#moose fic

[brain-rot-hour]

"Amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non ponitur"

Happy birthday to the talented, wonderful, angsty, just keep swingin', "They're safe.....for now" @elkonigin !

Happy birthday, friend-o! Thank you for all the tears, laughter, and quick wit. This years been rough but you got this 💚

(Some artistic liberties were taken, but here's a little spoiler for [Supersum] with a brief nod to [Objects in Space])

[sparklecryptid]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 25/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Original Male Character(s) Characters: Original Male Character(s), Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Hatake Kakashi, Uchiha Itachi, Nara Shikamaru, Hyuuga Neji, Yamanaka Inoichi, Maito Gai | Might Guy, Nara Shikaku Additional Tags: Weird Plot Shit, Self-Insert, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Developing Friendships, Weird Ninja Therapy, Ninja Therapy That Isn't Actually Ninja Therapy, More Like An Invasion of The Mind Series: Part 1 of Ventus Summary:

Akira had plans for his life. Dying and being reborn as Sasuke's twin brother? Was nowhere in those plans.

warning: this chapter contains food as an excuse for politics and manipulation, please handle with care.

im kidding about the handle with care part, but akimichi’s can be sneaky as fuck apparently?? also the chunin exams happen a little bit. and gai. a Thing happens with Gai.

god i love gai.

[motleymoose]

Imagine Nursing Colt Back To Health

“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Colt muttered as he pushed himself off of the couch and started limping towards the kitchen. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing, mister?” I growled, hands on hips as I watched him wince when he reached for the fridge door handle. Sheepishly, Colt leaned heavily on the counter and gritted his teeth. “Makin’ me a sandwich.” He gave me an almost-innocent smile. Rolling my eyes, I stalked towards him, nudging him aside with my hip as I opened the fridge. “Move it, bub. I’ll make lunch while you rest that back.” Colt snorted as he thrusted out his chin, a defiant look gleaming in his eyes. “I can make my own damn sandwich, I’m not helpless…” “Yeah, but you were the dumbass who went over the alleyway wall and got run over by that ol’ Hereford rip,” I countered as I slammed the mayonnaise onto the island, my back to him. “You really had me scared, Colt. I thought that cow had done some real damage.” The image of him crumpled in the dirt, not moving or making a sound, was ingrained in my mind. Seeing him like that had really shaken me. Quickly wiping at my eyes with a trembling hand, I took a deep breath and reached for the bread. All of the cockiness left him, and he took a careful step forward, easing an arm around my waist and pulling me into him as I spread mayonnaise on a slice of bread. He nuzzled my neck, breathing an apology. “Sorry… I didn’t realize you cared about me that much.” I could feel a grin spread across his face as he pressed his lips to my temple. “I love you, you big dope,” I murmured, leaning into him. Colt chuckled. “I love you, too, baby.”

[motleymoose]

The Way You Do The Things You Do

Challenge: @imamotherfuckingstar-lord ‘s Ivonne’s Song Challege

Prompt: The Way You Do The Things You Do by The Temptations

Fandom: The Ranch

Characters: Rooster x Reader, Jesse (OC), Jake (OC)

Warnings: None? It’s fluff

Words: ~500

A/N: Heya! If ya’ll haven’t watched this show yet, do it. If you can work past the laugh track, get it in your queue. It’s great. Anywho, this is loosely based on the song. It’s just a sickly sweet domestic sort of thing. Enjoy!

There was a gentle scuffling outside the bedroom door. Groaning, I propped myself up on my elbows and squinted at the door, trying to decide whether I wanted to feign sleep for another hour or just let them get it over with.

Bam bam bam

“C’mon, sleepyhead. I know you’re up!” Rooster shouted through the door.

“No I’m not!” I yelled, falling back into my pillow and pulling the comforter over my head.

The door creaked open and Rooster poked his head in. “The boys and I made breakfast. Better get out here before they eat all the bacon.”

Sighing heavily, I flung the comforter off, pushed myself up, and stretched. Knowing how the kids liked to ‘help,’ there was no doubt in my mind that the kitchen was going to be a disaster. I shook my head and padded down the hall towards the sounds of giggling children and clinking plates. As I entered the kitchen, I was surprised to find that the counters and stove were spotless. Jake and Jesse sat at the low bar, cheeks stuffed with pancakes.

“Hey, chipmunks,” I teased, ruffling their hair as I passed. They squealed in delight, sticky fingers swatting playfully at my hand. Chuckling, I rounded the bar and grabbed a plate. “Save anything for me?”

Jesse took a gulp of milk before answering. “We ate it ALL!” he shouted, and the duo erupted into giggles once more.

“Don’t worry, I saved some bacon from the little wolves for you.” Rooster leaned around me and set a few strips on my plate. He squeezed my ass before turning back to the boys. “So! What are we going to do for Mommy’s birthday today?” ………………. After a long day of chasing Jake and Jesse around the small zoo in the next town over, we were finally home and the boys were in bed. I was just kicking back on the couch with a glass of wine and the remote when Rooster walked into the living room.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. There was an ornery gleam in his eyes as he plopped down beside me. He snatched the remote from my hand and began to channel surf.

“Hey! I was watching that,” I grumbled. Setting my glass on the coffee table, I dove on top of him, trying to reclaim the remote.

Rooster let out a laugh and shifted, dumping me onto the floor with him on top of me. I wriggled in vain as I glared at him. “Dammit, Rooster, get off of me! I just want to watch my show!” Arching his eyebrow again, he shifted slightly. My breath caught in my throat. Oh.

He noticed the change in my face and grinned. “Okay,” he shrugged, pushing off of me slightly. “I’ll just go to bed then.” He made to roll off of me.

“Wait!” I wrapped my legs around his hips, cementing him in place. “I don’t think I’m quite done with you yet.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I was just thinking the same thing.”

[motleymoose]

Imagine Rooster Taking Your Daughter Fishing

“Don’t hurt ‘im, Daddy! That’s my favorite worm!” Your daughter squealed as Rooster picked up a wriggling earthworm from the grimy styrofoam cup. She whimpered quietly, eying the sharp hook in his pinched fingers.

Rooster sighed, safely setting the hook out of the way as he palmed the worm and knelt down beside the worried preschooler. Gazing calmly into her eyes, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Okay, little darlin’, which one isn’t your favorite?”

She gently picked up the cup and stuck her hand into it, picking at the soil with careful fingers. “They’re all my favorites, Daddy. They’ve all got names an’ families an’ little houses I made out of leaves.” She hugged the cup to her chest, her eyes widened in fear. “Please, Daddy. Don’t poke ‘em with a hook.”

Chuckling, Rooster patted her shoulder before pushing himself off the ground. Dusting off his hands, he glanced around the small pasture pond, thinking. Finally, he looked back to his daughter, smiling. “What about grasshoppers? Is it okay if we poke those with a hook?”

Beaming, your daughter nodded energetically. “Yep! We can poke a grasshopper. They’re bad. They always eat up Mama’s garden.”

Rooster nodded at his daughter’s youthful wisdom as he dug in the back of the truck for an empty bottle. “Good reasoning, kiddo. Now let’s go catch us some ‘hoppers.”

[motleymoose]

That’s A Promise

Fandom: The Ranch

Pairing: Rooster x Reader

Words: ~400

Warnings: Language, fluff

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Dammit, woman! What didja do with my coffee cup?” Rooster bellowed from the kitchen. I could hear him digging through the dishes in the sink as he frantically searched for his favorite travel mug he had gotten at the state fair tractor pull last year (he had come in ninth, and I had bought it for him as a consolation prize). He muttered something that vaguely sounded like he was threatening to hide my car keys until he found it.

Rolling my eyes, I rose from the couch and snagged the wayward mug from the coffee table (where he’d just so happened to leave it when he’d gotten home the night before).  Padding silently to the kitchen, I leaned against the door frame as I watched him crouch underneath the sink. “What was that you were saying, dear?” The mug swung haphazardly by its handle from a crooked finger as I held it nonchalantly in front of me.

Startled, he jumped, whacking the back of his head on the cabinet frame before falling backwards onto his butt, cursing the entire way. “The fuck!” He rubbed the back of his head furiously as he sheepishly looked at me. “Ouch, that hurt like a mother. Uh,” he paused, his eyes landing on the dangling mug. “Where’d you find it?”

“In the living room. Exactly where you left it last night,” I sighed, setting it on the counter before reaching a hand out to help him up. “Ya’ll got to start keeping track of your shit, one of these days I might not be here to help you out,” I teased, slapping his butt as he scooted past me.

Giving an overly exaggerated growl, Rooster whipped around, pulling me into him as he nuzzled my neck. “Is that a threat, Y/N/N?”

Chuckling softly, I cupped his face with my hands. “If you don’t learn to pick up after yourself, it’s a solid promise.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Woman, you couldn’t quit me if y-”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” I laughed as I tilted my head to capture his lips with mine.

“I’ll do more than that,” he muttered against my mouth, his hands sliding underneath the back of my shirt as he began to guide me toward the couch.

“Oh, really, Rooster? And is that a promise?”

“Damn straight, darlin’. And you can take that to the bank.”

[motleymoose]

Mud & Coffee

@wayward-mirage asked:

I have a Sherlock request ! John x Reader - Reader serves John coffee or tea at his favorite spot and finally asks him out. Fluffy !

Words: 515

Pairing: John Watson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight language

A/N: Heyo! This is a little thing requested by my lovely Toni. I’m not the greatest at the romantic fluff, so hopefully this works for you =)

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The bell tinkled over the door as a man hurried into the small cafe. Through the old timey diner mirror behind the counter, I could see the rainwater dripping from him onto my freshly mopped tiles as he paused at the door.

“Oi! I just cleaned that mess up,” I snapped over my shoulder as I stacked cups next to the espresso machine. Reaching around to grab the next stack, I glanced at the man and almost fell over laughing. “John! What the hell happened to you?”

Shrugging stoically, the infamous John Watson limped to the counter and collapsed onto a stool. Mud streaked his usually impeccable clothing, and his blondish hair stuck out at odd angles from his head. I couldn’t help but smirk at the small blob of filth dangling casually from his nose. He opened up his mouth then snapped it shut, shaking his head. He resigned to holding up a trembling hand, gesturing wearily at the coffee pot.

Nodding obligingly, I poured him a steaming mug, setting it in front of him with a spoon and the creamer. Giving me a half smile for a thanks, he stirred the thick fresh cream into his black coffee before taking a long sip. Sighing contentedly, he set down the cup and buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly.

Rolling my eyes, I tossed a towel at him before pouring myself a coffee. “So, I gather the visit to the graveyard didn’t go well?”

His head shot up. “That… that <<bastard left me in the <<bloody grave! I turn to get a hand out, and he’s scampered off!” Swiping the towel across his forehead, John looked at me, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know how you lived with Sherlock all those years, Y/N/N. I would have smothered him in his sleep… if he actually slept.”

Grinning knowingly, I squeezed his hand. “If you want, I can talk to my brother. Tell him to not be such an ass.”

John thought for a moment before muttering, “That would be lovely, actually.”

I slapped the counter with my palm. “Excellent! And as for thanks, you can take me out to dinner.”

Wide-eyed, he gaped at me as he tried to speak. “Dinner? With you? I-What?” He blinked before clearing his throat. “I mean, fantastic! That would be the least I could do.” He gave me that baffled-yet-charming smile I loved so much. “Does tomorrow work for you?”

“I was thinking tonight. I’m getting ready to close up, and I could walk you back to your flat,” I said nonchalantly as I placed our empty cups in the sink. “You can clean up,” I eyed him pointedly, “while I shout at Sherlock.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Deal?”

Flashing that crooked smile again, John agreed. “Deal,” he said as he stood up from the counter. “Although I don’t suppose you could wait to berate him until I’m done in the shower? I want to learn how to do it properly.”

Chuckling as I began to turn off the lights, I nodded. “My pleasure.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Got a request?

[motleymoose]

That Lonesome Song

Fandom: The Ranch

Pairing: Beau x Maggie

Prompts: Half of the songs on Jamey Johnson's album "The Lonesome Song" went into writing this fic.

Summary: Beau tries to mend fences with Maggie.

Words: 1,500+

Warnings: LANGUAGE; all the freaking angst, like seriously; heavy drinking

A/N: I had to write this because of the fact that there are like two fics for this fandom, and both of them are Colt x Rooster, which makes me feel squicky. So, yeah, I kinda had to write this. And because hellooooo, this show is basically what it was like growing up on a farm, minus the laugh track.

*gif not mine

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thirteen days.

It had been thirteen fucking days since Maggie had taken the boys and gone to her parents' place in Cañon City.

It had also been almost that long since Beau Bennet had been sober. Sure, there were the first couple of days after she'd left him that he had woken up with a hangover strong enough to kill a horse, but now he had a solid drunk going. As long as the beer and the whiskey didn't stop flowing, it was unlikely he was going to feel anything for a while.

He hoped he wouldn't feel anything, anyway.

Sprawled out on the couch, Beau squinted blearily at the rough-hewn ceiling beams as he tried to stop the room from spinning. It'd been late when he had gotten in from doing chores, but that hadn't stopped him from finishing off a half a case of Bud and a couple snifters of Jim before passing out in his coveralls on the worn-out sofa. Going to bed drunk was one thing, but waking up... that was a little harder on the senses.

Rolling onto his side, Beau fumbled with the beer box he had shoved under the coffee table.

Empty. Goddammit...

He heaved himself into a mostly upright position and dug around in the couch.

Bingo.

Pulling a Tall Boy from between the cushions, Beau cracked it open and began gulping the warm beer down like a dehydrated man to water. It wasn't going to clear out a hangover completely, but it was just enough to get him going on breakfast. .......... After a slapped-together PB&J and a cold shower, Beau was up and going, an Irish coffee sloshing in the thermos stuck down the front of his coveralls. Cows were starting to holler, and the forecast was calling for snow later in the morning, so he plugged in the tractor battery first thing. The old Allis-Chalmers was a bitch to start when it was cold, but warming up the battery beforehand usually cut down on the cussing and wrench throwing.

Once he was able to turn the engine over on the tractor, he set to work filling feeders and stacking hay for windbreaks. Colorado winters could be fierce, and he tried to do anything he could do to protect the herd from the gusting wind.

There was something about the routine of feeding and stacking bales that put thoughts of Maggie and the boys to the back of his mind. The monotonous sounds of the tractor coupled with driving almost the same exact path back and forth put him into a zen-like state. Not that he believed in that meditative hippy bullshit. But it was kinda nice not feeling guilty for a bit.

The whole fucking mess was all his damn fault, not doubt about it, but he wasn't going to own up to it.

Especially not to Maggie.

Cursing himself, Beau stopped the tractor just outside the gate and pulled the thermos from his coveralls. Taking a swig of the cooling liquid, he forced himself to make a list of all the other things he needed to get done before the storm hit.

It wasn't easy, but Beau was stubborn like that. Once he put his mind to something, he sure as hell wasn't going to let up on it until he saw it through.

Even if that meant that he was going to be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future.

"Fuuuck," he breathed, his mustache bristling as the anger and the hurt began to unfurl inside his chest. He took another long pull off the thermos, twisted the cap on, and put the tractor back into gear. There wasn't time to waste mulling over his feelings when shit needed to be done. He was going to have to wait until the evening to drown his heartbreak. ............... "Hello?"

No amount of booze could numb the pain he felt hearing her voice. "Hey, Maggie," Beau murmured into the receiver, his free hand twirling his glass on the table top. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels stood uncapped in front of him.

"Beau? What... Are you drunk?" Maggie asked, her voice shaking in anger. "I told you not to call here."

Sighing heavily, Beau closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. He took another sip of whiskey before speaking. "Come back, Mags. I miss you so... so much." His voice cracked as he held back the emotion bubbling up in his throat. "Please, baby. Come home."

There was a long, drawn out silence. Beau wasn't sure if she was still on the other end of the line. He opened his mouth to repeat himself when Maggie finally spoke up.

"How dare you. How fucking dare you call and beg me to come back," she spat, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Goddammit, Beau. I fucking told you we weren't coming home 'til you straightened your shit out." She paused, her breath coming out in quick, angry bursts that made the receiver crackle.

"Just... I love you, baby. Please," he slurred. The glass lay on its side, lazily rocking back and forth on the scuffed tabletop. His free hand was fisted in his hair as he tried to hold it together.

"Don't you pull that bullshit on me, Beau. It ain't gonna work this time."

Biting back a sob, Beau tried a different tactic. "Can I at least talk to the boys?"

Maggie cursed before relenting. "Fine. Just. Be quick."

There was a muffled holler followed by a scuffling sound. "Hey, Daddy!" Rooster shouted excitedly into the phone. "Whatcha doin'? Gammy's takin' us to see Santa! Papa's ear thingy isn't hearing, so we have to talk real loud at him. Did Whiskers have her kittens yet?"

Smiling crookedly, Beau scrubbed at his eyes before answering the slew of preschooler speak. "No kittens yet, but she's getting close. I'm just sitting down to dinner. Have you been a good boy? Don't want Santa leaving coal in your stocking!" He liked to tease his boys; it was his way of showing them affection, something his father never seemed to do. Shaking his head, Beau returned his focus to his son's rambling story.

"... And then Colt fell into the feed bunk and the steers spooked! But Papa said it was okay cuz the kitties always get in there huntin' mice. Oh, and me an' Mama an' Gammy made cookies while Colt and Papa took a nap. Don't tell Colt, but Gammy let me lick the spoon!" Rooster giggled conspiratorially, and Beau felt his heart swell with love. "Oh! Colt wantsta talk to you, Daddy. Lovyabyee!"

There was a thump and a shriek as the two youngsters fought over the receiver. Finally, the youngest Bennet picked up the phone. "Hi, Daddy. When we gonna go home?"

Beau's heart skipped a beat as his drunken brain scrambled for an answer. "I-uh. When your mama's done at Gammy and Papa's, bud."

Colt sniffled on the other end. "M'kay. Daddy?"

"Yeah, Colt?"

"I miss Whiskers an' Bones an' Misty an' all my toys an' riding on the tractor an' feedin' cows." Colt stopped, and Beau could hear him fidgeting with the phone cord. "Hey, Daddy. Will Santa Clause know where we're at if we don't go home on Christmas?"

Laughing quietly, Beau nodded. "Santa will find you, don't you worry. Do you think he'll pass up filling your stocking full of coal?"

Giggling, Colt chided his father. "Oh, Daddy! I'm not gettin' coal! You're gettin' the coal!"

Beau started to chuckle when Maggie's voice came across the line. "Okay, get on to bed, Colt. I need to talk to your daddy some more."

Colt said a hasty goodbye, and Beau was once again fighting off the hurt in his chest. "Listen, Mags, I-"

She cut him off. "We'll talk about this when you're sober." There was another silence in the long string of silences that was becoming their conversations. Finally, Maggie exhaled into the mouthpiece. "Take care of yourself, Beau."

Click.

Beau sat that for several minutes with the phone's receiver dangling from his hand. After a while, he stretched and replaced it in its cradle before standing and scrubbing at his face with his hands. Grabbing the the neck of the whiskey bottle, he shuffled into the living room and sank into the couch. Taking a long pull straight from the bottle, Beau closed his eyes and tried to forget Maggie's harsh words. He knew he needed to sober up, even if just for a little while, to get her to come back to the ranch.

Holding the Jack Daniels bottle at arms length, he squinted at it for a moment before leaning forward and setting it on the coffee table. He stood back up and looked around at the pyramids of cans and the mountain of dirty dishes and the clothes he had strewn about the place. Nodding resolutely, he began to weave his way into his bedroom.

No doubt about it, he was a stubborn man. And once he put his mind to it, Beau Bennet could do anything. Even if that meant he was going to have to survive one hell of a hangover in the morning.