#*nods sagely* so so true bestie

[emmg]

I want Blackwall, against all logic, fate, and the general laws of sanity, to become Solas's unexpected bestie in Veilguard—like some twisted, medieval version of a buddy-cop drama where one’s a guilt-ridden ex-wannabe-warden and the other’s an elven god with a messiah complex. Because lying liars gotta stick together.

Blackwall: “Now, what was he supposed to do? Just waltz into the Inquisition camp and be like, ‘Hey guys, fun fact: I’m an elven god, also sorry about that whole ‘end of the world’ plan in the works.’ Yeah, sure, that’d go over well.”

Solas: nodding sagely “Exactly.”

Blackwall: “I mean, think about it—he’s got centuries of baggage. That’s a lot to unpack. It’s not like he could have just put it in his Tinder bio. ‘Likes long walks in the Fade, dismantling the Veil, and reclaiming lost elven glory.’ No one’s swiping right on that.”

Solas: frowning thoughtfully “It’s been a lonely existence.”

Blackwall: “See? Exactly. He’s lonely. Who hasn’t thought about ripping apart reality when they’re having a bad day? People are so quick to judge, but they don’t know the context.”

Solas: tragic sigh “The weight of leadership is often misunderstood.”

Blackwall: “Right? It’s like me with the Grey Wardens—except, y’know, with fewer existential threats to the universe and slightly less divine ego. But still, I get it. You don’t just walk up and say, ‘Hey, I might have kinda sorta lied about everything. Also, I’m basically the reason your world sucks now. My bad.’ That’s social suicide. I mean, you’d never get invited to another tavern crawl. Ever.”

Solas: nodding gravely “Precisely. That, and... I am not one to ‘buy rounds.’”

Blackwall: “See, that’s the real issue here. It’s not that Solas wanted to tear down the Veil—no, no. It’s that the man can’t even be bothered to cover a single round at the bar. That’s the true crime. And, well, I guess he has no money.”

Solas: solemnly “I have no need for such trivialities.”

Blackwall: “Of course not, because you’re a god, right? But try explaining that to your drinking buddies. ‘Oh no, I’m too divine to pay for ale,’ like that’s going to fly. Honestly, Solas, this whole end-of-the-world thing? Just bad PR. You should’ve led with the ‘I’m mysterious, brooding, and burdened with ancient knowledge’ angle. Chicks dig that.”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Little Sunshine - A John Shelby/Reader Short Story.

Something a little different to my usual offerings, besties. Enjoy :)

Words - 627

Warnings - Bittersweet story, suitable for all ages but without giving too much away, it's a sad read.

It’s the most heartwarming of sights. In fact, there isn’t much that warms those cockles like witnessing the sight of a father bonding with his newborn. You always knew he’d take to it well, despite him quietly admitting before she was born that he was terrified. Anyone viewing him now, though, they’d see he looks the furthest thing from it. 

“You don’t half look like your mom, you know,” he tells her tenderly, the late afternoon sun catching the spun gold of his eyelashes, John sitting upon the windowsill of your bedroom, cradling your daughter to his chest. “Thought you was gonna come out redheaded like your old man here, but nah. Got her hair, ain’t ya?”  

She gurgles, and he smiles. Smiles through the tired violet shadows creeping over his eyelids, smiles through the exhaustion, smiles through every ounce of weight he carries. Parenthood will do that to anyone, though. Luckily, there is plenty of help on hand. Looking up, he beams wearily at seeing Polly enter the room, holding a bottle in her grasp. 

“Here, just tested it, it’s fine,” she proffers it forth, her hand lovingly moving to your daughter’s head, stroking her peachy skin. “Hello, my little sunshine, hello.” The bond there is strong, Polly being the woman who brought her into the world, who placed her upon your chest, who tried her absolute best all the way through and still remains the pillar of inimitable strength. “Look at her eyes, our John. She’s a beaut.”  

He nods, feeling his chest swelling thickly, placing the teat to her lips, your baby latching and beginning to drink. “Ar, she ain’t half a beaut.” He shakes his head, crumbling a little with the emotion of it all, Polly quick to wrap her arm around him and kiss his head. “Dunno how any of this is real.”  

“It’s life, love,” she sighs, her maternal hands stroking his hair lovingly. “And she’ll be just fine.” 

“Will she?” 

She nods sagely. “Of course, she bloody will. She’s a Shelby girl. God made us tough for good reason.” Polly leaves, casting a last glace at the heartwarming scene, the tension in her shoulders still meaning she’s carrying herself a little stiff, looking somehwat out of place from her usual busy bustle.  

“Hear that, little’un? You’ll be just fine. If your great aunt Pol says it, then it’s gotta be true. We’re all fine ‘cos of her, and so will you be an’ all. You’ve got her, your uncles, your auntie, and most importantly, your daddy right here.” His eyes then flit across the room, finding you, a tear slipping down his cheek as he cradles your baby a little tighter. “Just wish you still had her, too.” 

The image of you he found was your wedding photograph. The sepia images dotted around in frames are all that remains of your visage, because you aren’t there anymore. You exist as ethereal mist, a love lost, but by no means felt any less profoundly by those whom you sadly had to leave behind. It was the greatest joy and the biggest loss, that on the fateful night when the cries of a new baby entered the homestead, a brand-new Shelby arriving, another had to leave.  

You’re still there with them all, but hidden, the veil of death swathing you in a blanket of invisible stars, watching from the other side, from a place one day all of them must go. You float through the ether, stroking his cheek, kissing your baby on the head. He pauses for a moment, looking around, and you know he felt you there, the very last glimmer of your essence. 

“Wish you were still here, sweetheart.” 

You smile, wishing he could see it. “I never left.” 

[jackactuallywrites]

LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN

let's say there's like a little get together with people from the base in a pub, MC is DOWN BAD for ghost, but she's a fucking pussy + ghost is scary + if he'd report her confession to HR it's instant over for shawty + ghost is scary + ghost is scary (and hot) MC is there with her 2 besties obviously and they're drunk and tease the fuck out of MC MC almost goes to talk to Ghost and there's some woman that's already talking to him and MC is like OH 🧍‍♀️and that bitch gets CLOSE

MC is like you know what IFEELSICKIHAVEAHEADACHEIMGOINGBACKTOTHEBASE BYE

IMAGINE ✨

YES THIS IS THE LEVEL OF DETAIL I LOVE

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Rating: Mild

Warnings: Drinking and barfing and Liverpudlians 🤢

Summary: You get drunk at the pub and your friends try to convince you to hit on Ghost

Notes: I will be beating the rest of this plot out of @xxven 😌 (also if you want to make a request make it this specific it’s perfect)

Word count: 946

The pub was supposed to be a pinnacle of Friday night entertainment. You went down there with your girls, you got a bunch of drinks down your neck, and then you got to what you did best: you sat and checked out what soldiers had come to the pub and ranked them based on their attractiveness. If you were lucky, you might get off with one in the alleyway behind the pub. It stunk of rancid piss and occasionally vomit, and more than once, you’d been spotted by one of your superiors and given guard duty in the midst of your soul-destroying headache as your punishment, not exactly what you’d call romantic, but it was fun.

Tonight, there were other things on your mind.

As usual, there was the typical collection of drunken louts and gorgeous men, a true pick and mix of good and bad, as well as a dream’s selection of women, each one entirely different from the last, yet completely spellbinding in their own way. However, none of those caught your attention. It was the terrifying man at the bar who drew your eye.

Lieutenant Ghost Riley.

Your friends hadn’t understood your attraction to the man initially, citing that how you could ever be attracted to someone if you never saw their face, but you’d pointed out his height, his muscles, the quiet confidence with which he carried himself, and they’d come around. They’d even admitted that there was something sexy about the way that he could be anyone under that mask; whatever they wanted him to be, a perfect blank slate for them to project all of their dreams and desires onto. Of course, the problem for Katy was the reputation that came along with the man, and for Liverpudlian Elle, the fact that he was from Manchester was a complete dealbreaker, but neither of those things had ever bothered you.

“So why don’t you go over and talk to him?” Katy didn’t seem to have any such problem going straight to men and asking for exactly what she wanted, and she expected the same from everyone. You didn’t consider yourself to be entirely socially anxious, but it was Ghost. Anyone with sense was nervous around that man, and you told Katy as much, “-even if you ignore the whole ‘terrifying’ thing, what if he reported me to HR? I could get shipped off to the other side of the world, at best.” Katy considered your words thoughtfully and then walked off, scoffing as she went, “Pussy.” Elle nodded sagely, “She’s right. Stop being chicken and talk to the man. I mean, if I was like that, I never would have gotten off with that fit marine.” You turned up your nose at her, “The married one who gave you the clap?” Elle rolled her eyes at you, “That was the other marine.” You hummed, “Well, God forbid I miss out on opportunities like that.”

A clinking of glasses foretold Katy’s return, a headache’s worth of shot glasses in her hand, and she set them down on the old wooden table. “Either you go and talk to him, or you do four shots.”

It was quite a conundrum for you; either there was going to be a whole lot of puking, or you’d have to drink a bunch of shots. You could see Ghost standing at the bar still, looming over everyone like a spectre, and the idea of going up and talking to him made your insides tense. Four shots was long from what you’d done in your uni days, so you took them one after the other, wincing at that familiar burn down your throat.

If you hadn’t already been several pints in, you might have cottoned onto the fact that Katy and Elle had planned on either outcome: either you would talk to Ghost tipsy, or you would talk to him ten minutes later absolutely sloshed. As it happened, four shots later, you had more than enough drunk courage to speak to the man, though your motor skills were no longer entirely on your side. In fact, it seemed as though the chairs and tables had conspired to get in your way as you tried to make your way to the bar, blocking your way long enough for you to see someone already at Ghost’s side.

You couldn’t see anything of their face, only the beret on their head and brunette hair, their body being just as nondescript and draped in camouflage as the rest of the bodies in the pub, but it was enough. The alcohol had been behaving well enough in your stomach, yet now that you were confronted with having lost your opportunity with Ghost, it was beginning to roil and churn within you, the prickling of acid at the back of your throat. Your only saving grace now was that you knew where the exits were, and you tripped and stumbled over the chairs and legs until you were finally out in the cold open air, your own feet seeming to betray you, and you fell to your knees, your hands on the freezing concrete as you fought to keep control of your stomach. You felt the familiar hand of Katy on your back, gently rubbing as Elle tucked the loose strands of hair out of your face and placed a glass of water in front of you. They had been the instruments of your destruction, yet they were there to save you as well, a delicate balance perfected over years of sisterhood.

“It’ll be okay,” Katy cooed, “he didn’t see.” Elle agreed, “Yeah, nobody saw. This will all be a bad memory soon enough.”

[tobiasdrake]

Halara's turn for one final hangout sesh. Hopefully they won't break my kneecaps for failure to pay my debt.

Public space. This is good. It's hard to murder me in a public space. Then again, this is the same cafe where Fubuki drowned half of the clientele, and they still speak of her in glowing terms as the greatest barista that this place has ever known. So.

Oh shit, that is what this conversation is about. Look, if you give me a few more days, I can arrange for travel out of town. And then it won't be a problem anymore! For me. Specifically.

That's not true. I have a great plan. A fantastic plan, as a matter of fact. My plan is to hope the collapse of civilization happens soon and wipes out my debt so that I no longer have to repay it. Like most people struggling under late-stage capitalism!

My backup plan is to eventually die, causing all of my lenders to get screwed. *smug*

Because this is an elaborate ruse to justify a social call. Halara doesn't have friends. They have debtors. And they don't hang out with debtors. They meet to discuss the debt with their debtors.

Notice how they didn't answer the question? "Why are we meeting to discuss the debt in the cafe instead of the office?" was the question, but Halara explained the unbolded part which was never in question to begin with. They're waffling around the subject.

*nods sagely* Ah, of course. The Neo World Program.

Wait, no, what are you talking about? What kind of program is it? Like a social program? Magnifying glasses for tots?

OH MY GOD I LOVE IT.

Of course. Of course this is about cats. What else would it be about besides cats? Cats are Halara's hyperfixation. I love it. I'm about it.

I love this side of them. They shake people down for money so they can privately fund a feline rescue program. That's the best kind of awful.

Gentrification would hit different if the mafia was chasing you out of your home to build a wildlife refuge. Or an animal shelter. Or one of those puppy therapy places where you heal people's trauma by playing with cute baby animals.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Halara has put me into financial debt to fund their kitty dreams. And now, as a sincere gesture of our growing friendship, they've asked me to one day inherit their emotional debt to cats as a concept.

Asking the important question here. You're not offering me something; You're requesting that I take on your burden.

Okay but still. Does it, though? C'mon, Finance Them-slice. Meet me at the negotiating table here.

It's so hard to say "You are my friend and I value you" in too cool for this room language. Halara is attempting to have an intimate moment without compromising their hard-forged image and it is not going well.

And now that this incredibly awkward moment is here, they flee back to the comforting shelter of our meeting ruse. ^_^ Sure, buddy-pal, I'll get on that once of these days.

Can you imagine how heartbroken Halara would be if Yuma did somehow manage to pay his debt? How would we ever hang out together if they didn't have this excuse they could make for it?

I did not like Halara when we first met. Matter of fact, I accused them of murder. Said a lot of unkind things about them in the process. But they've grown on me a lot as I've gotten to know them and see behind the veil.

Suffice it to say, it's not that I don't like Halara but rather that I don't like Halara's persona. There's a genuinely interesting person hiding beneath the theatricism of a callous, unfeeling capitalist. They pretend to be a much shittier person than they actually are. Not unlike Desuhiko, as a matter of fact.

Fubuki's still my bestie but Halara's become my favorite character. Assuming the Master Detectives don't get killed off in a bloodbath of a finale, Halara's the one I'd be most interested in seeing a "Where do they go from here?" sort of sequel for.

The fact that they're our team's #1 cop-smasher helps too. I could watch Halara take apart Peacekeepers all day.

[itsjustpoopeh]

love finding out new seasons of shows I don't watch have dropped by the flood of gifsets of ppl I don't recognize and squealing about zurblypuff and bob

I'm just sitting here with my breakfast burrito, scrolling and nodding sagely, like "so true bestie they are Iconic they are the Moment"

idfk these people but I'm parasocially shipping them in solidarity. also we love to see a curvy girl winning so

[lanternlightss]

I’ve drawn Venti in a flower crown about 100 times at this point lmao, he deserves them all <33

And yessss the gunnhildr thinggg, now I wanna draw that…

And aaahghgh the original mond gang brainrot is strong today 🫠 i love my lil guys 🐝

that is so SO valid of you bee. drawing your favorite characters with flower crowns 100 times >>>

and yes he deserves them all <333

shaking your hand and nodding sagely. old mond crew brainrot real and true and strong. they are :’) just little guys :’) being besties…. sobsss

[fstbmp-a]

Nods sagely. "So true, bestie."

[idiotjuicyy]

themstph

yeah

[bucksfucks]

𝙁𝘽𝙍𝙊 ; 𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀 [𝟭/𝟭𝟭]

summary┃when your roommate, bucky, begs you to be his fake girlfriend to his best friends wedding, you eventually say yes with some rules. but rules are set only to be broken.

pairing┃roommate!bucky x f!reader

word count┃3,254 words

warnings┃fake dating, fwb’s dynamic, talk of hook-ups, bi!bucky, unrequited feelings, beer is drunk, pet-name [sweets], praise kink, heavy make-out session, protected sex, slight degradation & mocking, reference to masturbation, oral, denied orgasm, edging, light dom!bucky, authority kink, lots of dirty talk, size kink [bucky is too big, but it works + he feels himself in reader’s lower tummy], squirting, lots of teasing, light breeding kink, cliffhanger [but only because part of series], confused feelings — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃yeehaw here we go again besties <<3

SERIES MASTERLIST

  “Oh c’mon, you owe me this, Sweets!” Bucky was pleading, absolutely begging you as you continued to shovel cereal in your mouth. You had woken up just under an hour ago and Bucky was already picking your brains with this outrageous request. 

    “Owe you? Barnes, if anything you owe me for all the times I’ve pretended to be your girlfriend so that your terrible decision would leave our apartment in the morning.” You remind him, pointing your milky spoon at him as he rolls his eyes playfully. 

    “See, you’ve done it before so it won’t even be a problem!” He cheers and you can’t help but chuckle at the way he was very desperately trying to get you to agree to this plan. 

    “Why can’t you just ask one of the many girls in that little black book of yours?” There was a twinge of jealously in your voice, but you masked it well enough for Bucky to think you were just teasing him. 

    “I don’t have a little black book,” he grumbles, slumping over on the chair beside you as you move your bowl away from you to lean on your elbows. 

    “I’m askin’ you ‘cause I know we’ll have a good time no matter what,” he says, eyes meeting yours as you sigh. 

    “I don’t know, Buck, isn’t it...” you’re searching for the right word, “weird?” 

     He laughs, shaking his head, “we just have to pretend we’re datin’,” he clarifies and it feels like a kick to your gut because yeah, it would all just be pretend. 

     You shake your head, pushing away from the counter to drop your used bowl into the sink, “I don’t know, you’ll have to give me some time to think about it, okay?” 

     He sighs, nodding and standing up before he’s leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek, “I understand, Sweets. Jus’ let me know, yeah?” 

     Bucky slips out of the apartment shortly after for work and you’re left mulling over the decision that he’s presented to you. 

     His best friend was getting married next and he and Bucky seemed to have made a long-running bet; Sam had bet that Bucky would still be single by the time he got married and well, Sam wasn’t wrong. 

     But this was a whole new territory, there’d have to be ground rules, a backstory that was air-tight, signals in-case something went wrong, and oh your anxiety was the one talking now. 

     You groaned when you fell back into bed, running your hands down your face as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you realized that you were about to be late for work now too. 

~

    “I think you should totally do it!” Sage cheered in her true hopeless romantic fashion. You just laughed and playfully rolled your eyes as you finished wiping down the last table of the night.

    “He’s my roommate, that’s...weird? Plus, it’s next week and I don’t have anyone to cover for me.” You shrugged as Sage shook her head, “now you do.”

    Your heart flipped at her words. Sage was the personification of a bright summer day—warm, sweet, and always left you with a smile on your face.

    “You really don’t have to, I’m sure there’s like a billion other girls he can ask.” You said as she hopped off the bar to grab you by your shoulders.

    “And yet he asked you.” She said with raised eyebrows as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt butterflies erupting wildly in your chest.

    “I’ve seen Bucky. He’s hot to put it bluntly.” You both laughed, “and I see how you get around him, all giggly and happy.”

    Her words hit you harder than you expected. You’d always known that Bucky was hot, literally anyone could admit that. But living with him let you into another part of him.

    You saw him on his good days, when he got sick with a cold and acted like he was on his deathbed, drunk and then hungover, and the occasional sobbing mess as you both sang show tunes until you felt better.

    “This won’t exactly help my crush, you know that? If anything it’ll make me fall deeper.” You say and Sage groans.

    “He likes you!” She blurts, having to spell it out for your as you furrow your eyebrows and just shake your head, “there’s no way.”

    The downside of living with Bucky meant that you also had to see the string of unbelievably and wildly attractive men and women he would bring home.

    You were jealous, slightly, but also envious.

    How he managed to have one night stands and then forget their names the next day was something so exceptionally Bucky that it always racked your brain.

    “Listen,” she’s got you by the shoulders again, “just think about it, yeah? I’m not a matchmaker, but I’ve seen how you both look at each other and it’d be a shame if you didn’t end up at least fucking.”

    You choked on your own breath at her words while she laughed.

    The short walk back to your apartment was filled with nerves and questions of what if.

    When you stuck your key into your rusted lock, turning it and shoving the door open, you found it empty.

    Until you walked further in and heard the sound of the shower running. At least you didn’t have to talk to Bucky the second you stepped through the door.

    You were jealous that he got the shower before you, though, so you opted to get changed into the baggiest pair of sweatpants and sweater you owned.

    Both of which, ironically, belonged to Bucky.

    They didn’t smell like him anymore, at least you didn’t think so. Maybe you were so nose-blind that you were just used to what Bucky smelled like.

    You shook your thoughts of Bucky soon after, stepping into the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge.

    “Moochin’ off of my beers now, huh?” You weren’t prepared to be met with a nearly naked Buck as you turned around and popped the tab.

    You took a sip, eyes locked on his as you willed them not to wander down his naked torso. The naked torso that was still slightly wet from his shower, his metal prosthetic fusing to his broad shoulder as he swung to recalibrate it. 

    “It’s not mooching, it’s sharing,” you quip and he chuckles, disappearing into his room only to emerge in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that sit low on his hips. 

    It’s criminal, it really is, how much of an effect he has on you. 

    “So,” Bucky clears his throat, “did you, uhm, think ‘bout the uh, weddin’?” 

    You take a deep breath, letting your head fall before you’re looking back at him and even you don’t believe the words that fall from your lips. 

    “Let’s do it.” 

    Bucky’s eyes go wide, shining brightly as he claps his hands together and jumps to wrap you in a bone crushing hug where your cheek is smushed against his right pec. 

    He smells clean, like bergamot, very similar to the Earl Grey tea’s you drink in the mornings mixed with something a little more oaky. You could never distinguish exactly what it was, but it always left you feeling warm. 

    “Are you serious?” He asks, still in disbelief as he finally loosens his arms until his hands are resting on your hips. 

    It never did help that Bucky was very...affectionate. Kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose, sometimes the side of your mouth when you were both stumbling into bed. 

    The feeling of him against your or around you was both comforting and terrifying. 

    “I’m serious, but don’t make me change my mind,” you poked his chest gently as you slipped under his arm and around the counter to grab your beer and sit yourself on the couch. 

    Bucky mimicked your actions; grabbing a beer, popping the tab, and joining you beside the couch as it dipped beneath it’s weight. 

    “We need ground rules though.” You said, pulling out your phone and heading to the notes section of your applications. 

    Bucky nodded his head, “good idea, Sweets.” 

    The pet-name caused another flurry of goosebumps and butterflies that you willed down with another sip of beer—drowning the unwanted emotions. 

    Half an hour later and you had three short, but very important ground rules. 

    1. Make it believable. 

    2. PDA is necessary, but don’t go overboard 

    3. It’s not real, so don’t you dare fall in love with me. 

    “Seems pretty fair,” Bucky smirks, finishing the last drop of his beer, “you think you’ll be able to resist falling in love with me though, Sweets?” 

    You snort, slightly out of nerves and slightly from the beer that’s gotten you loosened up. 

    “Do you think you’ll be able to stop yourself from falling in love with me?” You tease, joking around as Bucky’s tongue runs across his bottom lip as he lets out a hum. 

   “I’ll do my best, but,” he smirks, “no promises, Sweets.”     

    You groan, rolling your eyes, “you’re such a jerk.” 

    He shrugs his shoulders, chuckling before silence sets over the two of you again. It’s not uncomfortable, but you’re fiddling with the end of the sweater you’re wearing. 

   “So about rule number two,” you finally manage to break the silence, Bucky already looking at you. 

   “I just don’t want anything to be awkward,” you clear your throat. You aren’t really sure how to approach the topic. 

   “Why would it be awkward?” Bucky asks and you know he’s just egging you on. You sigh dramatically, dropping your hands into your lap. 

   “You know why,” you mumble, “our first kiss in front of everyone is gonna be our first kiss.” 

    Bucky slides closer to you, putting a warm hand on your bent knee as he cocks his head to the side, “it doesn’t have to be our first kiss.” 

    You’re shocked, breath hitching in your throat as you’re looking into Bucky’s eyes now. They’re warm, cool, and confident. 

    “We have a week of practice time, Sweets.” He purrs and you feel your heart kick against your ribs. 

   “You jus’ gotta lemme know what you wanna practice.” There’s a devilish smirk on his face before you’re swallowing thickly, “practice is good.” 

    Your voice is hoarse as Bucky chuckles, “practice is good. So wha’daya say? Should we practice?”

    You don’t believe this is happening, that Bucky’s hands are now cradling your face as he’s pulling you into his lap and against his naked chest until... 

    His lips are slotting over yours, warm and soft and faintly tasting of beer as you relax into his touch. 

    First kisses are never supposed to be this good. They’re supposed to be awkward and messy; teeth and tongue clanging and clashing together. 

    They aren’t supposed to feel this natural, like you’ve kissed Bucky a million times before, but it does.

    You can feel your body moulding against his, his hands now tightly gripping your hips and suddenly a moan slips from his mouth. 

    It causes a chain reaction, a domino effect where you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging as he rocks your hips against his. You can feel him growing under you, the sweatpants doing little to conceal him and... 

   “This is so wrong,” you mumble against him, “then why does it feel so good?” Bucky retorts back breathily before you’re kissing him against with haste and need. 

    “This is good practice,” he mumbles, hands sliding up and down your body until they’re toying with the hem of your sweater, “and we do need all the practice we can get.” You reply and you can feel him smirk. 

    “Atta girl, Sweets,” he purrs, sliding his hands under your sweater finally and you’re shocked at how cold his left hand is. 

    “Practice does make perfect, remember?” He teases, leaning you backwards until he’s standing up with you wrapped around his body like a koala. 

     At this point, you don’t care about the friendship and if it’s ruined; you care about the way your panties are slick with your arousal and how Bucky seemed to tap into your praise kink incredibly quickly. 

     You fell onto his bed, door shutting as you were quickly engulfed in his scent. Bucky looked down on you like you were his prey, licking his lips before his eyes met yours. 

    “‘S’not easy watchin’ you walk ‘round in my clothes, y’know that?” He hums, taking a few steps closer as you can see the evident outline of his cock in the grey sweatpants. 

     You had to squeeze your legs together, but it only spurs Bucky on as he chuckles. 

    ““S’bad enough I gotta use my hand on my cock when ‘m jerkin’ off, but hearin’ your moans as you’re usin’ that vibrator of yours.” 

     You moan, you actually moan at his words as he drops to his knees at the end of the bed, grabbing an ankle and tugging you down to his level. 

    “Knowin’ damn well I could make you cum harder and faster than it,” you let your head fall back as he rips your sweats and panties off of you, hiking your sweater up until you’re helping him rip if off your body. 

     He takes a moment, his cock twitching as he takes in your body, “a fuckin’ masterpiece, Sweets.” 

     You shudder, watching as he hikes your legs over his shoulders until his cool breath is fanning over your core. He’s barely touched you and you’re dripping, fucking soaked. 

    “What a pretty pussy,” he purrs, using metal fingers to spread your folds and tease you as you arch your back at the light touches. You’d always been more sensitive, a big reason as to why no one but your vibrator has ever been able to make you cum. 

     Something tells you that Bucky might. 

    “M’gonna take my sweet time devouring you, have you screamin’ all for me in my bed tonight,” he growls, nose brushing the hair that’s decorating your mound. 

     He says nothing further, tongue flat against you as you moan as let him eat you out like no one ever has. 

     His tongue lap around you, prodding at your entrance before focusing on your clit as he lets his fingers do most of the work. He starts with one, slowly teasing you until you’re begging. 

    “C’mon, Buck,” you whine, “add another.” 

     He chuckles against you, vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through you before he’s adding a second and curling them deep inside of you. 

    “That what my greedy girl wanted? To be stuffed full?” He taunts, a high-pitched whine running through you before you feel yourself teetering on the edge of your orgasm. 

    “Don’ worry, Sweets. I’ll make sure to stuff you full tonight,” he growls, but stops his fingers altogether. 

     You whine, thrash a little like a brat before he’s pinning your legs down. 

    “Don’t try to pull that with me, Sweets. You know ‘m stronger and not against punishin’ you.” You know it’s a warning, but you wish it was a promise instead. 

    “You’re cummin’ on my dick, waited too damn long and now I got you all to myself.” He stands up and drops his pants and you’re in awe. You always figure he was big, but he was big. 

    “Are you sure you’re gonna fit?” You squeak out, watching as he wraps his hand around himself to stroke him. 

     He reaches into his nightstand, grabbing a condom and some lube, “oh, we’ll make it fit, Sweets.” 

    “Now be a good girl and get on your hands and knees, yeah?” You’d never seen this side of Bucky, a dominant, rougher side as you moved into the position with no hesitations. 

     The condom wrapper falls to the floor, the pop of the lube makes you squirm in anticipation before the mattress is dipping under Bucky’s weight as you feel him behind you. 

    “Are you ready, Sweets?” He whispers in your ear, gently as he gently massages your shoulder. 

     You nod your head, “fuck me already, Barnes.” You egg, smirking before you’re letting out a soft gasp when you feel the head of his cock sliding thorugh your folds. 

    “Forgot you had a smart mouth,” he grunts, squeezing lube onto his cock, “we’ll see how well you can use it when you’re so full of me you can barely think.” 

     Bucky takes his time stretching you, but when he’s finally fully seated, you can safely say that you’ve never felt as full as you do with him. 

    “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Bucky groans, “takin’ me so goddamn well too, Sweets. Look at’cha, so full with me.” 

     He snakes a hand around your belly, pressing on your lower abdomen, “absolutely full of me.” 

     You wiggle your ass, whining, “need it, Bucky.” 

     He chuckles deeply, “my cock feel that good already?” 

     His hips snap harshly before you can reply, his skin slapping against yours as he picks up his speed. 

     You can feel a hand wiggle between your shoulder blades, applying pressure until your face hits the soft sheets, “wan’ you to be smellin’ only me, Sweets. Gonna have you thinkin’ of all of me when I make you cum.” 

     His words send a shiver down your spine and your toes begin to curl at the way this angle makes it so he’s able to brush the spot deep inside of you that you can never seem to find yourself. 

    “That’s it, Sweets, be a good girl and cum for me,” he bends his body over yours, “‘n don’t be afraid to make a mess.” 

     It hits you harder than you thought, sucking the air from your lungs as you feel your legs shaking and a familiar wetness running down your thighs when you realize what’s happening. 

    “Holy fuck,” you hear Bucky groan, “didn’t know you could squirt, baby.” 

     His hips stuttering as you continue to grip him, aftershocks of your orgasm washing over you, “gonna make me cum, Sweets. God, yeah, gonna get you nice ‘n full.” 

     Bucky’s voice is an octave lower as his moan rumbles through his chest as he squeezes the flesh of your hips as he spills into the condom buried deep inside of you. 

     You’re both exhausted and fucked out entirely as Bucky falls beside you in bed, condom discarded soon after until you’re both trying to catch your breaths and recover from the best sex you’ve ever had. 

    “I know they say practice makes perfect,” Bucky breathes, turning his head to you, “but that was pretty damn near perfect already.” 

     You laugh, closing your eyes as you wipe under your eyes, mascara smudged but you don’t care. 

    “At least it won’t be awkward at the wedding now,” you say, chuckling nervously as Bucky smirks.

    “Oh, that reminds me. There’s only one bed in the hotel room,” he winks and you playfully roll your eyes because of course there’s only one bed. 

     You just took a deep breath and hoped you’d be able to make it through the wedding without thinking of the many other ways Bucky could ruin you. 

    “For a fake boyfriend you sure gave me some real orgasms,” you quickly changed the topic as he shrugged, “I’ve lived with you for two years, I know what you like.” 

    “Plus, think of it as my way of sayin’ thanks for being my fake girlfriend so I don’t have to lose this bet.” 

     You could get on board with a fake relationship with real orgasms. 

[shapeshiftinterest]

Omg So True, Breastie- BESTIE! I MEAN BESTIE!!: sun x monty, moon x monty (CH 1+2)

based on the term ‘bestie’ and THIS meme of a girl staring at a dude’s chest

sun and moon have different ways of addressing the same topic

they’re short so i put both chapters on this post

story under the read more

Omg So True, Breastie- BESTIE! I MEAN BESTIE!! (also on ao3)

Sun’s version:

“-and then I said to her, ‘I AM the manager!’“

Sun wheezed, his voice box glitching at Monty’s reenactment of how he dealt with a Karen hours earlier.

“I AM the manager!” they giggled.

The bouncy animatronic wiped a fake tear from their eye and sighed. If their face could emote it’d be scrunched up from all the sillies they were feeling.

“Whew! That was a good one, Breastie-” Sun froze upon realizing his blunder, backtracking as fast as he could. “Bestie! I meant Bestie!! Haha!!“ Even if no one could tell he was blushing, Sun covered his face, fans overheating because of his slip up. “Oh my stars, I’m so sorry, Monty. I don’t know what that was about-.“

Monty let out a loud guffaw and roughly patted his buddy on the back. “Bwahahaha!!!“

Honestly he was surprised Sun’s programming hadn’t auto censored the word.

“Don’t worry about it, Lil Guy.“ he said, slinging an arm over Sun’s shoulders in a friendly way. “I know I’m hot stuff.“ The gator jokingly flexed his opposite arm.

Sun snorted “Sure sure,“ he said, shoving at the other playfully.

“Whaaaat, you know it’s true, you basically said it yourself!“

Sun ‘rolled‘ his eyes, the two exchanging playful banter as the shorter animatronic continued to clean around the daycare.

____________________________________________________________

Moon’s version:

“-Graaahhh!! It’s so frustrating though, y’kno?“ Monty huffed, retelling a confrontation that had happened between him and his handler only hours before Moon’s patrol.

The two were sitting next to each other. their legs dangling over the catwalk above Monty’s Gator Golf. Recently Moon had taken to ironically pretending to drink coffee and was currently holding a steaming cup as he listened to Monty rant.

“I mean, it feels like she’s not even listening to me!“

Monty tossed his hands into the air, the frustrated ‘whump‘ from his tail resounded on the catwalk.

Moon nodded sagely. If he could emote better he would have closed his eyes to complete the look. As such, Moon just turned off his night vision for a few seconds to simulate it.

“So true, Breastie.“ The celestial animatronic hummed in agreement.

Monty paused, the shorter’s words catching up to his processors. “Don’t y’mean ‘Best-’“

Moon ‘drank‘ his coffee, the liquid dripping down his face plate and onto his pants. Without even facing the other, Moon reached over to pat Monty’s chest plate affectionately, still pretending to ‘drink‘ his coffee.

“I know what I said, Montgomery.“

“O-Oh.“

Monty could hear his fans whirring as Moon withdrew his arm and did a graceful flip onto the railing. “Welp!” they said ”This was fun but I need to get back to my patrol.”

Giving his mohawk a quick ruffle, Moon bounced on one leg, and then the other, before springing into the air via his cable. “See you later, alligator~“

Monty blinked, wide eyed, and waved goodbye. He absently sent a message to his technician about seeing error signs and suddenly overheating.

                                                                               BONUS

The next day, Monty's handler found herself pranked halfway to hell and back, courtesy of Moon. She apologized for not listening to him after getting glitter bombed in Parts and Service.

[polyphonial-old]

sage + grape + sky

sage: i think of u not only as a blog but a bestie - ty!! i think of you as a bestie too! if i have given you unprompted song recs know that is my way of showing affection and it means you have reached the highest class of bestie possible <33

grape: i want to talk to u so badly!!! - same! the fun thing about talking to you is that you are much better at articulating your opinions which i completely agree with so i am just smiling and nodding and saying 'so true' the whole time :]

sky: lets go lie in a field together - i would very much like that :) mentally i am preparing a nice picnic to have with my friends in a quiet green meadow with flowers at all times! to this specific one i am inviting raii @nazumichi also and every time one of you does something remotely nice to each other, i cheer like i am watching a football match and my team has scored a goal. just a bit quieter

ask game!

[sammyblep]

hey bestie if/when u wanna write again: sam & adam, trees

SAGE bestie i will always write for u...

(send me sam + a word and if you want, another character, and I'll write a little thing)

Sam's talked with his resurrected mother who died thirty years ago. He's seen an alternate version of his father give him a hug and apologize. He and Dean and Cas have died and come back more times probably a dozen times apiece (more, if you count Broward County) and Sam himself has double-crossed Lucifer, bitched at the King of Hell, and shot God.

Somehow, though, walking with Adam - and Michael, he supposes - through this pleasant little forest is the strangest thing he's ever done.

See, he thought he knew Adam. He'd met a bright young kid who was scared for his mom and desperate for help, who'd been friendly and kind and wanted to learn about what Sam and Dean did. But all that was a lie, a ghoul who'd nearly killed him; all Sam knew of the true Adam was that he'd spent millenia in the Cage, with Michael, and was now kind of incomprehensible.

Sam had put him there. Dean hadn't been able to rescue him from the room in Heaven. And now they were walking under the pretty green trees, together, as if one of them wasn't housing an archangel.

"So," Adam said, clearly feeling as awkward as Sam did. "We, uh, we heard a lot about you. Down there, that is."

It takes Sam far longer than he wants to admit to remind himself that Adam wasn't tortured down there. He was allowed to hear things, know things. "Yeah? What, what kind of things?" Probably not good ones, but hey, the world hasn't been destroyed yet. Not for lack of trying.

Adam shrugs, glancing over at Sam. "Well, the Leviathans, for one thing. That hunt where Dean nearly got cursed by ballet slippers? Yeah, we had a good laugh over that." There's a shift in Adam's body language. "I'm glad to hear you managed to seal them away once more."

Michael. Sam nods, once, jerkily. "Yeah, well, I thought I lost Dean and Cas doing it. I did lose them."

They've stopped in a particularly shady place, a private place made of bark and bushes and leaves. Sam lets out a heavy sigh as he adjusts to Michael's presence, then shakes his head. He doesn't blame himself for not trying harder to get Dean and Cas back, he really doesn't, but sometimes the guilt is unavoidable.

"Sam." Michael - or maybe it is Adam? - rests a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Even if it wasn't enough, you did what you could. No one can ask for more."

Sam stares at them, at the half-brother and his archangel, at the sensation of millenia of wisdom behind their shared eyes, of unshakeable trust in each other in the way they mix together - Michael's hand on Sam's shoulder, but Adam's smile. A particularly angelic tilt of the head, but Adam's stance. The way they are together... it's truly something unique. And it's something Sam did, when he dragged them into the Cage, and it's something he never even attempted to undo. Another thing he blamed himself for, when his everything wasn't enough. And now they're overwhelming.

But also, here in this forest, the forgiveness of an archangel and Sam's own half-brother, for all its strangeness - among these trees, Sam feels lighter than he knew he could feel anymore.

[itty-bittle]

I know absolutely no one asked for this, but I was overcome and had to get this out of my brain. and i had to break my 4 months of writer’s block. so here’s this, i might make more! i am selling a product for which there is no demand 😌

______________________________________________________________

Nursey/Dex, 1500 words (so far)

He knew this road like the back of his hand. All of them, really, the way they sprouted and converged with one another, each leading to a building or a park or a neat row of raccoon-infested dumpsters he’d seen a thousand times. It was easier at night to see them all again, brain on autopilot as one hand worked the steering wheel, the other tucked under his thigh. It made him almost angry, the nostalgia that’d wormed itself into his chest again. He hated this fucking place. 

The only part he liked was the Persian tobacco store owner who’d sold to him since he was a scrawny 16 year old, who saw his shaved head and poorly ace bandage-bound chest, and passed the carton of cigarettes across the counter without even asking for his ID. He smoked half the pack in one sitting the first time, hoping his lungs would just shrivel up on the spot. They didn’t, he just felt sick and lightheaded his entire drive back home. He didn’t stop, though. He almost liked the way they made him feel. The nausea drew him out of his body, clenching his stomach instead of his heart for a few brief minutes. 

He was smoking now, actually. The filter of a fresh dart pinched between his index and middle fingers, stinking smoke into the ceiling of his pickup. Luckily it’d already reeked of ashtray when he bought it, so he didn’t have to feel bad about ruining the upholstery. He shifted his unused hand to steady the bottom of the steering wheel while he took a drag. No one knew he smoked, at least at Samwell. He didn’t live in the Haus so it was easy enough to hide, not that they could do anything about it if they found out. His coaches could tell him to stop, but he did well enough on the ice with black lungs already. He just knew Bitty would be disappointed in him. 

The road was quiet, like it always was after 8pm. In a town full of hicks and the elderly, everyone was busy either snorting pills or resting up for early church service. The night was mild and sweet outside his windows, insects screeching in the foliage framing either side of the road. Dangling his cigarette between his lips, Will dipped his hand outside the window, wind whipping through his fingers like silk. The headlights of the truck barely illuminated the road immediately in front, but it didn’t matter. He knew all the curves were coming before he even had to think about it. He was thinking about going to the shop, Izad was usually there well past closing and would let him in as long as he paid in cash, when his phone started buzzing against his thigh. Glancing down, he saw a facetime request from Nursey, his contact name “annoying shithead” staring back at him. Confused, he spotted a parking lot a little ways down the road and pulled in, heart thumping faster in his chest. He chalked it up to the nicotine buzz.

“What do you want?” He said once he parked, resting his phone on the middle of his steering wheel. The streetlight illuminated him just enough that Nursey couldn’t complain about not seeing his ‘stupid mug’. 

“Hello to you too, sexy Dexy.” Nursey drawled. Behind him, Will could see a gorgeous oak desk covered in every manner of clutter: dishes, books, loose papers and half-finished granola bars. “Is a man not allowed to check in on his favorite little star every once in a while?” 

“Ha ha.” Will said, flicking the ash off his cigarette where it hung out of the window, safely out of frame. “Then to what do I owe the, uh… pleasure?” 

“I missed you.” Nursey said simply, like that wasn’t enough to make Will’s throat tense up with… something. “And I wanted to ask you if you’d quit that awful job yet.” The only decent one he could get in this shitty town, Nursey meant. Will sighed, watching as the ember ate away at his tobacco. 

“No, idiot, because they pay me enough to keep gas in my truck. And it’s… I don’t know. It’s nice to do something. To have like a purpose.” Nursey nodded sagely, and something flickered across his face. He probably had a wealth of time sitting on his ass doing nothing, Will thought, and he definitely didn’t envy him. Nursey liked to keep things moving along as much as him, and Will couldn’t imagine what he’d even do if he didn’t have to worry about putting gas in his car or food in his sibling’s mouths. Nursey was probably going insane with boredom. 

“What about the lobster boat?”

Will sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “The hull is fucked. My uncle crashed it into a sandbar that had a few too many rocks in it. It’ll probably take him all fucking year to get around to fixing it.” The news was disappointing, but not shocking when it came. Uncle Matt had a tendency to drink a few too many when the water got still and the stars were out. Will couldn’t say he blamed him, it was lonely out there. Still, sucked that he had to spend eight hours in a sweltering mechanic shop all summer rather than on the ocean. “How’s C?” 

“He’s fine. Cait’s coming to visit him soon.” The scenery behind Nursey changed as he made his way down one of what Will assumed to many long hallways in his house. He’d never actually been, but in his mind Nursey lived in a mansion on top of a skyscraper. “How come you never visit me, babe?” Nursey pouted, little frown replaced by an easy smile when Will scoffed. 

“Because I have a job.” Will replied, deciding he didn’t care if Nursey knew his car and his hands and his breath smelled like an ashtray, he paid eight fucking dollars for the carton and he wasn’t going to waste a cigarette because Nursey liked impromptu facetime calls. Besides, Nursey was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn’t a snitch. He took a mildly shameful drag, flicking his eyes away from the screen as he pulled and exhaled. Nursey didn’t look surprised at all. 

“American Spirits. Didn’t know you were a fuckin’ tree hugger, Dexy.” Despite himself, Will smiled, taking another pull. 

“Fuck off.” Was all he said. There was silence as Nursey reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of, oddly enough, white wine. “Whoa there, big shoots. I thought your parents didn’t drink.” 

“They bought it at some fundraiser cus Ma liked the art on the bottle. I’m just going to mix it with cranberry juice, make myself a nice little rose.” Will gagged loudly, scowling at his screen while Nursey laughed. The worst part was knowing he was dead serious. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Will murmured through a mouthful of smoke. 

“Bestie withdrawals.” Nursey sighed dramatically, uncorking the bottle and dumping it into a pint glass. He waved the open neck under his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes comically rolling back in his head. “Mm, I’m getting strong notes of… let’s see… cat piss, vinegar and oh,” he inhaled again, “Hints of rubbing alcohol. Simply splendid.”

Will was giggling despite himself. He hated how much he loved Nurse’s stupid antics. “C only left four days ago, how can you already be having withdrawals?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you for like, two months.” He said, and again the same feeling jumped up into the back of Will’s throat, twisting at his guts. It was weird. It was hard to tell when Nursey was being sincere about this kind of thing. All the flirting, the pet names, all of that was a joke, obviously, it had to be. But sometimes Nursey would say things so easily, like they were true, like he really did capital-m miss Will. It wasn’t that Will didn’t miss him too, of course he did, some days he’d wake up and the first thing he did was mindlessly open his phone to scroll through Nursey’s insanely long Snap stories, just to look at his face. He’d never tell him that, of course, which is why the sweet nothings Nursey would casually admit probably affected him so much. Probably. 

There was silence again as Nursey rooted around in the fridge for the juice, and Will flicked his ash out the window. 

“Y’know…” Will started, hardly believing he was saying what he was about to say. “I do have a Friday off next week. And the shop is closed…” 

“Saturday through Monday. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Nursey was grinning, the kind that made Will’s ears heat up and he had to turn his eyes to the window again, pretending he was watching something outside. 

“It’s a hell of a drive, though. You better be worth my time, Nurse.” Will said, trying to sound mean but it mostly just came out soft. He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth so he wouldn’t say anything else.

“Oh, I’ll make it worth it, William.” Nursey said, and Will didn’t even need to look to know he was waggling his eyebrows at the screen. 

“You’re paying me gas money.”

“I’ll pay for a new shitty fuckin’ pickup if you bring some of your brother’s hooch with you too.” 

[freedom-shamrock]

Hero Cafe - Chapter 2

Also on AO3

< << Go back to Chapter 1

Oops?  It’s not a one-shot anymore.

⁂ 

Chat Noir happily bounded over the rooftops, a bulky parcel in his arms as he headed to his new favorite place. It was his night to patrol with Carapace, and he was delighted to get to introduce his long-term hero buddy to Marinette's Hero Cafe. He'd wanted to be the one to escort all of the B-team members, but Ladybug had objected to him patrolling that much. Something about exhaustion consuming her kitty. But she had agreed to some schedule swapping so he could have the absolute joy of inducting most of the B-team to their exclusive club. Chloe was going to love that aspect.

"Okay, dude," Carapace called, keeping pace with Chat and his ungainly package. "I give up.  Where are we going and what the heck are you dragging around with you?"

"You'll see. We're nearly there," Chat replied, dropping to the roof of his old college. He patted the brown paper wrapped bolts of cloth. "This is pale pink damask and sage green bamboo jersey that is utterly decadent to touch."

Carapace stared at him for a moment. "D-damask and jersey?  Are those fabrics?"

Chat Noir nodded. Didn't everyone know what damask and jersey were?

"Are we going crafting?  Because I've gotta tell you, I'm not handy in that way." Carapace looked a bit reluctant, like he didn't like having to admit that.

Chat laughed. "This isn't for us. Don't worry, I'd be way over my head if I had to actually make something with these." He felt a delightful warmth in his belly as he thought of Marinette creating things with them, though. The colors fit the springtime scheme she'd been designing with recently. "They're for our hostess."

"Hostess?" Carapace asked.

Chat nodded. "As Ladybug instructed me, take a different route each time you come.  We don't want to lead anyone to her."

Carapace's eyes went wide. "We're going to Ladybug's house?"

"As if." Chat snorted and shook his head. He gestured toward the twinkle-lights on the balcony across the way. "Have you ever met Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" He took his team mate's expression of awe as an answer. "I know, dude. I hear ya." He sighed happily. "The one and only, beautiful and amazing Marinette has made something very special just for the heroes of Paris. Come check it out." He led the way over to the pleasantly lit and comfortable little rooftop cafe. As they both touched down, Chat waved grandly to the tables and kitchenette space. "Welcome to Marinette's Hero Cafe. It's a place where you can warm up, get out of the weather, catch a snack, or even recharge your kwami." He leaned the fabric parcel against the wall so he could better show off the amenities. "She's keeping us stocked up on a variety of snacks, including kwami favorites. Leftovers from family dinner are in the refrigerator." He pulled out the pot, closing his eyes and enjoying the aroma of tonight's dal soup. He loved family dinner. Even when he ate alone at the Hero Cafe, it felt so different from eating alone in his father's house.

"Woah," Carapace whispered reverently enough to make Keanu Reeves proud.

Chat served himself some dal, popping it into the microwave. While it warmed, he leaned down to tap lightly on Marinette's skylight. There was a bright glow from her room, and he wanted to thank her in person. The skylight raised slowly just as the microwave beeped.

"Oh," she said softly. "Chat Noir, Carapace, good evening."

Chat smiled warmly at her. "It's a beautiful evening, Princess." He bowed to her.

Her brilliant eyes rolled a bit, but she looked happy. "Silly kitty."

"This is an amazing thing you've done for us, N-uh Marinette," Carapace said, fumbling her name a bit. It was to be expected when one stood in the presence of a goddess. Chat was grateful he'd gotten to know her when he was still an awkward teen, and had moved past the truly embarrassing presentations of adoration.

Her cheeks pinked a bit. "I just wanted to do something for you, the heroes who risk yourselves every day for the rest of us." She shrugged. "I know it can't be easy, and while I'm sure people thank you all the time, those are just words."

Chat sighed happily. Of course words were cheap and Marinette would never be satisfied with such flimsy appreciation. But then, neither would he. "You have no idea how much this means to us, Princess," he said, reaching for the parcel he'd lugged across rooftops for her.

Her eyes went wide. "What is that?"

He lay the package before her as though he were a servant and she the highest empress. "A mere token of my gratitude."

She picked at the seam, where the paper was overlapped and taped. "This looks like more than a mere token, Kitty."

He held up one finger. "You've given up this space to us, Princess." He turned briefly to look out into Paris before looking back. "With a view like this, you've given up the most inspirational place in your house." He waved his hand around to the cafe itself. "And you've put time, effort, and money into this."

"Because I wanted to," she pointed out.

Chat nodded. "Yes. And I want to make sure you have what you need to make your design dreams come true, even with you giving so much to us." He gave her mid-level kitten eyes, hoping that holding back a bit would allow him to step up if needed.

"Fine, I'll accept," she allowed, shaking her head and smiling. She peeled away the paper, and his large cat ears picked up her gasp. It was followed by a soft sigh. "These are amazing," she whispered.

"Please enjoy them." He nodded then finally went to retrieve his dal from the microwave.

"Oh I will," she promised, carefully lowering them into her room. "You two have a good night now. And if there's anything you find I'm low on, or that you'd like me to have in the future,  please add it to the suggestion box."

Chat was savoring his dal when Carapace settled in at the little table with his own bowl. "I love this stuff."

"Few things are better than food prepared by the Dupain-Chengs," Carapace agreed.

Chat nodded. "Tom and Sabine liked this plan of Marinette's and are helping with the food." When Ladybug told him how the cafe came to be, he'd loved that part of the story. What he wouldn't give to have a family that loved like they did.

"I can't help but notice how familiar you are with Marinette, though," Carapace said, his words slow like he was being careful with his choices.

"She's my friend," Chat pointed out. "Has been since Evillustrator targeted her."

Carapace looked surprised.

"She was a great help for that fight, and she's…" He hesitated. Ladybug knew some of this, but he'd been careful to keep it on the down low otherwise.  And he knew Marinette never mentioned their friendship, unlike some people who constantly claimed to be besties with one or more of the heroes. "She's been there for me when I needed it."

"I had no idea," Carapace muttered. "She… I've met her as a civilian, you know. And she's never said a thing."

Chat nodded. "She's as good as Milady at keeping things to herself."

⁂

Check out Chapter 3 >>

I have a lot of ideas for this, but only a super vague plan for an overall arc, so we'll decide in the end if it actually has plot or if it's just a series of day-in-the life moments for our heroes and Marinette.

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[amusewithaview]

Drunk-Dialing Wormholes (MCU/Tolkien crossover)

A/N: This is for @uru-viel who recently Did a Very Cool Thing.

As a general rule, Darcy was against drunk!science.

She was, in fact, usually the voice of reason that shouted down the drunk!science.  Darcy, as a general rule, tended to prefer drunk!dancing or drunk!marathons (preferably of B-level slasher films).  Darcy did not think that drunk and science should be in the same hemisphere, let alone the same lab.  The closest she had ever come to drunk!science was when she attempted to figure out the tip at Waffle House at 3:00AM on Thursday night.

Everyone made interesting decisions in college.

Today, she was making an exception to her general rule.  Today was a day for exceptions and skirting of rules and ignoring of guidelines.  Today was the day of Jane and Thor’s break-up.  Darcy would call it ‘the big break-up’ but, truth be told, the relationship ended with more of a whimper than a bang.  There was long distance and then there was long distance, she was honestly impressed that they’d managed to maintain the flame for the length of time that they did.

Just for the day, she was bending the rules.

“Wine and science,” Jane said, the lower half of her spine undulating side to side as if her core muscles had forgotten how to work.  “Wine and science,” she repeated, “is a marvelous combination.”

“I think there’s more wine than science.  And not enough whine.”

“I hate that I can hear the spelling change,” Jane muttered.

“You know me so well.”

“Too well.”

“Wounded,” Darcy said.  “I am hurt.”

“You are drunk,” Jane said, reaching over and gently pushing on her shoulder.

She obligingly swayed, tipping so far she almost unseated herself on the stool.  “I’m the drunk half of this drunk!science experiment,” she said sagely.  “Now go bring some more science into the party so I can bring more wine.”

“I...don’t think that’s how it works.”

“We gotta keep it equal!  Even!  Ish!”

Jane pondered that for a moment, then nodded and shrugged.  “I had... I had a thing I was going to do, with that - that-”

“The other thing?”

“Yeah.”

Darcy pulled a face.  “Now I’m sad, because I think I know which things you mean.  We spend... a lot of time together.  Maybe too much.”

Jane shot her a mournful look, “If we weren’t platonic besties-”

“We’d be the bestest girlfriends,” Darcy finished, holding out her fist for a bump.

Jane bumped back solemnly.  “In another life.”

“One without Thor.”

“Or Ian,” she added.

“Ugh,” Darcy said, grimacing.  “Don’t remind me.”

“Sorry, sorry... I’ll just,” she gestured vaguely towards the Bridge machine.  “I’ll just bring the science level up enough that we can open another bottle of wine.”

“I’ll need wine and whine if we’re talking about Ian.”

Jane poked at the machine, “I had an inkling the other day, but it was a weird one.  I think my inkling was on the right track.”

“Did you write it down?”

“I didn’t want to waste the ink if I was wrong.”

“Cute,” Darcy said.  “Maybe I should introduce you to Sam, he likes puns.”

“No men, not for at least... three months.  Mourning period.”

“Fair.  So...the inkling.  Need paper?”

“Nah, no paper.  Just a few adjustments, like-” Jane wrenched at the machine, turning it a quarter to the left and then hitting a few buttons out of Darcy’s line of sight.  “There, that might do it.”

“Might?”

She shrugged.  “The inkling was vague and now wine.  ‘Might’ is as good as it’s going to get tonight.”

“You want I should press the red button?”

Jane pursed her lips.  “Uh...maybe we should wait until tomorrow?”

Darcy gave her an exaggeratedly patient look.  “Jane.  Janey.  What is tonight?”

“Drunk!science night.”

“This night comes but once a relationship!”

“True, okay.  Push the button.”

Darcy swayed over, one hand clutching her wine glass, and slung her other arm over Jane’s shoulder.  She leaned in, pulling Jane along with her, until her hand could flatten over the big red button.  She locked eyes with the older woman and waggled her eyebrows until Jane started giggling, then and only then did she push the button.

It was difficult to say who was more surprised when it worked: Darcy or Jane.  But one moment they were cheerfully tipsy-slash-drunk in the lab and the next moment they were stumbling forward into a forest.

“This isn’t where I parked the bar,” Darcy said.

“Oh my god,” Jane breathed.  “It worked!”

“Your inkling worked.”

“It worked!”

“Jane...”

“I can’t believe-”

“Jane!”

“What?”

“You didn’t write down the inkling.”

“Well, no.”

“So nobody knows where we are and, unless they’re like, as smart and specialized as you, odds are they won’t figure out how we got here.”

“...oops?”

Darcy squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment.  “I’m too tipsy for this,” she muttered.  “Okay, so, here’s what we do.  We walk until we find people-”

“People?”

“Sentient beings, preferably ones we can communicate with, and then we ask them for help.  Your machine can only move people through space, right?  Not time and dimensions?”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Well, ok then.”

“But if I’m wrong?”

“Panic, pain, the whole nine yards.  But first!  Optimism!”

“Fueled by wine.”

“That’s the best kind of optimism!”

Wine-fuelled optimism only got them about fifty feet further into the trees.  The forest was dark, slightly dank, and quiet enough to impress upon the women the need for both speed and silence.  The light, shaded by the overhanging branches and leaves, was dim enough to be confused with dusk.  The weather was just warm enough that they were comfortable, but both wondered how that might change once true night fell.

“It’s too quiet,” Darcy muttered.

“Don’t say that, you’ll freak me out.”

“Join me in my freak-out.  The water’s fine.”

“Ha ha,” Jane muttered, carefully clambering over a massive downed tree.

There was no clear pathway, but the trees were too large to grow too close together and they provided enough shade that the space between them largely empty of sun-craving foliage.  There were mushrooms and shrubs, unrecognizable to either woman, but those were easy to navigate.  It was, after all, very simple to travel through a forest when you have no clear destination.

Being neither accustomed to camping nor even remotely acquainted with woodcraft, both of them were utterly surprised to find themselves suddenly surrounded by people with bows and arrows and skin that glowed faintly in the dim forest’s light.

“Definitely not in Kansas anymore,” Darcy muttered.

One of the people stepped forward, lowering his bow.  He said something in a smooth language that seemed entirely comprised of L’s and R’s.  At their obvious incomprehension, he switched to something with more glottal stops.  Seeing their continued confusion, he scowled, stepping even closer, and studied them intently.

Darcy watched as his eyes skimmed over her and then stuttered to an obvious halt on Jane.  She barely kept herself from rolling her eyes.  Jane, for some reason unfathomable but utterly amusing, seemed to attract a certain type.  That type was blonds, usually affluent blonds, but it was true regardless of placement on the gender spectrum.  Darcy did not understand it, but after several years of friendship, including many nights at varying bars and/or restaurants, she felt quite comfortable making the broad, sweeping generalization that her friend was blond-nip.

He said something soft and quietly awed, then slowly slid his bow into a sheath on his back.  He reached out a hand to Jane and-

Jane reached back.

Darcy watched with wide eyes as her friend accepted the hand and allowed herself to be drawn closer to the stranger.  “Uh...what’s going on?”

“I...have no idea,” Jane said, never taking her eyes off of their new friend.  “But I’m strangely okay with it.  Can’t tell if that’s the wine talking or leftover thrill of success from the science.”

“Maybe both.”

“Probably both,” she agreed.  “But he’s...”

“Holy shit, he’s an elf!” Darcy squeaked as the stranger tilted his head to listen to them, long blond hair sweeping to one side to reveal a very pointy ear.

“He’s perfect,” Jane breathed.  There were stars in her eyes as she looked at him, and considering the woman’s hobbies, degrees, and life-long obsession, that was saying something.

It was, honestly, kind of adorable.  The strange man and Jane were just... standing there.  Gazing into one another’s eyes.  After a minute or so, another one of the strangers (elves!) sheathed their bow and glided over to the trio.  This one was a redhead and looked female, assuming that the elves subscribed to anything approaching human gender ideas.  The ginger elf said something to the blond in that first liquid-silver language, it sounded soft and curious.

The blond responded, sounding just as breathless as Jane.

Ginger elf made a face like she was having too many emotions to convey.  She turned smartly towards Darcy and made a broad gesture, obviously beckoning her closer.

“Hi, I have no idea what you’re saying but I’m totally not a threat,” Darcy said as she obeyed the unspoken command.

Ginger elf tilted her head to one side, looking amused.  She turned to the rest of the elves and said something hard and quick, head tilting to the left of where Darcy and Jane had been walking.  The others melted back into the foliage, though Darcy assumed that they were still there, and the elf turned back to her with a raised eyebrow as if to say, ‘Well?  You coming?’

“Well,” Darcy muttered, gamely following the elves and Jane, “we found sentient beings, now we just gotta work on the communication bits.”

It felt like hours later that they reached something approaching civilization.  In this case, ‘civilization’ came in the form of a fortress whose walls were made of living trees.  Darcy gave them props for sustainability and their obvious support of the environment, but she was feeling tired, grumpy, and slightly queasy at that point.  Wine and exercise were not a good combination.

Much like wine and science.

Darcy, who at this point wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and sleep off what was sure to be an awful hangover, was a being made of regret.

Then she glanced over at the blond, who had introduced himself as ‘Legolas’ in the most adorable ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane,’ moment to ever make Darcy wish she had a functional camera, and her regret subsided.  Legolas and Jane kept sneaking glances at each other, and every time they locked eyes it was as if the world melted away.  And then either Tauriel, the redheaded elf, or Darcy would have to poke and prod them to get them moving again.

Darcy and Tauriel were well on their way to becoming friends in spite of the language barrier.  There was an entire code of raised eyebrows and exasperated half-smiles shared between them as they helped shepherd their friends onwards.

The tree-fortress had a very large tree-door that Darcy decided not to think about too hard because the door appeared to be made of living wood and that was some next-level horticulture right there.  Beyond the gates was a city, but a tree city.  It was everything Darcy had imagined as a child when people described ‘tree houses’ to her, like Swiss Family Robinson meets fairytale, and she was instantly enchanted and enraptured.

The rest of the elves from the original encounter had melted back out of the woodwork and formed up at their backs as an escort.  Darcy had a moment to feel wary before they were ushered into a very large tree-house-thing and into something that was obviously a receiving room.  The tip-off was the very large and intimidating chair at one end of the room.

There was another elf-man sitting in the throne (because what else could it be?), long-limbed and graceful even stationary.  He also had blond hair, and Darcy had a moment of worry as to whether or not there would be a blond-off for the favor of fair Jane.  Clearly the wine had yet to leave her system.

The new, somehow even blonder elf was staring at Legolas and Jane with a faint frown, then his eyes swept over to her and - oh.

Huh.

Well.  Shit.

His eyes were silvery, or maybe blue, it was difficult to tell with the distance between them but - oh.  He had risen and was rapidly closing that distance.  He stopped in front of her and reached out and, just like Jane, she reached back immediately.  His hand in hers felt like that swooping feeling when a roller coaster first starts its descent down a big hill, like fireworks and killer harmonies and she was soothed and exhilarated all at once.

“What the fuck, Jane,” Darcy breathed.

“With you, 100%,” she replied.

Legolas and her elf - shit, that was too possessive, that wasn’t, but it was?  Too confusing - started speaking in the flowing language.  After a moment, her elf nodded sharply, then lifted his free hand to press his palm to his chest.

“Thranduil,” he said.

“Darcy,” she replied, smiling helplessly.

She was feeling sightly better about the wine/science combo.