#STOP RATIONALIZING LAD PLEASE

[automaticllamacycle]

May Jesus forgive me for what I’m about to say.

Making matty jealous at an industry party until he spanks you and fucks you so hard afterwards

I am going to be combining this ask with this one that I got because they will fit will together hehe : literally matty just fucking you RELENTLESSLY like that man is not stopping until your actually crying like tears are flowing down your face

Disclaimers: reader is quite drunk during the sex, but I'm acting like this is in the dom/sub au I (kinda) have going on so they are in a very committed relationship and have discussed situations like this before! Anyways now onto the horny thoughts (even though im writing this more like a traditional fic)

this ended up being like 1.5k words. It is now 2am so it is NOT proof read, like not even a once over I am SLEEPY

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

industry parties are the worst. You despise them. Its all the same every time. You would show up with Matty, have a few drinks of alcohol, and hang by Matty's side while he talked with people from the label. It got old really fast in all honesty.

Tonight you just wanted his attention more than anything, and you are determined to have it by the end of the night. You arrive to the party on his arm and the same old pattern begins as he's dragged away by Jamie to go talk to someone. Without Matty at your side, you excuse yourself to the open bar. One drink turns into two, which turns into three before you even realize it.

You planned this out beforehand. You thought to yourself, maybe if you got a bit drunk and needy, you could convince Matty to take you home early. After drink number three you walk over to Matty, and lean to whisper in his ear. "Baby, can we go home? I'm tired of this."

Matty can tell you're a bit tipsy from your mumbled speech. "Sweetheart, this stuff is important I can't just leave because you want to leave."

"But Matty-" you start, putting on pleading doe eyes. He cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

"I said no. Now, go on, it shouldn't be too much longer, anyway. You can be patient."

So, you found yourself back at the bar, with another drink. You've had too much, but you don't really care. Too pissed at Matty to really give a shit.

After another hour passes you stumble back over to Matty. The liquid courage must be working because you don't even care about the fact he's talking to people. You nearly crash into his side when you reach him. "Matty! Can we go now?" He shoots you a glare instantly before turning back towards the two men he was speaking with.

"Sorry guys, this is my girlfriend Y/N. Please, continue on with what you were saying!" Matty's hand is around your waist in a bruising grip. His lips quickly come up to your ear to speak in a dark tone. "Behave."

You do behave... for a total of five minutes, then you get needy again. You start small, leaning into his side and placing your arm on his chest. The alcohol dulls your rational thinking enough that you have no shame in your next actions, reaching up to kiss him on the neck. Matty laughs off the kiss, not so much as turning his gaze to you, continuing to listen to the men speaking to him. His grip on your waist tightens. He's starting to get mad.

You don't stop. Your hand paws at his chest while you balance on your tip toes to whisper in his ear. "Please, sir. I need you-"

Matty steps away fast, not letting you connect your lips to his neck again. "Haha- sorry lads I think it's time I take her back home. Jamie is right over there and would be happy to answer any other questions you two might have." And with that Matty's hand firmly grips your wrist and pulls your behind him, out the door, and to his car.

Once your on the road, he finally speaks after giving you the silent treatment. "What the fuck was that? Were you trying to embarrass me? You know it's important that I talk to people like that at these things."

"I'm sorry- I just wanted your attention."

"And you thought the best way to do that was to beg me to fuck you in front of those guys?"

"I whispered it!"

"Whispered? You call that a whisper? I'm almost certain they heard you. How much have you had to drink tonight."

"Uhm... I lost count."

"No shit."

The rest of the car ride was filled with silence. When you arrive at his place, he doesn't even go around to open your car door, instead heading straight to the front door of his house. Once your both inside, he sits down on the couch. He's angry. Really fucking angry.

"Bend over my knee. Right now." You don't dare disobey him. That would only increase your punishment. You lean your body over his legs, giving him access to your ass. Matty flips up your dress to reveal your lace underwear that is already soaked through.

"I'm sorry sir- I- I promise I didn't mean to embarrass you. Just wanted you so bad." You flinch when his hand strikes your ass.

"Fucking slut. Just because you didn't mean to doesn't mean you avoid getting punished." You gasp as his hand comes down again, just as hard as the first strike. "Besides." His hand spanks you again. "You knew what you were doing when you decided to order all those drinks didn't you?" His hand hits you again, showing no mercy. "Needed some courage before you could be such a whore in public, huh?"

"Yes- yes sir- I knew what I was doing. I'm sorry." Matty's satisfied with your answer, but that doesn't stop the onslaught of his hands. You'll be bruised for at least a week. He wants you to remember this every time you sit down. He wants you to remember and learn from the punishment.

By the end of it, you're sobbing. The strikes were becoming too much, and you needed him to touch you. "Matty- p-please I- I need you, please."

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes, sir. I'll never do it again. I promise." you say through choked sobs. Without warning Matty carries you to the bedroom and throws you onto the bed before he starts taking off his clothes. He's hard through his boxers, which are soaked with precum. You follow suit and take off your dress, wincing as you take the lace of your underwear off of your ass.

Matty's on top of you the next second, his cock at the entrance of where you need him most. "You know, I shouldn't even give you my cock. Only good girls deserved to get fucked."

"No! no no no! Please. I need you, I need you so bad." Tears flow down your cheeks.

Matty enters you suddenly, filling you to the hilt. He gives you no time to adjust to his size as he begins pounding into you. "Fine. I'll give you my cock." He groans out. "But I'm going at my fucking pace and you're going to take it."

His hips move rapidly, thrusting into you hard. All you can do is wrap your legs around his waist and dig your nails into his back. The moans that leave your mouth are desperate. Your cries fill the room, along with the sounds of skin meeting skin. Matty's pace is near animalistic.

Matty flips your over so you're on your stomach. You don't have the strength to hold yourself up, completely pliant on the bed. "Poor thing can't hold herself up? Thought you wanted me to fuck you?" he groans, continuing his fierce pace. The new position allows him to go even deeper into your cunt. It's all becoming too much.

"Matty-" you cry. "It's too much- I can't"

"Take it. Be my good girl and take my cock. You were fucking made for me." One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling your up so your back is up against his chest. He uses his other hand to hold onto the headboard of the bed, steadying himself so he can thrust into you even faster.

"Matty- shit I can feel you in my stomach- fuck-" At your words, his hand shifts lower on your waist, pressing over where his cock bulges in your stomach.

"Yeah? You feel that?" He presses down harder, making a whine leave your throat. "Only I can do this to you. Your cunt is made for my cock." You moan out in agreement, drawing closer and closer to orgasm, and Matty is getting close too. "You gonna come for me? Gonna milk my cock?"

"Yes- yes sir- please."

"Go on then come for me." When he speeds up the pace of his hips, you're a goner, falling into the waves of an orgasm. The pleasure overwhelms you, pulsing through your veins. You cry out his name over and over again as he fucks you though it.

Matty is not far behind. It only takes a few more thrusts before he cums inside of you, filling you up deep inside. As soon as he's finished, he practically collapses on top of you. He takes the time to trail kisses on the back of your neck as you catch your breath and come back down to earth.

"You did good for me, baby. Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's my girl. Let me take care of you now."

[southparkxreader]

pairings:  post covid ! kyle broflovski, kenny mccormick, stan marsh x reader. trigger warnings : age gaps . reader is in her middle twenties , everyone else is forty nine . specific uses of she/her pronouns ,  uses of y/n + l/n ( get that interactive fic extension loaded , lads  ) .  disclaimer : i haven’t written anything like this in a long time .  only interact with this post if you are 18 or above , minors are not welcomed on my blog . small intro of a future series im going to start in a fic form , putting this out there to see if anyone is interested and to get a taste for how alive the fandom is .

stay with me ... fanfic series being kenny’s assistant.

kenny has a nasty habit of losing track - it can range from his paper work , to notes when he’s going on one of his tangents and just needing to let it all out before it fleets from mind, to as simple as forgetting what day of the week it is : forgetting dates, scheduled events, that sort of thing. he really cannot coordinate his own life if it meant saving it, he’s just got too much going on, ten fold when it comes to his work -

it was kyle’s idea, actually - listening to kenny apologize yet again for forgetting one of the days they were supposed to meet up on. he sighs, exasperated, annoyed, any rational person would be when plans kept going haywire because someone couldn’t even bother to turn up “have you thought about a personal assistant ?” leaning on his kitchen counter, watching the new snow fall as he leaned into the phone “it’ll help. if it doesn’t, i’m just going to stop making plans with you.”

is he being serious ? no, but still - he’s on thin ice.

kenny starts interviewing a week later, because it really isn’t a bad idea - he’s ashamed that he never thought of it sooner. the applications come flooding through, who wouldn’t want a front row seat to a genius like him ? the things they’d get to witness first hand, new discoveries, seeing his mind in person and with a front row seat. it was too good to be true, nobody in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to put their application through.

after about a dozen interviews, he’s just about ready to give up.

then,,,, you come in - it was like he took a shot of vodka with how you snapped him awake - his eyes trail over you for a moment, he could see straight away how nervous you were - despite how much you were trying to hide it. cheeks were clearly flushed, fidgeting with your fingers before you held out a hand towards the man, smile shaky but bright as you did your best to put on a brave face, a little tremble in your hand as anxiety shot through you didn’t go missed, either  “its a pleasure to meet you, mr mccormick, truly, it’s an honour. ” 

well, right then and there, kenny thought you were just the sweetest little thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. he had his mind made up before your hands locked together, his large palm swallowing yours so easily as he sent you a dazzling smile, if any of his friends were in the room they’d make faces, sending him an accusing glare , they know the look too well and it’s anything but innocent “it’s a pleasure meet you too, mrs. l/n. you flatter me too much, please, sit - let’s begin, it says here that you - “

he has to at least pretend to be professional.

you got the phone call later that night with confirmation that you got the job.  did you dance around your apartment, scream the minute the phone call ended ? absolutely you did. now you have a chance to actually enjoy work, to do something with your life rather than dragging yourself through it, to work along side the brightest mind of their generation.

he called kyle up the minute things were confirmed. telling him it was the best and only good idea he'll ever have again. to which he responds with a "fuck you... wait, what are you talking about ... why do you sound like that?" kyle knows, he knows kenny too well not to know.

when stan, kyle and kenny next have a meet up, it’s an annoying shocked and open surprise that kenny graced them with his presence, for having the ability to turn up on time. after a lot of shit talking, kenny finally falls into speaking about you, a little too much, stan and kyle have no choice but to want to meet you.  

when they do ... ?

oh... oh they get it . 

[dearshelby]

hi! i saw your writings and theyre sooo good i love them! i was wondering if u could write about protective tommy please? idk how it would b, mayb him fighting w someone who flirted or take things to anotehr level w reader? sorry if i spell bad english its noty native too 😭

thank u! 🩷🐇

Hello, thank you so much! I'm gonna offer you a jealous!Tommy drabble and I hope it fits your taste bc is the first one I ever wrote hehe

Definitely not jealous | T.S

The party carried on loudly as the hours went by, both the Shelby and Lee kin were relieved a marriage was settled to end the war. Ironically, John, who had nearly ran away, was in a dark corner with Esme on his lap. Peace it was.

Ada's laugh was muffled by the concertinas, fireworks and gunshots, the families and guests celebrated united in a happy crowd and the bonfire burned warm so no one felt the cold nightly breeze of the last days of winter. Tommy and Zilpha sat together at a certain distance, watching the party like their own personal kingdom.

The smoke of his third cigarette filled his lungs as his icy eyes wandered through the crowd, whiskey wetted his lips and his mind worked fast, putting the momentary happiness aside to plan his next move on the chess table Small Heath had become since the end of the great war.

However, an unexpected sight stopped the gears of his head in an abrupt move, his jaw clenched, eyes squinted and hands closed in a fist. His wife danced with a Lee boy, a beautiful smile decorated her face as she swayed in his arms.

Tommy's breath got heavier while he tried to rationalize his feelings. It was a wedding, people normally dance, the boy looked drunk, he mustn't know who she was to boldly ask for a dance like that.

But also, Y/N hated to dance, it took months of bargain to allow him to teach her when they were younger, she never smiled like that except when she was extremely happy and she wore her best dress for the occasion. Did she know the boy before? Did she doll up for him? Why didn't she ask her husband to dance before going to some random boy?

Before Tommy could stop himself, his feet took him to them, pushing the other dancing couples in his way.

"Lee boy," he spat out.

"Tommy Shelby I assume," the boy offered his hand, "I'm Gilbert,"

Tommy sized him up, only looking away when his wife whispered his name, she arched her eyebrows in a silent warning. Usually Tommy dealt with his jealousy silently, but his posture told her he could put up a fight at any moment.

"... can you excuse us, Gilbert?"

"Alright, nice to meet you, Y/N,"

His icy eyes didn't leave the Lee boy until his wife's hands rested on his shoulders. A cocky smile decorated her face as she asked, "May I ask what was that about?"

No explanation was needed as his jaw clenched and a deep breath left his lungs, before her humorous eyes he couldn't put up a scene, he needed an explanation though.

"Do you know that bastard?" Tommy asked.

"Not at all,"

"You looked so fucking happy-"

"What are you implying?" she quickly interrupted, "John just got married, your plan worked right, why shouldn't I be?"

Tommy's hands met her waist bringing her closer, he was never the one to display affection in public, but that situation demanded it.

"Are you jealous?" she continued.

"No,"

"Good, I'll find another lad to dance with then,"

"Oh no, you're not," he forbid, "you'll take a break for now,"

"Are you sure you're not jealous?"

"I just want to sit down with my wife, is that a crime?"

"No, it's not, it's flattering even," she pecked his lips, "but y'know, if you were to be jealous I'd say you don't have to, you're the only man I want,"

"Good thing that I'm not then, eh?" he insisted, his features softing up.

"Yeah, it's great," she giggled, allowing him to guide her to their seat.

[skellymom]

“Who Delt It?” 

The THIRD Bad Batch Comedy One Shot in the ONE SHIT SERIES!

To read #2 in the series:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/740278235151106049/bombs-away?source=share

Background: Five people on a small ship with one bathroom. Need I say more?

Word count: 392 words

Warning: Farts, stinky humor, pretty tame stuff for Tumblr

“Well, I’m ready for a nap!” Echo leaned back in the co-pilot's seat and closed his eyes. 

“Likewise. Unfortunately, the Marauder won’t fly herself.” Tech sipped his caf enthusiastically, firing up the ship to take off. 

The Batch had just finished a mission on an Outer Rim planet and made friends with the locals there. The locals insisted they share a huge cauldron of stew the community ate together... 

...unfortunately, it ran through EVERYONE in the squad by varying degrees and resulted in some...flatulence. 

“OOF! WHAT THE KRIFF??? WRECKER!!!” Echo screwed up his face in utter disgust. 

“HEEYY, it wasn’t ME!”  

“You ALWAYS state that Wrecker. Whomever smelt it is NOT definitive proof of whomever delt it.” Tech pinched his nose while speaking, his voice sounding comical with a partially obstructed airway. 

Echo frantically waved the offending vapors away, “BLEH!” More dramatic facial expressions. 

Wrecker sat angrily, arms crossed, sulking he had been wrongly blamed. 

At that moment Hunter emerged from the fresher, clearly not “privy” to the current conversation, “You know lads, I...” He stopped DEAD, sniffed, coughed, choked, eyes starting to water. “WHAT THE SUN BAKED BANTHA TURD IS THAT???” 

“Wrecker farted!” Echo fanned his face and grimaced. 

“No... cough...can’t be...cough. Doesn’t have the same smell. Undertones are ALL wrong.” Hunter now had his “Tracker Face” on trying to discern the source of the stench. 

“What! You can IDENTIFY people’s farts by their SMELL???” Echo was incredulous. 

Tech interjected “Of course. Hunter IS known for his enhanced sense of smell. That is how Crosshair became LEGENDARY for his flatulence. He earned the ‘Silent But Deadly” moniker. No matter what mission we were on, or who we served with: The 212th, 501st, Coruscant Guard, or any other. Hunter never failed to pick out Crosshair with a shipload of Republic ration eating clones.” 

Hunter chuckled, “Got to be a game for Crosshair after awhile. Silently drop one and watch all the Regs get mad at each other for stinking the place up. He was proud of it really...but Crosshair ain’t here.” Hunter turned to look at the offending party. 

Everyone else turned to face Omega, silently sitting next to Wrecker hand over her nose and mouth. 

“SORRY!” She yelled embarrassingly, jumped off the chair, ran to the refresher, and slammed the door. 

Wrecker threw up his hands, “GEEZ! I CAN’T CATCH A BREAK WITH YOU GUYS!!!” 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

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[humanpurposes]

Just for a moment, part iii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues

Words: 5400

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 27th May, 1940

The morning starts off with a miserable drizzle. Kitty watches the grey fade to warmth through her shift, until the early evening sun shines brightly through the wide windows of the shop.

The month of May has very much been the same, cold and wet at first, but the weather has been clearing up nicely. Dad is devoted to the garden now, digging up the grass and planting vegetables in every free space he can. It’s on posters all over the shop: Dig For Victory. Live off spuds and SPAM when the rations run out.

Life feels mechanical; most days she doesn’t feel like a real person at all. All week she stands behind the counter, exchanging coupons for pitiful amounts of tea and sugar, stocking up the rack of newspapers and skimming over whatever horrors the headlines are screaming about that day. When she gets home, she pulls together some kind of dinner from what food they have while dad sits by the wireless. When mam gets home from the munitions factory, they gather around the table and eat in silence.

The house is so quiet without the boys. The only time it feels a little lively is when they get a letter from one of them, but they aren’t very consistent, especially considering there’s three of them.

Every so often, she gets a letter from Tom Bennett, but she tends to keep those to herself.

Her life has become a waiting game, she realises, existing between brief moments of happiness with nothing but her memories to entertain herself. She finds herself thinking about Tom an awful lot. It’s not so bad during the day when she has something to do, but when she lies alone at night, her mind can wander. She still leaves her window unlocked and huddles close to the wall because maybe— just maybe, he’ll come through the window and fill the space beside her.

Once she’s packed up the register and put up the shutters, she waves goodbye to Mr Gregory and leaves him to lock the door.

She runs into the postman at the top of Slade Grove. She feels slightly less guilty for not remembering his name when he greets her as “Catherine.” It’s what her teachers at school used to call her, and it’s what mam calls her when she’s in a particularly foul mood. Now it just puts her on edge.

“Can I give these to you now?” he says, handing her a stack of three envelopes. “Saves me a house later on.”

She flicks through them as she carries on walking. Two are addressed to Michael Wheelan and they look boring, letters from the bank or something official, but upon seeing the third she stops and smiles.

Miss Catherine Wheelan 28 Slade Grove Longsight, Manchester United Kingdom

It’s written in Tom’s handwriting.

She tears it open immediately, her eyes flickering between the page and the street ahead, weaving through any passersby.

Dear Kitty,

Sorry it’s been a while since the last one. Morale hasn’t been the best to be honest. Do you know what they’re calling the last eight months now? “The phoney war”. Apparently things are only going to get worse from here, not that it’ll help your nerves.

Thanks for checking up on dad for me. I do worry about him being on his own, with Lois being away and all. I wonder if she’ll be back yet by the time you get this. Have you heard much from your lads? I hope they’re doing alright.

You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t been picking as many fights, but sure you know me, sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve been reading over what you said. I know it’s not helpful, I know it’s stupid, but then I’ve never been one to think things through, have I? I suppose that’s not much of an excuse. It’s instinctive. It’s like my head tells me what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

And we could die any day. Kitty, the state I’ve seen some of these men in…

The writing becomes crooked and trails off, ending with a smudge of ink.

Maybe I should write about something less depressing? Did I tell you about this gorgeous bird I met at Port Stanley?

Kitty’s heart drops.

Beautiful thing she is. The moment I saw her I knew I had to have her, so I stowed her away and brought her on board with me. She whistles a lot, and she has these lovely yellow feathers that really brighten up the bunk. She’s a noisy eater though, munches on seeds like she’ll never eat again. I’ve named her Vera.

I can see the look on your face now. Don’t worry, pretty Kitty, there’s no other bird that could ever replace you.

“Charming,” she mutters to herself.

I think I quite like these letters really, it’s nice to give myself a moment to think, even if I can’t hear from you straight away. That’s when I miss you the most, right after I’ve sealed the envelope and written your address. I hate the waiting.

She glances up, seeing she’s only a few doors down from her house.

I should have leave coming up soon. I’m looking forward to putting my legs on dry land and sleeping on a proper mattress…

She checks the top of the page. The letter is dated from weeks ago. “Soon” could mean anything.

… and the odd late-night tryst to see my fancy woman at number 28.

She scoffs a small laugh.

I bet you’d slap me for that. God I hope your mum doesn’t get her hands on this before you. Ey up Mrs Wheelan, see what I meant was, your Kitty’s a very well-mannered lady.

She purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh, coming to stop before her own front door.

Take care of yourself Kitty. Don’t spend too much time fretting over me.

Your dear friend,

Tom Bennett

Her smile fades quickly— why shouldn’t she worry about him?

It’s always the same with letters from Tom. Her heart leaps and for a few brief moments she feels so bright, just to have some kind of news from him. She could read pages and pages of his stupid ramblings and his moments of sincerity, but then it’s over all too soon. He signs off as her dear friend, then suddenly the words on the page are no longer new, and he’s still thousands of miles away, picking fights with his crewmates and launching shells at German ships.

The days pass slowly, but when she stops and looks back, the eight months have felt like nothing. Her life is flying past her and she hardly even notices, too caught up in the memory of those nights in September.

All for him to call her his fancy woman and feed her jokes about birds.

She knows better than to get her hopes up with Tom; she’s seen him go through every crush he’s ever had. He used to go through phases of ditching her for whichever sweetheart he was entertaining at the time, only to come crawling back to her when he’d inevitably cock it all up. Because he’s Tom Bennett, and he can’t help but make a mess of everything.

And like a good friend, she always kept her window unlocked for him, always held him when he needed it and did her best to set him straight. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do, surely, and he never said they were more.

Is that truly all she is to him? A dear friend, a listening ear and a convenient shag.

She rubs her fingers over her eyes because she will not cry over Tom Bennett. With the letter back in its envelope, she puts it into her bag and tries to find her keys, when she notices the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hardly a rarity, but it makes her think of him.

For whatever reason, she glances over her shoulder at number 27. Low and behold, she sees a man with a cocky smile in a tight, white t-shirt, leaning in the doorway, lowering a cigarette from his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says. “Was waiting for you to notice me–”

Suddenly she’s flying across the street and flinging her arms around his neck. She stands on her tiptoes to put her head over his shoulder and he leans into her, holding one arm over her back and one around her waist.

She closes her eyes. His breath is hot against her neck. He is here. He is real. He is more than a memory or words on a page.

Tom presses a soft kiss to her temple and she feels him smiling against her skin. “Take it you missed me then?”

She pulls away, holding back the urge to cry again, hardly able to catch her breath. This close, she can see every detail of him this close, the texture of his skin, the lines around his mouth and brows, the circles under his eyes, the scruff along the sides of his jaw, the little cleft on the tip of his nose. “Maybe a little bit,” she says.

She gives a little yelp of surprise when she feels him pulling her into the house. He closes the door behind them and then her back is against the wall, her handbag dropped by her feet.

Tom shrugs her coat from her shoulders before he surges in to kiss her, fiercely, desperately. Their bodies are tangled in one another, her hands in his hair, his tracing over the curves of her body through her dress.

And then he moves away. She tries to follow him only to realise he’s smirking.

“Missed me just a little bit?” he teases.

She wants to roll her eyes, but she just smiles. “Quite a bit.”

He drags his thumb over her lower lip, pulling it down to watch it come back into place.

Kitty huffs impatiently as she nudges her nose up into his.

Their eyes meet and the anticipation lasts a lifetime.

Tom hums as he leans in to kiss her again, slower and deeper, pressing her a little further into the wall by the firm hold on her waist.

“Missed you,” he utters between kisses, “so fucking much.”

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, over his ears and into his hair.

“How long have you been back?” she breathes.

“Since this morning,” he says, coming to kiss her neck, the spot he knows will have her back arching against him.

“You didn’t come to the shop,” she says.

“Wanted to wait for you.”

She glances down the hallway, to the seemingly empty kitchen.

Tom huffs and pulls away from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Dad’s flogging his paper. Lois is out. Empty house for a few hours.”

She turns her head back to face him, pleased at the flush in his cheeks and the mess she’s made of his hair.

Tom’s eyes look down to her waist, where he presses his thumb into the fabric of her dress. “Come upstairs,” he says lowly, “I want to fuck you properly.”

She nods mindlessly, closing her hand around his as he leads her up the stairs, to a bedroom with two single beds, separated by a curtain. The room is about the same size as the boys’ bedroom in her house, but with only two beds, there’s enough space for two separate wardrobes. Her brothers make do with sharing everything.

Nothing about the room denotes Tom Bennett, not the floral wallpaper or the knitted throws on the beds. Not the books, perfume bottles and silver candelabras on the mantle, and certainly not the lingering scent of hairspray.

He leads her to the bed furthest from the door. She follows the stream of sunlight coming in from the window, and then she notices the details that are his. The ashtray and the empty beer bottle on the bedside table, the ditty bag and the pairs of boots at the foot of the bed, and the sailor’s hat left on the floor by the wardrobe.

The door closes and his footsteps tread softly behind her. His hands snake around her waist and turn her to face him.

She places her hands on his chest, running her hands over his torso, mapping his body through the soft cotton t-shirt. He feels firmer than he used to, a consequence of loading shells into guns and living off rations. She feels along his arms too, over muscles, veins, tendons and the scar below his bicep.

Tom presses a kiss to her forehead before he starts to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. A familiar restlessness rises in her belly, and suddenly she thinks she can’t bear to wait another moment. With the buttons undone, she puts her hands over Tom’s as he slides the dress down to the floor, along with her stockings and quickly slips out of her shoes.

She wastes no time unclasping her brassiere and muffles Tom’s awestruck groan by pressing her lips to his.

Somehow he manages to rid himself of his t-shirt and slacks without parting from her for too long, and he guides them both to the bed. She giggles as he lands on top of her and the metal bedframe squeaks.

“Now,” Tom says, pressing a delicate kiss to her neck. “Don’t have to worry about being quiet like we usually do, do we?”

“No…” Kitty breathes as he moves down, dragging his lips and tongue down her body. When he comes to her breasts, he cups one with his hand, and takes the other nipple in his mouth. Her head rolls back against the pillows but she brings her eyes back to him. She wants to cling to every moment, every sensation, all the movements of his tongue against her skin and his hair falling in front of his face.

“Eight fucking months,” he half growls as he moves further down, kissing along her stomach and running his hands over her hips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She instinctively bites her lip when he ghosts his lips over her clothed cunt.

He tuts. “Don’t hold back on me now, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you missed me,” he says, curling his fingers around the hem of her underclothes before dragging them along her legs, leaving them somewhere on the floor.

He trails teasing kisses along her thighs. She squirms and whines every time he edges closer to her centre, until finally, he drags his tongue through her folds, from her entrance, up to her pearl with a deliciously agonising pressure. She doesn’t hold back the moans that sound in her throat, curling her fists through the bedsheets.

He works over her pearl with his tongue and lips, groaning against her as he does it and squeezing his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like this, even on the nights when she felt herself getting too desperate, she can never quite match the feeling.

In a way it infuriates her that he can make her feel so good, but what’s worse than that is that he knows it. She can see his smug, half smile as he mouths at her cunt, so pleased at the noises she makes and the way her hips are starting to move against him.

She curls in on herself as her peak washes over her, but he manages to hold her down, right where he wants her, and keeps going until her whole body shudders and her legs are quivering.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “Tom…”

Even then he doesn’t give her much of a reprieve. He moves back for a moment before he positions her legs over his shoulders. His tongue is against her again, only now he moves lower, teasing over her entrance.

She whines impatiently.

“Fucking greedy, aren’t you?” Tom chuckles. He licks over her again— too much and not enough. “Just take it, take what I give you.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to slip his tongue inside her while his nose nudges against her. His name is a dreamy chant on her lips now. The pleasure rises and burns until she’s sure she can’t take anymore. She threads her fingers into his hair, gripping at it, urging him on, just a little more, and she’s sure she’ll fall apart.

Then he’s gone without warning, but he soon compensates the loss by replacing his tongue with a single finger.

Tom gazes up at her through his lashes. He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes inside of her, deeper, deeper, until she takes a sharp intake of breath when he finds her sweet spot.

“Give me another one,” he groans, lowering his head down to circle his tongue over her. “Come on, pretty Kitty.”

She follows it like a command. Her second peak is sharper than the first and has her gasping for breath as she feels herself come undone around him.

“There you go,” Tom grins as he brings her legs from his shoulders and starts to make his way up her body.

He props himself over her, one hand on either side of her head. His silver chain, usually hidden below his shirt, dangles in front of her as their eyes meet. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

He hesitates for a moment, before he places a lazy kiss to her lips. “God,” he utters, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Just keep saying it,” she says.

He takes one of her hands and guides it down to his briefs. She traces her fingers over the hem before she slides underneath and wraps them around his already hard cock.

“Fuck—” Tom hisses through his teeth, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He reaches for the bedside table and hands her a condom. “Do the honours for me,” he grins.

She tears it open and reaches back down to slide it along his length.

Slowly, he lets his weight fall against her as he slides inside of her, burying his face into her neck and letting out a shaky breath against her skin.

She brings her arms around his shoulders as he rocks into her, gently at first, but she can feel that it’s not enough. His breaths are getting sharper and his thrusts harsher as he whimpers into her neck.

She holds him as tightly as she can, hoping it will somehow soothe the ache in her heart, because she still feels the absence of the last eight months. Because she can already feel the time slipping away.

Tom withdraws from her neck. “Look at me,” he pleads.

She does, and he brings his forehead to hers. His nose presses into hers and their lips barely brush over each other.

“You feel so good,” he says. His expression fades into something darker and more determined as he fucks her harder and faster, “so fucking tight.”

She feels it too, the urgency to make up for the time and the distance with a carnal need.

They reach their climaxes together, moaning into each other’s mouths and keeping their bodies tight together. It never feels close enough.

Once they’ve caught their breath and they feel their desire mounting again, Tom lies back on the bed and brings her to straddle him.

While the position isn’t unfamiliar, the movements are, but she’s eager enough, gauging both of their reactions as she grinds her hips against his. She goes slowly, at first, bracing herself against him while Tom keeps hold of her waist to guide her movements.

“Nice and slow, just like that,” he whispers, gazing up at her with a slight smile, “show me how much you missed me.”

She doesn’t care how the bed creaks under them, that she’s breathing and moaning too loudly. There’s something freeing and unashamed about how they fuck. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in pleasure and hearing his needy whines as he starts to buck his hips to match her movements.

And when another climax tears through her, she wishes she could drag the moment out forever.

Tom takes her in his arms as they collapse back on the bed.

She feels like she’s dreaming, not quite awake but still aware of whose arms are cradled around her, whose heartbeat she feels against her ear, who reaches for a packet of cigarettes and flicks his lighter.

They talk about things they’ve already discussed over letters, the bloody war and all the misery that comes with it. Life in Longsight seems dull in comparison to Tom’s tales of sea battles and antics on board the Exeter. But even in the middle of the Atlantic, in the midst of a war that’s consuming the whole world, he still found time to wind everybody up. She can’t tell if she hates him or admires him for it.

There’s something different about him. Where he used to sound so cocksure and carefree, his voice is duller.

Tucked under his shoulder, she shifts her head to get a better look at him, propped up against the pillows, taking drags from his cigarette, pouting his lips as he exhales the smoke and tapping the ash into the tray. Her eyes tell her it’s the same person, the same jaw, the same nose, the same lips, the same shade of blue in his eyes.

No… he looks different in the way his face falls. He seems less smug than he used to be. He seems tired, older, colder.

Of course he’s different, how could he not be? The war has reached every corner of the world, but he’s been in the thick of it.

“Your dad must be glad to have you back,” she says quietly.

Tom’s body tenses underneath her. He brings his cigarette to his lips again, giving a little irritated huff as he exhales. She wonders if that’s a thread she should avoid tugging on, but it already seems to be unraveling. He reaches to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I didn’t want to go back,” he mutters, his expression stern and sad. “I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I’ve spent enough of my life making a mess of everything, I thought if I did something good then…” he glances down at her, then shakes his head. “But I was so fucking scared—” his voice breaks his eyes are glistening.

Kitty sits up and clenches her hand around his. He’s trembling.

“You’re alright,” she says, softly, “you’re alright.”

He breathes quickly and she can feel his heart thundering in his chest. His descriptions of the attacks on the Exeter and the aftermaths had been brief, which she thought must have been a way to protect her from it on his part. Maybe he didn’t want it in writing, maybe he didn’t want to think about it once he had lived it, to be surrounded by fire, smoke and death at every turn.

“I thought dad would help me. I told him I didn’t want to go back, I thought he could help me somehow.”

“And what did he say?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs again. “He thinks it’ll be a bad look for the movement. He doesn’t think I’m genuine.”

Kitty strokes her thumb over his knuckles and his fingers tighten around hers.

“For a moment I thought he’d be pleased,” he says, his voice thick and coarse, “just for a moment.

She breathes through the tight feeling in her chest. “Maybe if you spoke to him again—”

“No,” he says bitterly. “Made up his mind now. Sure, what does it matter either way? I’m not much use here.”

The light feeling in her limbs is starting to fade. She feels solid and heavy where her body meet the mattress.

“Your dad needs you,” Kitty says, “and Lois.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with her too?”

Tom frowns. “Stupid fucking mistake. What does she think she’s going to do now?”

“She told you then?”

“She sent a letter.”

Lois had called in a few weeks ago to tell them the news. Mam already had her suspicions, even though Lois was barely showing. She and dad were horrified, but of course they didn’t make that clear until after she had left. “A baby on the way and no husband, for shame.”

“She knows it was stupid, but she’s not asking anyone else to deal with the consequences,” Kitty says.

“All because she wanted to mess around with some posh boy.”

Kitty swallows down the dry feeling in her throat. “I don’t think what she did was much different to me and you.”

Tom looks down at her with wide eyes. “Me and you are different,” he says.

“How so?”

His lips shift, like he might say something, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know, I thought Lois was more sensible than this.”

“She’s certainly not done herself any favours, but you won’t help by being angry at her.”

“But she’s always been the responsible one, you know?”

“That’s not fair, Tom, she’s your sister not your mother.”

Tom stares up at the ceiling with his lips parted. “No… I suppose not.”

He turns his head into her. “I should never have gone in the first place.”

There’s lots of things that she thinks she would want to change. Sometimes she wishes Tom wasn’t so reckless and impulsive. She wishes he’d find an interest that wouldn’t end him up in trouble with the police. She wishes he really was a pacifist, and that way he would be here, and the only thing separating them would be a single street and two windows. It hurts to think of what could have been.

But those things cannot be changed, and even then, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be the Tom Bennett she’s adored for as long as she’s had memories of him.

She shifts against him, hooking her arm over her chest and her leg over his hips. “I know things are hard,” she says. “Just don’t leave them on a bade note. You’ll regret it if you do.”

They don’t speak for a while. The evening drags on, the sun dips lower in the sky, voices and the shouts of children sound from the street and Kitty is content lie beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, controlled breaths, while he plays with her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes, so softly she thinks it might be a voice in her head. “When we got hit, it was all I could think about. That I might die then and there, and you’d never know.”

She feels her mouth break into a smile. “You love me?”

“Oh leave off, I’ve said it now,” he says with a grin.

They dress and he leads her downstairs to the kitchen. While he fusses with the kettle, Kitty takes a seat at the table.

“You’ve not met Vera yet,” Tom says over his shoulder, nodding at the small birdcage on the table. Inside, a little, yellow canary with black, beady eyes tilts her head and chirps.

“Hello, Vera,” Kitty says.

Vera chirps back.

Tom turns back around with a single cup of tea and a plate of toast. “Have to be stingy with the butter and milk, obviously,” he says setting them in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, “no, I won’t have any, don’t waste your rations on me.”

Tom angles his brows at her. “It’s not a waste.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite and lights a cigarette. “Come on, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

She hesitates before she reaches for the milk, spilling the smallest dash she can manage into the cup and skipping the sugar. Then she takes a cut of butter no larger than her thumbnail and spreads it across the toast. She takes a few tentative bites, ushering some back to him and tearing off a few crumbs to feed to Vera. Even the most mundane parts of life have become luxuries now.

“How long are you back for?” she asks.

“A week.”

“And then?”

“Off to Dover. They’ve got some big operation planned.”

“And will you be back after that?”

He draws his tongue between his lips. “I don’t know.”

Before long, the front door unlocks and Lois’ heels click through the hallways as she comes into the kitchen. “Dad not back yet?” she says, tossing her coat over the banister. She stops at the head of the table and looks between the two of them. She’s holding a brown paper bag. “Hello, Kitty. I’ve just been in to see your mum.”

“Oh she’ll be wondering where I am,” Kitty says, glancing across to Tom.

His chin is tilted down, and he looks up at her through the smoke with pleading eyes, like an injured puppy.

“Tell ‘em the Gregorys invited you up for tea,” Lois shrugs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out tiny pieces of clothing that are vaguely familiar to Kitty. “For the baby,” she says. “Thank God your mum kept all your old stuff.”

“Make do and all that,” Kitty says, briefly catching Tom’s eye.

She downs her tea and hurries to the hallway. Tom had left her coat over a sofa in the front room, and her bag is still on the floor. She tuts at his carelessness and shouts a farewell to Lois as Tom comes to see her to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says formally, with the corners of his mouth curled.

“Of course,” she replies, peering round his shoulder to see if Lois can see them.

Tom looks round too and smiles back at her as he leans into her ear. “A pleasure, as always, pretty Kitty.” He catches her lips in a quick peck before he opens the door for her.

She hurries across the street and finds her keys in her handbag. Before she opens her own door, she looks back to number 27. The glow of the spring evening beams off the red bricks of the houses and Tom looks golden, watching her through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

It’s like before, all those months ago, before he first went away.

Each night, Tom steals into her bedroom. They kiss as quietly as they undress each other and set themselves down on her bed.

It gets more unbearable with every day that goes by. Each hour is an hour closer to carrying on with her life without him, when he’ll become another person to wait for, another reason why she wants this war to end.

On their last night, he fucks her from behind, keeping her mouth covered and muffling his own sounds in the crook of her neck. His breath and the hold on her mouth only makes her more desperate.

If anything, that first evening has ruined her, going back to gentle lovemaking is excruciating.

She quietly pleads for “more… more…”

Tom clamps his hand tighter around her mouth. “No, no, no, be a good girl,” he whispers harshly, “just be a good girl for me, Kitty.”

Once they’re both too tired to carry on, he wraps his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and she says it back.

Dover is closer than the Atlantic at least, but the distance is all the same. He’ll still be gone.

She watches him as he dresses and follows him to the window. Before he leaves, he kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her still bare body against him.

When they move away for breath she gazes into his eyes. She could never forget them, the storm of blue and grey rings around his pupil, but he already feels like a memory, something intangible, there but not quite.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and his lips linger there. “When I get my next leave, I’ll come straight to you,” he says.

She doesn’t doubt it’s a promise he’ll keep. Tom Bennett doesn’t often make promises to her, but so far, he’s never broken one.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

[amypihcs]

HELLO HUMANS! Well, well, a new letter from our dear W-AIT WHAT?

W-what? Holmes is WRITING?? DAAAMN. Watson messing with carpentry and beating his fingers instead of the nails... well, he just got the WRONG nails. Luckily Holmes is taking care of him! And agreed to write to us!

Ah Holmes, no need to be so bitter about it! Or maybe you are teasing you husband, uh? And yes. You tormented him with criticism and this is the payback. Write your own story and then take your own steps to apologize to Watson. Talking of him.

Watson, reading this: I am an unfeeling, rational and non-sentimental machine, so i'll present you an entire paragraph on how much i love my husband Holmes, blushing crimson: Shut up you insufferable tease W: Just admit that you love me H: I did it thrice in the first 10 minutes after we woke up this morning -snuggling watson noises- Now read on.

W: A WIFE, HOLMES? She was a PATIENT. She was having difficulties with the last stretch of her pregnancy and i had to go at hers!

Also i love how Holmes describes his way of analyzing his clients. And also how he goes 'so, Watson likes it when i do my deductions, it impresses Watson, and also other people, so i'll deduce this man's last years of life'

And at his surprise the reaction is

I miss my Watson so please give me the fact and hope this case is challenging as your letter made hope... WAIT, WHAT? KICKED YOU OUT? TELL ME MORE! -puffing on his pipe-

Stop being cheeky, lad. Tell the FACTS.

And he does. He was in South Africa and there he met a guy and they bonded a lot and he was wounded and now he disappeared!

Holmes is in this moment sympathizing with young Godfrey, he's interested!

Story continues. Our guy here manages to get himself invited to their place, a quite inaccessible one and gets shown into the father's study. the interview is not pleasing.

The man tells him to go the hell away and leave them alone since he ALREADY EXPLAINED, our pal says that his 'explanations' are a big load of bullshit. Man tells him to stay for dinner. Atmosphere is DEPRESSING and he climbs to his room as soon as decent and then the butler drops in!

Butler is like super old and his wife nursed Godfrey and so he asks if his foster kid behaved well in war and then he starts talking weird... in past tense as if he was dead. OF COURSE OUR PAL ASKS

THAT'S ONE HELL OF AN ANSWER, DAMNIT!

W: Ah, so now i'm matters, Holmes. Nice cliffhanger H: -grumble grumble- Writing this stuff is difficult. I'll propose them the ear monograph! W: at least it's not the tobacco one... H: Which you read... -bickering goes on-

Our Holmes left us with a cliffhanger just like his husband does! We'll hear the continuation in the next letter!

[medicinalcannibalism]

Fanfic request: Arcade Gannon refusing to admit he was the one who gave Rex extra treats. plot twost: they're all giving Rex treats

Arcade came back from the bathroom, a pensive look on his face.

"What's the problem?" Six asked, concerned. They twiddled their thumbs idly. They'd employed the help of Arcade specifically for Rex's care. After Rex had began refusing his canned dog food, Six became worried. It'd been three days since Rex had a good meal.

"I don't want to say it in front of him, hence him staying put in the bathroom." Six chewed their bottom lip, unsure what Arcade was about to get at. The entire room of companions held their breath, even Boone. "I'm not trying to accuse anyone of anything, but Rex has been getting too much human food. He's become accustomed to it and doesn't want his dog food anymore."

Veronica let out a nervous laughter, causing Six to shoot a glare.

"W-What?" She asked, shrugging. "Kind of funny, right?"

"It's not funny!" Six huffed, anger intensifying. "This explains why rations have been costing so much."

"Explains were all my Blamco Mac and Cheese is going," Boone threw out, shooting Veronica a death stare. Her jaw dropped.

"AS IF! I've been feeding him MY Cram!"

"So you admit it then?"

"And you don't? I've seen you break off bits and pieces of your Fancy Lad snack cakes!"

"EVERYONE STOP," Six yelled, turning back to Arcade. Worry painted their face once more. "Is Rex going to be alright?"

"I believe so, you just all need to stop. The dog food is made specifically for dogs for a reason. Please only feed him that," Arcade urged.

Of course, the moment he fell silent Six and their companions let all hell loose as they because to accuse each other of causing Rex's condition. Arcade excused himself to attend to his patient once more, where he cleaned up all traces of the Pork 'n Beans he'd been fed.

[bratzforchris]

hi! can you please write something with little!luke missing reader while on tour but is stuck between being regressed and not so he inadvertently takes his frustration out on the other boys and the crew (like complaining about certain things he doesn't want or giving sarcastic answers) but nobody suspects he's little until like twenty or so minutes before the show when ashton asks him about it and luke starts regressing and sobbing that he misses reader, so ashton calms him down and decides to facetime reader from his phone so luke can talk to her while little and admits what he did but he feels a lot better and maybe the next morning reader surprises him by showing up??

Homesick

❃

Summary: Above

Pairing: Little!Luke x feminine reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1621

A/N: Thank you so much for being patient, anon! I adore little!Luke :)

❃

Luke laid in his bunk, blankets pulled up to his chin and sucking happily on his paci while clutching his stuffed animal. He was currently on FaceTime with you for some little time before he got up for the day, and he couldn’t help the happy little squeals and giggles that escaped his mouth as his mommy talked to him. 

“Missie you, Mommy!” he giggled. 

“I miss you too, bug. You’re just so cute.” You cooed. 

You continued to speak to Luke and do little things to make him smile before checking the time. It was nearing noon, which meant the rest of the band would be back on the bus soon and it would be time for the boys to get ready for soundcheck and the concert tonight. Luke had politely declined going to breakfast with the other three in favor of “more sleep”. Really, he just wanted some tiny time with his mommy. 

“Bubba? It’s almost time to be big Lukey, honey. You have a concert tonight!” You said lightly. 

Luke pouted, but nodded, eventually saying goodbye to you and hanging up the phone. Even though he was big, he felt rather sad when your face disappeared from the screen. Being on tour, especially as an age regressor was hard. He loved Michael, Calum, and Ashton, but they didn’t know about his headspace and so, Luke really only got little time at night or very early in the morning. 

He sighed, tucking his paci under his pillow and propping his stuffed penguin up against his pillow. Yanking open his bunk curtain proved that it was already afternoon and he was just getting up. The blond wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning against the countertop. He was in a bad mood already, but it wasn’t really an angry one. He just felt rather sad and homesick. Luke was so stuck in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the other lads enter the bus.

“Boo!” Ashton said in his ear. 

Luke jumped, spilling coffee down his front. “Ugh. Fuck off, Ash.” he grumbled sleepily. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Ashton tutted, grabbing a mug and a tea bag from the cupboard. 

The blond rolled his eyes, setting his mug in the sink and stalking towards the living area. He flopped down on the couch and began to scroll through his phone, opening the various social media apps. He gnawed on his lip ring, trying to fill his mind with the endless junk of media so he wouldn’t cry. You would’ve done anything to come on the tour with Luke, but you were still a senior in high school, and couldn’t leave your studies. Luke knew this, but the less-rational and little part of him believed it was because Mommy didn’t want to spend time with him. 

He angrily clicked off his phone, tossing it to the other end of the couch. He needed to not overthink right now. They had a job to do, and the world didn’t stop because Luke Hemmings was moody. 

“Geez, Luke, who pissed in your coffee this morning?” Michael asked, looking over from the TV. 

“Please stop!” Luke cried, his voice cracking. 

“Hey man, I was just joking…” Michael trailed off as Luke got up and stalked back towards his bunk. 

“What’s up with him today?” Calum asked as Ashton walked into the living area, hearing all the commotion. 

“Dunno,” Ash shrugged. “Seems like he’s just in a bad mood today.” 

The three boys left Luke be until 2:30, when they nominated Ashton to go talk to the blond boy. The honey-blond crept back to the bunk, slowly pulling back Luke’s curtain. The blue-eyed boy was curled up on his side, clutching his penguin to his chest, sniffling softly. 

“Luke?” Ashton asked. 

“What?” Luke snapped. “Leave me ‘lone.”

“Just letting you know it’s time to get up for private soundcheck, bud,” Ashton rubbed his back. “Are you okay? You seem off today…”

“I’m fine.” Luke sat up, avoiding eye contact. 

“Huh,” Ash shrugged. “If you say so.”

Luke trudged his way through private soundcheck, carelessly handing his guitar to a roadie with an eye roll. If the man caught on, he didn’t say anything. The blond stalked to the dressing room, staying far away from his other three bandmates. 

He missed you so bad it ached. All Luke wanted was to curl up and have some tiny time with you, but he was stuck here. He loved his job and he loved the fans, but tour was exhausting. Even when he was big, being away from you was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Checking the time on his phone, Luke sighed, curling up into a little ball on the couch. They had another hour until soundcheck for the fans, which meant it would probably be almost seven hours before he got to be small again. 

“Hey Luke, let’s get some backstage shots for Instagram, yeah?” Ryan asked. 

“No,” Luke said flatly. “I’m tired.”

“C’mon man, real quick?” 

“No.” Luke turned his head, burying it into the pillows. 

“Luke, Ryan is asking for ten minutes of your time. Please just do what he asks.” Ashton said, ever the dad of the band. 

“I don’t want to! Leave me the fuck alone!” he snapped, fighting tears. 

Ashton and Ryan looked at each other before moving to the other end of the couch, away from Luke and his grumpy aura. When he was sure his face was fully covered by the couch cushions, Luke began to cry. He longed for someone to just hold him and baby him and tell him he was okay, but he had been mean, so his friends definitely didn’t want anything to do with him now. 

The blond didn’t know how much time had passed until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He sniffled, pushing it off. 

“Go ‘way.” Luke grumbled. 

Ashton could tell Luke was crying, just by his voice. “Luke, what’s up, man? We’ll all be happy to help, but you have to tell us instead of snapping.”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.” Ashton murmured, still comforting Luke. 

“Michael and Calum have to leave.” Luke said, fighting tears. 

The two boys looked at each other and shrugged before going into another room of the venue’s backstage area. They knew Luke was just like that sometimes and he didn’t mean any harm by it. He was just shy and still pretty young to be on such a big tour. 

“They’re gone. Shoot.” Ash said.

Luke sat up, wiping his eyes. “I like to be a baby.” he said plainly. 

The older of the two looked at Luke curiously, but not unkindly. “What do you mean?”

“I, um, age regress,” Luke said, fiddling with his fingers and avoiding Ashton’s eyes. “Helps with the stress.”

“Oh, okay. Is that why you’ve been a little moody today, bubba?” Ashton gave Luke a soft smile, trying to convey that he didn’t mean any harm. 

“Just…just miss my Mommy!” Luke wailed, already starting to slip into his headspace. 

“Who’s your mommy, Lu? Is it Y/N?” he asked. 

Ashton had a friend with a littlespace before and he had definitely explored the 5sos fanfics when he was bored, so he knew a bit about age regression. The older male scooped Luke into a hug, rubbing his back as he cried. Luke nodded against his chest to his question, whimpering softly. 

“‘M sorry for bein’ mean…” Luke whispered. 

“Thank you for apologizing, sweet baby,” Ashton cooed. “That’s a very grown-up thing to do. I know you miss mommy, lovely. Should we call her?” 

Luke nodded gleefully. “Mhm! Pease!” 

His lisp was slightly more prominent since he was teetering on the verge of headspace, but Luke was still polite as ever. He snuggled into Ashton’s chest happily as the FaceTime call rang. 

“Ash?” You asked, picking up the call. 

“Mommy!” Luke squealed, pressing his nose to the phone, trying to “give you kisses”. 

“What’s going on, guys? Aren’t you supposed to start soundcheck soon?” You asked, checking the clock. 

“We had a little meltdown…” Ashton said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Missed you, Mommy!” Luke added. 

You could tell by Luke’s tear-streaked cheeks and Ashton’s slightly frazzled look that there had been a meltdown. “Everything okay?” 

“We’re okay now,” Ashton assured you. “I just might need your help getting him fully out of headspace to go on stage.” 

You carefully placed your math homework aside, looking into the camera. You were slightly less anxious now that Ashton said ‘headspace’, assuring you that he was a beyond sufficient carer. 

“Luke?” You asked him. “I need you to look at me, baby boy.” 

Luke sniffled and wiped his eyes, but looked at you nonetheless. “Mhm?”

“I need you to be big Lukey, okay? Your fans are so excited to see you, but they’d like to see big Lukey! If you can do that, you can have some cuddle time with Ashy tonight…” You paused, waiting for confirmation from Ashton, who nodded. “And if you can do that, there will be a big surprise for you tomorrow morning, okay?”

Luke nodded frantically, spurred on by the promise of a surprise. You hurriedly thanked Ashton and made sure Luke was 100% out of headspace before hanging up and clicking over to the airline site. You had been thinking about going to visit Luke over your spring break, but today confirmed for you that he really needed it. 

You smiled as you clicked book and paid for the flight, smiling to yourself at the thought of seeing your baby boy in the morning. 

[materialtintin]

so. I wrote a haddotin drabble solely based on this image n I couldnt decide where to post it but I'm gonna put it under read more here and then maybe move it to ao3 later on. Enjoy some spring fluff!

Tintin In Pink

Haddotin fluff, 1K, Tintin gets a new sweater and it ignites what they should have seen coming a long time ago.

The image came to Haddock like he was in a dream. He knew rationally that it couldn't be, since he had just woken barely an hour ago to the chirping of magpies beginning to nest in the rose bushes below his bedroom window. But as he stepped out onto the circle beneath the looming entrance of his chateau, the retired sea captain was greeted by a vision that blossomed before him as if he was seeing with color for the first time. In some ways, he was seeing one color in particular with new eyes. 

Tintin was kneeled just beyond the pavement of the driveway, having parked further down, and was just about to enter Marlinspike at his usual time on the weekends. He and the Captain had begun visiting each other most weekends when they lived only a few blocks from one another in Brussels, and the routine only seemed to lengthen with each visit now that the gorgeous grounds of the estate was solely theirs to wander for hours. Sometimes their visits led to more adventures that put them far off across the world, but often it's only result was an afternoon and night completely gone by with laughter and music and easy conversation. 

There, ruffling the fur of his companion as Milou looked captivated by the sprinkling of blossoms in the air, was Tintin in a brand new baby pink sweater. Perhaps ‘new’ wasn't the proper term, as it was in the exact style as his other more commonly seen jumper, but the softness of the scene before him paired with the shock of seeing Tintin in something other than his usual blue stirred something deep within Haddocks heart. He adored the ginger journalist, more than he had ever felt admiration or appreciation for anyone else, and at this point it would be a slight against Tintin's investigative genius to think the lad wasn't aware of the fact. Haddock wore his heart on his sleeve, and now on his face as his cheeks flushed to a similar shade as the sweater once Tintin finally looked up and flashed Haddock with an open, carefree smile. He rose and walked up to where the captain still stood frozen on the front steps, with Milou following patiently at his heels, 

“Good morning Captain! I hope you've been well.”

“Aye, Tintin… you look bonny in that new getup, if I say so myself”

Then it was Tintins turn to blush. His eyes widened and color tipped the tops of his ears, as he met the Captain's gaze and then quickly looked away.

“Thank you, Captain. I wanted to try something new.. I suppose its been to my benefit?”

 He moved to push on the double doors of Marlinspike, but was stopped by a large, calloused hand lightly latching on to his upper arm. He turned to face the Captain again to quip about spring fever getting to both of them, only to see Haddock earnestly gawking at both Tintin's face and back to the sweater. Of course Tintin had picked up the pink jumper with the thought of the Captain's reaction to it in the forefront of his mind, but had only expected the sailor to be surprised, or to perhaps rib him a bit about getting out of his comfort zone. Now it was the Captain who seemed completely like a fish out of water, struggling to contort his mouth into any words that encapsulated what a beautiful sight the young reporter was to him. 

“Yer like a fresh spring morning, lad. I thought I might… well, I… “

“Oh please, you're flattering me too much! Its just a-”

In a flash, the Captain swept an arm around Tintin's waist, pulling him into an embrace where their sides were fully pressed together. Haddock was still fumbling with words, trying to explain what was in his mind and why his body was reacting faster than it, but Tintin saw more in his swimming eyes and flushed face than any combinations of the older mans colorful vocabulary could express. 

“I think you look quite dashing yourself, you old so-and-so.” Tintin said, now with an embarrassed grin pulling his features. The Captain smiled back, though he struggled to form any more coherent thoughts now that his and Tintins faces were so close. He could see the individual freckles across the bridge of the reporter's nose, the hint of darkness below his eyes belying the constant spring in his step. The Captain thought of the days and nights they spent together, all the times he'd seen Tintins expressions flow between joy and stoicism, rage and exhaustion, but the Captain couldn't ever recall seeing the glow in the ginger's crystal blue eyes so close, and so raw. 

“Blistering.. typhoons, Tintin. Before we go in, I just wanted to-”

The Captain was interrupted by a pair of soft lips touching his own, softly first with hesitation, and then firm as Tintin felt the Captain begin to respond. The ginger let a puff of air out through his nostrils, suddenly melting into the embrace with the Captain and reaching his arms around the taller mans shoulders for support. Haddocks hands went to the lads waist, as their kiss deepend and the wind scattered white blossoms across the pavement and through the air where they stood. The world filled with all of its dangers and misadventures dissipated, and like a key turning into its lock for the first time, the duo felt the summation of all of their perils and tribulations come to this kiss, the gentlest and most fulfilling moment after surpassing countless dangers. It was as if they had been kissing for the past 100 years, in every former life, and had simply forgotten. 

Milou yipped at their feet, excited by the breeze and swirling patterns of blossoms and leaves, and the happiness radiating off his two companions. When Tintin and the Captain finally broke away from each other, they sported a pair of dopey grins. Tintins eyes flit from his Captains face to the spring wonderland around them, watching the large trees around the front of the chateau shake with the light breeze. They held each other in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Haddock slipped his hand down from where it rested at the small of Tintins back to reach for his hand, feeling Tintins smaller hand squeeze his in reassurance. 

“Lets head inside, lad. I had plans for the afternoon, but it seems like I completely forgot them.” the Captain murmured into the ginger's temple, leaving a kiss beside Tintins quiff and squeezing his hand back. Tintin chuckled, turning to push on the entrance doors once again, 

“Oh, I’m sure we'll come up with something. We -oh! Oh, hello Nestor.” 

The stoic butler stood a few feet away from the pair, holding the chateau door slightly ajar and giving both of them a look that could only be described as unamused. He cleared his throat and nodded to Tintins greeting before facing the Captain, 

“There’s tea and aperitifs laid out in the main study, but I’d be happy to bring them to the porch if that would be more convenient. It seems to be a lovely day outside.” he replied tonelessly, glancing down at the pairs hands still intertwined before regaining composure and looking at the beet red face of the Captain. The ghost of a smirk played at the butlers lips, but he turned and disappeared into the house before even hearing the Captain's spluttering response about the study being just fine. Tintins twinkling laugh echoed into the front room with the soft thumps of two pairs of feet and four furry legs walking through the halls, the flash of pink color that sparked something new flitting past the windows, with one hand still linked tightly with another.

[quandaryqueen]

Signs that the Riddler's are in love

Hmmm, simp hours commencing in 3, 2, 1.

💚 Gotham

GCPD's residential simp Edward Nygma is a man who swoons as subtle as a jackhammer in the middle of construction. He looms over you, too close might I add. Not to mention, 💫 Riddles ™💫and gifts! With 💫Riddles💫

Okok he just doesn't really know how to approach you, he just does does whatever he has seen how his peers move around in the dating game— but dialed down and in his own way. What, do you think he'd pick you up with a vulgar invitation to his bedroom? No! Ok but that still doesn change the fact that some of you Y/N's might be uncomfortable with his attempt to flirt, something that is highly rational and reasonable.

But instead of making fun of him behind his back like say... Kristen and just talking to him, explain to him, make it known to him that you're uncomfortable with his advances and he'll stop. He's a reasonable man with a brain, he'd get it and back tf off.

💚 Young Justice

No, omg this boy can barely keep his composure around you. Like, blushing, stuttering, stammering, smiling like a fool, constant heart eyes around you, SWOONING, SCREAMING IN HIS PILLOW, CREAMING —

Making a move though? Nope! Would die in the spot if he even got within your radius.

But how will he make his love for you known? Well... There were a series of attempts of talking to you, in which he makes a last minute 180 because you know, nerves. Well that doesn't work, letters it is! He'd make the MOST detailed letter there is, spilling his heart out in cursive letters and flowery words. Shakespeare? No, it's just Eddie on a 3 AM spur of simpery.

Eddie being unsure about the letter because fuck. If you reject him, well that's all good cough not really you can just toss it in the trash and you won't know who tf it is. But then if you feel the same... Well what now? How wiyou find him? Oh shit you might think that it's a prank, he doesn't want to hurt you like that. Overthinking did him wrong and then he ended up just tossing it in the trash even if he wrote basically everything.

But then the next day... He wished that he tore and flushed it because someone fucking went through his trash, found it, read it and gave it to you. He fucken died.

💚 Arkhamverse

My, my, what a cheery little lad. Just the sunshine and rainbows of a bright skies and grassy horizons-- yeah no lemme just drop the sarcasm for a sec.

This man, is a bitter man. Pushed everyone away who dares impose his progress and delay his work, it would be an absolute travesty if he were to be distracted for the smallest gaps of seconds.... But he supposes having you around to 'pester' him motivates him that people in Gotham, represented by you, will have their brains turned to mush if he doesn't do anything about it. *Cough* yes, the man is an absolute delight of a tsundere. Crush? No! It's just fondness for the lower end of the IQ count. Well, fondness is quite the word, flexible, but at least you know that he certainly feels something towards you.

He asks for your thoughts on things. Not that he cares! Criticisms? Oh please, there is not a single critic that can ever give him hell, he's a genius! Your criticisms cannot touch him! But he does need to know what you think of this recent prototype—

💚 Batman the animated series

Another simp! But he's not a shy simp like some other Riddler iterations, he is a smooth fucker who shoots his shot in every gaps of opportunity he has, no matter how small it is. Look, I've seen the rehab episode thing where Eddie cannot handle being approached by girls, BUT I believe that him initiating the flirting does not bother him at all. Though if you wanna know, he mostly kept the screaming as internal screaming.

You need that thing on the shelf regardless if you can reach it or not? Ed's got you sweetheart. What's brilliant, beautiful and otherworldly? You, honey 😘. Cold? Here comes his coat with his scent embedded on the fabric! Here's some of your favourite food and flowers! Need to get away with murder? Oh darling, he'd be happy to assist!

Needless to say, he is simp. He is over-the-top head over heels for you, he'd do anything for you. But at some degree, he'd know if you're abusing his love for you and will promptly call it out and stop it. So no, don't take advantage of it for your own benefit if you're not willing to do the same thing for him.

The person he lays his eyes on is in a constant observation, not in a stalker way by the way, he just loves making an analysis out of you and how much of a lovely person you are. He can get attached to certain things and that certain thing is you being your usual self. And he really does mean the affections for you.

So if you return his love well... He might just outsmile the Joker himself.

💚 Harley Quinn

"You know Y/N, you're the only one I tolerate in this goddamn city."

He keeps you close at most, away from harm's way and certainly provides extra protection from fellow rogue's who intends to fuck him over and hold you hostage. Because God, he'd be fucking torn if something were to happen to you because of him. You're the only one that keeps him somewhat stable in this damned city and someone who can understand him.

You really do mean to him and will do everything to keep you safe. For most of the time he is so done with the place, some idiots can be surprisingly surpass what he thought the maximum level of dumbassery, but at least he has someone who can understand him and help him through the times of frustration. No one can really solve his riddles the same way back in ye olde days, but oh well, at least he has you.

So, you're noticeably the only person who he talks to with a more calm, more casual and laid-back manner.

💚 The War of Jokes and Riddles

Silent sideline glances with a small smile lighting his lithe features. If anything, he plays it the coolest among the Riddlers. No pressure, he's just as cool as ever. Smooth as fuck that you'll be caught off-guard when what you thought was a riddle turned out to be a pick-up line. Not to mention, his constant compliments.

Then all of the sudden, he'd be more straightforward once he piques your interest and after he's tested the waters. Of course he wanted to see whether you were uncomfortable with his advances and that he'd gladly stop them. Straightforward is his way to go and he's confident about himself and what he truly feels about you.

He likes you. Your spirit, your brilliance, your beauty, everything. And how compatible you are with him, how equal you are.

[safetycar-restart]

POST RACE SHELSTHOUGHTS: BAHRAIN 2023.

Alright lads, new season and new addition to the blog!!! After every race I’m want to post some thoughts like this!! Let me know if you guys enjoy this one and would want one for every race :))

— Oscar is so sad that he doesn’t even speak to you before he does media. He knows that when he sees you, he’ll start crying and he won’t be able to stop for a long time. So he does media and then just has one very long breakdown which lasts all the way until the end of the plane ride home.

— honestly, Esteban starts laughing when he gets out the car. He’s laughing and crying and laughing and scaring most of the pit crew. You can’t exactly blame him though.

— you have never seen Lance as happy as he is when he gets out that car. He jumps into your arms like he won the race, so so happy and so ready to finally rest up and recover.

— you expect Pierre to be happier than he is. Instead, he comes to you after media, hugs you tight and whispers in your ear, “I think it might finally be okay.”

— Charles can’t even cry. He’s so upset that he’s moved past tears and is just defeated. The poor thing can’t even meet your eyes.

— George needs to vent. He needs a debrief with you before he has the debrief with the team otherwise he’ll end up cursing all of them. Instead, he still curses all of them but he does it with you, cuddled against your chest.

— Lando is so beyond any rational reaction to mclaren’s fuckery that all he says to you is a request to please be fucked hard later. Which…. Fair enough.

— max is, of course, absolutely thriving. He retells every moment of the race to you about eight times and gets drunk on the plane, clinging to you and smiling and kissing your neck and just having the best time.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon IV (Chapter 17)

I apologize, it's a battle strategy chapter. Tedious, and difficult to summarize.

"Careful of the rats, my lord." Dolorous Edd led Jon down the steps, a lantern in one hand. "They make an awful squeal if you step on them. My mother used to make a similar sound when I was a boy. She must have had some rat in her, now that I think of it. Brown hair, beady little eyes, liked cheese. Might be she had a tail too, I never looked to see."

<- Daenerys III

We all have a little rat in us. Especially Arya.

For anyone keeping score, that's the second time in a row a Daenerys chapter has ended, and the opening line on the next page is rats.

Dany could hear sounds within the walls, a faint scurrying and scrabbling that made her think of rats. Drogon heard them too. His head moved as he followed the sounds, and when they stopped he gave an angry scream. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

hehehe.

+.+.+

All of Castle Black was connected underground by a maze of tunnels that the brothers called the wormways.

<- Daenerys III

Speaking of Arya. . .

+.+.+

As they did their count, Jon peeled the glove off his left hand and touched the nearest haunch of venison. He could feel his fingers sticking, and when he pulled them back he lost a bit of skin. His fingertips were numb.

<- Daenerys III

"What is this?" Skahaz demanded. "A bloody glove …"

"… means war," said the queen.

+.+.+

"It was a long summer. The harvests were bountiful, the lords generous. We had enough laid by to see us through three years of winter. Four, with a bit of scrimping. Now, though, if we must go on feeding all these king's men and queen's men and wildlings … Mole's Town alone has a thousand useless mouths, and still they come. Three more turned up yesterday at the gates, a dozen the day before. It cannot go on. Settling them on the Gift, that's well and good, but it is too late to plant crops. We'll be down to turnips and pease porridge before the year is out. After that we'll be drinking the blood of our own horses."

[...]

In winters past, food could be brought up the kingsroad from the south, but with the war … it is still autumn, I know, but I would advise we go on winter rations nonetheless, if it please my lord."

The men will love that. "If we must. We'll cut each man's portion by a quarter." If my brothers are complaining of me now, what will they say when they're eating snow and acorn paste?

Update: pomegranate still unhappy.

Why is Stannis not travelling with his own food? I'm irritated by his entire existence.

+.+.+

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. As a boy, he often felt as if the lady grudged him every bite.

Anyway,

Two storylines appear to be aligning in more ways than one.

"Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

Devan was a skinny lad of some twelve years, brown of hair and eye. They found him frozen by the forge, hardly daring to move as Ghost sniffed him up and down. "He won't hurt you," Jon said, but the boy flinched at the sound of his voice, and that sudden motion made the direwolf bare his teeth. "No!" Jon said. "Ghost, leave him be. Away." The wolf slunk back to his ox bone, silence on four feet.

x

He followed the young squire back across the yard. Ghost padded after them until Jon said, "No. Stay!" Instead the direwolf ran off.

Lady would never.

Ghost appears to be a little agitated, and out of sync with Jon.

+.+.+

Devan looked as pale as Ghost, his face damp with perspiration. "M-my lord. His Grace c-commands your presence." The boy was clad in Baratheon gold and black, with the flaming heart of a queen's man sewn above his own.

"You mean requests," said Dolorous Edd. "His Grace requests the presence of the lord commander. That's how I'd say it."

"Leave it be, Edd." Jon was in no mood for such squabbles.

I agree with Edd.

+.+.+

In the King's Tower, Jon was stripped of his weapons and admitted to the royal presence.

I love when the author repeats inconsequential things.

+.+.+

"Not me. I'm done with those bloody fools." Rattleshirt tapped the ruby on his wrist. "Ask your red witch, bastard."

Rattleshirt is not Rattleshirt, he's glamorized Mance Rayder.

We'll cover it in more detail later, but I should point out now that Mance frequently referring to Jon as 'bastard' is cited as evidence that he wrote the Pink Letter.

Your false king is dead, bastard. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. I have his magic sword. Tell his red whore. - Jon XIII, ADWD

Small problem, that's exactly how Ramsay would provoke Jon.

His lordship was not a bastard anymore. Bolton, not Snow. The boy king on the Iron Throne had made Lord Ramsay legitimate, giving him the right to use his lord father's name. Calling him Snow reminded him of his bastardy and sent him into a black rage. - Reek I, ADWD

+.+.+

Melisandre spoke softly in a strange tongue. The ruby at her throat throbbed slowly, and Jon saw that the smaller stone on Rattleshirt's wrist was brightening and darkening as well. "So long as he wears the gem he is bound to me, blood and soul," the red priestess said. "This man will serve you faithfully. The flames do not lie, Lord Snow."

Perhaps not, Jon thought, but you do.

Both their rubies glow red. Is that confirming Melisandre is a glamorized 92-year-old? Probably.

He thinks Melisandre lies?

+.+.+

"I'll range for you, bastard," Rattleshirt declared. "I'll give you sage counsel or sing you pretty songs, as you prefer. I'll even fight for you. Just don't ask me to wear your cloak."

Clues!

He'll range or he'll sing, but don't ask him to wear a Night's Watch cloak. Mance.

+.+.+

King Stannis said, "Lord Snow, tell me of Mors Umber."

The Night's Watch takes no part, Jon thought, but another voice within him said, Words are not swords. 

Jon's committed to breaking every single vow until he leaves. Lol

I give him a hard time over assisting Stannis, but truthfully I'd be so much worse.

+.+.+

The elder of the Greatjon's uncles. Crowfood, they call him. A crow once took him for dead and pecked out his eye. He caught the bird in his fist and bit its head off. 

I'm choosing to believe this is about Bran and Bloodraven.

+.+.+

Godry the Giantslayer guffawed. "I had forgotten that you northmen worship trees."

"What sort of god lets himself be pissed upon by dogs?" asked Farring's crony Clayton Suggs.

What sort of god trembles in the presence of sand?

+.+.+

Jon chose to ignore them. "Your Grace, might I know if the Umbers have declared for you?"

"Half of them, and only if I meet this Crowfood's price," said Stannis, in an irritated tone. "He wants Mance Rayder's skull for a drinking cup, and he wants a pardon for his brother, who has ridden south to join Bolton. Whoresbane, he's called."

They've already killed someone disguised as Mance, so that's a pretty low price. Naturally Stannis is still annoyed.

We can only assume Mors (Crowfood) Umber wants a pardon for Hother (Whoresbane) Umber, because he knows Whoresbane is not actually loyal to House Bolton. Greatjon Umber remains a prisoner at the Twins, so House Umber has to play nice.

In case you forgot, Jaime has ordered all prisoners being held at the Twins to be delivered to King's Landing. Let's see if that happens.

+.+.+

"Have other lords declared for Bolton too?"

The red priestess slid closer to the king. "I saw a town with wooden walls and wooden streets, filled with men. Banners flew above its walls: a moose, a battle-axe, three pine trees, longaxes crossed beneath a crown, a horse's head with fiery eyes."

"Hornwood, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Ryswell, and Dustin," supplied Ser Clayton Suggs. "Traitors, all. Lapdogs of the Lannisters."

"The Ryswells and Dustins are tied to House Bolton by marriage," Jon informed him. "These others have lost their lords in the fighting. I do not know who leads them now. Crowfood is no lapdog, though. Your Grace would do well to accept his terms."

She's seeing a vision of the northern houses gathered at Barrowton for Jeyne and Ramsay's wedding.

House Dustin grouped with House Ryswell. Not ideal if you're wanting Queen in the North Barbrey Dustin to flip.

+.+.+

Stannis ground his teeth. "He informs me that Umber will not fight Umber, for any cause."

Jon was not surprised. "If it comes to swords, see where Hother's banner flies and put Mors on the other end of the line."

That's odd. I can't see House Umber being split in any battle, so this must be about House Karstark.

+.+.+

The Giantslayer disagreed. "You would make His Grace look weak. I say, show our strength. Burn Last Hearth to the ground and ride to war with Crowfood's head mounted on a spear, as a lesson to the next lord who presumes to offer half his homage."

"A fine plan if what you want is every hand in the north raised against you. Half is more than none. The Umbers have no love for the Boltons. If Whoresbane has joined the Bastard, it can only be because the Lannisters hold the Greatjon captive."

Let me tell you, Stannis Baratheon is surrounded by the best people.

Jon figures out the Umber plot rather quickly.

+.+.+

"That is his pretext, not his reason," declared Ser Godry. "If the nephew dies in chains, these uncles can claim his lands and lordship for themselves."

"The Greatjon has sons and daughters both. In the north the children of a man's body still come before his uncles, ser."

"Unless they die. Dead children come last everywhere."

They're discussing House Umber, but once again it's pointing to House Karstark.

Of course there's many other examples of uncles and aunts stealing birthrights. :)

+.+.+

"I know all about your vows. Spare me your rectitude, Lord Snow, I have strength enough without you. I have a mind to march against the Dreadfort." When he saw the shock on Jon's face, he smiled. "Does that surprise you? Good. What surprises one Snow may yet surprise another. The Bastard of Bolton has gone south, taking Hother Umber with him. On that Mors Umber and Arnolf Karstark are agreed. That can only mean a strike at Moat Cailin, to open the way for his lord father to return to the north. The bastard must think I am too busy with the wildlings to trouble him. Well and good. The boy has shown me his throat. I mean to rip it out. Roose Bolton may regain the north, but when he does he will find that his castle, herds, and harvest all belong to me. If I take the Dreadfort unawares—"

"You won't," Jon blurted.

Lol, shut down.

+.+.+

Where to begin? Jon moved to the map. Candles had been placed at its corners to keep the hide from rolling up. A finger of warm wax was puddling out across the Bay of Seals, slow as a glacier. "To reach the Dreadfort, Your Grace must travel down the kingsroad past the Last River, turn south by east and cross the Lonely Hills." He pointed. "Those are Umber lands, where they know every tree and every rock. The kingsroad runs along their western marches for a hundred leagues. Mors will cut your host to pieces unless you meet his terms and win him to your cause."

I don't know about you guys, but if I was trying to win back Winterfell, I'd want this guy calling the shots.

+.+.+

"Siege towers can be raised if need be," Stannis said. "Trees can be felled for rams if rams are required. Arnolf Karstark writes that fewer than fifty men remain at the Dreadfort, half of them servants. A strong castle weakly held is weak."

In case you're unaware, Arnolf Karstark is feigning loyalty to Stannis.

+.+.+

He means to plunder our armory, Jon realized. Food and clothing, land and castles, now weapons. He draws me in deeper every day. Words might not be swords, but swords were swords. "I could find three hundred spears," he said, reluctantly. "Helms as well, if you'll take them old and dinted and red with rust."

Enough, Jon.

+.+.+

"Drinking from Mance Rayder's skull may give Mors Umber pleasure, but seeing wildlings cross his lands will not. The free folk have been raiding the Umbers since the Dawn of Days, crossing the Bay of Seals for gold and sheep and women. One of those carried off was Crowfood's daughter. Your Grace, leave the wildlings here. Taking them will only serve to turn my lord father's bannermen against you."

Who's the daughter?

He brings up a good point. Hard to envision the wildlings and House Umber / House Mormont fighting on the same team.

+.+.+

"Horpe and Massey aspire to your father's seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer?"

Theon or Ramsay?

+.+.+

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa."

+.+.+

"I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." 

There's so many deaths to look forward to, and this guy is right up there.

+.+.+

"You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

I desperately want to live in a world where Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse has Eddard Stark's son to rally behind.

Osha pls.

+.+.+

Stannis looked disgusted. "Your father was a stubborn man as well. Honor, he called it. Well, honor has its costs, as Lord Eddard learned to his sorrow. If it gives you any solace, Horpe and Massey are doomed to disappointment. I am more inclined to bestow Winterfell upon Arnolf Karstark. A good northman."

"A northman." Better a Karstark than a Bolton or a Greyjoy, Jon told himself, but the thought gave him little solace. "The Karstarks abandoned my brother amongst his enemies."

Doesn't this guy pride himself on being the most honourable person in the world? (He's not.)

Again, full credit to Jon, if these were my options I would have abandoned the Night's Watch in a second.

+.+.+

"Then you mean to go ahead with this attack?"

"Despite the counsel of the great Lord Snow? Aye. Horpe and Massey may be ambitious, but they are not wrong. I dare not sit idle whilst Roose Bolton's star waxes and mine wanes. I must strike and show the north that I am still a man to fear."

Isn't this guy supposed to be a great battle commander?

+.+.+

"The merman of Manderly was not amongst those banners Lady Melisandre saw in her fires," Jon said. "If you had White Harbor and Lord Wyman's knights …"

He won't, but you will.

+.+.+

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?"

"To you they are only arrow fodder. I can make better use of them upon the Wall. Give them to me to do with as I will, and I'll show you where to find your victory … and men as well."

[...]

"This had best not be some bastard's trick. Will I trade three hundred fighters for three thousand? Aye, I will. I am not an utter fool. If I leave the girl with you as well, do I have your word that you will keep our princess closely?"

She is not a princess. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Lying liar.

Update: the treadmill is no longer a princess. What a wild ride this will be.

+.+.+

The clans have not seen a king since Torrhen Stark bent his knee. Your coming does them honor. Command them to fight for you, and they will look at one another and say, 'Who is this man? He is no king of mine.' "

"How many clans are you speaking of?"

"Two score, small and large. Flint, Wull, Norrey, Liddle … win Old Flint and Big Bucket, the rest will follow."

Let's pray the clans are savvy enough to abandon Stannis before they all die.

If they do survive, safe to say they'll be Team Stark in the battle for Winterfell.

+.+.+

"When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne, he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers on the Boneway."

"I know that tale as well, but Daeron made too much of it in that vainglorious book of his. Ships won that war, not goat tracks. Oakenfist broke the Planky Town and swept halfway up the Greenblood whilst the main Dornish strength was engaged in the Prince's Pass." Stannis drummed his fingers on the map. "These mountain lords will not hinder my passage?"

Why does this feel like relevant information?

+.+.+

That was the last thing Jon Snow would have wanted, but before he could object, the king said, "Where would you have me lead these stalwarts if not against the Dreadfort?"

Jon glanced down at the map. "Deepwood Motte." He tapped it with a finger. "If Bolton means to fight the ironmen, so must you. Deepwood is a motte-and-bailey castle in the midst of thick forest, easy to creep up on unawares. A wooden castle, defended by an earthen dike and a palisade of logs. The going will be slower through the mountains, admittedly, but up there your host can move unseen, to emerge almost at the gates of Deepwood."

Stannis rubbed his jaw. "When Balon Greyjoy rose the first time, I beat the ironmen at sea, where they are fiercest. On land, taken unawares … aye. I have won a victory over the wildlings and their King-Beyond-the-Wall. If I can smash the ironmen as well, the north will know it has a king again."

And I will have a thousand wildlings, thought Jon, and no way to feed even half that number.

Someone wake up Asha Greyjoy.

To summarize this chapter, Stannis was prepared to march to his death until Jon stepped in and crafted his entire battle plan.

Why would anyone expect Stannis to be successful when he doesn't have Jon guiding him?

Final thoughts:

It will never be clear to me how Shireen burns when half the north separates Stannis and Shireen.

Obviously it happens, I just don't know how. Why does he retreat to the Wall instead of Deepwood Motte?

-> return to menu <-

[jgvfhl]

The Number Lads Get A Night Out

Let them have nice things :) The lads deserve some relaxation time and some delicious noodles courtesy of the Noodle Grannies themselves. Please enjoy the shenanigans! Also I'm like. So close to 1000 followers??? Thank you??? 💖✨️

Words: ~6K

Warnings: None! Just happiness

Link to Number Lads Master List.

This list includes the link to the story on Ao3, but I will say that version is about... one chapter behind, but it's catching up.

The Chaos Batch's screen names are as follows:

mayhem_man = Nero

Grim Reaper = Sixes

RedBastard = Thire

beefcara = Bacara

mayhem_man: hello sixes

Grim Reaper: Nero

mayhem_man: I have been informed by one of my ARCs that you are… how did he say it

mayhem_man: “gaslight girlboss gatekeeping” the location of the noodle bar

RedBastard: LSKJDFLKAJDSFLKJSDLKFS WHAT

beefcara: What does that mean??

Grim Reaper: Tell Zero snitches get stitches.

RedBastard: ummmm okay but why are you gaslight girlboss gatekeeping??

beefcara: I would like to repeat my question from earlier. What the kriff does that mean??

mayhem_man: it means sixes has been keeping the noodle bar’s location a secret from all but two of his little number pals, including my ARC Zero.

RedBastard: why?

Grim Reaper: Because I could.

beefcara: girlboss??????????

mayhem_man: which of course is not a good enough reason to deny someone noodles

mayhem_man: I will give you until our next leave to rectify this or I’m bringing Firebolt with me next time we go for noodles

RedBastard: oh gods please not them

Grim Reaper: Why are you so dramatic about this, Nero?

mayhem_man: because i can

Grim Reaper: Understandable, have a horrible day

beefcara: I’m still confused

RedBastard: I’ll explain it when I see you next

-scene break-

The commander had always been cryptic, from the moment Nines had known the man. But this was a new level of enigma. He stared at his comm, reading and re-reading the message in the Numbers group comm from Commander Sixes that had arrived minutes ago when the 212th flagship had come out of hyperspace.

What did it mean?

No one had replied to it yet, probably because Sevenset was busy and no one else knew what to make of it. The entire message read as follows:

DEATH: I know some of you lot are due for leave soon. Go have fun.

DEATH: And Zero: snitch to your commander again, and I’m having words with you.

These messages were followed by an unmistakable series of numbers and punctuation comprising coordinates to somewhere… presumably on Coruscant? Why else would he have mentioned leave, after all.

As it happened, the 212th was on a short leave soon, mostly for resupplying and refitting after their previous missions. Nines would admit, he was curious. He hadn’t looked up the coordinates yet because he’d been busy making sure Ghost Co. was set for arrival out of hyperspace, and he would be busy for some time afterwards as they prepared for transport down to the surface. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have to, considering the Numbers were some of the nosiest troopers he’d ever met, and he lived with Waxer.

So, he reasoned he could just wait long enough and he would find out exactly what the commander had just sent them.

He didn’t have to wait long.

As his and another squad loaded into a transport ship, his comm pinged, so he switched hands holding the handle above him and opened it.

Double Trouble: wait what is that

Double Trouble: holy shit

high fives: where is that?

#1 Boy: oh I know where that is!

Loopy: fascinating

Double Trouble: IT’S THE NOODLES IT’S THAT NOODLE PLACE ELEVNS WAS THERE

d0nut man: FINALLY

DEATH: Zero.

d0nut man: i mean thank you sir

high fives: oh awesome!! Echo wanna go get noodles??

That caught Nines’ attention. Did the 501st have a break too? Maker help the Guard. He shook his head, putting his comm away for the remainder of the flight. At least Do-si-do would finally get his noodle fix and stop complaining about it in the group comm. And, now he considered it, he might join him in that endeavor. Rations were boring, and if he found the place was actually clone-friendly and reasonably priced, he might have to visit.

Turns out, he didn’t have to make that decision, because within a few hours of Commander Sixes gracing the group with the location of this restaurant, the Numbers had figured out who was going to be dirtside, who had a free evening, and Do-si-do had told everyone in those categories to “be there or be square.”

Well. Nines had been wanting to try these noodles. So he made his way over to Little Sriluur on the chosen night, bringing along Wooley, because it was a rare thing for a trooper to wander through nattie neighborhoods by himself. They arrived at the coordinates an hour or so past sunset, and the street was still brightly lit from neon signs and glowing shopfronts.

Nines was still reading his HUD, watching their coordinates as they approached those specified, when Wooley tapped his arm.

“What?”

“Dude, use your eyes, not your scanner,” he said, pointing up.

A lit sign hanging vertically down the side of a building near the end of the walkway read Noodle Bar with a martini glass at the bottom.

“Oh.”

As they got closer, the entrance appeared, an arched doorway with an awning, and a smaller sign above it that read Sun’s Noodle Bar with a picture of a bowl of noodles underneath the words. A steady number of weequay, togruta, and other races filtered in and out of the door.

“Moment of truth?” Nines asked, eyeing the crowds.

“Sure is.”

When they got to the doors, they got a few odd looks from passersby, but nothing short of brief surprise or curiosity. That was understandable. The nearest barracks were whole kliks away. But when they entered, both of them hesitating briefly before finally removing their helmets (it usually made natties feel better), the server at the welcome kiosk just smiled like they were any other customers.

“Are you here with the other troopers?” he asked, perfectly civil.

“Uh… I think so?” Nines answered.

“They’re all upstairs.” He pointed to their left where a staircase began against the wall, disappearing up into a second floor.

Nines and Wooley exchanged glances. “Thank you,” Nines said, trying his best to mask his uncertainty.

As they walked towards the stairs, he glanced around the restaurant’s first floor. The floor plan was basically square, with a round bar at the center with what must be some kind of lift down to the kitchens and up to the second floor. He saw a shadow rise through the column as they walked, supporting the theory. The atmosphere was nice, the walls painted a warm yellow-orange, with dark wooden tables and chairs, deep maroon booth cushions, and intricate geometric designs inlaid into the wooden furnishings. Strings of small lights hung from the ceiling around the walls, over windows, reaching into the center like spokes on a wheel, and rows of them hung over the stairs, illuminating their journey upward.

The second floor was almost like the first, but smaller by about a third. What was a central bar and service station downstairs now stood against one wall to their far right, and a sliding metal door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” stood beside it. Interesting that it would be on the second floor. The walls here were a shade of lavender, if he had to call it anything, but it was warm and welcoming. The furnishings were largely the same as downstairs, as were the strings of lights, but the wall tapestries were different.

Before he had much of a chance to study them, he heard his name called. Looking around, he found Do-si-do waving at him from one of a pair of tables that stood next to each other at one end of the room. He recognized a few others there, as well as a few clones outside of their little group.

“Okay then,” Nines said to Wooley. “Clone-friendly indeed.”

When they got to the table, Do-si-do got up to greet them, which made Nines realize he’d never actually met him in person before.

“Hey, I’m so glad you could make it,” he beamed, offering a hand, then grasping Nines’ forearm enthusiastically when it was given. “Who’d you bring?”

“This is Wooley,” Nines said, turning slightly. “Wooley–”

“I’m Do-si-do,” the pilot cut him off, greeting Wooley in much the same manner Nines had received. “C’mon, have a seat. This place is wizard!”

They took the empty seats at Do-si-do’s table, mainly because he knew the most people there. Fives and Echo smiled and waved at him and Wooley as they sat down across from each other, and Captain Rex nodded from beside Echo. Fours was seated at the other end of the table across from Do-si-do, surprising Nines with his presence at all. This didn’t seem like Fours’ preferred kind of night out. But, it was probably better than a normal bar.

The other table next to theirs was mostly green. He recognized Zero and Commander Nero from the holocall with the other commanders, which had honestly made Cody smile more than he had in weeks at that point, so Nines could excuse the constructed chaos. The other two 118th troopers took a minute. After wracking his brain, he finally realized one of them had a black handprint tattooed over his mouth. Echo’s “Handprint Buddies” then. What were their names? He’d need a reminder. Commander Sixes and Commander Bacara were there as well. Commander Thire must not have been able to take the evening off with his batchmates.

He brought his attention back to his own table when Captain Rex tapped the table with the side of a menu in front of him. “First drink is on the house,” he said.

“Really?” Nines took the menu, glancing around at the others. Echo had something like a Cosmopolitan, the captain had a clear drink steaming in a red ceramic mug, and Fives had a Sunset with some variation on the typical fruit blend.

“Wow.” Wooley’s eyebrows had gone up as he read the menu. “That’s… a lot of margaritas.”

“They are one of our specialties.” A new voice from somewhere behind Nines’ side of the table caught everyone a little off-guard, and Captain Rex had to work not to choke on his own drink. “Those and the sake, which the captain should drink and not inhale.”

Nines twisted around to follow a weequay woman as she rounded their table to stand at its end, dressed in a soft pink layered dress with blue and red accents. She was old, her brown skin wrinkled beyond that of younger weequays, but her grey eyes were warm and bright, and her long braids were decorated with colored ribbons and metal charms.

“Hello, my dears,” she said, putting down a stack of larger menus in the center of the table. “My name is Mira. I am one of the lucky owners of this fine establishment.”

“Hi,” Nines said. “Are you who we have to thank for keeping Elevensies and Ahsoka Tano alive a while back?” He glanced at Fives, who rolled his eyes. He was still a little annoyed about how that whole episode had played out.

“Not me directly, no,” Mira answered. “My wife Saleha took care of that. She’s more… experienced with those things.” Leaving them to wonder what that meant, she looked to him and Wooley. “Can I get you boys some drinks? First one is on the house. Guests of our commanders are always well taken care of. May I know your names?”

Nines glanced up at the other table briefly. Our commanders, was it? Alright then.

Wooley answered first. “I’m Wooley. A jogan margarita sounds amazing,” he said, setting the drink menu down near the edge of the table. “Salt rim, please,” he added before she could ask.

Mira nodded, then turned to Nines. He glanced back over the menu briefly, but he he didn’t really feel like branching out tonight. “Nines. Corellian iced tea for me, thanks.”

She collected their menus. “Those will be right out to you,” she said, and gave a tiny bow before moving on, drifting to the next table over to stand between Commander Nero and Commander Sixes and hand out menus over there.

Do-si-do pounced on the menus, eagerly opening one and starting to scan the pages.

“Someone’s excited,” Wooley remarked, waiting for Fives to pass him one instead.

Echo snorted. “Yeah, well, someone’s been begging Commander Sixes for the name of this place for weeks,” he said, bumping Do-si-do with an elbow.

“And?” the pilot said, his bleached curls bouncing as he looked up sharply. “Have you seen some of these noodle bowls? The dumplings?”

Nines shook his head, his eye once again falling on the empty seat between Fives and Wooley. Fives’ helmet sat on it, and he’d put a protective hand on it when they’d arrived, like he was saving it. “Are we still expecting someone else?” he asked, taking his own menu as it was handed down.

Captain Rex answered. “Ahsoka said she might be able to join us. So… we’ll see.”

He nodded. “That’s nice. I hope she makes it.” No one had heard anything from or about the former Padawan, and he could imagine her brothers were eager to know she was safe.

He opened his menu.

Holy shit.

He kept flipping, and the menu kept going and going. The appetizers seemed endless, and when he'd finally gotten to the end of those, the soup dishes started and went on for a page and a half. Then there was a section for… raw seafood? He'd heard it was a delicacy in many places, but he'd never seen it himself. After that came a section of stir fry and rice dishes, and he honestly had no idea there was so much you could do with rice and vegetables. He glanced up at Wooley as he turned the next page, seeing his own confusion mirrored in his friend's face. After the stir fry came the famous noodle dishes, and he had to admit, they looked magnificent. But he was after dumplings, where were the dumplings?

“Am I allowed to marry food?” Do-si-do asked. “Because I think I want to.”

“Dude, we’re clones, we can’t even marry a person,” Fives replied with a frown.

“No, he has a point,” Echo said, pointing to the menu. “I’d marry this spiced nuna ramen.”

“You haven’t even tried it yet,” his brother said.

Their captain smirked behind his own menu. “And you don’t know if you’re its type, Echo.”

Echo gasped. “Rex, I am a delight. It is a known fact that I will get a boyfriend before Fives does.”

“A known fact?” Fives demanded, setting his menu down on the table. “Since when?”

Nines shook his head, glancing briefly down at Fours and Do-si-do. The Marine was practically hiding behind his menu, and probably would be until it was taken away. Do-si-do, amazingly, had forgone examining the noodle offerings to lean over for all the gossip he could get from the conversation happening next to him. Typical Do-si-do. When he looked over to Wooley, he saw his friend’s eyebrows were lopsided as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. At least he’d had some experience with the 501st before. Throwing someone off the deep end with those guys was just mean.

Captain Rex cooly sipped his sake. “Since Echo asked everyone in your squad which of you would get a partner first, and everyone said Echo. You were asleep.”

“What?” Fives said, his utter indignation making everyone except Fours smile at least. “When–why did you–what? And since when are you a delight, Echo? You’re a kriffing menace!”

While the conversation descended into batcher banter, Nines leaned forward and told Wooley, “This is why Commander Sixes and his batch call the five-oh-first ‘Rex’s Freaks,’ by the way.”

His friend nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that.”

Finally, when the conversation had truly started going downhill, Captain Rex set down his menu and put a hand on Echo’s head. “Domino. Domino, we’re in a public setting.”

“Echo started it.”

“You took the bait.”

“Domino. Please.”

Echo smirked and went back to his menu, and his captain finally removed his hand from his head. Nines had a lot of respect for Captain Rex, and most of it went towards his abilities to wrangle his troopers and General Skywalker at the same time. Cody had his respect for much the same reason, only it applied to Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, as well as the rest of the 7th Sky Corps. Also Cody was awesome.

While the two ARCs had been having their discussion, Nines hadn’t noticed Commander Nero moving from his seat at the other table until he was already standing near the end of their table. His presence made them all sit up a little taller. Okay, well everyone except Fours, who sat bolt upright immediately. Some things didn’t change.

Captain Rex looked up. “Commander.”

“I’m always amazed at how effective ARC training is on the field,” Commander Nero said.

“Oh, I am too, sir,” the captain said, looking to Domino.

Echo sniffed. “Why Rex, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Fives stuck his tongue out at him.

Commander Nero smiled briefly. “Anyway,” he said, “I wanted to let you all know it means a lot to Mira and her wife that you guys are here. They love having clones around, so if you’re ever on Trip Zip and need somewhere to eat, they’d be thrilled.”

“I’m just glad Commander Sixes finally gave us the location,” Do-si-do said, eyeing the commander at the other table. He must have noticed, because he brought his right hand to his face and very pointedly scratched his nose with his middle finger.

“Yeah, well, he’s a stubborn bastard,” Commander Nero smiled. “We all are, truthfully, just he and Bacara are a bit more petty about it.”

“Banthashit!” Commander Bacara called over. “You’re worse.”

Captain Rex raised an eyebrow at him. But further conversation was interrupted by a cheerful voice from the bar on the far side of the tables.

“A jogan margarita and a Corellian iced tea?”

Nines couldn’t help the smile from forming on his face, and he watched Fives, Echo and Captain Rex all cycle through expressions of shock and disbelief before breaking into huge smiles.

Ahoska came to stand next to Commander Nero, and he moved a little to the side to let her set down the drinks by Nines and Wooley. She still wore her akul headgear, although her Padawan beads were gone, but she seemed happy enough regardless. Her robes and armor had been replaced by a dark red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants and shoes, and a tan apron tied around her waist where her lightsabers used to hang.

“I had the iced tea,” Nines said, and she set down the glasses in front of each trooper.

Then she darted around Commander Nero to Captain Rex and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. “Hey, guys!”

“Soka!” Fives grinned.

“So this is where you ended up, eh?” Echo asked, reaching up to pat her shoulder when she hugged him.

Commander Nero shrugged. “Well, Saleha took a liking to her, and they’ve always had a spare bedroom in their apartment upstairs, so.”

Ah, that explained it. These women were serial adopters apparently, given the earlier comment about “our commanders.” Good. They seemed like good people. Ahsoka came around the other side of the table as the 118th’s commander retreated to his own, taking the seat Fives’ helmet had been saving for her. She hugged him like she had his brother and captain before she sat down.

“Hey, Commander,” Echo called over, and of course all three of them looked up. They seemed to figure out who it was for, and then only Commander Sixes was paying attention. “Did you know by depriving us of this location you were also depriving us of our little sister–”

“Shut up, Echo.”

Captain Rex snorted. “I’m glad you’ve found a place, Ahsoka.”

She smiled. “Yeah. I guess I kind of have the uh… Numbers here to thank for it,” she said, looking around the table. “If you guys hadn’t found Elevensies and introduced him to Commander Sixes, that whole thing would have been a lot uglier.”

Do-si-do beamed. “Well, you’re welcome for dragging everyone into it.”

Soon after Ahsoka appeared, Mira returned, and Nines finally tried his drink. He had to admit, it was damn good. He nodded at Wooley, who looked just as pleased with his.

The old weequay stood at the end of their table. “Is everyone ready, or should I give you more time?”

Everyone looked around the table, waiting for objections. Nines shrugged. “Looks like we’re ready,” he said. “Do-si-do?”

The pilot nodded seriously. “I was decanted ready.”

Mira smiled. “Aiya, let’s not keep you waiting.” She produced a small datapad and a stylus for it, then looked up expectantly.

One by one, they gave their orders. Ahsoka gave hers without even glancing at a menu, but she had been living here for a couple months now. Lucky girl, from what Nines had seen coming out of the kitchens around them. Perfect spot for a growing carnivore. He himself ordered a dumpling sampler with a side of Shili kybuck soup, and he was very much looking forward to trying everything.

When Mira had collected their menus and gone to the other table, Echo leaned forward to talk to Ahsoka. “So? How is it on the outside?”

She paused, looking down at her folded arms on the tabletop. “It’s… so different,” she said finally. “I mean, of course, I miss you guys, and I miss Anakin and Obi-Wan all the time. I don’t miss getting shot at, though.”

They laughed. Captain Rex raised his cup. “I will drink to that. You’re a lot safer here than with us, kid.”

“Yeah. I still think… I still think leaving was the best thing for me at the time,” she went on, her gaze once again falling. “I was just so confused and… and angry. And I knew the Jedi could have taken care of me–I could have taken some time off the field and did what Barriss did, take some time to recenter but…” She shook her head. “I dunno. After all that scrutiny from the Senate, and what happened to Barriss with those conspiracy theory goons?”

They nodded. They all knew the mixed emotions that had followed the tribunal and general hubbub around the Temple bombing. Ahsoka had faced the brunt of it.

“You’ve earned some time to yourself,” Captain Rex said. “I’m glad you’re getting some.”

She nodded. “How is everything, though? I can’t get the same information I used to.”

Nines shrugged. “War rages on.”

Fives added, “Rex finally managed to get a promotion to stick to Hardcase.”

His captain rolled his eyes and shook his head as Ahsoka’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Really? How?”

This wouldn’t have anything to do with this new rumor Nines had heard, would it…?

The captain spread his hands a little, leaning back in his chair. “The five-oh-first finally has its own demo team. And I appointed Hardcase as their leader.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Wooley said.

“It’s insane,” Echo agreed.

“But it’s working!” Fives grinned. “He reports to Jesse, and Jesse works though most of the stupidity by the time Echo gets it, and it’s working!”

“Go figure,” Ahsoka said, smiling along. “Are they any good?”

The captain nodded. “They’re effective, yeah.”

“Happily effective,” Echo added.

“Huh,” Nines said, his gaze drifting over to the 118th troopers. Didn’t they have an entire company dedicated to blowing things up? Firestorm? Something like that. He’d have to pick Zero’s brain about it. Hell, maybe Captain Rex should meet up with their commanding officer to get some advice.

Turns out, he wasn’t the only one on that train of thought. Fives leaned back and tapped one of the Handprint troopers–the other ARC. “Hey, Pixel.”

Pixel twisted around. “What?”

“What’s that name of that group you’ve got that blows up everything?”

Pixel’s brows rose. “Firebolt Company, why?”

Fives gestured to Captain Rex. “Firebolt Company! See, I told you, they have an even bigger version.”

The uninformed newcomer to the conversation shot a confused look at Echo, who explained. “Torrent Company just made our first dedicated demo team, we might need some pointers.”

“Ooh, cool!” The other Handprint trooper had turned around too, his smile distorting the black handprint tattooed over his mouth. Ouch… “How big is it?”

By that point, the other members at the far table had started listening along.

“Why are we talking about Firebolt?” Commander Nero asked, shooting a cautious glance at Commander Sixes and receiving a very eloquent raised eyebrow in response.

“Why are we shouting across a table when we could just move them together?” Commander Bacara said, and he did make a good point.

“Okay, okay, no one likes a know-it-all,” Commander Nero replied, getting slightly confused looks from the other commanders. Then he stood up and gestured to the tables. “Well? Were you just saying things to hear your own voice? Let’s go.”

Luckily for everyone around (and there weren’t many patrons nearby), they were military men, and they accomplished the simple task with nothing short of battlefield precision. Commander Nero gave the orders and directed Zero, Pixel, and the other trooper to help Fives and Echo move the chairs from between the tables, and there would undoubtedly be a little rearranging of seats to be done once the other chairs wouldn’t quite fit on either end. But, the other table had had two empty seats, so the end result wasn’t too squished.

Wooley ended up next to him instead of across from him, and once everyone was seated again, Commander Nero prompted Captain Rex to explain himself, which he did. Largely, the conversation was meaningless to Nines. He had no desire to be much of an officer, or be anywhere near a demo team in the field. But, the captain seemed to enjoy picking the other commander’s mind, and he would no doubt need the advice, from what Nines recalled of the stories about Hardcase.

Beside him, he saw Ahsoka lean over to Echo from where she sat between the two ARCs. “Where are you guys headed next?” she asked, a bit quieter than the conversations around her.

Echo took a drink from his conical glass, glancing around at the other patrons he could see. He finished his scan of the area and set down his glass to trace out words on the table top.

Ringo Vinda.

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes. “Mid-rim, right? Space station or planet?”

“Station.”

She nodded again, her expression sharpening minutely. Battles in space were more dangerous by far than those fought dirtside. One wrong explosion, and a whole platoon could be sucked out into the cold crush of space. She knew that. She was what? Seventeen? Eighteen? And she knew that.

He shook his head, taking a drink himself to shake the concerns that brought. There was no use in them. War was war, and the Jedi had joined.

“Just you guys, or is there another battalion going?” Ahsoka asked, yet another astute inquiry.

Echo once again traced on the table. 962.

“That’s… Masters Tiplee and Tiplar, right? The twin sisters.”

Twins? Nines had no recollection of learning about any twin generals on Kamino, but his time on Kamino had been a lifetime of battles ago. He knew what he needed to know, and if he needed to know more, he’d take the time to learn.

Echo nodded. “Commander Doom is their CC.”

“Looking like an easy one, or… no?”

The ARC shrugged. “Can’t tell from here. Shouldn’t be terrible, though.” It was impossible to tell if he said that genuinely, or as a way to assuage her regret at being unable to go help them win. Both was just as likely as one or the other.

He paused his eavesdropping when Wooley nudged his elbow. “Why don’t more clones know about this place?” he wondered, looking around. “I mean no one’s even given us weird looks, and there’s almost a dozen of us. Including Domino.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Fine, they’re being civilized, I know, whatever. You get my point.”

Nines nodded his understanding. “I do, I do. I guess the commanders come here often enough for it to be… normal?”

They both looked over to the three commanders.

Commander Nero was still engrossed in regaling some story to Captain Rex, his eyes shining with utter delight as he used his hands to gesture at what could only be a truly thunderous explosion in the narrative. Commander Sixes sat on his other side, deep in conversation with Commander Bacara next to him. They weren’t even looking at each other, the Marines commander looking down at the table top, his finger tracing and retracing the inlaid pattern in the wood as he talked. But he was clearly just as engaged in the conversation as his brother, who was talking fixedly at a point by the stairs. The conversation seemed to concern some level of violence, because he saw the commanders both gesticulate at least once each like they were ripping something apart with their hands.

Regular, sure. Commonplace, perhaps.

“Normal might be a stretch,” he said aloud.

Wooley snorted. “Well, we’re genetically engineered soldiers. What’s normal got to do with it?”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

They didn’t have much longer to wait until the doors of the large lift opened behind the bar and a whole half of the bar swung open to accommodate the large serving carts that arrived. There was a pair of them, the first of which Mira pushed, the cart hovering a few inches off the ground like a landspeeder might. But Nines’ attention rested on the old weequay only momentarily, because behind her, now backlit from the lift as the doors closed, was, by comparison, a towering togruta pushing a similar cart.

Judging by her age and the familiarity with which this togruta manoeuvered around Mira and the tables, this had to be the other owner. He hadn’t learned her name yet, but they made quite the pair together. Mira’s wife was about two feet taller than her, with warm red-orange skin, rich fuschia stripes on her montrals and lekku, and glittering metal and jewels adorning her nose, brow, arms, hands, and lekku. Dark red fabric draped over her shoulder and wrapped around her waist over a long black dress, all embroidered with flowers and small birds.

She came to their side of the table while Mira went to the other side. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said. “My name is Saleha. I believe you’re all ready to eat, yes?”

Do-si-do was literally gazing at the steaming plates and bowls. “Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed a little, and set about naming the dishes to get them handed out as soon as possible. When she had finished setting out the bowls and other dishes, including little bottles and bowls for various sauces, she asked, “Does anyone want cutlery instead of chopsticks?”

Nines blinked, looking down around his bowl and plate and realizing there were no forks or knives, just… two sticks and a spoon. He saw Wooley doing the same beside him. Looking up and around, he saw the three commanders with their gloves and vambraces off, skillfully manipulating their noodles around with the chopsticks like they’d been doing it for years.

Lucky bastards probably had been.

“I’d like some,” he said, giving a somewhat sheepish smile.

“Yeah, me as well, ma’am,” Wooley added, and Captain Rex and Echo followed suit.

Saleha put down forks and knives wrapped in red napkins for them, then moved away, pushing the cart back to the lift with her wife. Nines saw Echo’s face pinch into a little frown as he unwrapped his fork.

Ahsoka asked what he was wondering. “I thought you knew how to use chopsticks, Echo.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, “but ever since getting all those burns up my arm, it’s not very comfortable.”

“Well, you’re still better at it than me,” Nines offered. “I never even learned.”

Echo smiled, twisting a bundle of noodles onto a fork and blowing on them to cool them down. “Fives kept dragging me to these takeout places where they handed ‘em out. We got curious and looked up how to use them on the ‘net.”

He nodded back, sipping tentatively at a spoonful of soup.

Oh wow, that was good.

Everyone must have thought similarly, because the table was almost entirely void of conversation as everyone started eating. He was a little glad the soup had some spice in it, so he couldn’t inhale it in two seconds the way his brain and stomach were wanting him to do.

Wooley, who had also ordered some dumplings, reached to take one of the bottles of sauce Saleha had delivered with their food. “What is this?” he said, turning it to read the label. He looked up across the combined tables. “Commanders?”

The three looked up at the same time, which was kind of amusing.

Wooley held up the sauce. “What are these?”

Commander Nero answered. “Oh, that one’s the homemade hot sauce,” he said, pointing with his chopsticks to the bottle of orange sauce. “That’s better for the soups or noodles if you want extra kick. That one,” he said, pointing to the bottle of brown liquid on the table, “is called soy sauce, and it is amazing, and should go on and inside of your dumplings.”

Nines couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the immediate and comprehensive reply. Wooley smiled at it, and said, “Sir yes sir,” so just Nines and Pixel either side of him could hear. They both smiled at it.

While Wooley filled one of the tiny bowls with the dark brown sauce, Nines couldn’t help his curiosity. “Commander Nero, may I ask how exactly you found this place?”

All of the 118th troopers’s heads pivoted to their CO, eager anticipation visible on almost all of their faces. Pixel seemed a more subdued soldier than Zero or the other one.

Commander Nero glanced at them, then looked at Nines. “No, you may not.”

The 118th troopers deflated slightly. Well then.

“He was drunk and committing crimes,” Commander Bacara said.

“I can kill you in your sleep,” his brother replied breezily.

“My room’s booby trapped beyond recognition, you’d never make it two steps inside.”

“I can still firebomb–”

Commander Sixes cut them off. “Maker’s sake, will you two just eat your damn noodles?”

The two commanders eyed each other and went back to eating their damn noodles.

There was a brief pause before he heard Captain Rex say, “I don’t want to hear it, Fives.”

Presumably, Fives was about to point out that the commanders were allowed to have their disagreements, but he and his batchmate had been silenced too soon. After another pause, slightly longer than the last, the trooper whose name still escaped Nines spoke up.

“Commander Bacara, what did you mean when you said you room is booby trapped beyond recognition?”

Before Commander Nero had a chance to cut in, the Marines commander answered, “It means you’d be dead in about three seconds if they’re armed and you walk in like an idiot.”

Nox blinked. He looked at Fours, who nodded seriously. “You’re allowed to do that, sir?”

“Of course he’s not, Nox,” Commander Nero said. “But what doesn’t get reported doesn’t exist.”

Zero nudged Nox. “Yeah, like your secret stash no one’s supposed to know about?”

Nox’s eyes went comically wide. “No! You didn’t!”

“I didn’t!” Zero assured him. “It’s fine. I may have simply helped myself to a finder’s fee–”

“No! Commander!”

“What do you want me to do about it, Nox?” their commander said. “He found it fair and square. Get better at hiding your stuff, you’re in Whisper Co.”

Nox sighed, glaring at Zero as he returned to his bowl of noodles. “Yeah, they’re also in Whisper,” he muttered. “That’s the problem.”

The whole evening followed a quiet repetition of little discussions working up into small disagreements until it was shut down by someone else–and honestly, in Nines’ experience, that was how a lot of interactions with clones tended to go. They were soldiers, they spent their time trying to make dying feel like a worthwhile proposition, so their methods of letting off steam were usually a little coarser than the average civvy. But it was nice.

It was weird as hell, but it was nice.

The food was absolutely as good as Do-si-do had hoped, if his silence and constant smile were anything to go by. Before he’d started eating, he’d managed to find the self-control to take a picture of his bowl of ramen to send it to the Numbers chat so Sevenset could see it. He had the feeling those two missed being able to see each other in person more than the rest of the bunch, so he was glad Sevenset got to be included somehow. Rancor must be on a mission or asleep, though, because they didn’t get a reply that evening.

Mira and Saleha were coming and going fairly frequently. He figured as the owners, they had plenty of other people managing the place for them, so they flitted around, making sure everything was going smoothly, but that still left them with plenty of time to come talk to the commanders or Ahsoka. They just seemed so nice, it honestly amazed him. The commanders–even Sixes and Bacara, the rougher, gruffer of the three–let them pat their shoulders or put a hand on their heads like they were cadets.

Their kindness and open compassion even worked a little magic on Fours. The quiet Marine actually blushed a little under Mira’s compliments to his hair, and Nines caught him holding a brief conversation with Fives a little later on, although it was far too quiet to hear across the table. Seeing that, Nines knew those women could be trusted.

He just knew.

Warm happy feelings, yes? Yes. @mercurydancer @23-bears @theultimatesandwich @rndmpeep @soclonely as usual, let me know if you want to be added to the tags!

[renee-writer]

Single Chapter 20

AO3

The soft cry stops his hands and perks her ears. Jenny. He drops his hands and she turns to the door just as Ian knocks.

 

“Many pardons but Jenny’s labor has began. She is asking for you, Claire.” He says through the door.

 

“I will be right there, Ian,” She forces her mind from Jamie to Jenny, “well, this shows she trust me. You will be alright with Brianna?”

 

He smiles. “Aye. We shall be just fine.”

 

She kisses him long and hard. Were it not for the presence of their daughter and Jenny ‘s labor, she would be getting fully reacquainted with her husband.

 

“Later, we shall…” No need to finish that statement. He kens exactly what she means.

 

“Aye, we shall.”

 

She hurries to her sister -in-law.

 

Jenny paces across her room. Claire watches, for now. She longs to ask her about Mary, to find out why she pushed a marriage so fast. But now isn’t the time, or so she thinks.

 

“I wanted him to stay. After almost losing him,” she says out of nowhere, “I didn’t  ken all I do of ye now but, I kenned something different about you. He would,” She stops as the relentless pain rises again. Clinging to her bed post, she rides it out, “follow you across the world. Mary, she is settled here. He needed a wife. I thought I could anchor him here and help him over ye at the same time.”

 

“Does he love her? I know she does him, but…”

 

“Not in the way you are asking. They would have had a nice marriage, got on alright, but, his heart would always long for ye. There is none but ye for him. I was foolish to think otherwise.”

 

“I won’t take him away. This is his place, Bree’s place, and mine. Home and family. I swear to you.”

 

She nods. In the mighty grip of another contraction, she can’t yet speak. When it fades, “Would you have Mary dismissed?”

 

It is a good question. A part of her, still jealous of the other woman, is anxious to say yes. But, the other part, the more rational one, can’t . She helped him through a very rough time.

 

“I will be honest, a very big part of me wants to, but, it would be unnecessarily cruel. Just please find her a husband, as fast as you can. Now if she acts in an unladylike fashion…”

 

“She won’t. No matter how she feels, she will never do anything about them.”

 

A few hours later.

 

“This fist baby is ready to be born.” Claire deduced that Jenny was right. She carries two.

 

Jenny presses down hard, using the bed post as support. Slowly the newest Murray makes an entrance. Auntie Claire guides the infant out.

 

“A lad. Hearty and hale.” She announces with relief. The newborn is passed to Mary, fetched when Jenny drew close. She starts to clean him up.

 

“Michael,” His mam announces, “his name.”

 

“Quite lovely Jenny,” There is no time to say more. His sibling is on the way.

 

Claire delivers Michael ‘s afterbirth into a bowl. Soon after, his sister arrives, as healthy as her brother.

 

“And a fine lass.” Her auntie announces.

 

“Janet,” a chuckle as the exhausted new mam takes her children in her arms, “after all this, one should be named after me.”

 

Neither of her birth attendants can argue that.

[withthingsunreal]

mmm i know everyone is eurovisioning but i am panic spiraling about my cat n it's gotta go somewhere so

brief backstory: i lost my cat in august of last year, so less than a year ago, after a month of him being sick and my sister and i desperately trying any procedure the vets recommended. he was 11 so i had a long time with him and i am grateful but also losing him was Really Fucking Terrible bc he was my whole world for like. a decade.

so we adopted another cat a few months later because not having a Lil Dude around was fucking us up. and after less than a month she got sick, we brought her back to her foster mom, turned out she had a birth defect that couldn't be treated. she was very very spoiled and loved for the rest of the time she had, which ended up being a few more months than expected, but she lived those out w her foster mom (who adored her and almost hadn't adopted her out anyway) so that was traumatic as well but at a remove.

while dealing w diagnosing the kitten, we adopted another cat, who is about a year and a half old and only has one eye and is very sweet. he has been with us several months now and is a good gentle boy and we love him.

here have a photo

he is a very nice lad but he has unfortunately decided to stress me out by having some weird ailments. last month his lower lip was swollen, we brought him to the vet who said it was likely an allergic reaction to his food. she also pointed out that he had some broken lower teeth but didn't seem concerned about it. i had never noticed this before, so i have no idea if it was maybe from whatever trauma lost him his eye or something more recent. regardless we went home, changed food, the swelling went down in like a week.

well now his mouth is swollen AGAIN, on the side this time and it looks even WORSE. and he seems to have a rash on his belly?? and honestly i think his teeth look worse too!!! before he had three little nubs but now i think he has only two nubs and one gap. we have a vet appointment on wednesday but until then i am Freaking Out and seriously thinking about bringing him in for an emergency check.

the thing stopping me from doing so is that he is behaving completely normally. he eats, he plays, he uses his box, he sits in the window or hangs out in bed. he's not hiding, and while he doesn't like me grabbing his mouth to try to scrutinise it, he doesn't seem to be overly sensitive at all either.

trying SO HARD to stay rational about this. i'm sure these are common pet experiences!! but they are not ones i have ever had. and i am so afraid of doing something wrong and him suffering for it.

if you actually read this, thank you. if you read it and have any thoughts/advice, please don't hesitate. talking me down from my anxiety is always appreciated.