#i had to write this

[alwaysshallow]

ghost as a quiet bodyguard........ he has to be a brat tamer, since your rich parents basically gave him a job with a note it's gonna be "difficult" with you. maybe that's why he took it in the first place; he likes challenges. loves them, even, especially after retiring from the military since he had to lay low after las almas.

you're nothing but spoiled, he sees. you love chaos, fortunately or not—trying to lose him on your way to the club, school. he likes this game with you, the way you speed up thinking that someone like him, trained ex-military will fail for something like this.

he irritates you, a lot. you're unable to do anything these days without him hovering over you like a hawk that sees everything, any schemings you have don't work. you can't even ask him anything, as ghost doesn't really say much. only grunts or barks orders like he never actually left military at all.

the only moment he breaks is when you have dates. he's insufferable, talkative, all wise about "men and their behavior". you had to cancel many dates because of him; or because of "accidents" that happened along the way. flat tire, his father called him, you had a dinner (you didn't, he made that up).

it ends on you "seducting" him as you think it would work:/ it does, but he already thought of you as of his property lol. doesn't change how you behave

#my wrist still hurts btw but #i had to write this #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon riley x you #x reader #simon riley headcannons

[veryinnovative]

professional chef regulus can't sleep and works a mcdonald's graveyard shift. a small thingie inspired by this. 1486 words & totally sfw!

It came and went in waves, the bouts of insomnia that held him captive in sleep-elusive nights. Those hours of darkness where finding his rest proved itself to be no more than a fleeting chore, often resulting in Regulus dragging himself out from underneath his covers to find respite elsewhere. A place that wasn't a nightmare materialized in four enclosing walls, turning the small space of his bedroom into a reenactment of past events that only surface when he's stuck in that liminal space between consciousness and sleep.

An enigma, truly, the inability to sleep regardless of how much running a restaurant deprives him of his energy. What’s even more riddling, however, is the sight of Regulus Arcturus Black appearing in Stebbins’ office at 1:45 a.m. on a Saturday night, already wearing a McDonald’s polo he keeps stored in the bottom of his nightstand drawer. Why an award-winning chef with a long history of working in upscale establishments turns up at a fast-food chain is a mystery no one has been able to solve yet. Then again, people drink two liters of room-temperature chocolate milk to combat head-splintering migraines so there is no questioning a seasoned insomniac’s methods.

“Sup, Regulus. Another of those nights, eh?” Stebbins asks him with his feet planted on his desk. There is a monstrosity of a half-eaten quintuple cheeseburger in front of him – the equivalent of a heart attack between two buns. On the computer screen, a game of Solitaire is opened instead of the Excel file of expenditures he should probably be working on.

“Grill or cashier?” Regulus asks while working the pin into its place. It says ‘Mark’. Don’t ask him about that either.

Stebbins slurps his soda, the paper straw soggy and disfigured with the indents of teeth. “Sorry, mate, it’s drive-thru for you tonight. Got a newbie who’s gotta learn how to make the patties. Still know how it works?”

There is something incredibly surreal about having a three-star Michelin chef turn up at your restaurant and have them take orders instead, but Regulus doubts that his culinary prowess could elevate the taste of a Quarter Pounder by a large margin. That and Stebbins is high as a kite if the red-rimmed eyes are anything to go by.

“Shit– aren’t you that dude from Food & Wine? Begulus Rack?”

“In the flesh.”

“Man, this is a McDonald’s, you know that right?”

“Yes. Can I work here for a few hours? I’ll only need unlimited coffee as pay.”

“Why?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You’re fucking hired.”

It’s how it had become a common occurrence. Once in a month or two, Regulus would enter the shabby building and take his spot at whatever station was available at the time. Stebbins, the manager working graveyard shifts, welcomed him with little inquiries every time. 

It’s how Regulus finds himself nearly thirty minutes into his shift, wireless headset on, and the seconds ticking by with little hustle and bustle. It’s not the social interaction that bothers him, but the lack of attention the entire ordeal demands. He’s bored. Not tired enough. And wonders if he should go for his nth cup of coffee since sleep is most definitely not going to be it.

Then, a car pulls up to the intercom post, and he taps on the screen before him, pulling up the order tab. “Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?”

A loud yawn reverberates through his earpiece before a gravelly voice mumbles, “A McDick menu, please.”

Regulus is going to stick his head in the deep fryer. “Go away, Barty.”

Then, another voice joins, the rasp of a French accent lilting his words, “I’ll have the same. Can I upgrade mine to a large?”

Barty snickers into the intercom and Regulus bridles at both their voices. “Can you both sod off?”

Evan tuts. “Now, that’s no way to speak to a customer now, is it?”

“Yeah,” Barty interjects, sucking his teeth. “Where the fuck is your manager? I want to talk to him.”

“Probably off wanking somewhere or getting high,” Evan mumbles in the background, to which Barty hums in approval.

“Go home, you both stayed out late tonight.” Barty and Evan had not returned to their shared apartment after their shift at L’Astre and had instead chosen to use their night to mindlessly drive around. 

“We went home and you weren’t there, Reg. We’re here to pick you up.”

“Barty, I’m fine. Just go.”

“Don’t be like that, Reg. Come home and I’ll make you a hot choccy before cuddling you to sleep. How’s that sound?”

“Evan, we both know you and Barty are going to be fucking each other's brains out. If I’m not going to be able to sleep, I might as well do that here.”

“Look at this git,” Barty barks out, “some cuddles from his Jamie and suddenly he’s giving us the cold shoulder, Evs. Are you telling me that Mr. Sunshine is a better spooner than I am? We might have to hold a spoon-off.”

More angry grumbling before Evan sounds through the intercom again. “I’ll call in James to drag your greasy ass home. Bring one of those Sugar Donuts with you.”

“You will do no such th–” The sound of tires screeching cut him off before the intercom goes quiet again and Regulus sighs, deeply, lamenting the fact that is his best friends always butting in.

Does he have unhealthy coping methods? Yes. Definitely. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Does this warrant cosseting (his friends just caring for him)? No. Absolutely not.

So it’s no surprise that when a car pulls up, approximately twenty minutes later, James’ voice resounds through the intercom, speech slurred with sleep.

“Mi vida,” he sighs, “come home.”

“I’m working.”

“You're not working,” James counters. “You're tiring yourself out in the most ridiculous of ways."

“I'm not tiring myself. This is quite calming, actually.”

“Baby, there is nothing remotely calming about working at a McDonald's at almost three in the morning.”

“Order. You're holding up the line.”

“Wha– there's no line! It isn't common practise to drive to a McDonald's this late, amor.”

“Your order.”

James groans loud enough for the intercom to fill his headpiece with static. “The usual.”

Regulus types in a singular Cadbury Flake Chocolate McFlurry.

“That will be one ninety-nine. Pull up to the window.”

James pulls up to the first window, driving a fancy trust-fund-baby Porsche, to pay for his purchase, and Regulus slides open the window to extend the terminal toward him. Only to end up watching how James turns off the engine, exits the vehicle, keys in hand, and dressed in pajamas still.

Regulus blinks. “Why did y– James!”

There is a startled sound when he suddenly climbs through the window.

“Get out,” Regulus hisses, trying to push him. “You can’t–”

“Watch me.”

“Are you mad?!”

“Not mad enough to work a McDonald's shift,” James grumbles, flinging both his legs over and coming to stand before Regulus. His hair is mussed and there are rabbit slippers on his feet, the socks mismatched like they were haphazardly put on before leaving through the door.

“Out.” Regulus points his finger to the window.

The thing is, James is an amiable man – not easily deterred nor someone who can be promptly riled up with little to no effort. 

None of that is applicable when he is woken up between the sacred hours of one and four for inconveniences. And Regulus working a graveyard shift hardly counted as an emergency.

What’s the worst that can happen when two boyfriends have a stare-off in the ass of the night, in a McDonald’s?

“Oh, James, here to pick up Regulus?” Comes Stebbins’ voice.

James doesn’t look up. “Yeah, could you make me my order real quick?”

“Sure thing, mate. The usual?”

“Extra chocolate drizzle, please.”

“Right on.”

Regulus isn’t backing out now. He keeps his gaze glued to his, expression indifferent and arms defiantly crossed over his chest. 

“Regulus.”

“Oh, it’s Regulus now, is it?”

“Your other nickname rights have been rescinded until you enter the car.”

“I think I can decide for myself, Potter.”

“You– That’s unfair!”

James’ bottom lip juts out just slightly in the makings of a pout and, well, Regulus is a weak man.

He sighs, tired, and rubs his eyes. “I’m tired.”

There are arms around him immediately, tugging his exhausted body into a warm, tight embrace, despite his aversion to public displays of affection. “Let me drive you to my place instead, baby, how’s that sound?”

Regulus snorts against his shoulder. “I doubt much sleeping will happen.”

“Maybe, but it will tire you out for sure. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it much more than working the drive-thru.”

No other incentive is needed for Regulus to open the window and clamber out of it, followed by a grinning James who is undoubtedly happy with having obtained a McFlurry and one Regulus Black for a two-for-free deal.

#jegulus #jegulus fanfiction #regulus black #james potter #marauders #marauders au #i had to write this #i have no self control #the mcdonalds cap stays on during [censored] #THIS IS PARTLY CRACK

[raven-sapphire]

Tommy: Is this mistletoe?

Steve: Uh, no, no, that is basil.

Tommy: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you.

Steve: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

#i had to write this #i love stommy as a ship but this is too funny #stommy #kinda #steve harrington #tommy hagan #tommy h #stranger things #stranger things incorrect quotes

[annonymousp]

Just think about it. @naffeclipse

Venessa gets a report from F.E.I. Venessa doesn't like the fact they get a mission so soon after their friend Y/N stops messaging. They clearly see them but never once respond and one day it all stops. But work is work and she can only hope Y/N is fine. Karma at its finest IMO. She checked the email and a few sources. A monster of some kind clearly, no mistaking it for a human. Kills known or unknown everyday villains. All kinds of people who harm kids. The rumors have been going around for a few months now. The person is found dead, heart missing but their blood is gone as well. Maybe even a list of crimes left behind. Sounds like an extra hungry Vampire to her. She comes up to a town and maybe even finds Y/N’s truck and signs they are ok. The hunting gear might be gone though. Or maybe its just some of it. Y/N’s clearly out so she will come back later, maybe Y/N is even looking themselves. She thinks at least. Que looking for the monster. Takes forever but oh shit that's a demon. Radar is going all kinds of off. And something else that seems to not move much. Keeps going towards the second blimp and hears something odd. Feeding of some kind? Did the demon have a child or someone they are teaching? Can they even do that!? Or is there another part to this? Turning the corner Venessa sees something she never thought would or could happen. Y/N isn't human that's clear enough. The feeding stops as they both stare at each other. Something is right behind her she knows it but she can’t stop looking. At least not before someone makes a move.

#Fair warning! No idea how Venessa is gonna act. #cryptid sightings #also not the best writer lol #the lost episode #i had to write this #basically a gift for maybe my fav AU #I really hope we find out more tho about Venessa

[kendallville]

Logan is so methodical in punishing Ken.

First of all, he uses ambush.

He sends Ken to the desert "to dry out", only to put him in front of TV cameras 48 hours later, to destroy his reputation with one humiliating sentence "my dad's plan is better".

After Ken said he would need some downtime, Logan announced that he'll be co-COO with Roman (making all the siblings suspicious and isolating Ken further). Ken has no reaction, staring down and just glimpsing at Roman.

Logan travels with Ken all the way to meet Sandy and Stewy, just to make him go in alone, with no prep, to confront his furious friend and act as an errand boy.

And finally, in "Return", right after the one scene (the only scene like that?) when Ken, Roman and Logan laugh together for five seconds... Ken, probably thinking that he's starting to get close to dad, that he may say something honest to help, politely and with fright suggests that maybe an affair with Rhea isn't a good idea... Oh, penalty for talking out of line is harsh, Logan needs to quickly remind Ken of his place. So he makes him go to Andrew's parents, and step into the house, which for Ken is like a trip to hell. Little boy waiting in the kitchen for grown ups to finish the conversation, looking at the pictures of the other boy he killed.

Taking Ken's voice away is actually another aspect of Logan's punishment.

He didn't want to talk with Ken about selling idea - that was the first punch, because Ken's whole relationship with Logan was based on his role in the company.

So it's one "stick" - Logan made Ken answer in front of the family if he should fight, and then ignored his embarrassing paean. He didn't count his vote to show the family that Ken didn't count anymore.

Vaulter - "gut it" - in this scene Ken realizes that from now on, nothing he says means anything to Logan. You can notice that since then until "Return" Ken barely speaks, and most of what he says is connected to executing Logan's wishes. During corporate retreat Ken puts all his energy to be as small and quiet as possible - and he's awarded for that when Logan gently places his hands on Kendall's hunched shoulders while ruthlessly humiliating everyone else.

"Your brother is going to be working in here from now on" - this one is gut-wrenching. Some people say that it was "a cookie", an award. But I see it differently. Ken followed the orders and "killed his baby", proving that he could be useful, good boy, so Logan decided to put him back on the leash (or let him in from the yard - "make yourself at home") and keep an eye on him - to have him close, isolated and broken. In this scene Logan pretty much said "go sit in this corner (btw it's the same seat in which Ken sat when Logan told him to gut Vaulter), and wait for my next command".

There are many more examples that keep flooding my head, but I know this is already very long post.

But I need to add this. Ken at this point had nothing - no self worth, no friends, no support in the family, no partner, no real bond with his kids, no relevance in the business world.

All he had left was dad, and in some way that was all he ever wanted - to be needed by dad - so he surrendered.

And when dad would make him do awful things, Ken would do them, because then Logan was kind to him, talking softly, even saying "good work, son", "you did good, son" and offering the pat on the back.

Isn't that how Stockholm Syndrome works?

Ken is a hostage of his dad, hostage of the love he craves, of things he never got.

#I had to write this #It's been killing me #Ken thinks he deserves every bit of it #kendall roy #jeremy strong #kendall succession #kendall meta #Succession meta #succession hbo #succession #kendall and logan #Logan Roy #We should stick together on that

[tereox]

Summary: The disaster lineage attends a first aid class. Surely this won't end in.. well, disaster.

"I don't get why we're supposed to attend a first aid course." Anakin grumbled as they stood outside the room the seminar was being held in. They were going through scenarios now, and they'd been chosen to walk outside and then deal with the scenario the other participants were setting up.

"We're in a war." Obi-Wan reminded.

Ahsoka nodded in agreement. At least she understood it. Besides, if they both knew first aid, that might take some stress off their medics. Or they'd start being more careful, who knew.

The door to the meeting room opened, and they were called back inside.

Mace stood at the front of the room and gestured at the scene in front of them. One of the CPR dummies was laying on the floor, near some kind of cable. "There's an unconscious person on the floor. There is water on the floor. The person is laying near an electrical-"

"Easy." Anakin announced and started forward.

Obi-Wan reached for his arm to hold him back but missed him by an inch.

"Zap, you're dead." Mace announced flatly. He turned to the remaining members of their lineage. "What will you do now?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands.

"Wow, Skyguy. I didn't think it was possible to fail before the scenario was even explained. Congratulations."

"Shut up, Snips." Anakin grumbled as he laid down on the floor to play dead.

#disaster lineage #first aid course #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #my fanfiction #short fic #star wars #clone wars #tcw fanfic #i had to write this #couldn't get it out of my head #have fun lol #this actually happened to me

[magic-to-write]

Izzy: if you have a friend who is gay, sad, or practices magic-

Ridley: do straight happy people practice magic?

Carter: *in a inflatable dragon costume for some reason.* I thought we were all gay and sad! I thought we were all gay and sad together!!

#the magic misfits #carter locke #ridley larsen #izzy golden #incorrect quotes #i had to write this #you're welcome lmao

[asgh-youtube]

8,372.

8,372, and you have a genocide. 1.2 million displaced, tens of thousands expelled, and then you have a genocide.

This was, of course, decided as such 10 years after the fact. If we are talking during the war, it took 3 years for them to decide enough was enough.

Thus, the Bosnian genocide.

11,078.

Inaccurate as of now. 11,078 isn't even the updated number, and yet this isn't any genocide. 1.5 million displaced — 75% of the population — for those who aren't aware.

That is just the land of "terrorists," of course. Everyone within must be harboring arms or using human shields or plotting those totally-going-to-happen terrorist attacks. 2 million terrorists. The IOF is as justified here as the British Army were back during the troubles, of course! Good old war hero David Cleary killing all those terrorists, just like his buds down in Israel wiping a people off the map.

But it is not contained just to this "land of terrorists," you pieces of shit. It extends to the West Bank — 190 murdered, homes razed and taken, a brand new Nakba for the ages — and through to the 93 killed Lebanese "terrorists" — including 29,000 displaced people, and the family of that war mongering journalist. Not just to there, either. Over to Syria, with 19 dead, and down to Egypt, with 6 wounded.

But this is no genocide, right? Forcing millions into more and more cramped spaces, 4 hours of explusion labeled as "peace," bombing thousands with that which will never stop burning, taking down the internet and killing any journalist who could relay any of this to the outside world.

400+ families, bloodlines, erased in a month. Thousands upon thousands of children, if the innocent adults weren't enough to tear your heart to shreds. People with dreams of being doctors, architects, scholars, and even youtubers, the singular thought to bring joy and help to those who surround them. The cold shreds of their hearts are trapped under the rubble of their destroyed homes, trapped alongside their pets, loved ones, childhood paintings, and every memory imaginable.

But that isn't a genocide.

People take the to the streets each day, staging bigger and bigger demonstrations. Brave souls shutting down their work to stop the unstopping march of death. The people trapped within yell at you to realize that HUMANS ARE FUCKING HUMANS.

You pretend as if you do not hear. That you do not fear. The beating heart of humanity stands outside your door, waiting for you to finally recognize it. You can't kill forever. You cannot support this hell forever. Even if you relish in this hell, you know that that beating heart will break down your door, and the losses will finally be too great, and you will relinquish defeat.

Maybe you'll label it a genocide. Get one of your cronies up on the podium accepting that award of bravery for finally speaking out on such a monstrous series of events. But by then it'll be done.

Or maybe, just maybe, that hope won't be for naught, and your death regime shall fall. The banners of destruction and destitution shall burn, and you will finally realize that hope is undying.

And then, Palestine shall be free. You cannot kill hope, and thus, you cannot kill Palestine.

Free, Free Palestine.

#from the river to the sea palestine will be free #palestine #gaza #free gaza #israel #hamas #i realize that this might just get lost in the void #but i don't care #i had to write this #if my heart werent in shreds i would write a poem #if my mind could think on anything but the deaths i would write a book #but my blood flows with anger #and so i write this #and hopefully it will have some effect

[she-is-tim]

August 1987.

Eddie took a deep breath after finally being able to loosen the damn tie Harrington and all the kids insisted him on wearing. It’s not like this was some huge event with fancy people, just all their trauma bonded family and a couple friends. They even invited Wayne, who was now in deep conversation with the groom at the snack tables with a glass of champagne in his hand. He looked so out of place with his secondhand tuxedo and shy expression, but at the same time so fitting as well. Eddie felt a soft smile creep its way on his face.

He tapped his pockets and pulled out a box of cigarettes from inside his suit, hitting it a few times until one came out that he took between his lips. The wedding party was held in a barn somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Eddie thinks it belonged to Murray or his family, he isn’t sure. The kids did a great job decorating it with the lead of Nancy and Robin. He was sure no one will scold him for smoking, so he grabbed his lighter, taking a long drag when his cigarette was lit. His lungs welcoming nicotine like an old friend, making him feel instantly relaxed.

The girls had pulled his hair in such a tight bun it felt like his skin was all stretched out thanks to it. “You can’t go to a wedding with a birds nest of a hair on your head” Max said to him this morning before she and the others ganged up on him. It was pure torture, but at least Buckley agreed to help him put on eyeliner and Wheeler painted his nails black for him. He actually thought even with the scars peeking from under his collar he looked quite exquisite. Steve complimented him too when he came in with the tie, adorable blush spread on those pretty cheeks of his. Eddie felt just a little bit embarrassed as the other stepped up to him, the girls long gone, leaving them alone in the room.

Harrington wrapped the tie around his neck, eyes focusing on tying it properly since Eddie told him he had no idea how to do it. They were silent through it all, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Once Steve was done he let his hands rest on his chest, looking up at Eddie with those pretty eyes of his. Eddie wanted to kiss him so badly, but of course they were disturbed by Dustin bursting into the room. He loved the kid, he really did, but sometimes he could really smack him on the back of the head.

As he kept smoking his eyes found Steve in the crowd, hips slowly swaying to the light jazz playing from speakers installed on the side of the wall. He was talking to Jonathan Byers, clearly enjoying himself. Eddie knew he had no reason to feel jealous, but he couldn’t help himself. Harrington looked incredibly good tonight and he wished to have all his attention to himself. Still just watching him was enough for now.

He was close to finishing his cigarette when someone appeared next to him, laying against the wall. Eddie was ready to give an excuse for smoking inside when he turned and saw the bride herself smiling at him with her gentle, motherly expression. Damn Eddie loved this woman so much.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing with the guests?” Eddie asked in a teasing tone. Him and Joyce had become quite close after the events of last spring when she decided to welcome him in their found family, developing some sort of mother-son relationship while also being able to act like old friends.

“I danced so much I think my legs are about to fall off.” the woman scoffed at him, waving around the white heels in her left hand she was still wearing not long ago. “These things are awful.”

Eddie chuckled. “Well, I never wore one myself, but they do look terribly uncomfortable.” He said, crushing the cigarette on the side of a beer can he had next to him on a table and threw the butt inside of it. “How are you doing?” He asked, while he pulled out his box again, offering a cigarette to the bride, who thankfully accepted it. Eddie lit both of their cigarettes while waiting for her answer.

“Never been happier.” She said with an honest smile. “What about you, sweetheart?” She asked, tilting her head towards Eddie while exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“What about me?” Eddie deadpanned, playing dumb. Joyce rolled her eyes.

“You really gonna let this opportunity slide? You two are perfect for each other.” She said, pointing her right hand towards the way where Steve still stood in deep conversation with her eldest son.

“We talked about this, Joyce.” He sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette. “I can’t give him what he wants. We couldn’t even be able to have a public relationship.” He groaned and let his head hit the wall behind him with a small thud.

“Honey… Steve looks at you like you hung up the moon and the stars. All he wants is to be with you, I’m sure that’s something you can give him easily.” She said with a soft smile and Eddie felt tears trying to spill over his lashes. He took a deep breath and tried to blink them away.

“I really like him Joyce…” he mumbled, voice barely audible over the music, but seemingly she heard him just fine. “I am just so scared because I never felt like this for anyone.”

“Oh, darling…” she put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. “I know it’s scary, believe me.” She was talking to him, but her eyes were now fixed on her husband and Eddie’s uncle at the other side of the barn. “Loving someone is a scary thing, but it’s also a beautiful and wonderful feeling. Don’t take this away from yourself.” She turned back to him with the sweetest, most motherly smile Eddie had ever seen. He gulped, throwing his half smoked cigarette in the beer can and wrapped his arms around the woman next to him. Joyce let out a soft laugh and hugged him back, rubbing her hands up and down the boy’s back.

“Thank you.” He whispered in her ear before letting her go. He took a deep breath and braced himself as he turned to where Steve was standing, surprised to realize the boy was already gazing at him. His eyes were sparkling, lips turned up in a soft smile when he noticed Eddie looking at him.

Eddie smiled back and started walking towards him, determined to confess his feelings for the other boy, because at the end of the day, he couldn’t imagine his future without him. He fucking loved Steve Harrington.

#Steddie drabble #eddie munson #Joyce Byers #steve harrington #Steddie #steveddie #Eddie and Joyce friendship is so important to me #I had to write this #they kissed a lot after that by the way #I just wanted Eddie and Joyce interaction #I love Eddie so much I just want him to be happy #and Joyce wants him to be happy too

[pattysplaceofplaces]

Partners in Crime

Blazer x Holographic AI Reader

     Blazer never liked forming complex relationships. They were a waste of his time, especially since he knew he would lose them one way or another. Whether it was of his own accord or not. He liked having no one to slow him down, no one to share his earnings with. Sometimes he’d see how bots held each other close, shared clothing, laughed with each other. Those domestic moments seemed nice but it wasn’t worth the price of heartbreak he was sure of it. 

Then he met you. 

The Outsiders were famous now for exposing the mechanical civilization to a new world. Blazer could understand why he was hated after everything he had done but he wouldn’t let himself get caught.

While scavenging the surface he found something…interesting. A metal cube covered in rust and dirt, there was a big red button and something written on one of the faces in blocky letters but he couldn’t understand the human language. Despite it being…just a box, he decided to take it with him. Maybe it was worth something. Most people would be surprised but Blazer knew a thing or two about engineering.

The box was a little banged up but nothing he couldn’t fix. And so, his favorite passing time while laying low would be tinkering with the metal cube. 

His first accomplishment made him more happy than he should have. Nothing happened when he pressed the big red button but he could hear the thrumming of electricity and a gentle vibration on his fingertips. Blazer was on the right track! The bot didn’t know what it was but that progress made him work harder on the box than he had already have. He didn’t know how to explain it. There was just something so comforting about the box, like he was enjoying company other than his own in a peaceful silence. 

When he had finished the box looked brand new. It was shiny with a new coat of paint. He was able to translate what was on the box into his own language. 

Y/n. 

What was a Y/n? Maybe his language just didn’t have a translation? Or did he make some sort of translation error? 

Blazer would just have to figure it out. He pressed the big red button and watched as a shutter opened like a camera, light came from the now exposed circle and formed the holographic shape of… 

A soft one? 

He had seen them represented in pictures, art, and stories but never liked this. Blazer could see every pore on your holographic skin. You opened your eyes and looked at him with curiosity and a grateful smile. “You must have been the one to fix me, thank you!” The bot had never been so confused in his life. So after he calmed himself down he listened to what you had to say, after you changed your language settings to his language of course. 

“My name is Y/n, I was an ai built to manage complex systems, facilities, and the plague itself.” You looked around the room then back at Blazer. You closed your eyes to check your internal clock. “Although it appears I have failed my directive.” 

The way you said it made his heart sink. You seemed so pained at the loss of humans but kept your voice calm. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this. Blazer saw himself in you. Both of you had nowhere to go, aimlessly surviving without much to survive for. He was the one who fixed you so he decided he would be your company. Even if he preferred to be solo he couldn’t just leave you. 

He ran down the alleyways left of the ruined cities, several thumping footsteps were behind his. He couldn’t stay out of trouble for too long and now he had managed to piss off a group of bots that were sure to rough him up if he didn’t escape. 

“Y/n!” He tapped the smart watch on his right wrist. “Where’s my ride?” Blazer knocked over some rubble hoping it would delay his pursuers just enough for him to escape. “Take a left then continue going straight. You’ll see me.” With a newfound sense of determination he picked up his pace, even if his internal fans couldn’t keep up with his overheating body. He sharply rounded the corner and almost tumbled to the ground. He could hear a crash then several others. Suckers. 

He exited the alley and saw a shiny looking car pull up. Repairing that smart car was a pain but it was worth it. Just before fingers could grasp him he ran into the car. He kept the door open, tauntingly waving as the car sped off. 

“Another successful heist.” You tried to hide the excitement in your tone, a smile spread across Blazer’s screen. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” He could see you on the screen of the smart car. Being an ai that could connect into machines made you quite useful. Much like him, you seemed to enjoy the adrenaline rush crime brought. 

“I got something I think you might like.” A question mark appeared on the car’s screen at his sudden claim. He reached into his worn out bag and grabbed a device. An audible gasp was heard on the car’s speakers, the car slowing down like hitched breathing. 

“A video game console!” This time you didn’t hold back your excitement. “Imagine if we fixed this! There’s so much we could do!” Blazer slouched into the seat, hands behind his head as he looked out the tinted windows. You projected your holographic form into the driver’s seat next to his. He put his arm on your seat like he would if he could wrap an arm around your shoulder. 

What would he do without his partner in crime?

#Stray game #Stray 2022 #Stray Blazer #Stray Blazer x reader #Blazer x reader #Blazer x reader stray #I had to write this #I love him #Stray game x reader

[seaweedbrainz626]

I get Percabeth vibes from sam and flint from Cloudy with a chance of meatballs. Like look at them!

And the scene in the first movie, where flint was hanging from the rope in above the pit inside the storm gives Tartarus vibes.

Also their such simps for each other!

#percabeth #cloudy with a chance of meatballs #percy and annabeth #flint and Sam #percy jackson #flint lockwood #annabeth chase #sam sparks #pjo headcanon #pjo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #I had to write this

[satelliteofsin]

no i can't be normal in fact i refuse. whenever you make your bed you hand me your stuffed shark plush (it's a blahaj) (everyone knows it) (you named it BLEH) but you hand me the plushie before you make the bed , spare it the indignity of being on the floor for even a second

and i think that's why i was put on earth. to hold your oversized shark while you shake the crumbs off your duvet (sorry)

o to be loved like that. o to hold your shark because your tender heart is too tender by far. o to be your accomplice in this act. i hope i get crumbs on your bed for the rest of my life

#poetry is when you push the enter key randomly #i had to write this #my heart hurts too much #i had to let it out #youll see more of it #mew talks

[lostcybertronian]

When Dr. Iplier can't sleep due to insomnia and Host is still in the library working until late at night, Edward will grab a blanket and sit in one of the armchairs, close his eyes and listen to Hosts narrations/stories.

Even if he isn't fully listenting all the time he just likes the sound of Hosts voice and usually ends up falling asleep fairly quickly.

Hosts narrations might have something to do with that.

Socked feet over thinning carpet, muted by the looming stacks that seemed to like to swallow sound. A blanket draped over slumped, tired shoulders. Black-rimmed eyes that could've been bloodshot if you looked closely.

The Host heard him coming. Of course he did; he heard everything.

But he didn't need to turn his head or pause in his narration as Dr. Iplier trudged into his space, dumping himself into one of the overstuffed armchairs placed there specifically for that purpose.

The doctor didn't say a word, didn't interrupt the Host's narrations. Merely closed his eyes and laid his head back against the upholstery of the chair. Lulled by the quiet flow of the Host's words-- which may have grown softer, may have tilted toward the dreamier side of things-- Dr. Iplier was quickly asleep.

#dr iplierst #the host #dr iplier #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #ego shipping #lostandwandering #my writing #headcanon time #fluff #i had to write this #meo618 #asks

[answermywearyquery]

It was on his second step on the warm wood of the elevated terrace, his mind whirling from the adrenaline, when he realized that there was no way Vegas just left the key on the bed by accident.

Upon realizing this, his first thought was, this motherfucker.

(Or: Episode 12 from Pete's perspective, but his inner monologue is a filthy mouthed litany.)

#vegaspete #kinnporsche #vegas theerapanyakul #pete saengtham #kinnporsche the series #fanfiction #my fanfiction #i had to write this #i know ep 12 was ages ago #but it just had to #kp

[cilly-the-writer]

LAWS OF CASTING | Bonus scene | Reeve | 234 words

Prompt by @flashfictionfridayofficial​

--

     Clemens let the water’s coolness hit his face, sinking a little deeper as he floated there. The pool water was calm. It was quiet. Almost too quiet…

     He was right to be suspicious. 

     Soon enough, Reeve rushed out of the backroom yelling and holding up a huge beach ball, popping with bright primary colors.

     “Look what I found!” 

     Memphis had just surfaced from swimming underwater. She was catching her breath. But seeing Reeve run through the blue tint of her goggles, she yelled back at him.

     “Reeve, stop! You’re going to sli–”

     He slipped right through the very same water he’d splashed out of the pool earlier (doing jumps and canon-balls). He dropped the beach ball in a frantic wave of his arms and lost his balance right over the edge of the pool. Just barely managing to leap into the fall. 

     Making a big unintended splash. He sank straight down into the water and puffed his cheeks as he braced the sudden change of gravity–waiting to float back up. When he came back to the surface, the sharp chirp of a whistle rang in his ears.

     “No running on the pool deck!” the lifeguard called out.

     “Sorry!” Reeve smiled as he held back a laugh. He scanned for wherever he lost the beach ball. Then he saw Michael, who was already out of the water, retrieving it for him. “Michael! Toss it here!”

#forget about logic #THERE WAS A BEACH BALL IN THE STORAGE ROOM #Reeve #wip: laws of casting #flash fiction friday #writing #i had to write this #Clemens' favorite new thing is swimming (well just vibing in the water really) #and as usual Reeve overtook the scene #as he should

[asklordcaptaincastronova]

Watkyn, I have to ask: do you know what a stag party even is?

It's where you engage in all the pageantry of a stag hunt but with horns as well as antlers if you get my inclinations wot. Where the doe is more in doe eyed beauty but there is possible ever more rutting I'd say wot.

#I had to write this #thank you #Watkyn #lmao