more of my bad translations Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Loki watched through the monitors as they brought you in. They secured your arms in weighted metal cuffs that went straight up to your elbows, constricting your wrists as well as your hands. You walked in with no less than ten SHIELD agents accompanying you. You looked like a maiden sacrifice being led to her fate.

“Who is that delectable creature?” Loki asked with a growing smirk.

“She calls herself Zephyr,” Thor answered watching Loki to the side of his eyes. “She’s been setting fire to hidden SHIELD facilities up and down the eastern seaboard. Killed 20 people, and injured 50. She’s targeting your record.” Thor laid his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “She threatened to blow up the whole site, but we can’t find any explosives. Leave it to you to be attracted to the outlaws,” Thor whispered with a chuckle. Loki just raised an eyebrow at him and dusted his shoulder off where Thor had patted him.

“We need to know how her powers work. Before she does it again,” Rogers added. “FRIDAY is running a background check on her as we speak to give us any clues. Wanda is still on her honeymoon with Vis. I don’t want to contact her unless absolutely necessary. Do you think you can get into her head? See her memories?” He asked Loki.

“I can try,” Loki answered, trying to hide his elation.

They led you to a cylindrical cell in the lower levels of the building. It was made out of indestructible glass and light. You couldn’t escape the watchful eyes of the cameras or the glaring reflection of yourself.

You had formed dark circles under your eyes. Your hair was knotted and singed at the ends. You looked like you hadn’t eaten in days. They took the manacles off of you, leaving welts below your elbows.

If only they knew. It wouldn’t have mattered if they bound your whole body. You’d still be able to set fire with or without your hands.

The first time you used your powers, was when you were eight. You set fire to your shared bedroom and nearly killed your baby brother. You didn’t need your hands then. You just simply stopped breathing.

Your parents, being the doctrinal extremists they were, had decided that eight years of loving a child was not enough to protect said child. So they had abandoned you to a research facility in upstate New York. Fear and loathing in their eyes. They had solemnly believed that they were looking into the eyes of the devil herself when they looked at you.

So, you became one.

A figure stepped into your reflection, interrupting your thoughts down memory lane. You instantly knew who he was. His long face and high cheekbones were more prominent in person. His long dark curls were secured in a half-ponytail. The sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled halfway up, exposing the veins in his arms. He carried a small plate with a sandwich and a bottle of water.

“It’s peanut butter and jelly.” He said to you, holding the plate up to the glass for you to inspect it. “I was told, it’s a favorite amongst you mortals here in this region.”

“I’m not hungry.” You snapped at him.

“Oh no darling, this is for me.” He chuckled. “I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. I was about to until you had to pick this time to come in with your retinue.” He grabbed the nearest chair and sat down on it, backwards. His legs spread apart as he straddled the chair facing you.

He took a bite of his sandwich, eyeing you. You paced back and forth in your cell. Your eyes darted between the man and the sandwich he devoured. You really hadn’t eaten in days. You couldn’t help the growling complaint of your stomach as you watched him demolish it bite after bite.

When he finished, he licked the jam off his fingers and proceeded to drink half of the water bottle. You could see his Adam’s apple bob with every chug of water he swallowed. You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. How rude of me…” He said to you, acknowledging your hungry stare.

“Finally! What’s a girl gotta do to get a meal around here?”

“…I didn’t introduce myself. I am Loki, Prince of Asgard. The rightful heir of Jotunheim. Odins…”

“OH MY GOD! Do you come with an off button? I know who you are!” you growled, matching the energy of your empty stomach.

“So feisty! You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” Loki beamed.

“Does it matter?” you rolled your eyes.

“Yes. I’d like to know the name of the person whose head I’ll be rummaging through.” He said.

A new sense of panic trickled through you, but you refuse to show him the effect he had on you. He stood up from his chair. His long legs unmount the seat. He stopped right in front of your cell, his hands in his pockets, staring you down.

His gaze felt intrusive and speculating. You could see his smile, so sweetly towards you, and a glint in his eyes. How is that possible? That shit only happens in books, right? You walked up to him slowly, pressing yourself up against the glass. Your wrists cross over, above your head.

“Why don’t you come in here then? I’ll let you rummage all you want.” You tried to say in the most seductive way you could.

“Oh, I won’t do it right now, darling. You’re too guarded and wild. Plus...” Loki knocked on the glass causing you to cover your ears from the loud echo. “It’s no fun being in there. I would know.”

He started to walk away. “When you’re ready, dear. Do call for me.” He saluted and walked off. You continued to growl at him as he retreated. You slammed your fist against the hard glass trying to make a dent, knowing it wouldn’t have mattered.

You turned, leaning against the blue-tinged glass, and slid yourself down onto the floor of the cell. That’s when you noticed a small plate in the center of the chamber with a full sandwich, and a bottle of water.

Loki came to visit you that night, unbeknownst to you. You had fallen asleep on the floor of the cell. You used your jacket as a pillow, leaving you to weather the cold of the basement. He conjured a blanket over your shivering figure and he saw you instantly relax into a fit-less sleep.

 He had already seen inside your thoughts earlier that day but didn’t lead on. There was so much heartache and pain. Trifling through your memories had triggered his own childhood recollections. It also triggered some protective instinct of his that he didn’t know existed.

Maybe he just felt a kindred spirit with you. That perhaps you would understand what it was like. Because he certainly understood the suffering you were going through now. He tried one more time.

He let his invisible strings find their way inside the cell. Crawling slowly over the floor, then into your temples.

You must’ve been eight or nine. You were so small, but you had the same shade of hair, the same intelligent eyes. Loki looked around and saw that he was in a nursery, perhaps your bedroom. He could hear an argument in the background happening somewhere inside the house. You sat on your bed as your baby sibling started crying in his crib from the loud argument outside the bedroom doors.

You covered your ears. It was too loud. You rocked your tiny self, back and forth. Loki saw you take in a deep breath and shut your eyes. That’s when the first flicker of flames appeared.

It started with the bedsheets you were on. Then it traveled to the curtains. Pretty soon the whole room was engulfed. Your parents entered the room alarmed. Your mother grabbed your brother from his crib and then tried to grab you. “Y/N!” She yelled. But you were surrounded by flames. Your father came back with an extinguisher, dousing the room with white foam.

The flames had receded enough for your father to grab you from your bed and haul you out.

Loki jumped out of your head as you started to stir awake. You sat up, looking around the brightly lit room outside your cell, not seeing anyone or anything. Except for the chair that Loki was sitting in earlier. Vacant. You went back to sleep, pulling the blanket over your shoulders.

Blanket?!

You recalled the dream you had just woken up from. Loki was there in your dream, reliving the fateful night you triggered your powers. Now looking down at the conjured blanket on you, could he have been here? Could he have gone into your thoughts, unguarded? Just like he said he would? You threw the blanket across your cell and stayed up all night.

The next day, Loki came in with two sandwiches on a plate. “Let me guess, they’re both for you? You little glutton,” you asked eyeing the plate.

“No, darling. One’s for you. I wouldn’t be that heartless.” He splayed his hand and the other sandwich appeared inside your chamber with a bottle of water. “I figured we could have lunch together.”

“Usually, you take the person to lunch before you intrude on their thoughts.”

“I was not aware you knew I had done it.”

“Does it make you feel better? Does it make it any more moral? Now that you’ve fed me?”

“No. Not really. But innocent lives are getting hurt-”

“Innocent, my ass!” you chided.

“And an amazing ass it is. But pray, tell, what exactly makes them not so innocent?” Loki asked.

You raised your eyebrows at him. Then rolled your eyes. “You have got to be kidding me! That’s all you people ever see, isn’t it? The damsel in distress. Surely, we can save her. Well, listen up ‘Lucky Charms.’ I’ve been way past saving. Where were the Avengers twenty years ago when I nearly burnt my house down? Where were you guys when my own parents sold me to the nearest SHIELD facility for research? Where were my heroes, huh?” you yelled out to him, tossing the sandwich against the glass wall.

“I wasn’t here twenty years ago. But we’re here now, Y/N.”

“Don’t you ever call me that again!”

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“It’s what those hypocritical excuse-for-a-parents called me. I refuse to answer to it!”

“Ok. Zephyr it is. Zephyr. Zep. Phyr? Zee? Can I call you Zee?” Loki said, trying your name. Trying to taste it on his lips. Feeling how it sounded with his tongue.

“No. Is my name too long and complicated for you? Loki? Prince of Ass-guard. Yada yada yada.” You deadpanned. Loki was getting agitated with all your irreverent backtalk. He almost preferred it to when you were asleep.

“I’m going to try and get into your mind again, Zee. It would be easier for you if you didn’t resist.” Loki warned.

“Or what?”

“Or else, you might see something you might not like. Memories you’ve tried to repress. I can guide you. But you’d have to follow my directions.” Loki said ever so calmly, putting his hands back inside his pockets.

“Oh, I’m not worried about what I’ll see. I know what goes on in my head.” You taunted. You walked back towards the opposite end of your cell, leaning back on the cool glass as an invitation to him.

In an instant, Loki was transported to a dark room. A brick façade lined one side of the walls. On the opposite side of the room, floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the moonlight outside. The view was six, maybe seven stories up, and overlooked the Brooklyn Bridge. Loki took note of some major street names that he could read.

A soft moan from behind him stole his attention. There was a couch and some furniture that had appeared mere seconds before. He saw you on the couch. Your back to him. A man’s hand tangled in your hair and his other hand gripped your hips tightly.

The man’s legs spread apart as he pulled you in closer to rub against him. You whimpered. And that sound sent a delicious rush down Loki’s spine arousing him.

Who were you tangled with? Loki was curious. You started grinding against them, eliciting a staggered familiar moan from the stranger. You cocked your head slightly to give Loki a better angle to watch.

Loki jumped back in shock to see himself staring back at him. The Loki under you smiled a mischievous grin as he grabbed more of your hair and angled you to get a better kiss.

Loki quickly jumped out of your head. Shaking in disbelief. He stared at you, unable to say anything. He knew that neither of you had ever met before. So this wasn’t a memory. Were you strong enough to block his advances? To make him see what you wanted him to see?

“I told you. You might not like what you see.” You gave him a knowing smirk.

“What did she show you?” Bruce asked through his headpiece.

“Are you alright, brother?” Thor added.

“Do you need one of us to go down there with you?” Rogers offered.

“No. I’ll try again.” Loki whispered.

“Try all you want. You’re not getting anything out of me. Those fuckers deserve to die!” You yelled as you hit the wall of your cell with your fist. Hot white light erupted from your hands, momentarily blinding Loki.

Loki jumped back in and landed in a field with tall dry grass. The half-moon had shown above and the only sounds he could hear were that of cicadas.

He spotted you walking through the grass and muck. You were younger, but well past your teenage years. You were wearing a tattered jumpsuit. Your hair was greasy and slick. Your eyes were a lot deeper and darker than they were now. You had a chain wrapped around your ankle attached to a heavy metal ball. You pulled on the chain, its weight slowing you down, dragging along the dirt. The cuff biting into your weak ankles.

Alarms sounded in the air as searchlights began their hunt for you. You looked up and sucked in a lungful of air, then blew at the weight around your foot. The surrounding air began to lift the heavy ball and carry it as fast as you could run.

The ball and chain followed you. There were men chasing after you now. They had the SHIELD insignia patched on their arms. One caught up with you and grabbed you by your arm, marginally missing the ball you had thrown his way.

“Come, kleiner lufthauch, we mean you no harm.” The man said to you. You sucked in your breath again, but this time you held it. All of a sudden the reeds around you caught fire, catching the pant leg of your assailant. The man was too distracted to notice that you threw the metal ball at his head. All by just exhaling your breath. The man fell. A concave dip where his face should have been.

You ran.

Loki snapped back to reality. Air, breath. That’s her power. He sent a projection of himself into the control room. Thor, Banner, and Rogers standing around a giant monitor, watching the two of you on the screen.

“Her powers come from the air around her,” Loki said behind them. Two of them stumbled forward, startled by Loki’s sudden appearance.

“For goodness sakes, Loki!” Rogers warned. Thor stood unfazed, accustomed to Loki’s surprise attacks.

Loki rolled his eyes as he continued. “It seems she can control the air around her.”

“How does the fire come into the equation?” Thor asked.

Bruce contemplated. “Fire needs three things. Fuel, heat, and-”

“Oxygen!” Rogers finished his sentence.

“She was being held against her will at a SHIELD facility. I saw her trying to escape.” Loki started again.

“Why are there no records of her?” Rogers asked. “Even with her given name, FRIDAY still can’t seem to find any trace of her.”

“The jailor I saw in my memory-walk called her ‘little breath’ or ‘little air?’ You could try looking that up.” Loki offered.

“How did he say it?” Bruce asked, typing into the keyboard.

“Kleiner lufthauch.”

“That’s German.” Steve stood straighter looking Loki in his eyes. “You don’t think she escaped an undercover HYDRA facility, do you?” Rogers said starting to put pieces together.

“Maybe the facilities she’s been targeting have been undercover HYDRA bases?” Thor questioned.

“If that’s true, how does she know which ones are true SHIELD offices, and which ones are HYDRA bases?” Banner posed. Loki left them to ponder it out. His projection leaving.

Back down below the building. Loki still sat in the chair facing you. “I have a proposition for you, darling?”

“No,” you said without hesitation.

“But you haven’t even heard it yet,” Loki said feigning hurt.

“Don’t care. Don’t want it. Especially from you.”

“What if it means, I could get you out of this cell?” He dangled the sweet bait of freedom in front of you.

“Loki! Don’t promise something we can’t deliver.” Rogers said in his ear.

Loki ignored him  and continued, “What if…you join us, and we can go after your little HYDRA spies with you?”

⬅️Series Masterlist | Chapter 2➡️

Taglist: @lokiprompts @lokiprompts21 @lokisninerealms @lokisgoodgirl @alexs1200 @a-witch-with-words @britishserpent @huntress-artemiss @mischief2sarawr @one-oblivious-nerd @user13cabs

#loki fandom #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki angst #loki series #mcu #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x OC #Marvel fanfic #MCU fanfic #song fic #marvel fanfic #villain reader

[reve-writes]

—within these walls. | my hero academia dabi x villain!reader.

who are you, really? villains playing house with each other? | slight suggestive themes; mentions of violence.

FUNNY, YOU THOUGHT.

The both of you were outlaws. Both of your hands were stained red and slick with blood, but his hands in yours felt like salvation. During night time, you would do what you do best in the dark, usually meetings with the League, but as dawn broke, you and Dabi settled into your small apartment, eating peanut butter and sandwich as if your sword hadn't pierced someone dead the night before, as if he hadn't burned a building to ash.

“Do we have milk?” he asked, opening the broken down fridge. The freezer had broke a few weeks prior, and neither of you were really in position to go out and buy a new fridge.

“We had some left,” you replied, mindlessly browsing through television channels as you lay down on the tattered sofa. There were holes all over with clumps of cushion filling spilling out. Your nails pulled on it, undoubtedly ruining the ruined furniture more. Your feet were propped up on your coffee table, one of its legs were shorter than the other. Dabi had lodged a thick piece of wood under it to keep it level, although you still thought that it leaned one way.

“Where?” His face glowed with the light from the fridge.

You stood up, approaching his crouched form. You leaned over him, moving a couple of takeout boxes to the side. His eyes lit up when he saw the milk cramped into your fridge.

“I'm gonna throw these away,” you said, picking up the two-day old takeouts and throwing it into the trash — which had gotten quite full, so you tied up the black plastic bag.

He hummed, pouring milk over his cereal. He pulled the hem of your shorts slightly down as you walked past. You didn't even realize your shorts riding up your backside. You yelped when he delivered a gentle slap.

“Dabi!”

He laughed. It was melodic, really, and you wanted to listen to it everyday. His azure irises lit up with a childlike mischievous glint.

“Remind me to get a new lightbulb, doll,” he said in-between spoonfuls of cereal. “It's really hard to look at you without the lamp.”

He pointed to your ceiling. Your lamp had died two nights before, and it had slipped your mind. You nodded, your eyes flitting to your costume and his coat hanging by the front door. It felt wrong, to soak yourself in such domestic bliss, as if you weren't involved knee-deep in some grand world-ending plan, but it had felt so right, too.

You returned to your spot on the couch, but instead of watching the television, you opted to dive into a stack of comic books under your coffee table. Dabi had gotten them for you last year, but you had only gone through half of them. You never asked how he had gotten them, but you had a pretty rough idea when you brushed out shards of glass from his dark hair.

As Dabi stood by the sink, thinning down the mountains of dirty dishes, you spoke.

“I want to quit.”

He froze. For a split second, he thought you wanted to quit this — whatever this was, to quit him, but you were quick to clarify.

“The League, I mean.”

You didn't say anything else, but the implications of it hung in the air. I want you to quit with me.

For a moment, he was silent, washing away as if he hadn't heard you. He put away the last plate, wiping down his hands on his pants, approaching you. Your eyes followed his movements, filled with anticipation.

“You know I can't,” he said, sitting on the floor, leaning against the coffee table as he reached for your hands. “There's nothing left for me.”

“I can work for us,” you said, your fingers tracing the rough scarred skin on his face, gently ghosting over the staples holding everything together. “We'll be okay.”

“What will I do, then?” He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. You leaned toward him, pressing your foreheads together, before capturing his lips with yours. A ghost of a kiss that left him leaning forward to chase your lips when you pulled back.

“I'm no good for anything, doll,” he said, eyes half-closed. ”I'm only good at ruining things.”

“You're good at taking care of me,” you argued. “Good at making this damned place feel like home.”

“It's a miracle that I haven't fucked it up with you.” He sighed as you tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You won't,” you said, falling to sit on the floor with him. The wood floor was cold against your legs.

“You don't know that.” He grabbed your hand, placing butterfly kisses on your palm and wrist. “It's alright if you want to quit, but I can't.”

He had a lot that he wanted to do with the League, mainly his revenge. He had everything planned out, and although you were never part of his plans, you were a nice surprise. An uncertain element that kept him sane every night.

He pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was sweet and long and passionate and it took your breath away. His hands traced the familiar planes of your body, slipping under clothing, touching you on your most vulnerable places. You sighed, fire burning everywhere as he touched you and you touched him. His breathless moans mixed with your gasps, a dance that you both had practiced so often within the walls of your apartment.

Looking back, it had felt like he was touching and kissing you as if it was the last time.

Because it was.

The sun had set when you woke up. Your clothes were folded into a neat pile on his side of the bed. Everything was neatly placed, in your usually messy apartment. The pile of clothes waiting for laundry in your bedroom was now sitting in your dryer, freshly washed. Your desk filled with various wrappers and knick knacks had been cleaned up. Little figurines that you and Dabi had won from minigames were placed in a row next to your tv. Your shoes were neatly arranged in your mostly unused shoe rack. Every chaotic detail had been placed in order.

His things.

You panicked, sliding your drawers and pulling your wardrobe doors open. His things were missing. You regretted bringing it up. You didn't want to quit if it meant him walking out of your life. He was the reason that you wanted to quit in the first place.

Tears were now blurring your vision as you stormed through the small apartment, haphazardly trying to find any trace of him left. It had been a home for the both of you for the past year, but looking at it now, it felt like every trace of him was removed. The smell of burning wood that was so him had been replaced by the fresh smell of laundry.

“Dabi?” you called out, your voice small and quivering. Hearing no reply, you called out again, louder, “Dabi!”

You cried out his name for who knew how long, tears streaming down your face as you sat on the floor where he had sat with you just that morning. You cried until your voice was hoarse, until your tears dried and all that was left of you was small hiccups and sobs.

It took you a while to notice that the lightbulb of your living room was working. His parting gift.

He was gone.

[ ]

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you

[apiscircensis]

more twst ocs bc this is too easy and I have no self control ✨

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

bio transcripts and extra tidbits under the cut

Philemon “Philly” Pershing

Pomefiore Dorm School Year: Second Birthday: April 11 Star Sign: Aries Age: 17 Height: 177cm Dominant Hand: Right Club: Equestrian Club Best Subject: Magic History Hobby: Making preserves Pet Peeves: Bullies Favorite Food: Sweet onions Least Favorite Food: Factory canned peaches Talents: Sharpshooting

Dedicated and studious. Though he may be delicate looking, he has a hidden violent streak reserved for anyone who'd dare mess with him or his loved ones.

He loves romantic novels and poetry, and has a particular interest in outlaw stories.

He has a boyfriend back home, a hard-working and tender hearted boy he used to tutor when they were younger. They tend to the community crop garden together.

He comes from a small town where people talk a lot. They have a lot to say about his relationship, from the fact that they're both boys, to their different social class, and even the fact that Philly is a mage while his boyfriend is not, but he has made it a point to put all of those people in their proper place before they so much as think to do anything about it.

Inspired on Kissin' Kate Barlow (Holes)

Trivia

His mother died when he was young. She was an avid reader and left a sizable library behind that Philly has been eating up since he learned how to read. He read one (1) trashy romance novel at a formative age and it became his whole personality.

His father is a stern, closed off, set in his ways old western man type. He taught Philly how to use a gun and hunt when he was six and it’s kind of their manly bonding activity. He’s not the most open minded man and wasn’t very happy to learn that Philly likes boys, which made Philly very sad and strained they’re relationship. They’re working on it though, because they’re each other's only family and they love each other despite their differences.

Philly is very committed to his relationship, but he’s also a fickle teenager, so it’s not rare for him and his boyfriend to have bizarre misunderstandings that lead to “mini breakups” during which Philly becomes a whole drama queen. These breakups rarely last more than a week lol

-

Noya Zareen

Scarabia Dorm School Year: First Birthday: September 14 Star Sign: Virgo Age: 16 Height: 164cm Dominant Hand: Left Club: Equestrian Club Best Subject: Defensive Magic Hobby: Research Pet Peeves : Incomplete documents Favorite Food: Pomegranates Least Favorite Food: Peanuts Talents: Fencing

A very stern and no nonsense guy. He's generally polite but doesn't have much of a sense of humor, though he seems to have a special talent for sarcasm.

His family has been tasked for generations with protecting an important relic from his nation. He's quite proud of this duty and wishes to become a great mage in order to be the best guardian he can be.

He has an interest in history and makes it a point and hobby to look into as many different sources as possible pertaining to a same event in order to discern what he calls “The Ultimate Truth”.

 Inspired on Princess Tamina/the Dagger of Time (Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time)

-

Aedon Katsaros

Ignihyde Dorm School Year: Third Birthday: May 20 Star Sign: Taurus Age: 18 Height: 183cm Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous Club: Film Studies Club Best Subject: Music Hobby: People watching Pet Peeve: Being called by their idol name when out of character Favorite Food: Grape soda Least Favorite Food: Grape soda Talents: Singing

aka. Calliope

An up and coming idol who's quickly gaining internet fame because of their personas' androgynous beauty, their powerful voice, and grounded personality. 

They love telling stories in their music and connecting with their fans through them. Though they're currently focusing on their studies, they still try to find time to hold virtual performances for their fans.

On top of performing, they're also interested in the stage production side of things and wishes to find new exciting ways to incorporate technological magic into it to create a better experience for the public on both virtual and live shows.

 Inspired on The Muses (Hercules)

Trivia

Uses he/they pronouns indistinctly. Calliope uses strictly they/them or no pronouns at all.

Their parents are serious, somewhat boring people and they don’t really get Aedon’s whole idol thing, but they do their best to support all of their children in the pursuit of their passions. Aedon is the middle child of five, and gets along quite well with all of their sisters. They all bond over each other’s artistic endeavors. Their oldest sister is their manager for their idol career.

They like watching people and imagining their stories, and takes inspiration from the people and things that they see happen around them for their songs. They try to keep their inspirations vague and uses a lot of creative freedom, both to keep their stories widely appealing and as to not put anyone on blast, but has occasionally fumbled it and nearly gotten in trouble. Their sister often has to remind them to be more mindful. (They wrote The Rogue Daisy about one of Philly’s particularly bad “mini breakups” and it became the hit breakup song of the summer, which resulted in them having to lay low for a month until Philly and his boyfriend go back together.)

Though they're generally an amiable person they’ve had to become more careful of the people they let close. They like to keep their daily life separate from their idol persona so they’re very wary of people who treat them like a character regardless, and of people who only approach others to see what they can get out of them (of which there’s no shortage of at NRC lol). They became friends with Xander, and by extension Lucas bc they could tell they’re both very genuine puppies without a single ill meaning brain cell in their bodies. The pups call them Ai-chan (an in jest nickname that stuck).

Calliope’s music is a little niche, but they’re a popular singer among Ignihyde students. Not everyone in the dorm knows/believes Aedon is Calliope, and the ones that know are too intimidated by them to approach them lol

#twisted wonderland #twst oc #Philly Pershing #Noya Zareen #Aedon Katsaros #artsyness #this is a funny batch #a swiftie a token scarabia student and totally not avu chan

[bagelboys-withcreamcheese]

Young Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews Incorrect Quotes Because I Like to Believe They Were Absolutely Unhinged 

~~

Dutch, after Hosea refused to hold his hand: Love is a fucking scam. Eat a mango, bitch.

—

The Sheriff, literally about to hang Hosea: Any last words, outlaw?

Hosea, deadpan: I’m going to fuck your mother and give her a child she actually loves.

—

Dutch, concerned because Hosea hit his head while they were robbing a bank: How’s your head?

Hosea: Haven’t had any complaints yet.

Dutch, oblivious: Excuse me?

Hosea, slightly flustered: Oh, uh, I think I’ll live.

—

Dutch: Come on, Hosea, do it for our partnership. You can't put a price on that.

Hosea: Yes I can, dear. Fifty dollars.

—

Hosea: Do you take constructive criticism? 

Dutch: Not without crying.

—

Dutch: I could use some appy slices, actually, if you wouldn’t mind.

Hosea: And a little peanut butter to dip em in?

Dutch: FUCKING OF COURSE I WANT PEANUT BUTTER, HOSEA!

—

Working Lady: Getting into trouble a little early today, aren’t we Mr. Van Der Linde?

Dutch: Trouble? No way. You’re only in trouble if you get caught.

Sheriff, grabbing his shirt collar from behind: Gotcha!

Dutch: I’m in trouble.

—

Hosea: Do I think I can take Dutch Van Der Linde?

Hosea: I mean, yeah, he’s not that big.

Hosea: Oh, you mean like in a fight?

Hosea:

Hosea: No.

—

Hosea: *on a very loud rant about how stupid Dutch is*

Dutch: Stop being so mean to me or I swear to god I’m going to fall in love with you!

[he did, in fact, fall in love with him]

—

Hosea: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol, you treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

Dutch:

Hosea: Science.

—

Hosea: You know what your problem is? You’re really cute so no one ever told you to shut your pie hole.

Dutch: You think I’m cute?

Hosea, flustered: Shut your pie hole!

—

Dutch: What’s the straightest thing you’ve ever done?

Hosea, thoughtfully: I killed a guy.

—

Dutch: So, Hosea, how was your da-

Hosea: I will put a gun to my head right now if you ask me that again.

—

Hosea: I should do something stupid.

Dutch: I’m something stupid, do me.

#red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #vandermatthews #rdr2

[blehh11]

Richie and The Disastrous Dishes

@heropartnerweek

Cooking / Combat / Getting lost

Richie was a Pokémon of many talents. He could fight outlaws like his life depended on it, explore the most perilous of dungeons, and put himself through the most hellish conditions, even if it meant saving only one person. 

Ramona grew to appreciate all these traits of her exploration partner, coming to value them heavily during their many explorations together. But at the moment, Ramona didn’t want the heroic explorer. She wanted a good cook. And unfortunately, cooking was not under Richie’s skill set. 

“Here ya go, Ramona!” Richie shoved a boiling hot bowl of soup onto Ramona’s bed, nearly spilling it on her. She stared at her meal with dread.

The soup took on an unappetizing yellow colourization, matching its urine-like odour. Uneven chunks of Cheri, Pecha, and what Ramona was fifty percent sure were Oren berries swirled around the meal. Some unidentifiable, soggy mush took up a third of the bowl. Ramona took a claw to poke it, it jiggled. She looked back at Richie with a poker face; concealing any sign of disappointment on her face. 

The Squirtle still stared eagerly at her, waiting for her to take a slip. She didn’t want to disappoint him… but she just could not eat this.

“Richie…” Ramona pushes the bowl right back into his hands, “I’m not gonna eat this”. 

“Huh? Is there something wrong with it?

“I mean, look at it, I’m pretty sure that's gonna poison me if I eat it.” she replied. 

Richie frowned. “Aw come on, you haven’t even tried it yet, at least try one bite, for me?” Richie face contorted into a pleading expression, with whimpering and all. But Ramona was stalwart in the face of his persuasion, nothing could convince her to try that sorry attempt at ‘soup’. 

Riche, unfortunately, did not get the hint, and would not get the hint for the rest of the afternoon. 

Even the other guild members were not safe from Richie’s crimes against culinary decency. Poor Bidoof was the first victim, believing he was simply supporting his friend. This line of thinking left him nearly choking to death, having to be resuscitated by Ramona. Anybody was a target to Richie, and despite how… disagreeable the meals were to their stomachs and no matter how many visits to the town doctor they needed after the fact, they just couldn’t say no to him. How could they? The kid did save the world after all. 

Months passed and seasons changed, but somehow Richie’s cooking still did not improve. It somehow looked even fowler than before. The residents of Treasure Town feeding into the boy’s delusions did well for his confidence, but little for his actual skill. 

Richie still sought the positive reciprocation of his partner and begged her at every opportunity possible. Ramona's extreme resistance was evenly matched by Richie's deluded persistence, and one day, Ramona's patience was finally starting to give out. She wondered if it would be better to just get the dead over with, bite the bullet, and finally be free of this endless stalemate between the two. 

So, one evening, she did. Richie had made an attempt at a rawst berry pie; coming out looking burnt and misshapen as usual, and of course he wanted his beloved partner to try it. Ramona’s better conscience was screaming at her with all the strength it could muster: Do not eat that, you are going to die, what the hell are you thinking. 

The fork trembled in her hand as she stabbed it into her tiny slice, some sort of dark green sauce oozed from it as the slice went into her mouth. As soon as it did, all the flavour hit her at once. A truly vile combination of the world’s worst textures were present in Richie’s truly unforgivable attempt at a pie: fish and bananas, ketchup and eggs, peanut butter and lettuce, hot sauce and milk. All thrown together to enact pain— no, torture on Ramona’s taste buds. The only unified thing about the meal was how disorganized it was, it was almost beautiful, in a sense. 

The overpowering aroma was eventually too much for Ramona, leading her to faint, the lone piece of pie still in her mouth. The Skitty had learned her lesson, never again will she try her partner’s food.

#pmd eos #heropartnerweek2023

[the-one-true-vexxter]

Skyler Kov ❄️🐺

Full Name: Skyler Phelan Kov (pronounced like "cove") Nicknames: Sky, The Wolf of Pilos Universe: Sycleria (medieval) Species: Werewolf (born human, turned as a child) Age: 24 years old Birthday: July 18th Height: 5'5" Pronouns: He/Him (cis man) Orientation: Bisexual Occupation: Vagabond (outlaw) Abilities: Even as a human he has a wider range of hearing and smell than the average person and is also remarkably agile and able to run for long distances. He changes into his wolf form on the full moon and sacrifices some of this speed for strength, however, this also leaves him in an impulsive frenzy paired with amnesia - he has no memory or regard for existing relationships or values on these nights and will not remember anything the following morning.

Basic Personality: Sky is extremely shy and skittish, to the point where I describe him as "recklessly cautious". He can be a bit shifty with his actions and often his attempts to make things right just end up causing more harm than good. But deep down, he is a sweetheart with a heart of gold and a cheeky sense of humor, and highly protective of his favorite people, almost like an older brother - he just doesn't know how to receive kindness in return. He's used to a life of chaos but longs for a "normal" life where he doesn't have to deal with internalized guilt about who he may have hurt the previous full moon. He has a lot of feelings and really doesn't like himself, but dammit he's trying his best. Oh, and he's kind of a kleptomaniac. Likes: Food in general, peanut butter, warm hugs, freedom, a non-full moon, stargazing, cooking, ice skating, children, the cold, shiny things like gemstones, tree-climbing Dislikes: Fire, silver, other werewolves, the full moon, turning, small animals, hunters, authority, loud noises, being the center of attention

#syclerian #werewolf #oc tag #original character #oc intro #vexx's-ocs #oc:skyler #tw: mental illness

[jellybracelet]

Outlaw peanut butter. What has it done for us