#just a lil drabbly thing

[ohblimeygeorge]

I saw an anon ask to @russilton about pregnant George learning to crochet and this just instantly came to me and I had to get it down.

I’ve never written gewis before so this was fun!

✨✨✨

George is nothing if not an over thinker. Lewis knows that much.

So it’s not a total surprise to find an empty spot next to him in bed at 2:36am.

George does this sometimes, when his mind is working overtime and he has so many thoughts going through his brain that he finds himself getting restless and feeling smothered by the rumpled bedsheets and another warm body snoring next to him, so takes himself off to make a cuppa in the kitchen where he can take a moment to breathe and focus his mind into the night sky past the kitchen window and on the life still bustling about below. He’ll spend half an hour or so there before feeling calmer and able to slip back in beside Lewis, no longer feeling overwhelmed and instead snuggling back under Lewis’ arm to cuddle in close. Lewis panicked the first few times it happened, demanding to know what was wrong and wanting to help but now he realises that sometimes George just needs that space and he’ll come back when he’s ready.

So he dozes off again, fully expecting the next time he wakes to find his missing boyfriend back where belongs.

It’s 4:24am and George is still missing.

This starts setting alarms bells ringing in Lewis’ head because this is unusual. It’s been almost 2 hours and he’s still not come back. Lewis knows George has been doing his disappearing act a little more lately, knows the kind of thoughts he’s having and knows now more than ever George has been feeling especially claustrophobic when he gets like this.. but Lewis can’t help but worry. Even if George waves him off to go back to bed, he needs to find him.

So he shoves his slippers on and stumbles into the kitchen, expecting to find him there sipping on his camomile tea, sleep creases on his face, hair wild. But he’s not.

He checks the living room - not there. Bathroom? George has been known to spend quite a bit of time in there as of late so it’s not unreasonable Lewis thinks. Not in there either.

Then he realises there’s only one room really left to check.

Walking back down the hall, he notices the door slightly ajar so knows he’s right. Pushing it open more, he’s immediately hit with the soft glow of the lamp on the dresser and the comfy armchair in the corner is filled with George’s lanky limbs and rounded belly. And he’s - knitting?

“George?”

Jumping at the voice, George looks up and freezes mid stitch, cheeks blushing red at being caught. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Lewis replies dumbly, moving into the room and leaning up against the changing table. “You’ve been gone ages.”

“Oh, sorry..” George apologises, just now spotting what the time is by the clock on the dresser, “lost track of time.”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Ok… why are you knitting at four in the morning?”

With an exasperated sigh, George lays his craft on his belly, “it’s not knitting, Lew, I’ve told you, it’s crochet.” He explains, as if Lewis is the dumbest guy ever to not know the difference no matter how many times George has told him now, “and I just thought I should carry on making some cute things for her.”

After not being allowed to race anymore, George had to find something else to occupy his time. Lewis genuinely thought he’d just stay at the pit wall or hang around the garage, not being able to stay away but no. He went into full on nesting mode and decided he wanted to learn a new hobby that would benefit the baby so crochet it was. He was actually pretty good - although Lewis knew George was great at anything he put his mind to - and had already made a few hats and a blanket for her and made Lewis a scarf which he wore at the very next race, showing off George’s accomplishments.

“Right…” Lewis is still confused at the explanation but thinks there’s a little something more to it. “And you thought this time of morning was the ideal time to start?”

“Mhm.”

Lewis watches him for a moment, his concentration fixed as he methodically follows the YouTube tutorial which he’s only just now noticed George has up on his phone perched on the arm. It’s suppose to be a cardigan apparently, looks like it’ll turn out super cute with the colour matching the already made blanket and Lewis would be lying if he said he couldn’t imagine how adorable their daughter would look in it. But so far George had only made the back and half an arm so there was still some way to go. He’s impressed with how good it looks already. He watches him a little while longer, noting the characteristic crease between his brows and knows he’s trying his hardest to quiet his brain. Bending down to be level with him and earning a quiet snort from George as his knees creak with the effort, Lewis places his hand on George’s knee, gaining his full attention once more. “Babe, talk to me.”

He doesn’t expect it, but George suddenly tears up and it’s like once he’s started, he can’t stop. Startled, Lewis pauses his video for him and gently takes the half made cardigan and crochet hooks out of George’s hands and places it down on the floor carefully before pulling him in for a hug. He lets George cry it out before he feels ready to talk, running a soothing hand up and down his back, letting his nails lightly scratch at the same time the way he knows George likes. It’s a little awkward of an angle especially with the bump but Lewis doesn’t care. “Talk to me.” He repeats softly.

Letting out a choked breath as he stems his tears, George sits back and places his hands around his bump protectively, rubbing his thumbs on the skin where he can feel her wiggling about. “I just.. I just want things to go right.”

“What do you mean?” Lewis asks

“Well, like, what if something goes wrong with the birth? What if I do something wrong and it hurts her? I haven’t even packed a bag yet and there’s only a few weeks left to go and there’s so much to do in here still! And what if when she is here we don’t know what to do with her? Like how will we know what her cries mean? Or what time to put her to bed and wake her up? How will we know when to start helping her to roll over or crawl or walk? Or what if she doesn’t like us? Doesn’t like me?” He finished his ramble with a big stuttering inhale, blue eyes wide and watery.

Lewis knew George was a pretty emotional person anyway but pregnancy hormones had amplified that. So he knew not to react unkindly despite how silly some of the things he was worried over sounded. “George, babe, listen to me okay? You have nothing to be worried about. The bag thing, we’ll sort tomorrow yeah? Get it sorted, no problem. The room can wait because she’ll be sleeping in with us for at least the next 6 months anyway.” He soothed, “You won’t do anything to hurt her because I know you would do anything to make sure she’s safe. And no parent knows what they’re doing first time round yeah? It’s all learning and trial and error and learning what works for us as a family. And things like walking, we really don’t need to worry about that just yet.” He chuckled, “and of course she’ll like you. She’ll adore you. Just like I do.”

George just gave a pathetic little sniffle as he listened to what his boyfriend had to say. “I’m sorry for being so stupid.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands still rubbing patterns on his skin.

Lewis looked personally offended at that and placed his hands on George’s cheeks getting him to focus fully on him. “Don’t ever apologise for being worried ok? And you are not stupid. This whole becoming a parent thing is really scary for me too, so I’m right there with you but all we need to focus on is not things going right but just doing this together and loving her. That’s all we can do and the rest will follow, yeah?”

George nodded as best he could with his face being held in the protective grip of Lewis.

Feeling satisfied that he understood, Lewis let go and bent down to pick up the forgotten item on the floor. “Now, why don’t you carry on with this for a bit longer? Then we can come back to bed and get some sleep.” Lewis suggested, handing back the little pink half-cardigan.

“We?” George asked, confused, “Lew, it’s okay, you can go back to bed. It’ll be boring just watching me.”

“Nah, I want to.” Lewis answered, sitting back on the floor to lean his back against the dresser and getting comfy. “Besides, I can watch you and maybe pick up a few tips and then we can make a whole wardrobe for her!”

George just let out a snort as he saw Lewis’ cheeky smirk, settling himself to get cosy in the chair again before pressing play on his phone to resume the video.

After half an hour of comfortable, peaceful silence, both men were asleep, letting out soft snores in their soon-to-be daughter’s room.

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker.

They had a soft, kind voice, with soft kind hands, and even softer, kinder eyes.

They laughed a lot, and made him laugh too, and didn’t seem to notice when he laughed too long or too loudly or too gracelessly.

They gave him food, nice things, and clothes that fit, and a bed (a real bed, just for them!), but… There was one thing in particular that Whumpee liked the most.

See, Whumpee had never needed to be broken. They’d never dare intentionally step out of line, not even in their wildest dreams or most terrifying nightmares. But, they were flawed. Deeply. And made many mistakes.

But, where Whumper had attributed those mistakes to malice, Caretaker merely corrected him, forgave him, helped him.

He remembered fondly (oh how strange to remember anything fondly) the day Caretaker first brought him home. He had tripped over the edge of the welcome mat, and fell hard, knocking the coat rack down with him.

He had been braced for blows, or at best the yelling and screaming that always reduced him to tears, but, instead, Caretaker had crouched down and asked if he was okay. He had stared, blankly (stupidly), at them, covered in coats and scarves, until Caretaker had moved to help him. He’d flinched, and Caretaker still hadn’t struck him. Instead, they offered a hand, and helped him up.

Caretaker smiled, awkward and toothy and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and apologized, (apologized, to him, of all things!) making a little joke about how welcome mat wasn’t very welcoming.

Whumpee had stared for a moment more, still braced for this all to be a trick. Then, it was like something inside him broke, like a rubber band snapping, and he laughed. He’d laughed, hysterical and ugly, till tears came to his eyes, and then couldn’t stop them.

He’d begged through tears that he was sorry, that he was trying to be good (an old habit that had still never died, despite having every reason to), but Caretaker still didn’t raise a hand against him.

He didn’t remember all the details, after that, only that Caretaker had brought him into the kitchen, and given him a mug of something warm and sweet, and sat down across from him. And had let him cry, only interrupting to assure him that he was not in trouble and to hand him a tissue.

Yes, Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker. Their heart most of all.

[demonvibez]

A/N: I haven't actually played lesson 40 yet, but I've seen a ton of spoilers, and they made me emo af XD so I quick wrote this to get my thoughts out ~ may not be canonically accurate lol

You suddenly appear back in the House of Lamentation, slightly bewildered after the effects of the portal - you're in your room again, and everything is exactly where you left it. Your eyebrows furrow for a moment before you shake your head, disbelief filling your mind as you process your surroundings. You question to yourself if you're really back, is this really your timeline? From what you can infer, it would appear so - everything in the room lines up with your memories. But how long were you gone? How long before your demons started to frenzy, turning over every stone in the realm until they find you?

But you're back now.

Surely, they missed you. Surely, they've been attacked with grief and turmoil as you've spent months traversing through the past, doing your best to heal them as you mask your own weaknesses, your own fears, your own anxieties. Doing your best to get back to them. It feels like you have been gone a lifetime, and surely they've felt that, too.

Except, when you push open the doors of the House Library, and announce your return, you can't help but to feel a certain way at their lackluster responses.

Ah yes, time travel.

You're glad to have your demons back - and part of you is glad to hear that they have missed you without knowing why. But at this moment, it all hits you. At this moment, everything you have compartmentalized has come busting forth in your brain - all of the trials and tribulations of going back into the past has caught up with you.

You went through so much - and it wasn't their fault.

But it does throw you for a loop when you finally return home to your demons, but they never noticed you left.

To them, it was a night of sleep; to you, it was months of trying to prove yourself...

And that bothers you.

It's not your fault. It's not their fault, either.

But the idea unsettles you nonetheless...

· demonvibez ♡ 2024 · do not copy, repost or modify · · likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

[seiwas]

This is a snippet from the complete fic here!

You don’t know how Kirishima does it, being all… him all the time.

A part of you always thinks you don’t deserve it—how he meets you with tender understanding when you can’t even muster a smile.

You should be dealing with this on your own.

By yourself.

Not with him having to stay home a while longer instead of starting his morning in the gym, where he can enjoy the rare time he has to himself.

You feel terrible.

“Sorry, it’s nothing, just—” you sigh, pressing your palms to your eyes. Your hands are still damp from washing the dishes.

Kirishima’s presence has always been hard to miss—big, bright, and entirely all-comforting. He crosses the kitchen island to get to you now, hand reaching for the back of your head as he pushes you gently towards his chest.

It’s that familiar presence that makes you feel like crying right now.

“Hey, hey,” he shushes, his other hand rubbing up and down your lower back, “it’s okay.”

He’d already gotten ready for the gym when he heard the clatter, rushing out to the kitchen with his protein shaker in one hand and gym bag over his shoulder. You’d toppled over the dish soap and groaned out in frustration, watching the liquid ooze down the drain along with every bit of your self-composure.

It was one of those things; one of those days—that feeling you’ve been having lately triggered by the simplest, most unrelated occurrence.

Kirishima doesn’t say anything, just lets his heartbeat do the talking. Steady, grounding, like a weighted blanket wrapped around the whole of you.

He’s not going to be able to squeeze in a gym session before work if he stays with you any longer like this.

“You should go soon,” you mumble, voice muffled against his chest, the dri-fit material of his muscle tank cool against your forehead.

“In a bit,” he whispers, only holding you closer.

[volivolition]

part of that "raising a kid au" i was working on, this is almost definitely not how skill checks work and i don't even know if i'll include this, but for now i think it's. so funny kjkgj

[so-long-soldier-writes]

drabble #13 - the massage

kai parker x reader

summary: kai's sure he'll win the bet. you're positive he won't.

tags: massage, teasing, clingy!kai, minor mention of murder (bc it's kai)

word count: 835

a/n: idk why i'm in my cheesy fluff era of writing, but here's more

“Relax,” you giggle, feeling his muscles tense. 

“I’m trying! It’s weird.”

“It’ll feel so much better if you stop moving around.”

“What are you even doing?”

“Trying to help you relax.”

Kai sighs, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. Nevertheless, he stops adjusting his position and takes a deep breath.

“There you go.”

He mumbles something incomprehensible, but you don’t respond. After a second, you start again. The massage tool in your hand makes a slightly squeaky sound as you run it up his back. You make circles on his shoulder blades, then inch up to his neck. He shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Kai!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No! Yes! I don’t know!”

“Pick one. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t stop. I like it, it’s just weird.”

“I can be more gentle.” You do, but he only mumbles more.

“Now I can’t feel it at all.”

“Well then you’re going to have to sit still.”

“I just… what are you even holding?” Without much warning, he flips around to face you. The massage roller in your hand receives a weird stare that makes you laugh. “What even is that?”

“It’s a little tool that helps you relax by easing the knots in your neck and back. Now do you want me to continue, or not?”

“Where do you buy something like that?”

“Literally anywhere. Dollar Tree. Target.”

“I’ve never seen that in my life.”

“Your life has never lived in this decade, Malachai. You lived in the nineties for twenty years.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying! Things are different now. We have massage rollers.”

“Weird.”

“Unless you’d prefer to go to an actual massage person, but I bet you’d chicken out.”

He gives you a look. “Me? Chicken out? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Um, yes, actually. I’m talking to someone who would absolutely chicken out if anyone but me was touching them.”

“Bet you twenty dollars you’re wrong.”

“You don’t even have twenty dollars.”

“Yes I do.”

“From where? You-”

“Borrowed some the other day.”

“Borrowed?”

“Stole,” he corrects.

“You- Kai!”

“It’s okay! He was using it anymore!”

“Now why’s that? Is he dead?”

“...Maybe.”

“Kai, you can’t-”

“He shouldn’t have made that comment about you within my earshot. He had it coming.”

“Good lord, boy.”

“So twenty dollars I can get through this message-”

“Massage.”

“-thing you’re talking about. I win, you owe me.”

“Probably won’t happen.”

“Guess we’ll see.”

You’ll admit, Kai being anywhere without you gives you an extreme amount of anxiety. Not only because he’s a sociopathic serial killer, but also because you’re overprotective of him almost to a fault. Despite his bully-like attitude to many, he’s a child at heart. He’s gone through so much to make him the way he is, starting in early childhood, and you can’t bear for him to have anymore trauma. It’s probably toxic, thinking of him in such an endearing way, but you can’t help it. You love him. 

“It’ll be one hour, okay?” The massage therapist says as she takes him back. You nod your head at her and Kai’s little wink, then she brings him to the back. 

He bonded to you immediately. Maybe it was because you could see past the bad boy persona he donned on to gain respect. Maybe it was because you were the first to give him a second chance after the merge. Regardless of the reason, he learned you were a person he could trust, so he did. And even though all your friends tell you you’re brave to be friends with such a dangerous person, you’re there for him anyway. He’s pretty sure he loves you, even though he’s afraid to admit it. 

You pull out your phone to pass the time with a game, but no more than ten minutes later, the therapist returns to the waiting room. She catches your attention with a cough, to which you look up questioningly. 

“He’s asking for you,” she says. “I think he’s nervous.”

A little smile creeps on your face at the knowledge that you’ve won. You were right, and he was so determined he could beat you. “Okay.”

She brings you to the room where he’s lying down on the table. You can’t see his face until he pops up slightly to look at you. 

“Hi.”

“Hi there.”

Neither of you bring up the bet. Boy, he does look nervous. A non-joking Kai is a worried Kai, and for a split second, you wonder just how bad of an idea this is. 

“Can you just stay here?”

“Of course.”

“I’m gonna need you to relax,” the woman says, seeing the tension in his muscles before even touching him. 

You take his hand in hopes to reassure him. A little squeeze elicits a deep breath, and a lot of the strain drops. 

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

He shakes his head despite the awkward position on his stomach. “No,” he mutters, rather muffled, “just them.”

[withacapitalp]

She’s still here.

It’s been seven days since she showed up. Or, at least, it’s been seven days since Steve noticed her. If she died the night of his party, the way Nancy said she did, then it’s been ten days. 

He can still remember the first one. His grandfather. Steve was six when Grandpa Joe died. A freak heart attack when he was in the middle of brushing his teeth. Steve had been forced to go to a strange room filled with people wearing black who were talking in soft hushed tones and crying. 

His dad said that his Grandpa was in heaven, a far away place he could never come back from. No one listened when Steve attempted to tell them that Grandpa Joe was right there. 

Steve kept trying, explaining that his grandfather wasn’t in that box. He was sitting next to Grandma Annie, brushing his hand through her hair while she sobbed into her hands. He even waved to Steve, and he was speaking, but Steve couldn’t hear him. 

Grandpa Joe had faded at the funeral. One minute he was sitting next to Steve, trying to say something, and the next he was gone. Steve’s dad had been forced to carry him out of the church when his son had started screaming about not being able to hear. 

After that, he stopped telling people when he saw the ghosts. He acted like they didn’t even exist. 

In the end, it didn’t really matter that he could see them. They only ever lasted for a few days after dying anyway. The longest he had ever seen was five. There was no point in interacting when there was only one way things could end. Eventually the spirit burned through whatever energy was still keeping them tethered and they would fade away. 

At least, that’s what he always said to himself. 

But she’s been sitting by his pool for seven days. Maybe ten. And she didn’t show any signs of fading. She just sat there on the diving board all day and all night, staring down at the water and dragging the toe of her sneaker along the surface. 

It was like she was a skipping record, repeating the same five seconds over and over. 

Steve usually tried to ignore them, he had a rule about speaking to the ghosts. They weren’t supposed to be here anymore, and talking to them only delayed the inevitable. 

But if she was staying this long, then she needed something, and Steve felt like he owed it to Nancy to at least try and help. 

So for the first time since his grandfather, Steve approached a spirit and called their name. 

“Barb?” 

[backintimeforstuff]

If msr had an arm wrestle who would win and why would it be Scully

Mulder would just be too preoccupied with a) trying not to hurt her and b) getting to hold her hand and gaze longingly into her eyes without needing an excuse that he'd stop paying attention to the game and just watch in adoration as she slams his arm onto the table

[sttoru]

idk who needs to hear this but write what the fuck u want man 😭😭 drabbles & long fics about whatevaaaaa. jus do what YOU want, not because you feel obligated to

[heymrspatel]

i need a matching christmas pants ramble

Y E S! please i love this so much. it's also one of those things i didn't know i needed until like right now, you know?

ian comes home with his arms full of bags the day before christmas eve. he left to pick up some groceries, he said. some snacks to tide them over. chocolate. popcorn. hot chips. because they're not moving a muscle on christmas eve, he said. he's calling it The Plan. it's been settled. no one reach them. no one come knocking. do not disturb will be in full effect, he said. christmas day? yea, that's for the family. they'll gather around in the living room and watch movies and eat and drink - have a classic gallagher throwdown. but, ian has to prepare for christmas eve. that's just for him and mickey, he said. quiet. calm. cozy...

they need pajamas!

he's gone for a couple hours. and for the life of him, mickey can't figure out why. pop in. walk down the snack aisle. pop out. what else could hold him up? ian not giving anything away. being cryptic and secretive and... endearing.

ian 👅: i got the bbq pringles do you want another flavor? ..... ian 👅: no baby i'm still here ian 👅: grabbing a few more things ...... ian 👅: relax mick... i'll be home in a bit ..... ian 👅: it has NOT been 5 hours ian 👅: you miss me that much? 😏 ..... ian 👅: i just saw a dog in a shopping cart!!! ian 👅: IMG_0710

he barges in. with 284 bags. stands in the doorway. shifty eyes surveilling his surroundings. finally locking onto mickey. standing in the kitchen doorway, hands on his hips, nibbling a hole through his bottom lip.

a standoff. two pairs of eyes. assessing. mickey sees the bags threatening to slip out of ian's fingers. an arm stretched out - stopping a big tote bag from sliding all the way down, straps caught on his bicep. ian sees the lit up phone in mickey's hand, opened to their messages. the amused as fuck look on his face. eyebrows to the sky. a smirk he's about to kiss off in a few minutes. once he shows mickey his bounty.

ian kicking the door shut. mickey thumbing at his eyebrow. ian relieving himself of his treasures. mickey sighing. putting his phone down. walking over to help with their "snacks". and.... he sees it. The Plan.

lots of snacks, yes. but also, a blanket. candles - four different ones. a couple of mugs. hot chocolate. whipped cream. candy canes. a gingerbread house kit. a mistletoe. and... pajamas.

two midnight blue pajama pants. with a green christmas tree, red gift, and white snowman pattern.

two. matching. pants.

and like hell mickey is wearing those! LIKE HELL! absolutely not-

-------

debbie finally put franny to bed. the excitement of christmas morning prolonging their bedtime routine by an hour. finally she gets to sit and exhale. picking up her phone for a little scrolling time. swipe swipe swipe. scroll scroll scroll. tap tap tap... and oh! a pause on iangallagher96's story. he's posted three pictures. one: two mugs of hot chocolate. two: ian and mickey. ian with a whipped cream mustache and mickey with a candy cane sticking out of his mouth like a cigarette. three: their overlapping legs. propped up on their coffee table. ian's hand on mickey's thigh. wearing matching pajama pants.

The Plan setting off a yearslong tradition.

[whump-queen]

“You did so well”

It’s the way whumper says it—the way they speak to whumpee. It’s their voice—half the time angry, biting, and degrading, only to mutate into something sickeningly sweet in the aftermath of the pain, when whumper leans in close with sticky murmurs of affection—of mocking praise.

A toxic, slimy liquid that drips from whumper’s lips and oozes thick and heavy down whumpee’s ears and neck and shoulders.

It makes whumpee’s skin crawl. 

Or at least, it did.

At first. 

But there comes a point, during the more creative of whumper’s tortures, where the pain becomes too much, where the excruciating burn of the knife or the sear of the brand is blacking out whumpee’s brain and shoving their head deep underwater, shrinking their existence down through a tiny pinhole, only to be materialized again on the other side, dazed beyond belief, panting and shaking and still bound in whumper’s arms. 

It’s those precious few moments of reprieve in the aftermath, where the warmth of whumper’s shoulder against their cheek is enough for whumpee to sink into it— For their teeth to unclench, for their shoulders to slump against whumper’s torso, for their shaking knees to crumple into whumper’s lap.

For each part of them to give up—to give in— until they’re spilling hot tears into the fabric between shaking, heaving breaths, staining whumper’s shirt with the small beads of blood that still weep from their bitten lip.

Whumper only holds whumpee’s head tightly against their shoulder and let’s them ride out the sobs. 

tags—>

taglist: @whumpshaped  @whumpsday  @emmettnet  @a-whump-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @wolfeyedwitch  @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish  @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby @the-beasts-have-arrived just ask to be added or removed <33

[gothsuguru]

pspsppsps….. kairo……………

….. thoughts :33c……..

(also ily and i miss you and i hope you’re taking care of yourself!!!! reading manga and relaxing and eating well <333 mwahh)

FIRST THOUGHTS . THAT MAN IS MOTHERFATHER……… a milfdilf if i’ve ever seen one the motherfatherism at first glance is LITERALLY off the scales…………… ALSO THE LOWLIDDED EYES + SMIRK + SLIGHTLY CONDESCENDING YET KIND POSE……… AND THE WHITE HAIR??? RAHHHHHHHHHH I NEED HIM BADDDDDDDDD

i am looking at Him . Respectfully <3 omg but he really does look SO cool i LOOOOOOOVE the red & black combo it’s The Most Elite combo known to mankind and then couple that w white long hair??? deelishus <333 AND THE LIONDNNDNDNDN satoru gojo is that you…

ALSO :3 ILY AND I MISS YOU TOO <333 idk why but my energy for typing has lessened over the weeks so i’ve just been reading hehe (YOU NEEEEEEEED TO READ THE ELUSIVE SAMURAI & SAKAMOTO DAYS… best mangas ever created they have the kairo stamp of approval i cried during elusive samurai & was Shook by sakamoto days at every turn god these mangas are so good omfg………)

ANOTHER ALSO!!!! HOW ARE YOUUUUUUU FRIEND :3 i hope everything is going well & that you’re resting up hehe i read the dilfguru drabble and my heart and brain are healed TRUST ME i’m gonna be sobbing in the tags of it soon like #Trust #Me

^ also you ^_^

[baalzebufo]

good ol fashioned razzmatazz

SO I wrote more... :) ive wanted to do a series of scenes from Gideon's life for a while now- moments in time we didn't see in the show. mostly past, maybe some present or future, depending. wanted to explore his life a little more, and the headcanons ive got surrounding it. drabbles is the best way to solve this because i cant write one long cohesive plot very well haha

ive got a handful of ideas in mind but this is the first one that i finished to any degree. just a little scene from his childhood. gideon makes his first sale, and learns something about himself.

‘What are you up to, sweetie?’

‘Shh- it’s a secret.’

Gideon hushed his mother as he ran over to the back door and shoved his face up against it, peering out through the frosted glass window into the car lot. His mother, Florence, turned her attention away from the oven for a moment to squint at him. He was wearing his favorite dress shirt, the dark blue one covered in golden stars- shorts and sandals for the weather, and his long hair was pulled back into a white braid. The sun caught on his hair through the window, and she could have sworn she saw it sparkle. What a strange little boy they had, she thought.

---

She remembers how tiny he was when she first held him, and how odd his shock of white hair had been. Odder still when she first saw the icy blue eyes he had- not like hers or Bud’s, not at all. Neither of them had even heard of what the doctors diagnosed him with before then. Some sort of ‘congenital condition’, for whatever that meant. All that fancy medical talk was a bit out of her area of expertise. All that mattered to her was that their little boy was alive- and now, at least on his way to better health.

Their little Gideon had been much more adventurous these days. Ever since the doctors had given him the OK during his last hospital visit, he’d seemingly been itching to get outside. He hummed loudly, like he was deep in thought.

Florence smiled. She reached over to the fridge.

‘Well, if you aren’t too busy with your secrets, could you do me a favor?’

‘Hm?’ He whipped his head over to look at his mother, who was holding a little tupperware container.

‘How about you go across the lot and take this to your dad for me?’

The wheels turned for a moment, and Gideon perked up instantly.

‘Y’mean it? On my own?’

‘Of course, hon. As long as you’re careful-’

He nodded, a smile creasing his face. Oh- she couldn’t help it, every time he smiled, she smiled too. Surely every mother thinks their child is the cutest kid on the planet, but well… she KNEW hers was. And she knew that they’d been very protective of him these past few months, what with the hospital scare and all. As much as she fretted about his health- she made a mental note to deep clean his room again this weekend- she couldn’t squash that spirit behind his eyes. It couldn’t hurt to let him out on his own for a little bit.

He took the container from her hands and tucked it under one of his arms, nodding solemnly.

‘Ah’ll handle it, ma’am!’ He stood up straight and gave a little salute, his face faux-stern, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been watching too much TV lately, bless him.

She waved him off as he skittered out of the door, turning her attention back to the oven.

---

Gideon shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun. The worst of his sensitivity to it may have gone away with the treatments, but it still got awful bright out in summer. But he’d power through it. After all, he had a mission.

He took off at a run down the winding garden path, rushing through the gate onto the concrete car lot. The weather was hot, but there was that fresh summer breeze blowing in his face that made him glad to be out of his room. He liked it in there plenty- he had books and instruments and more toys than he knew what to do with- but being cooped up in bed for so long had him yearning for the outdoors. He squinted, spying the towering figure of his father through the light glinting off the windows of his work building.

Giggling, he sprinted across the lot as fast as his legs could carry him into the shop.

‘Dad!’ He burst through the door, startling his father. Bud Gleeful whipped around from where he was sat across a little plastic table with a skinny spectacled gentleman, poring over a contract. He wore a battered looking old suit but held himself with an oddly aristocratic air. He seemed out of place on a used car lot.

‘Woah there, sunshine-’ Bud started, his sentence cut off with an oof- as Gideon jumped onto his lap. ‘Heavens, boy! What’s gotten into you?’

Gideon looked up at him- and then across the table to his latest customer. He had put the contract down and was looking down at the two of them, a smile creasing his cheeks. Bud raised a hand, a little embarrassed. ‘Oh my, I’m mighty sorry for the interruption, sir-’

‘Oh, no. It’s quite alright.’ He laughed- he had that fancy city-folk accent, Gideon noticed. He tilted his head to the side to get a better look at him. ‘Now who is this fine little fellow?’

‘Oh, well this is-’

‘Gideon!’ He piped up, folding his hands across his lap with a smile. ‘Gideon Charles Gleeful!’

‘Haha- yep. That’s my lil’ Gideon.’ Bud finished for him, resting one big hand on his son's shoulder. ‘This is my son. Little fella ain’t been too well recently, but he’s lookin’ fit as a fiddle now. Acting it, too! Well now, why’d you rush over here in such a hurry, boy? Does your mother know you’re-’

‘Oh, yeah! I brought ya’ this from mom.’ He held out the container to Bud, who picked it up- turned it over, then hummed in understanding.

‘Hah, oh yeah. I s’pose I did almost forget about lunch, all caught up in negotiatin’.’ He mused. ‘Thank you kindly, sweetheart.’ He leant down to kiss his forehead, which Gideon responded to by playfully swatting him away.

The moment was interrupted then by the man across the table clearing his throat. Gideon and Bud both turned their attention back to him.

‘Mr. Gleeful, I have to be honest- I wasn’t sure if this was the right car for me, a few minutes ago. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I was worried this place might not be… on the up-and-up, if you catch my drift.’ Gideon felt his fathers hand slip off his shoulder, a subtle change in his demeanor.

‘But… well, seeing you here- you seem like a real family man, Mr. Gleeful. Trustworthy. I’m sorry for doubting you.’ He chuckled. ‘I suppose I thought this contract might be too good to be true for a moment there.’

‘Nah, dad’s the best at this stuff!’ Gideon piped up- he felt Bud tense up for a second, about to hush him, but he carried on. ‘I’m gonna learn to sell cars just as good as his, someday! So you can tell yer kids to come buy from me!’

Bud held his breath a moment, but then the customer burst out laughing.

‘Oh- goodness, how sweet. You know what, Gideon? I’ll have to remember that.’

‘That’ll be Mr. Gleeful to you!’

Bud picked him up then, lifting himself out of his chair and carrying his son high up to perch on his shoulder. ‘Okay, that’s enough teasing, boy-’

‘Haha! No, no, he’s got it right.’ The skinny man stood too, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘You know what? You’ve got yourself a sale, Mr. Gleeful.’

He held his hand out- up, above Bud’s, to Gideon. He grasped it firmly, grinning ear to ear and shook his hand. The gentleman nodded his head, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp 20 dollar bill.

‘Forgive me for being forward- but may I give the young man a commission?’

Bud startled, glancing at it- then back to Gideon- then back to the money. ‘Oh, my- that’s awful kind of you sir, it certainly is! Of course you can.’

Gideon’s eyes lit up. He eagerly took the twenty, held it up to the light- then slipped it into his pocket. He squirmed- a sign for Bud to pick him up and let him down on the floor again- and stood up straight with his arms folded.

‘Thanks, sir!’ He chirped, and Bud leant down to pat the top of his head.

‘Now Gideon, do you think you could let the grown-ups handle the borin’ part of all this paperwork?’ He crouched to smile at his son.

‘Sure thing.’

‘Alright, sweetpea. Don’t spend your money all in one place, y’hear?’

‘Okay, dad!’

His mission complete, Gideon padded over to the door- leant over his shoulder to wave at the man his father was now pushing a pen into the hand of- and left the room.

Stopping on the sun-soaked car lot, he reached into his pocket and felt the dollar again. Thought about the look on that man's face when he gave him the money, for nothing but a few words and a smile. His dad had a pretty easy job, he figured. But he didn’t really understand the whole sales thing- not yet, at least.

---

Gideon would spend the rest of the day playing in the garden- until he got too hot and tired, and retreated back to his shaded room for a nap. He wouldn’t think too much about what happened that day.

But that night, his father would take them out to the diner and boast loudly about how his son- barely in his fifth year!- had made his first ever sale. He’d let him order dessert- seconds, too. And he’d ask Gideon to stop by the lot more often, especially if he wants to learn to be a salesman someday. He was one talented boy, his parents told him. Showered him with that notion, really. He was destined to be a big shot one day with a personality as glowing as his.

'You have a face folks would never say no to!' His father told him. He didn't mean much when he said it- more of a joke than anything. But something about it settled with Gideon, still learning about the world. Nobody would say no to him, huh...?

He figured that sounded pretty nice.

[afoundling]

Lil Smooch 

(Drabble under the cut)

“Sir, I think you dropped this.” 

Cody held out the metal tube. The light buzzing that had persisted since he’d picked it up only seeming to get stronger when General Kenobi turned to him, a surprised smile breaking across the tired lines of his face. It had been the longest campaign so far by a significant margin, and the General had hardly seemed to sleep at all in the last three weeks. Cody was pretty sure even Jedi needed to sleep, and finding the weapon laying abandoned in the grass had only proved his theory. 

“Oh! So I did. My apologies, I should have been paying more attention. Thank you for returning it to me Commander, I knew I could count on you.” He leaned forward, accepting the lightsaber, and Cody went utterly still, white noise filling his skull at the soft, ticklish touch to his cheek where the General pressed a chaste kiss. 

He stared straight forward, rooted by his boots to the floor of the war room. His heart beat uncooperatively, heat rising up his face in an unstoppable tide as the General walked away, seeming unaware of the galaxy-shattering paradigm shift Cody was rapidly undergoing. 

He swallowed, looking up to the ceiling with disbelief. “No.” He said, in horror, but it was much too late for that. He’d been abushed. Despite not experiencing it himself before this very moment, he’d had it described to him often enough by star-struck brothers to know exactly what had just clicked neatly into place behind his ribs.

“Oh, kark.”

---

Cody ensured, from that point onward, that he always personally delivered the lightsaber to the General. He was, afterall, a VERY dutiful second in command. 

[forgottenarthur]

@forgottensebastian "Please don't do this." Sebastian x Arthur

Flashback

It happened every few years. A son displeased his father and, in penance, that son was hurled into the fighting wherever it was most vicious to sink or to swim. It had all been a mistake, seemingly small, but Roderick perceived it as injurious to himself, for there was no action in the House of Varmont that could truly be measured as weightless. Arthur knew that he was expected by many to die. But he did not mean to lose. He meant to return in triumph. But his mother feared he would not return at all.

He was alone, now, preparing for war, ready to ride in the span of mere moments. His father had sent him away in shame. There was to be no one to see him off.

"Please don't do this," sounded the familiar voice of his brother, coming quickly into the room.

Arthur paused, his hand resting upon the hilt of his longblade. For a moment, they were poised there, caught in the moment. Arthur stood silhouetted against the window at his side, a beam of brilliant light illuminating the gloom, with Sebastian standing behind him, and his sword lying flat upon the table before him: a tableau of heartache and doom thwarted by four words.

Yet, the moment was broken. Arthur bowed his head and, squaring his shoulders, he lifted the blade in one hand, sheathing it at his waist with the other. "What choice do I have?" Slowly, he turned to face Sebastian and, sighing, he clapped his arm. "I'll come back all right," he said. "I always do."

"You can't know that."

Arthur sucked in a breath, inviting air deep into his lungs. "I know this, little brother: I can't do otherwise." He shook his head. "I've already disappointed father enough."

"He'll regret it."

Arthur turned away, laughing as he pulled on his jacket. "He won't. He never does."

"If something happens--"

"Don't." Arthur shook his head. "There's no point." Dawn edged around the distant gleaming mountaintops in shades of violet, and Arthur exhaled slowly. "It's convenient, really," he commented, off-hand, brilliant eyes drinking in the farflung horizon. "Always having a war somewhere to which you can readily send errant sons to fight. I am glad. I'd hate to inconvenience him."

A pause. He closed the shutter with his swordhand, and turned to face his brother once again. "Just," he began, resting his hand upon his shoulder. "Two things, Sebastian: first, learn from my mistakes, won't you? Second...whatever happens--"

"Arthur--"

"Look after our mother and sister, won't you?" He cracked a grin. "Edmund and Guin can look out for themselves. God knows they've enough experience by now, hey?"

"I'll speak to him, Arthur. Mother and I, both. He'll come around."

"Maybe so, but I'll be long gone by then. Don't trouble yourself. I wouldn't have his wrath fall on you, not on my account. Now, you best stay here. It'll go better for you if no one knows we spoke. And father will be watching from the window to ensure no one else sees me off."

"It's cruel--"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't think so. You see, it's intimate: he's seeing me off, isn't he, even if he doesn't wish to."

"You forgive him too easily."

Arthur laughed. "If only it were a family trait. Goodbye, Sebastian. Tell Cassandra I'll bring her something back."

Despite himself, Sebastian chuckled. "Then I know you're coming back, because if you don't, I daresay she'd follow you to the Underworld for whatever you've promised her."

Arthur laughed brightly, pulling his brother into an embrace. "Call it insurance, then, brother. I'll be back before you know it."

[just-another-siimp]

Warning: Unwanted advances, alcohol, gaz being cute?

Alcohol or 'liquid courage' as you had once called it, right before downing a shot of Tequila ignoring how Soap laughed as you briefly stumbled over to where Gaz sat with the Captain. They both looked at you, equally amused neither as buzzed as you were. That night he'd walked you home, jacket wrapped around bare shoulders and fingers intertwined as he attempted to stop you from straying too far off the cobbled path.

Both of you stood at the entrance to your apartment, talking softly about how the next few days of leave would be spent. It was hard not to admire his handsome features, how his lips looked oh so kissable under the starchy white lights of your apartment complex. Drunkenly you'd confessed your feelings for him, heart hammering hard in your chest as he smiled at you.

"If you weren't drunk right now I'd believe you." The statement sobered you up, suddenly aware of just how close his lips were to yours.

"It's the truth." You confessed, voice barely audible as he closed the distance lips brushing gently against your own as if he was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn't he surged forward, kissing you with a passion that left your knees week. He consumed you then and there, swallowing you whole in his embrace and you'd let him. A million times over you'd let him.

-

Months later you stood at the same bar, patiently waiting for Gaz to arrive. Far too sober to cope with the asshole who had been chatting you up all night. He smelt solely of lynx Africa as though he bathed in it before going out, it was overwhelming to say the least.

Leaning against the bar a bored expression was hidden by your rather amused grin, except you weren't smiling at him you were being entertained by the faces Soap was making at you. He and Ghost had been watching the interaction from afar, either of them could easily come and scare the bloke away but they didn't.

They knew you could handle yourself, except their intervention wasn't needed. Not yet anyway. Instead they found entertainment, placing bets on who would intervene first. You or Gaz who had just walked through the door.

"So babygirl.. how about you and I ditch this place? Maybe find a hotel.. have some fun." He slurred, attempting to wink at you.. well you thought it was an attempted wink. Gripping the bar you leaned back, smile dropping from your features as you shot him a dead panned look.

"I've already told you. I'm taken." There was an edge to your voice, annoyance quick to surface as he leaned closer to you.

"Stop playing hard to get baby, bow let me show you a good time." It had been a long day, patients had worn thin and threatened to snap. Especially as his hand brushed against your thigh causing you to recoil, your hand was moving on instinct grasping your mostly untouched glass of whiskey.

Your next action was unclear, would you pour it over him or smash the glass over his head. It was a real shame that no one would know.

The anger that clouded your vision had dissipated, the scent of cologne you'd bought Gaz as a present filling your senses. Arm reaching around you, gentle hand grasping your wrist keeping the glass from moving any further. Kyle's body pressed against yours, warmth intoxicating as he pressed his lips to your cheek bone in a tender show of affection.

"Sorry, Dove didn't mean to keep you waiting." There was a tone of possessive within the pet name, it made your cheeks warm. Across from you Chad.. no Brad? had gone deathly still, shrinking under Kyle's harsh gaze. "This guy bothering you?"

"I was just lea-"

"I'm not talking to you." Gaz looked down at you, waiting for you to answer. Before you could open your mouth the spot next to you was empty, previous bother now gone. Kyle's hand released your wrist, trailing along your back and shoulders before grasping your opposite hand. A tender action.

"Thanks for saving me." The glass now raised to your lips, warmth of the alcohol washing away the tension that had held you at gunpoint just moments before.

"Didn't mean to take so long, Price and I were talking about Las Almas." He explained, thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. "There are some new training issues we'll have to work on."

"We?" You asked softly, squeezing his hand in return.

"Yeah, but that's tomorrows issue. I just want to get drinks with my beautiful dove and beat the captain in darts." You laugh, patting his hand as you stand. "What are you laughing at? I'm going to win this time I swear."

"That's what you said the last three times."

-

The two of you slipped through the crowds, towards the group of men you called family.

All was well.