#the little guppy was just wearing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jester-lover · 1 year

Text

A Sunday Kind of Love

Twisted wonderland characters with a girlfriend who wears suits

feat- Trey, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Rook, Lilia, and silver

cw- fluff, stupid gender roles being destroyed, very flustered boys, insecurity (not from the reader), talks of gender roles/identity, whoever reads this is so cool, reader is so hot and confident (did I mention she’s so hot)

Trey

Mmm domestic baker boy

He is so enamored with your confidence and classy attitude

For the first time in his life, he’s genuinely flustered by the sheer presence of another person

You two tend to both keep Riddle in check, him with his calming attitude, and you with your gentle sternness

The place where he comes from, women are expected to be more subservient, so he likes to think of you like the Queen of Hearts herself, a headstrong woman capable of taking control of her own destiny

Trey loves when you allow him to help you with your outfits, like buttoning up your jacket for you

He was probably a little intimidated by you at first, with your powerful aura and sleek aesthetic, you brought intimidation with you wherever you went

Another thing Trey loves is order and cleanliness, your clean and sublime aesthetic keeps him stable

Househusband material, no explanation needed

“Sweetheart, your lapel needs fixing, do you mind if I get that for you?”

Jade

The both of you have such staunch, serious aesthetics, with such caring, passionate personalities behind them

You value the way you dress and look in a way Jade admires greatly, he knows the value of dressing well to create an image for yourself

Jade understands the trust you can earn from people when they deem you to be elegant and professional

You two revel in the looks of both awe and confusion, hand in hand

No matter if you're wearing the most outlandish colorful suit, he’ll find an accent color to incorporate into his own outfit

It's a small way for him to show people that he’s taken

His air of confidence is often left on his coat hanger, knowing that the both of you have a shared sense of comfort with one another always makes him smile

Jade knows what it feels like to not entirely fit into a societal mold, he himself is a literal fish out of water, and he understands that he needs to support you as a young woman accidentally portaled to an all-boys school

You two find unity and connection in your differences

“Dear, would you like to share a cup of tea after my shift is over?”

Floyd

Floyd enjoys fashion and business-type silhouettes, even if he tends to loosen up his own

Seeing that you are a young woman, and Floyd is (begrudgingly) respectful of your personal space, he’ll always ask before squeezing you

That is until you start squeezing him first

He loves a woman who takes initiative!

Floyd absolutely adores all of your more fancy outfits, especially during galas

He finds those fancy events so boring, until you show up and blow everyone out of the water

Floyd finds it especially funny when irrelevant little guppies try to make fun of your traditionally masculine attire, and you just laugh at them

You two share a similar aloofness towards the opinions of others, and it just brings you closer together

After a while, he is sorta wrapped around your finger, grinning and going pink at every wink you send his way

“Shrimpy’s dressed all fancy, is it just for me?”

Jamil

Jamil tends to prefer more casual clothing for himself, but the allure of you in a full suit is powerful to him

You probably meet at one of Kalim’s parties, where your aura of grace and androgyny catches his attention

If he finds time to talk to you, he’ll be stuttering over himself constantly

Why would a strong, successful young woman like you want him? Why would you settle for second best, when you could have Kalim and by extension everything else?

You did want him though, you appreciated his tough work ethic, and his dreams to better himself beyond his condition

Jamil usually finds dressing or taking care of other people to be tedious, but when it's you, he can’t refuse

He loves helping you style yourself, especially if you let him do your nails to match

Small moments of time shared between the two of you, helping you tie your tie, or do your makeup, keep Jamil going

Another one who’s prime househusband material

“I-I’m not blushing, now would you let me paint your nails in peace?”

Rook

Rook is very curious about you when he sees you, sure, he knows about feminine men, but he has yet to converse with a masculine woman!

Oh but when he does, Rook finds himself startled

He has never met someone with such effortless charisma, such power and dominance in language alone!

Our poor little french boy has a crush almost immediately

He writes you poetry about your beauty, about the gorgeousness of your androgyny and loving spirit, slipping the notes into the shaky mailbox outside Ramshackle

Rook thought he would get away with it long enough to confess, but you were too smart, and figured out it was him, his red face during that conversation was delightful

With Rook as your partner, you often take long walks together, hands placed snugly in your suit pockets

His favorite accessory on you is a pair of cufflinks, which he gets you often as gifts

“Mon ange, you look absolutely brilliant, the two of us will be the talk of the town!”

Lilia

Lilia is often considered to be a feminine individual by strangers, he knows what it's like to break gender norms

You have a certain air of power around you he has never seen on a human, so he often jokingly questions if you are human after all

It's almost impossible to make Lilia blush, the closest you’ve ever gotten was during a dance, when you spun and dipped him

Lilia often goes clothes shopping with you

Especially if you enjoy a more vintage aesthetic of suits, who’d be better to ask then someone who was actually there?

He loves your confidence most of all, Lilia is very comfortable in his skin, so of course he’d want a partner just the same

You know you’re hot, he knows he’s hot, it's a match made in heaven

“Beastie, your tie is shifting, won’t you allow me to tuck it in for you?”

Silver

The moment you walk through the portal, Silver has his eyes on you

You love flustering him, he’s such a sheltered person after all

Pulling him in by his collar to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder in pictures, and so much more

Silver is enamored by the way you dress, it feels so mysterious and yet so open and kind

Besides teasing your poor little boyfriend, you also love being affectionate towards him, like slipping your blazer over his sleeping form whenever he falls asleep in inconvenient places

He saw you then, with your blazer off and your vest slightly unbuttoned, and he knew he saw beauty in its purest form

Silver may be shyer when it comes to romance, but you’re naturally dominant nature helps him push himself forward with you

Everytime he buys you a bouquet of flowers, he makes sure to tuck one into the pocket of your suit, so you can keep a bit of his love with you at all times

“I saw these black petunias, and they reminded me of you, I hope whenever you look at them you think of me too.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x female reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #silver x reader #twst silver

616 notes · View notes

saltsicklover · 6 months

Text

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 1 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 2 HERE and my Master List HERE

A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic

Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 6k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST

---

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Six years before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

The Officers Club, better known as The Flight Line Bar sits on post in Miramar, frequented by the big brass and educators at Top Gun. The whole place glows with amber light from the buzzing light fixtures that hang from the rafters, dusty and hot to the touch. This half of base, on the far side of the air field has yet to be updated, evident by the chips in the glasses and the inconsistent flickering of the halogen bulbs. The wallpaper is peeling; discolored around the old neon signs that have slowly begun to fizzle out. If it were any brighter inside those four walls, one might be able to see the discoloration of well walked floors and one too many spilt beers.

Two loan pool tables sit in the center of the bar, their felt faded from use and tearing, flanked by a couple of dart boards, their cork crumbling from age. The patrons look about the same, old and wrinkled with age, lines worn into their faces that read closer to distinguished than wary. That's what the military does to a person, wears itself straight into the skin and makes a home there, the ghosts of lost wingman and battle buddies still looming in the whites of their eyes. Too many memories are stuck in the deep folds of their uniforms, worn in around the elbows and shoulders, the creases worn from friction- salute after salute.

It's really a hard to believe that people still frequent The Flight Line Bar. After all, there are so many better places for the students of Top Gun to meander into, just off post where they don't have to risk rubbing shoulders with their instructors- or heaven forbid, hit on their guest lecturers.

After all, It's all fun and games, flirty touches and smooth words until you're slapped with a SHARP report.

The students always figure out the good places to drink after class, shortly after their arrival after one too many moments spent inside the crumbling bar. The drinks are good in taste, better in price, but not worth it at the risk of saying just the wrong thing to just the wrong person.

The new recruits arrival happens like clockwork, and it's a ritual the newly minted Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson loves to witness. He has been watching the little ordeal for the last four years, with each new Top Gun class, even choosing to mark the date on his calendar after having almost missed an incoming class last year.

The new Top Gun recruits wander into The Flight Line Bar in gaggles. Most still clad in their uniforms if they had been lucky enough to get issued a drinking order. The wide eyed aviators would file up to the bar, uneasy looks on their faces as they took in the ranks drinking around them. If the Flight Line Bar was a small pond, the Top Gun inductees are guppies surrounded by some very big fish. One year, a young aviator even tripped over the base commander's seat and was met with a glare that even Cyclone would have been nervous to stand on the receiving end of.

The recruits each drink a beer, the brave ones chancing a second, before they're heading for the door. Cyclone loves to see the discomfort that would roll off of them the moment they crossed the threshold back into the parking lot. Some would even shiver, which always seems to pull a hearty laugh out of the Admiral.

This year, however, Cyclone is met with a very different scene before him when he himself broke the threshold of the Flight Line Bar. Having been stuck in a meeting with Admiral Kazansky, Cyclone ends up arriving later than the usual crowd of recruits. So, when he finally wanders in, he is met with the fleeting glances of some top brass, but no new eyes. He can't fight the way he almost deflates; after the shit day he managed to barely claw his way through, the one thing he was looking forward to were the wide eyes of the newest, freshest meat that Top Gun managed to recruit.

As if today of all days wasn't hard enough to begin with.

Instead, it looks like a regular Friday night, which wouldn't do the leg work needed to actually flip his day around for the better. But he's already there, the drinks are cheap, and he really, really needs a drink. So, he orders with a silent wave of his hand, the borderline elderly man behind the bar meeting the wave with a nod of his head. Cyclone plops down unceremoniously onto one of the rickety barstools. It almost sways under his weight, however it does creak weakly as he settles. His temple meets his knuckles as he lets out a deep sigh as the beer being set down in front of him. Cyclone can only manage a nod to the bartender before lifting the glass to his lips.

The question of why he still drinks here, in this lousy bar, floats through his head for a moment, but he doesn't put fourth the energy to grant himself with an answer. Maybe it's the cheap beer and half price shots. Or, maybe the fact that he doesn't have to fight off the happy hour drinkers or the five o'clock somewhere partiers that seem to be carried in with the wind. Again, he doesn't entertain the question long enough to form an answer.

Cyclone doesn't even have to glance around the bar to know the crowd this Friday night hosts. Top brass, tired officers, and disgruntled wives, each drinking their own bad days away.

The glass feels about a hundred pounds and it meets the bar top with a loud thunk, the amber liquid sloshing around inside. A bit of foam sneaks over the rim, running down the crack in the glass. Cyclone scratches at it with this thumbnail, wondering how the hell the bar is still getting away with using nearly broken glassware. The thought doesn't last long, not many seem to this evening, and he is bringing the impossibly heavy glass back to his mouth for another sip.

As he tips it back a little further this time, the sulking woman a few seats down catches his attention. If this were a normal Friday night, Cyclone might make bets with himself on just why a woman might be crying, in this bar, all alone. He might puzzle that she is a soon to be ex-wife, her spouse making the choice to cheat on deployment. Maybe she is a daughter, or a sister, or a cousin, her base escort hiding in some other corner of the bar, or of the base. But tonight is not a normal Friday night, regardless of the absence of the new incoming class or not.

The Admiral can't help but watch her lazily out of the corner of his eye. She brings a shitty bar serviette up to wipe at her cheeks, sniffling as the paper touches her skin. Cyclone should feel guilty about how much the sight comforts him. At least, he thinks, someone else seems to be having just as bad of a day as he is.

Then, she catches him staring, his beer lost in the space between his lips and the counter. His fingers are sticky against the chilled glass as he holds it there, still watching her. Cyclone doesn't look away, no point in it now. Then, she breaks the disillusioned bubble forming between them with a sniffle and a hiccup.

It's not a pretty sound, but then again, the sight of the woman in front of him isn't exactly pretty either. After all, it's hard to be pretty when snot is rubbed up over the tip of her nose, catching the light as she sniffles again. Her hair is akin to a nest, like her fingers have been making their way through it over and over again until it is more mess than style.

"I'm sorry, Admiral, Sir," Her voice is straining from holding back tears. There is snot dripping from her nose again, and she wipes it with another flimsy napkin. A half effort is made to sweep back the hair in her face, her well kept fingernails catching in newly formed knots as she pushes it back. The woman doesn't break eye contact with him, even as the sight of him begins to swim through her newly forming tears.

"Hey, kid, it's okay, don't worry about it," His eyes meet the fluttering neon sign behind her, not wanting to lock eyes with her again. It lights her in a halo of sickly blue and Cyclone can see the fizziness of her hair in it's light- it's a half distraction from the way she is still looking at him with those tears in her eyes. He can't stand it when women cry, not after watching his wife, June, sob through her entire pregnancy. It's really the way their eyes glaze over- that helpless look where he can just tell they are fighting with everything they are worth, deep down knowing that it might not be enough. Though, it warms his chest a bit to call her "kid", like he has always been meant to use the term.

The Admiral's brown eyes go misty, locking onto the chipped portion of his glass as the memory of his wife, six months pregnant, stuck in a hospital bed as hot tears carved their way down her face invades Cyclone's memory like a plague. He will never forget the crimson staining her cheeks from the exertion as she fought. And fought. And fought. The way her skin was more chapped than smooth from the constant flow of tears- the way the light would catch the shininess of her skin from the petroleum jelly that he lovingly spread over her weeping skin.

She didn't make it home.

Neither did their baby boy.

And now, as this woman sits a couple stools down, crying in a way that's anything other than gentle, corralling her sobs into the fence of her chest; her face that same color he used to be so used to seeing, that same damn sheen to her skin and Beau feels sick. His eyes snap down to her hands and he watches as her fingers push through the soggy material of the napkin, a sight that makes him grimace a bit. Gross is not the word to use to describe a crying woman, that is fact he has to remind himself of, but the way her fingertips slipped right through that soggy excuse of a napkin is damn close. Cyclone schools his mouth into a tight line, knowing that anything he might say could make both of their day's spiral downwards even faster.

"Admiral," Cyclone wills himself to look her in the face, but his pupils dance around, not locking in on one spot too long. The frizz of her hair, then over the puffy skin under her eyes, then back up to the buzzing neon just over the top of her head. Anything to keep from looking into the woman's eyes. He manages a nod in her direction, rewarded with a hiccup from behind her glass.

A couple more used napkins are tossed up onto the bar, adding them to her steadily growing pile. Her beer is cold, and she can feel it travel all the way down, chilling her burning insides with each swallow. Cyclone takes a drink of his too, waiting for her to continue her thought. He closes his eyes as he tips back the glass, the image of the crying woman in front of him replaced with one of June, and he's not really sure which is worse.

Thunk goes the glass again.

"Can I ask a favor?" Her tone is so sweet, yet so, so sad. He thinks of June, then he nods, his body doing the motion for the sake of his heart, even though his brain is screaming at him. He was taught a long time ago that there are people who don't just ask for favors, specifically strange women in bars, new recruits, and the big brass. But, the woman looks about the age his son should have been now and his chest constricts with the realization that he could have been sitting here drinking with him if things had turned out different.

"How can I help you, kid?" The glass is hitting the bar top just a little bit too hard again, the splinter in the glass growing a millimeter. It's quickly covered by the large pad of Cyclone's thumb.

"I- well, I'm supposed to be here celebrating my Mother's leg-legacy," Another sob-full hiccup breaks up her sentence. Cyclone waits patiently for her to finish. She wipes at the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

"And, she really liked to shoot whiskey," The explanation is coming out too wet and not at all concise, but Beau is nodding along anyway. The woman is rubbing at her eyes again, this time with her fingertips. She carefully runs her nail along the underside of her waterline, trying to catch the new tears before they streak down her cheeks with the rest of them. It doesn't really work, or even if it does, Cyclone can't tell. New tears fill up the spaces the freshly wiped away ones once occupied.

Despite the unclear delivery, Cyclone gets the message. Ordering two double shots of Tennessee whiskey, his wife's favorite, Cyclone offers his best sympathetic smile to his new drinking companion. Then, as the whiskey is being poured and he is shuffling over to the bar stool next to hers. That one creaks and sways too, but he tries not to pay it too much mind.

"What's your name, kid?" There's that warmth again, breaking through the tightening feeling in his chest.

"Lieutenant Y/N "Monsoon" Mitchell," Monsoon raises her shot glass to Cyclone, offering him a nod. It's such an informal introduction but both are thankful for the lack of salute, the lack of military theatrics, tradition, that they are usually stuck to upholding. After all, what is tradition except peer pressure ringing through from years past.

Cyclone knows her, well, her name, this recruit- on paper at least. Suddenly he feels a bit worse for feeling less alone when he spotted her crying.

"Beau "Cyclone" Simpson," He raises his own glass, moving to tap them together. It's a risky move with the state of the glasses, each sporting chips in their rims and hairline fractures down their side. They share sullen, makeshift smiles, neither putting any sort of heart behind the expression. It's a knowing sort of thing, the look they share, one that says I won't say anything if you won't.

"To my Mama, Lieutenant Maria Davis, the best damn medic the USS Vinson ever saw," Monsoon's toast is simple, but she means every single word. Beau's mouth turns up at the corners, nodding to her in acknowledgment of a good job.

"And too my wife, June, and our baby boy, god rest their souls."

The bottoms of the glasses hit the table before the rim makes contact with their lips. The alcohol goes down with a burn, but it's a welcomed sensation. Anything feels better than swallowing grief and there's too much in the air right now. Cyclone chases the shot with a gulp of his beer. Monsoon doesn't. She rests the cool glass against her warm cheek, squeezing her eyes shut. It's a refreshing feeling, almost like she is being rinsed from the inside out.

The alcohol settles deep within them. She is buzzing, he is a bit queasy. Neither need to say a thing about it. It kind of feels like church- like a well spoken sermon where one sits in the pew the furthest from the crowed, tucked away in the back, poking holes in each lesson the preacher delivers. After all, it's not really God's plan, is it? More dumb luck than divine circumstance. Yet, they are both still there, sitting on stool that could give out at any moment as the lights above them buzz and the world feels a little smaller.

"I was watching the class today. You're a damn good pilot, Monsoon," Beau speaks after a few beats of silence, not quite sure what to say. Go with the truth, right? It would be rude to move back to his original seat, especially after the woman next to him just got control of her tears, so small talk is the next best option. She cracks her eyes open, trying to read the expression that follows the compliment. It looks genuine, if not a little proud, so she nods.

And then the world is a bit smaller, still.

"Thank you, Admiral, sir," She sets the glass down, gentler than he has done the whole night, "That means a lot, coming from such a talented pilot as yourself, sir."

And then Cyclone is chuckling, his chest vibrating. That feeling being the closest thing to godly he has felt in a long time, but it's more Zeus, more Jupitar, than it could have ever been God. Monsoon's words are so genuine and it catches him off guard. Most people who say something like that are trying to kiss his ass so hard that there they all but wear marks on the backside of his trousers.

"Are you getting excited to graduate? The ceremony is next week, right?" He asks, bringing his eyes back to the neon behind her. The light above them flickers, neither one acknowledging it. There is a sort of kinship between the way their souls feel and the state of the bar, where living feels like the flickering of a light, tonight.

"Sir?" The question comes with a tilt of her head, her fingers wrapping loosely around her beer. He watches the condensation drip down the glass, the water disappearing behind her fingertips.

"To graduate," he explains like it's the clearest thing, "To finish Top Gun,"

"Oh!" Monsoon almost chuckles, but her soul is too heavy. She settles on a small smile, as kind as she can manage.

"I don't graduate for another six weeks. Today just wrapped my seventh week here, but halfway done does feel good," He can tell she is holding something back with the way her eyes are pinched at the corners, the smiles on her lips straining a bit under her words. Monsoon looks like she almost doesn't believe the words that are leaving her own mouth, but when Cyclone catches her eyes again he can see that look again, I won't say anything if you won't.

"Oh," Beau's hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, all of a sudden feeling like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "In that case, you are one of the best pilots I've ever seen,"

The words fall from his tongue like they are the simplest thing in the world. His eyebrows are still raised as he downs the rest of his beer. He contemplates Monsoon's career in his head, attempting to think back to files he knows are sitting on his desk, but the alcohol swirls the statistics together in his brain.

"Thank you, sir,"

"Is your father planning on coming to your graduation?" The question is so simple, the next plausible question after toasting to her Mother's life. Monsoon bristles at the question, her expression becoming impossibly more tight, pinched.

"He's uhm," The foam in the bottom of Monsoon's glass is the most interesting thing in the room. Tears are flooding her eyes again, and she's turning back to the shitty bar napkins in the even shittier dispenser. Cyclone knows his question hit a nerve based on how she is frantically pulling napkin after napkin out of the dispenser; and the Admiral's guilt swims to the surface. He is sure that the horizon of it can be seen in his iris's, if Monsoon were to look past the evident sadness that has made a home there. He's pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, blue in color and perfectly folded. He offers it to her and it's taken with a slightly shaky hand.

"M.I.A. or AWOL?" Cyclone asks. There's a bit of humor to his question that neither of them comment on.

"He went AWOL when I was seven," She doesn't take her eyes off the popping foam in the bottom of her glass, "Then I suppose he went M.I.A. three years later, when he stopped sending birthday cards,"

Cyclone hates the way her shrugs are all noncommittal and vaguely unbothered. He would have killed for a chance to raise his child, hell, he would move the Earth if that meant he even had a chance to do something. The fact that a man would walk out on his family, on his own child, it makes him sick. There is still something else Monsoon isn't saying; the way she chuckles is almost wax poetic with the way she rolls her eyes. Cyclone raises an eyebrow at her as he gestures to the bartended for two more on tap.

"I was in Admiral Kazansky's office today," She chuckles again, eyes glassy and unfocused. Cyclone slides the new beer over to her. He brings his up to his lips as she breathes deeply, trying to order the words together in her head, words she can't believe she is about to say out loud.

"There's a fucking picture of my father on his desk," Then she is downing the beer in quick, deep gulps. It's half gone before she sets it back down. Cyclone's brain is working on overdrive, swerving the hazy clouds of intoxication, searching for the mental picture of the Admiral's desk. Monsoon is chuckling in quiet disbelief, picturing the damn photo on his desk, her father and the Admiral shaking hands during their time at Top Gun. It makes her sick, really, but she doesn't need to say it based on the way her face feels, all contorted and ugly.

"I didn't even want to be a fucking pilot," Cyclone doesn't know if she is speaking to him anymore, or if the words are meant for her half empty glass. Hell, the way she speaks them they could be meant for the universe, for Khaos, for the air itself. There's a chip on that glass too, in the smooth side if of it, where it tapers down. He watches as Monsoon rubs her fingertip over it again and again and again.

"What did you want to do?" The question is leaving Cyclone's lips before he can stop it, common sense kicking in too slow. He is kicking himself.

Then, her thumb is stopping.

"I wanted to be a RIO," The glass is lifted to her lips again, her eyes rolling at the mere thought, "I wanted to fly with my Dad,"

The laughter that leave Monsoon's lips is dry as autumn air. Her lips crack too, under the stretch of her half hearted smile- one that holds no joy, it's all lukewarm and apathetic. He watches the skin of her lips crack and separate- it looks painful, and Cyclone has to fight not to grimace at the sight. Blood slowly begins to leak through the new flesh wound, bright red as it crests over the fullness of her bottom lip. He remembers watching the same thing happen to Maverick in the back of a helicopter as the wind whipped around them. But then, Maverick wore a truly joyous smile, one that rounded out his cheeks with a rosy hue that went deeper than the wind burn.

Then it hits Cyclone like a ton of bricks- like pulling 6 G's in a fucking barrel roll. Mitchell. This girl in front of him, this broken, fatherless girl is Pete Michell's kid. As if Cyclone needed another reason to hate the reckless man.

Beau wants to punch Pete Michell so hard that the only thing the man can make out in his field of vision is stars. Either the ones in the sky as he is planted with his back in the dirt, or the ones that would no doubt sparkle behind his eyelids. He wants to watch as the other man bleeds from the nose, the lip, the inside of his mouth. Cyclone can almost see the way the blood would pool in the spaces between Maverick's too white teeth, turning them a sickly vermilion. He would take a little too much pride watching the blood drip out of the corner of Pete's mouth, or down the crest of his chin.

Hell, Pete Michell, bloody, is a justified sight in Cyclone's book.

But that wouldn't help her right now. So Cyclone takes a breath, calming the flames of anger, of Hades that often lick at his legs, at his hands, whenever he so much as thinks about Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

He's a bastard, that much is for sure. And it doesn't seem that Monsoon needs reminding of that fact.

"Well, kid," Beau is hunting, hurting for the right words, "If it's not wrong of me to say- your talents would have been wasted as a fucking RIO, especially for that son of a bitch," That gets Monsoon chuckling. She wants to ask if her grandmother was really that bad, but she doesn't make the joke. Though the laugh sounds a bit strangled as it untangles from the dense pain in her chest, Cyclone is happy to hear it. Something small swells in his heart at the sound.

Somewhere, deep in the cavernous spaces of his soul, a broken part of him feels like a father for the first time in years, even if it isn't exactly proper and the woman in front of him isn't his kid. Cyclone feels like a father, not even in a pseudo sense of the word, but truly like a father, and the feeling warms him from the inside out. It overtakes his whole body, leaving him almost buzzing.

Now it's his turn to chuckle. It's sour with pain and longing, but it's still there. Like joy is trying to crawl it's way out, lukewarm and dripping wet.

"Well, Admiral, sir," Monsoon's voice is a little lighter now, sweeter maybe. Cyclone is watching as she's pulling her coat over her shoulders, "Thank you for the favor, and the drink,"

She's nodding her head in the direction of the half full glass still dripping with condensation.

"Thank you for remembering them with me, too," They share a knowing smile, it's a little broken but it is still warm. Again, it's one of those I won't say anything if you won't looks shared between the pair. They lock eyes one last time before Monsoon is turning on her heel, ready to head right out of the front door.

For just a second Cyclone wonders if Monsoon will shudder with relief in the same way the new Top Gun recruits usually do, or if something as simple as that will effect such a skilled pilot. He wonders if anyone will be there for her on graduation day, or if she will be stuck alone in the seas of families and friends- just like he was all those years ago.

I won't say anything if you won't. Yeah, that's not a chance he's willing to take.

"Wait," Cyclone calls after Monsoon, his voice a little too loud and not at all hesitant enough. Monsoon chances a look back, confusion written into the furrow of her brows. He becons he back with a wave of his hand. Cyclone pulls a business card from his front pocket. "I am going TDY, but I should be back for your graduation," The words don't make sense to Monsoon, and neither does the card that he's presenting her between his two fingers. She is cocking her head to the side again, eyebrows furrowed. Cyclone tries to not notice how much she looks like her father.

He notices anyway.

"Email me, remind me of the date, and I'll be there," He is presenting her the card again with a shake of his wrist. Then, she reaches out, grabbing it with nervous fingers.

"Oh, uh-" There are new tears forming in Monsoon's eyes at the words, the card now swimming in her vision. "Thank you, sir,"

"Oh, better yet," Cyclone plucks the card from her fingertips, a move that may have been considered crass but Monsoon can't help but find a little bit funny. Cyclone quickly scribbles down a phone number in messy loops of blue ink, the numbers taking up a little too much room on the back side of the card. Then, he blows on it carefully to make sure the ink won't smudge before handing the card back out to her in the same manner as before.

"Text me the reminder, so it doesn't get lost in my email," Cyclone's smile is so kind and there is a ribbon of hope, a glimmer, really, shinning through the lightest parts of his irises. Monsoon can barely hold back her tears at the sight, and so the card becomes the most interesting thing in the room, held between her shaking fingertips. "You deserve to have a parent there, kid,"

Those are the last words they share that night. They don't need to say anything else. After all, how do you explain the want to stand in as a lost family member? Beau would never admit just how much he's dying for a kid to support, to cheer on and celebrate. Monsoon knows the feeling too, the want to be a daughter who isn't seen as an inconvenience, a burden.

The next time they see each other, Cyclone is sitting in the front row at her Top Gun graduation, a small bouquet of calla lilies on his lap. There is a proud smile on his face and the moment Monsoon sees it there are tears in her eyes. She wonders if this is the feeling she had been missing out on, a father's pride, his love. She tries not to dwell on it, even as walks across that stage.

When the pair meet in the crowd, Cyclone doesn't hesitate to pull her into a hug, one that may not have been professional or regulated, but he feels a weight come off her shoulders the moment he pulls her in. He feels a little more whole too. The hug is short, quick, really, but there are tears in both of their eyes when they pull back.

Cyclone has so much pride for her, and God, Monsoon can feel it. From the way he beams at her to the way he shoves a camera into the hands of his battle buddy, tucking her under his arm. Both clad in dress uniform, posing for the camera as she holds the flowers against her chest to try and quell the beating of her heart. They both sport tears in their eyes, cheeks round and plump red as they smile too wide.

That photo makes onto his desk a week later, displayed in a beautiful mahogany frame.

USS Stennis. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Four Years before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

The first time Monsoon calls him Pops, it's an accident. She got shipped out to an aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific. The tour is lonely. She doesn't know the team, the group who have been stationed there for the last six months, and they weren't overly keen on the 'new girl'. Monsoon made it through three months before she started to feel like a part of the team. It's a conscious choice, really, to keep working at fitting in. But in the end that team, those people, they aren't her family and they aren't going to remember her after she ships back stateside.

Emails to and from Cyclone kept her going, as he reassured her that life on the carrier isn't easy on anyone. He urges her to try and make better friends with those who hold a more permanent position on the vessel, so she does her best to take the newbies under her wing. If she wasn't welcomed, that was out of her control, but she can sure as hell make sure that the newbies are.

The plan starts off a little rough, the new sailors unsure of the overly friendly Lieutenant amongst the standoffish seasoned crew of the vessel. But days turn to weeks, trust is earned and the long days and nights onboard get easier to swallow.

Then, Cyclone gets shipped out to the carrier for a briefing. He can't help the rumble of excitement that tracks through him. He might get to see Monsoon, his kid, and he's going to do everything in his power to track her down on board.

There is too much joy on his features as he touches down on the carrier. Too much joy for the briefing he is getting ushered into. It drags on longer than necessary as they hash and rehash out plans for missions. He knows he should care, he really does, but it's not like people's lives are on the line this mission. It's all practice runs and jet maintenance, and how could anyone expect him to focus when his kid is on the same vessel and he is just fucking sitting there. Cyclone barely sits still, knowing the clock is ticking down on his time aboard and if this meeting goes on any longer than planned he is going to miss his chance to see Monsoon.

Around suppertime, Monsoon is heading to the canteen, desperate for some sort of nourishment. It has been a long day, trial after trial, and thankfully for her, she's fairing better than some of her other wingmen. At least she hasn't puked over the side of the carrier since her first week aboard.

She guides one of the newer pilots, Story, down the stairs from the flight deck, her stomach rumbling as they go. The new Lieutenant on board hot on her heels as they make their way down the stairs.

"I know, Story, but you're going to get through this," Monsoon's voice is low as they wind their way through the tight hallways of the lower decks. "You're a good pilot, there is nothing you can't do. So what if you need a little more practice. That's why we're out here, right?"

The younger man hums in agreement, disappointment scribbled all over his face. They are both coated in sweat, Monsoon's hair sticking to her sweat soaked skin. She craves a shower almost as much as she craves food. Her body is weighed down with flight fatigue as she drags her feet.

The halls of the ship begin to smell more and more like hot biscuits and butter the closer they get to the mess hall. Their stomach's rumble in unison at the smell wafting down the hallway. Monsoon is rounding the corner with her front turned towards Story, not bothering a glance in the direction her feet are heading. A second later, her back meets a hard body, a grunt coming out of her mouth at the impact.

Story goes white at the sight of his new friend running straight into an Admiral. Monsoon doesn't like the look on his face, he looks like he's just seen a ghost, or maybe prophesied a murder. So she turns around slowly, so, so slowly. Her eyes are scrunched as she turns. There is already an apology on her lips as Monsoon peeks to see just exactly who she just ran into.

Eyes go wide, and smiles break out over their faces.

The need for food, a hot shower, and sleep dissipate from her body as she looks up at the man in front of her, joy overtaking.

"Pops!" The name comes out a little too quick, catching them both of guard. Monsoon's cheeks flush dark with embarrassment, realizing what she just said and who she just said it to. Without warning, Cyclone is pulling Monsoon into his chest, wrapping her into a warm, tight hug, just the kind of hug a Dad would give.

"Hey Kiddo,"

TAG LIST

@its-the-pilot

@t4medicroe

@inkandarsenic

161 notes · View notes

championofsanghelios · 11 months

Text

love...

SPOILERS FOR TOTK (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED) "Did something happen with you and Link?" "What?" Sidon snaps out of his daze as he hears Yona's voice. He turns around to face her, letting out a small gasp. "What- What are you doing up here? It's hardly a safe place for-" "-because he seemed pretty upset with you from what Rivan and Bazz told me." Yona continues, tilting her head at him. "Something about...past interactions." "..." The Prince blinks a few times, shaking his head. "...I-...what? I didn't find him to be upset or disagreeable...in fact he seemed quite happy to see me after all this time. I know I was delighted to see him." He tilts his head much like she had. "What makes you say that?" "Your father actually..." Yona sighs. "I went to see him at the Sanctuary and he said he was concerned about what might happen when Link learned that you and I were...well you know." "Instigating old guppy..." Sidon breathes out deep through his gills, shaking his head. He was suddenly realising what she was getting at. "I assure you the stuff that happened between Link and myself is in the past...I'm not entirely sure what drew us together originally, but it's no longer the case." "Well it's not in the past for him." Yona replies, giving her fiancee a look. One she'd given him many times throughout the years they'd known one another. "...he remembers it quite vividly." "Well you can tell my Father that I detected absolutely no signs of-" "-not for him, you silly shark!" Yona breathes a laugh, stepping forwards and prodding him gently on the arm. "For Link. Did you actually look at him when you spoke to him?" "Of course I did." Sidon replies flatly. Glancing to the right slightly. Desperately trying to remember what colour of tunic Link was wearing, if he was even wearing one at all. "It's-...it's only good manners to make eye contact with the person you're speaking to." "Like you're making eye contact with me right now?" "Uh-" "Sidon." "Alright! Maybe I was distracted by what I'm doing here!" the Prince suddenly snips, gesturing at the sludge raining down around them, and the brown gloomy mess that the waters had become. "There is a little bit of an issue if you haven't noticed! One that is taking up a considerable portion of my concentration." "Sidon." Yona continues. "He still cares about you a great deal. Maybe you're not prepared to accept that given that you've moved on from him, but the truth is the truth, no matter how much you try to ignore it." "I'm not ignoring it." he mutters. He turns from her, shaking his head. "I'm just-...it was a long time ago...we're different people now." "Do you still care about him?" is the next question, and as if she couldn't have asked a better one at the most perfect time, he finds himself turning back to her. "What sort of a question is that!?" Sidon exclaims, almost hurt by it on some level. "Of course I care about him! He's my best friend in the world! Why wouldn't I!?" Yona simply smiles at that. "...you should talk to him...properly, when you next see him." "We have a lot to do..." Sidon manages to find the words after a moment, breathing a deep sigh. "...you, my father and I have a Domain to keep safe...but Link? He-...he has 5 Kingdoms to check up on, a Princess to find. There's nothing I could do or say for him that would ease that burden." "This was the first place he came too...after finding his way back to Hyrule." Yona says after a beat. "...and do you know when he walked up to me in the Plaza that first time...his first thought was to ask where you were." Sidon processes that as she says it, his eyes widening a fraction. "...I-...It was?" "When people are under threat of losing everything they tend to seek out what matters to them most." Yona adds finally. "...for comfort, for help...and in his case...love.

She sighs, smiling a little more when she sees it all dawn her fiancee's face. He remembers that you never gave up on him, that you believed in him when he needed it most...next time you see him, make sure you don't betray his memory of you..."

#totk spoilers #legend of zelda tears of the kingdom #prince sidon #lady yona #sidlink #short stories #this is really stupid #I actually really like Yona.#Shes really sweet.

329 notes · View notes

twst-drabbles · 4 months

Text

Azul and Idia 2

Summary: The winter chills and heavy rains have completely shut off your lights and your heater as a result. You bring out your old board games just to play around with this, and two little pets decided to join.

(Have I ever told any of you that I have a tiny board game collection? I do. Anyways, take a guess as to what board game I am referring to in this drabble. Should be easy to guess.)

There are many things about this house that you really loved. You loved it’s rather remote location, love that it’s not so remote that you needed a vehicle to drive to the store. You loved that there’s plenty of plants to give you fresh air. And mostly, you loved that this house was made to be used by anyone. You didn’t have to worry about being locked out of your basic needs just because you couldn’t use magic to activate them.

What you don’t love is the fact that this is an old house. Because it lacked modern sensibilities, it is prone to fail more often than you’d like.

And right now, you are in the middle of such a failing. Wind and rain have been pelting your roof, pipes and wires like no tomorrow and eventually, your house just gave up. The lights flickered one day and went out like that. Along with your heater.

You already called in advance, but because of the weather, you’d have to sit tight for the next few days until conditions are good.

So, here you are, bundled up in your winter hiking clothing just because it was the closest thing on hand, with you two little pets.

Azul, the little guppy, was no stranger to the cold. His kind are used to being in frigid waters, so he didn’t have to wear anything. Well, rather he didn’t want to wear anything. Hates clothing since it always sticks to him in all the wrong ways. His skin is always wet, so you can understand.

“Nope,” you pushed the little old lady figure back a section on the hallway tile, “can’t move a fifth time, Azul. You already used your two actions.”

Azul went stiff and curled into himself, flushing an array of colors at this small error. You patted his tentacle writhing self on the head. No worries, no worries. He grabbed onto your hand like it was his moral support as he corrected his movement and set his figure–less than half his size but still looking pretty big–at the end of the hallway.

You heard a tiny snicker to your left and blew a strong gust of air towards Idia. His flame aura flickered and twirled back like a wayward leaf, though leafs don’t really yell in distress. He caught himself in time on the battery lamp you had set on a nightstand.

Idia was also bare, though he’s taken to wearing a little embroidered handkerchief like it’s a cape. It’s leftover merchandise you got because you saw Idia really focused on this dark fantasy anime the tv has been playing. Little dork. Mean little dork.

“Don’t laugh at him, Idia,” you said as he hovered back to the main table, low to the ground like was dragging himself, “Anyways, your turn. What do you want to do?”

Idia floated over and tapped a question mark token laid on the entrance tile. He hummed, though it almost sounded like a sad huff.

“Alright,” you woke up your tablet–connected to a power bank–and tapped on the matching question mark, “you want to investigate the painting?”

Idia nodded.

“Then show your character card to me please. It’s a skill check one.”

A slow game for a slow day. Honestly, you’re surprised that these two are staying as still as they are. They both have this nervous chihuahua energy about them, and when they’re together, they tend to amplify those levels. Well, they become less nervous, but they start having too much fun and get jittery like they drank concentrated coffee.

Well, at least you found something that’ll keep them calm until they’re tired.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #octavinelle #azul #azul ashengrotto #ignihyde #idia #idia shroud #house pet au #reader insert #drabble

129 notes · View notes

dirtytransmasc · 1 year

Note

Spider just being immune to Pandora's wildlife, like the boy was playing with viperwolves as a kid and he can walk straight through a herd of Hammerhead titanotere without getting stampled.

The Sully kids just accept it without question

The adults are confused, concerned and a little scared

jake and neytiri, who never really kept tabs on spider when he was out in the forest, choking on their dinner as their kids relay stories of him playing with viperwolf cubs while their mother watch on, how he managed to help a young thanator who had gotten his foot between som rocks without getting so much as growled at, how he could sleep on the forest floor amongst a migrating herd of titanotere carefully avoiding him, one of the older females gently waking him and guiding him to a safer sleeping location.

at first they don't believe the tales their children tell, they don't even really ask spider all that much, until some of the hunters witness it for themselves. they come across spider sleeping in a tree and a thanator prowling close by, but when they go to drive it off, he yells at them, claiming that his friend is just watching over him while he sleeps.

then they begin to seek the boy out during the day, and find that it is very much true and it is utterly fucking terrifying at first. but as the days go by, the stories piling up, they just accept it, this is who the child is and no one is willing to mess with his growing 'herd' of friends. the sully kids had sorta just accepted it as spider's thing from the very beginning, so that wasn't very hard for them to do.

norm and max want to have a goddamned stroke when they hear about the shit spider gets into, they try to get him to stop just in case his luck wears off, but to no avail.

The village just sorta goes with what the sully's say cause that's just easier than trying to fight it, but its so weird just watching this very human child romp and play with pandora's most dangerous creatures.

don't even get me started on the metkayina. they watch this boy make tsurak's look like puppy dogs and akula like common house guppies. tonowari is baffled and ronal is further convinced that he is a miracle from eywa. both want to wrap the boy up in their arms and never let him out into the world again because for eywa's sake that boy is going to give them a heart attack.

#spider socorro #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #eywa #sully family #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #I wanna punch myself #I meant to post this before I left for a hockey game I went to so it could gather some views while I wasn't on my phone #but I forgot to hit post #anyway

364 notes · View notes

hypnoneghoul · 10 months

Text

little drabble about regressed rain sticking grapes onto their fangs, because I did that yesterday (I wear fake fangs sometimes, it's kinda like a stim for me LMAO), 570 words

@ominousposting @everybodyshusband

“No, no, no, no, guppy, don’t cry, shhh,” Swiss panicked seeing tears rapidly welling up in Rain’s eyes. “Here, try this one.”

He handed them a smaller grape than the previous one that caused Rain to get upset. They were sticking the grapes onto their fangs, but when a grape was too big, it just slid right off. Thankfully, Swiss was there, picking out the smallest ones for them, so no breakdown actually happened.

Rain took the grape from Swiss’ palm and, furrowing their eyebrows in concentration, they carefully brought it up to their fangs. Pushing gently, as to not crush it, only pierce it, they got it on one of their fangs.

Now, the tricky part.

Will it stay on?

Rain hesitated, scared of the outcome of this try. Swiss was too, being honest, the water ghoul was one grape away from bursting into tears, “It’s fine, kiddo, it’ll work.”

They slowly lowered their hand and-

Rain jumped out of their chair, with the happiest little noise because the grape did stay on. They were chirping, squeaking and giggling, jumping up and down and clapping their hands together (it reminded Swiss of the thing that seals do, the wobbly clapping) in such unfiltered joy Swiss thought his heart would melt.

“See!? It worked, guppy!” the multi ghoul laughed, relief washing over him. "Wanna try the second one?"

"Yewh!" Rain shouted, the word barely resembling an actual 'yes'. Swiss got to shuffling through the bowl of grapes again, to pick another small one but with the skin thick enough to get pierced smoothly. Once he did, he nodded for Rain to sit back down.

"Here you go, kiddo," he crouched in front of them, some tension returning as another big moment was about to take place.

The water ghoul opened their mouth even wider, scrunching up their upper lip, and carefully moved the grape to the other fang.

A slow push, quietest sound of the ripe skin of the fruit breaking and-

"Hwihhy, hwihhy, ig wowhed!" Rain giggled, holding their mouth open, tip or their tongue peeking out from between the grapes.

"Kid, you're spitting on everything," Swiss laughed, so far from actually minding having to clean up all the drool later. If anything, he was worried about the grapes falling off and the tears it would inevitably cause. "And you don't want to drop them yet, right?"

Rain didn't actually close their mouth, smart, but they stopped trying to speak, now only giggles breaking their way free. It was hilarious, how the water ghoul just sat giggling with their mouth hanging open and two grapes stuck on their fangs.

Soon enough, though, Swiss noticed their tongue starting to slide down, from where it rested against the roof of their mouth, to gently lick at where the grapes were punctured and where the tiniest bit of juice was leaking out.

"You want to eat them, don't you, guppy?" Swiss asked, teasing, as if it wasn't painfully obvious. Rain nodded enthusiastically, anyway, then tilting their head to the side with a silent question in their eyes. "Go one, there's a whole bowl, we can munch on grapes all evening!"

That Rain did, snapping their jaw so hard and suddenly their teeth clanked and the grapes popped loudly. Another happy trill escaped the water ghoul's mouth, Swiss all but dying with adoration.

"Now, do you wanna try to catch some with your mouth while I throw them?"

#hypnone writes #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #little ghouls

89 notes · View notes

endlessnightlock · 1 year

Note

In case you feel like writing this kiss prompt 😍

“Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.”

Peeta frowned at the thermostat. "Who turned the heat up again?" he groused, pressing the touch screen to lower the temperature in the house. He couldn't be sure who the culprit was but had several ideas. It could have been Leia, their youngest at four, who liked to wear her Bubble Guppies bathing suit all winter long. Or maybe Briar, their middle child. She couldn't seem to grasp the concept that sweatpants were better suited to lounging around this time of year over sleep shorts and tank tops.

At least he knew Adam, their oldest, was on his side and keeping his fingers off the thermostat. Their son was as much of a brick oven as Peeta was himself. He still didn't know what it was about the male Mellark genes that kept each of them so hot all the time, even in January.

"Policing the thermostat again?" Katniss asked, entering the living room from the kitchen. She leaned against the wall where the thermostat was located, a cup of coffee in her hand, grinning at him. She couldn't resist teasing him about the constant battle of the hot versus the cold members of their family.

Peeta frowned at her. "If those kids had to pay the gas bill just once..."

"I know," Katniss said, coming towards him after setting her coffee mug on the table sitting next to where they stood. She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. "It's exhausting being Dad, isn't it?" she asked him, frowning sympathetically.

As a matter of fact, it was exhausting parenting their offspring. God knew Peeta loved them, but sometimes they were pretty thoughtless. At least Katniss was on his side, he told himself, accepting her kiss.

Peeta had just closed his eyes to maybe---the kids were all at school, and somehow he and Katniss had the house to themselves---take things a little further than a simple kiss shared with his wife when two icy hands slid up the back of his shirt.

"It was me," Katniss murmured, her voice a warm purr that, alongside the prickly sensation of her cold hands on his back, sent his body into hyperdrive. "What are you going to do about it, big daddy? Spank me?"

Peeta snorted, amusement mixing with arousal because she was just so damn cute, but Katniss squeaked out a laugh as he gathered her up in his arms and carried her off to their bedroom.

#endlessnightlock writes #everlark fanfic #modern a/u #a/u thg fanfiction #katniss everdeen/peeta mellark #mom!katniss #dad!peeta

134 notes · View notes

ninja-go-to-therapy · 2 months

Text

Stringed

For Discolored.

Kat, not only have to dragged me into writing for Trolls, but I have degraded myself to writing a songfic! SONGFIC! Have a happy birthday and enjoy the whump!

(Yes I changed some lyrics to make it fit better.)

Since he woke up, Branch had been doing everything he could think of to fight back. Every annoying trick Poppy had ever taught him. The leash was chewed. Bella was kicked when she tried to feed him. He hissed and growled at Daffy when he approached.

Hour three was when he resorted to screaming. Just screaming his head off. He could see it wearing them down. After another hour of near constant screams broken by Branch’s need for oxygen and only Branch’s need for oxygen, Daffy finally pulled over.

“Quit throwing a tantrum!” he shouted.

Branch just continued to scream. He kicked his feet on the ground like a toddler just for good measure.

Daffy growled.

“I think you need an attitude adjustment!” he said “Fine. We can play a little game!”

Branch squirmed and kicked as Daffy approached him, but eventually Daffy unclipped the leash.

Branch barely questioned it before standing up and bolting to stand in the doorway.

“Calm down, baby.” Bella begged, wring her hands in worry.

Branch snarled at her.

“We just want to bond with you! Why won’t you let us!” Bella yelled.

“You kidnapped me!”

“John Dory did that first!” Daffy pointed out “If he had left well enough alone-”

Bella placed a hand on his chest.

“Babe.” she said

Daffy huffed, crossed his arms, and shut his mouth.

Branch narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He had a feeling the rest of that sentence was important.

“Branch, Darling, Baby. We’re just doing the best we can. I know this is a little jarring, but we want to have some family time with you and this really was the only way. Don’t you want to spend time with your parents? Get to know us?”

“You. Kidnapped. Me.” Branch repeated.

He really didn’t know what part of this wasn’t getting through!

Bella sighed.

“This is not a discussion. We are going on tour! You are going to be nice to your mother! We are going to make happy family memories! And you will be performing! End of!” Daffy said sternly.

Branch laughed.

“There is nothing in the world you can do to make me sing for you!” he snapped.

Bella began to fidget with her bracelet.

“Guppy, we’re your parents. We can make you do anything we want.”

“Maybe Grandma could! But you didn't raise me! I’m not afraid of you!”

“Are you going to make us do this the hard way?” Daffy asked.

Branch maintained eye contact as he throw open the door.

They sighed.

Branch couldn’t care less about their empty threats. He had entertained them for too long as is. They had let him off the leash and stopped the bus. That was practically an invitation to leave. Branch used to make a habit of rejecting invitations, but he was a post-Poppy Branch now. He didn’t need it hand engraved.

He could hear a song starting as he stepped off the bus, being followed by his parents. He didn’t really plan on joining in on it. His parents could sing it to each other while he walked away. Or maybe he’d end up singing half of it from a mile away. He didn’t care.

He was barely paying attention to the music when every inch of his body suddenly locked up. It felt like he had been sewn up with sting and every stitch was being yanked. He could see the string bracelet his mother had giving him glow a strange blue.

Then his head was twitching back and forth to the beat. This wasn’t the normal choreography that came so naturally to a troll in a musical number. Those instincts could be resisted or interpreted. This was a rigid command. Branch helplessly hit each beat with unnatural perfection.

“Now's time, get in line.” Bella sang.

Branch felt himself step back into line with his parents.

“Don't be afraid tonight.”

Branch helplessly synced to his parents’ dancing as they continued to sing.

“We're gonna take you high. And before you realize.”

He didn’t know what was happening. He felt sick, but he couldn’t stop.

“Round and round you'll go.”

He spun.

“Up and down, never slow.”

He threw himself around like a rag doll.

“Feel the excitement grow.”

Branch felt like screaming! Why was he doing this!?

“Oooh! This is where you let go!”

He continued to dance too perfectly. It was intense. It hurt.

“Hands high like a roller coaster. This power taking over. Take us higher, here we go. Ohohohoh Welcome to the show!”

His parents were still singing, like this was fun. Like they weren’t hurting him.

“Don't fight us and just conform! Cause you were made to perform! We're not about to lose control!

Or maybe they were singing like they were.

“Ooooh! Welcome to the show!”

Then Branch discovered a new layer of torture when his own voice sang.

“Oooh! Welcome to the-”

Branch sounded as on key as ever, but it felt like singing through a blown out throat. He was relieved when his parents took to vocals back over. Branch continued to dance to their duet like a prop, but at least he wasn’t singing with them as he bounced between them.

“Oh! Oh! We're on a mission. Nothing”

“NOTHING!”

“Can stand in our way!”

Branch noticed the choreography had him dancing like a literal puppet. It made him feel sicker.

“Ohohoh! We don't need permission! We're gonna rise up!”

“And we'll be the change!”

The torture came back in full force as Branch’s voice vocalized in the background while they sang.

“Oh! Oh!”

“Hear it on the stereo!”

He wanted to cry, but nothing was responding.

“Whoa! Oh!”

“You're about to lose control!”

He was twitching on beat. So Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

“Whoa! Oh! Everybody knows! Oooh!”

“This is where you let go.”

Branch was sick and dizzy, but it didn’t stop him from hitting Every. Last. Mark. With uncomfortable accuracy.

“Hands high like a roller coaster. This power taking over! Take us higher here we go! Ohohohoh!”

“Welcome to the show!” came again from his own unwilling throat

“Don't fight us and just conform! Cause you were made to perform!”

Branch had never heard of a troll singing against their will. He didn’t know how his parents were doing this. It didn’t feel natural and it hurt.

“We're not about to lose control! Oooh oh!”

“Welcome to the show!”

More like Welcome to the horror show! His parents took back over the next lines, but the dance got downright demeaning.

“Come on. Come on. Come on. And put your hands u-u-up.”

Branch felt his wrist lock above his head, mocking being shackled.

“We're gonna have some fu-u-un.”

Stepping from to side to side. Perfectly on beat. So perfect you’d never guess how much pain he was in.

“We've only just begu-u-un.”

His skin itched and burned everywhere as he danced.

“And it's too late to ru-u-un.”

His arms pulled like there were strings in his bones.

“You can't run so put them u-u-up.”

His parents were dancing with him again.

“We're gonna have some fu-u-un. Turn up the bass, let it wu-u-ump. We've only just begun.”

Bella’s hands were on him. He managed to shiver, butt hat was probably only because it was involuntary.

“And you can't run.” she sang from behind him.

She spun him around and he mirrored every step while he sang in perfect pitch with her.

“Hands high like a roller coaster. This power taking over.”

Now that Branch had a close look at Bella, he noticed her bracelet was now faintly glowing blue and gray.

“Take us higher. Here we go!

Gray and blue like his had become. The bracelet he had failed to take off.

“Ooohohohoh!”

He got the next line all to himself.

“Welcome to the show!”

Branch finally understood some of what was happening to him.

“Don't fight it just conform.”

Somehow, the stupid promise bracelet was controlling him. The song was all his mother’s design.

“Cause I was made to perform.”

He stored that information away for later use and tried to focus on blocking out the pain. His throat hurt. His joints hurt. And frankly his heart wasn’t in the best shape.

“I do not have the control.”

It felt like his throat was shredding with every note, but he continued to sing his part without a single hitch or crack.

“Whoa oh! Welcome to the shoooooow!”

Bella split off from him to dance with Daffy again.

“Hands high like a roller coaster! This power taking over! Take us higher, here we go!”

Branch got another turn, hating the sound of his too perfect voice that felt like it should be nothing but raw growling at this point.

“Ohohoh! Welcome to the shoooooow!”

They were on either side of him, framing the puppet like twitches he was doing.

“Don't fight us and just conform! Cause you were made to perform! We're not about to lose control. Whoa oh!”

“Welcome to the show”

It finally clicked. Branch may’ve been the one singing it, but they were welcoming him to the show. The show he was about to be an unwilling star of! Hence why he was the one welcoming himself.

“U-u-up! We're gonna have some fu-u-un. Turn up the bass, let it wu-u-ump We've only just begun.”

They almost seemed to mocking him.

“Welcome to the show.”

He wanted to scream, but his voice was stuck being so painfully perfect.

“U-u-up! We're gonna have some fu-u-un.”

His sure they would.

“Turn up the bass, let it wu-u-ump.”

Branch started to sink to the floor like a puppet being lowered.

“We've only just begun.”

He was sure of that too.

“And I can't run” Branch sang in horror.

He was left panting on his hands and knees. Everything burned like he scrubbed himself raw with acid. Hands and breath shaking, Branch slowly raised his eyes.

Bella was standing over him, adjusting her own bracelet. It was back to the off white color.

“We don’t want to have to do that too much, but we’ll do what we have to if you’re going to be trouble.” Daffy explained.

“Just behave yourself and do what your told and we won’t have to do that again. Alright, Guppy?” Bella added sweetly.

She hugged Branch before he could pull away and helped him stand.

“I’m going to puke.” he announced.

Bella rubbed his back and helped him stumble towards the toilet. He made good on his promise.

“It’ll get easier.” Bella said, her kind voice almost making Branch feel better.

Branch coughed before he could say something snarky. It was probably for the best. He wasn’t ready to go round two and insulting his mother was probably “making trouble”

“You were perfect.” she said.

Branch hated that word. He hated the possessive way she said it.

“Are we going to behave now?” Daffy asked.

Branch wanted to bite the man and refuse. He wanted to scream like some kind of creature. He wanted to shove Belladonna’s motherly hands off of him!

But the bracelet still felt tight on his wrist. If he did any of that, he’d go through it again and Branch just couldn’t do it. Not so soon after the first time.

“I just want to take a nap.”

He would fight again in the morning. When he had his strength back.

“Good boy, Guppy.” Bella said, giving him another hug.

Branch slumped and let her carry him to his bed.

“My perfect boy.”

Branch still hated that word, but he was too tired to even make a face.

"Welcome To The Show" by Britt Nicole in case you couldn't tell.

Happy birth, you smug bitch! ILY.

#submission #grungekitty-77 #IVYYYY #SHUT UP THIS IS SO GOOD #the whiplash from Britt Nicole tho… bro I was obsessed with her in like middle scho #terrifying #trolls #dw trolls #not my fic #discolored #fanfic #whump

15 notes · View notes

mattypattypinky · 5 months

Text

🎀Vector Childhood Headcanons🎀

He should have been diagnosed with Autism as a child 😔

He'd be the type of kid to wake up at 7 AM to watch his favorite cartoons. He'd know the time of each cartoon he liked and he'd prepare for episode airings.

He'd creep downstairs so he doesn't wake his dad. 😭😭😭

He liked Bubble Guppies, Spongebob, Fish-Hooks - Any sea life cartoon. He still likes them as an adult. (Secretly) - As an adult he probably complains about newer seasons of Spongebob but he watches them anyways.

His vision is really bad, he can't see at all without his glasses. When he was a kid he used to trip constantly over stuff constantly until he got his bifocals. He tried to wear contacts when he was a kid but he was scared and grossed out to the point he swore to never use them, all because someone told him once that it would get lost in his eye at school.

He definitely had braces as a kid (we were robbed of him with braces so let me wish 😔) He'd be the type of kid to lick and suck at the braces to get the spit out 😭 He would have had a lisp, people probably laughed at him.

He had a shark toy (as shown in the picture on his dads office table) when he was younger, so I feel like he'd take it everywhere. He probably brought the shark toy with him to school, and held it at recess and stuff.

When he was a kid, and he went to the beach with his dad, he'd usually collect shells and cool stuff he'd find out on the beach sand and shore. His dad would complain about him getting sand all over their vehicle and the house when he wanted to take them home but he'd refuse not to take them. He probably collected shells, shark teeth and little Coquinas and stuff.

He collects a bunch of shells and accidentally kills a bunch of sand fleas and stuff and then he CRIED so hard that he threw up😔.

I feel like his dad would make him a seafood dinner, and he eats it, and then when he found out it was sea food, he CRIED so hard that he threw up. 😭 When he was little he liked calamari but when his dad told him he got so sick. 😔

He would get into Nuh Uh - Yuh Huh arguements at school (He still does this to this day as an adult) - He'd correct people on grammar, facts, everything😭

"Actually,, it's saturn that's known for its rings, not Jupiter." then he gets into a nuh uh yuh huh argument.

The teacher would have to break up the argument because Vector as a kid would have been stubborn (He is still stubborn but it was way worse as a kid😭)

He would beg and cry for his dad to take him to the aquarium every birthday. The same exact Birthday gift. His dad would be like "We've been there for the past five years in a row" and Vectors on his knees like "PLEASSsEEEE!!! WE NEED TO GO!!" His dad won't say no bc it's his birthday gift.

As a kid his staple color was still Orange, but he often wore blue as well, as well as sea life shirts and clothes. He probably had shark PJs as a little kid. But as he got older he realized that Orange was a good branding color (and his favorite color😒) so he went all out with it.

I feel like late at night on a weekend he was watching a movie with his dad,and when he woke it auto played a deep sea documentary, he was about to turn it off but he was mesmerized by it and so slowly his interest in sea life just sky rocketed from there. Like he had a small interest in it already but it was a total accidental exposure and it became an entire personality trait. He probably had a pet gold fish as a kid. When his fish died his dad lied about it and got another fish until he couldn't keep lying anymore because Vector eventually found one dead😭

It was a traumatic experience for him.

I feel like as a kid his dad carried him a lot on his shoulders based on the picture in his office. Imagining his dad picking him up and carrying him around when Vectors too tired of walking his little feet🥺🥺🥺 Like at an amusement park or beach.

I feel like his dad tried to convince him that a fish wouldn't love him back and that he couldn't take it for walks or teach it tricks or anything but Vector was stubborn and only wanted marine pets.

When he was little, and he found out how hostile Dolphins can be, he felt as though his cartoons and movies lied to him. Ever since he's been an avid Dolphin actions spokesman, talking about how awful Dolphins can be.

#mattypattypinkyposts #despicable me #vector perkins #despicable me vector #vector #vector despicable me #despicable me headcanons #vector headcanons #vector x reader headcanons #🦈🌙

21 notes · View notes

2econd2ight2ydney · 11 days

Text

(just for some context-I’m not publicly out as transmasc yet so basically everyone at school thinks I’m female. okay? okay.)

so yesterday I was kinda joking around to the person next to me about how I had a crush on the pink haired girl from bubble guppies when I was little and she said “but that’s a girl?”

I kinda just shrugged it off until today BCUZ SHE LITERALLY SHOWS UP TO SCHOOL WEARING THIS SHIRT

SHES AN ALLY

#lgbt #lgbtqia #pride #bubble guppies #lgbt rights #straight ally #this is my friend valentina she’s an ally #talk valentina #ally!!!

14 notes · View notes

melon-cream-enmu · 5 months

Text

Chapter 1

Cw: Inosuke's tail is scarred from fishers nets and hooks, implied he's been injured fighting in the past. That's all. Female reader

Once again, thank you to @firelillys for their headcanons and @cornfleaykes for their art for giving me inspiration for this series!

It's not that he particularly liked the sea, it didn't really have anything for him. But he hated the courts, and the people of the kingdom grated his every nerve more and more these days. So 'escaping' upon his ship for hours on end was better than being in the palace.

Muzan closed his eyes and exhaled, the sun felt nice on his skin, warm in contrast to the cool salty air. He scoffs with a smile. He can admit that he enjoys this at least. He trails the sleek, stained wood of the rail he leans on as he looks out at the vast shimmering blue before him, the texture was once perfect, but is now slightly rough from wear. A pity, this ship wasn't cheap, yet another thing the courts had given him flak for, but at that time he hadn't cared. Truthfully, he doesn't care now either, he wanted a way to avoid them then, and it's granted him that whenever he wants it.

"Your highness," his lips pull down into a scowl, "the court is still awaiting your response. It would be best if you had an answer by the time we return home." This was ridiculous. He was no child, no prince, he was the king. What use did they have for a quuen that was so important that he must wed.

He sighs, lowering his head and running his hand through his hair, before turning and making his way to his quarters.

~~~

"(Y/n), are you sure we're allowed this far out?" You peek around a boulder before continuing on once you see the cost is clear. "Absolutely sure." Zenitsu squeaks as he hurries to catch up. "R-Really?" You nod without looking back at him. "I'm absolutely sure that I am NOT allowed out this far." He tugs on your tail, trying to make you stop, but all he gets is being dragged along. "(Y/n)! What if we get in trouble?! You're a princess, but I'm just some fish!" You scoff, kicking him off your tail and slowing to a halt finally.

"You are not just some fish, you're my friend. But you're also not a minnow anymore," his nose crickles when you poke it with your fingertip, "you can't be scared of every little thing, Zeni. Don't be a guppy." His cheeks puff as his face blossoms in pink. "I'm not scared! And I'm NOT a guppy!" Your lips purse as you nod along to his frantic rebuttal, your gaze shifting as you tune him out. As you do, you spot what you came looking for.

Human stuff.

The shipwreck you heard about. That Inosuke had told you about, while swearing he had no part in its sinking. You grab Zenitsu's wrist and pulled him down, interrupting his complaints. "(Y/n)! We shouldn't-" "Shhh! You don't know what might be down here!" That does the trick, as he covers his mouth with his free hand. You hold your bag tight as you pick up speed. It's a bit colder down here, and you'd bet if Zenitsu shivered any harder you'd hear his bones clacking.

The ship was smaller than others you've seen, and it looks newer. You already doubted whether Inosuke really had nothing to do with it's sinking, but now you're nearly convinced. Slowing down, you scan the area, and Zenitsu wraps his arms around your middle, head turning this way and that as he looks with wide eyes at the scene before you both. You approach the ship, peering in a porthole and, once you confirm nothing is inside, urge Zenitsu through it. He goes with a reluctant look, and you begin to look for abother way in, the porthole being too small for you.

"Over here!" Zenitsu whispers. You follow his voice to an open wall in the ship and swim inside. The walls are colorful, still vibrant, and ornate details curl about on fixtures and floorboards. With Zenitsu's help you pull and push at things, and lift and lower, collecting things here and there until something catches your eye.

A box. It's small, and soft to the touch, almost like the top of a jellyfish. You marvel at it, it's strange, and amazing! Zenitsu swims up beside you and stares at it too. "(Y/n), I think we've explored the whole thing..." You open your mouth to answer him when you hear a rush of water outside. He yelps and squeezes close to you.

"What was that!" A series of knocks interrupt you before you can calm him, and he cowers behind you. There's a deep rumble in the water around you and you reach behind you, placing your hand on Zenitsu's back. You may tease him, but he is younger, and has never left the kingdom besides when he's with you, so you are responsible for him. You keep your eyes ahead and stay on your guard. Having several brothers apart of the royal guard has taught you to stay vigilant. You swim back slowly, heading towards the entrance you swam in through. When you approach it you stop.

You feel a change in the water. Just the slightest movement, and kick your fin hard, turning yourself and Zenitsu, so that you face the opening. Just in time for a loud roar and a snap of teeth right before your face.

Your lips turn down and you glare. "Inosuke, that's not funny."

The merman before you cackles and falls to the sea floor beneath you, grey tail flailing as his cackles soon turn to howls of laughter. "No no, turn around, seriously!" You huff as you turn to look at Zenitsu, who's gone white in the face and looks like he might die of fright. You sigh and hold him as you sit in the sand, running your hand over his head. You slap the toughened skin of Inosuke's tail with yours.

"That was mean you know." The boys who's head lays in your lap seems to be calming down, moving off of your tail and sitting, looking at the ground. "Alright alright fine, I'm a big meanie shark!" It's not an apology, but Zenitsu and you know he means well. "Anyway, what did you find today princess?" You take off your bag, something Inosuke made for you a while ago, from fishing nets and something you're sure he pulled right off a humans back, 'those things they wear to keep from getting wet' he said. You dump it's contents and he rifles through, mumbling about thingamabobs and snarfblatts.

Inosuke knows so much because he's been captured by humans a lot, and has escaped humans a lot. Atop his head sits a pirate hat he stole along the way in his endeavors. His tail is scarred, and his fin has puncture marks from fish hooks, he even still has one, he claims its 'a trophy' of sorts.

"Oh this! I found it here, what is it?" You pick up your box and show it to him. Inosuke stares for a second before picking it up from your hand and...opening it, like a clam. "Oh these. They're for fighting." He plucks a circle of metal from inside the box. "You put it on your tail, above your fins, good for slappin, but this one's too small for any of us." He drops both the box and it's shiny contents and goes back to your bag.

You pick up your new treasure and gaze down at it. It's silver in color, with a bright blue stone that shines, even all the way down here. It really is small, it fits in the palm of your hand. You don't want to just leave it here, so you'll put it in your hiding spot and figure it out some other time.

Inosuke bites one of the munnies you found and mutters. "So, where's Gonpachiro?" Zenitsu pipes up from where he digs his fins in the sand. "Tanjiro is back at the palace, training." Something registers in your head, but you can't put your finger on it.

"Oh right, isn't there a ceremony today?" Inosuke remarks, half interested.

You groan loudly, and both boys look at you, startled.

"Oh gods the ceremony! Big brothers gonna kill me!" You scramble to gather your treasures and stuff them in your bag. You don't look to make sure the other two follow when you get up and swim off at a hurried pace.

~~~

"She's kinda cute isn't she?" Long nails caress the image of a girl tailed by two boys that fogs from a cauldron. "She's a no good, spoiled princess, who cares." A pebble flies in the direction of the haze, but a black tentacle swats it from the air. Another slaps the other hand away from the cauldron. Pale hands hesitate to reach for the image before them, but ultimately they pass through it, unfazed as it dissipates. The two eelmers lazing about turn and watch with a curious eye as the sea witch turns and retreats to his alcove in a blur of tentacles...

#cream slayer #toasted sugar cream #toasts this post due to the nature of the series as a whole #cream writes #cream fem

22 notes · View notes