#avoid jumping in and doing stuff for kids

[afreakforyautjas]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 5

[And to think this started as a silly little prompt 🤭 can’t wait for your reactions on this one!!! Can you guys guess the characters intentions for each other? 💚]

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 💚

You looked at the Yautja, unsure if it actually expected you to come closer… maybe even help it.

You gulped, still anxious, still wary of the closeness. Let’s not forget, this thing had every intention of hunting you before the Xenomorph showed up.

Clutching the container of salve you had grabbed from the cabinet, you took a step toward it, avoiding its piercing gaze.

Its eyes were already on you. You could feel them, watching. Scanning. Maybe trying to figure you out, what kind of creature you were and why weren’t you attacking like the rest of the humans. You had no doubt it was still deciding whether you were a threat or not. Humans were the ones who captured it, after all. You couldn’t imagine it had any fond opinions about your kind.

You sighed, maybe louder than you wanted.

The Yautja tilted its head slightly and let out a soft clicking sound, as if wondering why you had frozen up, standing there with the medicine in hand, like a lost kid.

You blinked at the noise. It pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. It was studying you again. The slight head tilt, the narrowed gaze… unmistakable.

You finally opened the small container. Inside was a blue, slimy substance. Strange, slick, almost glowing faintly. You hesitated, then slowly held out your hand, offering it for the Yautja to decide whether it wanted to take it and use it itself.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it looked you right in the eye and then, oddly, almost proudly, pushed its chest out, like it was presenting itself. Like it was… expecting you to help.

You blinked again. That wasn’t right. From everything you had read or heard about them, Yautja were loners. Fiercely independent. They didn’t want help. They didn’t need help. But this one…

It was just waiting for you.

Did it… somehow know you were the one who tried to treat its wounds when they first brought it into the lab? You hadn’t done a great job then. There were scars along its arms now, stitches that healed badly (you partly blamed yourself for that). Human medicine hadn’t worked, you hadn’t even thought to use this balm at the time.

But now… now it was letting you try again.

You dipped your fingers into the gel and instantly jumped back, gasping. It was freezing! So cold it burned. You dropped the container in surprise, your fingers stinging.

The Yautja growled. A low, amused kind of growl… almost like a scoff.

You frowned at it. “Was that a laugh?” you muttered, annoyed but a little thrown off.

You bent to grab the container from the floor and spotted a nearby lab spatula. That would have to do. You didn’t trust your fingers to survive another dip in that blue stuff.

You approached again, slowly, and for a second you considered asking if it was okay to apply the balm, but what was the point? It probably didn’t understand you anyway. So you dipped the spatula in the gel and brought it toward its bleeding arm.

The Yautja didn’t move.

You took that as permission and carefully spread the salve over the deep slice in its right arm.

The reaction was immediate. It let out a sharp roar, head thrown back, mandibles flaring. The sound made your chest rattle.

You flinched hard, stepping back, your heart racing.

Was that pain? Had you messed up?

Then you noticed. The green blood had stopped oozing. The wound was frosting over, the salve turning dusty and hard on the surface. It was… working.

There was another gash near its chest, and you figured you should deal with it fast, before the Yautja had second thoughts and ripped you apart.

You scooped more of the gel and applied it quickly.

Another roar, louder this time.

Its hand, gripping the edge of the operating table, crushed the metal like it was tinfoil… You shifted back, staring wide-eyed, caught somewhere between fear and awe. That grip alone could have turned your bones to powder…

But the grip slowly loosened. Its chest rose and fell. Its breathing slowed back to normal.

You wanted to ask if it’s okay, but it wouldn’t understand anyway, so you ignored the urge.

The Yautja shook its head, dreadlocks swaying with the motion, and then looked at you again. Directly. Expecting.

You held its gaze, confused. Was it angry now? Offended? Or just enduring the pain?

You took a hesitant step forward and the low growl that rumbled from its chest made your human instincts scream. Like a lion warning you to keep your distance.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath. “Message received,” you lied.

Ignoring its warnings, you moved fast, hoping maybe the last scratch on its forehead wouldn’t sting as much if you applied the salve quickly.

Bad idea.

Its hand shot up and gripped your wrist, tight enough to hurt, but not enough to break. You made a pained sound. Its claws pricked your skin. It was letting you know, it could hurt you. It was a warning.

Your breath hitched.

“I just… I thought if I did it fast, it wouldn’t hurt as bad” you said, voice trembling. “I just wanted to help…”

The Yautja didn’t move for a moment. You could feel it calculating, its grip flexing and relaxing slightly over your wrist, as if testing how easy it would be to crush you.

But then, slowly, it let you go.

It took you a second to gather courage, before you decide to help again. Carefully now, you spread the salve across the scratch near its eye, this time without breaking eye contact. Neither of you flinched. Neither of you looked away.

You were too aware of it now.

It just breathed. Heavy, steady. Taking the pain silently.

Then its eyes shifted, not to the salve, not to the next wound, but to you.

Specifically… your head.

You noticed the way it looked at you, just a little sharper than before. Its head nodded slightly, and it let out a low growl.

You blinked. “What?” you mumbled.

It’s eyes dropped to the side of your head.

Instinctively, your fingers went to the spot.

You pulled your hand back, blinking at the smear of blood on your fingertips.

You hadn’t even realised, not until now. The pain had been buried beneath adrenaline and noise. But now, as you touched the torn skin again, you remembered. The Xenomorph. Its clawed grip, fisting a handful of your hair before the Yautja intervened. The skin must have torn when it pulled. You hadn’t had time to notice. Until the Yautja did.

You turned away quickly, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic from the nearby shelf and pouring some on a gauze.

A sharp burn bloomed beneath your skin as you pressed the soaked cloth against the wound. You sucked in a breath between your teeth, muttering curses under your breath.

The Yautja observed in silence.

Its eyes lingered on the wound, then the blood, then the way your body reacted to pain. You could feel it watching, dissecting the moment, trying to make sense of it… of you.

And then, it’s eyes darted to the small container of the blue alien medicine, and then back to the blood on your fingers.

Unlike its own, your blood hadn’t crystallized. The antiseptic hadn’t frozen to your skin. Your biology worked differently. Messier.

You glanced at the container and let out a dry breath, half a laugh.

“I wish I could use that stuff,” you said softly, nodding toward the blue gel.

The Yautja didn’t move, or made any noise. Still studying you like some strange creature it didn’t quite understand yet.

That made two of you.

God, if only you could communicate. This would be so much easier. But then again… maybe you didn’t want to know what it thought of you. What if it was just weighing when to peel your skull off?

Then it hit you.

“The helmet…” you muttered “it has a translator, doesn’t it?”

You stepped forward, almost too fast, a little more excited than you intended. “I know where your armor is. The helmet, it can translate, right?”

You saw no recognition in its eyes. Not yet.

You then decided to motion over your own head, trying to mimic the shape of its helmet. When the Yautja didn’t react, you used your hands to gesture around its head instead, hoping it’d get what you meant.

The Yautja tilted its head again, like it did whenever it was studying you.

Did it understand?

“If I help you find it,” you said slowly, “will you help me get out of here?” You didn’t know what else was crawling outside of this lab, you definitely needed some help to survive.

It stood up. Towering over you.

You held your breath by the sudden move. You noticed your head barely reached its chest.

You felt small, fragile, completely exposed in front of it.

You looked up and it suddenly roared, a sound that slammed into you like a wall, mandibles flaring and mouth wide open.

To your surprise, you didn’t back down. Didn’t flinch. Maybe you should have, but something told you this was a test. A show of strength. And maybe… just maybe… it respected the fact that you didn’t fall over yourself.

Its mandibles relaxed, and its gaze softened… or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Then it turned to the dead Xenomorph in the corner of the lab.

It walked over and ripped off the end of its tail with both hands. A clean, brutal snap, like most of its movements.

The Yautja kneeled, nodding towards you, like a command. You followed, kneeling beside it without a question.

The Yautja pressed the tip of the tail to its own forehead and growled low, carving a mark into its skin.

You winced at the sight of its flesh burning. But the scar it left behind, you recognized it. A rite of passage. It had marked itself as blooded. As worthy. As a survivor.

You stood with it, still stunned. Had it… shown you that on purpose?

Maybe.

It glanced at you, then puffed its chest slightly. Almost proud looking.

It had let you witness the ritual. That had to mean something. Right?

Then it looked past you, toward the door. A silent command.

Time to move.

Time to get its armor.

Had you just made an alliance… with a predator?

[saguette]

You still want JTHM asks? Because I kinda wanna see your take on older Squee or just squee and Pepito.

You don’t have too but I’m just interested.

asks/requests will always be welcome its just that i will use them more as prompts if i dont have ideas or ill draw them if i really like it. Ill draw pepito and maybe an older pepito at some point but i really liked thinking about older Squee lol.

I can see him being riddled with so many issues but he doesnt take them seriously because he some sort of outlier separated from everyone else. i think hed be the opposite of Johnny where instead of trying to jump through hoops to rationalize everything he disassociates and tries not to think as much as possible because he knows that what might be true will hurt him. Hes accepted there is something wrong with him but he can think of a world that is better.

his daydreaming and disassociations would probably lead him to see schmee as a form of guidance more than protection when he gets older. After all he doesnt want to think what to do next and has been sort of conditioned to not focus on reality so much to the point he is stuck not being able to function properly, plus when has his free will ever been a good thing anyway? if he has something to do schmee will tell him.

^^i still think Todd can think for himself and second guesses a LOT of things but he has no choice but to be this way so its kind of like he knows better but he cant DO better.

bonus stuff: as a kid hed pull his mattress off the bed to avoid monsters being capable of hiding under it and it follows him into adulthood where he still sleeps on the floor. its also comforting to be low down because he feels hidden.

Schmee also gets beat up and dirty overtime but Todd doesnt feel obligated to fix him because he is afraid to taint or ruin anything associated with Schmee.

i also think hed experience that cartoon trope where he meets whos obviously supposed to be his love interest which is just a female version of himself in appearance (like him with pigtails) but he is so mental he feels nothing for her at all and never sees her again.

[jonathansims-answers]

[AUDIO RECORDING, CHAZ BAXTER, STATEMENT REGARDING TOURIST TRAPS GIVEN JULY 2ND, 2015]

[*recorder clicks on*, the man talking sounds like a young adult with an American accent.]

“Okay.. I’m not crazy. Well- pfft obviously I’m sure everyone says that at the beginning of these things. Obviously, as you can tell I’m not from anywhere around here- nor does uh- this story even really take place in Britain but hey! I don’t know it might be worth something.”

[*Inaudible chatter*]

“Why am I here?- uh- well I guess I was on vacation in London and I’ve heard stuff online about this place.. so uh yeah I don’t know I just need closure I guess.. sorry- yeah here I’ll get to it now-“

[*Inaudible chatter*]

“Okay uh- where do I start? Alright.. this takes place in Pideon Forge, Tennessee. WEIRD. PLACE. Look it up. The moment you enter it you are greeted with an upside down mansion, the titanic, Alcatraz, and tourist trap shops galore! All corrected by one 8-lane highway! It’s the beach town of the mountains, alright. So uh yeah I was on vacation with a group of friends and we were kind of all just doing our own thing… or… well they were all doing their own thing and I was the straggler. I wish I knew what I did to get them all to just.. avoid me. I guess I am sort of annoying, asking too many questions and all that.. anyways I decided to go check out all the weird and uncanny gift shops around the hotel.

After nearly getting hit by three cars on my walk across the street, I came across this.. boat ride I think? It was called the ‘Jurassic jungle boat ride’. It was clearly a Jurassic park knock off and the outside paint was worn. ‘Great’ I thought, ‘some cheap money grab worth getting a laugh at all of the bad theatrics.’ I walked inside and was immediately hit by the stench of chlorine and rust. Loud mechanical sounds filled my ears with screeches and clunks. I made my way up to the front desk and found there was nobody there. Now that I thought about it nobody was in the parking lot either.. thinking back this was a really stupid choice to make but when the next boat came to a halt at the dock I just sort of shrugged and got on. I guess I assumed it was automated at the time? I don’t know what was going through my brain, but it certainly wasn’t anything smart.”

[*audible shifting in seat*]

“Sorry- my anxiety as been all weird sense. I feel like I’m being almost watched-… anyways uh- Oh yeah right! The boat was floating through the attraction, going through dark rooms of janky animatronic dinosaurs and blaring forest sound speakers. God it was so loud… my ears were practically ringing! The boat moved slowly through each room- and it just.. kept going. It didn’t look that big from the outside but maybe it was looping? It just… kept going and going through more and more rooms. It all felt so.. fake. Like when you go to any other theme park they at least try to make it real with eye tricks and gimmicks but no, it was like riding through metal storage containers with a crudely painted sky and cartoonishly bad clouds. After my probably 10th lap I knew that I had to get off. my whole body felt weirdly weak, My head screamed from the blaring sound and I felt it almost pulsating. I almost felt drunk.. but.. I don’t remember having drank that day. Maybe it was a hangover? Again I could just be crazy.. but then.. I saw an exit. I unbuckled from the boat and jumped to a clearing, nearly dodging the T-Rex’s jaws only inches from my right arm. The plastic grass cut my knees as crawled to my feet and carried on.

When I opened the service door, I was greeted by… a gift shop? It was bright and seemed to go on for whole block. I couldn’t see any windows or other exits from where I was, only rows and rows of shitty plastic merchandise. Maybe that was the whole experience? I had to figure out a way out on my own? I mean that’s cool but really confusing- especially for those with kids- anyways I started down the first isle and scanned the store from the middle. This part gets blurry… but I just remember seeing.. nothing. The rows kept going on.. and on… and on. I felt a sharp pang of fear hit me then- the fear of being trapped in some weird dream. I really fucking hoped I was dreaming because that was probably the first time where I couldn’t quite make sense of what my eyes were seeing. But.. even then.. I carried on.

It felt as if I was walking for hours, looking through the merchandise as it slowly shifted genres. It went from dinosaurs… to cowboys.. to clowns… and then to patriotic.. but after a while I couldn’t make out what exactly was on the shelves. It all just became so.. melted. Like a weird in-between of things that made no sense otherwise. Sometimes I’d see faces in the blobs of blurred color, disturbed or happy… other times they would look like things from my life… games… my jewelry.. snow globes with my family inside.. names of people I knew…….. even my own face. Weirdly enough- I saw my own face in a lot of the shapes. I’m not sure why. I’m nothing special, nor have I ever been. I knew nothing then- or maybe. Knew everything.. that it wasn’t a dream.. but it wasn’t real either. That I may never get out but weirdly enough.. maybe that as okay..”

[*Interviewee’s voice starts to grow woosy sounding*]

“…it went on for days. I walked for days. My feet had worn down the soles and I could feel them scream under me, begging to stop… begging to rest. I never rested there. It kept going.. and turning.. and repeating. I thrived in the knowledge that I was going nowhere, I knew I didn’t have to. Occasionally I’d think I saw a person staring at me from behind a shelf.. a tall.. person. Their colors almost blended into the dreadful rainbow of disorienting and terrifying and nauseating shimmers of merchandise and lights. I felt so sick I almost forgot I was alive. I.. had learned to live with the fear of being lost, both in my personal life and literally. It felt so nested in my chest and by the time I made it to the door, I didn’t even process that I was freed from my captivity.”

[*Interviewee’s voice lightens up in tone, as if nothing had happened*]

“didn’t even get to bask in the sunlight before I was handcuffed and shoved into a cop car for supposedly ‘breaking and entering.’ I was questioned.. and then let go. My shoes were so bloody I had to throw them away! They couldn’t get anything out of me.. heh. I mean go figure, at the time it had all felt like a dream. But.. I knew deep down that my brain was just lying to me. It wasn’t a dream, it was real. There was an itch inside of me that sparked from that experience. An itch that was only even scratched by going into more strange uncanny places and giving myself up to be wisked away to that wonderland of knowing again. I had gone to so… so many places. Niagara Falls, Las Vegas, Paris, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Moscow-.. but nothing ever scratched the Itch like pigeon forge! God- it was so perfectly fake.. I think I’m going to go back there again. Why not you know?.. just for nostalgia. I just.. need to know it was real. That there was a place where nothing mattered-“

[*HEAVY STATIC*]

[*abrupt tape cut*]

[there was a note on the back of the tape recorder, handwritten by whoever had taken this statement. It read:

‘follow up results: Chaz Baxter was reported missing on August 14th, 2015. No leads on the investigation and no need for further follow up.’]

This statement was strange.... I found it, frankly, sent to me in a package... Just glad it wasn't... Breekon nor Hope to bring them to me. Chaz was reported missing so further investigation seems unimportant. I did not truly phathom how far the fears reach. Obviously it goes beyond London.. I know that you just... tend to forget. Seems that the Spiral also has a hold in Tennessee of all places. I would go to see this place myself but frankly... Basira and I are already planning a trip elsewhere entirely.

End recording.

[whentherewerebicycles]

a bunch of people have already registered for my mentoring workshop! unfortunately this means i have to plan and host a workshop aaaaaa

[gasps-inspanish]

The Volleyball Incident

The Volleyball Incident that was referenced in my fic Fear and What Follows.

-

Guy was starting to get really annoyed. Like, he was happy the Corps were back and he could be a Green Lantern again, but everything was different in the most annoying way possible.

Guy, John, and Hal hadn’t really been well liked before this since they were from Earth and seen as lesser than, but they had worked hard to prove themselves and had been more or less accepted before the whole Parallax thing. But now they were hated and right back to- no they were worse from where they started.

It was frustrating, putting in all that work just to be back to square negative one in an instant. But Guy didn’t really care about what they thought of him. They didn’t really matter so why would their opinion? It pissed him off that the negative treatment was extending to Jess and Simon, their new rookies. John was used to it since he’s been a Lantern for years, and while Guy was worried for Hal (not that he would admit it) he knew Hal could take care of himself. But Simon and Jess just started and were already being put at a disadvantage because of it.

It was really fucking annoying.

“Guy, stop glaring at the Lost Lanterns” John said, sounding tired. Guy rolled his eyes but didn’t take his eyes off of the Lost Lanterns.

“I’ll stop after they stop” Guy muttered. John sighed loudly, and Guy could tell he was at the end of his rope.

“I don’t think they will Guy” Hal mused from his seat next to Guy. “There’s more of them than you, they can rotate shifts”.

“Then help me out” Guy shot back.

“Help yourself out and stop being near me. You won’t get glared at then” Hal said. Guy’s eyes darted away from the Lost Lanterns to John.

Hal didn’t say it bitterly or sadly, he just stated a fact. He didn’t seem bothered by it when Guy glanced at him, instead just looking back at Guy in confusion.

“What?” Hal asked and Guy rolled his eyes. 

When Hal had first gotten out of the Sciencells when he was cleansed of Parallax- it wasn’t good, but now he seemed fine. But Guy knew that what happened to Hal wasn’t something u just shrugged off. You weren’t just suddenly okay.

“If this was your fault I would’ve gladly taken the excuse not to be near your ugly mug Jordan” Guy scoffed, even though they all knew that wasn’t true. “They just hate us because we’re from Earth”.

Hal nodded, looking lost in thought. He was always thinking about something nowadays.

“Maybe we should take a walk” John suggested, glancing at the still glaring Lost Lanterns.

They had nothing to do today. They weren’t assigned any missions and they weren’t allowed to train any rookies, not even the ones from their own planet. Jess and Simon were training with their group leader at the moment, so it would just be the three of them for a bit.

Guy expected to just walk in silence for an hour, John trying in vain to use his “aura” or whatever to try to calm Guy down while Hal just stared off into space, thinking way too much once again, but noise caught their attention.

“Another fight,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Guy could feel John’s incoming migraine and he almost felt bad.

“Let’s check it out” Hal said, not waiting for either to reply as he started to stroll over to the noise. Guy and John quickly followed.

It was probably rookies again. Guy really thought these guys didn’t know how to act, but there were so many of them they couldn’t set Kilowog on all of-

Oh. Well it was certainly rookies, but they weren’t fighting.

Guy just stared at the green construct volleyball net, a couple of rookie and senior lanterns gathered around cheering. And of course the people playing volleyball were the only people who could get away with it.

On one side was Sodam Yat and Soranik Natu, Natu getting ready to serve the construct volleyball. On the other side was Tomar-Tu and Torchbearer, ready to receive the ball. Laira was in the middle, almost like a referee, and Arisia was close by her, hand over her mouth as she tried not to laugh.

Guy watched them play, and the point went to Natu and Yat, as Tomar dived for the ball but missed.

“What?” was all Hal said, the first one of the three of them to speak.

“If I had to guess, I’m thinking Torchbearer taught them how to play,” John mused. Guy tilted his head.

“Don’t they have training?” Guy asked.

“Maybe they have a free block?” John suggested.

“Rookies get free blocks now”?

Guy thought the four of them got away with way too much, but Torchbearer was the golden boy, and the other three were friends with the golden boy so they reaped the benefits. But honestly, he wasn’t going to complain about it. Guy knew Torchbearer since the kid first became a Lantern, and even though the kid avoided Guy and the other Earth Lanterns at all costs now, Guy could see he was doing well.

When Guy had first been contacted by Dinah to meet the new Green Lantern, the last and only Green Lantern, the kid had been sick looking. Guy could see it even though the kid’s mask had been on. He was thin, pale- he wasn’t doing good, and Guy understood why with what the kid told him happened. But he got better, and Guy likes to think he and John helped, but then he had left Earth in a hurry. When Guy saw him again on Oa when the Corps had started up again, the kid was once again thin, pale, and quiet.

Torchbearer wasn’t really the quiet type.

But now he looked healthy, and Guy could often see him laughing with his friends. So whatever, let him have special privileges. With everything he’s been through as a Green Lantern, let him have his-

“Guy mo-“!

Something smacked Guy in the face so hard that he stumbled back a bit, dazed. Guy looked down at the construct volleyball at his feet, then back up at the four players.

They all stared at him, wide eyed and open mouthed. Yat had a hand in the air, basically admitting whose fault this was. It was then Guy noticed that everyone, Rookies and Senior Lanterns alike, were silent and looking at him. No one said anything, no one moved.

The silence was broken by Hal bursting out laughing. He was laughing so hard that he doubled over. It was- Guy hadn’t heard Hal laugh like that since before-

Several Senior Lantern’s started laughing too. Guy could see Torchbearer and his friends hadn’t moved or changed expressions, except for Yat who gave Guy an uneasy smile when they locked eyes.

Guy didn’t really care. However, he did have a reputation to uphold.

“Hey”! Guy yelled at the group as he stalked towards them.

“Scatter” Laira told them before walking over to meet Guy, and the four of them ran off.

“Nope” Guy said, side-stepping Laira and running after them. By the direction they ran, he could tell they were running to the other three’s shared room. Rookies.

He knocked on the door loudly.

“I know you’re in there! Come out! I just wanna talk” Guy said, banging on the door several more times until it finally opened.

“Senior Lantern Gardner” Iolande greeted with a smile that was a bit too sugary sweet. “How can I help you”?

“I know they’re in here,” Guy said, narrowing his eyes. Iolande tilted her head.

“Who”?

“You know who I’m talking about”.

“I can assure you Senior Lantern Gardner, I don’t”.

They stared at each other for a bit before Guy sighed.

“This isn’t over” Guy called into the room before spinning on his heel and walking away. Having a staring contest with Iolande wasn’t going to doing anything, but they had to come out at some point.

John and Hal were still smirking when Guy returned, but they were now standing with Simon and Jess who looked confused.

“You find them?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You give them hell, Guy?” Hal added, pressing his lips together afterwards to keep himself from laughing again. There was joy in his eyes that Guy hadn’t seen in a while.

“Am I missing something?” Simon asked, eyes darting between Hal and John and Guy as Jess nodded.

“Guy got hit in the face with a volleyball,” Hal explained. “Torchbearer and his friends were playing”.

But Guy had been way too nice today.

“Lantern Jordan, 50” Guy said and John gave him a look, but Guy ignored him. Hal looked offended.

“Pulling rank on me Gardner?” Hal asked, but he didn’t look hurt, and Guy could still see amusement in his eyes. Hal didn’t need someone to coddle him, so Guy wouldn’t. Yeah Hal was stripped of his rank, but there was no reason tro treat him like it was fragile. Better tank be thrown around with his friends than someone like a Lost Lantern.

“That’s Senior Lantern Gardner to you,” Guy replied.

“Yes sir Senior Lantern Gardner sir!” Hal mocked, saluting him before getting on the ground and starting to do push ups. Guy stared at him for a second before sitting cross legged on his back, Hal not breaking his pace. “Damn you’re heavy! Lay off the beers”!

“50 more Lantern Jordan”.

“Well fuck you too”.

“50 more Lantern Jordan”.

“Of course Mr. Senior Lantern Gardner sir”!

“This’ll be you if you don’t fall in line” Guy said, pointing between Jess and Simon, who looked amused. Other Lanterns were staring at them as they walked by, but this was the kind of shit they should’ve been staring at them for.

Later that day Guy was walking with Jess to the Mess Hall when his opportunity for revenge came. He had been answering some of Jess’s questions, the two of them sent ahead to snag a table for dinner, when he saw Torchbearer and his friends sitting at a table laughing.

There was no way they were escaping him now.

“Watch this Jess” Guy said gleefully before making his way to the table. They noticed him when he was almost there.

“Senior Lantern Gardner!” Yat said with wide eyes and an awkward smile. “I-”!

“Attention!” Guy called, and the three rookies stood at attention. Guy looked around for Torchbearer but didn’t see him, which was strange because he had just been sitting with the other three. “Report”.

“Trainee Lantern Natu, 1417.2 reporting”

“Trainee Lantern Yat, 1760.1 reporting”!

“Trainee Lantern Tomar, 2813.2 reporting”!

Guy grinned. He could see they weren’t afraid of him or anything, instead just awkward. He could respect that.

“Which one of you rookies hit me in the face?” Guy asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Me, Senior Lantern Gardner” Yat answered immediately. Guy stared at him for a second.

“Trainee Lantern Yat, 200”. Yat’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he saluted.

“Sir, yes sir” and Yat got down in the middle of the Mess Hall and started doing push ups. Much more respectful than Hal.

“Trainee Lanterns Natu, Tomar. 50” Guy said, feeling merciful. They both saluted him.

“Sir, yes sir!” and they both got down on the floor and started their pushups.

There was no use in looking for Torchbearer since Guy couldn’t make him do pushups, the kid was unfortunately a higher rank than him. Guy instead chose a table that he could clearly see them from and sat down.

“A beautiful sight really” Guy mused. “Still wonder where Torchbearer went. He was sitting at the table when we were walking over”.

“Oh I saw him dive under the table” Jess said. “He really wants to avoid us. I wonder why”.

“Me too” Guy said, resisting the urge to lean over and look under the table. He’d let the kid be for now.

Torchbearer had been on very good terms with John and Guy before restoring Oa. What had happened to change that?

“Wow, our number one ranking rookie group is in trouble?” Hal asked as he sat down with his food. “What did they do? And who dished that out”?

“Me!” Guy said proudly before cackling. By now Tomar and Natu were finishing up but Yat still had more to go even though he was going at a decent pace.

Guy felt better. Happy even.

That night, Guy was surprised to see Torchbearer in their room when he walked in with John and Hal. He shouldn’t have been, since he knew Iolande was on Oa so the kid couldn’t hide in his friends’ room.

Usually they roomed in twos on Oa, but since the place had been destroyed, they were still rebuilding. Training the rookies and defending the Universe were the priorities, so the barracks were only halfway done, leaving four to a room. The rooms were grouped up in either Rookie groups (since it was four to a group) or a set of sector partners with another set of sector partners from a neighboring sector. because there were so many Earth Lanterns, Hal, John, Guy and Torchbearer had been put together but Torchbearer was avoiding them so he didn’t sleep in their room often.

Right now he was in his bunk, which was on the right side right above Guy’s, curled up on his side and facing the wall so they couldn’t see his face. But Guy didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was awake still. Guy walked to the side Torchbearer’s head was on and slapped the side of the bed twice.

“Torchbearer”. There was a moment of silence, and Guy thought he was wrong and that Torchbearer actually was asleep, but then-

“Senior Lantern Gardner”? Guy grinned.

“Next time you teach your friends an Earth game, make sure they know how to play right before you set them loose”.

“Of course, Senior Lantern Gardner”.

[lizardho]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.

When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.

John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.

He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.

He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.

After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.

He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.

He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.

He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.

He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.

He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.

He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.

To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.

He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.

I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.

Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.

I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.

I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.

And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.

[obligatory-name-change]

once again thinking about sunandmoon from hit game fnaf: what if we just got rid of the gameplay loop

[inseobts]

1st Anniversary

what would they do for your first anniversary together?

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law, ace

words count: around 0.5k - 0.7k each

masterlist || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The sun rises over the Thousand Sunny, casting golden light across the deck. You stretch and yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes when a sudden weight crashes into you.

"Y/N!" Luffy yells, tackling you with his usual enthusiasm.

You groan but laugh as he wraps his arms around you "Luffy, it's too early for this—"

"IT'S OUR ANNIVERSARY!" he shouts, grinning ear to ear.

You blink. Oh. Right. Your first anniversary together.

Luffy’s never been the best at remembering dates, so you didn’t expect him to bring it up at all. But here he is, vibrating with excitement like a kid who just found a pile of meat.

"You remembered?" you ask, surprised.

Luffy nods eagerly "Of course! I mean… Sanji wrote it down for me… and Nami yelled at me to not forget… and Robin told me what an anniversary even is—but still!"

You chuckle, shaking your head "So, do you have something planned?"

Luffy puffs out his chest proudly "Yup! Captain’s orders: today is Luffy and y/n Day! No crewmates allowed!"

From across the deck, you hear Usopp yell "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!"

Luffy ignores him.

"But," he continues, "I, uh, don’t actually know what people do on anniversaries, so I just made some rules!"

Your curiosity piques "Rules?"

Luffy grins, grabbing a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it dramatically "Yup! First rule: We gotta eat as much meat as possible!"

You snort "Of course."

"Second rule: No pirate stuff today. Just fun stuff!"

"That’s… actually kind of sweet" you admit.

"And the last rule…" He suddenly scratches his head, cheeks turning a little pink "Well… um…"

You tilt your head "What is it?"

Luffy huffs, clearly frustrated "It's a secret rule! I’ll tell you later!"

You laugh but decide not to push it "Alright, Captain. What’s first on the itinerary?"

It starts with a massive breakfast, courtesy of Sanji (who glares at Luffy the whole time for stealing food off your plate). After stuffing yourselves, Luffy drags you across the Sunny for various "Luffy-approved" activities.

First, there’s an intense game of tag—where Luffy cheats by using his rubber powers. Then, he insists on fishing, though he gets distracted halfway through and jumps in after the fish himself. After drying off (and avoiding Nami’s wrath for getting seawater everywhere), he decides you both need a nap—because "eating and playing is tiring!"

You wake up with Luffy curled around you like a koala, snoring into your hair.

"You really are like a cat" you mumble, gently brushing his bangs aside.

Luffy stirs, blinking up at you sleepily "Hmmm?"

"Nothing" you whisper, smiling.

As the sun starts setting, you and Luffy sit on the deck, watching the waves. The usual chaos of the crew is still happening in the background, but for once, it’s peaceful.

Luffy suddenly perks up "Oh! The secret rule!"

You sit up straighter "Finally. What is it?"

He fidgets, uncharacteristically nervous "Well… I heard anniversaries are for saying important stuff, right?"

You nod "I guess, yeah."

Luffy rubs the back of his neck, looking out at the sea "So… my last rule is… that I gotta tell you something important today. Something really important."

Your heart skips a beat. Luffy isn't usually serious—when he is, it means something big "Okay," you say softly "I'm listening."

He takes a deep breath, then grins, his usual carefree self again "I love you!"

You freeze.

He’s said he likes you before, in his own way—"You're my favorite!" or "I like having you around!"—but he’s never actually said that.

He tilts his head "Was that good? I was practicing in my head all day."

Your eyes soften "You practiced?"

"Yeah!" He laughs "I mean, I already knew I love you, but I wanted to say it today ‘cause, y’know, it’s our thing. Our anniversary thing!"

You shake your head fondly, grabbing his hat and plopping it onto your own head "You’re such an idiot."

Luffy pouts "Hey—"

Before he can complain, you cup his face and kiss him. He makes a surprised noise but quickly melts into it, smiling against your lips.

"Best anniversary ever" he mumbles.

You laugh "You say that now, but wait ‘til next year. You’ll have to top it."

Luffy grins "Easy! Next year, I’ll make a million rules!"

You sigh, shaking your head "What have I gotten myself into?"

Luffy just laughs, pulling you closer as the sun dips below the horizon. The crew groans in the background, but you don’t care. Because as chaotic and ridiculous as he is, Luffy’s way of loving you is perfect.

And that’s all you could ever ask for.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sun hangs low over the Thousand Sunny, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. The crew is scattered across the deck, each lost in their own evening routine, but your attention is on one person alone—Zoro.

The swordsman leans against the railing, arms crossed, eyes closed. To anyone else, it looks like he’s resting, but you know better. He’s thinking.

You step closer, hands behind your back “Oi, Zoro.”

His eye cracks open slightly before he turns his head toward you “Hm?”

You smile, rocking on your heels “Happy anniversary.”

For a second, he looks at you blankly, and your heart sinks a little. Did he forget?

Then, with a small smirk, he straightens up “Tch. You really think I’d forget?”

You cross your arms “Honestly? Yes.”

He scoffs “Give me some credit.”

Your curiosity piques “So… you actually planned something?”

Zoro rolls his shoulders, looking away for a brief moment before nodding “Something like that.”

You raise an eyebrow “Wait. Seriously?”

Before you can press further, he jerks his head toward the deck “C’mon.”

He leads you to a quieter part of the ship, where the sounds of the crew fade into the background. A small blanket is laid out on the deck, two cups and a bottle of sake sitting neatly in the center. The sea stretches endlessly before you, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and adventure.

You blink in surprise “Did… you do this?”

Zoro sits down, grabbing the bottle “Sanji might’ve helped. But don’t tell him I said that.”

You chuckle, sitting beside him “Didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“I’m not.” He pours a bit of sake into your cup, then his own “But I figured… a year with you is worth drinking to.”

Your chest warms at his words. Zoro isn’t one for big, flashy gestures—but when he cares, he shows it in ways that truly matter.

You clink your cup against his “I’ll drink to that.”

As the two of you sip in comfortable silence, you glance at him “So, what was the first thing you thought when we got together?”

Zoro exhales, setting his cup down “That you’re stubborn.”

You laugh “Me?”

“Yeah.” He leans back on his elbows, looking at you “You wouldn’t back down, even when I tried pushing you away.”

You tilt your head “Did you want to push me away?”

Zoro’s gaze softens “…I didn’t want you to be a distraction, you know”

You stare at him, heart squeezing “And now?”

He lets out a slow breath “Now, I know you’re not.”

You smile “Good answer.”

After a few more drinks, the night fully settles in and Zoro turns to you, expression unreadable.

“…I have something for you.”

Your eyes widen, surprised “You got me a gift?”

He reaches into his haramaki and pulls out a small object. He places it in your hand—it’s a charm. It's like a small version of his earrings turned into a pendant and attached to a thin string.

Your breath catches “Zoro…?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking away “It’s stupid, but… I had it made a while ago. For you.”

You run your fingers over the smooth surface, heart pounding sooooo hard “It’s not stupid. It’s perfect.”

Zoro smirks “You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on the pendant and leaving a kiss on his cheek.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen of the Thousand Sunny is filled with the warm, mouthwatering aroma of freshly cooked food. The scent of caramelized spices and grilled seafood lingers in the air, a sure sign that Sanji is in his element.

You lean against the doorway, watching him work his magic. He moves with effortless grace, flipping a pan, the flames from the stove reflecting in his blue eyes. He hums softly to himself, a tune you recognize as the one he whistles when he’s happy.

You smirk “Cooking me a feast, Chef?”

Sanji turns at the sound of your voice, and immediately, his expression melts “Ah, ma chérie, you’re early.”

You cross your arms, pouting “So I’m not supposed to be here?”

Sanji chuckles, wiping his hands on a towel before stepping closer “I wanted to surprise you...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear “But I suppose I don’t mind if you ruin the surprise—after all, you’re the guest of honor!”

Your heart flutters at his words. Sanji has always been charming, but there’s something different about the way he speaks to you, softer, more genuine, as if you’re the only person in the world.

You glance past him at the beautifully arranged table, complete with candles, fine plates, and a bouquet of flowers “You really went all out, huh?”

He grins, taking your hand and spinning you playfully “Only the best for my love.”

Sanji pulls out a chair for you, as the great gentleman he is “Sit and relax. Let me take care of everything.”

You obey, watching as he presents dish after dish, each one plated to perfection “Alright, Chef, walk me through the menu.”

Sanji gestures dramatically “For the appetizer, we have a delicate seafood bisque, infused with saffron and a touch of white wine. For the main course..." He lifts a silver lid, revealing your favorite dish "...a meal crafted specifically for my one and only.”

You gasp, touched “You remembered my favorite?”

Sanji scoffs as if offended “Do you take me for an amateur? Of course I remember.”

You laugh and take a bite, instantly melting at the burst of flavors “Oh my god. I think I just fell in love all over again.”

Sanji chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he watches you “Then I must be doing it right.”

After finishing the meal and complimenting him so much that he nearly combusts with joy, Sanji disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he’s holding a small plate with a single dessert on it, a beautifully crafted heart-shaped pastry.

“Happy anniversary, my love” he murmurs, setting it in front of you.

Your eyes soften “You made this just for me?”

Sanji kneels beside you, taking your hand in his “Everything I make is for you, mon amour. But this… this one is special.”

You pick up the dessert, admiring the delicate details. As you take a bite, your taste buds explode with sweetness and spice, just like him.

“It’s perfect” you whisper.

Sanji smiles, but there’s something more in his expression tonight—something deeper “I’m glad,” he murmurs “Because you are, too.”

Your breath catches as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Sanji…”

He exhales, resting his forehead against yours “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done”

Your heart swells, and for once, he’s the one left breathless when you lean in and kiss him.

The chef who’s always served everyone finally gets a taste of something just for himself... a love that’s his to keep.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick is quiet tonight, the usual noise replaced by something softer (Ace had made sure of it).

You step onto the deck, your brows furrowing as you notice the absence of drunken laughter and boisterous yelling. Instead, a familiar warmth spreads through the air, not just from the ship’s lanterns, but from the flickering flames dancing lazily around a certain freckled man's fingertips.

He’s waiting for you.

“Hey, you’re finally here” Ace calls, grinning as he waves you over “Took you long enough.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms “You were the one who told me to wait in my room. What exactly are you up to?”

Ace scratches the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips “Well… it’s our anniversary, right? So I wanted to do something special.”

Your heart skips a beat. He remembered.

You step closer, noticing that he’s set up a "date night" on the deck. There’s a blanket spread out beneath the stars, a small box of food beside it (probably stolen from the kitchen), and a few lanterns hanging. But the real highlight is Ace himself, his flames glow softly around him, casting warm hues against his skin.

“Ace…” You blink, touched “Did you do all this?”

He grins, patting the spot next to him “Well, I had some help from Thatch—mostly because I kept burning the food.”

You laugh as you sit beside him “That sounds about right”

Ace chuckles, handing you a small bowl of your favorite food “I figured I should at least try to do this properly.”

You take a bite, humming in approval “It’s actually pretty good.”

“Damn right it is! I didn’t burn this”

You shake your head, smiling “You’re impossible.”

Ace leans back on his hands, watching you with a lazy grin “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

Your cheeks warm. He’s not wrong.

After finishing your meal, the two of you lay side by side on the blanket, staring up at the endless sky. The sea is calm, the ship gently rocking beneath you, and Ace's warmth seeps into your skin where his arm brushes yours.

He turns his head, watching you “Y’know… I never really thought I’d make it this far.”

You glance at him “What do you mean?”

Ace hesitates, then exhales “I used to think I wasn’t meant to have stuff like this. Someone who sticks around, someone who actually...” He pauses, then looks at you with a rare softness “...someone who loves me just for being me.”

Your heart aches at his words. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his “You deserve this, Ace. You deserve love, and happiness, and everything good in the world.”

Ace stares at you for a moment as he swallows hard.

Then, without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. His body is warmer than usual but you don’t mind. You hold him just as tightly.

“…Thanks,” he mumbles “for staying.”

You pull back slightly, cupping his face “I’ll always stay.”

Ace lets out a shaky breath, then suddenly grins “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on letting you go either.”

Before you can respond, he kisses you, slow and deep.

As he stops you narrow your eyes at him “Alright, spill it. How did you get everyone to be this quiet?”

Ace blinks, then smirks “What, you think I can’t get them to behave when I want to?”

You cross your arms “No, I know you can’t.”

Ace laughs, rubbing his nose “Fine, fine. I might’ve… bribed them.”

You raise an eyebrow “With what?”

He looks away, mumbling under his breath.

“What was that?” You lean in.

“…I promised to do chore duty for a whole week.”

You gasp, eyes wide “You WHAT?”

Ace groans, throwing his head back “I know! But it was the only way! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get this crew to shut up for more than five minutes?”

You burst into laughter, clutching your sides “Oh, this is priceless. You, of all people, voluntarily doing chores?”

Ace grumbles “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I made for this romantic evening.”

You wipe a tear from your eye, still giggling “Oh, I definitely do. I'll make it worth for you, don't worry” you wink at him.

Ace huffs but smiles, pulling you back into his arms “It's already worth it”

You hum, resting your head against his chest.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang hums quietly beneath your feet as you make your way toward Law’s quarters, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. Today marks your first anniversary with him, and while you know Law isn’t the type for grand, sweeping gestures, a small part of you wonders if he even remembers.

You wouldn’t be upset if he forgot, he’s busy, after all. But still… a year together means something.

You take a deep breath and knock.

“Come in.”

Pushing open the door, you step inside and immediately stop in your tracks.

The usually cluttered room is different. His desk is cleared, save for a single candle flickering softly beside a small plate of food, your favorite. A delicate piece of folded paper rests next to it, and on the bed, a neatly wrapped package.

Law stands nearby, arms crossed, watching your reaction with an unreadable expression “Took you long enough” he mutters.

You blink at him, then at the setup “You… did this?”

“Tch. Who else?” He glances away, scratching the back of his neck “It’s not a big deal.”

Your heart swells at the effort. It is a big deal, because Law doesn’t do things like this unless they truly matter to him.

Smiling, you walk over to the table and pick up the folded paper “What’s this?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches as you carefully unfold it.

Your breath catches the moment you realize what it is.

It’s a hand-drawn sketch. Of you.

Your fingers tremble as you take in the intricate details, the way your hair falls around your face, the softness in your eyes, the careful shading that brings it to life. He’s captured you perfectly, every detail very precise. But what gets you the most is the expression he’s given you, serene, happy, loved.

“Law…” Your voice is barely above a whisper “You drew this?”

He shifts uncomfortably “Yeah.” His gaze flickers to the side “I… started it a while ago. Just never had a reason to finish it until now.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you clutch the drawing to your chest, overwhelmed. You knew Law was skilled in many things, but this? This is beyond anything you could have expected.

He clears his throat “There’s more.”

You glance toward the package on the bed, wiping your eyes before carefully unwrapping it. Inside is a book... an old, well-kept copy of one you once mentioned loving but never found again.

You stare at it, stunned “How did you—?”

“You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He smirks, finally meeting your eyes “You kept mumbling about it a few months ago, so I figured I’d find it.”

You let out a small, watery laugh “You found this for me?”

Law shrugs, but there’s a flicker of pride in his expression “It’s not a big deal.”

You set the book and drawing aside before closing the distance between you, your hands resting on his chest “It is a big deal,” you murmur, looking up at him “Thank you, Law. Really.”

He exhales softly, his fingers ghosting over your waist before settling there, pulling you a little closer “Didn’t want you thinking I forgot” he mutters.

You smile, reaching up to cup his face “I wouldn’t have minded, you know. Just being with you is enough.”

His golden eyes search yours, something unspoken passing between you before he finally gives in. His lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, one that speaks of everything he doesn’t say out loud.

He tastes like mint and tea, his hands firm yet gentle as they slide up your back, pressing you against him. The kiss deepens, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilts your head to deepen the connection. Your breath hitches when he nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with another lingering kiss.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, both of you breathing a little heavier.

“Happy anniversary” you whisper.

His smirk returns, softer this time “Yeah. Happy anniversary.”

You grin “Think we’ll make it another year?”

Law scoffs, tilting your chin up so he can steal another kiss “I know we will.”

And in that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his lips lingering on yours, you have no doubt he’s right.

[sirxaibs]

Batfamily X Batmom!Reader

⁺‧₊˚My Sons Boyfriend⁺‧₊˚

Continuing my tim appreciation, Have a silly overprotective parents to one of their youngest kid

masterlist

Jason tattles that his younger brother has a boy over.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The TV played some noir film neither of you were paying attention to black and white shadows flickering across the screen, the occasional husky voice of a detective muttering something about dames and danger. It was background noise. Everything was background noise right now.

Your back arched against the couch as Bruce’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, tangled up in him, your knees bracketing his hips while his large hands gripped your thighs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt.

His tongue slid against yours again, deep and slow, and the kiss had long since lost any sense of restraint. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skimming up beneath it, palms exploring every inch of familiar skin. Bruce growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your lips as he leaned further into you, pressing you back until your spine met the couch cushions with a soft thump.

There were no patrols, no emergency calls, no villains trying to blow up the city and a damn good excuse to indulge in weeks of pent up affection with no one around to ruin it.

“What the fuck?!”

A voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, and both of you froze mid kiss, mouths still a breath apart, panting and flushed. Well no one around to ruin might not work if you have a Jason Todd for a child (even though hes an adult it still applies).

You didn’t even turn around.

“It’s a lazy day,” you said flatly, lips still swollen, one hand still fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “Go away.”

Jason’s voice rose another octave, and you could hear the trauma in it. “Are you two seriously making out like that on the living room couch? In the middle of the day?! seriously making out like teenagers right now?! I’ve seen less tongue in French films!”

You rolled your eyes and finally sat up, sliding off Bruce’s lap with a groan and adjusting your shirt though it didn’t help much. Bruce just rubbed at his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to start swearing. Jason stormed around the couch, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. “You were all over each other! That was full on pre bedroom behavior!”

“Which we would’ve moved to,” you muttered, “we only do stuff out here when you guys for sure aren’t.”

“TMI LADY!! I live here!”

“So do we.”

“I grew up here! Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk in on emotionally scarring things? And now I have to add this to the list?”

You gave him a pointed look and gestured vaguely to Bruce, who was still slouched and half hard under the sweatpants. “You’re twenty something and you’ve walked in on worse. Remember the time you accidentally opened the panic room during our anniversary trip?”

Jason gagged. “Why would you bring that up?! I had finally repressed it!”

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “That’s why I didn’t jump out of my skin when you yelled. You’re one of the oldest. You’re basically numb to it by now.”

“That’s not how trauma works!”

“You’ll live.”

Bruce finally stood, setting a firm hand on your lower back as he stepped forward. “Did you interrupt just to complain, or is there a point?”

“Oh, there’s a point,” Jason said, smirking now, even as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with either of you. “Tim’s upstairs. With Conner. Door closed. Voices low. Lots of awkward pauses and ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’s. Figured someone with authority should stop it before I need a bleach rinse for my brain again.”

You and Bruce exchanged a glance. You raised a brow. “You think they’re…?”

“I’m just saying, I’m not doing the awkward sex talk with either of them. That’s your job.”

Bruce sighed through his nose again, rubbing his temples. “We should’ve eloped in Fiji.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You should’ve invested in a deadbolt and soundproof walls. You’ve got like fifty rooms. Go be gross in literally any other one.”

Bruce groaned, sitting up with the pained weariness of a man who just wanted five uninterrupted minutes with his partner. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered. “You barging in, or the fact that you’re tattling like a six year old.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can ground me later. But someone needs to knock before that kid goes full hormonal teenager with Superman’s clone.”

You rubbed your temples and slid off Bruce’s lap. “Can’t we just go one day without something weird happening in this house?”

“Nope,” Jason chirped.

Bruce stood, adjusting his shirt and shooting Jason a tired glare. “You’re not getting a thank you for this.”

Jason grinned. “I’ll settle for watching the fallout.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The carpet was soft beneath your knees as you crouched near the top of the staircase, one hand gripping the railing and the other latched around your husband’s wrist. Bruce was not thrilled. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, towering behind you in full grumpy dad form.

You shushed him. “Shh. This is important. Our son is dating.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “He’s not a child anymore.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, a feeling attune like he’d just slapped you with a divorce paper. “How dare you say that to a mother’s face.”

“I feel like as a mother you should be letting him have space” he whispered dryly.

“It’s anything and everything for my baby,” you whispered back, “heartbroken.”

Bruce sighed, letting you pull him forward like some six foot tall human leash. He followed behind you, slouched and sulking like a teenager being dragged into a parent teacher conference. But he didn’t resist. Not really. At the end of the hallway, just far enough not to be heard but perfectly in view, Tim was standing awkwardly with his shoulder slightly bumping against the wall, halfway through some rambling sentence that didn’t seem to have an end. Across from him leaned Conner Kent Superboy himself smiling with the easy, confident charm of someone who knew exactly how good he looked.

You gasped again, softer this time. “He’s so nervous. Look at him. Our baby…”

“Don’t start crying,” Bruce warned.

“He’s got no game, Bruce.”

Bruce squinted. “…This is objectively better than his brothers.”

You nearly cackled. “Low bar, sweetheart.”

Tim fumbled again, scratching the back of his neck while trying to not look directly at Conner. Conner leaned in just slightly, arms crossed as he nodded along, totally relaxed. He said something with a grin, and Tim laughed clearly too loud, then looked down at the floor in horror.

You sniffled, eyes shimmering. “Look at our baby flirting…”

“He’s not a baby,” Bruce said, though his voice was quieter now. “He’s nearly eighteen.” And yet, he leaned a little more over your shoulder.

You smirked. “You’re watching.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re parenting.”

Bruce sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crossing his arms as he stared harder at the two teens.

“What’s Kent’s clone doing here alone with him anyways?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Ohhh,” you grinned, “now you care.”

“Of course I care,” Bruce snapped, more defensive than he meant to be. “That’s my kid.”

You nudged him with your elbow, whispering proudly, “Our kid.”

He didn’t respond to that but the corner of his mouth twitched. Down the hall, Conner leaned in and brushed something off Tim’s shirt something that wasn’t there. Tim went red, practically short circuiting.

Bruce straightened immediately. “Okay. That’s enough recon.”

“Oh, now it’s enough?”

“I’m getting my Batarangs.”

You caught his wrist before he could march off. “No. No Batarangs. No Bat glare. You said he’s not a baby, remember?”

“He wasn’t getting flirted with then.”

You snorted, still holding his arm. “I think your overprotective thing is hot.”

He paused. “That a fact?”

You smirked, glancing back toward your bedroom door. “Yes. Now let’s go back to our room lights off, no clothes, door locked this time and let the kids be kids.”

Bruce gave Tim and Conner one last skeptical look, then sighed. “If they start kissing, I’m interrupting.”

“No you won’t,” you said, dragging him back down the hall by the wrist again. “Because I’ll be too busy making out with you to let you get up.”

Despite that, the minute you headed to the room. Conner and Tim were happily walking towards the kitchen. making you drag your husband again to watch your boy. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only real noise coming from the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of snack bags. You and Bruce had found your new favorite spot behind the kitchen island, crouching low and trying your best not to make a sound, despite the undeniable excitement of spying on your son.

You had your phone held up, recording through the cabinet doors like a proud wildlife documentarian. Tim and Conner were in the next room, chattering nervously while they raided the pantry for snacks.

Bruce was less than impressed with the situation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, glaring at you as if you were the one causing trouble.

You smirked, eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in the next room. “I practically raised him. I have the right to witness his first love.”

He grunted, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “You’re literally crouched next to the coffee machine whispering commentary like it’s National Geographic.”

You held your phone at a slightly different angle, zooming in on Tim as he fumbled with a bag of chips. “And you’re crouched next to me, so what does that make you?”

Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “An unwilling accomplice.”

You shot him a look, trying not to giggle as you saw Tim’s hand hover uncertainly over a box of cookies while Conner casually leaned against the counter, looking way too smooth for someone who was probably still a teenager.

“Conner’s definitely a pro at this,” you whispered, shaking your head in amused disbelief. “Look at him, just leaning there. Like it’s nothing what if he just wants to play woth out boys feelings.”

Bruce sighed dramatically but didn’t move. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“This is serious, Bruce. It’s parental responsibility.”

Bruce looked at you, his eyes softening. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Yeah, well, you love me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve got a lot of regrets today,” he muttered, but his hand brushed against yours in the dim light, soft and reassuring. Just as you were about to comment on Tim’s awkward attempt at getting a cookie into his mouth without looking too desperate, the kitchen door swung open with a familiar creak.

“Are you spying on Tim?” Dick’s voice rang through the space, sharp and amused.

Both you and Bruce froze, immediately making eye contact in a way that could only be described as a guilty deer caught in headlights moment.

Bruce was the first to recover. He straightened up quickly, stepping away from the island and crossing his arms like he was trying to physically distance himself from the ridiculousness of it all. “No,” he said instantly, as if the word would somehow erase the whole scene.

You, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide it. You looked up at Dick with wide, unapologetic eyes. “Yes,” you said, shrugging as though this was completely normal behavior for a concerned parent.

Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You guys are so lame.”

You grinned back, unbothered by his teasing. “You think we’re lame, but when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Bruce, clearly not keen on the whole ordeal, shot a look at Tim and Conner through the kitchen entryway. “I’m just making sure he’s not making any… stupid decisions.”

“Right.” Dick’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re both really qualified for that.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, we did the best we could. And this is where you come in. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak a peek when you thought we weren’t looking.”

Dick’s eyes widened for a second before he cracked a grin. “You two are hopeless.” He turned his attention back to the other room. “What are they even doing, anyway?”

You and Bruce both turned to look through the cabinets again, slightly distracted now that Dick was standing right there. Tim was holding a cookie out to Conner, his fingers trembling slightly, and Conner took it with a grin that could melt even the iciest heart.

“He’s handing Conner a cookie,” you said, your voice dripping with awe and mild concern. “A cookie. They’re not even talking about something deep or meaningful, like… I don’t know, saving Gotham or discussing conspiracy theories. It’s literally just this.”

Dick raised an eyebrow again, his grin widening. “You’re really invested in this?”

Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between indulging your parental instincts and the embarrassment of being caught in such an absurd situation. “Yeah, we’re not stalking them. Just… observing.”

Dick snorted. “Sure, sure. Watching them like they’re some rare, endangered species.”

You looked at him deadpan. “They are.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Look, we’ll stop when they stop… getting… weird.”

Dick gave the two of you an incredulous look. “You two are so ridiculous. Seriously.”

And with that, Dick pushed past you both to head upstairs, but not before he paused to make one last comment.

“If I ever catch you two creeping on me like this, I’ll start a family group chat called ‘Creepy Parents.’”

You and Bruce exchanged an amused glance. “We’ll take that risk,” you said,

Dick groaned, clearly not interested in sticking around for the ridiculousness, and disappeared upstairs.

You looked back at Bruce, who was still watching Tim and Conner, now in full parental protective mode. His brows were furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“I guess we’re just going to wait this out?” you asked softly, leaning against the island.

Bruce nodded, but his tone was softer now, full of that deep, unspoken love only a parent could understand. “Yeah. But we need to be the ones to have that talk when they’re ready.”

You smiled, leaning into him, the whole world feeling a little less chaotic, even if the kids’ drama would never stop.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim and Conner were sitting at the kitchen table now, their snack raid completed, with Conner casually leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the seat across from him. Tim, on the other hand, was picking at his cookie, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously around the room.

Conner noticed Tim’s unease and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Drake?”

Tim cleared his throat, his gaze shifting quickly toward the hallway, and then back to Conner, hoping his casual demeanor would mask the slight panic he felt. “Uh, no, everything’s fine.”

Conner smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can’t help but notice your… parents have been acting a little weird.”

Tim froze. His heart rate quickened as the words hit him. He blinked at Conner, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?”

“You know, they’ve been hanging around for a while,” Conner said, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “I can’t believe they’re still hiding behind the kitchen island.”

Tim’s face went white, of course he noticed it. his eyes darted toward the kitchen counter, his heart sinking into his stomach. His parents… They had been watching this whole time. He quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes shifting uncomfortably as if he could pretend that the observation had never been made. “You’re imagining things.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Maybe I am.”

But before Tim could settle into any sense of relief, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes glanced toward the cabinets, toward the hidden space behind the island where his parents had been crouched like secret agents, but the moment he saw something shift in the shadows, he quickly turned his head away. A blush spread across his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him.

He heard a muffled whisper coming from the kitchen, the faintest sound of your voice saying, “Do you think they noticed?”

His heart skipped. He knew they were there. He immediately looked back at Conner, who was now wearing an almost triumphant smirk, clearly enjoying this entire awkward exchange.

Tim’s face reddened even further. “Ugh, I hate you.”

Conner’s grin widened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos Tim was going through. “your family is so weird”

Tim just buried his face in his hands for a second, trying to collect himself. It didn’t help that he could hear the whispering getting louder, still faint, but unmistakable. “No way. I think they didn’t notice. Maybe we can sneak away after they leave…”

“We?” Tim thought he heard Bruce’s voice this time. It made him stiffen.

His face was now a bright red, and he buried his face further into his arms, hoping it might all just go away. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his pulse racing. This was so embarrassing. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? Why did his parents have to be so… so overly protective?

As his embarrassment grew, Tim stole another quick glance at the kitchen, only to see a shadow dart behind the cabinets. His stomach flipped, and he quickly turned away, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret.

Conner’s eyes were sharp. “Yeah… they totally noticed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I’m cool with this. You’re lucky I didn’t go tell them they’ve been caught. That would’ve been funny.”

“Conner, shut up!” Tim hissed, but the laughter that followed didn’t make it any better.

Somewhere from behind the cabinets, you whispered again, louder this time, “Maybe they’ll pretend they didn’t see us.”

Bruce’s voice was closer to a growl. “We’re being subtle, right?”

Tim’s body stiffened again, but this time he was ready. He shot up from his chair and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. “I’m going upstairs. You’re all insane.”

Conner chuckled, watching him go, clearly having the time of his life while Tim fumbled his way toward the hallway.

As Tim rushed out of the room, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks, you and Bruce exchanged a glance from your hiding spot, then reluctantly peeked around the corner to make sure your son had left the kitchen.

“We should’ve just went in our room,” you muttered, sounding almost defeated.

Bruce nodded, glancing up at you. “This is why I wanted to go back to the room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t let that go?”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been caught so many times.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” You flashed a teasing grin at him, clearly finding amusement in the awkwardness.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move either. He just kept watching the empty kitchen, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Finally, he said, “I’d still rather be making out with you right now.”

You grinned. “One thing at a time, Bruce. One thing at a time.”

Bruce didn’t waste a second. The moment the last of Tim’s and conner’s footsteps faded up the stairs, he was on his feet, his usual quiet intensity shifting into something more playful albeit with a touch of authority.

Without a word, he moved toward you, his hand reaching for your wrist. Before you could even fully register his intent, he pulled you into his chest, his other hand gently cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips were almost on yours, just inches apart, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if savoring the moment.

“As much fun as that was,” he said in a low, husky tone, his voice thick with amusement, “it’s time for mommy and daddy time.”

Your heart skipped. You had to admit, despite the awkwardness of everything that just happened, the sudden shift in Bruce’s demeanor made your pulse spike. The playful tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. You could see the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“Bruce…” you whispered, half trying to resist, half already giving in.

“Our boy will be fine” His voice was low, but there was a firm edge to it, a reminder that your playful surveillance time had come to an end. “You and me. Upstairs. Now.”

Before you could protest or offer some sarcastic response, he was already guiding you away from the kitchen island, his hand firm around your wrist. The way his grip tightened made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer not that you really wanted to resist.

“Bruce, we can’t just…” you started to say, but you were quickly cut off as he kissed you, his lips catching yours in a brief, but intense press that stole your breath away.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No more distractions. No more spying. Just us.”

You were about to make a snarky comment, but all the words caught in your throat when he pulled you against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his strong frame seemed to draw you in closer.

“I’m not letting you get away that easily,” he said with a grin, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Your breath caught as you felt his touch, suddenly aware of how much you’d been craving this intimate moment. The tension that had been building throughout the entire day between your kids, the spying, the ridiculousness was finally going to melt away, leaving just the two of you.

With a final, teasing smile, Bruce began leading you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours. The world outside your bedroom had faded into the background there was only him and you, and the quiet promise of some much needed time alone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim was lying face down on his bed, groaning into the sheets. If he could dig a hole and disappear into it, he would. He’d half expected his parents to hover maybe ask a few awkward questions. But full on mission mode surveillance? That was next level.

The door creaked open, and Tim didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“I knew they were weird,” Conner’s voice came, all smug and sing songy. “But hiding behind the cabinets? thats weird.”

Tim rolled over with a groan, face still half buried in a pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”

Conner stepped in like he owned the place, casually flopping onto Tim’s bed with zero regard for personal space. “Dude, your mom was crouched like it was recon. I think she even whispered something about your ‘game.’ I’m emotionally scarred.”

Conner, of course, wasn’t far behind. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the room, his usual easygoing grin plastered across his face. But there was something different in his eyes something softer. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension Tim was still feeling.

“You good?” Conner asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tim turned his head just slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I dunno, everything’s just kinda weird today.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Conner chuckled, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more of an understanding one. “Your parents… they’re something else.”

Tim groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t think they’d go full surveillance mode.”

Conner moved further into the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Well, they’re just looking out for you, you know? They’re probably a little overprotective, but… I mean, I guess I’d do the same thing if I were them.”

Tim half smiled at that, finally sitting up. “Yeah, but it’s a little much. I’m almost eighteen, not, like, seven.”

Conner gave him a side glance, his smile still there. “Right. You’re allowed to… y’know, have a life outside of your parents’ radar.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Tim muttered, but it wasn’t with annoyance more like he appreciated Conner’s effort to lighten the mood. Tim glanced at Conner, his mind wandering as it often did when he was around him. Something about the way Conner carried himself, the way he was always so relaxed, so at ease it was easy to get lost in.

Conner seemed to sense it, his voice dropping a little lower. “So, uh… are you sure it’s just your parents that’s got you flustered? Or is it… something else?”

Tim blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Conner leaned back against the headboard, looking over at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, just seems like you’ve got a lot going on in your head. And I mean, I did see how red your face was back there, so”

Tim immediately turned even more red. “Conner, I swear to God”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Conner laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t make it worse. But, uh… you do know you can talk to me, right?”

Tim let out a soft exhale, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t even realize how much he’d needed to hear that until now. “Yeah. I guess I just… didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Making it weird is kind of my thing,” Conner joked, but there was something reassuring about the way he said it like he wasn’t trying to force the conversation, but also wasn’t afraid to be open with him. Tim’s heart skipped a little at the casual warmth in Conner’s voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Conner was looking at him now, or just the comfort of knowing someone actually cared, but he found himself letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m definitely not the best at this… flirting thing. I’m just… I don’t know, overthinking it all.”

Conner’s eyes softened, and before Tim could protest, Conner slid closer on the bed. He nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. I think you’re doing just fine.”

Tim froze, his pulse racing at the sudden closeness. “Wait, really?”

Conner smirked, but there was something genuine in his smile now. “Really. You’ve just gotta stop trying to be all… cool about it. Just be yourself. If someone can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.”

Tim swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the worst, you know that?”

But Conner just laughed, the sound light and effortless. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

Tim bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but there was no denying the way his heart was beating faster now. Conner had always been the one to tease him, to make him laugh when things were tough. But this this felt different. The way they were sitting there, so close, the unspoken understanding between them it was the kind of connection Tim hadn’t realized he was craving.

“Alright, alright,” Conner said, standing up and giving Tim a teasing grin, “I’ll leave you to think about that. But you know I’m here, if you wanna… talk or whatever.”

Tim nodded, his throat a little tight, but he didn’t know what to say. Conner’s easygoing presence had a way of putting him at ease, and for the first time in a while, Tim felt like he was starting to understand what it meant to really be seen by someone.

“Thanks, Conner,” Tim muttered, his voice soft.

Conner winked as he walked toward the door. “Anytime, small bird. Anytime.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim sank back against the bed, his heart still racing, but now for a different reason.

Conner: So…

Tim: Please don’t.

Conner: Your parents have been following us for like… an hour. I swear I saw your mom dive behind a trash bin.

Tim: If I ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.

Reader, whispering from the kitchen: They didn’t see us.

Bruce, deadpan: They definitely saw us.

[jarofstyles]

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“Do you see her?” Harry asked, pushing the trolly along the tiled floor of the market. “Don’t know if I do yet. She’s snuck off!”

Y/N had walked off to get the baguette that Harry wanted with their dinner and to be honest, he needed to put a bell on her. She got lost far too easily when they went out. Instead of their baby needing a leash, he was considering getting one for her. And not even in the sexy way, depending on what you found arousing.

Their daughter babbled a little, swiveling her head to look for any sign of her Mumma. They had a close bond, and she took her job of lookout quite seriously. Well, as seriously as she could for her age.

“S’a shame, innit Bug?” He sighed, pushing the trolly down the aisle. “Your Mumma isn’t here t’tell me no.” He was sneaky, grabbing two bags of crisps and tossing them into the cart. “Oh well. Looks like we’ve been left in the snack aisle unattended. She must trust us to get our own snacks if she’s left us to our own devices, hm?”

He grinned as the two little pigtails at the top of her head bounced when she nodded in agreement. The color of her mother’s hair and the little ringlets that Harry completely claimed as his own contribution made his heart expand further than the grinch’s must have. A perfect mix of the both of them. He wanted more, but Y/N was the one to decide when he got to have another.

“Mumma is back, and she’s telling you that she’s not givin’ you any kisses if you eat those.” Her nose scrunched in distaste, ignoring how her husband jumped in favor for giving their daughter attention. “Hi, my sweet. Sour cream and onion crisps do no one’s breath any favors, do they?” She shook her own head and her daughter followed. “Exactly. Scoot, Har.”

“Scoot! Scoot!” His daughter betrayed him as she clapped her hands, Y/N’s hip bumping his so she could control the trolly.

“What is this? I’m being ganged up on. By my favorite girls!” He grumbled, walking alongside them. “You left us unattended in the snack aisle. You can expect we got a variety of things that will lighten up our pantry. You don’t need to insult my crisp choices.”

“I’m just saying, m’not kissing you while you’ve got crisp breath. I’ve overlooked a lot of things, included the botched tattoo on your toe- I’ve grown to love it, actually, but I’ve got my boundaries.” It wasn’t that serious but she enjoyed riling him up.

“Bound Harry?” Their little one chirped, looking between the both of them. “Daddy?” She knew that other people called him that.

“Boundary, my darling.” Y/N turned her attention back to her. “It means something you say is a limit. You do not want to do it or experience it.” Tapping her little nose, she got a giggle out of it. They both had decided to talk to their children with limited baby talk and instead go with talking to them as the little humans they were. With age appropriate explanations and avoiding topics they didn’t need to know yet, they knew they wanted her to grow up with an understanding of the world that her little, growing mind could understand.

“Mummy is being mean.” Harry whispered into his lover’s ear, giving her bum a little pinch when their daughter was distracted by the colorful cereal packaging. “Denying me kisses.”

“Only if you eat the crisps.” She shrugged. “You can have as many kisses as you’d like otherwise.”

“Daddy? Up, please?” Their daughter had quickly lost interest in the cereal boxes and raised her arms up. It wasn’t uncommon for her to get tired of being pushed around and wanted the view from Harry’s arms.

“Oh, of course Bug.” He cooed, undoing the clasped seatbelt and gently loading her up into his arms. “You’re growing so fast. And you remembered your manners, thank you.” He pressed a kiss to her little cheek to make her squeal, resting her head against his shoulder. “S’almost nap time. Think we’re almost done, hm?” He lightly bounced her in his arms to soothe, something he never stopped doing from when she was born. Too big for the baby backpack(which he always kept on his front), his heart ached for that little bundle back. It was a privilege to watch her grow the way she has, though, and he wasn’t going to complain. Y/N had given him his biggest wish, given him his family. He’d be patient until she was ready for more.

“Almost, baby.” Y/N nodded affirmatively. “We’ll go to the frozen and be all done. Alright?“

The beginnings of sleepiness was on her face and her heart melted at the view of her in Harry’s arms. Every time she saw her husband holding their baby in his arms, she was closer to caving into giving him another.

Soon.

[rmbunnie]

I see so much of "is post-crisis Robin Jason an innocent little sweetie-pie or a mean aggro delinquent" and after reading through all of his batman and detective comic issues post-crisis I think i can safely say he's... an introverted and distrustful, but altogether friendly teen boy who has convinced himself to the deepest level that he is an Adult Man, and also does not hold a particularly good view of adults.

The sweet little babypie characterization falls a little short (assuming we aren't being too silly with it, there's plenty of that in the comedy issues of tec) because it disregards the part where he's a jaded teenager who is constantly going off and trying to take care of his own problems like "his own man" and reacts negatively to any breach of trust or move to take care of him. But negative doesn't mean "violent and rageful." The delinquent angle is incorrect because not only is his disposition peppy, silly, and agreeable most of the time, but assuming the problem upsetting him isn't a predator or the guy who killed his dad (and three out of four canon instances it is a predator to be clear) he reacts to emotional turmoil with Bruce by bedrotting, sulking, communicating through notes, and overall being avoidant. The only times he lashes out are when Bruce is calling him out or after Bruce told him to his face that he chose to look for the Joker over looking for him, and that case of "lashing out" is just getting a little snarky.

More than anything his main personality trait (besides being silly, a robin staple) is kinda coming into this parentified as fuck. Not that it's Catherine's fault, but it really shaped his character, like one of the first things he says to Bruce (after he promised not to turn Jason in to the foster system) is that he kept her fed and warm as long as he could like he wasn't her ten year old child when he started. It's why he views himself on the same level as adults and why he gets all closed off at any insinuation that he needs to be taken care of, both of which heavily inform his dynamic with Bruce. He's constantly checking in on Bruce's wellbeing, like half of Batman: the Cult is just him taking care of Bruce while he recuperates from being brainwashed. (Side note, he's also constantly asking Bruce stuff like "what's your relationship like with this woman or this rogue or the concept of religion, how did that play out, how do you feel about it?" he is Very chatty like that.) The first thing he does when Sheila tells him her (revised to exclude medical malpractice) life story is hold HER and try to affirm her struggle. After a while he starts to act more childish with Bruce (although he doesn't really stop trying to brush off attempts to care for him) but as soon as Bruce admits he prioritized crimefighting over Jason and didn't show up to look after Jason like Jason assumed he came there for, Jason snaps back to acting very independent and rejecting any attempts to be looked after on any terms other than some kind of "equals" thing, which he isn't, as he's a 15 year old boy. Like. He's very sweet to his former neighbor, but also he refers to being a homeless child and the sole provider in his condemned building living situation as "getting by" to her.

He's definitely not. some bloodthirsty delinquent, at least to anyone who's not an uber-misogynistic predator, and he like demonstrably is a pretty sweet kid. It's just that when people say he's a sweet kid they kinda just jump to "untraumatized eight-year-old who grew up in a loving family and just got a new puppy from Santa" instead of "good hearted and curious teenager who has trust issues and is deeply uncomfortable with being taken care of, so kinda just compromises by pretending his dad is a Friend Doing him a Solid and acts like his kid only when he has plausible deniability so he can't get the rug pulled out from under him." Of course. He does kinda get the rug pulled out from under him despite all that. So there's that.

[hypewinter]

I got a take on the Danny is Damian's older brother au. He's Damian's brother but he's his adopted brother. So hear me out:

Danny is running away post TUE and he encounters some assassins. For whatever reason they get into a fight and he beats them. This ends up getting back to Ra's who is quite curious about who beat up his most prized assassins effortlessly. After some investigation, he extends an invite for Danny to train under him. On Danny's part, he jumps at the chance to disappear off the face of the earth and have a free place to stay.

Danny ends up being an absolute prodigy. This is him close to being Dan so his morals are much shakier. He doesn't leap at the opportunity to kill, but he's most definitely not above it if need be. Combine that with his ghost powers and personal training by Ra's himself and the guy becomes like the golden standard within the league. So much so to the point where Ra's even names him his heir and adopts him. Though Danny insists he is his adopted grandson and not adopted son.

Flashforward to Damian being born and Ra's obviously wants him to be his new heir. Not that Danny has any problem with this. He's very clearly Ra's favorite considering the things he's allowed to get away with. Like letting targets go, having worldly possessions in his room (TV, gaming console, computer, etc), and even befriending his subordinates (Ra's particularly doesn't like that one but knows Danny will never allow it to become a weakness for him). Even if Danny wasn't the heir, he would still maintain a significant level of authority within the league (again not that he cares about having power as long as there's a roof over his head).

The problem is, Damian can't compete with Danny. After all, who could match up to a highly trained half ghost with dubious morals? Let alone a kid. Too bad Ra's doesn't see it that way. He sees Damian as a failure who will never measure up to Danny. That's why he sends the boy off to live with his father. It's under the excuse that he'll be receiving a different sort of training but in reality, the Demon Head no longer wants anything to do with his biological grandson.

Obviously this turns into quite the complex for Damian. Meanwhile Danny absolutely adores Damian. From the moment he was introduced to the baby he was ecstatic. He'd always wanted to be an older brother. He would constantly be barging into Damian's room to hang out and whenever they'd sparred together, he'd try to let him win. Ra's quickly caught onto that one and put a stop to it immediately though. Basically Danny is Damian's League of Assassins version of Dick. An example of what he's supposed to be that he will always compare himself to (and that also has no idea what personal space is).

Danny loved his little brother so much that he even managed to get a mission to Gotham about a year after Damian had been sent there in order to surprise him with a belated birthday present.

The bats are absolutely shocked with an assassin suddenly charges at Damian and before anyone can react, scoops him into a hug. Damian is screeching bloody murder as he attempts to get Danny to let him go. Danny is just hugging him while saying stuff like "I missed you little brother" and "You've grown so much since I last saw you" all while avoiding knives to the chest.

The bats get shocked x2 because wait.... little brother!? Talia had another child!? And one far older than Damian to boot. Damian is quick to clarify that Danny is adopted while still trying to stab him. Imagine the boy's horror and Danny's delight when he gets invited back to the batcave to speak further.

[whyareyoulookingatmelikethat]

twisted sprout x distractor reader x twisted cosmo?

bonus points if reader's a little overly cocky and gets Got (maybe we get like. kidnapped or something. whatever you think would fit best in the getting got category [: )

...no this isn't inspired by me doing stupid stuff while distracting and getting punished for it. why would you think that noo /j

[19]: In The End

Not much to say right now. Not in the best mood after something happened, but I still hope you enjoy.

You were known as the chaotic one of the group.

Reckless, mischievous, you name it.

Honestly, no one really knew why you were the distractor, but they just went along with it because who else did they have to distract?

So here you were, skipping your way along the dark halls, your mood completely cheerful despite the disturbing sounds of the monsters chasing you.

The smile on your face was as bright as it would be on a sunny day, strangely enough.

You weren't one to strategize either. The instant you found a speed candy on the floor? Eat it in an instant.

Chocolate bars? Sounds good! Bottles of pop? Sure thing! No saving whatsoever.

You were literally the embodiment of idiotic.

And you liked it.

What was wrong about being stupid? Everyone is, so might as well come to terms with it.

You giggled, rounding the corner and making a U-turn around the twisteds.

Some say you’re confusing. Some say you’re drunk. Some say you’re crazy. (Which you are, but focus!)

You had the most positive,(Yes, even more positive than Poppy) yet deranged look on your situation, is what people said.

You didn’t care if there were monsters chasing you. You didn’t care if you were possibly going to die soon. After all, if you're going to go out, might as well have a little fun while doing so!

No you weren’t suicidal, just…you tried to make the best of your situation.

Was this place causing you to go insane? Probably. Who wouldn’t, after seeing their friends die in front of them one by one?

Ah, you remember now. Vee being mauled by Twisted Pebble, Boxten’s bones being crushed by Twisted Goob’s grip, Astro being killed by…well, Twisted Astro. Or who you like to call, the leech.

Their deaths were so traumatizing, you say with absolutely no emotion whatsoever, like you’re being sarcastic, but you’re not.

What reason would you have to be?

You didn’t really hate anyone here, not Vee or Glisten with their pride, Rodger with his nosiness, or even Shrimpo with his yelling. He had good reason to be bitter.

You heard a screech behind you, a warning. With practiced grace, you twirled around the easily avoidable tendril sprouting up from the floor, not even staining your shoes with the black ichor.

As you skipped on, avoiding a swipe of a smaller black claw, you wondered how the twisteds were even dumber than you, to the point they would just run around in circles after you and not even cut through the middle. They also wouldn’t jump or step over obstacles, nor knock them aside. They reminded you of homing missiles, but worse.

They acted as if a bean bag was a brick wall, and it was funny, yet extremely confusing. It bugged you to the point of insanity.(Not really, you're still sane but you know)

So you entertained the thought that maybe they were all blind. Their eyes were blood-red, so it would make sense that their vision is messed up, but that doesn’t explain how the amalgamation that was once a sweet and loving dog could now see you across half the entire floor, but couldn’t see you over a colorful kids table, despite towering over you.

It didn’t make any sense. It was like every single obstacle ever was an invisible wall for them. And you thought you were dumb…

You hummed, breaking out of your train of thought. Your eyes widened as you came face to face with a wall, smacking straight into it.

You could feel a headache beginning to form as you fell backwards towards the ground, hitting your head on the painfully hard concrete. You could hear the slightest crack and you cried out, immediately curling yourself up and hands shooting up to your head.

It…felt warm. Weirdly warm, and sticky.

Oh.

You already knew what it was.

You pressed down hard on your scalp as the twisteds closed in on you. You’d go out quick, at least.

The only thing you saw before it was all gone was two blurry faces staring down at you, hissing and groaning filling the air.

[charliegyrth]

Liam's Sweet Tooth

A Weight Gain Story

Liam was lifting weights when I got home. His muscular body was coated in sweat and his face was scrunched up in determination and pain. He knew I was home but didn’t acknowledge me until he finished his set.

I was fine with that. Not every guy gets to come home to an absolute adonis pumping iron in his living room.

He dropped the weights and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Hey, honey. You’re early.”

“The cake orders for tomorrow got cancelled, so I didn’t need to be there. I let Manny finish up.”

“Hopefully he won’t eat all of your inventory.”

“Don’t say that.”

Liam was such a nice guy, but he always made snide little remarks about my employees. I owned a bakery, so of course my workers gained a bit of weight over the years. Manny had been with me from the beginning, so Liam had seen him grow from a svelte 22-year-old kid into a 350-pound 28-year-old man. He was a good worker because he believed in the product, but he never, ever ate anything that wasn’t going to be thrown away.

Plus, the customers loved him. I always sold more stuff when he was behind the counter because he constantly gave suggestions and raved about pretty much everything I made.

“Sorry,” Liam said. “So what did you bring for me?”

I’d forgotten that I had a box in my hands. I opened the lid, revealing a brand-new éclair that I was planning to introduce.

He took a big bite and whimpered. “Babe, this is incredible.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Liam had dubbed himself my official taste-tester. Every time I tried something new, I always gave him the first bite.

He wasn’t a particularly good taste-tester, though. Despite being ridiculously fit, he had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I knew. Every dessert tasted “incredible” to him. One time, for a little experiment, I gave him a donut that I’d purposely made with way too much sugar. It was inedible. But he still ate the whole thing and gave me a big thumbs up.

“You just brought one?” he asked, licking his fingers.

“I always just bring one.”

“Yeah. ’Cause Manny eats the rest of ’em, huh?”

“Stop saying things like that!” I shouted.

Liam flinched. I never raised my voice, especially at him.

“Sorry. I’m a little upset. Manny put in his two weeks’ notice today. His bitchy wife got a job in Phoenix.” It really hurt to lose my oldest and most loyal employee. I knew this day would come. He’d been talking about moving for months now, but the news still stung.

“Well, shit,” Liam said, wrapping me in a sweaty hug. “That sucks.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, both to him and to myself. “I’m sure I’ll find someone, though I doubt I’ll find anyone as enthusiastic.”

He pulled away. “I’ll do it!”

I let the words sink in, but I didn’t respond.

“Seriously! Think about it! No one appreciates your baking as much as I do! Plus, I’m superhot. Your stuff will be flying off the shelves like hotcakes!”

“I don’t make hotcakes,” I joked, mostly to avoid responding.

Liam was amazing. And I’m pretty sure he was a good worker. The only reason he was currently unemployed was because his previous employer had gone bankrupt. But…

“I don’t know if that would be healthy for us,” I said. “Mixing business with pleasure. You know.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He collapsed onto the sofa dramatically. For such a big, masculine guy, there were times when he reminded me of a six-year-old.

I hated to disappoint him like this. And if I took our marriage out of the equation, he would be an ideal candidate.

“Okay. How about this? I’ll hire you for a month, and we’ll see if it works without, you know, affecting our marriage.”

He jumped up. “Really?”

“But be aware. I’m a tough boss. I try to run a tight ship, so I’ll be treating you like an employee, not a husband.”

“Understood.” He kissed me.

“And you won’t freak out if you start gaining weight like all my other employees?”

He scoffed. “Look at me! I’m married to the city’s best baker and I still have a six pack. I think I’ll be fine.”

What he didn’t realize was that I chose to limit the amount of sweets I brought home. For Liam, they were an occasional treat, not a daily temptation. At work, I used the leftover baked goods as a reward to my employees. An incentive.

But he’d find out soon enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started gaining right away. Like Manny had. Knowing how vain Liam was, he’d gain ten pounds, get horrified, and quit. You mark my words.

***

Two years later.

When I got home, Liam was sitting on our new, reinforced sofa, eating red velvet cake by the handful. His flabby body spread out in all directions, his pale side rolls hanging over the edge of the red sofa like the thick icing on his rapidly-disappearing cake. He knew I was home, but he didn’t acknowledge me until he had finished binging.

I was fine with that. Not every guy gets to come home to a such a luscious example of soft, jiggling hedonism.

“Hey, honey. You’re home early.”

“Yeah. Manny’s handling tomorrow’s orders again. Since he came back, he’s been absolutely killing it. I’ve been giving him more of my responsibilities, and he hasn’t disappointed me yet. Sales are finally up again.”

A look of embarrassment passed over Liam's icing-stained faced. “Well, you made the right choice, babe.” He tried to pull his shirt down to cover more of his bulging stomach, but the fabric immediately rolled back up. Plus, he spilled a bunch of crumbs onto the couch.

“We all have our talents,” I told him reassuringly as I grabbed the dustbuster from the table. I switched it on and cleaned up the sofa cushions. Then I got to work sucking up all the crumbs that were still on his stomach. The handheld vacuum pulled at his soft flesh, sending ripples through him in the most adorably hypnotic way. I loved cleaning my husband, and I think he loved it, too.

He just leaned back, moaning softly, enjoying the rhythmic wobble.

“And what’s my talent?” he asked me.

I picked up a hunk of cake that he’d left on the table and pushed it against his lips. He gobbled it up as fast as the dustbuster. “What do you think, Liam?”

His talent was eating. Obviously. A beautiful talent. An incredibly erotic talent.

And a talent that had almost put me out of business.

When Liam first started working for me, he was the ideal employee. He followed directions and used his muscle-god body to entice the customers into ordering more food. He had this line that he’d always use whenever a customer was second-guessing an order: “Treat yourself. An extra donut won’t hurt you. I eat ’em all the time, and look at me.”

That line became less and less effective as the weeks wore on. I thought Manny had gained weight fast, but nothing compared to Liam. It took him three weeks (I’m not kidding) to develop a droop over his belt. A month for his pecs to turn into moobs. Two months for an extremely noticeable double chin. Three months in, his stomach had morphed from abs into a full-on gut.

His whole “treat yourself” mantra had turned into a major turn-off to our customers. When they looked at Liam behind the counter, they saw proof of how dangerously fattening my treats were.

Back when Manny had been behind the counter, the customers took his large body as an endorsement of the products. With Liam, who was so red-faced and winded at the same size, they took it as a warning sign: "Don't eat here or you'll end up like him."

I lost customers. I lost money on all his new uniforms. And worst of all, I lost my inventory.

It took me a couple months to discover exactly why Liam was gaining so fast: He was stealing our food. It started out with a couple missing donuts or cake slices each day, but the longer he worked, the more he took. Once I caught him red-handed (well, chocolate-handed), I completely flipped out. He was putting my business in jeopardy. None of my other employees had ever done that.

He started crying and swore to me up and down that he’d stop.

For a while, he did. He started buying cheap (and terrible) baked goods from the supermarket just so he could have something to eat while he worked. Business was still down, but at least I wasn’t running out of food.

After a year and a half, Liam had ballooned to over 350 pounds. Manny had been that size (after six years), but he always had a ton of energy and enthusiasm. I think because Liam’s gains had happened so fast, and his muscles had so quickly atrophied under his extra layers, he’d become a much more sluggish, much less healthy-looking fat person. It took him way too long to do the simplest tasks, and he was really scaring off customers.

The ironic part is that, despite how bad he was for business, I found him hotter by the day. I loved him as a muscle stud, but I loved him so much more as the soft, weak blob that he’d become. I wanted to take care of him, to grow him, to serve his unending hunger.

When I caught him in the back of the bakery squeezing my expensive buttercream icing into his mouth, I was both furious and aroused. I fired him then and there, explaining that I loved what he’d done to himself but I couldn’t keep putting my business in jeopardy.

He understood.

Thankfully, that was around the time that Manny had moved back from Phoenix. (His marriage didn’t work out.) I hired him to be my co-manager, giving him free rein to try different strategies to turn the business back around.

And he did. Six months later and we were back on track. The business was in the black and Liam, free to eat all day at home, gained an additional 70 pounds. (I think. Our scale broke.)

I crawled onto the sofa next to my big, beautiful husband. He radiated warmth. One hand around his sloping shoulders and another rubbing his belly, I felt so deeply happy. We weren’t meant to work together, but in the short time that we had, our relationship (and his body) grew in ways that neither of us imagined.

He leaned closer, his belly shifting and sloshing, and whispered into my ear. I thought he was going to say something romantic. Instead, he whispered, “I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you something sweet.”

The End.

Thanks for reading! You can find all my stories here.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (6)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I hope you all have found ways to cope after the breakup, but here all your questions will be answered on what went down pre-August! Special shoutout to @just-fics-station @thepurplecrown @clarkysblog @hotdismylife and @sprinklesprinkle888 for sharing your ideas and indulging me with the lovely, crazy discourse!

To everyone, I am so chuffed at how this has become OUR story - our lil self-indulgent Ewan Nation production. You all are aces <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

In the aftermath of the breakup, the reader and Ewan throw themselves into their work, trying (and failing) to avoid any trace of the other. Will they remain this way - former lovers doomed to drift in each other's orbit?

Some time before August

New York City

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden antiques, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot.

The discussion was straightforward enough, never mind the saccharine tone Bruce seemed to be so good at. Aimed at making Ewan feel welcome, coddling him, remarking with awe at his projects thus far. But there was a fakeness to it. Ewan steeled himself, trying to adapt to the style of conversation. After all, if he is in this for the long haul, then he would have to get used to these situations.

Bruce appraised him, leaning back on his leather swivel chair. "How are you with the fantasy genre? All that YA, lovesick stuff the kids eat up so eagerly nowadays? Personally, I haven't got the taste for it, but it always makes bank, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well, I'm a fan of all movies. I definitely see why the fantasy genre has made such an impact on audiences, especially with the romance element, you know, I get the appeal."

"Well, son, we've got a solid franchise in our hands here. Some adaptation of an elf-human love story, mind you, it sound ridiculous, but you know how it is. And the team seems to be in agreement - you fit the bill for the male lead. The male elf lead - " he almost guffawed at the thought, then collected himself " - hope you don't mind my saying that you've got elvish features yourself. Long nose, long jaw, lanky. The teens are going to eat you up."

"Ah," Ewan smiled curtly, nodding. There was a backhanded compliment if he ever heard one. "Well, sir, I've read the script - at least, the bit that was sent to me - and it looks quite promising. I'd be honoured to - "

"Of course, of course!" Bruce exclaimed in pleasure, cutting Ewan off mid-sentence. "And there's the case of your leading lady, and this all boils down to chemistry as you know. Our top contender is that Jenna Ortega girl from the Netflix show, you know her?"

Ewan nodded, well aware. He's seen her work, and thinks that she is a top actress of her generation, but leave it to Bruce to reduce her to being that girl from the Netflix show.

"Yes, she's a very talented actress," Ewan replied.

Bruce hums in agreement, head bobbing as a smirk materialises on his face. "Think she's a looker?" he said openly, without shame.

Ewan laughed nervously, his words caught in his throat.

Bruce, characteriscally oblivious to the discomfort of others, carried on. "I only ask because we're going to need you two to be pretty chummy with each other when you jump on this project. It's kind of a condition of the whole thing, but really nothing to concern yourself with." He waved a hand in the air, his proposition barely carrying any weight in his mind. But Ewan was catching on, and he started to develop a dislike about the whole deal.

"What do you mean?" Ewan asked.

"It's pretty common in this business, son. There's a reason why young, new actors like yourself opt to remain unattached so to speak, so they're always open to a PR arrangement or, you know, just so their - your - hoards of fans would think they got a chance with you," Bruce explains lazily. "In this case, since you and Ortega are, as I said, unattached, getting you two together would fuckin' do wonders for our movie."

Our movie, he said, convinced that Ewan was all in, because why would any young actor refuse such a golden opportunity? Franchises like this can set up an entire mainstream Hollywood career.

Ewan thought that he wasn't unattached. Granted, his date with you was yet to happen, but he already felt bound to you. He wished you were the one tapped to be his love interest. Very little acting would be needed there. Maybe he might even be inclined to go along with the idea of selling the relationship, using it for publicity for the film, but even that made him uneasy.

The industry offered a lot of privileges, but more often than not, they come at a cost.

"Sir, I - "

"Bruce."

"Right, sorry. Bruce, I have to tell you that I'm not exactly unattached."

"Got a partner?"

Ewan actually found himself smiling at the thought of you being called his partner. His first easy smile since entering this office. "Yes, she's an actress herself," he agreed.

"I heard of her?" Bruce asked with obvious disinterest. You were but a wedge in his flawless plan.

"She's kind of a new talent like me, but she's brilliant. She plays Alyna Rivers in our show."

"Ah her," Bruce loosened up a little. "I get it, she's a piece."

Ewan cleared his throat loudly, his jaw clenching on instinct. "So, like I said, I'm with her. I'm sorry but this whole PR arrangement with Jenna wouldn't work."

"Look, kid, I want my movie to do well, alright? I got a lot invested here. This PR thing has proven to be highly bankable time and time again. If you don't trust me, I can ask the team to show you the data on all that. It's a lot of boring numbers, but shit, the numbers are never wrong."

"I don't need to see - "

"If you wanna be with your girl, you can, but you just gotta learn to hide it. Sweep it under the rug, you know. Don't canoodle in public, you crazy kids," Bruce offered, like that made things any better.

"You want me to hide my relationship?"

"Hey, now, come on. Word gets around. Isn't your girl also doing this exact same thing with Jacob Elordi?"

"Not anymore, I don't think," Ewan clarifies, "and that was... that was hardly anything. They weren't obligated to do it. It just worked by chance because they were both single for a time."

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to." Bruce clicked his tongue before making his next point. "So you see how it works, your thing with Ortega won't be any different."

"Do I have a choice?" There it is, the defining factor.

Bruce smiled slowly. The calculating and menacing air about him intensified, and it was obvious he was not there to be Ewan's friend.

"It would be stupid to refuse something like this, kid."

Ewan's blue eyes flashed in return. None of this was ideal, but his nan raised him well, and he knew better than to falter on his values in times of trial.

"Sir, what's stupid is if you ask me to hide my real relationship for the sake of mere publicity for a film."

"Stupid you say?" Bruce sneered, having already discarded Ewan in his mind, his fragile ego bruised. "What a shame."

There wasn't much to say after that. Bruce was clearly not disinclined to reveal the ice that settled in his veins, and it dawned on Ewan that it had always been the case. There was no true hospitality here.

For bigwig casting director-slash-execs like Bruce, this was a transaction. And Ewan was not about to put what he has, or what he could have, with you on the line.

There has to be another way to advance his career. If not bigger productions, then at least those with less domineering producers.

"That is a shame," Ewan said, getting up from his seat. "I won't waste any more of your time, sir. Thank you for considering me."

Bruce's eyes darkened even further. "You're actually refusing me? For some girl?"

Another genuine smile formed on Ewan's face at the thought of you. Some girl.

But you're not just some girl. He nodded without a trace of doubt in his mind, before reaching out to shake Bruce's hand. "If you don't mind, sir... I have to go and see my darling."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Near the end of August

Los Angeles

The modern space sported a minimalist yet rustic feel, the interiors a blend of sterile white and sleek wooden surfaces. Very LA, as they say. The windowed walls offered plenty of light, as well as precious views of the valley below.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Donna," you greeted Ewan's publicist as she ushered you in her LA office.

"No problem at all, sweetheart," she said. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea? Ewan always has his coffee with way, way too much sugar. Mind you, if that kid wasn't active and boxing all the time, I'd be worried for his health."

You smiled fondly at her genuine concern. "Don't even mention the cigarettes."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed, settling down on the chair across from you. She could have sat down at her desk, making the meeting more official, but Donna's always had a friendly and open way about her. "So, my sweet, how's your new movie coming up?"

You respond eagerly. The dialogue flowed freely, talking about your film and the lukewarm reception of season 2 of House of The Dragon. And finally, Ewan.

"I really thought he would get the Greta Gerwig film," you said. "Everyone said he was perfect for it. I think Greta herself had nothing but praises for him when they met on Zoom."

She sighed thoughtfully, "I thought so too. And, theoretically, he did have that one almost booked up. But there was an issue with one of the producers, which - I don't even want to get into that."

You shook your head, catching on whom she hinted at. "Donna, I heard... well, it didn't go too well in New York, didn't it? Ewan told me about it but... if you can tell me more, I just want to understand why - "

"Sweetheart," she offered a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "you should talk about this with Ewan."

"I tried. But he wouldn't budge. Mallory told me... that it might have been because of me that he didn't get the role? And also why he's struggling to get roles now? Donna, I... I can't have that."

It took some time for her to formulate a response. She didn't want to step in something that's none of her business. Your relationship with Ewan is yours. But when his career is on the line, she supposed that she needed to have some say in that.

"He met with this top producer in New York. This real old money Hollywood guy. For decades, he's built careers for the greats, you know - Pitt, DiCaprio, Theron, and whatnot. There was a franchise project practically offered to him on a plate, but Ewan refused, because a non-negotiable was that he would have to hide you in favour of a PR arrangement with his leading lady."

You swallowed, the weight of the truth making itself clear. "Couldn't he have just done the movie without that?"

"You would think," she grimaced, "but some producers... when they want something, they have to get it. And well, Bruce wasn't lying, that would have sold the movie well."

"I thought we were past this," you expressed sadly. "I understand how PR relationships work. Just recently, I found myself kind of in the middle of one. But there was no pressure, it wasn't forced on us, and it was meant to be all in good fun."

"I know, sweetheart," she insisted, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "Bruce is an outlier now. Most of the time you do get lucky, with an all-around supportive production team, just like with your project with Elordi."

You hummed in agreement on that positive note, but your mind kept drifting back to Ewan.

Donna continued, wrapping up her story, "but Bruce is still here, and he still has a lot of power. But you know, it'll be fine. Ewan's got such a huge fanbase and so much talent that it'll only be a matter of time before something else knocks on his door."

You wanted to share her sense of optimism, but something ate at you. What else will Ewan have to sacrifice just to be with you? This was his dream, his one dream, and you were standing in the way. How much longer before he is offered another project but he refuses to take it for your sake? Your thoughts blurred together, bordering on irrational, but you couldn't help it.

All you could picture was the unabashed sincerity on his face, that sense of wonder, when he told you that acting had always been his dream.

Being tied down to you, this early in his career, would surely only hurt him. And you don't think you're worth it.

"Ewan loves you, sweetheart. Anyone with eyes can see that," Donna said after a while, heeding the storm brewing in your expression.

He loves you. It was true.

Less than a month in, and you've already found yourself with a love that you've never felt before. And perhaps never will again.

And that was the problem.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Late September

The podcast moderators are overly welcoming, if not a little loud for Ewan's taste.

The BBC podcast is called Loose Ends, and it's one of the first things Ewan agreed to take on upon returning to England.

He had wanted to head straight home to Derby, to bury himself in his heartache and bitterness, but the team for the show tapped him for a couple more promotional stints, riding on the high of the season finale. And who better than Ewan to offer to the media, the undeniable fan favourite.

Clad in an old gray shirt and blue jeans, people would think he just rolled right out of bed. He didn't really have the motivation to put in more effort. The only striking thing about him is his newly bleached head of hair, supervised by his stylist for a photoshoot a few days ago.

It was ironic, the timing of such a change. Ewan knew that if word got out that you dumped him, he would never hear the end of the joke of that being the reason for his hairstyle change, typical of all heartbroken sods.

Everyone bursts into laughter when he tells them about his mum's reaction to his nude scene. It feels like going through the motions, and he must have been so out of it, so forlorn, that his team prepared an outline for him prior to the interview. The questions and answers all pre-agreed.

Make them laugh. React as required. Remember to speak when spoken to. The mantra goes on in his head.

And don't think about her.

An impossible task, worsened when a moderator goes off script and asks, "Now it wasn't me who saw this, as I'm not on social media myself, but one of our interns did mention that you ventured into Instagram recently? Is that true?"

Oh fuck.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess," Ewan laughs nervously, his hand massaging the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion.

"And your first post went viral? What can you tell us about that? Our listeners would love to know."

"Uhhhm - " He remembers that the broadcast is live, and he can't exactly ask them to edit this part out, so he quickly settles for something indirect. Inconclusive. Safe. " - did it go viral? I'm not too sure how that thing works. I haven't used any kind of social media before."

"Apparently it did! And it had to do with the subject featured in that photo, Ewan. Your costar - "

"Mmm," Ewan stops him there, "didn't you say that you don't use Instagram?"

"No, I think I'm too old!" The moderator laughs.

"It's insane, that whole thing," Ewan shakes his head. "I don't know how to handle it. I'm logged off most of the time."

"Oh, you log off?"

"Yeah, yeah, helps me keep my focus, you know. Keep calm and all that."

"It can get frivolous, can't it?"

Ewan hums in agreement, and thankfully, the moderator moves on to his last question. One that does not breach the subject of you.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Another day means yet another media stint for Ewan, this time for Now TV.

Still in London, his stylist Davey and the rest of the team prepare him for a day of brief interview clips, to be posted on the social media pages of the company.

Davey had half-joked about Ewan needing even more concealer than usual, the shadows under his eyes having significantly deepened after the breakup.

Some of his team have gotten wind of what happened. They would curiously ask about you, how often Ewan keeps in touch with you while you're on set...

You must be on FaceTime everyday!

Is it hard to be doing long-distance so soon?

Do you miss her? Is that why you're not getting any rest?

...but Ewan would only laugh uncomfortably, dismiss it by bringing up another topic or shifting the attention to someone else, or excuse himself to go for a smoke.

He'd been drowning himself in cigarettes and caffeine during the day, pint after pint in the nighttime. Aimless.

He is coping. He knows how it must look, but he deserves this. He deserves to drift for a while. It's the only thing he can do to keep himself from jumping on the next flight to Atlanta and begging for your hand back.

You said you love him. You did. He hangs on to it like a beacon in a storm. No matter how pointless it may seem, with you choosing someone else over him.

Work is becoming something of an anchor, something that keeps him from spiralling. He's an actor, and he has always wanted to be an actor. People now have expectations of him, and he will answer the call.

The interview session begins with generic questioning, stuff he's answered before on several occasions.

How special is the bond between dragon and rider?

What is a funny moment from set that you can share?

How similar are Aemond and Daemon?

All safe. He's proud of himself for not breaking mental clarity thus far. You're in the back of his mind, dormant as a memory, and not something looming darkly over him. For a while, at least.

But then he is asked, If you could invite any 5 people to a Ewan Mitchell dinner party, who would you pick?

"Matthew McConaughey - "

You.

" - Bruce Lee. I think they could strike up an interesting conversation - "

Your name echoes in his mind, and he can't control it.

" - Andrea Riseborough. She's just a chameleon, like in any role she undertakes -

You have great taste. Even if you would make him eat spicy food again, he'll take it. He'll endure anything for you.

He's stumped for a second, lump in his throat, and his effort in avoiding you leads him to mention someone who will always be a comfort to him.

" - Maybe my nan, because I miss her -

Your name. He has to say your name. Who else? Think of someone else.. but who else? Who would be better?

" - and then, another person. Let's make it from the show... it would be Alyna Rivers."

"Oh really?" The interviewer asks. She's not really meant to respond in this instance, but she knows that the fans would go crazy about any mention of you or your character, so why not jump on this opportunity? "Can you tell us why you chose her?"

"Uhhm, well, she's just an amazing character, you know, fiercely loyal, beautiful, tenacious," Ewan replies easily, "so yeah, she would make for good company."

It is obvious that he is describing you just as much as he does Alyna Rivers, and no doubt, the fans will catch on to this detail.

Later, he's asked about his favourite part about season two, and he duly answers, "Seeing more of Aemond and Vhagar's bond and how that perhaps have gotten stronger. Aemond has definitely reined her in, after the accident at Storm's End."

Then, "There are some new additions to the show. Do you have a particular favourite?"

Another obvious piece of bait. And he takes it, he doesn't care anymore. What's the use of denying the truth?

"A favourite new character? Oh, well, uhmm... I really do like Alyna, and I think I've said before that Aemond and her are quite similar in a sense that they both know what they want and how to achieve it. It's just a shame they're on opposing sides, because if those two get together... " he trails off, leaving it up to the audiences to fill in the rest of the thought.

And they eagerly do. The clips where Ewan mentions Alyna get the most traction, flooded with comments that more or less talk of the same thing -

We know why you chose Alyna, Ewan. We know your ways.

He could have said Alys. Or Gwayne. Or even the ghost of Daeron ffs. But nooooo.... it's Alyna Alyna Alyna 😮‍💨

I wonder if she's there behind the scenes

yeah shes definitely lurking in the background!

Aemond and Alyna better have at least a scene together in season 3!!!!!

Someone kidnap Ryan Condal and make him write this

Ewan doesn't see any of it. Not that he's missing out, because he soon feels the need to call his younger cousin to ask her how to turn off his notifications on Instagram.

Day in and day out, his one single post gets dozens of new comments and likes, a brutal reminder of what he's lost. He could just delete it, and get rid of his profile entirely, but he hates to imagine the discourse that would follow.

All the invasive allegations and rumours. So he leaves it be. It makes no difference to him now. Let people believe what they want.

To his chagrin, he finds himself scrolling on his home page once in a while. The addictive element to it was true, and for him, it's exacerbated because the things he sees are often related to you.

Photos of you from fanpages and news accounts. Ones where your friends have tagged you. It's a toxic habit, looking through it all, but he can't help himself.

Then one day, as he's slouched on the seat in his London apartment, phone propped on his knees, he sees a cutout photo of his face on the corner of the screen. He clicks on it, and it's an image of him interposed among different posts. Posts which he apparently liked.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he cusses at himself, reading the caption.

Boyfriend lurking? - Ewan Mitchell may play a formidable TV villain, but in real life, he's just like us. Click on the link in bio to see his series of liked posts!

Dread takes root in him, followed by self-loathing. Why couldn't he just keep off this bloody thing? He takes to the comments to see what he has allegedly liked on accident and it's predictably photos of you - you at a premiere, stills of you as Alyna, and even, heavens fucking forbid, a behind the scenes shot of you getting pretty close with Jacob Elordi on the set of your film.

He vividly remembers seeing that last one, because he went on a bender after coming across it.

Cursing himself and his wayward, sticky fingers, he exits the app and deletes it from his phone.

Whatever goes on there, whatever people might leave on his profile, he washes his hands of it.

He calls up several of his mates, asking them if they want to come over for a few drinks.

"Again, Ewan?" one of them exclaims. "C'mon, you gotta take a breather, mate."

"I don't need a breather." I need her.

"Ewan - "

His composure breaks, all his damned frustrations rising to the surface, and he confesses, "I wonder if she thinks about me."

"Hang in there, mate. We're coming over."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

October

The director finally yells a satisfied, "Cut!"

It's only taken a good twenty-something takes for you and Jacob to nail a challenging scene. You had been on a roll since the beginning of the shoot, the last few weeks seemingly a breeze on paper, though it's a constant struggle to keep it together.

You've had to quell your internal dialogue so it does not stray to him. His smile. The feel of his skin against yours. His way of subtly picking up on details, and doing sweet things that surprise you as a result.

But you received word just before the scene that a few of your friends have come to visit, waiting back at your trailer - Phia, Fabien and his girlfriend, Bella.

And so, as if on instinct, Ewan is all you can focus on, every repressed memory of him rushing in like a tidal wave.

Do they know? What could you possibly say to justify what you did? You can only hope he took on that project, to give you a bitter sense of vindication.

It's the only thing that keeps it all the bay, the only thing that keeps you from jumping on the next flight to England and grovelling at his door.

Phia has her arms wrapped around you the moment you open the door to your trailer, loudly squealing, "I missed you!"

You sink into the hug, comforted by her presence.

As well as the fact that she represents some connection to Ewan.

Phia, Helaena. Helaena, Aemond. Aemond, Ewan.

It's a sick game to play, but it's what you have.

"Hey, yous," you hug Fabien and Bella in turn. Not long after, you're all lounging on director's chairs right outside your trailer, enjoying a bit of sun.

"How's our big Hollywood star?" Phia quips, her lips curling in her trademark pleasant upturn.

"Hardly a star," you shake your head fondly. "More of an indie darling."

"Of course, of course," she relents, before going on a monologue about how she's been keeping tabs on your project, how she just adores the costume designer whom she spoke to at length while you were working, and how the rest of the cast is rooting for you.

The rest of the cast.

"Ah, are they?" you ask, making a conscious effort to not simply blurt out his name. What does he think? Has he mentioned you at all?

Do they know?

Do they secretly hate you for what you did?

"Mhmm, right Fabs?" she says.

"Oh, definitely." Fabien agrees right away.

"How's your film? Are you done shooting in Philly?" you ask him.

"Just about done, but I think we're doing some final reshoots next week. I'm just glad my girl's here to visit," he slings an arm around Bella, who smiles and leans closer to him.

You smile at the sight, but it visibly falters. Ewan could be visiting you on set right now, just like Bella with Fabien, if you hadn't fucked it all up.

They notice.

"Love," Phia sighs, her tone softening. "I just want you know - we want you know - we're here for you, okay? No matter what you went through with... " A pause. Like saying his name would open up the floodgates.

Your gaze falls to your lap in shame. You pick on invisible lint on your trousers. Bite your lip. Breathe deeply.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"So you guys know, huh?"

"Well, more or less," Phia says. "I just spoke with... Ewan... recently. He's back in Derby for the time being, and he's - "

"He's a bit rough," Fabien says firmly. He's not taking sides here, but he's heard from Ewan, and he feels the need to have his mate's back. "Look, I don't want to pry, but what happened? It seemed like you guys were doing so well together!"

"You don't have to tell us," Phia adds, shooting Fabien a look. "But if you want to, we're here to listen. We love you both and we just want to help, love."

You feel your eyes welling up. Leave it to Phia to be oh so sweet. You can't lie to them, you don't want to. Even if you did, they would see right through it.

Your friends know you too well.

"I... I miss him."

Phia squeezes your hand, and the whole story is about to spill out of you when you hear your name being called.

It's your assistant Clara, letting you know you're needed back on set.

You swallow back tears, standing on your feet, trying to maintain enough composure so you can grant yourself access back to your character.

"Go do your thing, superstar," Phia smiles comfortingly. "We'll be here when you're ready."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

November

"I'd like to propose a toast," Tom declares out loud in the empty pub, "to Ewan, Hollywood's new elf... Lord? Prince? Ah sod it, cheers!"

Round the table, Ewan, Fabien, Luke and Elliott all raise their pints with a collective, "Hear, hear!"

The pub has been cleared out for the lads, thanks to a favour called in by the twins, with the owner being their gym buddy and good friend.

"Thank you," Ewan replies, smirking. "I am your new elf prince, address me as such."

"Your ears have never been pointier, mate," Luke quips.

After a month of moping back home in Derby, or recovering as Ewan prefers to put it, he got a call from his manager telling him that the offer from Bruce still stands.

Apparently, the production team for the movie still had him tapped as the prime choice for the lead. After observing his audience metrics and overall viability, they decided that the movie would fare the best with him in it.

They had planted some half-baked announcements in the media, stating that it was Ewan against Joseph Quinn and Manny Jacinto for the role, and the fan reaction veered in Ewan's favour by a landslide.

Even though Bruce had an unsavoury word or two to say about him, he was willing to work past it, so long as Ewan would be more amenable to his demands.

After careful deliberation, Ewan chose to throw caution to the wind, and accept the role. So what if he has to pretend to have a real-life romance with Jenna? This is what you wanted.

"I'm glad you finally came out to see us, mate," Fabien says. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, fuck's sake. Remind us never to break your heart! That was tough to witness, you hunkerin' down out there all mopey and whatnot," Elliott laughs.

"Mmm." Ewan takes a swig of his beer to hide the wince he couldn't hold back. His friends, and most of the cast know by now, not in too much detail, of what went down between the two of you.

A typical short-lived romance of two actors. A summer fling. Most of them would look back and only see it as that.

Even though it was so much more. Even though Ewan still recalls how warm and soft and beautiful you felt as you whimpered underneath him, the loss of you as painful as getting hit by a freight train.

The liquor helps. Burying himself in work helps. Denial... well, that certainly helps the most.

When he goes out to the back garden for a smoke break with Fabien, he tricks himself into believing it's mere curiosity that compels him to say, "Phia mentioned that you guys went to Atlanta."

Fabien is rendered off guard, because he knows what's coming. "Yeah, we did. Bella came with us too. She was visiting me on set," he says, measuredly.

"Mmm." A long drag, a flick of ash towards the ground, an unaffected shrug - and eventually, with as impassive of a tone as he can muster, Ewan asks, "So how is she?"

Fabien smiles knowingly. "She's doing great. Her film's looking pretty good." He's privy to the truth, after he and Phia managed to gently coax it out of you over several martinis at a hotel bar in Atlanta. But he doesn't think it up to him to reveal that to Ewan, out of respect for your privacy.

While he might not share your sentiment, he thinks it's not in his place to tell Ewan that you basically lied for his sake.

But that doesn't mean he won't drop a helpful nugget or two.

"You know, I don't exactly know what's going on... but her and Jacob came across as nothing more than friends."

Ewan's hand freezes mid-air, the cigarette inches from his lips. He loathes the sense of hope that immediately bloomed in his chest. He's so bloody easy. One miniscule hint, and his delusions break through the wall of indifference he worked so hard to build.

"She said she has feelings for him," Ewan stresses, trying to convince himself. What was the fucking point of all this... this pain... if you never did?

"Hey, mate, I dunno," Fabien puts his hands up, "just telling you what I saw."

"It doesn't matter." It does. "She ended it." He wants you back, he will always want you back. "It's better this way."

"Is it?"

Ewan doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to, without grossly embellishing the truth.

Fabien watches his friend, sensing his hesitation as he averts his gaze. One thing becomes clear to him - you and Ewan are far from being over.

So he says, "She misses you, you know."

Ewan regards him with a stony look, one that slowly softens to reveal the broken boy inside. For but a moment, before he clears his throat and throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

"Let's head back inside."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

December

You're back in London, as production for your film is paused for the upcoming holiday season.

Work is supposed to be the last thing on your mind, but it just so happens that your manager has you booked for a chemistry read for a yet undisclosed film.

Phia came over to your apartment, insisting that she help you get ready. When you asked how she found out about your audition, she was quick to say that she was up for the role as well but didn't think it was right for her.

"Why not?" you ask, as she hovers over you, patting blush on the apples of your cheeks.

"Oh, you just get a feel for these things."

"Phi, it's just a chemistry read," you say, when she reaches for the mascara. "I don't need to get all dolled up for this."

She gasps, "Oh, but this is showbiz, darling. We always have to put a face on."

"Fine," you relent. "Do your worst."

The makeup she ends up doing on you is minimal, but it enhances your features just the right amount. You rush through your final preparations, folding up the script sample you were given and stuffing it in your purse.

Phia stands out on your balcony, in the middle of a call. The window screen is slightly open, so you hear snippets of the conversation as you walk by.

"Is he ready?" she asks. Who's he? You assume it's the guy you are doing the read with.

You don't know about him, but you are ready, so you stick your head out to say, "I gotta go, Phi."

"Oh!" She startles a little, angling her phone away. "Already?"

"Yeah, the read's at 4, I believe. Just lock the door when you leave, 'kay?"

She hurriedly whispers something to her phone, presumably ending her call. "I'll actually head out with you," she grins. "My work here is done anyway."

"Any plans for the night?"

She shrugs, "Might meet with Tom and Martha."

"Oh, why don't I meet you guys after my thing?"

"Uhhhm," she chews on her lip, thinking. Under her breath, you barely hear her mumble, "... hoping you'd be busy."

"What?" A restrained chuckle escapes you, confused as to why she's being so coy.

"Nothing," she tilts her head. "We can meet if you'd like."

The weird exchange is out of your mind when you arrive at the casting agency. You run the scene through in your head as you walk in the building, up the elevator, down the long hallway.

It's a heartfelt scene, if not a little tense, a dialogue between reunited ex-lovers.

Your manager Polina and publicist Mallory greet you at the doors, swiftly briefing you before directing you in.

"They're waiting, just walk right in, doll," Polina says.

"Okay, wish me luck!" You have your hand on the door handle when Mallory strangely remarks, "Don't hate us, sweetheart!"

"Why would I - "

"Go, go," Polina guides you in, then shuts the door behind you.

The office sports an spacious and open layout, with plenty of natural light streaming through large windows. The primary workstation is partially hidden behind a subtle partition. You see silhouettes of a few people behind it, so you walk down that way.

The figures reveal themselves soon enough - the casting agents you recognise as Patrick and Amie, sitting in front of the actor you're meant to read with.

A range of emotion washes over you, but you don't even have time to reckon with them. The casting agents divert your attention from Ewan, as they approach you with wide smiles in greeting.

"So nice to finally meet you!" Amie croons. "Take a seat. You two already know each other, of course. Between us, there won't really be a question of chemistry here."

"Right?" Patrick adds, looking between you and Ewan. "The fans sure think so, and we have to say we already agree."

"So just give us a minute to set up," Amie says. "Then we'll start."

You smile stiffly, settling down on the opposite end of the couch. You keep your gaze straight, trying to keep your attention on Patrick as he sets up the camera. Your heartbeat races the entire time, and you feel your hands getting clammy.

"They're all in on it," you hear Ewan say, prompting you to finally look at him directly. You take him in hungrily, admiring his outline, ever so handsome with his Targaryen-blonde hair and black leather jacket.

A weak "Mmm?" is all you can muster.

"Our teams, Tom, Phia... they set us up. Tom came over and I overheard him on the phone with Phia."

"Oh," you mumble. He doesn't even spare you a glance, leaning on the armrest on his side of the couch. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, next to you, and it hurts.

It's what you deserve.

"Is this not a real chemistry read?" you ask meekly.

"I suppose it is," he laughs humourlessly, "but it's not a coincidence that you and I just happen to be the only ones scheduled for today." He turns to you, giving you a critical sideways glance. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"I... I can leave if you want - "

"Mmm," his brows furrow, "you do seem to be good at that."

You look away. He is not being fair, but you weren't neither, that wretched night back in September.

And he is making you pay for it now.

But then you hear him speak in a softer tone, "Stay."

Stay. When you look at him once more, his attention is entirely on you, arm outstretched on the couch like he just tried to reach for you but decided against it.

Stay, he asked. So you do.

It's what you should have done, months ago.

"Okay, guys. Whenever you're ready," Amie says. She and Patrick take their seats in front of you, with the camera on a stand between them.

The script crinkles on your lap as you hold it with shaky fingers. "It's been a while," you read out your opening line.

The dialogue plays out twisted and ironic, now that you know who your scene partner is.

"Hardly," Ewan responds in character. "I feel like no time as passed."

"Feels like a lifetime."

He pauses, then sighs, "Do you even miss me?"

"How... how can you even ask me that?"

"How can I - "

"Why didn't you... why didn't you fight for me?" your voice breaks, the lines hitting a bit too close to home.

"You're a fucking hypocrite," he spits with venom. "You weren't exactly giving me anything to fight for."

"I did it for us. I did it all for us." If you didn't feel like crying at the weight of the scene, you would have rolled your eyes at the similarities.

"Like I said - nothing to fight for."

"Nothing? So you're telling me I was nothing to you."

"No," he levels you with an icy look, "you were everything to me. Everything. But you left me behind, and for what? So you can run off with the rebel sect?"

"The mission needed me. You wouldn't understand." You feel a sense of relief when the sci-fi elements roll in, otherwise you might have given in to your emotions and sobbed right there on the damn couch.

"I needed you," Ewan says, eyes not leaving yours. "I needed you and you abandoned me, just like that."

"And are you not better for it? When I left, did they not make you General?"

"See, that is the difference between you and I," he says coldly. "I wouldn't have traded what we had for anything - no position, no amount of wealth, no glory... I would have chosen us every time."

"Aaand cut!" Patrick jokes, effectively breaking the tension.

The two of you have unconsciously drifted closer, now only a foot part. Ewan does not drop your gaze, watching you closely. You see his eyes flit down to your parted lips, and he leans in almost imperceptibly.

"Alright, how about we go one more time?" Amie says, diverting your attention. "Give us a different take, and then that's it!"

Ewan settles back on his end of the couch. When he reads his lines again, his tone is harsher and he no longer meets your eyes.

Patrick and Amie commend you both afterward, singing praises about your acting abilities. Ewan is polite as always, blushing and grateful, but he practically dashes out of the door when the meeting finishes.

You're left standing with Amie, as Patrick has taken to his laptop to file the footage.

"The way he looks at you," she sighs dreamily, referring to Ewan. "You'd think the sun shone out your arse, doll."

"He... he was just in character," you disagree. "He's a good actor, as you know."

"Yeah, I mean, he nailed the part's rancour perfectly. But his eyes - oof - you've got a good one there."

Oh. Of course they would still assume you and him are together.

How desperately you want it to be true.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An hour later, you've just sent Phia a text saying - You owe me. Where do I meet you guys?

But you hear a knock on your apartment door. If you didn't buzz anyone in, it can only be a neighbour or someone the doorman recognised.

Someone familiar to you.

And it's him.

"Ewan?"

"I need to speak with you."

You step aside so he doesn't linger at your doorway. He walks past you, a welcome if not unexpected presence in the room.

You can't decipher his expression, his gaze angled downward as he leans against your kitchen counter.

When the silence becomes almost deafening, you laugh awkwardly, about to make some silly remark on whether he is still in character. But he doesn't let you diffuse the tension.

"I want you," he blurts out without warning. "God help me, I still want you. I think I might have a fucking problem because how can I... after what you did - " A momentary glance of betrayal, but you see the spite clear in his eyes. " - but I do. I can't get you out of my system."

"I'm sorry - "

"I don't need that," he says sharply. "I don't need your sorry. I need you. I need to have you, and maybe this way, I'll satisfy whatever pointless desire I still have in me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - I'm asking - will you let me have you?"

"Ewan, I don't under - "

"I'm saying that we should sleep together," he says bluntly, and it feels like the rug has been pulled from under your feet, "but only just. You won't be mine, and I won't be yours."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head, before adding, "Don't worry. It'll be our little secret. To the rest of the world, I'll have a different girlfriend anyway."

His words register, along with the bitter ache at his words, that you won't be his, he won't be yours. This is purely for pleasure. There used to be love here, and now he just craves the comfort your body allows.

You'll be using each other.

You should refuse. This is not healthy; this is not how you move on. Can you even go back to being good friends after this? But also - what have you got to lose?

What, except for him, and for good this time?

What, except everything?

"So what do you say - " He closes in on you, and with every bit of malice intended, the name no longer possessing the sweetness it once held, he sneers, "- darling?"

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @onlyrealjoy (continued ... )

Some notes in the margins...

Well well well... the transition from friends to lovers to strangers to angsty FWBs sure is a slippery slope!

The time jumps are so we get through the moping quicker! It's mostly back to the regular shenanigans in the next part. Only, you know, angst-ridden. But you hurt Ewan, reader. *wags finger* Don't say you didn't expect this switch! Tsktsk

So what now - will you accept this arrangement? Will things ever be truly okay? Part 7 is going to be hot and hilarious and stupid and messy, just as the doctor ordered.

Let's hash it out in the comments, shall we? 🗡💕

[kryannoy]

Hello hello!! I Hope your day is good ^^ could I request Sakura and Suo w a reader with ‘nerdier’ interests and collections whos kind of avoided by her/their classmates for it? (Nerdy as in Anime figures, aliens, that kinda stuff!!) I’m not sure if your requests are open or not so if not, my apologies!!

THE "WEIRD" KID IN SCHOOL

genre: fluff, sfw

characters: sakura, suo

a/n: some parts in suo makes me feel contradicting and sad because of how delusional it sounded. the part where they talking about fictional characters when suo himself is fictional 😔

SAKURA HARUKA

Doesn't understand why you like those stuff.

Doesn't understand why you waste your money on figurines and be left in the open that take up space and collect dust.

Doesn't understand why you keep them in the first place.

He would just look at them in confusion with the happy, dancing figurines star back at him.

He doesn't touch them but does take a close look while leaning down with his hands on his knees and ask why.

"Because!" You pause. "Because they look cool and give some vibes to my room."

'Uh huh, yeah, very,' he thought as he looked around your room full of posters of the same kind and a bookshelf full of manga with more trinkets. He doesn't want to sound rude so he decided staying quiet was best. 'Looks just like Kiryu's place.'

After all, who is he to have a say on what your room looked like.

He'll ask you the name of some characters that he somehow has seen before, "Who's this?" He points to a Genshin character as he looks over his shoulder.

"That's Xiao. Did he catch your eye as well?" You grin.

"Not really. He looks the familiar with the one I saw in Kiryu's room."

That was his first experience visiting your room though.

Other days, he'll sit there and listen to you ramble on about a game or anime characters. Or even the newly released episode. Or the plot of an anime or game. Sometimes he'll stuff his face with food, but still pay attention to you, while you waste your saliva.

He'll get confused at first but if you keep talking or following up to the next update, he gets used to it and will comment on his perspective.

One time you watch an action anime with Sakura, he gets frustrated most of the time when the main character gets a hit. Or say the villain is weak if the main character kicks their butt.

DO NOT let him watch ANY anime or show where the main character is weak. It gets to his nerves and you have to hear him complaining instead.

When you're ready to login to a game, he'll ask you, "Are you going to play that game from last time?"

He wants to watch you play the game that you started with him. He wants to know the plot too.

Loves to watch you play Final Fantasy.

Cheers you on beside you during battle and gets frustrated with you when you lose. Breathes a sigh of relief with you when you clear the boss level with a red HP bar.

SUO HAYATO

Does not care if you ramble all day about the things you like.

He loves actually. It's because you have that charm when you talk about them. You're always so passionate and expressive when you talk about the new anime/manga you caught up, or a game you just bought.

He's also another one who happens to be the "Don't look at me with those eyes!" "What eyes?" scenario.

He watches you admiringly as you talk a mile a minute. It's because he knows you don't get to talk about your interests at school that much so he'll lend you his ears.

You showed him a game one time that lets you customize your character. "Look! I made you! You're in the game now," you say as you move the character in a circle and zoom in to his face to give the real Suo a closer look.

He holds back the cuteness aggression he's having.

He was beaming when you proudly showed him your creation. "Wow! You even got the same earrings."

Immediately sits next to you and kisses your temple and then watches you play.

He's still holding back the cuteness aggression when you made the character jump around from how happy you are. He feels so included it touched him.

Definitely watched Link Click and Ne Zha with you. He likes it but laughs even more to see you getting giddy every time the two main characters of Link Click come up on screen.

To be honest, he feels a little jealous to see how in love you are with those two fictional characters or any male characters you fangirl about.

Because you already have him, why let out a pterodactyl scream into the pillow every time the character gets only two seconds of screen time?

But being the mature gentleman he is, he won't be petty. After all, they're not real. And they can't hold you or kiss you like he can. Some of the characters can't even protect you like he can.

"You know, your boyfriend is sitting next to you and holding your hand but you still have the audacity to fangirl about other non-existing guys?" He spoke so softly but the venom pierced through you is unbearable. He only wanted to see your reaction, he doesn't want to hurt any of your feelings.

Now how the heck are you going to answer him?