#i am a comedian *thumbs up*

[bookwyrminspiration]

i think the best and most confusing way to say "thats what she said" is

Quoth the she, thats what

Indeed, if someone came up to me and said that I'd stare at them for several uncomfortably long seconds trying to figure out whether those were real words or not

and then I'd pretend I knew what they said and remain confused the rest of my life

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff

Just a few suggestions. You shouldn’t have to compromise your writing style and voice with any of these, and some situations and scenes might demand some stiff or jerky writing to better convey emotion and immersion. I am not the first to come up with these, just circulating them again.

1. Vary sentence structure.

This is an example paragraph. You might see this generated from AI. I can’t help but read this in a robotic voice. It’s very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. It’s boring because you don’t think in stiff sentences. Comedians don’t tell jokes in stiff sentences. We don’t tell campfire stories in stiff sentences. These often lack flow between points, too.

So funnily enough, I had to sit through 87k words of a “romance” written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didn’t tell me it was erotica. It just felt like an old lady narrator, like Old Rose from Titanic telling the audience decades after the fact instead of living it right in the moment. It was in first person pov, too, which just made it worse. To be able to write something so explicit and yet so un-titillating was a talent. Like, beginner fanfic smut writers at least do it with enthusiasm.

2. Vary dialogue tag placement

You got three options, pre-, mid-, and post-tags.

Leader said, “this is a pre-dialogue tag.”

“This,” Lancer said, “is a mid-dialogue tag.”

“This is a post-dialogue tag,” Heart said.

Pre and Post have about the same effect but mid-tags do a lot of heavy lifting.

They help break up long paragraphs of dialogue that are jank to look at

They give you pauses for ~dramatic effect~

They prompt you to provide some other action, introspection, or scene descriptor with the tag. *don't forget that if you're continuing the sentence as if the tag wasn't there, not to capitalize the first word after the tag. Capitalize if the tag breaks up two complete sentences, not if it interrupts a single sentence.

It also looks better along the lefthand margin when you don’t start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same “ as it reads more natural and organic.

3. When the scene demands, get dynamic

General rule of thumb is that action scenes demand quick exchanges, short paragraphs, and very lean descriptors. Action scenes are where you put your juicy verbs to use and cut as many adverbs as you can. But regardless of if you’re in first person, second person, or third person limited, you can let the mood of the narrator bleed out into their narration.

Like, in horror, you can use a lot of onomatopoeia.

Drip Drip Drip

Or let the narration become jerky and unfocused and less strict in punctuation and maybe even a couple run-on sentences as your character struggles to think or catch their breath and is getting very overwhelmed.

You can toss out some grammar rules, too and get more poetic.

Warm breath tickles the back of her neck. It rattles, a quiet, soggy, rasp. She shivers. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. Sweat beads at her temple. Her heart thunders in her chest. Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba- It moves on, leaving a void of cold behind. She uncurls her fists, fingers achy and palms stinging from her nails. It’s gone.

4. Remember to balance dialogue, monologue, introspection, action, and descriptors.

The amount of times I have been faced with giant blocks of dialogue with zero tags, zero emotions, just speech on a page like they’re notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Don’t forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers don’t. They need dialogue tags to pick up on things like tone, specifically for sarcasm and sincerity, whether a character is joking or hurt or happy.

If you’ve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) that’s longer than 50 words, figure out a way to trim it. No matter what, break it up into multiple sections and fill in those breaks with important narrative that reflects the narrator’s feelings on what they’re saying and whoever they’re speaking to’s reaction to the words being said. Otherwise it’s meaningless.

—

Hope this helps anyone struggling! Now get writing.

[cosmicladyy]

🥺👉👈 As someone who is very much a Bowser enjoyer could you, perchance, write a fluffy Bowser x Reader? For a prompt... maybe the Reader finds him asleep and takes the opportunity to get closer to him? Or, something of the cuddling variety? Reader can be gender neutral- it don't mattah too much to me.

Cuddle Bug

bowser x gn!reader

It’s tiring running a growing kingdom. So many things can and have gone so wrong to the point where Bowser has to physically step in and fix it himself; which leads to a lot of complaining and ‘I have to do everything myself’s.

So it’s not uncommon to find his royal highness taking an afternoon nap in his room, which he always argues that he isn’t and is just ‘thinking of new war strategies’. The snoring that can be heard through the door doesn’t help his case.

Today though, once you’ve figured that the castle can be without its leaders for a few hours, you decided to join him for a quick snooze.

You find him in his giant bed, knocked out on his stomach with one arm cradling his head and without his sharp accessories, after bugging him so many times about how unsafe it is to sleep with them on.

“you could poke an eye out in your sleep.”

“I’d look so much cooler with an eyepatch.”

Once you’ve kicked your shoes off, you slowly move under the covers and make yourself comfortable. You look over at the sleeping turtle to make sure you haven’t disturbed his slumber and flop down on a pillow.

You weren’t expecting an arm to wrap around your middle and pull you from your spot. You can practically feel the expression on his face as Bowser moves you closer to him.

“Why would you do that,” you try to pinch the offending arm, “I just got comfortable.”

The king of Koopas opens his ember eyes and gives you a boyish smirk as he leans into his side, using the arm he had under his head to prop himself up.

You try to sit up as if to leave, which only makes him hold onto you tighter.

“Are you saying you don’t feel comfort in the arms of your favorite king?” All that gets him is a playful eye roll.

"Well, I wouldn't say favorite- ACK!" Mr. Comedian moves and puts a small fraction of his weight on you, and while isn't much still manages to knock the wind out of you; You feel his chest rumble as he chuckles.

Bowser takes the chance to flip you both over, with you straddling his chest and him on his back, "don't have to lie, I already know I am."

"Mhm." no use arguing against something that's true.

He brings a clawed palm up to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. Soaking in his warmth, you nuzzle into him and hold a hand over his own.

The look in his eyes is so full of love and awestruck that it nearly has you melting into him; as if he didn't believe that you were there with him.

He lives for moments like these, just you and him in each other's presence with no disturbances. It's in moments like these that he lets his walls down completely with you, more so than he already does. He wishes he could spend all his days just like this, with you by his side.

For now, though, he's enjoying this moment for as long as he can.

knock, knock

“uhh, your majesties?”

“ASK KAMEK!”

[diremoone]

Occupational Hazard | Pedro Pascal.

Note(s): Comedian! Reader, Large but Legal Age Gap (MC is 30+), Female Reader, mentions of assault and injury, Pedro and MC are engaged 💍 (also, more often than not, when you ask for no salt on the fries at a fast food place (where I’m at anyway), the fries are always hot and fresh), wrote this in a span of, like, two days so it’s not proofread! enjoy!

Summary: Being a successful comedian, you’ve made all sorts of jokes, especially ones at your own expense. But not everyone has the same sense of humor, and Pedro finds out how dangerous some of these people who find your jokes “offensive” are.

****

Pedro hadn’t expected your text message so late. He had just gotten home an hour prior, tired and exhausted. But after his shower, he heard the ding of the two minute reminder on his phone. He plucks his phone from the charge and reads: Would you be available right now? To pick me up? Had an incident tonight.

He’s dressed and out the door not even five minutes later, wet hair slicked back away from his face so his glasses wouldn’t get wet.

It unfortunately takes him thirty minutes to get to the comedy club where you were scheduled to have an event, much much longer than he wanted. But when he arrives, he’s ushered in by the guards that already know him and the fact you and him are in a relationship.

A female guard in plain clothes is waiting for him the moment he steps through the doors, more than likely the one who informed the ones outside you had sent for him and to let Pedro through.

A couple of twists and turns down some hallways and he’s at the stage where you do your work.

He grimaces to himself, and his heart fills with worry and concern.

Not even five seconds upon entering the room did your eyes lock onto his form, his presence something you’ve always noticed immediately regardless of his quiet he was — always seemed to know when he walked into a room, your soul practically locked onto his own.

When the doctor pulls away, finishing her job, Pedro sees the damage done: a full black eye that would be shut for several days and a split lip, with a nose almost broken with a dot of dried blood at your nostril. You’d probably have to go to the hospital in a day or two to have that checked out to make sure it healed properly.

Everyone pulls away from you like opposing magnets, leaving the room to give you both some privacy. He’s glad. He also doesn’t want them to see him pissed off, because he was almost fucking livid.

He pulls a chair from where the crowd sits and places it in front of you. You give him a smile through the pain, and he wants to kiss you so bad but your lip is split damn it—

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey yourself,” he whispers back, trying to smile back and not be angry. One hand is laced between the fingers of your left hand that has that pretty diamond engagement ring on it, his other cupping your cheek on the side that doesn’t have a black eye and rubbing your skin fondly. “What happened, baby?”

You shrugged. “Not everyone has the same kind of humor.”

Pedro raises his brows. “Meaning?”

You inhale heavily, releasing an equally heavy exhale.

“A guy got pissed at a deadbeat dad joke I made,” you said. “I guess he fit the criteria, knew it, and got pissed. Felt called out, I guess.”

His eyes go wide with shock. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” you admit. You run your thumb over the skin of his hand and continue, “I think I’m gonna cancel my next three shows.”

Pedro’s against it the second the words leave your mouth. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am.” You give him a face, one he recognizes easily: you’re not going to budge, and there’s no point in him arguing. “I think he universe might be telling me to take a break.”

He nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, you’ve been going as hard as me lately. I’m starting to think this line of work is more dangerous than what I do.”

You slap his shoulder in a light and childish manner. “Oh, shut up. You do a lot more taxing work than I do.”

“But you’ve done a lot more shows than you have in the last, what, year?” Pedro argues this time. “That’s a fucking lot. Not even I’m sure I could handle that much moving around the states so fast.”

You jab back, “That’s why I pack lightly, baby.”

He laughs. “Har har. Got me there…” Pedro leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of your temple. “I love you, mi princesa.”

You giggle, warmth flooding to your cheeks at Pedro’s affection and soft declaration of love for you.

You almost get to say it back, but he grins cheekily because he already knows and proceeds to ask, “Want some McDonald’s?”

You stand to your feet immediately. “I want two twenty piece McNuggers, two fries without salt, and a big-ass Sprite.”

“You eat too damn much.” Pedro snorts, smiling ear-to-ear. “And you and your no-salt on the fries, I swear.”

“It’s better that way!” you reply, mock offended. “And you get them fresh, too! That salt isn’t any good for high blood pressure anyway.”

“Whatever you say,” he remarks. “So, McDonald’s in the car, go home, shower, and cuddle with a movie on until we fall asleep?”

You love him — absolutely and positively love him. This man knows how to make your bad days better like the back of his hand.

“Sounds perfect.”

You’re so glad to have him. You’re the luckiest woman in the world, no doubt, to call such a perfect man yours.

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley) (Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 10: Haley's POV

“What are you looking for, Haley?” Alex questions me.

“Hm? What do you mean?” I retorted back. We are standing in our usual ‘Egg Festival spots’ which is at the other end of the town square and in the grass.

“You keep looking over there,” Alex points to the pathway leading west from town square.

“No I'm not.”

“Yes you are. I literally see you looking right now.”

“I think you’re seeing things, Alex.” 

“But-”

I turn and give him a frown before he can even begin the rest of his sentence. Instead, he begins a different sentence that I let him finish, “Are you waiting for Farm Girl Danny?”

“No! And don’t call her that! She is more than just a farm girl, Alex. She is also more than a personal comedian,” I cross my arms and daze off for a second, not realizing I am staring right at the pathway I said I wasn’t.

“Um… okay? Not just a farm girl and not just a… personal comedian… Got it,” Alex gives me a confused thumbs up. Sometimes I think there is just air inside his head, but I tolerate him. He has gone through a lot in his life and needs someone there for him. His grandparents took him in when his mom passed and dad walked out. Evelyn and George are very kind people and did a great job taking care of him through his life. He is very kind to both of them in return, and does a lot for them since they’ve gotten older. I love visiting their house and eating Evelyn’s wonderful cooking. However, they make a lot of leek salad for George which I’ve never figured out. Every meal he has to have either just a leek or a leek salad!

Alex wraps his arm around my torso, and I lean my head against his side. We’ve been on and off a lot as a couple. A couple years now at least. Sometimes, I’ve caught him cheating on me when we take trips into Zuzu city but I can never actually see who it is he is with and if she looks like me or not. That’s always the question. OR! He moans a different name when we have sex. Whoever ‘Taylor’ is. Other times he is just plain rude. I don’t know why I stick around though. I think it’s just a small town and I feel trapped. Another reason is I really do feel for him and understand all he has gone through.

Finally, not that I’m looking or anything, I see Danny come into sight over at the west pathway. I immediately stand up straight and stop leaning on Alex. He notices my reaction and moves his arm away, half expecting me to bolt over to her.

She is wearing those overalls she wore like 4 times when she first got here. She has on a purple shirt underneath that looks like it has yellow flowers on it. Perfect for the Egg Festival. Her chestnut brown hair under her cowboy hat has been chopped off though! It’s about shoulder length and shaggy. She no longer has the long braid that I thought was pretty cute on her. 

I reach for my own hair that I braided this morning for the occasion and start fiddling with it anxiously, unsure of what to do next. 

Everyone is crowding Danny as she enters town square. All talking to her, introducing themselves to her if she hasn’t met them already, and Vincent and Jas are hugging her legs. I can’t seem to peel my eyes away from them all. I feel a pang of jealousy rising in me.

“Do you want to go over there, too? Say hi?” Alex snaps me out of my trance.

“No. Let’s just stay here.” I continue watching from a distance. There is no need to go over there. She seems busy with everyone else anyway. That is until she looks my way. She raises her hand in the air as a hello gesture. From here, I can still see her bright, big, charming smile.

The crowd is still swarmed around her, but she is only focused on me. She doesn’t break her gaze after gesturing hello, but she doesn’t walk over here either. Instead, she finally turns to Mayor Lewis and nods her head.

“Everyone participating in the annual egg hunt, get into your positions!” Mayor Lewis announces.

“Eat dust guys. You all know I win every year,” I hear Abigail brag. Vincent and Jas look visibly upset as she says that. Danny noticed their reactions and started smirking.

“We’ll see about that,” Danny says to Abigail who is staring daggers at her.

“On your marks… get set… GO!” Mayor Lewis chants.

Sam, Elliot, Vincent, Penny, Jas, Abigail, Maru, Leah, and Danny all take off around the town.  Alex had walked over to his grandparents to socialize with them which I don’t blame him for. I’d do the same thing. I’m left standing around a couple bushes that I've noticed earlier had an egg hiding in them.

Danny is now grouped up with Vincent and Jas, helping them find eggs. They are laughing and playing around searching every area imaginable. Danny points out the eggs for them and they run over and throw them into their baskets. Danny hasn’t put a single egg in her own basket. 

The three of them get closer to me and I decide to speak up. 

“Pssst,” I whisper to them.

3 pairs of eyes make direct eye contact with me. I tilt my head in the direction of the bush that has the egg in it. Danny gently taps Jas to go over and get the egg. In a fit of giggles, Jas runs over.

“Thank you ma'am,” Jas politely thanks me.

“Yeah, thank you ma’am,” Danny smirks and tips her hat slightly at me. I immediately feel my face get warm. The short hair really suits her.

Danny doesn’t even realize the two kids took off looking for more eggs. She is too busy standing all high and mighty with her arms crossed, staring at me. I notice her look me up and down a couple times, and I feel my stomach lurch. 

“Look at you,” she takes a step and takes my long, blonde braid gently in her hand, “you look like a princess.” 

My face gets even warmer and I can only manage to stutter, “I-... ye-... uh-...”

“That’s time folks! Bring your eggs to me so I can count them!” Mayor Lewis announces across the town.

“See you around, princess,” Danny mutters before catching up to Jas and Vincent.

“Abigail with 8 eggs!” Let’s see if anyone can out do that this year!” Mayor Lewis calls out.

Everyone who knew they didn’t have over 8 eggs shyly backed down. However, Jas and Vincent went running over to Mayor Lewis with their baskets. Danny is standing proudly a couple feet behind them.

“Would you look at that! Jas AND Vincent with 10 eggs each! We have the winners folks! Here is your prize… sorry…we only have one,” Lewis says shamefully.

The two of them run over to Danny with their prize. It was a straw hat. They hand it up to her but she just takes it and places it playfully onto Vincent's head, purposely covering his eyes with the brim. She looks behind her and notices a daffodil growing from the ground. She bends over, picks it from its place, and hands it to Jas. However, there is still another daffodil growing in the same area and she picks that one too. She starts walking over to me.

“For you. For helping with finding an egg,” she sings as she hands me the daffodil.

I do a small gasp. “For me? Thank you!” but before I can take it out of her hands, she tucks it behind my ear.

“Matches your outfit,” she points out. I had totally forgotten I threw on a yellow and green sundress today. 

“Oh…yeah…you’re right,” I mumble while smoothing out my dress.

“Did you enjoy the Egg Festival?” Danny asks.

“This festival is alright... but what I'm really looking forward to is the Flower Dance.” I reply as I raise my shoulders and tilt my head.

“Ahhh the flower dance. When is that exactly?” 

“It’s on the 24th. You’ll be able to see it on the calendar at Pierre’s,” I pointed over to the wall of the store where the bulletin board is. Part of me wants her to look at the calendar so she knows it’s my birthday tomorrow.

“I guess I’ll have to look at that before I go home today, eh?” 

“You could.”

We stand around in awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say next.

“Well I better get back home and keep working. I have to rack up some more money so I can expand my house and actually get a kitchen and a bedroom,” Danny chuckles, “I have nowhere to put my groceries… or all those ladies you think are in love with me,” she sneers jokingly.

“You need to forget I ever said that! I mean look at you, I don’t know who would ever love a big mutt like you,” I say a little meaner than intended. Danny’s face drops. I didn’t mean to say it! She seems easy to love and she isn’t a mutt! I don’t know why I just said that.

“You just had to ruin it. I have to go Haley,” Danny storms off to the west path and disappears. I’m left standing alone, holding my hand up to my mouth and choking back tears.

[sprouts-xreader-stories]

“But what’s the definition of love?”

Requested : No

Genre : Angst, Breakup, OC X Canon - Aria X Boyfriend “Blue” Farthew [Friday Night Funkin’]

POV : Third Person Semi-Omniscient

Warnings : MAJOR SELF ESTEEM ISSUES.

Blue’s relationship with Aria was probably the most frustrating he’d ever had. And not because Aria was annoying. Because he had to help her break some habits.

Aria, back when she was younger, had always been taught she was unloveable. She was nothing more than a body to be used to reproduce, and then thrown away for the next person to fuck and have a kid with. That’s how demons worked. And when she moved to the surface, she was heavily, HEAVILY abused. Sold into the influence of beauty standards. Starving herself to be thinner, just like what society planned for younger girls. Sold into the idea that demons were vile, disgusting creatures.

She still struggled with it today. As of now, she was in one of her usual bouts.

“How can anyone love a demon…?” She giggled, crying quietly, staring down at her hands. She didn’t see the soft skin that he did. She saw monstrous claws, charred and cracked with hellfire’s touch. “How can anyone love me? Disgusting, vile, cruel, that’s all I am… How could you…?” She pointed a shaky finger up at Blue. Not believing he loved her. “…especially after what you did…”

Blue paused. What he did? What had he done?

“Ari, what do you-” “No! No, no. I’ve heard you.” She whimpered, more black tears sliding down her face. Aria looked down at her hands. It was nothing more than black scribbles, forming sharpened claws that threatened to pierce her thighs with how tight she was gripping her jeans. “I saw you. My coworkers did. The security guy did, he caught you. He caught you running into that alley with that girl. It took you an hour to come out. And all the times you’d run off late at night. Insisting it was to record a song, but then, suddenly, Pico won’t answer my texts.”

…fuck.

“…A-Ari,” he started, kneeling down. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this? He couldn’t, not without ruining everything he’d worked so hard to keep a secret for so long. “It-… It looks bad, but I promise, it’s not what you think,” Blue murmured, gently taking her hand in his. His thumb ran over the back of her palm, feeling the soft skin. “I-”

But before he could utter another word, she was standing, tugging at her scalp so hard that some of her hair was coming out. “No! You can’t argue with me! I know what you’re doing. I should’ve known… It was only a matter of time. A matter of time until you saw through your delusions. Saw just how much of a freak I am. Saw just how ugly, just how horrible.” She laughed again, a manic sound that rang through their apartment. “Ari, please-”

“No. No, Blue. I’m not fighting you. You’ve seen the truth. I’m proud of you. And you can have your little affair partner back,” she hissed, making Pico appear from seemingly nowhere and shoving him into a chair, “because I’m out.” And just like that, she turned and left.

“Ari, fuck, no, wait, please-!”

…too late.

The door slammed shut, leaving Blue in the middle of their living room, eyes wide and threatening to let tears fall.

The weight of the ring in his pocket felt too heavy, all of a sudden.

@m3tr0n0m333 , @vexter-the-comedian , @parker-vaporwave-alt , @drxgonspine

[mrssabinecallas]

Here Comes the Bride

Callsign: Angel; Before becoming a navy pilot, Angel worked as a field medic for the navy. Many of her patients called her their guardian angel.

Y/n is used in this fic!

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Fiancé!Reader

In which the Bradshaws prepare for their wedding, but decide to play a joke for the first looks.

This is entirely inspired by a tiktok I saw. Also long time no see guys!! I haven’t been super motivated to write, but hopefully my old ideas come back and we can get those out to y’all :)

i am in love with this concept tho. i didn’t know how to end this so sorry for the abrupt ending lol

WARNINGS!! swearing, fluff, i’m a comedian

(god this man is a snack holy fu-)

Rooster couldn’t have been more nervous for the ceremony. He hadnt thought he was actually going to be nervous, as he wasn’t feeling jitters at all leading up to the date.

You were trying your best to stay calm and collected, but Hangman was not making that easy. He appeared more nervous than you, running around, claiming it had to be perfect. He made you cry. Twice. Rooster would not be hearing about it for the sake of their friendship.

When the time for first looks rolled around, you were running around like a chicken with its head cut off. There was so much to do, how were you expected to sit there for an hour to get your makeup done?

“Can’t we just, like, cancel first looks?” you asked loudly, directed at your best friend and copilot Phoenix.

“What? No!”

“Tashaaaaa… I’m not ready! And Bradley probably is, and we would keep him waiting, but then I would start crying, and ruin alllll this makeup, so I think it’s better if we just don’t do it,” you rambled on and on until Natasha cut you off.

“Y/n, no. Put on your big girl panties, you wanted to include all the wedding traditions, we aren’t changing anything now. That means no cancelling first looks, no sending someone out for you, none of that-”

“Send someone out for me?? Holy shit, that’s genius Tash!!” you cut her off, and she looked about ready to break the mascara wand in her hand.

“Who the hell would even go for you? That’s not like a normal thing people do…” Hangman pondered over on his personal sofa in the window, with his glass of white wine and custom “bridesman” robe.

You and Phoenix just looked at each other and smiled. Instead of feeling fear, you were now about to witness the funniest joke of the century.

“You.”

—————————

It was quite the hastle fitting one of your back up gowns on your wingman, but somehow you and Phoenix got it on him. He looked like an idiot, perfect. As the time for first looks rolled around, you grabbed your veil and a bridesmaid bouquet, handed them to Jake, and sent him on his way.

Luckily, you were ready for first looks as well this time, so once your little joke was done, you would go actually do first looks.

There was a window in the hallway overlooking the courtyard, where the first looks where planned. You saw Bradley and the photographer, no Hangman to be seen yet.

The photographer spotted you in the window, waved, and made a comment to Bradley, who you could see visibly tense. He wasn’t ready, he was scared. You were too, but you knew he was going to act all calm and collected as long as he could.

You remembered that you never updated the photographer on this prank, so you sent him a text.

“Hey, we’re gonna have a little fun, so I’m not coming out just yet. You’ll see, just try not to spoil the joke and make sure to take pictures! I’ll be out after the joke is over, Thanks!”

Just as the photographer read your texts and sent you a thumbs up, the doors you were supposed to walk out of opened, and there stood Hangman. Coyote and Bob were losing their shit beside you and Tasha, both recording on their phones.

You would see the photographer try his hardest to hold back from making a face, and you could practically see Bradley’s expression. It made you feel bad, but you knew he would loosen up after this little stunt.

Hangman waddled to the middle of the courtyard, and tapped Bradley on the shoulder. He took in a deep breath, and turned slowly. As soon as he laid eyes on his best friend dressed in one of your backup gowns, he lost it. Coyote and Bob were practically crying, and Phoenix was on the floor laughing. You had to hide yourself behind a wall to make sure Rooster didn’t see you when he turned to look in the window everyone was looking out of. That only made him laugh harder, seeing all his friends were in on the joke.

Once things had begun to simmer down, you headed out the doors and had your real first looks, which ended up with Bradley in tears, as expected. The pictures from both looks turned out fantastic, and you couldnt help but be amazed by the memories a small prank created.

[ardentprose]

Absence Makes the Heart Grow....Fonder

A/N: I'm better at smut than I am fluff. Yet here I am blushing as if I didn't agonize over every delicious dirty detail. This was supposed to be a longer scene but it would end up as a novel so I split it into two scenes. If you want me to write the second scene after this one, let me know!

Type: shameless explicit smut; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+ ONLY; Foggy Nelson x fem!reader

Length: 3.3k~ | 15 min

Warnings: explicit f/m sex, explicit names for genitals; cursing; masturbation; Foggy in a suit deserves a warning; subtle dom!Foggy undertones if you were inside my head and knew that already; not beta read

Feel free to message me if a necessary warning isn't mentioned.

Summary: After a complicated court case extends your boyfriend's trip, you are desperate for relief. Try as you might on your own, nothing compares to Foggy's touch.

Good thing he just walked in the door.

You have no shame when it’s been this long.

It was meant to only be a week, but predictable complications with the justice system’s processes extended your boyfriend’s court case another seven days. Whenever he’s gone, you are left to your own devices. Quite literally.

Unfortunately, when you’re this riled up neither your toys nor your own hand is sufficient. Despite the countless times you have the privilege of riding his thicker, more dexterous fingers, you can never replicate the effortless patterns Foggy massages into your clit with just the right pressure to get you off.

Even worse, Foggy has been an outstanding partner while he’s been away. He dutifully texts you several times a day, whether it’s to ask how you are doing, share his thoughts on the case that stole him away from you, or send yet another selfie with his goofy smile and a thumbs up - along with what looks like a perturbed Matt Murdock - in front of some tourist trap in the current city he was in. His ability to ask you follow-up questions about passing comments you had spoken of days ago over the phone, his willingness to call you at bedtime because he knew you were anxious alone at night, and the sincerity in his tone when he admitted he wanted to stay in the hotel room and talk to you rather than go out for drinks with Matt — it was all innocent and very sweet of him.  It makes him such a kind, caring, and thoughtful partner.

It also makes him so fucking hot.

You don’t want to rudely dismiss his texts, so you’ve been keeping your licentious thoughts to yourself for days. In normal circumstances, a flurry of text messages would leave you frustrated with your phone pinging every time you neared the peak. Instead, it only served to edge you into desperation. You were left yearning for him more than ever. And he was absolutely to blame for it too, clueless as he was to your current predicament.

Sex with Foggy usually involved his distinct skill of making you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe and then making you come so hard you blacked out. Sometimes it was his five ‘o clock shadow whispering against your ticklish thighs. Other times it was because Foggy thought he was a stand-up comedian and liked to test out bits while fully seated inside you. He would pause to deliver a punchline and wait for your endearing giggles to distract you. Love-drunk eyes attentive to your face, he would bask in the moment your laughter evaporated into wanton cries of ecstasy as he resumed fucking you into the mattress without warning. It was his favorite method of unraveling you. You swear he’s trained you with sexual Pavlovian techniques that at this point, you couldn’t even get yourself off without his help.

You didn’t want to interrupt Foggy’s stream of texts rambling about how he found a quaint little cheese shop next to the airport this morning and that he bought way too much cheese and even found one that he thought you could eat as well as enjoy and that he might have been conned into a subscription box…

You didn’t have the heart to send him your current position on your shared bedspread, left hand buried deep in yourself. How could you admit how his sudden cheese rant had not only interrupted your deviant perusal on a private browser, but was also making you laugh so hard you couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand? The situation was becoming dire. Or downright embarrassing if you weren’t so determined to cum at least once on your own.

Hence, your shamelessly sprawled position on the bed, wearing Foggy’s boxers and one of his faded band tees when the front door opens with an audible click.

You scramble from the bed, hopping on one foot to untangle your ankle from the twisted sheets. Glad to be rid of your tireless, unrewarding solitude, your feet fly down the stairs towards the foyer without a second to lose.

Two modest suitcases make their way through the doorway first before Foggy’s hunched figure shuffles in after them.

Before he finishes locking the door, you’re bounding towards your travel-worn lover. No doubt hearing you thunder down the stairs, Foggy turns, tired eyes alighting. He drops the suitcase handle bar just in time to open his arms. You collide into his chest with a satisfying thump.

“Hello, my lo-“

Your lips cut short his greeting. The rest of his words are swallowed by your tongue reacquainting itself with his while your fingers crawl up his shoulders and tug on his hair that inexplicably feels longer since he’s been gone the past two weeks.

Twisting the blond ends before they unravel from your fingertips, your hands scope out his face next, coming down to cradle his fuzzy cheeks as the beginnings of a beard - something new he’s trying out (and achieving incredibly well) - burns your palms. Your thumb brushes over his chin, savoring the new sensation.

Foggy moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you can feel his grin as he squeezes your hips under his large palms in excited reciprocation.

Yet, he dares to pull back from your warm welcome, albeit licking his lips as he does so.

“Good to know I was missed.”

“You don’t know the fucking half of it.” You exhale.

Foggy’s laugh hitches as your hands tug on his belt and he stumbles into you.

“I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” He mutters, grabbing the base of your neck, fingertips on your chin in order to meet you halfway this time in another searing kiss.

You moan, responsive beneath the subtle weight of his hand on your throat and fully press your chest against his torso.

Foggy tries to keep the kiss going as he releases you in order to shed his overcoat, revealing a deep maroon suit beneath. The texture feels like butter and the waistcoat is impressive. The suit was no doubt another expensive investment of his fashion sense. He must have been striking to watch in court, commanding the room visually, however you cannot help feeling as you run your hands over his arms - that he’s wearing too much damn clothing.

“Baby, baby.” Foggy laughs, pecking your lips after each endearment. He tries to catch your wrists, halting your wandering hands that have managed to slip apart his belt buckle. “At least let me take you upstairs.”

“No.”

These past fourteen days were torture, made only worse by the unintentional edging from your fingers failed agility to keep a pace that would be enough to send you into bliss. You’ll be damned if you wait another second.

Foggy’s lips break and he finally acknowledges the lustful inferno of your gaze.

You grab his tie and yank him with a small yelp back to where he belongs, tasting your mouth as you devour his tongue.

“Here.” You speak against his lips. “Now. Please.”

Your hands unbutton his suit jacket, then slide into the jacket sleeves. The fabric drops from his shoulders, leaving him in his matching waistcoat. You reach for it but Foggy beats you to it, his thumbs deftly popping open the brass buttons before he sheds it, leaving him in a wrinkled, white collared button-down.

On any given day, Foggy is easily exhilarated by your affection for him. Right now? He’s beyond aroused by your demanding desire. Usually, things are much more coy between you two. A playful give and take that acts as foreplay until the teasing grows into touching. But here you are, hands pulling the belt from his slacks, desperate only to take, take, take.

If this is what two weeks away earned him, painful as it is to be away from you, he might be tempted to leave more often.

This time, Foggy steps into your space and reconnect your lips. Your fingertips skim the outline of his cock and whatever thought of leaving you alone again evaporates.

Foggy’s arms find your waist and become a vice.    He keens when you reward him with a firm squeeze. His hips return for more, pressing up into your awaiting palm while he backs you into the wall of the entryway.

The coat rack rattles as your shoulder smacks it. You barely feel it, though Foggy exhales an apology and slides you more to the left before your back finds the wall with a vague thud. His leg parts your thighs and you recoil from the wall into his chest, dropping a few inches to writhe up against the thick muscle beneath his slacks.

You turn your chin towards Foggy’s mouth, breath hitching into his own rapid inhales. Foggy presses a kiss into your chin, then drags an open-mouthed kiss up to your ear, full bottom lip leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Like a flower blooming, your head tilts in the opposite direction, opening yourself to your lover and basking in his warmth. He nips the crest of your ear, then placates the sting with a kiss.

You revel in Foggy’s kisses as they come back down your neck, his facial hair scraping against your skin deliciously. Your eyes flutter, overwhelmed by the sensations from his lips, teeth and tongue. Moaning, your thighs lock around his leg, and you grind your hips with more fervor.

Foggy grunts, keeping his thigh pressed against your body. He meets the upturn of your hips with his fingertips slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your- his boxers. He maneuvers his middle finger between your folds and up to circle your clit with an expertise that comes from familiarity alone.

With a shudder, your legs fall open as Foggy intended. His thigh now free, he adjusts his stance, keeping his wrist rotating and grinding against your pelvis so his free hand could shove down his pants and briefs,

The fabric curls around his thighs as Foggy slides his sensitive cock over the elastic band, hand growing slick from his own arousal leaking down the expanse of his dick. It should be alarming how fast you turn him on, but Foggy never hesitates to dive headfirst into your love with abandon every time.

With bitten lip, you eye the weight of his pulsating cock in the grip of his palm. Your hands fall from his biceps to tug his collared shirt up over his stomach. Bringing your nails down over the surface of his stomach, you scratch past his belly button to his happy trail. Foggy nearly whimpers and steps impossibly closer into your breathing space, removing his left hand from between your legs and lavishing his tongue over his glistening fingers like tasting icing from dessert.

“Please.” You whine, eyes threatening to water with how worked up you are from his ministrations. Foggy is no better, his own flushed skin and frenzied eyes making him look feral.

He draws his hand from his mouth, eyelids weighted with lust. His forehead comes to rest against yours, and his eyes meet your pleading gaze before flitting down.

Foggy takes the head of his cock and presses firmly against your clit. He hums a questioning tone, lips parting to ask consent.

You all but growl your assent, shaking fingers falling over his wrist to shove his cock into you. Panting into each others mouths as if the other will provide oxygen, your heads swim with the intoxication from his initial touch.

Foggy in turn grabs your face, squeezing your cheek slightly as his thumb presses past your lips. You nip him as he tries to guide himself in, careful of your comfort. The slow pace scrapes pleasure from your walls and ignites every nerve ending in your body.

Foggy just manages to slide his palm up behind your head, catching you just before you slam your head back into the wall as your hips curve, slotting him against your cervix. Your high and breathy whine harmonizes against his guttural moan pressed into the center of your chest.

Foggy brings his hips back just enough to slam them forwards, pinning you to the wall with each increasingly rapid thrust. Your arms drape over his neck, lackadaisical. Your legs jerk in his large palms which knead and claw and eventually lift you up further and further as he drives into you with relentless fervor.

Your breath punches from your lungs. You can hardly keep your eyes open past alluring slits that look down upon Foggy’s bitten, swollen lips, cherry flushed cheeks, and furrowed brow. Each thrust forces his hair to fall from it’s once professional, gelled back style. A few strands fall between his screwed eyebrows. You manage to lift a free hand to swipe the hair before it tickles his nose, curling it behind his ear and leaving your hand there to cup his cheek as you pull his face upwards to kiss you once more.

Your fingernails scratch against his scalp, his blond hair scrunched in your death grip. It will be tangled and knotted by the time this is over but that only means you get to wash it later, combing it out with an intentionally slow hand, sometimes tugging his head backwards so you can drop a kiss on his parted lips. Perhaps lick into his mouth and repeat another round late into the night.

Your lips curve into a private smirk, amused how even now, while being fucked senseless against the wall of your foyer, you’re still thinking of scenarios in which you and Foggy continue to have sex all night.

Foggy ends the kiss with a bite and sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. His short nails burn your thighs as they creep towards your ass. His gold watch is a cold contrast against heated skin as he shoves you towards him again and again, beginning to fuck into you with abandon. He always gets aggressive when he nears his climax and you take full advantage, instigating in any way possible in order to drive him even more insane.

You anchor your hands in his hair and rock into his thrusts. His breathing escalates into strained exhales through clenched teeth. Then his eyes snap shut and his head rolls towards the ceiling.

“Fuck.”

You feel his abdomen spasm against yours as he comes. He leans into you, the length of his body pressing you into the wall and keeping you pinned there as his cock head twitches against your cervix.

You gasp into his neck. The heat of his seed and the jerky pumps of his wavering hips fray the last of your nerves. Black stars explode across your vision. Your throat seizes your exhale, releasing a strained cry as you arch into Foggy’s embrace..

Coming back up to cradle your head again, Foggy’s fingers scratch at your scalp. It’s the sting of his nails that gradually ropes you down to the material plane once more.   

You crumple into Foggy’s embrace. His dress shirt is now sheer with sweat. You eye his arms, appreciative of the biceps that have held you against the wall this entire time.

“You alright, baby?”

Foggy kisses your forehead three times, lips brushing your sweaty temple.

You can only moan, the last spasms of your cunt making him stumble slightly as he lowers your feet back to the earth - or rather, the hardwood of your hallway.

Your forehead lands on his chest, using the rise and fall of his breath to steady your own gasps. Your fingers tremble as they make their way up and attempt to curl around the loosened tie that is one wrong move from falling from Foggy’s shoulders.

Foggy brings his palm down over your sweaty hair, leaves a light squeeze at your neck, then starts to run patterns up and down your back. His other hand remains on your waist, keeping you stable, but you still feel the slight tremor of his own fingertips pressing into your hip.

Another moment of quiet passes before Foggy’s hand comes forward to catch your chin, tilting your face up to his searching eyes.

You give him a lazy, sedated smile, satisfaction shining in your eyes. It makes the corners of his swollen pink lips quirk up.

“Welcome home.”

Foggy’s lips part to respond. Before you remember moving, your own teeth are pulling his full bottom lip into your mouth and sucking it with abandon.

Foggy chuckles, moans, and attempts to break the kiss as you nip at his retreating mouth. , He finally presses against the base of your neck to hold you still.

Your pulse thrums to life beneath the weight of his thumb and forefinger brushing your clavicle. By the slight shake of his head and disbelieving smirk, you know you must be staring at him with those faux doe eyes that have inevitably brought him to his knees many a past night.

Foggy says your name, firm but expression gentle.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love making you feel good - and I plan on doing so the rest of the night,” Foggy bumps his forehead into yours and pecks your lips with a grin. “But I also just missed you. Seriously, how are you?”

Your pout bursts into a smile under his soft admission.

“I missed you too.” You nose at him, tempted to kiss that adorable grin of his again but resist. You squeeze his shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I came on a little strong, but I-“

Foggy cuts you off with his own quick kiss and pulls back with a smirk.

“Honey, you can come on me anytime you wish.”

“Foggy!” You roll your eyes, annoyed at how you laugh so easily at such a terrible joke.

“You just said you missed me. Don’t you wanna know how my day went before fucking me again?”

You relish the flicker of lust in his baby blues before Foggy shakes his head, trying to stay on task.

“Yes. Yes, yeah, definitely. I missed you and your voice and our apartment and I wanna know everything you were too lazy to text me.”

He says this while stepping away from you in order to adjust his pants over himself again. Then he turns to gather up his belongings that were haphazardly thrown to the ground when you pounced.

“Hey.” You grab his carry-on as you protest. “I’m not lazy. You just text full-blown essays that no one else has the time to respond to in matching detail.”

You yelp as he swats your ass, following you through the kitchen, towards the staircase.

“You said you liked my long texts. That I’m very thorough.”

“That’s one way to put it.” You snort. “I don’t think you can help your long-winded messages. It’s the lawyer in you.”

“Ha, ha. I’ve never heard that one.”

You turn on the current step, midway up the staircase.   

“Oh, Foggy.” Your smirk grows as he balks at your sultry tone, eyelids lowering and lips parting on cue.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I enjoy that mouth of yours and just how thorough it can be.”

Foggy eyes flit all over your form before meeting you against with such intensity your heart rate picks up.

“What can I say, you’re my favorite case study.”

“Come on!” You throw your head back, moment ruined as his boisterous laugh echoes against the walls.

You continue up the rest of the stairs. Foggy ventures up the rest of the way behind you with a self-satisfied smile dimpling his cheeks. He hits the landing just as you turn into your bedroom.

“If I’m your favorite case to study, how about a dissertation?” You call out of sight.

Foggy rolls his eyes, ignoring how his heart skips at your giggles.

“First of all, that’s not what they’re called and second-“

Before he reaches the doorway, you lean into the hall, top half devoid of the faded band t-shirt.

“Second?”

“Second….Fuck it!” Foggy drops his luggage once again.

“I’m about to have seconds.” Any response at his corny humor evaporates when Foggy darts forward, chasing your giggling, retreating form into the bedsheets for the rest of the night.

[kazimakuwabara]

Banter

Summary: Team Urameshi gets into a bit of trouble, and do what they do best. Argue. And while it may look like all the team does is argue, enemies should beware that if they truly try to threaten one of their own... well they'll find out what else Team Urameshi is good at. (2k+, drama, friendship, hurt/comfort)

***

"I would like to get out of the cage, now!"

"We're trying to get to you!"

"Try harder!"

"Kuwabara, Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

Kuwabara kicked his feet against the blackened bars of the cage he was currently huddled in. It was not a very big cage, with only enough room for Kuwabara to sit or lay down. The cage didn't seem very strong either, with its deceptively thin bars, and wide gaps. But since being forced into the damned thing, Kazuma Kuwabara had become sluggish. He can't feel his own Reiki, let alone his friends, engaged in battle several yards away. He also can't sense the strength of the demon, who is lying atop Kuwabara's cage like a stretched out cat, lazily watching Kuwabara's friends fight off his hoard of cronies.

"You all fight so well... are you sure you don't want to come work for me?" the red-skinned demon asked, a forked tail lazily swishing behind him as he watched Hiei cleave someone in half.

"Not interested!" Yusuke snaps. He points a finger at the demon, "You just wait until I get over there, bud! I'm gonna rip your tail off and strangle you with it until your head pops off!"

"My, how exciting!" The demon giggles, flashing a fanged smile. He rolls on his stomach and reached a hand through the bars of the cage, stroking long thin fingers through Kuwabara's mussed hair, "Your friends are so amusing."

"Quit touching me!" Kuwabara yowls, flopping onto his back in an effort to get away from the demon's fingers.

Kuwabara's resistance only seemed to further amuse the demon, who shifted his full attention to the frustrated man. Sticking both arms in the cage, the demon tried to find purchase against Kuwabara's body, the weakened human swatting the searching hands with what must have been the strength of a child against an adult.

"Keep off me, creep show!" Kuwabara yowled, hissing as the demon caught his cheek between his thumb and index finger, giving it a little playful pinch.

"Guys! Can you hurry it up?! This dude's weird!" Kuwabara shouted, squawking as the demon moved from his cheek, to tweak his nose, "Cut it out!"

"Why don't you get your own human?" Hiei calls out as he rips his bloodied sword out of an enemy's stomach, and through another one's throat.

"Yes, that one is ours!" Kurama agrees, voice laced with deep irritation.

"I am not a pet!" Kuwabara shouts out, swearing as his amused captor traces a claw down the shell of his ear.

"Well, you're either our pet or his pet! You better pick one, Kuwabara!" Yusuke snaps, firing a shot-gun blast of energy into the final wave of enemies.

"Yeah, how about, I'm no one's pet? How about, I'm your friend and teammate-How about that!?" Kuwabara shouts kicking his feet against the top of the cage, the demon, still lounging atop his cage, laughing at his efforts.

"Really if I had time to take you all home with me, I would. All of you are so delightful," the red-skinned demon simpered, "But I'm not looking for a group of comedians. It's getting time for me to go."

Rolling off the cage, the demon landed gracefully and silently on the ground. A fresh wave of enemies crowded around Yusuke, Kurama, and Hiei, clearly redoubling their efforts to keep Kuwabara's friends at bay. With his palms pressed against carved-out runes in the cavern wall, the red-skinned demon muttered a series of strange words. He removed his hands as the runes slowly started to light up, and that light began to form what appeared to be a doorway. Smiling over his shoulder, the demon announced, "Well, I'll be going soon. Kuwabara, we have about three minutes before the gateway opens."

"Oh my God, this guy is taking me to his home to be his fucking house cat!" Kuwabara moaned, banging his face repeatedly against the bars in protest.

"Kazuma, don't do that. You're going to hurt your head, and we really might need you at your best!" Kurama called out to him, struggling against three hulking demons who were trying to press him back.

"Bye Kuwabara, it's not been a pleasure. But I did know you," Hiei calls out, grinning with his own amusement.

"This is fucking endless!" Yusuke shouted, not taking part in teasing Kuwabara. A bit of real panic was starting to set in at the sheer number of foes keeping him separated from his best friend.

Kuwabara took a breath to shout something else out at his team when the demon appears in front of the cage in a low squat. Quicker than he had before, his hand reached through the bars of the strange cage and caught Kuwabara by the throat. Kuwabara made a garbled choking sound and glared into the face of the enemy who'd caught him.

"B-Bastard!" Kuwabara eventually managed, defiance burning in his eyes.

"I'm not taking you to be a house cat," the demon purred, his forked tail lazily swishing behind him in steady sweeps. "I'm going to give you a much higher position than that. I'll be adding you my harem."

Kuwabara choked, trying to pull away from the hand that kept a steady grip on his throat, "Your... what?"

The demon's tail swished faster, "My harem. You're quite interesting... such a strong human with incredible spiritual awareness. And what a nice body too..." The demon reached his other hand through the cage and stroked a hand down the back of Kuwabara's head. He tugged affectionately at one of Kuwabara's curls, before his hand slid down his neck, over his collarbone, and down to the front of Kuwabara's shirt.

The demon grinned, and pulled, ripping Kuwabara's shirt away as easy as tissue, a started cry unwitting wringing out Kuwabara's throat. The demon smiled at Kuwabara's momentary outburst of terror, and that same smile only grew as Kuwabara forced his fear down in favor of presenting another hateful glare.

"You're just so cute. Acting like you're an equal with demons... hanging around them like you could ever be one of them," The demon teased, his hand trailing back up to Kuwabara's chest to trace a smattering of scars over his heart, "You are indeed powerful, and while that is admirable, you clearly need to be taught where you fall in the food chain. And since you're awfully strong, and your body is my type, I'll be more than happy enough to teach you. And if you behave, I promise you'll even come to enjoy it."

Gripping Kuwabara's hair hard, he pressed Kuwabara against the bars, Kuwabara struggling with futile effort to pull away. With a curse, Kuwabara's cheek was pressed into the bar of the cage, and the demon drew close, pressing his nose to Kuwabara's chin. He inhaled, long and loud, Kuwabara squirming uncomfortably as the demon took in his scent.

"Stop it!" Kuwabara shouted, hissing and grunting as his face was pressed into the space of the bars, growling as the demon tilted towards him. He kissed Kuwabara's chin, and trailed upwards, laughing a little as Kuwabara drew his own lips into his mouth. Underneath Kuwabara's panic, he became aware that the sounds of his friends battling, had stopped.

"Oh, that's so cute! Refusing to kiss me? Well, you won't have a say-"

The demon is cut off, as Yusuke Urameshi, buries his foot so hard and so far up his ass, that surely his tailbone has been turned to dust, and his asshole is ruptured. The demon is ripped away from the cage and sent flying, his claws leaving bleeding cuts against Kuwabara's neck and chest.

Kuwabara lets out an anxious, and relieved gasp as Kurama, Hiei, and Yusuke stand and take stock over their captured friend. Kuwabara looks back at them, shaken from the struggle he's just endured, and startled by the amount of viscera his comrades are coated with. Something had motivated them to make quick work of their enemies. Kuwabara's tattered state sends a ripple of hate and anger through their eyes, and Yusuke is the first to tear away from the group, shouting after the demon he'd kicked like a soccer ball.

"Hey, you red-assed piece of shit! I'm about to make good on that promise I said about your tail!"

"Kazuma, can you lie flat please?" Kurama asked, voice cold as he withdrew his whip, "I'll have you out of there in a moment."

Kuwabara, uncharacteristically quiet but too weary to force any words, drops flat down in the cage, his hands lacing over his head to protect it. He feels a wind whip over his body, and then hears the sound of the cage falling to pieces around him. He jumps as a hand grabs his arms, and looks up at Hiei, his expression unreadable as he starts to tug Kuwabara up and away from the ruined cage.

Kuwabara is shaky on his feet, adrenaline and fear mixing in an awful crash inside his body, so he does not pull away from Hiei's firm grip. Hiei is steady, firm, and surprisingly gentle, as he pulls Kuwabara from the remains, and guides him to sit down on a nearby rock. Kuwabara breathes a sigh of relief, as distance from the cage, seems to release whatever constraint it had on his Reiki. It's a comfort to have his power return to him.

Hiei looks at Kuwabara, taking in his torn shirt, and the seeping wounds the demon had left behind on him. Uncomfortable, Kuwabara presses the torn fabric against his chest, covering a part of himself up that he had never minded showing before. Kuwabara clears his throat and laughs a weak, "I'm fine."

Hiei's red eyes snap to Kuwabara's face, his expression stony. A line forms by his mouth, and his eyes narrow; a sign that he is clenching his jaw too tight. Hiei says nothing else but turns to where Yusuke is, currently beating the shit out of the red-skinned demon, who howls like a dying beast. Hiei withdraws his sword and disappears with that unmatched speed Kuwabara's spiritual awareness can't always keep track of.

Kurama looks over at where Yusuke and Hiei are handling their enemy, takes a steady breath, and kneels before Kuwabara, giving him his full attention, "Let me help with your wounds, alright?"

"It's not too bad. His claws got me when Urameshi kicked the fucker away!" Kuwabara says, his smile a little more sincere, even if his words wobble.

Kurama places gentle hands on Kuwabara's forearm, "The shirt is ruined... shall we use it for bandages? Will that be okay?"

He pierces Kuwabara with a kind green gaze, ready to do whatever Kuwabara needed.

Kuwabara placed a hand on Kurama's, pressing the hand against his arm. He means to answer, but he can't find them. Instead, he keeps ahold of Kurama's hand, using the fox's touch to ground him.

Kurama smiles understandingly, "We can wait a minute."

Kuwabara nods, and the pair sit in silence, watching as the red-skinned demon faces a terrible thrashing at the hands of Yusuke and Hiei. When a few minutes pass and the demon is howling apologies, and pleading for his torment to stop, Kuwabara lets the unsettled, terrified feeling fall away from him.

Kuwabara smiles at Kurama, "Knew you guys would get to me."

Kurama returns the grin, "Of course! You didn't have any doubts did you?"

Kuwabara rips the rest of his ruined shirt off, and passes it to Kurama, who immediately starts tearing strips for bandages. Kuwabara inhales and lets out one last shaky exhale. He smiles, wide and as bright as the sun, "Ah, maybe a little! But even if he made off with me, I knew you guys would come to get me."

"He wouldn't have gotten that far," Kurama says, seriously. A promise that had another meaning. A callback to a past, when Kuwabara had been taken from their sight. Kurama ties off the first set of bandages around Kuwabara's throat, "Never again will someone drag you off like that, understand?"

Kuwabara nods, swallowing past a bubble of unspoken fear. To shift the atmosphere, he complains, "If he hadn't used that weird cage on me, I woulda kicked his ass!"

"You always have an excuse for your own screw-ups, don't you?" Hiei sniffs, as he rejoins the group. He is bloody, though it is not his. He uses his cloak to clean his hands before pressing the back of his knuckles against Kuwabara's cheek. A silent check-in.

Kuwabara briefly presses his cheek against Hiei's hand, a signal that everything is alright. And then Hiei drops his hand, and Kuwabara lifts his arms so Kurama can wrap his chest, and it is like the moment between Hiei and Kuwabara never happened. The moment will go unspoken of.

"Seriously! I coulda taken him if he hadn't gotten the jump on me! I swear, all the demon bad guys do this to me, cuz they don't want their ass whooped by a human!" Kuwabara huffs, complaining loudly.

Yusuke joins them, dropping the head of the red-skinned demon and his tail, just behind a rock and out of Kuwabara's sight. His eyes are a little feral and glimmer with a speck of golden energy. He scans Kuwabara over and waits for Kurama to be done with the bandages, before he throws himself at Kuwabara, knocking the man flat on his back.

"Goddammit, Urameshi!" Kuwabara snaps, flat on his back with his best friend wrapped around him in a protective strange hold. Yusuke clearly wants to put Kuwabara into a headlock, or even dig an elbow into Kuwabara's ribs, but Yusuke is too aware of Kuwabara's injuries. So instead, Yusuke just drapes himself like a heavy blanket around Kuwabara.

"You idiot," Yusuke grumbles, his voice sulky, and worried, "Are you alright?"

A flat look of irritation crosses Kuwabara's face as he thinks of pointing out that his injuries had just been wrapped up before Yusuke sacked him to the ground. But he lets the irritation pass and drapes an arm around Yusuke's shoulders. Kurama and Hiei lean over the pair, taking up Kuwabara's field of vision, wearing vastly different expressions that somehow mean the same thing.

They were worried about him, and they care about him.

With knowledge of this group's care, Kuwabara will be just fine.

Kuwabara grins for the trio to see, "Yeah, I'm fine. Everything is good."

End

[wonderlandleighleigh]

(Hello, Sunshine, October 1963)

October rolls around without much incident, though Midge feels oddly restless. It’s like something was shaken loose inside of her when Sophie Lennon tried to brain her with that Grammy, and she can’t put her finger on what.

And Lenny notices, because of course he does, but since she doesn’t know what’s wrong, she can’t really tell him.

But he’s a relatively patient man, especially when it comes to Midge’s eccentricities, so he waits her out.

“It’s like-“ She stops, thinking about it. “Something is missing. Which is insane. I have you and the kids, and a great career…”

Lenny shrugs as they do the dishes together after dinner one night. “Maybe you want more from your career. Go higher. Farther. Funnier.”

“Well, yeah,” Midge snorts. “Of course I do, but I feel like I’m on that trajectory, you know? I feel like- I feel like I’m on the right path with comedy.”

“Maybe you want it to go faster,” Lenny suggests.

“It’s not the comedy,” she presses, shaking her head. “It’s not. I won an Emmy. Susie is making noise about a comedy album next year, the show is amazing, I’m getting offers left and right.”

Lenny nods slowly, and when she glances at him, she can see that he’s nervous.

Midge turns to him quickly, cupping his jaw with her damp hands. “Lenny. No. It’s not you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, and then deflects with a joke. “Because I can be weirder in bed.”

She smiles. “You are lovely,” she tells him, leaning up to kiss him softly. “And what we have is all I want. I just-can’t put my finger on what might be missing.”

“Well, let’s see. Career is good,” Lenny lists off, wrapping his arms around her. “We’re good. Your parents are busy and good. Joel is…Joel. The kids are doing well. Getting older. I can’t believe Kitty is eight now. She used to be the size of my forearm.”

Midge smiles and nods. “I know what you mean. If Ethan has one more growth spurt, I’m going to have to ask Gordon for a raise just to cover a brand-new wardrobe for him.” She sighs wistfully. “It feels like yesterday he was trying to convince me Esther had run away while I was holding her in my arms.”

She likes that the joke makes Lenny chuckle, but as she stands there in his arms, her thumb brushing his jaw gently, she finds herself thinking about-

“Shit,” she blurts out.

“What?” Lenny asks, looking perplexed.

“I know what it is,” Midge huffs out, completely annoyed at herself.

“Okay, well, what is it?”

“I want another baby,” she announces.

Lenny blinks, tilting his head as he gazes at her. “Like a…a fourth kid? You want to add a four child to this madhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

Midge shrugs. “It just…feels right. One more. One with you.”

He sighs softly, obviously trying not to start a fight. “The pregnancy and then the recovery and handling a newborn…it’s an entire other job on top of the ones you currently have as a comedian and a mother of three school-aged kids…”

“I know,” Midge nods.

Lenny stays quiet for a moment. “Is this about the Grammy that came flying at your head last month?”

She sighs. "Well it did scare the bejesus out of me and bring me face to face with my own mortality, so maybe a little."

"I guess I'm asking…do you really want another, or are you just still scared?" He asks, rubbing her sides soothingly. "Because the fear will pass, but we'd be stuck with a fourth kid forever. They have terrible return policies on those things."

Midge huffs out a laugh and closes her eyes. "I think…I really do want one." She opens then again, peering up at him. "What do you want?"

Lenny grins softly, obviously thinking it over. "I like being a dad. And I fucked up Kitty’s babyhood quite a bit. Getting another shot doesn't sound bad. But being the dad is nothing compared to what you'd be doing."

She shrugs. "It's old hat."

He gazes at her contrmpatlatively. "You're sure."

Midge takes a breath, squaring her shoulders and nods. "I'm sure."

"You're not gonna wake up for a three AM feeding and wish you could leave it at B. Altman like a dress you thought you wanted but changed your mind on?"

"Oh, no I will completely do that," she tells him. "But that's the fleeting feeling. Not the wanting a baby part."

Lenny chuckles softly. "We're crazy."

"Yes, that's why we got married in the first place," Midge reminds him. "There's safety in numbers."

He leans in, kissing her slowly as he pulls her in close, and Midge forgets all about jokes and dishes, her fingers slipping to his neck as he starts to maneuver them out of the kitchen.

She moans softly, thankful that the kids are with her parents tonight. "Starting already?" Ske asks between kisses.

His lips attach themselves to her neck. "No time like the present," he mumbles.

[prettywarriors]

Mini Mahou March Year 4 Week 3

Welcome back to the third week of Mini Mahou March! You can find the main post for the event here X.

The Prompt for the week of March 16th-March 22nd is….

Wetland Animal Magical Idol!

Emerging in the 80s, this subgenre often givens children an older alter ego who becomes a star! While often based in singing, magical idols have come in other forms of entertainment, such as stage magicians, and even fashion design.

Critters that live in an area of land saturated with water. If you think of animals in broader terms like 'snake, beetle, cat, rat, deer, dog, monkey', you probably have some species to work with here.

I’m only looking for a visual character design, something as simple as a single fullish-body picture, but you are more than welcome to go as wild as you want with trinkets, backstory, information, alt outfits, all that good stuff. Also I say girl but girl boy nb other as long as it’s a magical humanoid gender be damned, thumbs up. (Also nothing 18+ please. Your characters can be, just not your art for this)

Make your post and tag me before end of day March 22nd (11.59EST) and I will be re-blogging participants here next Wednesday/early Thursday, with everything tagged Mini Mahou March.

The alter ego doesn’t always have a set outfit, but they usually are fitting for the theme- magicians hat for stage magician, something that stands out for a singer

Frog singers or a barbershop of raccoons (I saw a raccoon in a swamp recently i'll allow them). girl who does web shoes with her powers which are based on pitcher plants which live in swamps and who am I to distinguish between plant and animal. Shoebill staring contestant. Sugar glider acrobat. Capybara comedian.

[okdeedee]

i have some more seven minutes in heaven with a pedro boy of choice as created/coined/prompted by @boliv-jenta, because i’m a goddamn comedian, and this is fun for me. thank you for thinking this idea up.

this is every pedro boy i have an opinion on:

javi p : 7 minutes pretending I have no idea who he is and treating him like your average joe, just so he gets a break from the incessant pablo escobar questions. i will however be unabashedly checking him out and complimenting whatever obscenely well tailored and bright button up shirt he has on that day.

marcus m: split the time in half. first 3.5mins? sorry i’m just gonna throw metal stuff at him (with consent) and test the magic metal powers. second 3.5mins? a little shoulder massage. he seems tense.

dave york: 7 minutes in Court Ordered Therapy. i don’t like him and i don’t like his hair. he gives me the heeby jeebies.

joel miller: i’ll be honest i’ve got 2 options. 1) sit on a porch and chill out with him and his guitar. serenade me, cowboy. i’ll serenade you right back.

or,,

2) do my level best to (with consent) give him life-changing-make-you-want-to-plan-a-future-with-me-level head. yeah. uh. next.

marcus p: let me at this man!!!! i want to play with his hair i want to be all curled up with him on a couch i’ll watch Casablanca! i’ll watch some movie from the 40s. do i like them? no! would i watch them all day (or in fact for 7 minutes) just to be in his presence? yes!

jack daniels deserves a nice one so here’s a nice one for him as well: 7 minutes at some near-empty bar in the early afternoon. maybe i steal his hat and put it on and maybe that holds implications. perhaps i am unwaveringly normal and complimentary and he’s taken aback by my lack of performance and abundance of genuineness and falls in love with me and ditches the whole arrogance and misogyny sort of act. i don’t know. just spitballing.

din djarin: 7 minutes to watch him train or absolutely decimate a group of ruffians in a brawl. i’d like him use his gadgets and his brute strength and proficiency. i’d start wanting to bite things. after? i’d give him orange slices or a cold washcloth or again, head,,,,. whatever he needs. i live to serve.

pero tovar: talking him through a 7 minute personal hygiene and skincare routine. i just have this feeling he’d really be into soap if he ever got the chance to use it. and then if there was time left over i’d re-do his eyeliner.

max phillips: i don’t much like him. think i’d follow him around with a UEBOOM playing various songs from the twilight soundtracks for 7 minutes. then get the hell out of dodge before he could ruin my life.

javi g: anything. i’d stare at him in that white singlet for 7 minutes. i���d let him wax poetic about nicolas cage. i’d go for a swim. i’m terrified of heights but i’d cliff-dive with him. i’ll let him talk me through the entire nicolas cage collection. hell, i’ll hang his laundry out to dry for 7 minutes. I just want to be in his presence. he’s my dream man. ugh.

ezra: since prospect was taken off netflix in my country and i haven’t been able to watch it in 2 years, ezra in my head is now more closely associated with either @oonajaeadira’s bookshop series or @frannyzooey’s in the dark

(this doubles as a shoutout to them for some gorgeous gorgeous writing in these series and in everything they do. i hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this!)

if we’re in bookshop? i’d like to coexist with ezra peacefully for 7 minutes. all domestic. surrounded by the smell of old books. talking about random things. maybe holding his hand and stroking the back of it with my thumb. something soft and loving. what a sweet and heartwarming series.

if we’re in in the dark i’m sorry, i would lean more towards getting absolutely railed into next week by him. god he’s hot. i’m not immune to a bit of an age gap and this one is done so well and so tastefully.

frankie morales: i think i’d enjoy spending seven minutes chatting with an alcoholic beverage while we’re grilling at the barbeque. so dad-coded of me, but maybe the sun is setting and it’s summer and it’s a taste of normalcy he hasn’t had in a while so it’s romantic. i like him. i like him a lot.

oberyn martell: i think i’d spontaneously combust in his presence. he’s just … wow. and ellaria is so gorgeous as well. I’m just one shy bisexual. i’d need the upper hand or at least to impress them. OK let’s set it that I’m like a travelling bard or something and I’ve come to Dorne. Therefore I’d sing for them. that’s my One Great Skill. and then they go oh nice! and i get a full time job just doing what bards do in Dorne. and maybe i am invited to their bed once in a while.

pedro across the street: forget apple originals - to me, PATS is from oonajaeadiras’ good things take time series. her work has a way of sticking in your brain. would love a 7minute non sexual massage from this one. my trapezius (?) muscles are rock hard.

surely that’s it. i feel like i’ve forgotten a big one. well. thanks for reading if you got this far.

peace out.

[septembersghost]

Do you know where Taylor said she was giving up on relationships for a while? I feel like I remember that but can't find it

it was in her rolling stone cover story! (a lot of the press she did at that time is tinged with things that are saddening to revisit, but also clear on what her perspective was. the vogue 73 questions is another one):

"In fact, she suggests, she hasn’t dated at all since breaking up with One Direction singer Harry Styles more than a year and a half ago. “Like, have not gone on a date,” she says. “People are going to feel sorry for me when you write that. But it’s true.” Swift says dating is hard for her. For one thing, there’s the logistics. “Seventy percent of the time, when a guy asks me out, it’ll just be a random e-mail,” she says. Some movie star will get her address from his publicist and e-mail her cold. Usually she politely rebuffs them – but even if someone did penetrate that line of defense, building a relationship is hard. “I feel like watching my dating life has become a bit of a national pastime,” Swift says. “And I’m just not comfortable providing that kind of entertainment anymore. I don’t like seeing slide shows of guys I’ve apparently dated. I don’t like giving comedians the opportunity to make jokes about me at awards shows. I don’t like it when headlines read ‘Careful, Bro, She’ll Write a Song About You,’ because it trivializes my work. And most of all, I don’t like how all these factors add up to build the pressure so high in a new relationship that it gets snuffed out before it even has a chance to start. And so,” she says, “I just don’t date.” (That goes for hooking up as well. “I just think it’s pointless if you’re not in love,” Swift says. “And I don’t have the energy to be in love right now. So, no.”) Truth be told, Swift sounds a tiny bit jaded – which, for a “self-professed hopeless romantic,” maybe isn’t the worst thing to be. “It’s not like I’ve sworn off love,” she says. “My life is just not conducive to bringing other people into it right now. I’m very childlike and romantic about lots of things, but I’m realistic about this.” [....] it’s not bad that I’m not hopelessly in love with someone. It’s not a tragedy, and it’s not me giving up and being a spinster. Although I did get another cat.” She laughs. “I asked around: I was like, ‘Does two cats count as cats?’ But then I thought, what imaginary guy’s perspective am I thinking about this from? Someone is going to think I’m undateable for a lot of reasons before they think I’m undateable because I have two cats.”"

eta: the above still applies, but i was actually remembering her glamour magazine interview with this -

"Yeah, I do feel jaded about relationships, to be honest. I think the media has sent me a really unfair message over the past couple of years, which is that I’m not allowed to date for excitement, or fun, or new experiences or learning lessons. I’m only allowed to date if it’s for a lasting, multiple-year relationship. Otherwise I’m a, quote, ‘serial dater’. Or, quote, ‘boy crazy’. The narrative has been so wrong, every time it was the same. It’s 'Taylor spotted talking to this guy, she’s chasing him.’ They create a beginning to the story that didn’t happen most of the time, so then they have to create an ending. So they always go to the same fabricated ending that every other tabloid has used in my story, which is, 'She got too clingy’, or 'Taylor has too many emotions, she scared him away’. Which has honestly never been the reason for any of my break-ups. You know what has been the reason? The media. You take something very fragile, like trying to get to know someone, and it feels like walking out into the middle of a gladiator arena with someone you’ve just met. And all of a sudden the public and the media are allowed to say thumbs up or thumbs down. So I just don’t try it anymore."

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

warnings: IT/Pennywise mention, spoilers for IT, character death mention, swearing

AN: so a different version of Richie. I forgot how much I love Harry Anderson. I don’t want to write for Harry stone so I’ll write for Richie.

Time seemed to move faster than the speed of light after we climbed out of the sewer. Richie had drapped Eddie over his shoulder, both of us knowing we couldn’t leave him down there. Everyone went their separate ways, pairing off with the people we never thought we’d actually have a chance with. Richie squeezed my hand as we climbed into his convertible.

“What do we do if we start to forget?” I looked at him. Richie raised his eyebrows at me.

“(Y/N), I’m counting on forgetting. I can’t wait to forget everything to do with that fucked up clown. What is there about any of this you’d want to remember?” He exclaimed.

“What I meant was what if we forget each other. Or why we’re together. Or…” I frowned as I watched the town sign in the rear view mirror. “What if we forget Eddie?” Richie reached over and squeezed my hand again. His face softened as he searched for somewhere to pull over.

"Darling, we won't forget him." I shook my head and tightened my grip on his hand. "To quote Stan, it's imperically impossible. It's Eddie we're talking about here!"

"Mike was already starting to forget when we left Derry Rich. What if, in a week, you wake up to me sleeping next to you and you have no fucking clue who I am? Are you going to kick me out of bed? Think I'm just a one night stand?" I shook my head at him. "Richie, I don't want to lose you again." Richie leaned over and cupped my cheeks. He kissed me gently before pulling back to rest his head against mine.

"Sweetheart, I'll write myself a note. Like that stupid movie you made us watch while we were waiting for news about Mike. Every damn day if I have to." He stroked my cheek with his thumb. "(Y/N), I'm not going to forget you." Kissing my forehead, Richie pulled away to start the drive to the airport.

"What if I forget you?" I whispered. Richie chuckled and shot me a look.

"Really (Y/N)?" He laughed. "I think one morning you're going to wake up and think what the hell is comedian Richie Tozier doing in MY bed." I laughed as I looked over at him and shook my head.

"Beep beep Richie." He smiled at me as we left the town, and our memories, behind.

[livia-dovehallow]

happy birthday to gabriel lightwood!

I rise from the ashes of writer's block and health problems to gift you all a little something I whipped up late last night for our boy's 163rd birthday <3 You can find this piece on AO3, too.

Cecily extended her arms and held the box up to him, eyeing him expectantly over the edges. “It’s customary to accept a birthday gift on your birthday, you know.”

Gabriel gaped. “Why did you get me—“

“If you finish that question, I will drop you to the floor so fast, Gabriel Lightwood.”

It was a promise more than it was a threat, and Gabriel dropped his shoulders in defeat, reaching to accept the box she was holding out to him. His chest felt fuzzy in a way that only happened around Cecily and nobody else. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t opened it yet.”

“Oh, you wish me to open it right now?”

Cecily scrunched her face in a faux anger—though, to her credit, it did look concerningly close to her actual anger—and huffed. “You are insufferable.”

With a grin, Gabriel opened the box. He titled his head at the contents, of which a familiar item lay. “Is this my pocket watch?”

“It is.”

“You are returning my own pocket watch to me as a birthday gift?”

Cecily burst into laughter, doubling over, leaving Gabriel standing in stupefied amusement. Whatever she’d planned, she obviously thought herself highly as a comedian. At least a full minute passed before she rose again and composed herself. She reached in and pointed at an unfamiliar item attached to the chain of said pocket watch. “I am returning it to you with something new.”

Gabriel followed her finger and looked at the small, coin-like item hanging off the chain near the clasp of the watch. Upon closer inspection, it was a coin, but not one he’d ever seen before. This one looked as if it had been sanded down and re-engraved. He took the piece between his fingers and lifted it for a better look. Only when it was closer did he realize that the engraving was of letters—arranged in her name. 

“It’s a token,” Cecily explained. “Literally, yes, but it’s a sort of gift that mundanes give to loved ones. Old coins, out of circulation, sanded down and punched with new images and letters.”

Gabriel brushed his thumb over the engraving of her name, surrounding in a dotted pattern that followed the edges of the coin. Below her name was the image of a bird in flight. A heron. He looked back up at Cecily and smiled. “This is a love token?”

Cecily’s eyes grew comically large in surprise Gabriel rarely got out of her. “You know it?” she exclaimed in disbelief. 

“I know it,” said Gabriel smugly, before he could no longer hold in the laugh in his throat at her shock. “I do live in London. Some mundane things are familiar to me.”

Her eyes narrowed, as if she were inspecting him. Gabriel highly suspected she was. “Sophie told you,” she declared after a moment. 

Rats. Gabriel shook his head and lifted the watch out of the box in its entirety. “I will never tell you,” he teased, unwilling to surrender. But Gabriel admired the small attachment anyway, the fuzzy feeling in his chest growing the longer he looked at it. His understanding of the custom was scarce at best, but he did know one thing. “I thought I was meant to give you one of these.”

Cecily’s cheeks flushed a light pink, which made his heart flip. She really was unbelievably beautiful. “I despise gender roles,” she said simply.

It made him laugh again but he believed her. He’d never get quite used to how it felt to know someone so intimately, and have them know just as much about you. He didn’t even think he knew Gideon as well as he knew Cecily despite growing up with the man his entire life. 

He slipped the gift of his own adorned pocket watch into his vest and lay the now-empty box on the table beside them. “Thank you,” he told her. “I do like this addition to my own pocket watch.”

“You don’t think that is all I have for you on your birthday, is it?” Cecily gasped. Her hands rose to her hips in an indignant stance. “I take birthdays seriously. You may not have high expectations, sir, but now you have me.”

It was an innocent statement, but something about hearing her say “you have me” struck enough emotion out of Gabriel to compel him to step forward and lower himself to give her a sweet kiss. She smiled into it, her own curving lips moving in time with his. 

“What was that for?” she questioned when they’d reluctantly separated.

“I thought you might get annoyed with me if I just kept saying thank you.”

Her smile and eyes brightened into the precise glow that he always wanted her to have. A smile of genuine happiness. “I commend you on your solution,” she sang, and then took his arm. “It’s ingenious problem solving, though I do hope you do not use that solution with others.”

“It’s most certainly reserved for you,” Gabriel assured. 

Cecily tugged on his arm and began to walk, directing him to wherever it was she led him. Her energy was excited, radiating enough off of her to make him feel genuinely happy on his birthday for the first time in years, even if all he did that day was follow her around. 

[21 years later]

Gabriel woke up the same way he’d woken up for nearly 20 years—with Cecily’s pretty face beside him like a dream he was still in. Only this time, Cecily was wide awake and beaming at him rather than snoring (or acoustic sleeping, as she put it). “Happy birthday,” she said before leaning in for a smiling kiss.

“Mm,” Gabriel hummed. He sat up from his pillows, Cecily following, and attempted to blink himself more awake. “I age ten years every day in this house. What’s the use of a birthday anymore?”

Cecily remained unphased. Instead, she rolled out of bed and threw open the curtains with flair. “It’s your first birthday with Alex,” she reminded him. Gabriel attempted to act like he wasn’t aware that she hadn’t closed her robes. “And he’s six months old today, too. It is a very special day. At least it is to me.”

Gabriel softened, and smiled adoringly at his wife. She crossed her arms looking at him from across the room, but there was no true anger in her expression. She rather looked a bit sad. Cecily had never gotten used to how fast their children had grown, even Alex, who had come so recently into their family and yet here he was, six months old already. No fault to her—Gabriel grew sad if he thought about it too long, too. 

He threw the sheets off himself and dragged himself out of the bed to cross the room to her. There had to be a magnet within Cecily, for he always found himself wanting to be close to her all the time. She leaned into his touch when he held her face in his heads. Gabriel leaned down and kissed her head, humming as he did so. “I love you.”

Cecily wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed herself against him. “I love you, too,” she mumbled into his shoulder at the precise moment a cry pierced the otherwise silent air of their home. Gabriel laughed. “I’m being summoned.”

“I can get him,” Gabriel offered right away when Cecily pulled away from their perfectly comfortable embrace. 

“Not on your birthday,” she scolded him. With practiced ease, she tied her robe and flew into her slippers. Halfway out of their bedroom door, Cecily peeked back at him over her shoulder with a stern gaze. “Don’t you dare think about anyone else on your day, Gabriel.”

She disappeared, off down the hall to the nursery, tending to their baby boy, the both of them knowing perfectly well that Gabriel Lightwood was incapable of thinking about anyone other than his family. 

He reached over to his vest, laid neatly over the wardrobe, prepared in advance for him, and pulled his pocket watch. It was early—Anna and Christopher would not wake for another couple of hours. Gabriel smiled to himself and watched out the window at the rising sun, an old token brushed by the pad of this thumb along the chain. 

[failedintsave]

Kloktober Day 8: Childhood or Getting Old

I love some kidklok but it's all so traumatic (and I'm saving up for some other prompts jsdjgsjdk) so I went with Old Folks Skwistok 👴👴

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me

Although he knew the route by heart after so many weekly trips, Toki squinted at the amber letters of the scrolling LED display at the head of the bus, just to be certain he hadn't lost track of the journey. Patting his breast pocket and finding it empty, he located his glasses perched atop his head in the usual place and slid them down to his nose to confirm their location.

"Dis ams our stop," he said, nudging the dozing figure next to him.

Toki got to his feet as the bus pulled to the curb, feeling more than hearing the screech of brakes as the vehicle ground to a halt. A wise CFO had once (twice, a thousand times over) advised them all to wear earplugs during their sets, and the irony of those warnings falling on deaf ears did not escape Toki now. Soon enough, he would have to follow Pickles' example and get fitted for hearing aids. Out of all the patents that had expired after Dethklok's reign, Liquid Purity sound technology had yielded the most versatile applications. Toki wondered if Charles would be pleased to see it put to good use, or if he was rolling in his grave over the market ventures they'd left untapped.

Humidity fogged the lenses of his readers as he stepped off the bus and onto the sidewalk, waiting patiently at the door for his fellow passenger to debark. Heat mirages shimmered across the blacktop of the Finntrolls parking lot, the sun a blazing disk in a cloudless sky the color of window cleaner. The late September warmth had not deterred Skwisgaar from donning a cardigan before they left the house, though he scowled into the bright afternoon light as he rounded the steps. Perpetually cold, even in his prime, it had been years since he'd let goading commentary about outerwear sway his wardrobe choices.

"T'oughts fall started last weeks, dis look more like summer vacation weathers to me." The thump of the tennis ball covering the end of his cane undercut some of the scorn in his voice, the same way it softened the overelaborate dragon motif for which he'd chosen the rod.

"You knows we never gets a real fall in L.A., elskling." Skwisgaar accepted Toki's outstretched hand, allowing his junior to assist him down the last steps and towards a nearby bench. Hot air gusted past as the bus pulled away from the curb, the stench of exhaust roiling in its wake. "Or you shoulds know dat, after almost thirty years."

"Ja, ja, still terribles any ways you slice it t'ough. I hates it."

"Ams somebody crabby today? Was you nap on de way here not longs enough? I woulda packed de insulated bags if I'd known we needed to rides to de store across town instead. I don't think your sherbet would makes it all de way home wifout dem." Toki laughed when Skwisgaar swatted his helping hands away, settling onto the shaded bench and pointedly looking the other direction. He set their canvas grocery sacks on the seat next to the Swede, leaning to plant a kiss on the part of his hair. "Be right back, don't runs off."

"So glad I ams married to de comedians…"

The automatic door of the food library slid aside with a hiss, unleashing a gust of chilled air that obscured Toki's glasses again and leaving him to fumble past the shopping carts until he found the reason for his solo sojourn. Toki plopped onto the cushioned seat, driving the scooter into the parking lot.

"Hey dere, sexy," he called, lifting his thumb off the accelerator and coming to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk. "You wants to come party wifs a rockstar?"

Skwisgaar watched his approach, unamused, with both hands stacked on top of the handle of his cane. Determined as he was to always do everything himself, he still disliked using the motorized cart. Really, he disliked anything that forced him to acknowledge the changes that age had inflicted upon them all—though Nathan's dentures were to be expected after decades of avoiding the dentist, and no one was entirely sure if Murderface's memory issues were real or if he was just being a dick.

Given his way, Skwisgaar would have hobbled painfully up and down each aisle under his own power, but arthritis had other plans.

His slouch was more pronounced now, his fingers curled and knuckles rosy with inflammation, yet he still held his nose in the air and sneered with all the lordly pretense of someone who had once ruled the world. For all the frowning he'd done in his life, he bore fewer wrinkles than one might expect, the most noticeable being the crow's feet that sprouted from the corners of his eyes as they narrowed in Toki's direction. Perhaps there had been something to all those expensive skin balms and salves after all.

"You goingk to be likes dis all day?" He groused, levering himself to his feet with some effort.

Toki stepped off the scooter and caught Skwisgaar's elbow as he listed to one side. "Til deaths do us part."

"Euughh, Odin, takes me."

Together, they crossed the last few feet to the cart and Skwisgaar lowered himself gingerly onto the seat. Toki placed Skwisgaar's cane into the wire basket within easy reach and dropped their bags in as well, taking a step back so Skwisgaar could get the vehicle turned around. Sunlight cast a shimmering halo on the crown of his head, his locks tied in a neat knot at the nape of his neck. He refused to part with the length despite the fact that what was once burnished gold now shone silvery platinum, and though Toki had long ago adopted a shorter crop for himself, he was glad Skwisgaar still wore his hair in long, soft waves. It suited him.

"You know, I think maybe I gets it why you always had de hots for all dems old ladies." Biting back a giggle when Skwisgaar cut eyes at him again, Toki fell into step beside the scooter as they made their way towards the front door. A pearly wisp of curl had come loose from its binding, and he reached out to tuck it behind Skwisgaar's ear, twirling the end around his finger. "You still lookin' mighty fines to Toki, even 'dough you ams all gray and wrinkledy now."

"Tch, you aments no springtime chicklings you'self, ya know. Dildo." Skwisgaar scoffed, ascending the slight ramp of asphalt that connected the sidewalk to the crosswalk.

Toki pushed his glasses back atop his head before being subjected to a third blast of blinding fog at the entrance, and when he dropped his arm, Skwisgaar's fingers closed around his wrist and pulled. The motion caught him mid-stride and he stumbled sideways, landing awkwardly, halfway on Skwisgaar's lap.

An arm wrapped around his waist, slimness belying strength as it held him close. "Hej, baby," Skwisgaar's voice in his ear was a playful growl. "You wants to go for a ride?"

Toki nodded in reply, grinning wide and swinging his feet onto the floorboard between Skwisgaar's loafers. The scooter's electric motor whirred as Skwisgaar depressed the forward lever, its wheels juddering over the threshold onto gleaming tile. Laughing as they zipped through the produce section, he swiped a package of blackberries from the display, hooting again when the scooter tipped onto two wheels momentarily. It might be far cry from screaming down the interstate on the murdercycle, wind whipping their hair, but it didn't matter. So long as they were together, the thrill remained.