#a drabble

[eyesforfuma]

Oh Fuma, the gentle dom to have you on your knees and tease you by slowly stroking his length as close to your mouth as possible, teasing your lips with his tip while his other hand is pulling you back by your hair so you don’t get to suck him off, not yet

never breaking eye contact, eyes full of lust and he just loves how you suck and lick your fingers for him while your other hand wonders through your body as you know you cant touch him or please yourself

"you are such a good girl, behaving so well for daddy" he says as he pulls your head back to have a better look at you, his cock now being dragged through your face, loving the sight of his precum covering your pretty lips

"stick your tongue out for me" and you waste no time, you want him inside of you in any way possible so you do as you are told, his hand gripping your hair tighter, his tip now teasing your tongue

his throbbing cock, his taste and him grunting at your warmth is all you needed to have you being a whiny little mess so you beg, beg him to fuck your mouth, so he does, he slowly starts fucking that pretty mouth of yours, so slowly its making you go insane

"open wide for daddy, pretty angel, i want you to take every single inch of me like the good girl you are" the way his hands are holding your head in place, making sure his cock stuffs your mouth even if you have a hard time breathing or your vision gets blurry as tears stream down your face

he is not the one to fuck you slowly but when it comes to your mouth he just likes to enjoy it as much as possible, until you swallow every single drop of him

[haaszard]

refreshing ao3 on the amangela tag every hour since yesterday and no updates... i feel like an addict

[captain-mj]

Vampire priest Soap who tries to hide his affliction from his parish and has to feed off Ghost, the only person in their small town that knows. Ghost had to convince him to let him help because he didn’t want Soap getting hungry and hurting anyone.

Soap keeps waiting for the threats. The blackmail. Anything. Instead he finds himself surprisingly well taken care. He feels guilty crawling back to his church at night. Feels disgusting. He’s using Ghost and he barely manages to thank him most nights.

Ghost never stops him when he gets too eager, never scolds him. The only time he ever pushed him away was the same night he blacked out.

Soap finds himself wanting more. At first he thinks his appetite has grown but no, he wants Ghost’s attention which is a lot scarier.

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel is over 91k words…….

[ncillary]

====================================

...Welcome to The...

Masterlist of LaDS in This Shelves

====================================

Drabble Collection:

Affinity 10: First Meeting in Cafe

Affinity 15: Heartbeat in Her Presence

Affinity 20: Same transportation

What If(s): Mind-like companionship

Fanfiction Collection:

LaDS x Fruit Basket (FuruBa)

[ X - Z - R - S ]

Self Aware AU: Masterlist [ NEW : Caleb - Ch 6 ]

Springfresh Day: Masterlist

Birthday Event : Sylus

MV Collection:

Timelock Key Event - AV ASMR

• Sylus : Shadowed Past

• Zayne : Fates Entwined

1st Anniversary - That's the Way It Is

Caleb - Dark Horse

Speculation Collection:

Relocate MC when Linkon is dangerous for her

First Day as A Hunter

MC Connection with Aether Core(s)

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A/N: The list will be updated from time to time

====================================

[mademoiselle-red]

The safest place in the world was Uncle Zhao’s chest, upon which I clung to for dear life.

The warmest place in the world was in Xiansheng’s arms, which held me gently as I pressed a little kiss to his cheek.

I wake from these dreams of childhood, alone, in the generous lordly estate granted to me, still hearing the phantom beating of Uncle Zhao’s heart in my ears and feeling the lingering softness of Xiansheng’s skin against my lips. I turn away from the morning light, to face in the direction of the land I can longer reach, and wonder how tall the grass above their graves have grown this year. In the shadows where the sun cannot touch, I stain my pillow with quiet tears.

[cvntoid]

Roman Roy watching you when you're working

Roman Roy abusing his status to watch what you do at work on your computer, Roman Roy leaving a tracker on your phone, on your car

Roman Roy rubbing surreptitiously at his dick under his desk when you're in the room taking notes or dictating or rattling off news or questions or bullet-points to him, noticing his intense stare but chalking it up to him being an asshole and nothing too untoward

Roman Roy stalking the places you go - your favorite shitty little cafés, the trails you walk, the grocery stores you frequent most, just to have a hint of you, just to quell that aching need inside of him to Know

Roman Roy forcing his driver to stop outside your shitty apartment so he can look up and guess what window might be yours - that is, until he finds out for sure, and he sits in the back seat fighting the urge to touch his cock or get out and march up the stairs

Roman Roy planning. Roman Roy figuring out your routine and figuring out what you like, searching your phone when you aren't around it, Roman Roy sniffing your hair when you're too close, sniffing your jackets and scarves when you're not in his vicinity

[honorarybuckley]

tommy is safe and that’s all that matters to buck.

until he hears bobby’s name in that voice. the voice comprised of notes showered in fear and grief. the voice that could only belong to athena.

it’s always bobby.

well. that’s not true. sometimes it’s eddie or chim or himself. it should be him now. but no, he’d promised not to think like that anymore. promised the people who love him most. promised maddie and eddie and tommy and bobby.

besides, wishing won’t save bobby now.

tommy is safe. bobby is dying. and buck exists somewhere between relief and despair.

[ivenlz]

WHERE ARE THE PIWON WRITERS HIDING AT 😭😭‼️‼️ I’m feeling quite parched… jiung writers come back plz….

[tmntxthings]

∑一 Do You Realize?・゜・。

author’s notes: idk what to say & also idk what i wrote, i was floating during this XD but we post anyhow

warnings: fluff, slice of life, flirt, cursing? unedited asf, suggestive perhaps??? if you squint?? or maybe like peanut butter a lot???

song: “ Do You Realize?? by The Flaming Lips ”

—————————————————————————

Michelangelo was quiet as he ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Though it was more peanut butter than jelly. Which really may have been even more disturbing than the silence. Who in their right mind liked the way it got stuck in the roof of their mouth?

“…”

You munched on your own sandwich. A proportionate amount of pb and j on either bread slice. After swallowing you decided to speak up.

“What?”

His response was immediate after a blink or two.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah but I know you’ve got something to say,”

He goes back to that odd quietness again. His fingers squeezing onto the sandwich too tightly. Peanut butter getting all over his hands. Well. Even more so than before. Truthfully he had been sticking his fingers in the jar to eat it raw earlier.

“…it’s weird.”

A teasing tone came from your voice as you nudged your shoulder with his.

“Can’t be weirder than eating peanut butter with your fingers.”

“Hey!” An offended lilt heard from Mikey. But it couldn’t be helped!

“Just kidding..” “Mostly..” You offered as a compromise. His head tilted from side to side, seeming to let it go in favor of the initial conversation.

“Well, I was just thinking about how we’re all gonna die one day.” Now you hadn’t been expecting that. Not at all. Mikey had his weird quips. But this was darker than most! You wondered if his favorite pizza place had been demolished again offhandedly before saying the first word that came to your mind.

“Oh?” But it didn’t stop there!

“And that, I’d just hope you’d be around when it happens for me.”

Now that was just too much. It was sad. It was sweet. It was all wrapped up in emotions that had you looking Mikey in the eyes, pb fingers and all and giving him a small smile.

“Damn..” Again you were at a lack of words here. You wished you could say more. In fact you should’ve just said, ‘same’ or ‘me too Mikey’ or anything other than something so meaningless.

“Yeah, weird right?” He didn’t seem put off by your lack of response. His eyes had met yours, returning the smile before looking back down at his food. Taking another bite.

“A little, but not the strangest thing ever.” Which was true. You had to endure Leo after all. And he said random shit all the time. Though not as philosophical. Maybe Donnie would be closer to this category.

“Also!” Mikey spoke up around his bite.

“Oh there’s more?” You pop the last bite into your mouth. Dusting off the crumbs on your fingers on the paper plate below. Reaching for the bottle of water that had sat untouched since the two of you had sat down for the midnight snack.

“Yeah! I was also thinking about how life goes by super fast, and all the good moments too, it’s the bad ones that tend to drag out. I just wonder why that is.” This was longer, and even more confusing than the first.

“Hmm” Your eyebrows went together, thinking of what to say. Holding off for longer than before. But your mind was still blank. The thoughts weren’t weird, in fact you felt they were true. But..“I couldn’t even begin to try and pretend that I know the answer,”

“Yeah,” Mikey sighed in agreement. It was something he couldn’t answer too.

“And another thing!”

It seemed Mikey was on a roll tonight. You propped your elbow up on the table. Letting your hand cup your cheek as you leaned into it. Pushing the paper plate away from underneath you. “Mhm?” You listened intently. Well you thought you had been. Because you got some words but not the others as you watched his eyes rather than his lips.

You caught words like, “face” “happiness” “realize” It all didn’t really make much sense. But his eyes, the way they lighted up as you paid attention. It was so endearing. Unlike the rest of him that was green and orange, and okay he had splashes of other colors with his stickers too. But his eyes. They held a mixture of such a striking red and a mellow amber. It was far from anything you had ever seen, much like the turtle himself. Entrancing.

“You didn’t hear a word I just said did you?” He mused. And you were caught red handed as you sheepishly tried to play it off, listing the words you did catch with a bit of embarrassment. “Well that just won’t do, listen close okay?” Mikey said and his hands went up as if to cup your face, but he still had peanut butter covering them so instead you held onto his wrists, nodding in confirmation.

“Do you realize that you have the most beautiful smile? The one when you’re especially happy?” You squeezed his wrists, giving him a rueful expression. Was he being serious? Of course he was! He was smiling at your bashfulness, but nothing in his stare said he was playing you. “Thanks for enlightening me,” you say, though the blush can’t be helped.

“Your welcome!” And he had the audacity to wink as he took one peanut butter covered finger and stuck it in his mouth. You blinked. How could he go from borderline flirting to— to?!? Whatever he was doing now??? Eating obliviously?? It was times like these where you wondered. The lower half of your face hidden behind a hand pressed against your mouth. Trying to cover that embarrassingly bright blush. You wondered if Mikey actually did know what he was doing, and he was just a damn good actor at pretending not to know.

As you recomposed yourself, lost in thoughts like those. You didn’t pay any mind to Mikey turning slightly to the side and winking at no one in particular.

Yeah he knew. And yeah he does it on purpose.

;D

—————————————————————————

[galway-girlatwork]

Wild Hearts

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Rating: Fluffy fluff with a hint of angst.

WARNING: None

Central Characters: Oberyn and Lilith

Word Count: 675

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

Music Inspiration:

Back in My Body-Maggie Rogers

Summary:

For Mina’s Moodboard Birthday Celebration. I picked Oberyn and got horseback riding so I wrote this lil drabble. It takes place before Oberyn would have told Lilith that he was going to announce their union. Their fourth lifetime. Of Death and Butterflies had so much angst, I wanted to write something sweet for them. Please enjoy the moodboard and the drabble.

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the land in hues of pinks and oranges, the wind warm, carrying the scent of citrus as it swept through the hills. She adjusted her grip on the reins, shifting slightly in the saddle as her horse walked alongside his.

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” she murmured, glancing at him from beneath her dark lashes.

He turned his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slight smile. “Because it pleases me to see you atop a horse, wild and untamed, just as you are meant to be.”

Rolling her eyes, heat spread through her chest. He had a way of making even the simplest things sound like poetry, of making her feel loved, of giving her hope that this time would be different than the others. He may not remember their past but what he was doing in this lifetime was making memories she would carry into the next.

Horses moved in an easy rhythm, hooves kicking up soft clouds of sand. Taking a deep breath, she let herself sink into the moment, despite the darkness edging around them. The world was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of trees and the distant rush of a river winding through the hills.

He rode beside her with the grace of a warrior, hands loose on the reins, dark eyes watching her more than the path ahead. “You are beautiful like this,” he said, his voice low. “Free. Free of the hurt I see in your eyes. Tonight, we will lay in the gardens, staring at the stars.”

She let out a breathy laugh, a smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am always free. The hurt is my burden to carry love. You know this.”

He frowned for just a moment before shaking his head. “Are you? Free? I know it is. Just remember the promise, Butterfly.”

Before she could respond, he suddenly urged his horse forward, taking off at a gallop. Lilith blinked, before she grinned, tightening her grip on the reins. “Oh, you bastard—”

Digging her heels in, horse and rider surged after him. The world blurred around her as she rode fast and hard, wind whipping through her hair. Oberyn’s laugh ahead of her, wild and unrestrained, she chased that sound, pushing away the dark thoughts that constantly plagued her mind. She just wanted to live in this moment with him, to hell with her father and the consequences she knew she would have to face.

Just as she was about to catch up, he pulled his horse to a stop at the crest of a hill, Lilith doing the same, breathing hard, pulse thrumming. Below them, the landscape stretched wide and endless, the golden light of sunset spilling across the world like molten honey.

Oberyn turned to her, his gaze hungry, lips slightly parted. “You take my breath away,” he murmured.

Swallowing, feeling the weight of his words settle deep inside her, watching as he slowly reached for her hand, fingers tracing the inside of her wrist where the infinity mark lay.

“I know you’ve spent lifetimes searching for me, always so close before,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her palm.

Breath catching in her throat, the world seemed to stand still around them, the sunset now casting them in shades of gold and fire. Without another word, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss, feeling him wrap and arm around her, bodies leaning so far into each other, it was a wonder neither one fell from their saddles. Hand pressed against his cheek, thumb brushing along the bone beneath. Ending it, forehead pressed against his lips, a deep shuddering breath was pulled from her body. “I do not wish to speak of the past right now. Just let us exist in this. I love you, Oberyn. Til the end of time.”

“I love you, Butterfly. Til I no longer draw breath in this lifetime and any other after this.”

@evolnoomym @almostfoxglove @604to647 @whocaresstillthelouvre @ease-out-the-clutch @kittyfox1107 @tinyglamdramaqueen @pedgito @guiltyasdave @littlemisspascal @jolapeno

Divider by @saradika-graphics

[mega-aulover]

A Little Christmas - Burrito Sabanero

This is for @am2c te lo pormeti hace un ano atras, y nunca lo escribi. Pero hoy aqui tienes tu regalito sabanero...

Katniss sat with her daughter singing an old song her father taught her.  “Con mi burrito sabanero voy camino del Belén…”

It was a song that was passed down from generation to generation. It was in an old song in a language that wasn't English. Katniss's father only sang it a few days after the New Year's Day celebration in preparation for the special day.

Her mother often told her father not to sing the old songs. They were dangerous. She encouraged him to sing the songs permitted by Panem for the new year. New Year's was an event in Panem, it always was. But after that holiday, when all of the hoopla was over with, came the Everdeen family tradition. 

It was a treasured family practice. The day before, Katniss and her father would hunt for a box or crate. They would stuff it with hay in the hopes that Katniss would be visited by wise wealthy men from far away. Even her mother would go along with the hijinks her father came up with, and allowed him to teach Katniss the song.

Katniss recalled waking up one night and hearing strange noises coming from below. She crept down the stairs to see men wrapped up tightly in fur and snow with braying animals. How her father got her mother to agree to live animals to stomp around their small home was beyond her comprehension. Her mother liked to keep their home tidy.

Animals were not tidy. 

Katniss and her father would sing the Burrito Sabanero song, and the next day the hay would be gone and a small gift would be waiting. A ribbon, a piece of candy, a cookie, a yarn necklace with shiny buttons, a beautiful piece of lace Katniss sold to be able to afford some food for her family.

Her favorite memories associated with her father were hunting in the woods and this Everdeen family custom. Everything changed when her father died. The songs disappeared along with laughter, warmth, and security. Katniss’s world stopped as the act of surviving took precedence in her life. She donned the cloak of adulthood at the tender age of eleven because she’d also lost her mother to despair and debilitating depression. 

As she stared at her infant Katniss marveled at how those events took place years ago but they still felt fresh in her mind. There were things she never wanted her daughter to go through, and there were others she wanted her daughter to experience.

Katniss had forgotten all about the tradition. It was brought to memory because Panem had instituted a new Holiday called Christmas a few years ago. Back then they didn’t celebrate it because they were still recovering from the physical and mental onslaught of the Games and the war. 

Peeta began celebrating the holiday first when they officially moved in together. It then spread to the bakery. It was a low-key event. However this year, Peeta went all out. He dragged in a large pine tree for the woods, decorated the house with garland, shut the bakery, and created or purchased many presents for Melody and Katniss.

He was giddy for the day. Though it was a special moment, seeing their baby staring up at the tree with wonder, it didn’t quite hit home to Katniss. 

To Katniss, it didn’t compare to the holiday memories she had growing up. Peeta, ever-observant, did not miss that her eyes didn’t sparkle. 

“What’s going on, up here?” Peeta asked, pointing to his head, as they were getting ready for bed.

“Nothing.” Katniss narrowed her eyes, “And don’t you dare call me sugar-bear!”

Peeta smirked and wickedly wiggled his eyebrows. He knows how much she loathes sickly sweet nicknames. “Sure thing sour-patch.”

Katniss rolled her eyes as she climbed into bed. The man knew how to disarm her, with his witty sarcasm.

Once they were snuggled in bed Peeta said, “Well?”

Katniss thought about how to broach the subject. Communication was the key to their relationship. They learned in therapy that they needed to use their words to be able to express what they were feeling. “Are there any traditions you did around this time of year when you were younger?”

“Huh,” Peeta breathed.

Katniss splayed her hand on his chest and with her other hand, she gently found his free hand, as a way of calming Peeta. Grounding Peeta in the present, she learned, kept the hijacking episodes at bay. 

“My mom wasn’t someone who liked to celebrate. She found it frivolous to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, and graduations. She hated closing the bakery on New Year’s Day, for the Reaping, or anything to do with the Hunger Games.”

Katniss wrinkled her nose. Anytime Peeta spoke about his mother, she found another reason to dislike the woman. Magdala Mellark was an awful person to her neighbors and worse to her family. The only person who saw any good in Magdala was Peeta because not even Delly could stand the woman.

“My dad, though, on New Year’s let us each decorate one gingerbread man. Then we would eat the cookies with a glass of milk. It was the only time my mother let us eat something fresh.” Katniss could hear the smile in Peeta’s voice.

“That’s the kind of thing I was thinking about earlier. The things I used to do with my family when my dad was alive.”

“We should do those things together. Teach Melody about our family traditions.”

Katniss wanted her baby girl to know about her and Peeta's customs. “We’re going to need hay.”

“What?” Peeta chuckled, sitting up to look at Katniss.

“I’m serious Peeta, we're going to need hay and a box or a crate.” 

Peeta of course loved the idea and brought home three small crates shortly after New Year’s Day. He even got hay from the town stable. Katniss warned Peeta all of the gifts needed to be homemade and not expensive. He took this to heart working on something in his studio. Or as Haymitch called it his man-cave. 

Katniss sang softly, the catchy tune came easily to her. Melody looked up at Katniss with wide expressive eyes. When Katniss began to sing, “Tuki tuki tuki tuki.” Melody began to gurgle and coo with her mother. 

“Shouldn’t someone be in bed, or else the wise wealthy travelers from afar won’t come?” Peeta said coming into the room. 

Melody squealed at the sight of her father.

“She’s not tired,” Katniss said of their daughter who was now stretching her arms toward her papa. 

“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” Peeta held their infant daughter cradling her tiny body in his large hands. 

“She’s singing to you,” Katniss said before singing, “Tuki, tuki, tuki…” 

Melody gurgled in and cooed along with Katniss. Peeta began to sway with their daughter and Katniss suddenly could see another time with a girl with twin braids dancing on the feet of her father. Finally, Katniss felt the same spirit, she used to feel.

The End.

Feliz Dia De Reyes Magos.

In my head, I could hear Katniss singing this to her daughter, and Melody singing right along with her in that baby gurgle. 

Burrito Sabanero (also known as Burrito de Belen) was composed by Venezolano composer Hugo Blanco. He wrote it in 1972. The song was recorded by Simon Diaz. However, it wasn’t until Blanco produced an album with the children's group he created, La Rondallita, that Burrito de Belen became popular. It’s known all over Latin America.

La Rondallita - El Burrito de Belen (El Burrio Sabanero) [Lyrics]

[panhelleniios]

@snkts sent brushing of hands :) — from the brushing hands meme.

Hercules has been friends with Logan for far longer than he’s known most mortals. 

At least, he’s been closer to Logan for longer — of everyone he’s known, he considers him to be his best friend. As such, the friendship is meaningful; not once has Hercules revealed the deeper feelings tucked down inside his chest. To do so would be to put the relationship at risk, he’s certain. Best to keep things unsaid, laugh along at his quips, and simply enjoy the time spent with him whenever they both get the chance. 

It’s not nearly often enough, in his opinion. 

He’ll take the opportunity whenever it arises. 

That’s how he winds up at a familiar bar decorated with obnoxious golden statues of lions and other beasts, sitting up at the bartop beside Logan. Things have changed in recent years, the decor and the finish on the bartop are just slightly off, the bartender is an unfamiliar young woman who slides their drinks to them without too much of a glance at either of them — Hercules’ fruit juice is thankfully decorated as if it were some high-end cocktail, which takes the edge off the embarrassment of the whole ‘sober at a popular bar’ thing. 

And once they have their drinks proper, conversation becomes easy — despite his own being non-alcoholic, Hercules does find it easier to speak his thoughts when he’s able to fiddle with the skewer in his drink. He’s already eaten both of the cherries on it before he’s even halfway finished with his first glass, and then he twirls the little wooden stick between the fingers of one hand, the other resting on the bartop, tapping in a similar pace, subconsciously following the song playing on the speakers overhead. It’s only when the song ends that Hercules realizes what he’s been doing, and he lets his hands fall still as another unfamiliar song takes its place. 

He looks away to stick the skewer back into his glass when he feels Logan’s hand brush his. It’s an almost timid touch compared to Logan’s typical behavior. For a brief moment, Hercules considers that perhaps Logan is simply drunk, even though such behavior had never occurred between them in the years prior when they would drink together — and then he realizes that Logan hasn’t had nearly enough to drink to make that even the slightest possibility. After years knowing each others’ limits, Hercules can tell what sort of drinks and how many it takes to get Logan even slightly tipsy — both a blessing and a curse of his mutation, really. Something he could relate to ages ago.

Time was, Hercules would be drunk by now, likely too out of it to really notice the particular way Logan’s hand brushes his. Now, sober, he sets down his glass of fruit juice and glances down to their hands, side-by-side. Logan’s pinky is brushed up beside his, touching in the faintest of ways. 

What was that about not risking the friendship? That thing he’s been telling himself for years?

Well — who’s to say that hand-holding like this can’t be platonic, if Logan decides to view it as such?

Why not just take the risk, Hercules? Don’t overthink it. Don’t try to justify it. It’s just his hand.

His hand covers Logan’s after another moment of hesitation, then squeezes it ever so gently. It helps that his hair is loose, hiding his face as he turns slightly away — he doesn’t want Logan to see the way he has a nervous smile drawn over his face. Instead, he continues the conversation as if nothing has really happened otherwise — what was the last story about, one of Logan’s students? 

Turns out, it’s not nearly as stressful as he’d thought. It’s casual enough, easy enough, that he doesn’t even notice when his hand goes from simply covering Logan’s to lacing their fingers together as though they’ve been holding them as such all evening. 

[thetoaddaddy]

daddy issues dabble 💅

He knew better than to try anything else. He knew his father. Walking along the dirt road into the poorer part of the village always turned a few heads. What was a man like Master Jiraiya doing in the part of the village best left forgotten? Kids who play in clothes they’ve outgrown. Adults who struggle to get by. Some of the oldest residents remember him. Remember he used to run these streets and bum food off of them. He smiles when he sees them, offering a wave. He has done a few things to make this place less of a hole. He owes this place that much. Offering cash to some of the elders, helping a down on his father finish a project. It’s not much. But it meant a lot. He knew better than to try anything else. He knew his father. Walking along the dirt road into the poorer part of the village always turned a few heads. What was a man like Master Jiraiya doing in the part of the village best left forgotten? Kids who play in clothes they’ve outgrown. Adults who struggle to get by. Some of the oldest residents remember him. Remember he used to run these streets and bum food off of them. He smiles when he sees them, offering a wave. He has done a few things to make this place less of a hole. He owes this place that much. Offering cash to some of the elders, helping a down on his father finish a project. It’s not much. But it meant a lot.

It’s how he found out. Despite the fact he drops by every time he comes to the village he avoids his childhood home. Honestly it’s a shock that old shack is still standing. But people tell him things. His mother left, no one is quite sure where. And his father is sick. He knows the old bastard is too stubborn to ever go to the hospital. So for the first time since he was fourteen he was standing in front of the old splintered door that at one time filled him with dread and shame.

Jiraiya wasn’t so scared of it anymore. He’s a grown ass man now. He knows he can take his old man now too. Even back when he left the old fuck was less keen to try it now that he wasn’t scared to defend himself. He pushed the door open and the hinges squealed as if it were a horrible pain to even do that. It’s quiet. It’s dark. The smell of body odour, dust, smoke and booze hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t hard to find the old man.

As always his father was sitting in an old piece of furniture, this one was new. Musta stolen it from the dump or taken it off someone’s curb. It’s a dumpy old love seat that’s had a few crack babies made on it, probably. The rest was the same. A tv from a dew decades ago, playing a black and white feed of some trashy show. A couple of pieces of wood nailed together to make an end table with the only purpose to hold a couple of bottles and a pack of cigarettes. It’s a mess too. A house that would be better demolished than worth saving. The sole person in the house sitting on that crusty old couch, taking swigs and hacking up a lung.

“What the fuck do you want? I ain’t got no money for soliciting or whatever it is you’re selling.” A gritty raspy voice greeted him.

“But enough for your booze and cigarettes. You haven’t changed.” Jiraiya replies as he walks in.

“Well son of a bitch!” The old man looks over the back of the couch, looking him over. “If it ain’t my flesh and blood. What you doing over here, boy? Feeling nostalgic or something?”

“Shut your mouth, geezer. I’m not here for a heart to heart.” Jiraiya snaps back as he wanders in, stopping only when he’s standing in front of the man he hates. 

Dear old dad looks horrible. Thin and worn. A grey complexion. Once thick white hair was now thinned out to wisps. Dark eyes… haven’t changed. They’re still cold and full of hatred whenever they look at him. Still intelligent and definitely all there. Years of abusing the idiot’s drugs has only worn the man’s body down with those consequences. But hardly anything mentally. 

Jiraiya set down a small white plastic briefcase on the empty space beside his father. The red cross on it faded and peeling. Tsunade won’t notice one old med kit and a few needles have gone missing. He sits on his knees as he unclips it. Pulling it open he looks over the supplies before doing what he had to. 

By no means is Jiraiya a medic. But he had some knowledge. When Tsunade first launched her initiative for shinobi learning at least some basic medic training he was first in line to show his support. He took all the courses. He helped her when she was getting certified for things. He watched her do it a thousand times. He can do it too. It’s not that hard. 

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” 

“I know you won’t go to the hospital for tests. You look like shit, and I want to know what’s wrong with you.” 

The old man watched when Jiraiya pulled up his sleeve and pressed a cold swab against his arm. In the dim light of only the tv lighting the area it isn’t exactly the best for drawing blood. 

Jiraiya unwrapped a fresh needle tip and after a moment of searching stuck the sharp point into the ghostly skin. It began to fill and the end dribbled with blood. He quickly put a tube against it. It didn’t take too long to fill. 

“What do you care if I’m sick?” 

He glances up at his old man before returning to his task, his thumb pinching over the needle wound. He didn’t say anything, just twitched a small frown. 

“Ahhh… I get it.” There was a pause for horrible fit of coughing. “You wanna see if you got what I got, eh? Wondering if you won the genetic lottery yet again?” 

“Stop moving.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, you ungrateful brat.” 

Jiraiya tapped the swab to his father’s arm and pushed his sleeve back down. He cleans up the rest of the garbage and stands back up. “You talk tough for being made of paper now, old man. I’ll be back with the results.” 

Some snide horrible comment left that old snake’s mouth but Jiraiya didn’t bother to listen. He left and returned to the small apartment he has. He poked his own arm in the bathroom, failing a few times before finally getting it, and filled a vial of his own blood. He marked each one. One with A, the other B. 

Now just to find someone to test it… If he could avoid Tsunade he would. He didn’t want her to know. Or worry. The last thing she needs is to worry. But it means bugging someone else. If he swore anyone but Tsunade to secrecy they’d listen. 

He sighs as he rubs his face. Maybe he’s worried over nothing. But he also knows passing a certain age means certain illnesses can’t be avoided. If his father is sick then he wants to know if it’ll come to him in time. And… 

He hated that man. Yet he can’t shake the need to at least make sure the old fuck doesn’t live in agony. 

[celenawrites]

why the hell is the Gazfest fic 1.8k long????