#surprise ficlet for u guys

[penny-anna]

“I get it. You know? I get why you don’t wanna talk to him. But, like. You’re all each other have now. Right?”

“It’s not your business,” Vic tells him.

“I know,” says Shazam. “I know that.” He heaves a sigh. “I just – know what it’s like to have no-one.”

#my dc fic #dcu #shazam #billy batson #victor stone #cyborg #surprise ficlet for u guys

[maxcuntstappen]

alex/ george + dnf

It's something that makes Alex happy most of the time; George still having full access to Williams' garage and hospitality. He likes that it isn't a big deal when George shows up to have lunch with Alex cause Williams' catering that day is better. He likes that he can bring up rumours and stories he's heard and doesn't have to give a background on the people involved. Can just say, "Remember Martin? You won't believe what he's done now".

He likes that he's accessible to George, that his space is accessible to him. That they share this.

Most of the time.

But today? Today it annoys him.

Alex is lying face first on his massage table, nose painfully pressing against the the surface, drowning in a vat of self-hate, when he hears his driver's room door open.

Barely opening one of his eyes, he sees a pair of black, rather large in size racing shoes looking back.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" Alex snarks, or at least, he tries to. It comes out all muffled and weak.

George is quiet. Not biting back or responding in any way.

Which says more than enough about their situation.

He is pitying Alex. Because Alex fucking lost the car and flew into the barriers. On a simple corner. With no distractions or debris.

Just himself to blame.

Suddenly, there's a hand running down the length of his back.

Alex doesn't know whether he wants to flinch away or melt into the touch instead.

So he does neither; just remains stock still. Like George's touch isn't affecting him. Like it doesn't make something come loose in his chest. Something that's directly connected to the tear ducts in his eyes.

Finally, George speaks.

"These things happen sometimes."

Alex wishes he hadn't opened his big, dumb mouth at all.

Because, no, these things don't happen sometimes. Not if you're focused and on it and careful. Not if you're good.

When was the last time Max put it into the wall of his own accord? When was it for Lewis?

People who want to win world championships don't do this.

And sure, Alex knows he isn't about to win a WDC with Williams.

But that doesn't mean there aren't other eyes watching. That there aren't other opportunities that could reveal themselves if Alex is good enough.

DNF'ing in a race because he lost control of a car due to some goddamn headwind is definitely not making anyone think he's good enough.

"Albono," George begins, voice too soft, making Alex's chest ache, "I..."

George trails off.

Alex knows that he said that he wishes George hadn't spoken at all.

But somehow it's worse when George Russell, out of all people, is left speechless. When even he cannot come up with words of placation or kindness.

George always knows what to say.

Maybe he sees it as it is too; Alex fucking up, showing that, if he belongs in any team in F1 at all, it's meant to be a back-marker one.

Alex doesn't realise his shoulders are shaking and that he's sniffling till George shushes him, longer fingers combing through Alex's hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.

"How can I help?" George asks, voice just above a whisper.

Turn back time so I can stop myself from binning the car.

Or to when I was in Red Bull, so that I can try to do things better this time.

Or to when we were in karting, so I can tell younger Alex that the journey is going to be harder than he can ever realise. And it might not be worth it, in the end.

That there will be more days of pain than joy and that there's other things he can still be good at if he only tries.

Too much to ask, too much to reveal.

So all Alex does is shrug.

George sighs, hand stilling its movements on Alex's head.

Alex kinda wants to kick at him to get him going again.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

No, the voice in Alex's head answers, clear as day.

And he should say it out loud. George and him have been friends for long enough that he can ask for this. Knows that it's okay, that there's nothing to be embarrassed about it. That they've done this for each other before. And they'll be doing it for each other till the very end.

But it's too much to think about right now, the implications of asking George to stay, how what Alex means when he asks for it is different than what George means when he offers it.

How they have always, always been running parallel to each other, so close and so familiar but never intertwining, never touching, never crashing and morphing into something that Alex's heart has been desiring for longer than not.

Alex shrugs again, the lump in his throat only serving as a further reason for him to stay mum.

"Okay," George says, his hand pulling away from atop Alex's hand.

It's painful. More painful than it has any business being. Like a band-aid being ripped off, but with no relief of it being over. Because there's another band-aid to go. Then another. Then another.

He watches from the corner of his eye, George's black, rather large in size racing shoes walking away.

Alex closes his eyes, it's not a sight he wants to play over and over in his head through the day.

Suddenly, there's a thump, and George's hand has found its place on the back of Alex's neck.

Alex turns his face to press his cheek flat to the chair.

Opens his eyes and finds George's eyes already on him.

George, who has dragged a chair and placed it next to Alex.

George, who is smiling at him all soft and kind.

George, who is running his hand through Alex's hair again.

George who finally helps Alex exhale the breath he's been holding in ever since his tyres spun out from under him.

#lav's ficlets #guys!!! #this is my first ever galex work!!! #idk why its so sad!!! #but the imagery of alex looking at george's racing shoes from the corner of his eyes #and not being surprised #just stuck with me #i hope u guys like it!! #galex #f1 fic #george russell #alex albon

[alectoperdita]

i don’t know how this could be conveyed in fic, but i’m always thinking about kaiba filming promos and what not for tournaments/dm stuff and he makes snarky jokes about jounouchi’s presence but the camera keeps zooming in his face to emphasize the adoration and glee on his face when he sees jou do /any/thing. but kaiba is not selfaware. he reviews the footage wondering why the cameras keep recording his reaction during jou’s duels instead of the audience. they want u 2 notice something, kaiba

Ooo this is such a juicy idea, anon! I love me a pining Kaiba. It's even more entertaining when he's a bit oblivious.

I know you didn't quite mean this as a challenge, but it activated my outsider-POV-loving neurons. So I attempted to write a little ficlet based on your idea. Sorry, that was why I was delayed in responding to your ask. Also apologies that I'm a little rusty. Haven't been writing regularly recently. 😭 I hope you still enjoy it.

---

Kenji always figured that Kaiba's, well, everything was an act. A show persona put on for the masses to sell his tech and promote his tournaments.

No one could be that genuinely ridiculous.

Except he was. Kaiba appeared to be every bit that extra, as Kenji's teenage daughter would say.

("Dad, no one says that anymore!")

Because in the week since he started following the larger-than-life CEO around, he recorded a number of baffling incidents on film. Initially, he wrote them off as the producers' or Kaiba's people's attempt to inject more oomph into the series. It wouldn't be the first time. Kenji wasn't paid to care about that. He was the film crew. His job was to point the camera wherever the producers told him.

But not even Kaiba would stage an attempted kidnapping as a publicity stunt, right?

Kenji could've done without that one. Not just because he got far closer to a gun-toting maniac than he ever wanted to. The police also confiscated his equipment and that day's footage for their investigation.

But they were back to business the very next day. Nothing changed except for a few extra suits lurking in the background. Kaiba showed no signs of being shaken or slowing down. He had a tournament to throw, after all.

That tenacity and resilience were admirable. Kenji could see why Kaiba was so successful at his young age. Barely nineteen and he had the world in the palm of his hand. It was easy to forget the boy wasn't that much older than Kenji's little girl.

Nowhere was that more apparent than when Kaiba was surrounded by his peers.

Kenji kept his camera trained on the trio of teenagers. Kaiba towered over most, including people twice his age. Next to Mutou Yugi, he looked like a telephone pole.

"Kaiba-kun!" Yugi grinned, craning his neck to meet Kaiba's eye. "Glad to see you're well!"

Even an old fuddy-duddy like Kenji (again, much to his heartbreak, his daughter's words) knew about the storied rivalry between Kaiba Seto and the King of Games. But he was surprised by how calmly and politely Kaiba returned the greeting, even if his tone was a touch gruff. Kenji was unfamiliar with the blond boy who slung an arm over Kaiba's shoulders, however.

The blond boomed. "Still in one piece, eh? Saw the news about what happened. You really kicked those guys' asses."

Kaiba swiftly threw off the arm, but the blond didn't seem too offended. He also took a step to the side to put space between them. In profile, the tips of his ears went pink.

"They should've known better than to try anything. They've learned the hard way," Kaiba grunted. He made a motion to dust off his left shoulder, where the blond's hand rested mere seconds ago, yet his fingers seemed to linger momentarily on his flamboyant coat.

Not that the blond noticed. He was busy sweeping his gaze across the surrounding. "Yeah, tournament security's tighter than usual. Noticed 'em spooks hanging everywhere." Then he spotted Kenji. Or more likely Kenji's camera lens. He immediately perked, straightened, and puffed out his chest while flashing a crooked grin. "Hey, are they filming me?"

"No, deadbeat. Who would want to film you? They're filming me," sneered Kaiba.

The blond snapped toward Kaiba and took a step forward with his hands fisted at his side. A menacing move if directed at most people, but Kaiba wasn't cowed. He merely stared down his nose at the other boy.

The air crackled with palpable tension. If they started fighting, should Kenji keep filming or break up the fight? His producers probably preferred the former.

Yugi's eyes flitted between the two boys, then to the camera. "Kaiba-kun, Jounouchi-kun, calm down. Let's not fight before the tournament. I'm sure Kaiba-kun didn't mean that."

Kaiba and the blond, presumably Jounouchi, stared at each other for several more beats.

With a scoff, Jounouchi wheeled back and stuffed his hands into his ripped jeans. "Whatever. They can get a load of when the great Jounouchi-sama beat your flat ass out in the arena."

Kaiba smiled a sharp, toothless grin. "In your dreams."

Another charged pause.

Yugi shifted nervously.

"Only if you're lucky."

Kaiba's expression froze up. It looked as if he'd blue-screened and crashed. His ears were definitely pink now, though Jounouchi likely didn't catch that given how intensely he was staring at Kaiba's face.

But it didn't escape Kenji's notice. Or his camera.

Jounouchi smirked. "What? Cat got your tongue there, Kaiba?"

Kaiba coughed, making an admirable recovery. His expression retained an imperious quality when he replied, "Hardly. I'm merely stunned by your astonishing lack of self-awareness."

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. You're fulla hot air."

And just like that, they found their way back to the conventional arena of trash talk.

Yugi checked his watch. "We should get to our places, Jounouchi-kun. It's almost time."

"Run along, deadbeat. Or you'll be disqualified before you even take a step into the stadium."

Jounouchi made a rude gesture that Kenji was sure they'd blur in post. Yugi cheerfully wished Kaiba luck before following the other boy. Strangely, though, Kaiba's gaze seemed to linger on the departing figures. For no more than a beat or two, then he straightened and strode down the hall in the opposite direction, coat tails flaring dramatically in his wake. Kenji had to hand it to the boy's stylist.

***

There was a surprising amount of downtime when the duelists weren't playing. Much more standing around and gossiping and observing the current game than Kenji expected. Now that the tournament had officially started, Kaiba joined the other duelists stadium-side. Kenji naturally followed him.

Kaiba stood ramrod straight, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tournament proceed. It was a picturesque pose, but even that became dull when he did and said nothing further. He had already played his first seed of the tournament and won summarily.

Kenji hoped this wasn't how the rest of the day played out. It would be dreadfully boring in that case.

Then Jounouchi took center stage for his duel.

Kaiba scoffed silently, but he remained as attentive as ever. Maybe even more so.

Not even two turns in, the mic picked up Kaiba's stray comments.

"Again with that unreliable gambling mechanic."

Still, he grunted in near approval when Jounouchi called his coin flip correctly. Soon, his stance and facial muscles eased to a state one might even call relaxed.

"Lucky," he muttered when Jounouchi countered his opponent's trap, but the light in his blue eyes shone brightly.

Kenji was a Duel Monsters novice, but he could read the room. The crowd's energy—Kaiba's energy changed as soon as Jounouchi was backed into the corner. Even Kenji winced when the opponent's monster halved Jounouchi's lifepoints with one attack.

Kaiba took a step forward before catching himself. A newfound tension vibrated through his body as Jounouchi picked himself from the floor. "Don't tell me that's all you got, deadbeat," he snapped to no one in particular. "This is just the first round."

Jounouchi didn't give up. Determination shone through his every move and declaration. It made for dramatic television, which the official tournament crew was filming. Kenji stayed focused on his assignment, which was recording Kaiba's every reaction to Jounouchi's moves.

A cheer rose among the spectator.

Kaiba stiffened, but the corner of his lips twitched. Upward. "Oh, he updated his deck."

Something warm and fond bubbled beneath the surface. It might be pride.

A dragon materialized on Jounouchi's side of the field. Kenji couldn't help but be struck by how its appearance was the polar opposite of Kaiba's sleek, white ace monster—black leather wings, sharp, and covered in spikes.

Ironic.

Or, dare Kenji think it as he zoomed in on Kaiba's face, serendipitous, judging by Kaiba's familiar expression. It was the same one Kenji's daughter wore when she thought of her "beloved"—one Kenji probably still made for his Ikuko. Infatuation was the best word for it.

***

"Isono."

"Yes, Seto-sama?"

Isono glanced up from where he was taking notes of his boss's comments to send back to the production team. Reviewing the cut footage took time, but Kaiba had a vested interest in how he was portrayed and he preferred the hands-on approach in this instance. Kaiba's brow furrowed as he watched scenes of Jounouchi's tournament duels interspersed with close-ups of his own face and reactions.

"Why is it so focused on the deadbeat's duels?" he asked. Not angry, though clearly baffled. Even now, Kaiba's attention was glued to Jounouchi's face as it always was whenever the blond duelist came into the vicinity.

A moth drawn to the flames.

Isono's eyes flitted between his boss's current oblivious face and his smitten expression caught on film. Most people wouldn't recognize him as smitten, including Kaiba himself. Isono did, thanks to his years of employment, though he initially doubted it. Evidently so did the cameraperson.

For a second, Isono contemplated confronting his employer about his crush. But he liked his job. Kaiba was a bright young man. He would eventually realize it, right?

He cleared his throat. "Jounouchi-san performed quite favorably in this recent tournament. Stories about underdog competitors are always a crowd favorite."

He gave himself a mental pat on the back. Both statements were technically true.

"He did perform above expectation," mumbled Kaiba, studying the paused image of Jounouchi on the screen.

Isono dared to hope on his employer's behalf. Then it was dashed.

"We'll see how long his luck lasts then," Kaiba smirked.

One day, thought Isono, Kaiba will realize what had been staring him in the face all along.

#replies #anonymous #joukai asks #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #yugioh #my fanfiction #i admit i was kinda thinking about Usagi's dad for Kenji hahaha

[strangleetomz]

AGAIN REQUESTED BY @orphicrublee & AGAIN I DONT HAVE A TITLE

.

26. “Stop poking me!”

lee!wilbur, ler!tubbo

small little ficlet for u guys 🙏🙏🙏 (this is all i have energy to do)

“Tuhubbo! Stop poking me!” Wilbur complains through soft laughter as the shorter pokes and prods around his sides.

“Don’t be a baby, I’m just poking you! Would you rather I do this?” Tubbo smirks before squeezing up and down Wilbur’s sides, then down to his hips. Wilbur shrieked.

“TuhUHUBBO! NOHOHO!” Wilbur fell down on the couch, trying his best to curl into a ball. It didn’t work too well. “THIHIS IS WOHOHOHORSE!”

“No, I think this is much better! I mean, you’re not exactly trying to push me away here, so..” Tubbo stated simply.

And he was right; Wilbur was not trying to push Tubbo away.

He hates that he doesn’t push the younger away.

But he doesn’t exactly hate what’s happening to him.

It was a hand clawing at Wilbur’s ribs that drew him from his thoughts, he surprised himself with his own screech of laughter.

“TuhUHUBBOHOHO! NOHOT THEHEHERE!” This made Tubbo let out a laugh of his own, deciding to bring both of his hands to Wilbur’s ribs.

“Bad spot, huh?” Tubbo teased lightly before finally stopping. Wilbur collapsed entirely, melting against the couch as he caught his breath. Tubbo carded his hand through the taller’s curly hair.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“…Shut the fuck up.”

#sfw #sfw only #sfw interaction only #strictly sfw #strangleetomz #strangleetomz fics #ler!tubbo #ler!tubbo_ #lee!wilbur #lee!wilbursoot #mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle

[atinylittlepain]

I got love in my tummy and a tiny little pain

okok hi darling.

can you write Dieter in TLOU universe? I think that would be hilarious.

love u

gin, my darling, i feel the need to apologize for this ficlet lmao the thoughts won and i couldn't not write it like this :))) pls forgive me

Big Fan (Tommy's Version)

no pairing - just Tommy and Ellie stumbling on someone very familiar to Tommy :)

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence

....................................

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, that guy looks familiar.”

“What, you mean the one that’s got mushrooms growing out of his head?” Tommy grumbles at Ellie’s snide question, glancing at her over the barrel of his rifle. When she had called his bluff on being able to shoot infected from miles away, he had invited her along on his next patrol, a chance to prove his claim to his smart-ass niece. 

“You see anyone else around, kid? I swear I know him from somewhere, even looking like that, he’s so– wait, holy shit.” Tommy lets out a quiet laugh, still keeping his voice low to not give away their spot tucked behind the crest of a hill. Ellie, meanwhile, looks at him like he’s gone mad. 

“Curtis and Viper.” He says it like she should know what he means, but all he gets from her is a blank look, and then he realizes that this kid is, in fact, a kid, who wasn’t around before. 

“It’s a movie, kid. Curtis and Viper. I’m surprised Joel didn’t tell you about that one, it’s his fucking favorite. That guy down there? He was Curtis, I swear. Shit, I’d recognize him anywhere, even all fucked up like he is. What was his name? Dee– something, Bravo. That was his last name, totally fake, but man, we thought he was the cool–”

“Are you gonna get him or not? I was kinda promised a show here, man.” Ellie motions over the hill with a huff, cutting Tommy off mid-rant. He sighs, only a little annoyed that she’s clearly not as excited as he is, though his pride compels him to set his sights back into the crosshairs of his rifle. Getting a better look at the infected, there’s no doubt in his mind now exactly who it is he’s looking at.

“Sorry about this, hollywood. Was a big fan of yours.”

When they get back to town that evening, Tommy makes a bee-line for his brother down at the bar.

“You’re full of shit.” 

“I am not. It was him, Joel, I swear it. Ellie was there, she can vouch for it.” Joel grunts at Tommy’s exclamation, leaning back in his seat.

“Oh yeah, you mean the kid that’s only seen four movies in her entire life? I’ll be sure to take her word for it.” No matter how much coaxing, how much convincing he tries to do, Joel still won’t buy what Tommy tells him, eventually brushing him off and heading home. Tommy huffs at his brother’s retreating figure. He eyes the last swig in his glass, holding it up high with a little tilt.

“Cheers to you, Bravo. You made damn good movies and you died a sorry son of a bitch.”

#how tf do you tag this thing? #tommy miller #dieter bravo #tommy miller fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfiction #oopsies

[baladric]

For the writer ask meme!! 🎀 🪄 💌 (I wanted to ask everything but I showed restraint- if 3 is too many just do one or two ok love yooouuu)

hey i LOVE u :')

fic writer ask meme!

🎀 Give yourself a compliment about your own writing

oh boy hmmM well hey there little guy, you sure can write a sentence that punches people in the face!!!!! and you're very good at naming ocs, and your worldbuilding gets lusher and lovelier every time you sit down with it!!!

🪄 What is your post-writing/sharing aftercare? How do you take care of yourself or celebrate yourself when you've finished a fic?

answered here!

💌 Share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

i say it a lot and i KNOW y'all always tell me to hush but i feel SO BAD that all i ever wanna talk about is pirate au, and yet there's nothing out here for anyone to READ!! STILL!!! nearly a year later!!!!! but it's so in progress, and it only gets better, and i literally cannot wait to tie off the first draft and start the editing pass to make it cohesive from the start—at which point we'll start posting it! like post as we edit kind of a thing!!

so. i mean. UH. HERE'S A FUCKIn PREQUEL PIRATE FICLET IN ITS ENTIRETY a;ldkfjwl;f shhhhh nobody tell celebros i shared her xmas present before we posted the fic (jk she reads my tumblr)

He did not know why he was surprised, but all told, it took a good long while for sailing to become fun. He had theories, of course—six years of running wild with only Freja to impose a schedule had evidently done a number on his habits—and now there were work shifts to keep track of, and problems to solve with only one right answer (“When in doubt, call for Sozu or Arnezha or Iölo or me or literally anyone other than Sinker, I beg of thee, darling.”) There were knots to learn—a startling discovery, as he had thought he knew them all already—and terminologies and what do you mean, there are two ships?

Simply put, it was a lot, and Maia took care not to harbor regrets, but it was occurring to him in drips and drabs that this was maybe a teeny tiny little bit of a mistake. That, perhaps, Shaleän had been right, and he was not necessarily cut out for the sailing life. That maybe Paris had had a point when he hinted that Maia could have been of just as much help (if not more) at home, with Freja.

He was tired and he was sore in places he hadn’t known he owned and he missed his warm little bed in Freja’s warm little cottage and this was all just so strange. Idolatry was a child’s game in which he had seriously overinvested, and now it was like being struck over the head to realize that Shaleän on her gilded pedestal was a criminal—a pirate, the King of pirates.

He’d had an inkling, of course, but it was one thing to fantasize about his rake of an aunt, the glint of her saber raised in the battle cry, and another to stumble across a frightened goblin child in the same cargo hold in which he himself had hidden not two days before, her hair shorn in a servant’s crop and one of her ears notched in a clear sign of past cruelty. It had been another thing entirely to calm her down and bring her to Shaleän, propped on his hip, his collar still damp from her tears, and learn that she was part of a matched set squirreled away in a secret room on the ship, and that her mother was as yet too deep in the megrims that sometimes stole over a person whose situation has taken a sudden, hopeful turn to keep a proper eye on her michen.

Was this smuggling? Soul trafficking?

“No,” Shaleän had said, her frown heavy and fitting far too well on her face; lines Maia had attributed solely to her broad, bright grin suddenly made more sense. Frown lines. Scowl lines, like wheel ruts worn into the hard-packed earth of her. “It is liberation, Maia. We offer what freedom is available in this blighted world to the people who need it most, and my only regret is that I cannot give it to everyone suffering under the weight of man’s cruelty and greed.”

So, he was… adjusting, one could say. In light of the insistence with which he had forced his way into this world—onto Shaleän’s ship, into Shaleän’s so-called business—he found this struggle to be more than a little embarrassing.

It was not fun—it was work. Good work. Work with an undeniably positive influence on the world, regardless of who might label the unlicensed liberation of indentured servants a crime.

Maia brought a smile to the fugitive Min Pallared’s face within an hour of meeting her properly (And Cstheio Cairei, was the hold in which they hid their refugees small) and it was work, but he felt that spark of light as a tectonic shift in the bedrock of his soul. Paris was wrong—he could help here, without a sword. And so he did it again with their next lot of escapees—a family of Telvar, whose anxious tails and too-wide eyes made Maia sick to his stomach in the imagining of the lifetime of cruelty required to so damage them. They reminded him too much of himself, those first few months away from Edonomee, and when he laid in his hammock between shifts and caretaking duties, he could not help but sink into gruesome thoughts of what he himself would have become, had he been left to Setheris’ cruel hands for a lifetime.

It was work, to be sure, but he had never felt so alive as he did in those first months aboard that two-faced ship.

All around him were people, storied and vibrant, and he doubted he would ever tire of cracking them open, that they might tell him of their families, their dreams, lost loves and the folklore that belongs to single blood lines. Sozu Khalamar and his grandmother’s insistence on the ill omens of curdling milk. Sinker Shipsblight and the long string of willful calamities that had earned him his moniker, and the respect of Paris. Iölo Marin and her repeating dream of sprouting wings to fly away from everything she had ever known.

And, of course, there was the music. He had not expected the music.

Sometimes, as they drew to the end of a hard sail, Paris would turn a blind eye to the halving of the usual night shift in favor of a sleepy skeleton crew abovedecks, and everyone else would retreat to the ship’s galley and drain the last kegs of ale dry. It was a raucous thing, everyone thoroughly soused, and then someone would start singing—Sinker, usually, lusty and loud as the south wind.

The repertoire were things Maia had heard before, having spent nearly half his life in sailing communities: rowing songs, shanties, bawdy ballads. He knew the tunes to most of them, if not the lyrics—and the ones he did not know came to him quickly.

Almost six months on, he felt he had nearly gotten the hang of it all. He could scale the mizzenmast in sixty seconds, rarely got tangled up in all the different words for wind, and could wail a bawdy drinking song with the best of them.

They had just finished one such song, and Maia’s cheeks were hot with drink and the youthful embarrassment of singing about breasts with a zealous lot of sailors on a dry spell and a trio of especially fervent marnai. He was fully considering tapping out from the excitement of it all, when someone cried over the merry shouting of the men, “Let’s have Maia lead one!”

The roar that rose at the idea was a thing of beauty. It sped Maia’s pulse, for he doubted that even an ocean’s worth of ale could fake such unmistakeable delight. The clamor rang of something like acceptance, and Maia was helpless to resist the hands that chivvied him to stand atop the swaying table.

Someone pressed a fresh flagon of ale into his hand, and he heard shouts of “Let’s have it, lad!” and “Put thy chest into it, sprout!” as well as a clangor of song requests—and, so dizzied, Maia startled himself as much as everyone else by belting out the opening call of his favorite shanty:

“Ye nations have your princes, you kingdoms have your kings,

But we who set to sail the sea

Bow only to the Wind!”

Laughter and cheers of recognition met the first bit of the tune, and though his voice shook with sudden nerves at the start, by the time he reached the chorus, he had built to a jubilant shout. He raised his flagon as all joined in the singing.

“So follow me, lads,” the crew of the Glorious Dragon wailed as one voice, and Maia stomped the tabletop with all his might.

“‘Fore he storms upon the fray!

Corat’ will whip you down to dust

And blow you straight away!”

The beating of fists and stomping of feet raised the beat of The Ballad of King Corat’, and Maia did not think he had ever smiled as hard as he did then, singing of his legendary aunt, the King of Pirates.

“The baron sees no bloodshed, the emperor no rain,

But the Serpent King who skims the sea

Reigns only over pain!”

The men howled, and a jostling in the crowd caught Maia’s attention—the crew shifting to give Shaleän, Corat’ herself, space as she waded towards the table, her grin a rakish slash of white in the warm dimness of the galley. Maia beamed and reached to haul her up beside him, and they stomped out the chorus together, arms around shoulders.

“So follow me lads!

‘Fore we heel to his domain!

Corat’ will crush us down to dust

And rinse us down the drain!”

“Your krakens and your sirens,” Maia sang, thrilled as Shaleän joined him, her voice rough and far from tuneful.

“Your leviathans and all

Know better than to raise a hand

To Cruelty the Squall!”

She clashed her flagon to his, dousing them both thoroughly in ale, and Maia did not know if he had ever been so happy in his life. It was such a simple feeling, yet so large that it brimmed over all of his shakily sketched borders, rendering him a jubilant creature in Shaleän’s tight grip.

“So follow me, lads!

‘Fore he finds us in a pall!

Corat’ will strike us down to dust

And spell a fell downfall!”

And so they sang and stomped and crowed for the whole sprawl of verses, telling a blazing tale of Shaleän’s conquests—and her pressed to his side all the while, loud and calamitous and alive alive alive. The both of them, so very, wildly alive.

Maia’s voice was shot by the end and his blood ran hot with a palpable sense of belonging unlike anything he had ever felt. Joy, repeating. Life, glorious and wretched and reeking of too many people in too small a space.

Shaleän embraced him then, like she knew what brilliant cacophony was brewing in his chest. Like it was the work of her life to hold him in one piece, whether the shaking be a thing of joy, or of grief.

“I love thee, my heart,” she murmured for him alone. “More than every jewel in thy Lady’s starry sky.”

“Oh,” Maia said—a silly thing, for he had long known the timbre of his aunt’s love. It was only that having this talented, determined crew respond to him with nothing but delight in their collective voices had stripped him raw, and it brought to the surface that little part of him that still curled into a protective ball when he slept. And that part was ever so hungry for all Shaleän and her crew offered.

“I love thee, too,” he replied, squeezing her tight enough that she gave a little Oof of surprise. “More than the whole sea.”

“More than the mermaids?”

“More than every blessed fucking fish in the place.”

Their laughter was lost beneath the clamor of their crew, which was just fine with them.

#aj answers #himbohaggins #ask meme #ask #the writing tag #maia's a pirate now #;alskdfjawl;kfdjw IDK GUYS I WANT EVERYONE TO CARE ABOUT THIS FUCKING STORY AS MUCH AS I DO

[maesterchill]

HD Wireless Fic Claim!

Nothing Compares (T, 3k)

Working in the International Auror division doesn't exactly lend itself to Harry finding love or having any sort of relationship, what with all the unsociable hours and catching bad guys and never being in one location for more than a few days. Not to mention the permanent fixture of his partner, Malfoy.

So, how does a song about lost love end up being the thing that helps Harry find love, in the location he least expected it?

Prompt: Nothing Compares 2 U (Sinéad O'Connor)

Content: Auror Partners, Europe, International Aurors, Music, Almost Drowning, Wine, Ice-cream, Colleagues to Lovers, Surprise singing

Notes: Massive thanks to the lovely @tackytigerfic for your encouragement to sign up for @hd-wireless​ when I wasn't going to, to drag this WIP off the shelf, blow the dust off it and make it into a proper ficlet. It wouldn't exist with out you! And cheers for the beta an' all, luv! 

Read on AO3

Photo credit to Bennet Tobias on unsplash

#drarry #drarry fic #hd wireless #maesterchill writes

[harringtonisms]

harringtonisms' masterlist

all my fics (published and upcoming) for your viewing pleasure!

s t e d d i e

→ WONDER “Like what you see Stevie?” He teased, head tilted playfully. Steve blushed again, and looked away, embarrassed he was caught checking Eddie out. He was Steve Harrington. Known ladies’ man. He was the one who put Skull Rock on the map and yet here he was, getting flustered over his crush like a schoolgirl. - Or, Eddie puts his hair up and Steve can't handle it.

→ PEOPLE LIKE US “You…with the tattoos, and the rings, and the chains, and the all black clothes…adopted three kittens? And you iron Mr. Harrington’s clothes every morning? And planned a picnic out on Lovers’ Lake? You taught Mr. Harrington to make little origamis? Made him a flower crown? That was you? But you look so…” Amanda paused looking for the words. Mr. Munson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Harrington with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “You look so, not the type.”

“I told you all those years ago, Stevie. Forced conformity. It’s killing the kids. - Or, Five times Amanda Driscoll hears about Mr. Harrington's wife and the One time she realizes it's his husband. Based off of this post!

→ IT ALWAYS LEADS TO YOU It’s when they get up and move to the bathroom and run through their morning routines, integrating the other seamlessly. Passing the toothpaste and pointing to where “You missed a spot” like this was commonplace. Minty kisses against fogged mirrors and soft I love you’s whispered into his shoulder blades. It’s then that Eddie wonders why he continues to wake up alone in New York when he could have endless mornings like this in Hawkins. - Or, Eddie is a rockstar who left the town that has hated him for a music career. Steve is a teacher who couldn't bare to leave the only home he knows. Eddie's in Hawkins for a few days and he thinks about the road not taken.

→ UNNAMED Snippet Not Available Yet - Or, Eddie's bandmates are constantly hearing about his super metal, super hardcore husband. Imagine their surprise when they finally meet the guy and he's wearing a baby blue polo and slacks. (Part of the People Like Us universe.)

b u c k i n g h a m

→ YOU BELONG WITH ME [Part One] [Part Two] Chrissy blushed at the thought of directly kissing Robin. Her gaze rose to Robin’s lips for a second. They looked soft and pink, like the brunette was a fan of chapstick. She wondered which kind of chapstick Robin bought. Did she like the flavored ones? Would her kisses taste like strawberries? Cherries? Vanilla? - Or, Five times Robin found Chrissy and the One time Chrissy looked for Robin. (In other words, a timeline of their relationship! From the day they met to the day they finally got together.)

→ YOU BELONG WITH ME

Snippet Not Available Yet

-

Chrissy convinces the cheer coach to let the squad cheer during the girls soccer games for the super valid, and not at all random, reason of practice. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Robin Buckley is on the girls soccer team.

o t h e r

→ IN THE NAME OF PRACTICE “We could…kiss each other, right? In the name of practice?” Amanda swallowed and nodded hesitantly.

“Yea, in the name of practice.” She forced out. It felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

— Or, Amanda and Lj decide that practicing kissing on each other is a totally normal, totally straight thing to do.

**This is a ficlet starring all original characters from the first part. This takes place in the same universe as the first fic but does not contain any characters from Stranger Things.

#i know there's not much on it but i figure i should start it while it's small so it's not overwhelming later! #steddie #buckingham #stranger things #masterlist

[asimmutableasgravity]

'twas a night in eaden

hello! i am ur portal secret santa @actuallykiwi! im a massive chelley fan and also a girl with a poor immune system so this is coming to you a little later than it should, really sorry for that, but i hope u had a happy new year and you enjoy this little ficlet! merry holidays! (@portal-secret-santa)

The night before Christmas, all throughout the house, not a sound could be heard, not even from a mouse. Christmas was more of a gift-giving family thing in Eaden. Maybe when aliens invade the earth and live among us, it's difficult to get into organized religion.

But kids all throughout the town would be falling asleep in front of their couches, with plates of cookies for Santa and the headcrab bites for his Vortigaunt helpers. Stockings would be hung up on fireplaces, and trees would still be lit. And for Chell's case, her strong cactus with a ribbon tied around it would have a candle lit in front of it. Holidays, as good as they were for business, were never really Chell's thing. Her plan was to sleep off tonight, make something delicious tomorrow for them both and stay cozy inside.

And then something cursed in her front porch.

"Bloody- You don't have to lick me! I'm on your side!"

Chell bolts awake. She runs downstairs and checks the window.

Wheatley, bless his heart, has been trying his absolute best to assimilate now that he is just like everyone else. He's been off having mini-adventures with Garett for a month now and she had thought they were harmless. But it is harming her ability to sleep. Partly because he's shouting from the front porch, and also because she's gotten used to sleeping beside him, and it's harder to go back to sleep without him.

She looks out and there the tall man is. He's bundled in a big worn blue parka and he's talking to a man wearing a brown coat. The snow falls down softly on them, and the large red sack they seem to be lugging. She trusts Wheatley, life and soul, but. It's a really big bag.

She grabs her coat from the rack, a red number she thrifted and ties a ponytail. She breathes a little harder just to psych herself up. She creaks open the door and stiffens against the cold.

"I don't understand why you have to bring him, he's so big and loud, it isn't the most, what's the word, incognito, isn't he?" Wheatley says as the shaggy dog keeps rubbing its nose against his pant leg.

"I owe a favour, and Duke needs to walk." Garret's familiar voice stated. Chell always thought that despite Wheatley's height, Garret was always his older brother type.

"Yes, but." Duke started to circle a patch of snow. "What is he doing, is he contacting someone? Crop circles are real, aren't they?"

"Yeah, but maybe don't-"

"Something's coming out! What a-" The smell must hit him there because he has a full-body spasm trying to escape. "THAT IS HORRIBLE!"

"You are going to wake up the children!" Garret scolds, a plastic bag already covering his hand.

"This is a nightmare!" He drags the sack up her porch, walking backwards. His lean, beanpole figure cannot handle the heavy thing he seems to be carrying. She exits the door and puts her hands on his arms, helping him pull his bag.

"What the-" He turns around and his face breaks into a surprised smile. "You! You should be asleep, did I wake you? That is my fault, but it is also that dog's fault, more his honestly, but you know. Maybe we could share blame, a sixty forty.'

She places an ungloved hand on the sack and looks back at him.

"That was- you were supposed to be surprised! We had this idea, me and Garret, the one cleaning right now. He was telling me about this guy who used to give gifts to kids every Christmas, but he usually stops visiting when the kids get too old, which is a bummer, and he also uses aliens? Good man." Chell takes the sack, heavy thing it is, and Wheatley continues talking gesturing emphatically with his hand.

"So if he doesn't come by often, I decided to help the big man, and we've been making tiny little presents for the children! It's brilliant! It's a lot of work, and I think I've burnt myself making toys a lot but it's been pretty good and everything-"

"Wheatley!" Garret calls, poop cleaned and tied away in a bag.

"Right, one moment!" Wheatley looks adorable. The cold paints his cheeks a soft pink, and the fur from his collar tickles his cheek a little. His clothes, a sweater and basic pants were lightly covered with snow and dust in equal parts. His glasses were stationary on his face, while everything else seemed to be in constant motion. He smiled when he talked too, showing his enthusiasm in his teeth.

"I made something for you. Some cultures actually trade gifts on Christmas Eve, which is tonight, so let me just," he starts digging in the sack. "I thought you wouldn't want something festive and decorative, it had to be useful, but something you wouldn't already just buy, which makes you really tricky to buy things for but ah! I found it!" He pulls out two boxes, both horrendously wrapped.

"Haven't gotten the folding thing down just right, but open the big one and ta-da!" He shakes his hands in a facsimile of jazz hands.

They're cookie cutters for gingerbread. One could think they were bought, if it weren't for the wonkiness in the arms of the people, and how there was a dog cutter that looked just like the shaggy dog getting his butt wiped, or a satellite-looking cutter.

"This is lovely," she strokes his cheek. "Thank you, Wheatley."

"Wait! I have one more. It was my first try to do something with metal, so it's really simple, but you might like it and I want to give you something you might, I don't know, people said they give jewellery so I-"

She opened the second smaller box and pulled out a long gold chain, with a circle ring in the middle. It seemed to glint in the moon light,.

"He taught me how to make it gold with electricity! The human mind! It's-"

She pulls him in for a kiss. She can never get tired of kissing him. The second of surprise, and then enthusiastic reciprocation.

"Wonderful." He finishes when she pulls away.

"I have mistletoe at home," she says, and Wheatley's investigation into Christmas traditions seems to have informed him well because his ears turn pinker than they already are.

"Got to deliver those gifts tonight!" Garrett calls. Chell gives him one quick kiss on the cheek and helps him carry the gifts down.

"We can handle it from here. Happy Christmas, Chell!" Garret greets, as Duke starts pulling him away.

"And a good night!" Wheatley bids. Garret gave a whistle, and they walked away, ready to spread more holiday cheer.

#actuallykiwi #portal secret santa 2022 #portal #portal 2 #chell #wheatley #my roots fr #ficlets

[sapphicscholar]

I wish you'd write a fic where.... DJ catches/walks in on Deb/Ava and Deb has to talk about her FEELINGS with DJ.

Ooh okay, so I'm not sure how I feel about this ficlet because, while I like to think I have an okay-ish grasp on Deborah's relationship with DJ, I feel like I am FLAILING when it comes to trying to get DJ's voice. So....we'll see! Anyway, this was also the last of the Hacks prompt I received (unless something new comes in before I get to leave post-exposure isolation in another day or two), so here goes nothing:

*

The fact that all their clothes were still on matters little, Deborah suspects, in the face of everything that was happening. Ava's mostly buttoned up shirt can't change the fact that she was straddling Deborah's lap and trying to convince Deborah that she could be careful enough not to leave hickeys.

Careful. Right. Because it's careful people who get caught in the middle of some torrid late-in-life lesbian affair.

Christ, it's exactly how DJ could pitch it to the tabloids if she wanted to make a small fortune. (Which she most certainly does. Anything to feel like she's prying her way out from under her mother's fingernail, no matter how much seemingly insignificant pain and damage it causes along the way.)

"I need to deal with this," Deborah sighs, tapping at Ava's thigh as she slides her way back out from under her.

As Deborah strides through the hallways, she tries to smooth the wrinkles from her clothes, runs a hand through her hair and hopes it looks normal enough not to conjure up images of everything that led to the moment of their interruption.

She finds DJ in her bedroom, rifling through the bottles of cheap lotion and, unfortunately for them all, CBD-infused lube that now litter the spare nightstand--Ava's nightstand, Deborah's mind oh-so-helpfully supplies.

"No." DJ says upon hearing Deborah's footsteps falter. "Nope. There's not enough therapy in the world to fix this."

"DJ, listen."

"No! Why would I... Where was this version of my mom when you were sitting in front of all my friends and telling me that my own marriage to a perfectly nice guy my own age couldn't last, huh?"

"Nothing had happened then." It's true, even. "This is all very"--Deborah searches for the right word--"recent." She thinks other words might be more apt: surprising, disastrous, revelatory, pleasurable, idiotic, life-changing. She doubts DJ would appreciate them.

"Oh. Oh, wow. So you two really fucking U-Hauled it, huh?"

Deborah hates that she only understands this joke because Ava had explained it to her. (After she'd finished laughing when Deborah offered her drawer space on their second morning spent walking up in Deborah's bed.) "Ava doesn't live here."

"Um, actually, she does. Marcus told me."

"But she doesn't live here," Deborah tries again, drawing a circle in the air around the room. The fact that Ava sleeps here more nights than not is wholly irrelevant.

"Literally does not matter. And so not the point. Why are you boning your 25-year-old employee?"

"Have you ever asked Marty why he only dates women in their 20s?"

"Please," DJ scoffs, tossing a tube of Ava's chapstick into the trash. Deborah could be nice and rifle through the trash to get it back. Or, she could not touch the garbage and instead spend a few bucks to buy Ava a new one. Yes, that's better. "Don't try to turn this into some feminist thing. And besides, what happened with you and Marty anyway? I thought you two were, like, a thing. Some Ross and Rachel will-they-won't-they shit."

Deborah squares her shoulders, her tongue poking at the inside of her cheek. "I decided I was done sleeping with someone I didn't want to look at in the morning."

DJ's movements falter, and she doesn't sweep the lube into the garbage. "So...what? You do want that with Ava? Fucking Ava?"

"I thought you liked Ava."

"Yeah, as, like, a friend. Not as my new stepmommy."

Deborah can't hide the visible cringe, and DJ's gaze gleams triumphant. "I think you're old enough not to need a new mother. Step or otherwise."

"So then what is this?"

There are a hundred and one retorts on the tip of Deborah's tongue about how no matter what it is, it's none of DJ's business. Eventually she manages an overly honest: "I don't know."

DJ's eyebrows shoot up. "You don't know? And you're admitting that?"

"It's...good. That's all I know. It's good enough that I'm standing here trying to find a way to make sure you can be okay with it."

"Wow."

"Good or bad wow?"

"Just...just wow." DJ blinks, then sets down a bottle of lotion. (Deborah actually wouldn't mind if that particular scent found its way into the trashcan.) "I think that's enough talking between us. I need to go throw some axes and interrogate Ava." Deborah would worry if it were anyone else, but somehow, she thinks Ava can handle herself. "Where is your little...what's the lady version of boytoy? Girltoy?" Her nose scrunches up. "No, that just sounds like a sex crime."

"Ava," Deborah cuts in, before this can get any more painful, "is probably still in the living room. Or down in the archives. There was some joke she wanted to pull wording for."

"Alright." DJ pushes herself up off the bed, lingering in the doorway just long enough to glance back at Deborah. "I hope she makes you half as happy as Aiden makes me." It's sweet and sentimental, and it only makes sense that DJ pivots on her heel to turn back with fire in her eyes. "And so help me, if she gets that diamond tennis bracelet in your will, I will find a ouija board and make your afterlife a living hell."

"Wouldn't expect anything less, sweetie."

#ask me anything #softdeb #hacks hbo #fanfic #deborah vance #deborah & DJ #DJ vance #ava x deborah #flash fiction

[lucien-calore]

ok, so it’s day four of @keepingupwiththevanserras and the theme today is “favorite hc”

now, i know i’m not a writer but here’s a little “ficlet” of lucien presenting az to his mom and least hated brother (eris, duh) because when am i not shoving luzriel down your throats

also, this is technically a ficlet, but in topics because i’m too nervous to actually write something

• lucien was, admittedly, very nervous. even more so than when he and az came out to the ic, which thankfully went very well.

• but that was different. the inner circle knew him already and they were all slowly warming up to him, thanks to feyre.

• lucien wasn’t worried about his mom’s reaction, not really. he knew she was gonna love him regardless of who he dated.

• he was scared of eris’ reaction, because he and az hated each other’s guts.

• lucien didn’t know exactly what happened between his brother and the morrigan, but knowing eris, the emissary knew it was probably something cruel.

• when eris finally entered the meeting hall of the day court’s palace, that his dad (it was still weird to call him as such) let him borrow, the room was immediately quiet. not that many people were there, but az and his mom were making small talk and the now high lord of autumn’s grand entrance interrupted the amicable conversation.

• eris and azriel stared each other down, until they were interrupted by lucien clearing his throat.

• — so — lucien started — azriel and i are here because we have something very important to tell you two.

• he takes a deep breath and takes azriel’s hand and intertwines their fingers. — we’re dating

• — am i supposed to act surprised — eris deadpanned

• — i- what??

• — humors fly, brother. and i have my contacts

• — who?? — azriel suddenly speaks

• — none of your business

• azriel holds back a acid reply, because lucien endured the inner circle for him, so not strangling his brother is the least he can do.

• after what felt like hours and hours of silence, eris finally speaks up:

• — shadowsinger, mind if i talk to you for a second?? just a little chit chat, to welcome you to the family

• — i don’t think that’s a great idea — lucien says quickly

• — don’t worry babe, i’ll survive. — the spymaster says. lucien only half believes him but lets them go anyway

• the second they turn a corner and stand on an empty hallway, eris pulls out a dagger

• — if you ever cause him any sort of pain, whether that is physical, emotional or mental, or let somebody cause him any sort of pain and do nothing to avenge him and/or stop it, i will hunt you down, rip your skin off your body and rub your leftovers on hot concrete, do you understand me??

• — if i ever cause him any sort of pain, whether that is physical, emotional or mental, or let somebody cause him any sort of pain and do nothing to avenger and/or stop it, i will let you.

• — good, then we’re done here.

• and without another word, they go back to the meeting hall. lucien checks both of them to see if they have any injuries, and after confirming they haven’t tried to hurt or kill each other, he hugs his mom, and when he leans in she whispers “i’m proud of you” so quietly he wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he wasn’t so close.

• and when he waves his brother goodbye, eris pata him on the shoulder and says “i might not like him, but if he makes you happy, then i’m happy for you”

• and, feeling extremely validated by two of the most important people in his life, the heir of day and his shadowsinger winnow back to their apartment in velaris

• the end.

i hope you guys enjoyed, i’m not a professional writer and i never wrote any sort of fic so CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is appreciated

have a good day and see u tomorrow for the next day of KUWTV

also, special thanks to @nestafuckingarcheron for giving me motivation to continue writing this, i appreciate you so much, i’m here for you whenever you need it :D

#keeping up with the vanserras #lucien vanserra #azriel #lady of the autumn court #eris vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #pro azriel #pro luzriel #lucien vanserra x azriel #lucien x azriel #pro eris vanserra #pro lady of the autumn court

[heartachebf]

@songofassandfire said: Okay uhhh maybe after the broship breakup in the vaccination special, Kenny gets fed up and exhausted with being sort of passed around between his friends, and ends up finding comfort in butters? Sorry if that’s too vague mgddngdng

i hope u like it, dude! not my best work, but im pretty satisfied with this :) i wrote this with them as teenagers in mind because, well, i write what i know most of the time, and i remember being in high school better than i remember being in fourth grade jhfdajk

im still taking short bunny, creek, or style drabble requests to help me get back into writing! feel free to send any requests youve got in mind here <3 now, onto the ficlet !

while butters is doing homework in his room, on his belly on his bed with his chin resting in his palm, he gets a sudden notification on his phone, a loud buzz startling him out of his homework induced reverie. he frowns at the distraction from the math problem he was struggling through, though he is partially grateful to have an excuse to look away from all the angry numbers and letters on his paper. he sits up, grabs his phone, and unlocks it eagerly.

from: ken ♥ hey can i come over for a bit? i need to get away from my friends lol

butters frowns at the message, types out a quick response of sure, i’m up in my room, before returning to laying on his stomach and staring at his homework, as if looking at it hard enough will magically solve all of the problems for him. he quickly finds himself drifting off, though, thinking about his boyfriend’s current predicament with their mutual friends. he doesn’t know much about the whole issue with them - he only knows bits and pieces from what kenny has been willing to divulge during their nightly phone calls, but from what he does know, it sounds messy. he knows that kenny’s three friends have split up for reasons unknown to him, and have thus taken to toting kenny between them like a divorced couple slinging a child between them. butters grimaces. it must be a nightmare to be treated like that.

while he’s lost in his thoughts, he’s suddenly shocked by a body bouncing on his bed next to him. butters is just about to scream when a familiar, calloused hand is shoved over his mouth. he finally looks up to see who’s in his bedroom, smiling wide under the palm on his mouth when he sees his boyfriend. kenny smiles wide back at him, his normal crooked and charming smile making butters feel warm and gooey inside.

as soon as kenny moves his hand, butters leaps up, throwing his arms around kenny’s neck. “hi, ken!” butters says eagerly, smiling even bigger when he feels kenny’s strong arms loop around his waist.

“hi, buttercup!” kenny responds, trying to sound just as eager, but it’s clear to butters just how exhausted he is.

butters pulls away a bit so he can look at kenny’s face now, taking in his tired expression with a frown. “what’s going on, cupcake?” he asks, gently brushing kenny’s messy bangs out of his face.

kenny lets out a long suffering sigh, leaning into butters’s hands. “my friends are driving me insane. i’m so sick of them treating me like their kid. as if i’m not as mature as the rest of them. y’know, i might even be more mature than them.”

butters nods understandingly, moving to sit cross legged next to kenny. “i know what you mean, honey. have you tried talking to them about how you feel about the arrangement lately?”

kenny groans, leaning forward to plop his head on butters’s shoulder. “i keep trying to talk to them, but every time i bring up the situation to any of them, they immediately just shut down and try and change the subject. i think i almost got stan to crack and listen to me once, but they’re all just.. ugh. i’m so close to just dropping all three of them until they all get their shit together.”

butters nods along as kenny speaks, gently running his fingers through his boyfriend’s sandy curls. “i think you should,” butters says softly, encouragingly. “maybe what they need is for you to leave them in order to kick their butts into gear! they’re bein’ pretty dumb with this whole thing, i think.”

“god, tell me about it!” kenny says, laughing bitterly. he reaches up to rub at his face tiredly. “they’re such dumbasses.”

butters laughs softly and nods in agreement. “definitely. i think they just need a little push to realize that they’re, like... you guys are like platonic soulmates! i think, um, taking a break from each other is good for them, but they’re going about it the wrong way.”

kenny huffs out a breath and nods before pulling away to look at butters. “how’d you get to be so smart, babe?”

butters lets out a small noise of surprise. “who, me?”

kenny laughs and nods, smiling wide before leaning forward to kiss butters softly. “yes, you! i never really thought of us as soulmates before, but that makes a ton of sense. i’m gonna tell ‘em to piss off until they get their shit together, i’m sick of being toted around like a little kid!”

butters smiles wide and toothy, gently cupping kenny’s face in his hands. “that’s a buddy! i think it’ll be really good for you to get away from them, cupcake!”

kenny smiles just as wide back, leaning in to kiss him softly again. “me too, babe. it’ll be fun to hang out with other people for once. maybe i’ll get into less chaos without those guys around.”

butters giggles and nods, reaching to grab kenny’s hands and squeezing them lightly. “yeah! i’ve been sitting with craig and his friends lately, you should join us! they’re a lotta fun, and they don’t start as much drama.”

“god knows i could use some of the peace that they bring,” kenny says, interlocking his fingers with butters’s, squeezing his hands mindlessly.

“feel a little better now?” butters asks after a moment, tilting his head. when kenny nods, he continues, “great! now, how about you help me with my math homework? algebra always makes my head spin...”

#bunny #sp bunny #south park bunny #butters x kenny #sp butters x kenny #south park butters x kenny #bunny fic #sp bunny fic #south park bunny fic #south park #sp #south park fic #sp fic #stan writes #* #tubs dont look

[grays-gibberish]

Onagawa’s disaster birthday

960 words // tw swearing // bakuten ficlet // not reread so pls ignore typos

@rudolphsboyfriend here u go bestie !!!

@bookquote-inc idk if u wanna read it but this is the fic i mentioned in ur tags

“Hellooooo? Anyone here? Helllloooooo?!” Nagayoshi yells into the empty air. “Where on earth is everyone?” he mumbles. “I can't believe they missed my birthday, assholes.” he scoffs.

Nagayoshi starts to walk back to his room, huffing about bad friends before he pauses, guilt creeping up on him. “Maybe they’re setting up a surprise party or something, and that’s why they’re not here. That's got to be it. They wouldn’t miss my birthday. They wouldn’t.” he trails off, the unsaid question of “Would they?”dripping like acid in his mouth.

Maybe I forgot to write my birthday on the calendar and it’s all my fault. Nagayoshi thinks, suddenly doubting himself.

Rushing into the kitchen, Nagayoshi runs so fast he socks slide across the floor, almost making him slam into the wall. Steadying himself, his eyes scan the calendar.

“November 30 - Onagawa’s bday :D !!” the little box reads.

“Well it’s not that then,” he mumbles as he exits the kitchen again. “So they really did forget my birthday.” he hums sadly. “Who would have thought?” Nagayoshi asks the air as he walks into his room, shutting the door behind himself.

~ ~ ~

“Shit, shit, shit!” Kotaro yells, slamming his hands against the wall.

“Oh all days for there to be a train closure.” Masamune says, voice faint.

“I’m sure Onagawa-senpai is fine!” Shotaro buts in, trying to lighten the mood.

“We left him, Futaba. On his birthday. I dont think he is.” Ryoya responds.

“Your quite right, Misato.” Keisuke says, tone light and cheerful. “Right about now Onagawa is probably hating himself after he somehow convinced himself it’s all his fault.”

“Nooooo!” Shotaro cries. “No please don’t think that Onagawa-senpai! Its not your fault! Its the traffics fault!”

“He can’t hear you, idiot.” Kotaro snaps.

“Hey you didn’t have to be mean about it.” Ryoya blurts.

“No fighting,” Masamune warns.

“Sorry,” Kotaro says, looking away sheepishly. “I’m just upset that we’re missing Onagawa’s birthday.”

“It’s okay, I get it.” Shotaro says, eyeing the crowds of frustrated people waiting for a ride.

The minutes tick by in silence, each member occupying themselves in a different way. Shotaro and Ryoya lean their heads against the wall and talk back and forth in hushed tones. Masamune keeps watch over the crowds, eyes peaked for any signs of movement or news. Kotaro picks at his nails, taking off all the nail polish that was once there. Keisuke takes out his phone and watches plant videos, becoming the calm in the middle of a chaos. Asawo who had been tapping away at her ipad the whole time suddenly stops.

“Ahem,” she coughs, catching everyone’s attention. “I think i found us a solution.” she says holding up her ipad. Everyone leans forward to see the screen.

“‘Bus rides from Soma to Iwanuma - 2,500 yen per person’ Hey that’s where we are! Soma!” Watari cries.

“‘Iwanuma’! And that’s where school is!” Shotaro adds.

“‘2,500 yen’ that’s not a bad price.” Keisuke hums.

“Kurikoma you genius! Well, guys it seems like we have a new plan. Let’s go!” Masamune cheers.

“There is no need to yell.” Ryoya murmurs.

~ ~ ~

Stumbling over themselves in the doorway the team doesn’t see Nagayoshi standing in the hall. Nagayoshi who was coming from the kitchen stops short when he sees the team.

“So look who finally decided to show up.” Nagayoshi snarls, looking incredibly intimidating with tear streaks down his face and an ice cream pint in hand.

Six heads snap up to his face simultaneously, all eyes wide with shock.

“Onagawa-senpai!” Shotaro cries.

“Onagawa-san!” Watari yells, falling over Shotaro in his haste to get to Nagayoshi.

“Don’t even,” Nagayoshi hisses brandishing a spoon at the group. “You left me on my birthday, you bitches!”

“Onagawa-“ Masamune starts.

“Nuh unh! I don’t wanna hear it from you Mr. Apples!”

“Mr. Apples?” Masamune questions.

“Onagawa please let us explain.” Keisuke pleads.

“Ugghhh fine,”

~ ~ ~

“So you’re telling me that you went to the Tan Tan Girls event in Soma - that I didn’t go to so I could spend my birthday with you all - to get me Ma-chan memorabilia for my birthday. As a surprise?” Nagayoshi drawled, eyeing his teammates one by one.

“Y-yes,” Kotaro says nervously, afraid of Nagayoshi’s reaction.

Nagayoshi promptly bends over in his seat and laughs incredibly hard for the longest time.

“Ooh I was right! I knew it was a surprise party! I looked in the fridge to see if I could find a cake hidden but I didn’t and got sad so I took the ice cream, but oh how it feels good to be right.” he says wiping tears from his eyes.

The team sits in stunned silence. Then Ryoya fails to muffle a laugh and then everyone is dissolving into laughter. Once the calm has come back Keisuke asks a question.

“I texted you saying we were coming but we’re gonna be late, did you not see it?”

Nagayoshi’s face flushes red and he looks away. “Oh yeah about that. I got upset and threw my phone out the widow. And then I couldn’t find it…” he said before starting to laugh again.

“Onagawa, you idiot.” Kotaro says with a smile.

“Well we’re very sorry for everything that’s happened so far but do you think we can still save this birthday?” Masamune says standing up and clapping his hands together.

“I think so,” Nagayoshi says smiling at his friends.

“Hey sorry I’m late!” a voice calls from the door. “My wife got hurt at work and I had to go in and see her and sign some stuff! But I’ve got the cake!” Coach Shida calls.

“Yeah, Im sure this birthday can be saved.” Nagayoshi says smiling wide.

#toad talks #toad writes #my writing #my fic #bakuten #bakuten!! #backflip!! #backflip #onagawa nagayoshi

[zimms]

(yet another ollie/wicks ficlet, but this one got slightly out of hand, clocking in at 1.3k for absolutely no reason, so there’s a line break. this is set during the november of bitty’s sophomore year.)

don’t treat him like a mind reader

It’s mid-November when Ollie and Wicky first notice.

They’re on their weekly coffee date at Annie’s, trading sips of each other’s drinks and proof-reading the other’s most recent paper, when Jack Zimmermann walks through the door. Ollie knows that he should probably be on a first name basis with Jack Zimmermann at this point, considering the fact that he’s their team captain and they’ve been attending the same weekly bonding sessions at the Haus since the beginning of freshman year. 

(However, it’s Jack Zimmermann, and Ollie doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the fact that he knows this guy in real life and that he’s met Bad Bob and he’s playing on the same team as someone that will be a shoe-in for next year’s Calder winner no matter which team he signs for and Ollie is an obnoxious fanboy, and this is why he largely steers clear of Jack Zimmermann, lest he embarrasses himself.)

Anyway, it’s a surprise that Jack Zimmermann is in Annie’s for 2 reasons.

Everyone knows that Jack hates paying money for coffee, when he just drinks it black (because he has no taste) and we have coffee at the Haus, why would I buy some extortionate cup of overly sweet sludge?

He’s just had his history class with Bitty, and everyone knows that Jack immediately goes back to the Haus to make his notes from lectures, because Jack Zimmermann works harder than God.

(Okay, so maybe not everyone knows these things, but Ollie absolutely does because these are crucial details in his plan to avoid Jack Zimmermann at all times.

Well maybe the coffee thing isn’t part of that plan; it’s more the fact that Jack complains loudly about it at Team Breakfast, despite the fact that he is a millionaire with more money than Ollie will ever see and can definitely afford an extortionate cup of overly sweet sludge.)

Ollie flicks Wicky’s forehead where he’s leaning over his most recent Econ essay. “Dude, what’s Jack doing here? Shouldn’t he be back at the Haus, making his obscenely perfect notes?” His eyes tracked Jack’s movements as he ordered two coffees and made his way to a table. “Hold on, is Hockey Robot Jack Zimmermann on a date?”

Wicky frowns at Ollie’s fingers as they come away from his forehead, and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes flick up to Jack’s table. “Nah, he’s probably waiting for Bitty; he’s tutoring him in French this semester.”

As if on cue, Bitty walks through the door, evidently having been challenged by Jack to a run across campus and evidently having lost, despite being the fastest guy on the team. Ollie watches as he grins at Jack and makes his way to the table, not looking at the barista once. 

“Huh,” he mutters, “you were right.”

Wicky’s head snaps up, affronted. “Why do you sound so surprised? I literally saw them here last Tuesday.”

“Why didn’t I know this then? I’m always here with you.”

Wicky rolls his eyes. “Dude, you were at that meeting with your Bio professor; the reason I was here is because I was literally waiting for you. They’d just left by the time you were done discussing carbohydrates or mitochondria or whatever it is you do in Bio.” Ollie grins at him; STEM professors always rub Wicky up the wrong way; it’s a side effect of being forced to go to a science specialist high school when you have no interest in STEM. “Anyway, I’m still trying to work out if they’re doing tutoring or tutoring.”

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Wicky gestures not-so-discreetly at where Bitty and Jack are laughing over their French flashcards. “Look at Bitty; are you seriously telling me that he’s not in love with Jack?”

“No!” Ollie holds up his hands. “You know that I would never deny the fact that the straight boy that Bitty is pining for is Jack, but do you really think that Jack Zimmermann, Hockey Robot isn’t straight?” Ollie watches the aforementioned Hockey Robot grin down at Bitty, eyes softer than Ollie’s ever seen them. “Actually, you know what, Jack Zimmermann isn’t straight. He looks like a fucking movie star out of the 1950s with the way he’s trying to flirt with Bitty over there.”

Wicky stares at him. “That sentence was incomprehensible, but I think I get what you mean.” 

The two of them turn to face Jack and Bitty, as their hands brush together as they each reach for another flashcard. Ollie gapes openly at how Jack Zimmermann’s face flushes red at the contact. “Fuck it, I’m just gonna ask Bitty when we’re at the Haus tonight.”

o0O0o

The rhythm of Beyoncé throbs through the hallway of the Haus and his feet as Ollie knocks on the door of the kitchen. Bitty’s voice struggles to reach over the music as he shouts “Come in!”

Ollie opens the door tentatively and the music goes silent. “Hey, Bitty. I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

“Of course, honey!” Bitty whirls around from where he was faffing next to the oven. “What do you-? What on God’s green Earth are you wearing?” 

Ollie glances down at the orange and white striped outfit that Shitty’s making him wear for his dibs, including fins and a tail. “I honestly don’t know. I think it might have once been a tangential joke that Holster made about Ransom being a coral reef that eventually spiralled into this hell. Wicky’s dressed as Dory if it’s any consolation.”

Bitty removes his oven gloves and places them lovingly on the stove. “It is absolutely no consolation whatsoever, but it is quite entertaining.” His eyes roam up and down Ollie’s body (a move that Ollie would have thought was flirtatious if Bitty hadn’t been quite so in love with Jack Zimmermann) and he giggles in that way that only Bitty can. “Anyway, what did you need?”

A slice of pie appears in front of Ollie on a plate. He doesn’t question it; he’s learnt not to question how baked goods suddenly materialise around Bitty.

“Oh, yeah.” Ollie takes a mouthful of pie. “Me and Wicky were wondering if Jack was like tutoring you in French, like how Wicky tutors me in Philosophy?”

(Ollie and Wicky have long since established that they don’t want to be out to the whole team, so they came up with a code word for date night that they can use with the people that know about their relationship, which is basically just Shitty and Bitty, but whatever.)

Bitty nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, exactly like that!” He takes a bite of his own pie. “He’s such a great tutor; he’s so good at French!”

Ah, that clears that up then.

Ollie grins at Bitty. “You know, if you ever want to discuss tutoring, I’m always willing to listen, and I know Wicky is too.” He stands up, wipes his mouth, and claps Bitty on the back. “Good talk.”

“Oh, was that all you wanted to know?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get back to reenacting scenes from Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming.”

o0O0o

“Yeah, they’re dating.”

“Oh, thank God, for a second I thought that they were just that oblivious.”

(A year later they get a text from Bitty announcing that he and Jack were dating. 

oily: thanks for letting us know officially bro! we were happy to keep it on the dl til u were ready to come out!

candle: thanks in return for keeping our relationship a secret! we knew that you could keep it a secret!

itsy bitsy baker: how did you guys know about us?? i never told you we were dating??

oily: yh, u did??

itsy bitsy baker: 

we didn’t get together until the summer after sophmore year??

also, did you guys say you were dating?!?

candle: yeah, we told you at the end of freshman year, bro. you literally caught us making out in your room??

itsy bitsy baker: i-?? what???)

part 1 part 2 part 3

#this got out of hand #ollie and wicks #my writing #omgcp #omgcp fic

[lovevalley45]

untitled ficlet #189

There were worse things than an occasional break from the ship. At least for Zari, or any other time.

Right now, Ava was in a mood. Not that she could blame her. But she had a plan to change that.

Scrambling to put a book club meeting together wasn’t very easy in a warlock’s manor, where most books were spell books in Latin or Greek or some other obscure dead language. Eventually, Zari managed to find a collection of dusty Sherlock Holmes novels that looked one harsh breeze away from falling apart. But it would do.

The next task was snacks. That was a little easier - one of the Legends had apparently snuck out to do some grocery shopping, so they had the basics around. Plating crudites was usually what she hired people to do, but she managed.

The last part was the hardest: rounding up recruits.

“You guys had a book club?” Spooner asked when Zari approached her.

“Well, more like Ava and Sara had a book club. Nora went and got married, and Mona’s off writing. So now it’s just Ava and me, I guess,” she told her. “Look, I just need you and Astra to help me with this.”

Spooner glanced over at where Astra was looking over one of John’s spellbooks. “Looks like she’s already got her nose in a book.”

“Yeah, just not the right kind.” Zari made her way over, standing right in front of her waiting for her to notice her.

It took a while, but eventually Astra raised her head. “What?”

“Wanna join our book club?”

From behind her, Spooner said, “It’s not our book club, it’s your book club.”

“No,” Astra said. “I’m busy.”

She pouted. “Come on. One meeting?”

“I said no.”

Zari groaned. “There’ll be booze.”

Astra held her gaze. “I’m not Rory.”

“It’s for Ava.”

She waited a moment, before finally closing her book. “Fine. But I’m not reading any soppy romance novels.”

“Deal.”

Finally, the scene was ready. She would ask Ava in to talk to her, and surprise her with the meeting. Of course things rarely went as planned.

“Hey, Zari- what is this?”

Zari looked up from where she had been adding finishing touches to the crudite platter as Ava walked into the sitting room. “Oh, hey, Aves. I thought u were busy.”

“I was gonna set up Gideon.” She looked over to where Spooner and Astra were sitting with copies of Sherlock Holmes stories on their laps, looking like they wanted to be anywhere else. “Are you guys doing book club without me?”

“No, no, no,” Zari rushed forward, leading her to an empty chair. “We’re doing it for you.”

Spooner leaned forward to pluck a carrot from the crudite platter. “It was Z’s idea.”

She clasped her hands together. “I just thought I could cheer you up. Have you take a little break.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, then she turned back to the other two. Astra set her whiskey aside and pulled a bottle of rose out of seemingly nowhere. “Better drink it fast,” she told her, handing it to her. “Unless you prefer red wine.”

“I’m not gonna-” Ava looked at the wine bottle. “I might.”

“There’s a glass right on the table,” Astra pointed out as she leaned it back, ready to take a sip.

Zari grinned, taking the last seat. “So, now, the rules of book club are-”

“That you don’t talk about book club?” Spooner finished.

“No.” She tossed the book over her shoulder, immediately realizing that it would probably never cover. “Sometimes, it’s not about the book. It’s about the conversation.”

Ava looked up from pouring herself a glass of wine. “I mean, I like it to be about the book, but honestly, I don’t have time to read right now.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing a finger at her. “Let the meeting begin!”

“So official,” Astra muttered, but she set the book aside anyways.

Zari looked out at the gathering. It was too early to say, but she could see another meeting like this happening soon.

#alli writes shit #legends of tomorrow #zari tarazi #astra logue #spooner cruz #ava sharpe #could be platonic... could be shippy... u never know...