#overgrown kindergarteners

[twst-trash]

Time magic shenanigans and MC’s kids from the future come to visit them. Though something is off. While all the kids do share some features with MC, they all look different. One has draconic features, one has lion ears, one is incredibly beautiful etc

All the kids are from different timelines where MC ended up having kids with someone different.

That begs the question: What timeline are they in now?

cw: fem!MC who has children (in alternate timelines)

Bro imagine a MOB of children, like 20 whole kids, rushing onto NRC’s campus in a mad dash to find you. A whole kindergarten worth of kids tugging your skirt, calling you mom, asking where their papa is. Personally I would run, that’s literally the most terrifying thing I could ever think of.

The kids don’t know each other so you quickly rule them out as siblings (and your coochie sighs in relief). So, how can they all be your kids and how did they end up here?

Eventually Vargas helps you round up all the children and Crowley stages an intervention. The dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders are there, and of course your first year friends tag along. Unable to be left out of anything, Cater and Floyd are also there, and at the behest of Lilia, Silver also shows up.

The children scatter to their respective ‘fathers’ immediately. Some take it better than others (Cater “I’ve only known my kid for 30 minutes but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself” Diamond immediately starts snapping photos for magicam with #meetmykid ; meanwhile, Leona is 2 seconds away from throwing his out of the castle window).

“Well, the most reasonable explanation is a case of time travel magic gone wrong,” Crowley begins, perturbed by the scene in front of him. “We must find a way to send them back immediately - I simply don’t have the funds to support twenty children! I shall contact the Royal Sword Academy for their collaboration posthaste.”

You’re about to open your mouth in protest- Crowley’s enthusiasm for finding the children a way back home already outmatched any effort he had put into finding your way back home- but Crowley is already out of the door, leaving you and your children and your babydaddies in the room alone.

“Maybe we should just kill them.” Leona mumbles under his breath, swatting at the curious hand that pulled at his tail.

“Moral implications aside, have you ever heard of the butterfly effect, you oafish buffoon? Anything we say or do could disrupt the current timeline.” Vil spits. Despite this, his fingers are tangled in the blond locks of his child, braiding their hair with care.

“This is just like that new spring anime My Harem’s Children Came To Find Me in My Own Timeline*!” Idia’s voice rings from his tablet. His child is poking through the settings proficiently, able to find and download a rhythm game on their own.

“Shut up about your hentai.” Ace scoffs, “Literally no one wants to hear about that.”

“I-It’s not a hentai! It’s way more complex than that.” He huffs, a ‘not like you normies would know the difference’ muttered under his breath. “It’s humorous, romantic, and tragic! Only one child is a part of the prime timeline. The heroine will never see the other children again!”

A hush falls over the room, save for the babble of some of the more talkative children.

“Prime timeline, hm?“ Azul muses, hair ruffled and hat commandeered by his miniature counterpart. “That means only one of us will end up with _______.”

“Well, it’s obviously me.” Vil starts, to which Leona scoffs.

“Yeah right. Why’d they want to be with someone with a perpetual stick up his ass?”

Malleus gives a dark chuckle. “As if you’d have any better of a chance, Kingscholar.”

“What’s that supposta mean, you overgrown lizard!?”

The boys are fighting. It would almost be funny if it weren’t equal parts terrifying.

So, who’s the winner in this timeline? Find out on the next episode of *MHCCTFMIMOT!

#odie.speaks #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #this ask is hilarious and I’m going to be thinking about it forever

[alwaysshallow]

coffee at midnight, part 10

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

Some peace before mission. (3,1k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

Task Force 141.

Elite, a group of soldiers—the best of the best—to serve the country in cases that need certain types of expertise and espionage to succeed, instead of simple military or the marines. True leaders who saw things that made them who they are right now, things that are imprinted in their memory probably for the rest of their life. Handpicked by John Price, veteran in the military who’s been probably everywhere on his missions, saw probably everything too.

His friends are everywhere over the world, making it a bit easier for him whenever he needs something; either legal or not. The job just needs to be done, he doesn’t exactly care how he’s gonna get it in the end.

A man of his words with multiple achievements on his account, respected. His team too, considering that no one is allowed in here, if they wanted to be recruited. There’s not a casting or anything.

Only professionals that know how to do their job correctly, better than anyone because of the experience.

“You fuckin’ cheating—”

Yeah, professionals—except the times you play games with them. Then, they’re acting worse than ever.

No matter if you play cards, Monopoly or anything else; the competitiveness sinks right through them, making it hard to let go in such childish cases. Right then, all the “professionalism” and the thought of being a highly specialized soldier is completely gone like it was never there in the first place. Bunch of highschoolers behave better than them, when it’s time to relax.

You fight, when you’re supposed to relax because someone didn’t say “Uno” on the last card they had.

It’s hard enough before the mission to do anything for yourself, hard to get your thoughts off the cruel world, so you’re happy at least to see their dumb faces like that. Arguing with each other, accusing of cheating, slamming the door in dramatic manner when someone’s losing at poker or—what’s even funnier—if someone’s gonna take Soap’s favorite place to rent in Monopoly. It’s worse than being in a crossfire, circled by enemy’s soldiers. He’s just insufferable, naming people names just because they took his spot, knowing that it’s his favorite. “A crime worse than murder”, he says.

If someone wants to see kids, they could go to the military instead of kindergarten; your base, to be exact. They’re just a bit overgrown, but besides that, they’re not really different.

From time to time, you look at them. You’d maybe consider joining, if they were a little bit more calm.

And, if you wouldn’t have files from Price about the next mission. He gave you them a while ago, intel that could help you prepare for the mission, centered on espionage more than on anything else. “Perfect mission for you,” he said, at which you just rolled your eyes, taking the documents; he was right in some way, considering that comeback to straight up crossfire wouldn’t be smart for the first activity.

At a first look of your eye, it looks almost too simple. A simple gala, where you act as an auctioneer, you engage in some auctions and then sneak around to find an office of an old man that you need to gather information from. Virus his computer and then come back, like nothing happened and if someone saw you around, you just act dumb. You’ve done it a couple of times in the past with quick success.

Taking things from a way too rich businessman is like a Robin Hood type of shit, always pleasuring, always something that you enjoy. Especially after long field missions, rescuing hostages and et cetera. That’s why it seems simple.

At least, it feels that way, before you read the rest and a sigh comes out of you easily.

This time, it’s a mission with Russians involved, as you read it further; so, it’s not that easy after all. You even happen to recognize some of their names, and those people are known with their tricks on every step of the way, always on high alert, no matter what. Eyes everywhere so it’s always hard to establish how many guards they have, where they are.

A real mission, that’s why it’s for the military—because if something will come down, it’s your skills that can rescue you from the shitty situation considering that the backup can only be outside the building.

You can only count on yourself and, as you read in the document, one, maybe two people of your choice.

“You’re getting into your head too much.” You look up; Kyle lowers your documents, so you can see his face properly, lips curved into a small smile. Encouraging, trying to get you into his side, as always when he wanted something, he knew how to use his pretty privileges. “You know you got it, Birdie. No need to get deeper into this.”

“I have to be ready for everything here, Gaz. Kinda need to do it.” You nudge him with your elbow, file going on a table beside you. He briefly looks at it, then, back at you. “And it’s way more interesting than men whining about a board game.”

Kyle laughs, shaking his head. “I think we’d disagree with you.”

“That’s one of the issues, though. You being all delusional,” you joke, sticking your tongue. Your friend dramatically sighs and you chuckle. “Gonna be there in a second. Alright?”

“Right. Better before Soap will chop Simon’s head off. Join us on UNO later,” he says.

So casually, that you first nod your head. Then, the meaning of words occurs to you, and you shift in the chair, confused. “Before Soap will do what?” you ask.

Kyle nods, like the thing he said is the most basic in the whole world. “Mmm, he lost in poker. Lost some money. And dignity.”

“Dignity?” Your eyes wander to Soap and Simon. Scot is actively gesticulating, almost hitting his friend with how briskly he does it, while he just stands there with a mocking expression on his face. You have no idea what happened there; you even don’t know if you want to know, but it’s evident that something upset your best friend. What’s more to it, something that Riley said, which is odd enough.

Odd because Johnny usually doesn’t give a shit about what he says. He either flips him off and continues blabbering, or just ignores him and then continues. Nothing in between, so you look once again at Garrick, looking for an answer in his eyes.

“‘Fraid I can’t tell you,” he chuckled, “I was joking. Partially. About that chopping head, it’s not that bad, but—”

“Gaz—”

“Join us on UNO later, Birdie,” he repeats. Gaz ruffles your hair, making a beeline to the guys after that.

You’re sure that he says something to them, as they look at you seconds after—Soap, grinning like a devil, Ghost even more amused, while Alejandro laughs about something in the background. Confused, you look down, back at your documents, deciding that you have to finish that instead of trying to get what is inside their head.

Private circus has nothing against these guys. If they would want to change professions someday, you’d suggest being a clown and riding around the world to show what they are capable of.

It would be easy money, you’re pretty sure about that. And their natural habitat, so it shouldn't be too hard for them to act in front of a larger audience.

You join them forty minutes later, taking a seat next to Soap.

Not like you have other choice, really—it feels almost like they planned it somehow. Price sits on that damn, uncomfortable chair, way too small for him. Kyle and Alejandro on the couch; Ghost just looms over everyone, as he’s way too caught up in his phone to care about the game.

You brush that thought away, though, as it seems ridiculous in a way. It’s not high school to reserve seats for people that aren't there.

Or is it? They often have weird ideas.

It takes some time, but you finally cave in and join the game. Not the way you’d like to, as the boys are already ten minutes into the next round, but you’re trying your ways as a strategist. Pointing what card Soap should use and when, doing it discreetly like it’s a crime, and your best friend is just encouraging you to do so, nudging you there and there, or casually squeezing your thigh, causing you to jump a little.

Not because you’re surprised with it, but you feel way too hot after the gesture itself, like his touch leaves permanent marks on your skin.

“Use this one,” you mutter; as quietly as possible you can be. There’s no such thing as cheating in UNO if you don’t even play, but you want to help somehow.

“Using your girl to win? That’s weak, MacTavish.”

Your girl.

Your heart skips a beat, electricity going through your body, as you hear that. It’s an instinct to open your mouth to correct Alejandro, but you close it as quickly, puzzled. It would be petty to do it in a small matter like this, where it’s probably mindlessly throwed without any meaning to it.

It would be petty and wrong because you feel good when he named you like this. Like you were his in a slightly different way, not a friend. More intimate, a lover's way.

“At least he has someone to help him,” you say instead, missing how smug Soap looks right now, as you look at his opponent. Maybe it’s for the better though; if you’d see his face, a scarlet red would appear on yours.

And then, everything would be clear to them. Not really a way to announce your feelings; growing ones, where you just started to not deny them, but to… accept, if that’s even an option in the military. Besides the policy that you can’t date your comrade—in most cases—you’re scared of ruining your friendship. Doing something that he won’t like. Which is completely valid, but with every day on the base, you think that he wouldn’t really be opposed to the idea. Of even sleeping together to try some things.

It’s harder and harder to explain his behavior lately with “he’s your best friend” card. Hard to explain him grabbing your waist whenever someone else was around, touching once in a while. Kisses in the temple or right on the top of your head, if he was in a rush, once or twice in the cheek, but you thought it was just a mistake or something.

Right now, you don’t really know what it is. You could find excuses before, but now there was nothing to excuse him with. Not a thing, especially when you kind of liked how he was behaving, even if he didn’t want to explain it when you asked why he acts like this. “Jus’ missed ye, lassie,” he said, and you had no other choice but accept the explanation; because you knew, for a fact, that you’re not gonna get any other one. Just this and a quick hug to distract you, so you’ll drop the subject.

You won’t admit it to him, but you grew familiar with it. His touch, his hands, craving it on you at some point. Sighing silently with a feeling of content, whenever he touches a part of you. It’s good, it feels like he wants to touch you, soothe the problems on your mind, knowing how physical touch works for you.

He throws an arm around you, when he drops the last card on the table. Proud, like he almost won it by himself, but the hug that he gives you proves otherwise, like he wants to silently thank you for this. Ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach, you just give him a smile.

You can tell that boys are irritated by him showing off this way, so loud and unbearable, but they’re amused as well. They poke him around about being a cheater and how they’d want the help you gave Johnny not anyone else; you just take a sip of water, while Kyle suggests that you have way more cards in your sleeve than anyone might expect.

“Cards in my sleeve… yeah. Annoy me even more, then I’ll hack your phone to post embarrassing shit,” you say, pointing at them. Jokingly, you don’t actually mean that (or do you?), but you want them to understand that the threat is there.

“Very funny.”

“Not funny, if it’s just the truth.” You shrug. “It’s part of my job, after all. Phones are literally… one of the easiest options, I think.”

“So you say,” Soap leans over you, curious, “that you can literally hack my phone. Right here, right now, no password and shite?”

“Yeah. I can and I will, if you may?” You raise your eyebrow playfully. Your best friend barks a laugh, then, he hands you his phone. “Don’t need it. You can just keep it in your pocket.”

“Gettin’ cheeky, are we?” he taunts. You roll your eyes with a small smile, as you tilt your head. The electric feeling when he touches your hand shoots right through you, it’s hard to keep a straight face. “No need for my phone around, if yer so smart, that right?”

“Kind of,” you say, shoving him a little with your elbow. Making your distance, so you won’t be so close to him. “You need to know your place.”

“I dinnae mind my place. Can be under, can be on top,” he murmurs.

You do not look at him after that, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Hot is already flowing all over your face—God only knows what would happen if you’d cross his gaze.

It’s like he wants to see your reaction these days. He’s more untamed than he usually is, speaking his mind, tilting his head like a puppy when you don’t want to answer something or you just straight up ignore his taunts. Pouts like a kid, nudges you in hope it changes something.

Because if he wants something, he gets it. You’ve put up with his attitude too many times to not notice that, but the irritation on it doesn’t really change, no matter what time it is. And you’re not quite ready to start continuing the banter, not in the public space like that because with him? With him, it would be like driving on ice with a car without brakes—thrilling, exciting, but the possible consequences are in your head as well.

If he’d do something in your apartment, when the two of you were alone, you’d probably go with it, no doubt.

It takes you a few minutes—too many minutes, but Soap is so close, breathing into your neck, so it’s a bit harder to focus—but you’re in his phone. The wallpaper and apps are visible on the screen of your laptop, so you show it to him and everyone else, a sense of pride in your heart. It’s always like that when you do something besides the typical military stuff, the stuff that they wouldn’t do so easily, if at all.

You want to prove that it’s not all what you can do, so you also shut down his phone for a second, which makes them all gasp with surprise. A few little tricks and there they are, amazed with your skills.

“Yer so smart, bonnie,” he mutters. Lips stretched in a wide smile, eyes not necessarily on a screen, but on you; he seems so proud even if you just logged into his phone, no password needed. If you wanted to, you could even do more, like decoding other things on his phone, but it would be an invasion of privacy.

“Studies do the work.” You shrug, locking your eyes with him. Royal blue, sparkling in the dim light that is currently in the base. Curious, maybe because of your skills. Maybe because he wonders what else you can do. “It’s one of the easiest things. Especially that you only have a password with numbers.”

“Look at it, miss Knows-It-All,” Soap says, an amused look on his face. “What are those numbers, then? Did you look, lassie?”

“Not really,” you lie. He cocks an eyebrow, probably sensing that lie, considering how well he knows you. How well he knows that you’re curious about things like this, he just seems sure that you would look.

And you did. It’s either a coincidence or a planned action, but numbers weirdly match with your birthday. Not in the order though, but they’re all here and you wonder a bit if it has anything to do with you. Would be nice, sure, but knowing your best friend, it could also be a simple coincidence.

You want it to be your birthday. Hidden, a combination, but you want it to be connected to you.

“Ye should try with Ghost’s phone. Maybe we’ll know who he misses that much,” he snides, glancing at Simon. He texts in the corner of the room, not even caring about making eye contact with you two.

Simon is glued to his phone the entire night; you don’t say it out loud, but he seems moderately happy with whoever he writes with. You suspect your vet best friend, considering how close they got along the way. How Riley asks about her from time to time, if she’s good or if you heard anything from her lately. “She’s smarter than you, Johnny. And she doesn’t have a death wish on her back, unlike you,” he finally says.

Scot huffs, almost offended. “Death wish? If ye had a bonnie, talented bird like me, you’d encourage her to improve,” he muses, grinning, when you send him a look. “C’mon, don’t look at me like tha’, ye know it’s true.”

You want to protest, but as he locks you close to yourself, his forearm around your middle, he makes it hard for you to speak. So close that it’s actually suffocating when he nuzzles his nose against your jawline, laughing, when Alejandro shouts at both of you to get a room. You have to bite your tongue a little to not say “with pleasure”.

“He’d be insufferable, if we’d have a room.” You stick your tongue out, amused—then, you press a haste kiss against Soap’s cheek. Distraction that works because he actually loosens his grip, which allows you to get some distance. “Now, I’m gonna hop in the shower and read some files. Night, boys.”

You have to ignore Soap’s voice, when he calls after you.

#john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #john mactavish x you #soap mactavish #x reader #cod x reader #friends to lovers fanfic #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x y/n

[symbioticsimplicity]

So I made a sequel to this post, and it looks like there will be another part after this! These boys are too much fun to leave alone, thanks once again to @thediktatortot

Part 3! Part 4! AO3 link!

                                                             *

Steve dearly wished that whatever God he pissed off in his life time didn’t have such a fucked up sense of humor. 

Their plan worked flawlessly, with a roar Billy punched his way through the head of the first demodog at their door. The next one was deflected by Tommy and the baking sheet he’d found in the teacher’s lounge, making it easy prey for Steve and his nailbat to pick off. Eddie and his spear shredded through the demodog that leapt at him, and Billy crushed it’s head with his foot for good measure.

They were out, and they were moving, tossing or killing anything that came their way. There were dozens of the damn things, but they were making progress.

Until Tommy tripped.

Steve saw it in slow motion, his heart seizing up in his chest as he heard the yelp, saw the creature with it’s teeth around Tommy’s ankle. He was struggling against his own demodog, the thing was bigger than the rest had been and even with Billy’s help it refused to die easy. 

There was no way he’d be able to reach him before they did.

“Tommy!” He screamed through gritted teeth.

Tommy’s wide eyes found his and Steve heart tore itself in half as he smiled at him. Tommy wasn’t the brave in the face of danger type, he wasn’t trying to reassure Steve. He smiled like that when he was scared and nervous and didn’t know what else to do. He’d done it on the first day of kindergarten and the first day of highschool and Steve wanted to throw up at the sight of it now.

But then a leg was blocking his view, a black jean clad leg.

“Get the fuck up, Hoops, if you die like this they’re gonna think I killed you and I’ve outgrown my whole ‘wanted for a murder I didn’t commit’ phase.” Eddie drove his spear into the the demodog on Tommy’s leg, holding his shield up to keep the next one back.

Tommy looked up at Eddie like he’d seen an angel, almost immediately scrambling to his feet, only to fall back down with a curse.

“Can’t!” He hissed.

Steve slammed his bat into the demodog he and Billy were fighting, half paying attention to it, half to Eddie and Tommy. He knew better, he really did, but his instinct to protect overrode his common sense as it so often did.

“Duck!” Billy shouted, catching Steve’e ear but not his attention.

Steve did not in fact duck, catching the overgrown demodog’s back leg straight to the dome. He briefly had the thought that it wasn’t really a true Hawkins Adventure until he’d gotten some sort of head injury.

The thought immediately rolled into getting the hell out of the way as Billy snagged his nailbat from him and swung for the fences. 

The smart move would have been giving it to him in the first place, as the creature’s head went sailing down the hall as if it hadn’t just been attached to a living creature. 

“Head in the game pretty boy.” Billy pulled Steve to his feet, “Nobody dies today means you too.”

If he’d known Billy any better he would have sworn the tightness around the edges of his eyes was concern. But to the best of his knowledge, Billy tolerated him out of necessity the same way he tolerated most things. 

“Can’t have me bringing down the mood.” Steve agreed, noticing that Billy’s hand was still lingering on his forearm where he’d picked him up.

Billy noticed at the same time he did, pulling away almost as though burned.

“I’m not explaining to any of those kids that you bit it.” Billy shook his head, “Easier just to keep you alive.”

While not the warmest declaration of care Steve had ever heard, it was something at least to show that Billy Hargrove had a heart in there after all. He would probably have given him more shit, if they hadn’t been needed elsewhere.

So instead he nodded and turned back to where Eddie was keeping a smaller and smaller perimeter around he and Tommy.

“Them too.” Steve rushed towards them.

“Them too.” Billy agreed.

                                                        *

“You know, if you wanted me to carry you, you could have just asked.” Billy teased as he carried Tommy down the broken rib cage of Hawkins’ main road.

Tommy had his arms crossed over his chest, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Billy bridal carried him as though he weighed nothing. His ankle was in pretty bad shape, would need stitches at the very least, but they’d wrapped it as best they could using the flannel Eddie had been wearing. It wouldn’t solve much, but it would hold until they got somewhere safe and that was all they needed.

“I’m not a chick, Hargrove, I’m not looking for some big strong man to save me.” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, you telling me this beefcake doesn’t have you swooning at all?” Eddie chimed in, grinning like a loon, “All the work of saving our asses, and not even a flutter?”

Tommy rolled his eyes so hard Steve’s own did the same instinctively. 

“You saved me.” Tommy asserted. “Shouldn’t you be pimping yourself out here?

“You’re right! I was the daring knight in shinning armour for this rescue, I should get the damsel! How about it Hagan, you free tonight?” 

“Do you ever stop yapping, Munson?” Billy’s slow, heavy glare rested on him.

Eddie kept smiling like he couldn’t feel it at all, “Nope!” 

“Steve, put a muzzle on your pet freak, would ya?” Tommy groaned, the pain making him more irritable than was already native to him.

Steve hardly heard the conversation, his focus moored on the walkie talkie he’d just barely managed to scoop up on their way out of the school. He’d dropped it on the way in, and it looked like it had been stepped on, but the damage was mostly cosmetic. It was still receiving a signal, he just had to hold it in just the right position.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m nobody’s pet.” Eddie pouted, “Pets take a certain amount of love and patience and feeding and no one has shown me any of that, so I’m staying feral thank you very much.”

“I’m showing you patience, I’m showing you a lot of patience.” Billy grumbled.

Eddie’s grin was back just like that, “You gonna love me and feed me too, cause I’m not really opposed--”

“Guys, shut up.” Steve hissed, the walkie cutting in on the corner of a conversation.

“--eam. Repeat Team Macho Man, do you read?”

“Yes!” Steve almost shouted into the receiver, “We read, we’re here!”

It sounded like Dustin on the other end, which immediately waylaid one of Steve’s biggest fears.

“Oh thank-- okay guys so the plan changed. Find somewhere to hole up for the night and we’ll regroup in the morning.”

It was as good a plan as any, and honestly at this point with how far South their original plan had gone, he was sure they needed the time to work on a new attack plan. 

“Rodger that, any injuries on your side?” Steve asked, knowing Dustin would hear the underlying question that he couldn’t bare to ask.

“A couple, but nothing life threatening. You?”

“One,” Steve said until Eddie nudged him and he remembered his own bloody head wound, “Er, two, but nothing life threatening here either.”

“Good.” Dustin sounded as relieved as Steve felt, “Then get your asses somewhere safe. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you in the morning.”

Steve took a deep breath and let the knowledge that his friends were alright soothe the remnants of anxiety clustered in his chest. They were alright, they were all alright. 

“Okay, now that Mama Bear is soothed, where are we going?” Billy caved in the moment of peace, “I’m not carrying Hagan all over the town so it better be near by.”

“Thought you were enjoying carrying me, Hargrove.” Tommy smirked.

“Never said that.”

“Didn’t have to.” Tommy grinned salaciously.

Steve watched Billy visibly think about dropping him and decide against it. 

“Keep talking shit and I give you to Munson.” 

Tommy narrowed his eyes, “You wouldn’t.” 

“I wouldn’t carry you either.” Eddie made a face, “Pretty sure you’d end up in the creek. You could swim next to us, like our own personal Hasselhoff. Hey, you guys think demofish are a thing yet?”

Steve winced, picturing all manner of deep sea fish he’d learned about in high school. Along with his already tumultuous relationship with water, the visual had his hands going clammy.

“No one is tossing anyone into anything cause Hagan is gonna be a gentleman, isn’t that right?” Billy asked with that menacing edge he seemed to be able to produce on the fly. Coming out of Steve that same sentence would have sounded like a nagging mother. 

Sometimes he envied Billy his role in their group. Just a little.

“I can’t promise anything.” Tommy muttered, “But I’m trying.”

That seemed to soften Billy a little, though only by fractions. He wasn’t the type to drop his guard all the way for pretty much anything. But in the middle of the multidimensional warzone Hawkins had become, one would be more likely to draw blood from a stone.

“‘Preciated.” Billy murmured in response, catching Tommy’s attention, “Now where in the fuck are we going?”

“How about Mel’s?” Steve suggested.

“The convenience store off main?” Eddie asked, poking his head around Tommy and Billy so he could see Steve.

“Yeah. It’s got bars on the windows, a security door, food, drinks--”

“Cigarettes.” Billy added, nodding along as thought his alone made the place viable.

“And booze.” Tommy pointed out, “I could use a shot. And so could this fucking bite, it itches.” 

“Might have to cut it off.” Billy said stoically, his poker face cracking at the look of sheer offense Tommy shot at him.

“No the fuck we will not.” 

“Seems like a good place to set up shop.” Eddie drummed the tip of his spear on his chin, full body wincing as he realized what he’d just done.

“Never been so happy about the idea of a wetnap bath.” Steve winced in sympathy for Eddie as he wretched.

Billy laughed so hard he almost dropped Tommy.

                                                            *

They made it to the convenience store with relative ease. Sure they had to fight a creature they had no name for to get inside, sure Tommy had puked when they realized the piece of meat Billy threw to distract it had been someone’s leg, but all told, it went better than Steve had thought it would.

Now they were barricaded inside, with Steve and Eddie rounding up ‘dinner’ while Billy tended Tommy’s wound.

“Never would have clocked you for a nurse, Hargrove.” Tommy said through his teeth as Billy dabbed blood away from the bite on his ankle with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“You’ve never talked to me before today for more than five minutes.” Billy muttered, pressing the whiskey and water soaked rag delicately against the outer edges of the wound.

Tommy groaned, his head tilting back as he tried to breathe past the sting of it. Billy handed him the bottle of liquor without looking. 

“Fuck, thanks.” Tommy spun the top off with one move, a practiced flourish that he’d done a hundred times as a party trick.

“Mmmhmm. It’s gonna need stitches, but you’re lucky.” Billy pinched the side of Tommy’s foot, all but ignoring the indignant ‘OW!’ the action produced, “Doesn’t look like it fucked up any nerves or tendons or shit. Hit the bone though, that’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Steve had seen Billy drop into this a couple times before. But the vertigo that had hit him the first time Billy helped him close up his wounds rather than causing them was still unmatched. Out of all of them, Billy was undoubtedly the closest thing they had to a field medic. 

“Thank you, doctor Hargrove.” Steve smiled a little at Billy, not entirely surprised when the ghost of a smile met him back.

He crouched down and let his bounty sprawl out in the space beside them. He’d grabbed as many things that were as close to actual foods as he could find. Canned chili, Vienna sausages, spam, even canned veggies. Eddie, of course, had gone the opposite route and rounded up as much junk food as his arms could carry.

“There was a generator when I poked my head in the back,” Eddie popped back up as soon as he set down his haul, “It’s getting dark and as much as I’d love to have a romantic candle lit dinner with you guys, that’s more of a third date kind of thing.”

“I’m pretty sure this counts as a third date,” Steve glanced over at Eddie, “If we’re going by Upside Down related bullshit.”

“We’re on our third, Sunshine and Flash Thomson are still new. Ish.” 

“Why does he get a comic book character and I get ‘Sunshine’?” Billy groused, “And this isn’t a date, Munson.”

Eddie sauntered on towards the back, “Why not? The adrenaline, the bonding, the fear of fucking it all up, it’s got the right vibes.”

“You haven’t been on a single date have you?” Tommy asked at the same time Billy said, “Because I have higher fucking standards for my dates.”

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders vaguely and disappeared around the corner into the back.

“God he’s fucking weird.” Tommy muttered.

“He grows on you.” Steve shrugged.

“Like mold.” Billy agreed.

                                                          *

Ultimately, Eddie did get the generator running, and they managed to heat up their food on the little radiator Billy found tucked behind the counter. Steve never would have thought of that, even presented with the same options, wouldn’t have managed to heat the food as evenly as Eddie and Billy had even if he did.

Now their bellies were full, and they were passing around a bottle of raspberry vodka that Billy had deemed ‘too sugary’ to clean Tommy’s wound with.

“So,” Tommy interrupted the mostly companionable silence they’d been sharing for the last few minutes, “You guys have been stuck hiding out from monsters before, what’s traditional to pass the time?”

Steve breathed out a laugh, rolling his eyes while Billy took the bottle from Tommy to down another swig.

“Usually we take watches, but nothing followed us in here. Probably still should.” Steve answered.

“Okay, should have been more specific, what do you do that isn’t boring as all fuck?”

“In my experience, usually the paralyzing bone deep fear keeps it from being too boring.” Eddie shrugged, “But this is a pretty nice set up we’ve got going, spoiled punk like you could call it boring.”

Tommy threw an M&M at him, which Eddie caught in his mouth. Billy applauded and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer offense on Tommy’s face yet again.

“I was going to ask if anyone wanted to play a drinking game like a normal bunch of dudes but I should have fucking known better.” 

“Hey you’re not normal anymore either.” Eddie argued from around his misbegotten treat, “When that bite scars, you’re not gonna be able to just explain it. That puts you right at the weirdo table with the rest of us.”

A look passed over Tommy’s face a little too fast for Steve to catch, “You… all have scars?”

Billy grunted but Tommy’s eyes were on Steve. 

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, “Plenty.”

Eddie lifted up the bottom of his shirt to show off the scars the demobats had left him. They hadn’t healed smoothly, the skin there largely being grafted from his back, which while also having suffered damage, wasn’t as gnarly to look at as his sides were. Eddie didn’t seem too put out, though Steve knew him well enough to know how well he could lock down his insecurities. 

“Stevie’s got matching ones, but these are from like six months ago.” Eddie let his shirt back down, “Bats.”

Tommy looked a little queasy, still hadn’t blinked since Eddie had lifted up his shirt.

“Didn’t get bats. Liquid people monster.” Billy’s voice was tight with emotion he would sooner die than show in front anyone else, “Fucked me up pretty bad.”

That was an understatement if Steve had ever heard one. Billy had been in critical condition for three weeks, and then spent the next eight months recovering. They still didn’t know everything going on with him, other than that in addition to super strength, his blood was now basically battery acid. 

“No scars?” Tommy asked, though his voice was much softer than Steve was accustomed to hearing it.

Billy sighed, sitting up to strip off his top. He only hesitated a moment before he was pulling it up and off of himself.

In the center of his chest was a dent with tightly stretched pink skin across it. The skin was almost shiny and so thin when he breathed Steve could easily see the bones through it. On either of his sides, the skin was similar to Eddie’s though the wounds were single points rather than jagged collectives. Some of the musculature on his left side was also concave, missing where it hadn’t been able to heal properly. 

Steve heard Tommy’s intake of breath, knew he was comparing what he saw with what he knew Billy had looked like before. To Steve surprise he wasn’t recoiling in horror, wasn’t spewing venom to cover for the fear it must have seeded in him.

“Well shit.” He whispered, “Should I ask what the other guy looks like?”

Billy laughed, softly at first before it seemed to take root and he couldn’t stop. He tilted over, laughing so hard tears formed at the corners of his eyes. 

“What?” Tommy asked, when it was clear Billy wouldn’t be able to answer him, “I know I’m a riot but I’m pretty sure I’m not that funny.”

“The other guy was a four-story tall melted people monster that got taken out by a little girl and an assload of fireworks.” Steve explained, “Billy looks way better than it did.”

“Hey Munson, you want to pass me back that bottle?” Tommy shuddered.

“Yeah, take a double man.”

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan #stranger things #mungrove #harringrove #steddie #stommy #i don't think the other ships have names? #ha³son

[elslovers]

chapter one

BLOOD IN BLOOD OUT

synopsis: medical school is hard you knew it would be you prepared for the long nights and breakdowns you prepared to run off only coffee and will power for four years what you didn't prepare for was Abby Anderson you thought after graduation you would be done with her but first day of your internship there she is ready to give you hell...and maybe something more

a/n this is basically going to be greys anatomy tlou version im not sure this is gonna land with people but lord I hope so doctor abby eats so lets see how this go - also this is my first not standalone fic yay for me

you had always been a healer in one way or another, mending healing sick younger siblings back to health from a cold or nasty flu turned to taking care of your friend's hangovers after discovering to never vodka and tequila

you've spent your whole life healing people mending broken hearts and broken women, and mending parents and friends during the lows of their life it only made sense that you would dedicate your life to mending the pain of others its what you do best, and if you're being honest, you loved it at first, you thought you might want to be a vet at the ripe age of eleven. You decided you prepared the company of your pets to those around you (you still do) and thought fixing them might be a decent way to spend your adult life but the concept of seeing animals in any form of pain put you off your dinner then in middle school, you thought maybe a nurse you liked the idea of a hospital, the concept of working alongside brilliant doctors and helping save people's lives by realizing you only wanted to be a nurse because you thought you couldn't be the doctor and fuck that

college, you spent every second of every minute of every goddamn day proving you deserved to be one of the doctors, and after four years of grueling pre-med classes, you were confident you deserved to be one of the doctors then came med school, which knocked you flat on your ass. You didn't go to a shabby school for undergrad, but you ran circles around your peers there - common knowledge was that you were the one to watch, but med school was different you weren't running the circles alone Abby Anderson had been breathing down your neck and your ego from the moment you stepped foot into your first class - the first question your professor asked your two hands were the only ones to fly up

it was world war three ever since that day constantly an all-out battle as to who can bruise the other's ego more you hated her stupid notes and the way she was so above using an iPad like everyone else and was insistent on surviving med school with pen and paper for notes, only using her laptop when needed be you hated her attitude. Her father is a doctor, and she always acted like she was born with a scalpel in her hand, ready to cut she always acted so above you if you were being honest with yourself, Abby made you feel weak. She was tailor-made for this life. She was stoic and hard level headed and cool under pressure. She poked fun at all the things that made you you

she made fun of the way you doodled in the edges of your textbook she made fun of how you dressed 'like an overgrown toddler.' She would say every time you sported your colorful shirts or pants, your cardigans or fun shoes- the day you wore pigtails to a lecture was one of the worst of your years there Abby always quipped that you were better-suited teaching kindergarten than in the OR, and sometimes you started to believe her

in high school, mean girls were blondes with Jeeps and low GPAs, but in med school, the mean girl was a cut-throat soon to be doctor who almost beat you out for top of the class almost

graduation day came and when and you stood on that stage beaming ear to ear - your dress may have been pink, but you were the only one with a gold cord draped over your cap and gown so suck on that, Abby Anderson was the second name to be called and the relief that flooded your body was unexpected

it was over. She was gone, and you would never have to feel that big hand wrap around your shoulder just to tug at your ponytail you had finally gotten rid of Abby fucking Anderson and you existed blissfully with that thought all summer you'd accepted your internship at Jackson Hospital and after four miserable years of med school spent proving to yourself you deserve to be a doctor, you now got to spend the next four years of your life proving to yourself you deserve to save lives when your alarm echoed throughout the four walls of your one-bedroom apartment, it felt like a gift

today was the first day of the rest of your life

it was a fresh start - a clean slate and nothing in this world could knock you off your high at least you thought

the light blue scrubs felt like a second skin right off the bat, and with your hair in a pink clip and two cups worth of coffee In your travel mug, you gathered around the other interns and spotted the only thing that could ruin your day a honey blonde braid hanging idly down the pack of the one person who could make you regret even waking up that morning

fucking Abby

Abby had a special gift for making you feel small, always pointing out the things you love about yourself as if they were the worst flaws she'd ever seen

it blew your mind to think your first impression of her was that she was stunning

"you have got to be kidding me" You meant it to sound firm and harsh, but you know it came out weak

you watched, gawking as Abby turned roughly on her heels to tower over you properly

this was going to be a nightmare

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

to say Abigail Anderson was meant to be a surgeon would be the understatement of the year

where you were born to heal

Abby was born to cut

her father was a healer,

but what she lacked in his warmth she made up for in discipline. Abby was controlled. She was hard-working. She knew what she wanted from the moment she was old enough to vocalize it and she spent every moment of every day working toward it. It would be admirable if she was humble about it but Abby was cocky, and she knew it

she was always the one to beat all throughout her life she spent most of her young childhood inside the walls of Jackson Hospital, absorbing every ounce of knowledge her mind could, and by the time she hit high school, she was a well-oiled goddamn machine Abby lived and breathed medicine, and although out college, every move she made had the sole purpose of bringing her closer to the goal - to the one thing she was made to do it is needless to say, Abby never had many friends. That's not to say she had none. Every overachieving perfectionist can attest that various social clubs help fill the void

Abby was president of the debate team Vice President of Model UN, captain of the girl's basketball team, and an active member of the gay, straight alliance per her father's request (begging) who often worried Abby didn't surround herself with 'people on your team' as he father would put it over breakfast most mornings

Abby had people but Abby was alone. She didn't play nice with others people who weren't on her level she found boring and impossible to converse with and people on her level (people like you) posed as a threat to the territory that was rightfully hers Abby walked confidently into med school posy undergrad, convinced no one could take the wind out of her sails until she met you

for every question asked you always seemed to have the answer a second faster for every quiz test or exam that she got an A on it always felt as though you got an A + she hated the way you showed her up and did so with a smile - did so with fucking pigtails

she hated how good you got and how kind you stayed she spent years convincing herself that the way she was is what it took to become bright that warm girls sweet girls girls who doodle and play nice don't become cut throat and that Abby was made to be cut throat

but there you were personified sunshine and holding a fucking dagger to her throat it seemed unfair so when you made her feel low Abby would make you feel lower she knew her teasing and taunts were pathetic and bordering on cruel but for four years taking the wind out of your sails put it back into hers

she would be a liar if she said tequila and late nights in her apartment didn't force her to think about how soft and broken your face looks when she teases you she would be a liar if she said those thoughts didn't want to make her stop but they just were never enough when she sobered up

after graduation all she could feel was relief sure you had one for a final time you pulling top the class out from under her would chase her down in her nightmares for years to come but she had the summer to nurse her pride and by the time day one of internship rolled around she was prepared to walk though the doors of Jackson hospital exactly what she was A legacy Abby was the second link in the chain of Anderson surgons in that hospital

her father was legend and now she could follow it up build her own reputation of excellence she like he had always intended when she gathered around the other interns sipping on her coffee as they all spoke in hushed whispers about how she was the daughter of THE dr Anderson she was confident nothing could bring her down until she heard your voice small and weak and taunting as she whips around her braid nearly hitting someone in the face

"oh come the fuck on" she hissed feeling the anger rising right to her cheeks

this was going to be a nightmare

#IRISWRITES #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson au #medstudentaby #modern!abby

[dashalbrundezimmer]

wohnpark alterlaa // wien liesing

the large housing estate alt-erlaa is a fascinating complex. you might think that such a settlement for 9,000 people should be barren and dreary, but that is exactly the opposite here. it is so green that you sometimes feel like you are in a forest or park. the blocks are so overgrown with green balconies that you wonder if the people have already disappeared and nature has taken everything back. this impression was also due to the fact that i encountered relatively few people except in the shopping arcade, even though it was the middle of the day. the blocks house a complete infrastructure with rooftop pools, swimming pools, solariums, saunas and indoor playgrounds, as well as the aforementioned shopping mall, which has a complete range of services. pavilion buildings with doctors, kindergarten and so on round off the offer.

construction time: 1973-1985

architects: harry glück, requat & reinthaller & partner, 

#moderne #austria #vienna #wien #post war modern #post war architecture #vienna post war architecture #austrian post war architecture #vienna post war modern #austrian post war modern #nachkriegsarchitektur #nachkriegsmoderne #high rise #grosssiedlung #nachkriegsarchitektur wien #nachkriegsarchitektur österreich #nachkriegsmoderne österreich #nachkriegsmoderrne wien #monochrome #black and white photography #architecture #photography #architecture photography #urban photography #urban #harry glück #requat & reinthaller & partner #sci fi

[just-antithings]

I remember having classmates at 14 who looked like overgrown kindergarteners and then others who already had D cups or could grow a full mustache. We didn't even look as though we'd all been born in the same decade much less year. If you lined up an average 8th grade class by height the difference would be something like 30-50 cm. This is literally just how human puberty works

yep yep

#mod erin #ask

[chaifootsteps]

Log anon here, yeah, the log thing happened in kindergarten and I’m pretty sure I was around 10 when the swimming teacher event happened, my family and I think that’s why I haven’t been able to swim nowadays

Anyways something i’ve remembered is that when I was really young, I liked to play with actual tea cups. My parents stopped me after I, while they watched me, slammed two tea cups together and got some in my eyes

I also grew up with overgrown adenoids due to sleeping in bean bags a lot and shoving the beans up my nose while I was the same age

If you’re interested, I can tell ya the fire-poker revenge story and note, I was also in kindergarten for that story as well

Please do.

#Anonymous #actual blog post #log anon

[rose-lizzzy]

Shrubnoth AU Masterpost [Main Timeline]

Message by Geekord: I did this because I was extremely bored, and because I love this Au so much. uwu

1. Beginnings  2. Arriving to the land  3. Meeting the Wither Rose  4. Bothering the Wizard  5. The Wizard's questions  6. Tempting the King  7. Just Joey.  8. Meeting the Elf  [Ask] Shrub's loyalty  [Ask] Shrub's loyalty pt. 2  9. Need  [Ask] Gaslighting Joey  [Ask] Do Sausage and Joey know about Shrub's?  [Ask] Katherine  10. Shrub goes to the Crystal Cliffs  11.No one can help me  12. Shrub visits Katherine  [Ask] Corrupted Gem?  13. A note  [Ask] What if the note failed? 14. To the End  15. The Dragon Falls  16. Gem saw her fall  17. Shrub goes to the Grimlands  [Ask] Wolf Spirit?  [Ask] Havoc in the Overgrown?  18. Waking up with wolves  19. Shrub goes to the Overgrown  [Ask] Katherine's hope   [Ask] Gem and Katherine on Shrub  [Ask] Twice Kidnapped  [Ask] Shrub opinion of Exor  20. The Rivendell meeting  [Ask] Shrub is a drama queen  21. Shrub attacks  [Ask] Scott's hope [Ask] I told you so  [Ask] Kidnapping in Mythland  22. Puppet  [Ask] Fusion  [Ask] Don't harm the elf  [Ask] Shrub on Shrub  [Ask] Corrupted Gem? pt.2  23. Puppet pt.2  [Ask] Corrupted Witch Shelby?  [Ask] Hug  24. Gem and Scott get kidnapped  25. Escape  [Ask] What comes after Xornoth to Shrub?  26. Enough is enough  [Ask] Shrub's head  [Ask] Shrub's family from her perspective  27. Everything hurt  [Ask] Xornoth is just tired of her  28. A normal day of collecting wood by Fwhip  29. Waking up  [Ask] Punishment for something you didn't have control over  [Ask] Katherine's speech  30. I don't know why  [Ask] Shrub's head 2  31. Guess who's back?  [Ask] A little comfort  [Ask] Cloud of Corruption  [Ask] Pearl  [Ask] If you think about it  [Ask] Corrupted Witch Shelby 2  [Ask] Revenge  32. Hey.. Shrub...come back..  [Ask] Kindergarten insults  33. Mushroom Stew  [Ask] Head Empty  [Ask] Guilt  34. The spell  [Ask] Communication Skills  [Ask] Why didn't she attack?  35. For once, her head was quiet  36. Healing a bit  37. Sketching  [RB] FANART!!!  38. Mythical Sausage was slain by Geminitay  39. Scheduling a meeting 40. Nightmare  41. Shrub in a shrub        41.1 Shrub in a shrub (Shrub's perspective)  42. Prepare  [Ask] Crush  43. Found you  44. Scott to the rescue  45. The meeting  46. The meeting pt. 2  47. The meeting pt. 3  48. The meeting pt. 4  [Ask] How far will the AU go?  49. Shrub, the brave gnome  50. Surprise! It's time for a kidnap [Ask] Altar (not canon)  [Ask] "Oh, shut up"  [Ask] More Nature Wives fluff  [Ask] Habits  [Ask] Habits pt.2  51. "Hello Shrub"  [Ask] Habits pt.3  52. Friends  53. vs Joey  54. Victory

[xoxo-bunnydumpling]

"But Elon Musk has done so many good things!"

Do you know how many wicked smart and capable CHILDREN never get to grow up to be smarter and more capable than Musk could ever dream of being because they get ground down into the dirt by an education system that decides in Kindergarten that they can never afford college so why fucking bother? Stop giving this overgrown trust fund asshole more clout and more money. Invest in education if you wanna see a bunch of poor kids rise up, do the damn thing, and unseat him.

Always bet on people who grew up poor. We're hungry, we're resourceful, we just need some dollas.

#elon musk #trust fund dickhead #education #growing up poor

[shinranweek]

Prompt: “I wish I could tell you that I love you.”

Rating: Gen

Word count: 752

Link: AO3

De lover oss gull og grønne skoger.

“They promised us green and golden forests.”

She sees him again but not at the reading, as not all of them come; there are kids that are too sick, too proud or too out of everything. The head nurse calls his name in surprise and when she turns, he’s already at the door.

I thought you weren’t coming to the reading, Conan-kun, the head nurse says.

The boy looks at neither of them but out of the window. I heard a scops-owl, he says.

They are left alone. The activity room is quiet now; under the summer sun the trees outside stretch their branches, the leaves yawn under breeze. She asks him if he’d like to have a book. He accepts it, turns it in his hands. She doesn’t hear the owl, but her classmates scuffling down the corridor, the therapy dog whimpering as someone hugs it and says goodbye.

They’re for children, he says.

She agrees. They are.

He frowns down at the pages. The kelp forests in Australia; the feathered dinosaur bones. Cosmic explosions that happen far, far away and long, long ago, they are already prolonged funerals when they’re known. The turning world.

You didn’t come to the reading.

The boy shrugs. It’s for children, too.

She looks at him and says nothing. He can’t be older than nine years old. In his striped hospital gown he looks small; his hair sticks out to every direction and she craves to bring a comb down the overgrown bangs, the untamed cowlick. His face is open without glasses.

I understand concepts impossible for eight-year-olds, he says abruptly before she raises her hand, the gaze on her as fixed as a harrier, she thinks. Or shark. Yet they think I’m impersonating my older brother because he died.

She blinks. Your brother?

The silence she swallows swells in her throat. The boy’s gaze shifts. A few blinks, he seems startled, taken back, even apologetically. That’s what they told me. I just thought I should be honest with you. 

She tries to smile.     

Here is it again, the boy says. 

A glimpse flickers up, then the tiniest frown slides off his face as he looks away, out the window again. Beyond the aluminum frames the woods slope up to a sky she could not see. 

The owl?

Japanese scops-owl.

I didn’t hear it. What does it sound like?

Like an untuned honk of a car, he says. This time she smiles, though he doesn’t. Exasperated, he grabs her wrists and yanks her toward the window; she leans to his pull. It’s true. Just listen!

She shut sher eyes and listens. She hears wind, faraway traffic and two squabbling bulbuls. Her classmates are gone; she has told them to leave her behind. The boy lets go of her. It stops, he says.

I have a friend who can hoot to owls, she finds herself saying. Behind her eyelids she pictures a yard she has never visited, a boy she should’ve never seen. He was in America before kindergarten. They have backyard owls.

She hears two hoots, low and lament, hollow as an ancient tree. Her heart pounds when she opens her eyes and sees the boy bringing his palms closed around his mouth. In summer sun pours between trees his eyes are cerulean, as the evening sky that would dome them hours later.

It’s easy, he grins.

It surely is, she thinks, but not everything else.

I’m sorry, all of a sudden he chuckles and shakes his head, brows unfurling on his young face. I’m being rude again. I didn’t catch your name.

Ran, she says.

Ran, he repeats. He stares at her, thoughtful, lips slightly apart. The tip of his tongue touches the roof of his mouth as he reportions the name in his mind. Ran.

Yes, she confirms quietly. She searches his face and hopes to see a sign but there’s nothing; his face falls blank. Ask a question, she thinks. Ask anything. Ask my family name, where I live, where I go to school. He must’ve seen the logo of Teitan on her uniform but he makes no deduction. He asks nothing.

I have to go, instead he says. Slowly, he tucks the book under his arm and climbs up from the bench. Ran watches as he leaves, does not say goodbye, does not ask if she’ll come see him again. At last she bends and cries into her palms. Then, she hears the owl.

#submission #ShinRanWeek2023 #Day 5 #Prompt: I wish I could tell you that I love you #author: FeatherDragon #Conan has amnesia

[bt2u]

Please leave a comment below on what you think about the story (or picture)

It was Monday 7:55am. CRAP! I had forgotten to set my alarm! I had a job interview over Zoom at 8am! I quickly roll out of bed and went to my desk and opened my laptop. I checked my email for the Zoom link the interviewer sent me, and I clicked on it, which automatically opened the Zoom program and I was now in the chat lobby. “You are the first one here popped up” on the screen.

“Phew…” I made it. Then I remembered I was in only my underpants! I needed to get dressed, since it was a video interview!

“Crap!” I got out of my chair and looked at the big basket of laundry I had done the night before—I let out a heavy sigh, because all of my work clothes were in there. I got out of my chair, and bent over to try and find my work clothes, at least for a shirt. As I started to frantically find some clothes, the female interview enters the zoom call…however I was too focused on finding clothes that I hadn’t noticed. I also had turned on my camera as well, so the all the interviewer could see was my underwear clad butt right up near the camera.

Now, this wouldn’t had been so bad if I was wearing my usual boxers, but in additional to having no work clothes from the day before, I also had no boxers, so I had to worn a pair of joke underwear a friend gave me last Christmas—WHITE BRIEFS WITH YELLOW DUCKIES!

“Mr. (My last name)!” I heard a feminine voice coming out of my monitor speaker.

I turned around to see my interviewer—who was going to be my supervisor get the job—in complete shock.

“Ahh!” I screamed and quickly jumped back into my seat to conceal my briefs. “I’m so sorry…I was just getting dre..”

She interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it! I will not accept such unprofessional behavior during an interview…If you don’t even have the decency to put on clothes for an interview, or at least some more flattering underwear, then you certainly are not fit to work here.

“But, but…”

“Goodbye, Mr. (Last name), and may I suggest you lose the kindergarten briefs?!”

The screen does black meaning she ended the call.

I crawled back into bed, still in my briefs, and hoped to forgot about this embarrassing moment.

Later that day, I was scrolling through Reddit to find some job interviewing tips when I stumbled upon a subreddit dedicated to funny/weird job interviews. I click on the trending post, and the first running I see is a picture of my butt covered in the infamous ducky briefs, along with a few other screen grabs with my face in it. The title was DO NOT INTERVIEW THIS MAN! The post went on to say what transpired, claiming I was some “weird kinky perv” and to not interview me, and even included my name and other information. What’s worse we’re some of the comments:

“Ewww! Invest is some new underwear, you weirdo!”

“Rubber Ducky, you’re definitely NOT the one [getting a job]”

“The title should be—‘DON’T INTERVIEW THIS MAN CHILD’”

“Are you sure he’s not some overgrown 5-year-old?”

These were just some of the many comments I saw.

What’s worse was that I had a few job interviews coming up that suddenly canceled on me, and while most simply just said they found somebody else, a couple brought up the leaked pictures and cracked jokes about my choice in underwear.

#briefs #eum #men in tighty whitey #white underpants #embarrassed #underoos #cartoon briefs

[icezansky]

sometimes teenagers are just overgrown kindergarteners and I love them for it

#[bounding across the room] Ms [lastname] look I have a sticker! #an actual convo I just had #I love my children #katie text

[hardlyinteresting]

Trailmix

Frankie Morales x GN!reader

For @writer-wednesday even though it's now Thursday. (shhh, I won't tell if you don't!) Frankie's weekly hike leads to finding an unexpected friend Warnings: I don't think there are any, but let me know if you want me to add something. Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

It had started as a fun thing to do with his daughter on visitation weekends. Little grabby hands in his hair while she sat on his shoulders rambling about her kindergarten classmates, and almost every leaf, bug, and the woodland creature she could see. Hiking was simply a good way to get outside, to teach her some of the things his dad had taught him, poison ivy-- leaves of three let it be, and all that good stuff. It was well worth the bruises from her tiny kicking feet on his chest, to see his kid learning to see and love the world around her.

After that first hike, it had become his favourite pass time, something for them to do together, and on the weeks he didn’t have her, it became an excellent way to clear his mind, and he won’t complain about it being decent exercise. Hikes became occasional camping trips, and new backpacks and tents were purchased; a welcomed change of pace for his survival skill set. 

She isn’t with him today as he makes his day trip along the trail, trekking up the hills towards the lookout point, stopping occasionally to take photos of flowers, butterflies, and snails (his daughter’s new favourite creature) to show her when he sees her next. The buzz of the cicadas in the trees seems louder than usual without any joyful babbling to keep his mind occupied. It’s not all bad having tome to himself, but there’s a loneliness that lingers, he has yet to learn to be good company to himself. The fear of where his mind might wander to much darker times scares him away from venturing into that inner world. Avoidant, his therapist says. He won’t deny it. 

It doesn’t take him long to get to the top of the biggest hill looking out at the little valley below. He snaps a quick photo before shifting his backpack off his back to grab some water. He’s not sure how long he spends crouched in the grass under the shade of a tree, sipping from his bottle and snacking on trail mix, but it’s long enough for him to settle into his surroundings relaxing his shoulders and levelling his breathing. And then it hits him. A gigantic wet kiss across his face and then another, and there's a set of paws pressing into his chest and his collarbone. More smooches. He struggles to keep his eyes open, between avoiding slobber and holding back laughter as he tries to settle the big chocolate lab down. Satisfied with the amount of love he’s managed to give Frankie the overgrown puppy plops down on his rump, tail still wagging wildly, tongue out and panting with glee. “Who do you belong to, hmm?” Frankie wonders aloud, trying to get a look a the dog's collar. The dog surges forward to offer more kisses, which Frankie politely declines, gently guiding the dog to lay next to him, head settled in his lap. “Chewy,” Frankie reads the tag, flipping it over he finds a phone number. He takes a picture of Chewy, his new friend, saving it to the camera roll before sending it off with a text;  I think this is your dog. It’s not long before his phone dings with the response Omg thank you thank you thank you!!! Where are you? Frankie replies that he’s at the lookout point and happy to hang out with Chewy for a while. Chewy is a good dog, loving, and calm. His head doesn’t move from Frankie’s lap as he starts to dose off and Frankie can’t help but feel himself growing sleepy, a tranquillity he hasn’t felt in a very long time falling over him as he pets the dog. “Chewy!” a voice interrupts the pair's power nap. Chewy’s head pops up at his name, he stands up tail wagging, tongue ready to leave goober kisses once again as his owner approaches. “You scared me half to death!” you speak crouching down to be affectionately tackled by puppy lover “A friendly guy,” Frankie laughs. “Thank you so much for watching him. He never wanders off-- I don’t know why he did today--he was there, and then--” “It’s no problem really,” Frankie interrupts your panicked rambling, “I was glad to have some company”. “Good nap?” you smile, “Chewy loves a good nap” you laugh scratching under chewy’s chin. “So, Chewy? Like Star Wars? Chewbacca?” His question is met with a shy nod, “Yeah. And he really likes chewing on things. Especially, old plastic bottles”. “He’s a good dog,” Frankie says. “He is. A very good friend, a good hiking partner,” you grin as Chewy wanders back to Frankie for more petting, “Do you come here often?” The accidental pick up line has the tips of his ears turning pink, “Yeah. weekends mostly”. “You have a little girl right? I think I’ve seen you guys around”. Frankie nods, not able to hide his proud smile at the mention of his daughter, “Yeah, she’s with her mom this weekend. It’s just me today”. “Well, you have my number now. If you ever want some company, I’m sure Chewy would be happy to join you,” you laugh as Chewy tries to get his nose into Frankie’s bag of trail mix. “And you? Would you like to hike sometime?” his heart pounds as he asks it. “Any time”. 

#writer wednesday #writer-wednesday #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character x reader

[wawa-boonliang]

Flufftober Day One: I've Got You

Summary: this is based on my BNHA fic Never and Always, Eventually found here

Aizawa was retired. He wasn't a teacher. Technically he wasn't a Pro. Even more technically, he wasn't a consultant to the agencies of the overgrown children he used to call students, for all that they still called him for his experienced opinion every other day. He absolutely hated that they did this. He wasn't at all warmed by the reminder he was still important to them, so many years after they'd left his classes.

Years. It had been years. He wasn’t ancient by any means, having just had his fifty-sixth birthday that month.

(He was surprised despite everything when he came home one day to two dozen brats making themselves busy, the smell of fragrant food in the air and a beautiful five-tiered cake sitting on his coffee table surrounded by a small mountain of poorly wrapped packages.)

But most heroes who survived to retirement age retired early. Joints didn’t last forever. Neither did hearts or lungs. The extreme physical and mental trauma heroes put up with sped up the aging process by a good margin. 

Nowadays, he busied himself by looking over cold cases and puzzling over them for the hell of it, to give his brain something to do. He went on walks. He napped as much as he goddamned felt like it. He sometimes went to work with Hizashi and watched from the corner of the room as he did his radio shows.

Occasionally (often) he’d be watching some snot-nosed toddler or preschooler or kindergartener or elementary schooler that was the progeny of his old students. He always (never) reprimanded them when they referred to him as “Grandadzawa”.

(Hizashi had cried the first time Iida Akari had called him “PawPaw Mic.)

In any event, he was retired and happy to be. Which was why he furrowed his brow in confusion when he got a call from Detective Tsukauchi, who somehow hadn’t retired yet himself. For a moment, he considered not answering it. But what if it was important? What if he regretted it later? Aizawa sighed deeply. Hizashi looked up from the couch from where he was playing a game on his phone that Kaminari had introduced to him. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m not sure,” Aizawa answered, briefly glancing over in his direction. The years had been kind to Hizashi. His hair was still mostly blonde, still thick and healthy. His eyes still shone with intelligence and, more often than not, mischief. The lines on his face were from laughter, and the slight stoop in his shoulder only made it easier to hug (his grandchildren) random children they had no personal affiliation with. 

With hesitation, Aizawa answered the call.

“Eraserhead,” Tsukauchi’s voice sounded anxious, but not frantic. 

“Not anymore,” Aizawa interrupted him.

“Well, we need him. Or, at least, your quirk.”

“I’m sure the some fifty-odd pro heroes you’re in contact with are more than enough to deal with–”

“It’s Mindjack.”

Aizawa froze. 

Sensing his opportunity, Tsukauchi hurried to get the rest of his request out. “There was a villain attack downtown, a new one. We didn’t know their quirk going in, but it seems to cause some kind of fear reaction. He won’t let anyone near him without attacking, and we’re not sure how long it will take for the quirk to wear out on its own.”

“Where downtown?” Aizawa’s shoes were already on, and he was halfway out the door.

“Baby?” Hizashi called after him.

“It’s Hitoshi!” Aizawa shouted back, not bothering to move the phone away from his mouth, listening with one ear as Tsukauchi gave him directions. By the time Aizawa had started the car, Hizashi had clambered in next to him.

“Can you give me anything else?” Aizawa demanded. “What’s his status?”

“He took some damage and the villain escaped–”

“I don’t fucking care about the villain, how injured is my kid?” Hizashi stiffened and took the phone from Aizawa, smoothly putting it on speaker and holding it between them.

“A laceration to the upper leg and a mild burn on his left shoulder. Other than that, he doesn’t seem to be injured aside from having been knocked around a bit.” Aizawa bit down on a growl. That was vague enough to potentially mean anything from a few bruises to internal bleeding. “I’ve got to go, it’s getting out of control. What’s your ETA?”

“Out of control?!” Hizashi demanded.

“Mindjack is attacking my men–”

“We’ll be there in five,” Aizawa spat out, slamming on the gas and yanking the steering wheel to the right, swerving through an intersection. The flashing of red and blue lights flickered to life behind them, a siren sounding. Aizawa ignored it, speeding up.

“He’ll be okay, Shouta,” Hizashi said, though it would have been more soothing if he didn’t sound panicked himself. “He’ll be okay, and we’ll take him home, and we’ll call Fumikage and we’ll all have a nice night in…”

Shouta let himself focus on the road and on Hizashi’s babbling, ignoring the sirens and the sound of the cop behind them shouting for them to pull over. Three minutes later, they were at the site of the attack, leaping from the car. The two of them gave the cop who had been following them no mind as they passed Tsukauchi. “Take care of that imbecile,” Shouta snapped at one of his men before turning to the detective. “Where’s my son?”

“ GET AWAY !” 

Shouta whipped his head towards the familiar voice. There was Hitoshi in all his 6’3” glory, hair a wild mane and capture weapon flying with deadly accuracy at the other pros trying to calm him down. 

“Dad!” Pro Hero Pikachu bounded over to him. “He’s not too badly injured, but he’s freaking out real bad. I don’t think he recognizes any of us.” Aizawa nodded at him, taking in the other faces around them. Red Riot was there, as was Sweet Cheeks and Princey and a few other Pros who weren’t as important. Red Riot was closest, taking direct hits with his quirk and speaking in a low, soothing tone, though he kept getting pushed back by Hitoshi’s weapon.

“Everyone, back away!” Aizawa ordered them, striding forward, Hizashi at his back. 

“We’ve got this, babies,” Mic assured them. “Just leave it to us.”

“Dad!” “Papa!” “Père~”

Aizawa spared a glance for them before focusing entirely on Hitoshi, his quirk activated. Now that he was closer, he was able to see Hitoshi’s chest heaving with frantic breaths, a thick sheen of sweat on his face, his eyes in panicked flares and his skin pale. Using his quirk didn’t seem to be doing anything.

“ NO! NO! You’re not real. I know you’re not real. It’s a trick. YOU CAN’T FOOL ME!”

Aizawa dodged the capture weapon as it came flying towards him, moving in closer. “Toshi,” Aizawa called, voice low. Hitoshi’s eyes flicked towards him, and he hesitated. “Sweetheart,” Aizawa gentled his voice more. “It’s just me. Mic’s here, too.”

“No…No you’re dead.”

“Why would you think that, lil’ listener?” Hizashi crept closer, taking the opportunity now that Hitoshi had stopped using his weapon. Perhaps Aizawa really had managed to deactivate the quirk, and what remained was just some good old fashioned paranoia. Hitoshi let out a sob that pierced Aizawa’s chest. 

“I saw, I saw, I saw, I saw–”

Aizawa had reached him, wrapping a palm solidly around the back of his neck and pulling the hero into him. “It’s me, Hitoshi. It's just me. Whatever you saw was a part of the villain’s quirk, but it’s over now. It’s all over. It’s okay, Toshi.”

“Don’t use his face,” Hitoshi was struggling weakly, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him. “Don’t use his voice.” Hizashi came up behind him, wrapping them both up in his arms.

“It’s just us, buddy,” Hizashi cooed, pressing his lips to the top of Hitoshi’s sweaty hair. “It’s okay. Let’s get those injuries checked out, huh?”

Hitoshi wasn’t struggling anymore, but now he was trembling harshly. Though, when Aizawa pulled back a bit, he saw a bit more clarity in Hitoshi’s eyes. “D-dad?”

“It’s me, son,” Aizawa stroked his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

#flufftober #fanfiction #fanfic #bnha #dadzawa #eraserhead #asexual #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #writer #flufftober 2023 #hitoshi shinsou #wawa boonliang

[giggly-squiggily]

Eyyo!! I saw your event was reopened, so I figured I'd send another hc in if that's alright! No pressure of course tho, and I hope you're having a wonderful day!^^

I have a hc that sometimes whenever one of Hinata and Kageyama's bickering matches start getting out of hand, one or two of the third years, (usually Suga and Daichi, but Asahi will do it too if those two aren't around.) will just grab them and start tickling them until they apologize to eachother.

Headcanon to Dabbles Event: CLOSED!

Heyo friend! It's always alright! :D THIS IS CUTE!!! I Decided to go with Asahi for this one- he deserves more love :) This was really fun to write! I hope you like it :D

“Shut the hell up, Boke!”

“You shut up, you overgrown grump!”

Asahi panicked as he looked between the first years, his anxiety spiking with each new insult they threw at one another. They were…well, not quite fighting, but rather bickering. Nothing ever got too heated, but with the way things were going, Asahi was starting to fear the worst. “You two, stop it. What are you even mad about anyway?”

“He started it!” Hinata pouted childishly.

“No way, you started it!” Kageyama declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Nu uh!”

“Yeah hun!”

“Okay, stop it!” Asahi raised his voice, reaching out and pulling them apart by their shirts. “You two are in highschool, not kindergarten! Now apologize to one another!”

“No way!”

“He can suck my-”

Asahi blinked as he watched the pair fight once more, momentarily conflicted. A part of him wanted to go get Daichi, but he felt awful for bothering him so much. Sugawara was out sick today, meaning it was just him.

“Okay then.” Asahi decided, putting them back on their feet. “You two want to act like babies? I’ll treat you like ones!” With that, he shot his hands out, squeezing their sides gently.

“Ah! AHehahahahhahaha nohohohohohooho!” Hinata squealed, flailing about. Kageyama slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his giggles as his other hand clawed at Asahi’s trying to push him away. “Nohohohoohho! Asahi dohoohohn’t tihihickle!”

“Yes tickle! You two need to be nicer to one another! It’s better for the team morale!” Asahi smiled softly, happy to hear them laughing. “Are you sorry?”

“Ahhahahahhhahahahasahahahahi!” Both wailed.

“I’m waiting~” Asahi teased.

Eventually, when Hinata’s cheeks were red and sour, and Kageyama’s pig snorts were echoing across the gym, the boys gave in. “Wehehehhehehehere sahahahahhhahharry!” They both cackled, stumbling away as Asahi released them. “See? That wasn’t so bad was it?” He asked with a nod.

Kageyama wheezed, trying to glare. He turned to an equally exhausted Hinata, eyes dancing. “Oi, Boke. Help me take him down.”

“Hehe…alright.” Hinata giggled, looking just as dangerous.

Asahi blanched, looking between the pair with wide eyes as he took a step back. “C-Come on now…let’s not be hasty you two…”

They were in fact, quite hasty.

I hope this was good!

#headcanons to dabbles #haikyuu!! #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #asahi azumane #tickle #tickle dabble #fluff

[acrossthewavesoftime]

A Grave(s) in Berlin

Recently, I had the opportunity to visit the Sophienkirche in Berlin-Mitte, a hidden baroque treasure tucked away behind a row of grey 19th century houses whose walls still bear the scars of WW2.

Exterior of the Sophienkirche.

Those of you who have read my post on early modern ghost hunts will recall the fate of Sophie Luise zu Mecklenburg-Schwerin, third wife of Friedrich I., King in Prussia, from whom the church receives its name. At first, following her having been sent away from the Prussian court on account of an incident in which she, unaware of her surroundings due to her mental illness, had barged into her dying husband's bedroom covered in blood, the church was dubbed Spandauische Kirche according to its location in the Spandauer Vorstadt (Spandau Suburb) quarter. Curiously, Friedrich Wilhelm I., de facto stepson of Sophie Luise, had the name changed to its originally intended name Sophienkirche (Sophie's Church) a few years later.

Its tragic patron aside, the church can boast a few more celebrity connections: on 13 September 1964, Martin Luther King preached in the church on a surprise visit to East Berlin.

Interior of the Sophienkirche, viewed from the altar room.

But while I am always one for the particular charm of Prussian baroque architecture, another object of interest is located in the former churchyard.

The grave of Leopold (1795–1886) and Clara (1808-1871) von Ranke and their youngest son Albrecht (1849–1850) is easy to miss, seeing as it is located in a part of the former church grounds that has in recent history been converted into a playground for the church-owned kindergarten (am I a tad jealous that my run of the mill kindergarten did not have a playground with historic monuments in it? Absolutely.) and quite overgrown, which is a shame, considering the significance of Leopold and Clara.

Leopold von Ranke was a leading historian of the 19th century, often credited with shaping history as a scholarly discipline as we know it today and his wife Clara (Helena Clarissa, though she seems to have preferred the nickname Clara) was a leading salonnière in mid-19th century Berlin.

Having grown up academically in the shadow of Leopold, it is Clara who has captivated my interest. Helena Clarissa von Ranke, née Graves, was a member of the family I research and sometimes post about among the more light-hearted content. For those of you who do, suffice to say that Clara's great-great-grandfather Henry "Claymore" Graves and Admiral Samuel Graves's (the man around whom most of my research revolves) grandfather James John Graves were brothers.

Born in Dublin in 1808, Clara met Leopold von Ranke in Paris in July of 1843. They married the same year and moved to Berlin together, where the Rankes were renowned for their salon, visited by foreign and domestic intellectuals alike, two of the most famous of whom may have been the Brothers Grimm.

Historically, most of the historiography concerning the von Ranke family has mainly focussed on Leopold, and Leopold's work; which seems natural enough, given his importance to history as a modern academic discipline, but leaves out Clara's equally important role as her husband's equally academically-versed aide (among other things, she was competent in the use of 20 languages, half of whom she spoke fluently and sometimes did translations of Leopold's work into English) without whom a lot of his work would not have been quite so easily possible, an influential salonnière, and most importantly, a woman with literary ambitions (she was a poet, though found having her works published rather difficult), views and opinions on the politics of her time.

This is particularly vexing seeing as their granddaughter Ermentrude Bäcker-von Ranke was, according to different sources, either the first or second woman in Germany to study history and obtain a doctorate. Luckily, this changed in 2012 when Andreas Boldt's The Clarissa von Ranke Letters and the Ranke-Graves Correspondence 1843-1886 was published, allowing for a greater insight into Clara's everyday life as an integral and beloved part of the extended von Ranke family, her political opinions and friendships with influential people such as, to give only one example, Florence Nightingale.

While the Rankes were politically on a conservative spectrum in Germany, Clara maintained a keen interest in Irish politics and expressed her desire for a peaceful coexistence of Catholics and Protestants in the country.

The grave of Leopold and Clara von Ranke, viewed from a flowerbed on the other side of the fence.

I wish I could enclose a better picture of the von Ranke grave; alas, it now being situated in a kindergarten playground, there was no way to access it; a lovely lady who I believe was of the church's friend's association was however so kind as to, after checking for the keys to the gate and not finding them, give me the telephone number of the parish office, with whom a closer look at the grave might be arranged. A few pictures on Wikipedia indicate that they occasionally let people visit the premises, so I am hopeful that I might be lucky. Next time I am around, I might try and call them- stay tuned!

#graves family #leopold von ranke #clara von ranke #19th century #british history #irish history #german history #sophienkirche #berlin #history #my pics #my photography