#well a fraction of my pride and joy anyways

[justanotherstarlightmonger]

Vee's birthday project day 1

A/n: It just passed midnight on the 28th of October for me, which means there are only 6 days left until my babe's birthday!!

So to celebrate the sweetest soul ever, I've decided to do "Six days of birthday souvenirs"

I'll write something small every day for six days for Jeon Jungkook (who definitely needs more space in my Masterlist anyways) and who also owns Vee's heart. I really can't wait to see how this turns out but I'll leave a warning here, that the genres will be all over, so yes there'll be fluff, but there'll be angst days too. *Hands up in surrender* DON'T BOO ME WE ALL NEED SOME ANGST ONCE IN A WHILE.

So, without further ado, let's see what we have for day 1 shall we??

Day 1: Midnight sweetness.

Tagging: @minniesvenus

"Knock knock"

You laughed as you felt gentle knuckles rapping against your skull, the laugh drowning into a yawn soon after, as the clock struck midnight and chimed twelve times.

You'd always been a sucker for antique stuff, hence the fact that the grandfather clock in your living room which you had salvaged from a dusty antique shop, now stood in mint condition and chimed the number of hours it announced, every hour.

It really was your pride and joy.

Now, you weren't a fool. You knew why your boyfriend was suddenly waking you up even though you had only just called it a night half an hour ago. Despite the fatigue in your body, your mind knew it was your birthday.

And you knew you were about to be coddled and spoilt rotten.

You opened your eyes the tiniest fraction and closed them immediately again seeing Jungkook kneeling in front of you on the rug, a smile painting his face.

"Psst little alpaca, are you awake?" He cooed.

"Nuh uh" you grumbled.

"Ohh... Oh noo, my alpaca isn't awake so now im gonna have to eat this whole dessert by myself" he fake sniffed.

Dessert? You peeked from one eye.

Sure enough, he had a small chocolate cake on a plate in his hands and there were two scoops of ice cream on either side.

If the bittersweet smell wafting to you was anything to go by, it was coffee ice cream.

Damn. You loved these things.

"And the fact that it's a lava cake too, tsk tsk" you snapped your eyes shut again as he made a whole show of getting up, complete with a little 'aigoo' as if he was 70.

"And how will I ever eat two scoops of ice cream by my lonesome self, poor Jungkookie..." His voice held the pout on his lips.

You bit back a laugh and stirred, pretending to just have woken up and fake stretched really loudly.

"Baby... I smell cake." You put on your biggest faux puppy eyes and looked at him all confused as if you couldn't see the plate in his hands.

Jungkook's eyes widened and a slight smirk tugged his lips. He placed the plate on the bedside table and sat down in front of you,

"You little minx." He grinned and pulled you into a hug.

"Arghhh, mmmphhhh, can't breathe" you squirmed, knowing damn well both of you knew there was nowhere you'd rather be.

"Oh hushhh, here, cut it before the chocolate inside solidifies"

He pulled back and brought the plate back, holding out a butter knife.

The lights were dim, and the city which usually was still awake and thriving seemed to have quited down for this moment.

You sliced through the cake, delighted at the ooey gooey chocolate pouring out but also the stupid sound effects the man in front of you was making.

Your laugh was much louder this time, and wasn't interrupted by a yawn.

You loaded up a spoonful of delight and held it up for Jungkook to eat. He happily took the whole spoon and made a sound of delight in his throat, eyes lighting up and a happy "mmmmm" sounding in his chest.

God, he was such a baby sometimes.

And in the next moment, there was sweetness on your tongue as he'd leaned in to kiss you just as soon as he'd swallowed and his arms held you softly, the calm kiss spreading through you like the same thick chocolate you could taste on his lips, a peace settling in your heart.

It felt like you had all the time in the world. It always did kissing Jungkook.

"Happy birthday my baby" he whispered against your skin before claiming your lips again.

Happy birthday indeed.

[daily-rubbersoul-redux]

here they are, the new boys and girl-

i..... have no clue what im doing for most of em as far as stands go atm, so im just gonna list some general character info stuff-

-Taiana is pretty much just a goofy and outgoing girl who is completely invested in becoming a knight one day, even though they aren’t really a thing anymore. She is incredibly skilled with a sword.

-Saino is very shy, but not exactly timid and pretty much shares a braincell with Taiana.  He is incredibly skilled at growing plants.

-Theo is the only Dracheilig with multiple braincells, and is an inventor in his spare time. He’s very self conscious about his appearance however, fearing people will think he is a monster.

-Jacian is quite similar to Taiana in personality, though he acts more so as if he is royalty.  Technically speaking, he actually is a knight to some degree, and his intentions are largely unknown.

-Anthony, or Anton, is Jacian’s right hand man and closest friend.  He’s pretty ordinary besides that, but his dedication to helping and supporting those he cares for is unrivalled. 

-Gabbrielli is actually rumored to be royalty of some sorts, though if that is actually true or not is unknown.  However, these rumors, in tangent with his bright demeanor and... well, being a pretty anime boy, has lead to him being considered a bit of a heartthrob.  

some other stuff:

-Taiana and Saino are twins (with Taiana being like a minute older), and Theo is their older brother.

-All of the characters, with the exception of Theo, are Seniors in high school (though their ages still vary between 17 and 18) 

-Taiana and Jacian are rivals, and have gained a reputation for having duels in the front of the school on a regular basis.  These usually attract a crowd, though they always end in a draw.

-Anton is not the only person who looks up to Jacian; He actually is quite popular, and most of his friends or even just close acquaintances would do near anything for him.

-Taiana’s ‘Visor’ (the black shadow over her eyes) is just a mask of sorts that Theo made for her because she thought it would be cool.  It is.

-Theo’s appearance is caused in large part due to his stand’s power; It is irreversible, and the only part of it he can control is his wings, which he can manifest and retract at will.

-Yes Theo is part dragon, and so are his siblings.  No I will not elaborate, this is JoJo’s I’m like 90% sure weirder shit has happened.

-Saino aids Taiana on most, if not all, of her Knightly Escapades (TM).  They’re pretty much an inseparable duo most of the time.

-Jacian is just extra.  Like, minor Fire Emblem villain level of extra.  This man will eat a McDonalds burger with a fork and a knife using the finest china in his whole goddamn house.

-Gabbrielli is just a good boy who wishes people would stop hitting on him.  He’s good friends with Saino and Taiana, and will occasionally be the voice of reason, but more often then not will just get dragged into whatever shenanigans they're doing at the moment.

[heli0s-writes]

Clumsy

Summary: Serendipity, it’s the only way Steve can describe it. His ma was right: he’d always been slow.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

A/N: Fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Steve angst because I love one sad boi. Written for @wkemeup​​‘s 4K Challenge like an entire year ago!! I’m so sorry, Kas!! The prompt was Bright Eyes’ “First Day of My Life”. 2.8k words.

It was supposed to rain.

Thunderclaps rolled in the distance all morning. Moisture hung heavy in the air and the earth smelled like wet already--- salty, thick, sweet. The app on his phone blinked gray clouds straight across the screen. Seventy-three degrees and a nine-five percent chance of precipitation. Winds NE 20 miles per hour.

But at 2:30 in the afternoon when Steve slides into the car, it’s clear and blue.

So he figures it’s coincidence and poor meteorology when the engine quietly rumbles to life. He fixes the collar of his shirt, checks for hotels around the midway point, and sends an uneasy look to the empty passenger seat.

Then, he makes his way to where you are.

-

The two-lane country road stretches on. Winding and curving, pitch-black and howling with wind and wildlife. Bugs splatter on the windshield and he mechanically sprays a bit of fluid, wiping them off, the squeaks giving his radio a bit of rhythm in all this late-night talk. It’ll be another half hour before he gets to the hotel and he’s still wrestling with himself if he should even break.

No reason to now. He can drive all night. No reason to other than his pride.

“So what is it?”

There’s an imprint in the seat. An outline of a warm body folding soft creases in the leather. Late night talk radio fizzles out, and he’s tired, so he can’t get too upset at his brain for seeing the shape even though it’s been months since anyone’s sat there.

He chances a look over, then quickly back ahead because sure—the sedan is small, but this tiny strip of pavement feels even smaller. Too right and he’ll careen into the woods, too left and if another car’s coming around the bend Steve would roll out alive, but he’d be the only one.

He looks again.

Legs folded. Bare feet. Ankles crossed on the dash. Casually sitting with one hand on your phone and the other one behind your head, face lit incandescent by the screen. It was the first time he’d been alone with you after New York; he remembers this.

You hadn’t even given a glance sideways at him, still fixed on the screen, thumb sliding up and focused on mission details in a perfect picture of indifference.

“Your whole thing. Mister Red-White-and-Broody, most eligible bachelor in all of America—which, by the way, is so far up your ass all fifty states might as well be coming out of your mouth—”

“Stop it.”

“Okay, Rogers.” A smirk. His last name slipping between your lips like military title. “Fine, you’re all gilded in the front, suffering in the back. So—” You turned finally, pulled your feet back and tucked them under your body, “What is it?”

Steve pretended to think, left hand clenching a fraction tighter on the wheel, feeling its strength beneath his grip. His face remained impassive and dedicated forward, turning the seconds in his head, counting down the appropriate time for his reply.

It was a game, certainly. Your assertion, your poise, hand propping up your head—all of it. Your entire being was a foil to one Steven Grant Rogers and he was strapped with you for half a week. Already the car ride was beginning to foreshadow what was quickly seeming to be a long assignment.

“It’s my job—”

“So weak.”

“I’m busy—”

“Are you even trying to lie?”

You were known to do this: lay out a path of questions that only gave your company the pretense of a genuine conversation. You’d lead them like a wrangler leading horses to water, knowing they wouldn’t drink, but giving them just enough time to stare at their own reflection in the pool before you’d yank the harness elsewhere.

It was always a short path, but what you lacked in subtlety you made up for with honesty.

Agitated, Steve snapped before he could rein himself back in.

“What are you, my psychologist?” Horse.

“You don’t have one. You are the only Avengers Tower resident who has run off every psychologist on Stark’s payroll. So--” a twist of your torso, your back pressed up against the door handle as you stared at the outline of his side profile. Wrangler.

The question dangled in front of his gritted teeth. The answer he’d known long ago was behind two perfect calcium rows, pressed up, trying to find its way through the cracks.

What’s your thing? We fought together. We live together. We suffered a cataclysmic event in the form of aliens together---so why doesn’t anybody know you?

You leaned forward, body tilting until it almost touched your former footrest. Your head sloped to find his face and when he flicked his eyes sharply to yours, Steve knew it wasn’t sharp enough.

“You don’t want to be vulnerable.”

You’d led him through the brief route of your inquisition and had seen all you cared to see. Your voice bounced off the window when you closed your eyes and turned away.

“Steve,” you sighed, mouth going to the side in a smile. “Vulnerability is clumsy, but it’s the only thing worth anything.”

He had thought: No, it isn’t. He’d spent too long being vulnerable already, and he couldn’t afford it again. Twenty years of a miserable half-life and seventy years of sleep and suddenly the world was new and different and strange. Coming back into his body was new and different and strange but it was the body that afforded him invulnerability.

Mostly, anyway.

Steve decided, then, at least he could make up for that lump of mortality—that lump of weakness—with performance.

So, he became the blacksmith to his feeble Brooklyn boy heart. Forged carbon steel, gold-plated, immaculately polished like his own shield at press conferences. Smoothed himself into a monumental display of impeccable posturing and hid the boy away where no one could reach him. Let him go back to sleep, too. Frozen in a time long passed, long forgotten.

He wasn’t Steve Rogers anymore because no one knew Steve Rogers anymore; it was the only way he could carry on. Didn’t you know?

No, he supposed, you didn’t.

On the ride back you surrendered yourself to the backseat, laying down in the most comfortable position the sedan would allow, and chatted his ear off the entire ride home. Called him Steve and looked at him through the rearview mirror. Eyes met eyes, and yours crinkled at the edges with some secret knowledge.

By the end of it, all he could think about was how he didn’t mind the conversation and that his first name even sounded a little nice coming out of your mouth.

You shimmer in the passenger side until your hair hangs a little longer. His brown leather jacket is around your shoulders. A stretch of your arms. A stretch of your lips. Months passed and Rogers befell the man you knew during the Manhattan Crisis while he became Steve.

Steve on missions and in the field—On your six, Steve! Keep up, old boy. Steve at the tower and Steve in the gym— don’t touch my weights, Steve, you’ll throw your back out.

Steve getting the door and pouring the whiskey and letting you wear his jacket when you were cold. Finding you across rooms at parties because there was an easiness to your presence that calmed the crowd. Shooting pool and watching movies. Up late and out late and laughing until the early hours.

He was Steve, your friend, because he finally allowed himself to have a friend.

You change. Shimmer again until your hair is pulled back from your swollen face. A hospital gown crinkled around your shoulders. Asleep, cold. Too close to death, too close to him. He couldn’t even sit by your bedside, only standing by the door, shuffling from one wall to the other and watched the monitors with a too-loud and static-filled brain.

He was hesitantly Steve when you stepped too close to him on the balcony nights later, hand precariously hovering over that fragile boy heart, finally pressing down on it, feeling his delicate pulse thawing and crawling towards you. Tipsy smile and you tasted like whiskey and easy joy.

The kiss was clumsy, like you’d said. Vulnerability threw him back to the 40’s, all gangly limbed and ill, his lungs malfunctioning, his breath smothered in his mouth. He stumbled, but the banister held him up.

You didn’t mind that his knees felt boneless. You chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your still-bruised cheek abruptly burned down his throat—warm and smooth and cataclysmic until he caught sight of the way you winced as his hand cupped your tender face. Steve stepped back, then, and apologized for what he said should have never happened.

There was a small quiver from your shoulder before you quietly went back inside.

He cursed himself on the balcony. Cursed letting it all happen in the first place. Captain Rogers watched your retreating steps, burying the spark and the fire. And the boy must have cried in his ice-block coffin when he buried him again, too.

“Don’t look at me like that.” God, he’s going crazy. Poor night-vision and an addled brain causing him to scold an empty seat. “You stopped talking to me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens the way it does when you’re too deep in his head and he can’t get you out. Days without hearing from you smeared together in careful steps of a cagey dance. Comments always presented as half-truths—riddles he struggled to deconstruct. Breadcrumbs never leaving enough of a trail to lead him anywhere. He wants the harness back. Wants back your confident hand.

“You could have said something.” Steve scoffs, because you always had something to say. “Anything. You could have said anything. We were—friends.”

And hell, doesn’t that sound stupid out loud? Maybe it’s best that he’s got nothing but infinity beyond the sedan’s glaring brights and a million thoughts of unsaid words. It’s all useless, anyway. Best that he can get it all out now, talking to your ghost. It keeps all his thoughts in his head and keeps him from yelling every time he sees you not-looking, not-smiling, not-talking to him.

Steve flicks the wipers on again. Shuts off the radio. Shuts off the navigation. Takes the car off cruise-control to give himself something to do. He’ll stop overnight, after all.

Suddenly then, in the distance, two glowing eyes greet him steadily. Measured paces, in a firm and crisp trajectory, growing closer and closer. Glaring and vivid, beating the monotonous grind of nighttime out of him. His pinky moves, and his high beams flip to low beams, white giving way to yellow and the glistening road signs and tree-shadows in the distance slowly diminish.

Bleached spectral glaring of leaves and road signs soften ochre and brown, indigo dark. For a fleeting moment, even Steve’s enhanced eyes feel half-blind again as he readjusts to the pitch-black night barely lit. The car coming toward him does the same, highs blinking low and they pass each other in quiet understanding. In blind trust on the dark road, dependent on each other’s good faith to see it through.

He thinks of Sarah Rogers in a tiny Brooklyn kitchen, floral wallpaper yellowed and peeling behind her. One hand on an apron-clad hip, cooking interrupted by her son stumbling in dripping blood down his shirt, her other hand clenched around a wet kitchen rag.

“Steven Grant Rogers! Oh—wretched! What else can I say,” she’d sigh as she pressed it to his nose, “You do whatever you please, anyhow. You just put this on your face—and don’t think it’ll get you out of doing the dishes, either.”

“But—” he’d attempt.

She’d put up her hand, “Lord have mercy on any young woman that’ll have you. May she have your poor mother’s patient heart.”

His ma always called him slow. A dolt through and through. Quick to temper, but laborious to do much else. Common sense always took its sweet time-- took the long path home to get to Steve Rogers. In seventy-odd years, he hasn’t changed.

Better than coincidence and better than poor meteorology. Serendipity. It’s the only way he can describe it.

Like finding a crumpled up twenty in his pocket—or in his case, a five—enough then for a week’s worth of meals. Like having that nightmare— the one right before the plane crashes and instead of going down with it, he wakes up. Like expecting to drive five hours through a storm and stopping overnight, but instead it’s clear and blue as far as he can see.

The rush, the relief, the deafening joy that shuts everything else up and out.

Sarah Rogers was right: he’d always been slow.

So he careens back onto the highway from the service road, steadying his foot on the pedal and flies about fifteen miles faster than the speed limit says he should. The car is vibrating to a thrilled beat inside his chest. Steve can’t help smiling.

-

It was supposed to rain. All the way to the next mid-morning but the sky parts a brilliant orange sunrise and he nearly sprints to the door. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before he barrels in. A sliver of parting wood is enough, and Steve throws it wide with his enormous shoulders, kicking it shut firmly with his boot.

The imprint of your body on the couch is still warm—you, halfway across the room in alarm—real and even warmer when Steve gathers you into his arms. He’s been awake for over 24 hours, talking to himself, talking to your hallucination, so he apologizes when his teeth click against yours in a frantic kiss.

“Rogers--!”

You pull away, dazed, a little bit pissed off, but you cow the swirl of emotions into professionalism. “What are you—you’re not supposed to be here until late—did you drive through--”

“Steve,” he interrupts, “Steve.”

He’s so tired of the long road. Can’t stand another second of maneuvering in the dark down winding paths or broken streetlight avenues you’re not at the end of so he keeps his next phrase short: “I really like you.”

You raise your brow and brush the back of your knuckles over your lips, the light from the balcony streaming over your face. His hand tenderly brushes your cheek, the same one he touched all those months ago and you blink in surprise. Quick, calculating movements even as you lean gently into his touch.

“Steve…” you say slowly before your mouth pinches together in a poor attempt to hide the smirk threatening to surface. “You drove all night to… ask me to call you Steve.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “And the mission.”

“Right, the mission. The debrief didn’t mention that it required a lot of… kissing.”

“It came up recently; I haven’t adjusted the file yet.” He grins at your rolling eyes, your swollen lips peeling back to reveal a joyful display of teeth at his stubborn defiance.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble.

You place your hand over his chest, over his heart.

You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you’re not letting go, and he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it paints him in the most galvanized care. “Steve,��� you say again, and his eyes slip shut, like he’s being laid to rest. And maybe he is. Finally weary of lugging around all his armor, all his pretense.  

The boy emerges, thawing toward his name held sweetly in your mouth.

He fumbles with his awkward limbs—a newly birthed foal trying to find its footing—but you’re patient and enduring. He takes in his trembling body—knobby knees and gangly elbows. Inept gait still learning how to be. He takes the sights—white casting over the balcony. You, even brighter.

It was supposed to rain, but you link your fingers through his, leading him toward the open doors, smiling against a backdrop of sherbet swirls. He stumbles, but you’ve got him. A few short steps, just a few more, and Steve kisses you again in the sunbathed daybreak, resurrected and anew.

[razorblade180]

Interdimensional Moms: part 1

Intro <-

Yang:So how we doin this? Drawing straws or... well we actually don’t have straws here so-

Weiss:It’s obvious that you wanna go first.

Blake:Extremely obvious.

Ruby:All over your face.

Yang:Hey now, don’t call me out like that! We all have so much to sort out here. I don’t even know where to begin. Differences could start and stop anywhere for all we really know.

Blake:From what it seems, Beacon itself would have one or two minor changes, but the real changes start after the fall. At least, for you three that is.

Weiss:You saying you’re different?

Blake:Unless you three started going on dates with Jaune at Beacon, then yes, I’m different.

RWY:(They’ve been together that long!?)

Yang:Okay, starting from Beacon...nothing really stands out too much. Jaune and I were just friends. *cringes* Back then, a certain faunus caught my eye.

Blake:Ah...right. I guess that tracks in practically every universe.

RW:Oh yeah it does. You two are joined at the hip.

Yang:Haha, really? Glad to hear it. My Blake and I are best buds! Remnant has never seen such a dynamic duo! Can’t say it didn’t take a lot of time effort after a rough patch. We actually dated in my world.

Blake:Same.

Yang:What!? How long?

Blake:I don’t know, it was pretty on again off again.

Yang:Well for me it was after Haven. Both of us had gotten pretty serious. All the growing we’ve done together and apart had brought us closer. However, Adam unintentionally put a wedge between us. His attempt to change and the problems that came with it were-

Yang stopped midway and saw the confused faces of her otherworldly teammates. They were shocked, confused even. Especially Blake, who looked the most shocked of all.

Yang:Umm did I say something odd?

Blake:Adam, he...isn’t dead?

Yang:Oh, well I guess that’s the start of the major changes then. Blake and I fought Adam at Argus. Stabbed him through the chest and watched him fall down rocks into a river.

Ruby:That lines you with my world. Dude died that day. Like any normal person should.

Yang:Well Adam is anything but fucking normal. Man has the craziest luck. A young women, the winter maiden in fact, she saved his life. She’s not exactly normal either. The maiden, Jacquelyn, ended up sticking by him to see if she could change his ways. This naturally meant we’d run into them again. And that’s how things fell apart.

Blake:What do you mean?

Yang:You were fully committed to seeing if Adam could actually change. I wasn’t, so we constantly butted heads in any situation involving him. Then we would fight about things that had nothing to do with at all. Eventually, we broke it off. We remained on decent terms but I was pretty heartbroken about the disconnect. Enter our lovable blonde idiot. Jaune did everything in his power to cheer me up.

Weiss:Sounds like him. Always such a bleeding heart. That boy just can’t help himself. Let me guess, his kindness and concern made you feel all warm and fuzzy?

Yang:Hehe, guilty. It was more of his willingness to laugh at my puns. Jaune’s always been interesting to talk to. He tries to act cool and calm even though he’s terrible at it, then comes clean right after. Before I knew it I was telling him things I hadn’t talked about with people before. I could tell he looked at me like most guys do, but also genuinely wanted to listen to me. Talk about playing unfair; he got defenseless. Suddenly I was smiling again. Anytime with him was time well spent. Then one day, I kissed him.

Ruby:Happily ever after?

Yang:Not even close! Hahaha!

Weiss:Why do you sound proud?

Yang:It’s funny looking back at it to a certain degree. Gods, I was such a brat. More than a few fights are on me. Between Blake, Raven, and other experiences, my insecurities flared up in ugly ways over nothing. It even got us to break up too. I was officially done with dating. My Ruby was out in an uncomfortable position.

Ruby:I bet! I’d never want you two fighting. Especially in my world. Picking between the person I love and my sister!? I don’t know what will happen.

Yang:I kinda do. *sets up* You’d start dating Jaune because you’ve looked at him since Beacon. The two of you would confide in each other and share a special kind of love, but it would be bittersweet. All because your sister still pines for him and never met to make him leave, and Jaune never says it, but he hates how things fell apart. He’s faithful to you and would never do you wrong, a guy to truly cherish. So... you let him go. Watch him walk back to your sister like you asked, because my happiness was worth that much to you.

Ruby:....

Yang: In my world at least. Honestly it’s still the most amazing thing I’ve seen you do. We must’ve cried over that conversation for hours. I felt so guilty and you only smiled, hugging me tight. Jaune and I had a few more stumbles. Nothing serious though. Eventually we moved in together when the world was saved. You and Oscar got together officially which made me happy. Even made our weddings a competition of who’d make dad bawl his eyes out the most. You won by the way; Raven came back into our family and into dad’s arms. Last but not least I had a baby. Yujin Xiao Long, my fucking pride and joy from above.

Weiss:Wow, that’s a lot.

Blake:What am I doing? Did I marry Sun?

Yang:Yep. You and blondes Blake, I tell ya.

Weiss:Hold the phone! Who am I with!?

Yang:Pretty sure you’re technically single. Buuuut, Neo and your have gotten pretty friendly from what I managed to interrogate out of you.

Weiss:That’s, highly unexpected. For a number of reasons.

Yang:Better believe it. Besides Cinder, a few crazies, and Salem, a few people made something of themselves. Dying sucks after all.

Ruby:You have a dead Cinder?

WBY: You don’t?

Ruby:*crosses arms* Hmph, I’ll wait my turn. Yang, you said you’re the only mother from our team. If Blake and I have been married for quite some time then what, we don’t want kids?

The joyful sunshine from Yang slipped into grayer skies. Her smile faded and it increasingly got harder to look at this Ruby without thinking of her own.

Yang:Are you sure that’s something you wanna know? I’ll tell you, but I didn’t want to bring down the mood with the problems where I from.

Blake:Problems? How big of a problem.

Yang:The biggest we’ve faced. It’s...a lot.

Ruby:Well we’ve listened this far. *takes hand* Lay it on us.

Yang:Pfft, oh boy. So...umm...another secret war came up. One that caused us to leave our friends and family for over a decade.

Weiss:A decade!?

Blake:What gets worse after Salem!? Who tries anything after a grimm queen!?

Yang:So a majority of Remnant was still unaware of her, but a fight like that can only be kept under wraps so tightly. Plenty of people still learned fractions of the truth. A few of those people weren’t exactly nice guys. They idolized her efforts and became her followers that wanted to keep her will alive, starting with taking revenge on the people who defeated her. We were so unaware. So caught up in normalcy. They ambushed us, and I mean everyone. We...we didn’t come out unscathed. Ren was crippled badly. Weiss, you almost your brother. Jaune’s family got hit but thankfully lived. The real casualties were aimed to hurt Ruby.

Ruby:Oh, of course. S-So, either you’re about to say I had no time to start a family, or...

Yang:...

Yang:When I tell you the look you made when you learned what happened to Oscar, to Qrow... that’s the moment it felt like my little sister left forever. Till this day you don’t smile like you used to. Very recently, now that it’s finally over, you’ve started looking better, but those ten years were hell. We choose to go out and fight again, avoiding contact with family. I haven’t had a real opportunity to be in my daughters life.

Ruby:How old is she?

Yang:Sixteen soon. Left her when she was four so you know. *tearing up* I missed everything. Just about anyways. Ironically it was Raven and Adam that helped her through the years with Jaune and Dad. Eventually we came back and ooohh boy was Yujin not thrilled in the slightest. Hehehe. Her right hook is really strong. I only had about a week with her before things got complicated again. *wipes eyes* But it’s okay. We left on good term. Something I definitely don’t feel like I deserve.

Blake:I can’t believe a thing like that would be possible.

Yang:Cults are a huge problem in Remnant now. You’re definitely aware of that. You actually oversee a little group from the shadows to deal with them in secret. An idea you got from experience. Adam works for you and everything. Hate to admit, but he’s become the guy you wanted him to be. Even has a family. I’m grateful to him. He personally kept my girl safe.

Blake:To think I’d hear you say that. Now I know this isn’t my world.

Yang:Don’t get me wrong, I still will hit him if given the chance. My life hasn’t been charmed and sacrifices too great were happening way too many times but it finally has gotten to a point where everyone feels like we’re taking steps towards a better future.

Weiss:Moving forward?

Yang:Yes, I was trying to avoid the phrase but yes Weiss, we’re moving forward. Still... *looks at Ruby*....

Ruby:W-What?

Yang:It’s unreal seeing you like this. My Ruby has become so strong and endured but hasn’t really picked herself up completely. All her tragedy stemmed from the loss of Oscar and Qrow; her last talk with Oscar was fight about kids too. That’s the entire reason she went off alone in the first place. Looking at you I can’t help but question my own choices. If...I just let her stay with Jaune, then maybe-

Ruby:Nope.

Yang:Huh?

Ruby:Look, if I know anything about your world, then it’s gonna be me and I can tell you without a doubt your Ruby doesn’t blame or would consider her own happiness without you. She loved you enough to take the chance to find love again. You really think there’s anything you could’ve done differently at that point. That girl is as stubborn as they come! *smiles* So buck up cowgirl. You deserve it.

A sense of warmth came over Yang as she heard those words. This other Ruby smiled at her with the same love as her own; completely caring about Yang’s feeling before her own. Yang felt so...unburdened. She couldn’t help but cry a little, laughing softly as she did. Who would’ve thought love could transcend worlds? It was so vindicating, therapeutic even.

Yang:Ruby, you’re something else entirely, you know that?

Ruby:It’s my curse. All I ever wanted was normal knees but the world said “no, special eyes!”

Yang:Well I guess I should thank the world then?

Weiss:You said your Ruby is getting better? That’s good. Still, it must be pretty weird looking at Jaune. Can’t imagine how lonely it must feel losing a love twice.

Blake:It never numbs.

Yang:Geez you two, lighten up. We can’t all be depressed. Ruby also didn’t lose Jaune. Actually....there may or may not have been an interesting...arrangement for a brief period of time.

Ruby:Ehhh what?

Yang:Hehehe well, hahaha, ummmm a decade is a very long time without feeling any kind of pleasure in a bleak situation. And you know me, I have to share things with you all my life.

Ruby:OH MY GOD!!!

Blake:*grinning* Yooooo! You loaned out Jaune!?

Weiss:That’s....accurate; in a lot of ways.

Ruby:That’s so scandalous! How could you!?

Yang:I didn’t force it! I gave the option, you said no, then you changed your mind because things got real stressful. Like come on, a decade of death and loneliness.

Ruby:Sigh...yeah. I can see it. Still, it’s so filthy. He’s a married man. What, so I’d just look at you and say “Yang I’m gonna sleep with Jaune, don’t come in the room.”

Yang:....

Ruby:What?

Yang:....Nothing.

Ruby:Bullshit! What is it!?

Yang:*scratches head* Well, I was lonely too, and a week is only so long-

Weiss:Oh so it was a group thing!!?

Ruby:WHAT!?

Yang:Only sometimes!

Ruby:SOMETIMES!?

Blake:HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! THAT IS AMAZING!

Ruby:Why are you laughing!?

Blake:Because that’s just so extreme, and not, all at the same time. I could totally see that happening.

Weiss:Same. Dang, Jaune slept with sisters. That’s dangerously close to being like your dad.

Ruby:That’s different!

Blake:Is it though?

Yang:Eh, I don’t see the problem. We’re all grown and make choices. Plus I’m the one who guided you through awkward teenage changes. It not like we didn’t share a room for years.

Ruby:That doesn’t make it okay.

Yang:Eh debatable.

Ruby:*red* It isn’t though! How could I do something so bold!? So taboo!?

Weiss:It isn’t like you’re the one who did it. Just a version of you.

Ruby:Not better!

Yang:Awwww it’s okay Ruby. Let’s hug it out. Hehehe *opens arms*

Ruby:Don’t touch me!

Weiss and Blake laugh until their sides hurt as Ruby tries escaping the bear hug that terrorized her. Yang’s world found interesting for sure. Weiss finally decides to help Ruby out.

Weiss:Got a picture of Yujin?

Yang’s eyes lit up and pulled out her scroll. Her team huddled around her and collectively cooed like that parents they are at the sight of a blonde young girl with gorgeous blue eyes with a black combat school graduation cap and gown and a certificate proudly raised up high. If it wasn’t for those eyes and shoulders length hair, they might’ve mistaken her for Yang.

Yang:She’s going to Beacon early because she’s fucking awesome like her mom.

Ruby:I think you mean her aunt?

Yang:I know what I said.

Weiss:I bet she’s just as hardheaded.

Blake:What do you think your kid is up to right now?

Yang: Well...*smiles*

xxxx

The girl in question sat at a work bench with oil on her face and her hands busy tinkering with gauntlets. She looked over at blueprints in a journal. If they were right, then she was definitely doing something wrong. How her mother made something so complex was crazy!

Yujin:Come on Yujin. You can fix a car, making gauntlets into a sword that don’t break should be easy!

Footsteps came up from behind her and a plate stacked with sandwiches. She looked up and smiled at her dad that gave her a wink, then kissed her forehead.

Jaune:Haveing fun, you grease monkey.

Yujin:Jokes on you, I like monkeys. Just a few more attempts and I’ll have the coolest weapon in Remnant. That entrance exam is as good as aced.

Jaune:Not if you don’t have a landing strategy. Tomorrow we’re going on a trip.

Yujin:Does it happen to be near a cliff?

Jaune:Who can say? Rule one of being a huntsman, be prepared for everything.

He ruffled her hair and left, laughing evilly. Yujin could tell he’s been waiting for this day. She pulled out her scroll and searched through a collection of videos labeled “mom” and found a super early one. She hit play and watched her mother give a peace sign to the camera as trees increasingly got closer from below.

Yang:Beacon rules!!!! Wooohooo!

The camera flipped and focused on a familiar blonde flailing through the air like a doll in the distance.

Yang:Oof, hate to be that guy! Wait, that’s vomit boy! Hahah, hope he survives. He owes me shoes. Poor dude. I guess he needs more training in flirting and landing. Wait, eugh I think he barfed again! Hahaha!

Jaune:Stop watching that one!!!!

Yujin:Hahaha but it’s the best one. The ending is priceless.

Jaune: *walks back down*

Yang:Well if he survives this I guess I can off him at least I can offer him mints and company. Fake it to ya make Jaune. Between me and Ruby, at least you’ll look like a player. Heh, nah, I don’t think I can support a bunny onesie.

Yujin and Jaune:*grinning* And then she did! *high-fives* Arc charm, baby!

[literary-spirit]

Bonnie Bennett believed she'd finally discovered her good enough ending. Yet, like most things in her life good enough goes left and leaves her with another ending. Or, perhaps a fire beginning...Journey with everyone's favorite Bennett Witch to the Viking Era for much needed lessons in devotion, courtesy the Lothbrok brothers.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

AN: Alright Bennett Fandom this one here is a bit different from what you're used to. Okay this one here is a bit different than I'm used to. Francesca has recently rediscovered Vikings and with it the sons of Ragnar. And don't you know she wouldn't rest until she brought our favorite Bennett Witch into their mess! As if our girl didn't already have her own problems. SMFH! So thanks to my lovely muse, here we are with a whole lot of trifling savagery that I'm just not so sure about. But as always I'll let you be the judge if this WIP lives to see another update. Flame it or acclaim it in comments.

“You know as much as I’ve savored the joy of tormenting you over the years-,” Klaus began.

“No,” Bonnie shook her head. She’d tried to go along with his final request. Really she did, but how could she? When in the end all he’d be was gone. “I’m sorry, bae. We’re not doing this.”

Rebekah’s eyes rolled. She released a drawn out exhale that hadn’t been necessary for her since wood ash and pointed stick tattoos were a thing. “Bonnie, don’t ruin this for him! Permit him whatever comfort he demands. He shoulders a burden you’d never be able to fathom. Can you not allow him to experience but one moment of grace? A moment Hope will undoubtedly cling to after he’s gone.”

“No, Rebekah! I’m not about to listen as the man I love gives us all a corny goodbye and pretend to be okay with it. And why the hell should Hope have a moment to cling to when she could have her father?” She gave her head another firm shake. “No, this is not okay with me,” her voice rose as she drilled visual holes through each of them. Klaus tried to shut her down with an arm around the shoulders but she curved him with a shrug, all while committing ocular homicide on him in the process. “So why the hell is it okay with you, Hybrid?” Her scorn riddled gaze darted from him back to his so called family. “Or any of you?”

“You must’ve been down on Bourbon sipping on that Absinthe again if you believe any of this shit is okay with us,” Marcel waved her off barely sparing her a glance. “We all just know Klaus is gonna do whatever Klaus wants no matter how any of us feels about it. The most dangerous place you can be when his mind’s made up is in his way. So I suggest you step out of it.”

Her neck snapped back as if she’d taken a two piece to the chin. “You think I’m afraid of the big bad wolf? I wasn’t at seventeen and if I thought for a second it would save him, I’d put his ass back in the dirt again. I take care of my own, Marcel. No matter the dangers or consequences,” she jabbed a thumb at her hybrid, “And make no mistake, that Original pain in the ass over there is mine.”

“Cute.” Marcel laughed as he rubbed at the corners of his mouth. “Bonnie, we’re his family. Each of us have known, feared, hated, respected, and loved him long before even your parents’ parents became an idea. Hell, even after everything he’s dragged me through, there’s not a drop of blood I wouldn’t bleed for him.”

“Then stand behind those words and do something, Marcel,” she pleaded, because at this point she wasn’t above begging for the only bright spot remaining in the dim bleakness that had become her life seven years before.

“What would you have us do, Bonnie?” Elijah questioned in a barely engaged tone.

Bonnie turned to consider him. A perpetual moroseness now cloaked the one she’d once believed to be noble. His arrogance hadn’t been quite the same since the restoration of his memories. More and more he’d begun to remind her of Finn. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. Since discovering what Klaus planned to do, she’d toyed with an idea she’d vowed never to indulge. Yet, under the weight of impossible desperation such vows could not stand.

“The eternal witch spell should be evoked,” she said.

“By whom?” Kol questioned. His chocolate browns moved from Freya to Hope. When both appeared to know less than him his disbelieving gawk returned to her. “You?!” Laughter burst from his mouth. “Oh Darling, I’ve witnessed that spell make a supernatural mess of the most talented witches to ever recite a chant. There’s only one destined to master the eternal witch incantation and her sorcery is said to be unmatched.” His knowing gaze drifted to Hope, and then back to her. “There’s no way you’re powerful enough to undertake the task. You’re not even the strongest witch on this block.”

Bonnie flinched. Damn it, if Kol hadn’t DOA’ed her pride. When the hell did he jump on the Bennett hate train? To hear how far his opinion of her plummeted sort of burned.

She nodded. “Okay, if not me why not Davina. You tend to enjoy blowing her horn. If she’s all you claim her to be, get her here. I’ll happily bow down if her being greater than me will save him.” She jerked her head in Klaus’ direction.

“No!” Marcel barked.

“Leave my wife out of this.” Kol zipped across the distance separating them to tower over her. His original face no longer concealed by his human deception.

Klaus rocketed forward to place himself between she and Kol. “Step away from my fiancé, baby brother. For if you harm her then you’ll be joining me in the afterlife. To hell with your bloody dagger and box.”

Ignoring Kol’s and Klaus’ dagger and the box bit, her distressed stare collided with Freya’s. “What about you? Will you help me save your brother?”

“Bonnie, that spell is much too dangerous. Even for me.” The blondes eyes offered her a thousand apologies but not one solution. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it…not now.”

Her desperation bottomed out to despair as her gaze took a hail Mary launch to the supposedly most powerful witch in the room. “Hope?”

The room erupted. You’d think she’d offered the girl a crack pipe. When she was Hope’s age she was taking down well…her dad.

“Bonnie!” Elijah yelled.

“This is madness,” Rebekah growled, taking a step in their direction. “Nik tell her!”

“We’ve already talked about this, Bekah.” Marcel shook his head and tugged Rebekah back to his side. “That doesn’t concern us.” Bonnie heard Marcel mutter.

Klaus spun away from Kol to regard her. He grabbed her face and cradled her cheeks in his palms. “Everything’s going to be alright, Love.” He whispered, before brushing his lips against hers. Liquid pain disturbed the stillness of his crystal blue stare and contradicted the hell out of his reassurance.

“How?” She tugged herself free of his grasp. “How’s everything going to be alright? You’ll be dead and then what? Life goes on? Fuck that! I’m not about to stand here and mourn a defeat I haven’t loss yet!” She whirled away and marched from the gathering. Her decision made.

Once out of sight, she hurried towards their bedroom. Inside, she closed the door and locked it. The barrier wouldn’t hold her hybrid, but the fraction of time it would provide may be all she needed to complete the spell. She fell to her knees next to the mattress. Carefully, she tugged the blanket from underneath the bed. The already prepared altar and ingredients slid out. She stared down at the athamae and exhaled. Second thoughts plagued her mental, but she shook them away. She’d come this far already. The time to bitch up and forget about it had come and gone. Now was the time to do and die, literally.

She picked up the dagger and called forth every ounce of mystical energy which bled through her veins. A swell of Bennett sorcery overwhelmed the room. Pictures rattled on the walls. The balcony doors blew open and the glass shattered. Furniture not nailed down whipped about the room like she’d caught a ride in a tornado. Steeling her nerves, she continued. She called forth her psychic energy, her huntress energy. Any and everything supernatural about her she offered to the Goddess of all in exchange for an eternity of knowledge and the fated eternal mate destined to help her defeat the Hollow.

After relinquishing her all to the Creator she sliced open her palm. Blood gushed from the wound and saturated the ingredients. A searing light illuminated the room. The bargain was struck and accepted. Now the sacrifice. She swallowed and raised the blade. Aiming it at the center of her chest, she closed her eyes.

“Bonnie, no!” Klaus’ voice penetrated the white noise blaring throughout the room. “Love, don’t do this. You won’t survive.”

She opened her eyes. He stood just beyond the enchantment circle, attempting to force his way into the barrier. “Neither will you if I don’t. Besides, if it doesn’t work I’d rather be in the ground anyway than breathe without you, Klaus.”

“Bonnie, please,” he pled as he dropped to his knees. He slammed his fist against the barrier. “Please, don’t do this. We’ll find another way. You have my word, Love!”

A sad smile flirted with her lips. “You’re lying, Klaus. If there was another way then it would already be the plan.” She plunged the blade into the cradle of her breasts. A piercing burn penetrated her chest.

“No!” Klaus’ bellow seared layers from her punctured heart. The storm of mystical energy whipping about ceased.

Her knees buckled. Klaus caught her before the ground could and cuddled her close. She attempted to talk, but a wheeze whistled pass her lips instead.

“No, Love, don’t speak.” He bit into his wrist and placed the bleeding extremity to her mouth. His blood might as well had been battery acid because she’d bet dollars to air it burned the same. Hacking coughs damn near shook her frame apart by the joints. “Why the sodding hell isn’t this working?”

“I-It’s the s-spell,” she managed to utter. “M-my death is the p-price of a-admission.”

Tears trickled from his eyes onto her face. “Why did I have to go and love you, Little Witch?” He demanded, looking beyond confused.

“B-Because its what we b-both needed at the time and no m-matter how this turns out I’ll always be indebted to you for giving me a reason. L-Love you, Hybrid…always and f-forever.” His face faded until nothing but darkness surrounded her.

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me. And to add unfairness to poetic injustice, neither does the shows or the books. However, I still intend to pull the characters' strings and make them dance, all while having a ball upsetting canon plot lines!

The abyss gave way to blinding lights. Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut. A cacophony of sounds battered her auditory senses. The eardrum rupturing racket nearly distracted her from the violent rocking motion. A violent rocking motion which would no doubt wrought absolute fuckery on her cyclic vomiting syndrome. Right along with the tang of salt-water, unwashed bodies, and rotten fish. The potpourri of funk came close to singeing the lining of her nostrils.

A familiar acrid burn tickled the back of her throat. On cue her belly spun a series of gold medal winning somersaults. Oh this was going to happen. Her lack of sight heightened her senses and made her that much more sensitive to all the upchuck factors swirling about her. Unable to continue to live in the darkest part of her denial and remain vomit free, she opened her eyes. The brightest day she'd ever had to tolerate greeted her light discriminating gaze. She closed her eyes once more. What in the extreme fuck? Was this some kind of hell dimension? Is that why she was only a five minute drive away from the damn sun? Oh Goddess no!

"Cade?!" She growled.

The acrid burn that flirted with the back of her throat developed a sour chunky consistency. Once again she forced her eyes open...and blinked. She was on a vessel that appeared to have hailed straight out of Vikings. Damning the unnecessary brightness and her afterlife in general, she turned and tossed up the entire contents of her stomach over the boats edge. The seafood gumbo from Rousseau's she loved nearly as much as Klaus shot from her mouth and floated one way while the wind and Hades' cruiser sailed her in another.

As gravity took her down exhaustion fucked her over. She rested her cheek on the boat's wooden ledge. Drops of putrid salt water splashed her face. Yet, her fucks to give was at a negative zero low. Not only was she dead, but more than likely so was Klaus. She'd failed him...she'd failed them. Not even eternity would be long enough to make that shit okay.

Bonnie's vision blurred. Her chest throbbed. She clawed at the pounding ache between her breasts. Goddess, it's a wonder her chest didn't have a gaping hole in it after everything her heart had lost. Shaking her latest failure from her thoughts, she turned to slouch back to the boat's floor. She then lifted her gaze to assess her surroundings. Various shades of irises gawked back at her. She froze. Oh damn! Just her luck the water was sacred. She opened her mouth to offer an apology, but snapped it closed. Wait...why the hell did everyone look like extras from the Last Kingdom?

Slowly, her gaze dropped from the filthy hairy men towering over her to what she wore. The burlap sack dress she donned stopped her ever ticking clock. And based on the breeze cooling her cakes, her La Perla's had opted to skip the journey to the other side. Her back teeth clenched. In what kind of after life had she been dropped? Was this some kind of Viking hell? Had she somehow been granted eternity with Klaus in his hereafter?

The shifting of bodies snaked her attention from Kanye's spring wear to the now parting beefy men. A sight which had her questioning her sanity emerged. Bjorn Lothbrok or at any rate the actor who portrayed him in Vikings. Was he dead and stuck on the Otherside also? Wait, was Alexander Ludwig even supernatural?

"You're not one of the slaves who was captured during the raid. One of your hue, I would've remembered." The head Viking in charge edge that resonated in Bjorn's or Alexander's voice snatched her from her contemplations. "How've you come to be upon this ship?" When she opened her mouth to speak the cold sharpened point of a sword pierced the hollow of her throat. "Speak to me of canards or sagas and I shall open your gullet."

She hesitated for a moment. What could she say? The truth would definitely get her neck split wide. "I-I'm not sure. Before...when I closed my eyes, I was somewhere else and now that I've opened them, I'm..." she glanced from the horror frozen faces of the crewmen to the beyond frightened slaves. The poor shackled souls huddled away from her in the ship crevices and corners on either side of her. She swallowed and allowed her gaze to return to Bjorn. "I'm here."

"Oh my god," she heard one of the slaves mutter in a tone that, to her surprise, sounded annoyed?

His scoff sliced the disbelief inspired silence in half. He withdrew the biting tip of his sword from her throat and sheathed it in the scabbard at his side. "Bind her hands to her feet and toss her over."

The ship erupted in a flurry of movement. Two overfed red-haired and even redder faced Viking men moved to grab her. She nearly projectile vomited her heart from her mouth.

"I know what I'm saying sounds apeshit, but I swear on everything I love, Alexander," she said slowly uttering the name and searching his face for a flare of recognition. When nothing sparked in his expression she stammered on, "I-I'm telling the truth. Please, you have to believe me, Bjorn!" A flicker of curiosity narrowed his glare. Bingo! "You can't let them kill me! Please, I don't wanna die again!"

"Halt!" He bellowed, raising a hand to stop the men from advancing, "How've you come to know of my name?"

Shit! She pressed her lips together as her mind flipped through a too short list of plausible explanations that wouldn't get her burned at a stake for witchcraft. "I-I've dreamt of you a-and of this moment." There, that didn't sound too bad. One thing she'd learned from Klaus, watching Vikings, and Google, is ancient Northman actually revered oracles and seers.

"You've dreamt of me?" He knelt before her, arresting her stare with a penetratingly incandescent blue gaze. At a deliberate methodical pace, his eyes crept over her face. Her lungs threatened to collapse under the thorough scrutiny. "Of this moment?" Unable to look anywhere other than in the irises that burned brighter than the now blazing sun, her head bobbed. A smile enticed the corners of his mouth. "Then why fear what you know will follow? Have you not prepared well to meet your fate?"

"Not if my fate resides at the bottom of the ocean," she said with a firm shake of the head, "That's an introduction I'd like to cur—avoid indefinitely."

His head tilted just so as he continued to regard her. "Name yourself."

"Bonnie Bennett," she answered.

A golden brow lifted. "Bonnie Bennett of where?"

"New-M-Mystic Falls...Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

"I have never heard of a land with such a name," he huddled a bit closer to her, "in which direction does your homeland lie?"

Before she could answer, thick gun metal gray clouds rolled across the azure sky and swallowed the glaring sun. A sonic boom exploded somewhere in the distance, while blue streaks of lightening zigzagged its way through the stodgy swirls of gloom. And if the situation wasn't already atom splitting serious, fat drops of rain and hail the size of golf balls began to pelt them.

"This storm is unnatural!" A seaman yelled.

"What in the name of Odin will become of us? None of us shall discover the gates of Valhalla at the bottom of the sea!" A ruddy face old man with a scraggly beard roared at anyone who appeared to be listening.

Another much younger seaman, maybe a little older than herself, turned an anxious stare on Bjorn. "Do you believe the All Father has forsaken us, Ironside?"

Bjorn opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a blonde slave girl who pointed a finger in her direction, "It's her! Her very presence displeases the gods. You should heave her over and pray the sacrifice appeases them."

"You sound dumb as hell! It's no wonder you're in chains," Bonnie snapped, regretting her words as soon as they left her lips. Stupidity had nothing to do with forced captivity. Yet, that bitch had some damn nerve.

"No one will be heaving anyone over," Bjorn said, while standing from his crouch, "Raise the sails and provide the slaves with pails so they may began dumping water from the ship's floor."

A surge of magic thickened the air. The foreign sorcery incited something within her. Something unfamiliar. A bucket was pushed in her face. She took the wooden pail without looking away from the sea. The very stench of alien witchery agitated her own strange mystical energy. The fiery heat of her somehow altered super charged power practically scorched the inner lining of her veins as it raced through her vessels. Who would dare interrupt the supernatural and natural balance on this scale without justification? It was like using a heat seeking missile to take out a mosquito. Un-fucking-called for!

Instead of allowing the now aggressive powers within her the retribution it sought, she settled just to keep the occupants on the ship safe. So, while she dumped water from the boat's floor, she chanted under her breath. Soon, a protective shield formed around them in an elusive form of the previous sunny day. The Vikings and slaves alike erupted in praises to Odin.

"Yep," Bonnie forced a smile. "Praise Odin!"

"Come, Mystical One," Bjorn stood over her, his shadow casting her much needed shade.

Distrust and her impromptu guest starring role on a show which highlighted the fact that Vikings had no problems raping captives, raised her guards. Though realms out of her element, she was far from ignorant.

Her gaze moved over him in an attempt to size him up. "Where?"

"To the prow," He gestured towards the front of the ship before snatching the pail from her hands, and then tossing it aside. "I wish to learn more about you and this numinous land named Mystic Falls." When she took too long to follow he locked his hands behind his back and considered her. "If I wanted to lie with you then all I need do is have you. Do you believe anyone here would be minded to protect you?"

She lifted her chin as she glanced about the ship to see not one person watching them for concern purposes. Every eye she caught on them looked to be pre-historic Shade Room and TMZ reporters. If they had tea kettles back then they'd no doubt be ready to spill the damn things. No, Bjorn spoke the truth. No one on that confoundingly long boat would lift a calloused palm to help her.

"Alright." Exhaling, she stood and leveled him with a glare even a PMS'ing demon would be incapable of exacting. "But fair warning, no one on this ship can protect me better than me. And make no mistake, I'm not above defending my own honor."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "That is a certainty about you of which I'll never be mistaken, Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

[artificialqueens]

What Baking Can Do (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Rosé keeps making food for Denali as a way of expressing her crush, not knowing that Denali feels the same way.

A/N: Writing has been slow for me lately, but I'm glad I was able to finish this! It's basically just pure fluff, and I hope you enjoy! Please leave some feedback if you'd like, I really appreciate it! Thank you to Writ for betaing!

Title from the song from Waitress because I'm basic.

Rosé might live in the city now, but in the small southern town where she spent most of her childhood, every woman had an arsenal of pie and casserole recipes to whip out at a moment’s notice for birthdays, funerals, and new neighbors.

Rosé just so happens to have a new neighbor, and as she knocks on the door, a fresh strawberry pie in one hand, she feels the pride her mother must have felt in welcoming someone new, giving them a nice gift.

Even if she’s already friends with the new neighbor she’s welcoming.

“You didn’t have to do this, Rosie,” Denali says as she takes the pie, a huge smile on her face showing her dimples. “I mean, we’re already friends. Hell, I should make you something for telling me about this apartment in the first place.”

It’s true that Rosé had gone right to Denali when she found out the apartment was up for sale, knowing that she and her roommate Kahmora hated the tiny apartment they had, with the shower that always broke and the heat that never went on. She was just helping out a friend. A friend she’s just happened to have a crush on for a year now, since the night Jan introduced them at some club.

“It’s nothing,” Rosé insists. “You know I like to bake.”

“Why complain, Denali?” Kahmora asks. “It’s food that’s actually edible.”

“My food is perfectly edible!” Denali sputters. She bites her lip as Kahmora stares, and nods in admittance to herself. “Look, no one’s ever died from eating my cooking.”

“No one’s ever really enjoyed it, either,” Kahmora mumbles under her breath.

Rosé holds back a smile. Denali’s struggles in the kitchen have been well-known in the time Rosé’s known her, with Rosé’s favorite being the pancakes that Denali somehow burnt and left raw at the same time. She’s always been so busy with skating and work that she never got much practice at cooking, and Rosé pushes away the thought of teaching her, of her hand curling around Denali's as they mix ingredients.

“Keep mumbling, Kahmora. Maybe I’ll eat the whole pie myself.”

“I’ll see you, Denali.” Rosé leaves them to fight over the pie and heads back down the hall, passing apartments full of people she’d welcomed with food at one point. There’s Kylie and her roommates Ra’jah and Scarlet, who loved the peach cobbler Rosé made. Then Brooke and Vanessa, who demolished her chocolate cake, next door to Raja and Manila, who she still makes almond tarts for from time to time. It’s Rosé’s favorite part of making something, really--to have someone love it so much. Rosé thinks of the smile on Denali’s face and knows this won’t be the last time she makes her something.

—-

Rosé’s normally much smoother, more confident. If Denali were anyone else, Rosé would’ve been open about her crush and already asked her out months ago. But there’s something different about Denali, something that makes Rosé hesitant to take such a leap, to confess her feelings, because if it ruins things between them, then she’d lose a friend she really cares about.

Food is safer than feelings, so Rosé ignores everything and busies herself in making dinner, not realizing how much spaghetti she’s making until it’s all piled in the bowl. There’s enough to feed a village, even after she and Jan eat. Rosé stares at the bowl and figures Denali wouldn’t mind some.

Her heart leaps into her throat when Denali opens the door. Her hair is up in a bun and she looks adorable in her tie dye sweatshirt, soft and sweet in a way that makes Rosé’s chest hurt.

“I made way too much food,” Rosé says, handing Denali the bowl. “I didn’t want to waste it, so I figured I’d give you some.”

“Thank you.” Denali flashes her dimples. “Hey, do you want to come in? Kahmora’s out with some friends.”

“Sure.” Rosé follows close behind Denali, moving past boxes she hasn't unpacked yet on their way to the kitchen. The apartment feels like Denali already, with sneakers by the door and video games in the living room.

Denali hums with joy as she eats the first bite, and Rosé grins, her body buzzing with that rush of someone loving what she made. No matter how many times it happens, it will always be special to her.

“How was work?” Rosé asks.

“It was good! My coffee tasted so good this morning, and all my lessons went well, and I saw this adorable dog—not as adorable as you, Donut,” Denali adds to her dog, who’s curled up under the table.

Rosé just laughs as Denali talks, and it’s easy. So easy. Easy being friends like this, just talking and laughing. Watching Denali’s eyes widen and listen to her laugh just makes Rosé like her more, but it also makes her want to hold back on admitting her crush a bit more. Because the more she likes Denali, the more she has to lose if things go wrong.

Denali bursts into laughter as Rosé shares stories of her day, and it’s enough.

—-

It’s nice, knowing Denali is open to accepting leftovers. Rosé usually makes small recipes for her and Jan, and it’s nice to make whatever she wants, even if it feeds a crowd, and just bring some down the hall instead of giving herself a headache trying to halve fractions of ingredients.

She makes chicken and potatoes and cookies and brownies, extras carefully wrapped up and delivered to Denali, each one letting them have time to talk and just be around each other. They talk about work, about friends, about funny things Donut did that day. And Rosé loves every second of it.

Rosé finds herself making more things than she probably should, but she can’t help it. Cooking started out as a stress reliever for her, when she and Jan were up to their eyes in paperwork trying to open the dance and vocal studio. Jan suggested she make something to relax, and Rosé remembered how much she had loved to be at her mother’s side when she was little, watching her roll out pie crust. She remembered how much she loved creating something out of a pile of ingredients, the soothing repetition of mixing batter, the joy of watching someone eat what she made.

She’s made things all the time since, and part of her knows she’s making more now just so she can give them to Denali. Jan’s always teased her for baking enough to run a bakery when she’s in love, and Rosé doesn’t want to admit how true it is. Because baking is a form of love for her, a way of transforming her love and work into something people can eat. A way of caring for them and loving them at the same time.

Not that Denali knows any of that.

---

Denali sighs as she shuffles to the elevator after the skating class from hell. She had parents almost fight her because costumes haven’t come in yet, like Denali controls the mail, then yell at her some more for not giving their kid the solo in the group performance.

Rosé slips in the elevator with her, and Denali smiles a bit just seeing her, with her big green eyes and soft red waves. Rosé always makes her happy, since the night they met, and being around her just feels right to Denali. So right that Denali likes to invite her in when she drops off food, just for an excuse to spend more time with her. So right that Denali wishes they could do it all the time, that they could always be close, maybe even close enough to kiss--but no, they’re nothing more than friends. Especially not when Denali is standing here in old sweatpants and smelling like a skating rink locker room. How could Rosé ever like her back anyway? She makes fancy pastries with fancy names and Denali almost set ramen on fire once.

“Rough day?” Rosé asks.

Denali groans as her answer. “If I ever become a parent, please don’t let me be like the ones at the skating rink.”

Rosé snorts. “Tell me about it. I’ve had parents follow me to the parking lot because their kid isn’t famous yet.”

Denali manages a smile. It’s nice to know she isn’t the only one, that someone else understands.

“Is there anything I can do?” Rosé asks.

Denali’s heart flutters at how she’s always so caring, so kind. Just friends, they’re just friends. “I don’t think so. I’ll probably just take a bath and watch TV. Thanks, though.”

“Of course.”

They head to their own apartments, and Denali soaks in the tub until the water runs cold, the stress of the day leaving her.

There’s a knock on her door as she turns on the TV. Denali groans and throws the door open, only to find a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the welcome mat.

Still warm.

---

Rosé turns down the hall and almost smacks into her neighbor, Kylie, who’s on her way to walk her dog. Gizmo licks happily at Rosé’s ankle, and she would pet him like she normally does, but her hands are full of the pan that might be just a little too big, if Kylie’s staring is any indication.

“What’s that?”

“Mac and cheese I made for Denali.”

Kylie blinks at her. “Hun, are you sure that’s for Denali and not a school cafeteria?”

“Well, I mean, she can freeze it if she wants,” Rosé stammers.

“I hope she’s got a big freezer.” Kylie looks at her thoughtfully. Rosé’s always thought Kylie has some sixth sense, able to figure out your feelings and what you need to hear just from looking at you, and she’s about to be on the receiving end of it. “You should tell her,” Kylie says softly.

Rosé doesn’t bother to ask how she knows. “I don’t—I don’t want to lose her if she doesn’t feel the same way,” Rosé says, eyes on the floor.

“I don’t think you have to worry.” Kylie heads for the stairs, and Rosé stands in the hall like an idiot before taking a breath and going to Denali’s door.

Someday. Maybe someday she’ll tell her.

—-

Denali knocks on Rosé’s apartment, trying to calm her heart. There’s no reason for it to be racing like this, not when she’s knocked on Rosé’s door to bring back her food containers a dozen times. Not when she talks to Rosé almost every day.

Denali isn’t sure if she’s disappointed or relieved when Jan opens the door.

“I just wanted to bring Rosé her plate back,” Denali says.

Jan nods. “I’ll give it to her. You can come in, if you want. There’s some leftover blondies on the counter.”

Denali follows her inside, taking in the apartment with wide eyes like she’s never seen it before. Being in the kitchen feels special, like she’s in Rosé’s sacred space. Denali peeks at the soft pink stand mixer and utensils beside it, at the worn recipe box and well-used cookbooks on the other counter. She thinks of Rosé standing here, carefully measuring out ingredients, flour in her red hair, and her heart tugs painfully. What she would give to be around Rosé in her element like this, at her side while she cooks. “She really likes cooking, huh?”

Jan rolls her eyes. “You have no idea. She loves cooking for people, especially when she really likes them. It’s basically her love language. When she was with her last girlfriend, this place was like a freaking bakery. Not that I’m complaining, because her stuff is amazing. Even if she makes a giant mess of the place.”

“It is,” Denali says, but then she freezes as Jan’s words hit. Especially when she really likes them. Does that mean Rosé likes her? Likes her as more than a friend, if she cooks this much when she really likes someone? If cooking is her love language? It’s normal for Rosé to cook a lot, Jan said so. And Rosé still cooks for other people, has her friend Lagoona over for dinner every week. But Denali thinks of how many carefully-wrapped plates and full containers Rosé has given her the past few months, juicy chicken and thick soups and buttery shortbread cookies, and knows it’s more than anyone else has gotten. Rosé likes her, and the food is her way of showing it.

Denali usually isn’t so oblivious. Then again, she usually isn’t so hesitant around her crushes either. But maybe she was so oblivious and hesitant with Rosé because she didn’t possibly think Rosé could like her back.

But Rosé does. She likes Denali.

And if food is love to Rosé, then Denali has an idea.

---

Rosé hums as she unlocks her apartment. Jan has a date tonight, so it’s just her, and she’s really in the mood for takeout. Maybe she’ll order from that Chinese place--

Rosé drops her keys when sees someone in the apartment, and she drops her heart when she realizes the person is Denali. Denali, who’s standing in her living room for some reason.

“Um, not that I’m not happy to see you, Denali,” Rosé says, easing her way inside, “But what the hell?”

Denali’s cheeks are flushed and some hair has escaped her ponytail, and her smile is one of the brightest she’s ever seen. “Jan let me in so I could surprise you.”

“Well, I’m definitely surprised.”

“But not surprised enough,” Denali gloats.

“There’s more? Haven’t I had enough near-heart attacks today?”

Denali just smirks and leads her into the kitchen, where Rosé sees the table laid out with candles and a fancy tablecloth and huge platters of food.

“I thought I’d cook for you for a change,” Denali says. “I’m not the greatest, but they’re my mom’s recipes and I had her FaceTime me to help, and I don’t think you’ll get food poisoning or anything—“

“You cooked for me,” Rosé says softly, looking at Denali in awe.

“I did.” Denali bites her lip, and her cheeks flush even more. “Rosé, I--I realized how much cooking means to you. And what you were trying to tell me with your food. I want to tell you that I...I feel the same way. I like you, I’m trying to say, and that’s why I wanted to cook for you.”

Rosé reaches for Denali’s hand, squeezing it gently for proof that this is real. That Denali really does like her too. That Denali took all the love Rosé puts into her cooking and gave it back to her. “I like you so much, Denali. For a while now. I just wasn’t sure if you--”

“Well I wasn’t sure if you would like me,” Denali laughs softly.

Rosé snorts. “We could’ve done this a while ago if we weren’t idiots.”

“But we’re doing it now.” And then Denali is leaning in, her lips meeting Rosé’s like coming home. Denali’s kiss is soft and sweet, just like her, warm and passionate yet still gentle. It’s everything Rosé has dreamt of, and she can’t resist going back in for another.

And another.

“Hey, the food’s gonna get cold,” Denali says, and they laugh all the way to the table.

[tk-writer]

Team Building. [Haikyuu!! - Sugatsuki]

Sugawara notices Tsukishima acting strangely during a team building exercise and does some... “investigating”.

Word count: 2353

~~~~~~~

Suga stared down at the blank piece of paper in his hand and contemplated what he was going to write next.

Most of his other team members had already given their folded notes to Daichi in preparation for the second round, but there were still two or three lagging behind. It looked like it was him, Yamaguchi, Kageyama, and Tsukishima. He couldn't really blame them for being hesitant; when their captain suggested playing this game as a “team building exercise” during their second night of training camp, there were more than a few protests from both under- and upperclassmen. Writing down your deepest secrets only to have your fellow athletes try and guess who they belong to? It was nerve wracking for Sugawara, who prided himself on his openness, so he couldn't imagine how hard it was for people like Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Kageyama.

Speaking of which, it seemed like they were still having trouble coming up with something. Suga scribbled something stupid down and tossed his folded paper into the upturned cap on the floor, waiting for the others to follow suit. He began observing the others, who were all sitting around the cap in a circle formation as if conducting some type of magical ritual.

“Hurry up!!” Nishinoya urged, growing restless as the minutes dragged on. “We’re not getting any younger here!”

“Hold on! I’m thinking!” Kageyama barked back, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Hinata sat next to him, attempting to peek over his shoulder as he started writing, which earned him a sharp elbow to the gut. He doubled over as Tanaka snickered beside him.

Suga watched Tsukishima and Yamaguchi from the corner of his eye, who were both sitting to his left. The latter seemed to have an “aha!” moment and finally wrote something while the former still had not picked up his pencil. He donned the same unreadable expression as always: blank, bored eyes, thin lips pressed together, no hint of excitement or nervousness or anything, really. He wondered what was going on in that pretty little blonde head of his.

Then, suddenly, he saw something.

It was only for a split second; Suga was certain he was the only one who noticed it. Tsukishima’s eyes widened, his lips parted slightly, and his breath stilled, as if he had just thought of something that flustered him. Then he grabbed the nearest pencil and scrawled something furiously before folding it once, twice, then a third time. He tossed it into the cap, and that was that. The flash of emotion disappeared, and his usual blank face returned.

Suga’s curiosity was piqued, but he said not a word, silently planning to investigate later.

Now that everyone had written their next secrets, it was time to play. Daichi shuffled the folded papers in the cap for a few seconds and started pulling them out at random. Suga wanted to laugh when he saw his teammates tense with anticipation, worrying about when theirs would get drawn, thereby exposing themselves. Didn't they realize they were all in the same boat…?

The first pick of the round was drawn. The paper read “I still sleep with a stuffed animal.” A few minutes of guessing went on until Tanaka guessed Nishinoya, whose face turned redder than a tomato once he’d been discovered. The team had their laughs, then moved onto the next.

“I’m a huge fan of Hatsune Miku.” It turned out to be Tanaka’s, and Suga actually did laugh out loud that time. Still, somehow it made sense. That type of music fit Tanaka’s over the top personality.

“I cried myself to sleep for days after the Aoba Johsai game.” Kageyama. That earned him a giant group hug from all who surrounded him, which nearly crushed him in the process. Suga caught him wiping his eyes after everyone pulled away.

“I still have nightmares about the Iron Wall.” Asahi. Suga saw Nishinoya worm his fingers into his hand and squeeze it. Karasuno’s ace grinned at the gesture, although he still appeared a bit self conscious.

“I have a crush on someone sitting here.” Hinata, who refused to say who and hid his rapidly reddening face from everyone. Kageyama watched him intently, and that made Hinata even more agitated. Really, he couldn’t be more obvious.

The game went on and on until everyone had confessed at least one secret they'd written down. Finally, one last paper remained. Daichi pulled it out, unfolding it three times, and cleared his throat before reading it aloud.

“I’m super, super ticklish.”

That earned a few “ooooohs” and accusatory glances. Everyone looked around at their comrades, trying to deduce which of their teammates could have written this while simultaneously acting like they weren't the one. Again, Suga’s attention fell on Tsukishima, who sat there with the best poker face he’d ever seen on a first year. If Tsuki ever retired from volleyball, Suga thought, he should pursue acting.

“That has to be Hinata!!” Nishinoya exclaimed. Hinata shook his head rapidly, sputtering out a flurry of denials that failed to convince anyone. 

“I think it's Daichi,” Tanaka said, poking his friend in the ribs. Unfortunately his point was disproved when he didn't laugh. The captain gave him a light smack on the back of the head in return for the unwelcome touch.

“What about Asahi?” Yamaguchi piped up, causing Asahi to fumble out his next words. 

“W, wait!! I didn't write it!!” the ace babbled, failing to hold back his booming laughter as Nishinoya started poking his sides.

“I think it was Tsukishima,” Suga teased, nodding towards the blonde who showed little to no reaction at the accusation. The rest of the squad laughed out loud.

“No way. Tsuki’s too serious for fun stuff like that,” Nishinoya taunted, earning him a glare from the blonde.

“Well, why don’t we ask him ourselves?” Suga addressed him as innocently as possible, making sure not to sound too interested. “Was it yours, Tsukishima?”

“No,” said the spiker.

“Alright, then who wrote this?” Daichi asked. The room fell silent as the players waited for someone to speak up, but none confessed.

“Oh come on! Don’t get all shy now! Everyone else had to fess up!!” yelled Tanaka.

Still, no one admitted. Suga kept his eye on Tsukishima, who seemed to be pressing his lips together even harder. He was definitely more tense than usual.

“Booooo… the whole point of this game was to build trust. We can't do that if people aren't honest!!” Tanaka complained loudly.

“Maybe it's time we call it a night, Daichi,” Suga suggested. “It’s getting late anyway, and we figured out who most of the secrets belonged to, anyway.”

“Fine,” the captain grumbled, still displeased but lacking the energy to keep fighting. And that was the end of it.

While the rest of the squad stood up and slowly started getting ready for bed, most heading to the showers to brush their teeth and rinse off one last time, Suga noticed a faint blush on Tsukishima’s face as he exited the room. Suga waited a few seconds before making his own leave, following the blonde at a safe distance to avoid detection.

He noticed that instead of going to the bathroom down the hall like everyone else, he took a turn and headed towards the empty showers on the west side of the building. It was strange; he knew Tsukishima liked his privacy, but why would he go so far out of his way to avoid everyone now?

Unless something was up.

When Suga entered the changing room, he waited until Tsukishima had his back turned before sneaking up behind him.

“It’s a little strange that you went all the way over here to get ready for bed, hmm?”

Tsukishima nearly jumped when he heard his senpai speak up, but the momentary surprise only lasted a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as Suga shot him a friendly, unassuming smile.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I wanted to make sure my kouhai was alright. You got really quiet at the end of the game.”

Tsukishima grabbed a few towels from a nearby rack, not bothering to return Suga’s gaze.

“I hate childish things like that. It’s pointless.”

Suga moved in closer, still smiling despite Tsuki’s callousness towards him. The spiker just about flinched when he brushed his shoulder. 

There was definitely something going on with him.

“Come to think of it, you only confessed to one secret. Didn't you write two?”

Again, Tsukishima tensed up, refusing to look at Suga.

“It doesn't matter. Game’s over.”

“Were you too embarrassed to admit the last one?”

“Why do you care? And why are you so fixated on this?”

“Oh, no reason really. Except for the fact that your cheeks turned red when Daichi read the last secret out loud.”

“I… they did not! Hngh...”

Suga moved in closer, his smile becoming less amicable and more menacing. He could sense Tsukishima getting nervous. He still refused to look him in the eye and was clutching the towels against his chest as if for protection. And… was there even a hint of blush on those pale cheeks of his?

“Is it true, then? Are you super, super ticklish?”

Suga didn't give him the chance to deny it. His hands met Tsukishima’s waist and wiggled gently, barely wisping his fingertips against his sides. Immediately, the blonde broke out into soft giggles. His laughter was reserved and controlled, much like his personality, but his smile made his face look like it was beaming with joy. An unfamiliar, yet welcome sight for the third year setter. 

“The funny thing about this game is, you don't have to share something you don't want everyone to know,” Suga sang happily as his fingers danced up and down, drawing out more muted snickers and involuntary flinching from his kouhai. “Sure, it's a game of secrets, but you still have somewhat of a choice.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, nor did he really attempt to fight off Suga at all. Sure, he was clutching his own sides for protection and at one point even curled forward, trying to shake off the tickly hands, but he could’ve easily stopped him by grabbing his wrists or pushing him off. Instead, he stood there with his back against the lockers and just took it. It wasn’t what he had unexpected, but Suga wasn’t about to complain. Seeing him try to fight back a smile, which translated into a twisted grimace, was enough to keep him entertained all night.

The third year paused for a moment to continue his interrogation.

“Did you share it because you wanted us to know?”

“...No…”

“Hmm? You didn't want us to know?”

“...No… I mean, I don't know…”

“Tsk, tsk. Make up your mind, Tsuki.”

The tickles began once more, but this time Suga was much more cunning. He snuck his way into Tsuki’s underarms, digging in until the spiker’s shy giggles became more panicked and frenzied. He even let out a squeal or too, and afterwards blushed so hard his face resembled a brick wall.

“Wahahait! Sugahahaha!!”

“You like this, don't you? And you wanted someone to do this to you?”

“Naha, nnnngh, noooo!”

“Don’t lie.”

Suga got creative, keeping one hand under his arms while the other scurried down his side again and began circling his stomach. Tsukishima seemed weak to it; his struggles got more purposeful, although he was still only using a small portion of his strength. He gripped one of Suga’s wrists, but simply held on, neither pushing him away nor pulling him in. Suga poked one of his hips, and after he let out a high pitched shriek the begging finally emerged.

“S… stop… it's… embarrassing…”

Suga’s hands went still, but didn’t move from Tsuki’s body. He tilted his head to one side in confusion.

“Hmm? What's embarrassing?”

“I… I don't like others seeing me like this…”

“Why not?”

“Cause… they'll think I’m weak…”

Suga finally pulled away, his parental instincts taking over. He put his hands on his hips, ready to give Tsuki the pep talk he needed.

“Tsukishima, nobody thinks you’re weak. So what if you're a little ticklish?” He reached out and pinched his waistline again, spurring more quiet giggles from the spiker. “...Okay, maybe you're super ticklish. But that doesn't mean you're weak! It’s a natural human reaction.”

“Not that… I mean…” Tsuki crossed his arms, his gaze falling towards the floor. “They’ll think I’ve gone soft. If I ever…”

Although he said little, Suga could gather his meaning. 

“Ohhh… I see. Well, who says being soft is a bad thing?”

Tsukishima finally looked at him, eyes wide, cheeks dusted pink. 

“Besides, it makes you happy when this happens, right? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Suga cupped his cheek in one hand and gave him a little pat before sneaking in a few fluttery tickles around his neck, which made the blonde scrunch his shoulders and grin at the touch.

“Have a little more faith in your team. We all like to joke and tease, but in the end everyone cares for each other. I guarantee that none of your teammates will look down on you for something so innocent.”

Suga gave him a few more tickles on his neck, cherishing the last moments he got to see his junior laugh and squirm around, then he pulled away and started walking towards the door.

“Now let's get to bed. We need as much rest as we can get before our practice game tomorrow!”

He was about to make his leave when he heard Tsukishima call out to him one more.

“Um, Suga?”

“Hmm?”

He turned around and saw a very, very flustered Tsukishima staring back at him.

“Can you… uh…”

“Yeeees?” Suga smirked as if he already knew.

“Can you. Do that again. What you were just doing.”

“Are you asking me to tickle you again, Tsukishima?” He taunted with extra emphasis on that word.

The blonde nodded his head with a shy smile, the corners of his mouth barely turning upwards, which soon erupted into more laughs as Suga put his hands on his sides again, tickling and tickling until he was a giggling mess.

[irreplaceable-ecstasyy]

ii. Possessive hand-holding (MARLENE)

The night stretched at the carnival and the ladies eventually found themselves having more fun as they immersed themselves in the atmosphere. The noises that had once irritated them settled into a subtle hum in the background and the blinding lights dimmed to a much lovelier glow, drowned out by their combined joy and enthusiasm. Much to anyone’s surprise, the corndogs became more bearable to Marya, and so did the other variety of unhealthy snacks that were sold at the stores with food coloring enough to paint an entire house. The clouds that littered the sky made it seem as though it had expanded the little box of a carnival that had previously blocked the sky with its menacing bright lights. It became breathable and more spacious!

The clowns that struck so much of fear in Marya now reduced her to a fit of giggles because of Hélène’s eagerness to prove to her that she could protect her. Her dear knight in shining armor whose methods of defense were words of comfort and throwing her fists in the air quite literally. Perhaps it was more of a way to distract Marya and she had to admit it was working very well. It may appear rather childish to the eyes of other but Marya adoredHélène for her thoughtfulness and courage to make her happy at the cost of her dignity. Not that she had little to spare. For Marya, she had dignity enough to supply ten lifespans.

After many headache-inducing rides, the ladies made their way to the game booths with a lot of optimism. Marya had a good aim and Hélène had passionate determination. There was no way this could go wrong with half a fraction of a probability that they might win something. They approached the most typical carnival game they found which was ‘Knock Down the Cans’ and it was a considerably easy start. Or to put it in better words, to Marya it was an easy start.

Marya went first to try her luck and on the first try, she managed to knock all six cans down. At least they knew the games were not rigged. Hélènetried her hand in the game but only managed to knock down the top three cans with the two remaining turns that Marya had left. They won a decently sized stuffed giraffe and Marya was quite amused by the choice. Hélène had the honor of carrying the giraffe with her as they continued to browse through the games.

Then they moved on to the next game which was a game of hoops and bottles. They were given seven hoops each and it was comical seeing how different the two of them played the same game. Marya was more focused on aiming the hoops onto the red bottle which was the jackpot for the biggest prize. Hélène, on the other hand, flung all the hoops with a single swing of her arm and depended on her luck to win; which she did. She landed a blue and a red, blue being the second biggest prize, and she grinned at Marya.

“Did you see that?” she exclaimed gleefully.

“It was hard to miss. No pun intended,” Marya laughed as she tossed her last hoop onto a yellow bottle which was the smallest prize.

Hélène slung an arm around Marya’s shoulders and chuckled pridefully (though, modestly). “I knew it would work!”

“You’re a lucky one, my dear. Of course, it would.”

After accepting their prizes, a large pastel rainbow plushie, a big llama and a small panda, they scurried over to another booth. They had to place all of the toys into Marya’s bag that was surprisingly enough to store their new family of toys and Hélène very kindly offered to carry the lot since Marya spent most of their time lugging that thing around unfashionably. Their next game involved a toy shotgun and balloons for targets in front of them of various sizes. The smallest would earn then the biggest price, and vice versa.

Hélène was so concentrated on getting the smaller balloons which stole Marya’s attention for a few good minutes. The way her tongue stuck out in concentration, how she kept one eye open to aim and her imperfect stance. It was hard to tear her eyes away from her. However, she had to. She could not keep the other bystanders waiting long for their turn with the game so she took her aim and fired her first shot. It hit one of the smaller balloons and she felt a burst of pride within her. She had five tries and now down to four since she had just used one. Aiming once more, she fired but it missed the smallest balloon by just an inch. The failure earned her a loud scoff from her left and she turned to see a woman who had been eyeing her with interest at his own station.

“You had a strong start. Let me show you how it’s done,” she hummed.

With his own shotgun, she fired a shot without so much of an aim and it hit the smallest balloon. It did little to impress Marya, and it only made her slightly infuriated. She was not about to have a carnival game explained to her just because she did not get that shot. But she decided to watch her for her own amusement. The woman, whose details she did not bother acknowledging, finished off the job. She popped all the small balloons within her range before settling the gun down on its stand. Marya’s face remained unchanged aside from the quirk of her brow as the woman turned to look at her with a charming smile.

“And that is how it’s done,” she chirped.

“Well, I never asked for a demonstration,” Marya responded plainly.

“You’re not angry, are you~?” she purred as she inched just a little closer.

Marya tutted softly. “It’s only a game, so why would I?”

“I do love a strict woman who knows how to speak up for herself,” the woman coddled as she extended a hand to accept his prize which he generously offered to Marya. “One for the lady?”

“I apologize but I cannot accept that.”

The woman pouted. “And why’s that? You don’t have to be so kind.”

“Made a new friend, ma belle?” Hélène interjected out of the blue and she stepped beside Marya. For a lady shorter than Marya and the stranger, she exerted quite a presence. She slid her hand into Marya’s and held it firmly, kind eyes fixated hard on the stranger.

Marya knew that look all too well. As composed as Hélène came to be, her play pretend could not go past Marya’s detection. The intensity in her brown hues and the smile that naturally came to her lips only meant that she was trying to put on an act to hide another burning feeling within. From what she could see, it was nothing too severe…yet. Hélène had patience tenfold of Marya’s but her protectiveness over Marya might reduce it tenfold as well.

“No, dear. She is simply a mentor. I missed a balloon and she taught me how to play properly,” Marya told her with a small smile, and her grip tightened on Hélène’s hand.

“Really? How thoughtful of you,” Hélène remarked, her smile growing sweeter.

“It was nothing really~ Couldn’t have a lady like her humiliate herself with such a simple game. Thought a prize would swoon her~” Gosh, the tone in that woman’s voice meant that she was not taking a hint and with how close she had scooted to Marya, the boundary stood thin.

Taking the situation into her own hands, Marya wrapped an arm around Hélène and pressed a kiss to her temple. Her hand still held hers which was highly visible to the woman’s vision. “We should get going. It’s getting quite late and we’ve got work tomorrow, haven’t we, love?”

“We do. It was a pleasure to meet you, miss. Have a great night,” Hélène wished quickly.

Marya maneuvered them away from the booth as swiftly as possible after a brief nod towards the woman, and she had not realized how tight she had been gripping onto Hélène’s hand until they reached their car. Marya unlocked it and released the hand to get into the driver’s seat silently. Neither of them spoke until they got into the car and drove away from the parking lot.

It was quite an eventful night and not quite the way they wanted it to end. Though, Hélène was rather astounded by the way Marya had complete grasp of the situation. She had been the one who wanted to diffuse it because of her budding jealousy but it was Marya who did it. The handhold, the kiss to her temple and the rapid excuse to leave. It was all Marya and Hélène could feel her love for the woman swell.

She spoke up bashfully. “Thank you for handling the issue.”

“It was hardly an issue to begin with.”

“It was going to be one.”

“True but the issue was only centered on that woman. I drew the line but she chose to step over it. I knew we had to leave then before it grew into one.”

“Smart move.”

Then there was a moment’s silence.

“Why’d you do it?” Hélène inquired all of a sudden.

Marya glanced at Hélène questioningly. “Did what?”

“Everything just now. You’re never open to PDA.” Even in the dark, Hélène could see Marya smiling fondly.

Sighing to herself, she held a hand out to Hélène for her to take and when she did, she brought her knuckles to her lips to press a lingering kiss. She did not lower her hand even as she spoke. “I wanted to show her that I already had someone to love. Someone I’m very proud of in all she does, even if she sticks her tongue out in concentration.”

“So you were showing me off?” Hélène joked with a light laugh.

“Sort of like that. Only because I’m proud that I have someone and I truly love you.”

“Marya Dmitrievna Akrhosimova! I never knew you were so corny,” Hélène gasped dramatically.

“Oh, shush… I’ll stop talking.”

“No, no! Go on, please!”

Marya shook her head but continued anyway. “After today, I really just… I’ve never appreciated you so much. From the clown incident at the start to standing up to that woman. You showed me how much you cared and I’m touched.”

“Aw… You big softie.” Hélène pecked Marya’s cheek gently and rested her head on her shoulder. “I love you, ma belle. So damn much. I hope you know that.”

“I do. And I love you too. So, so very much… Now, if you could just move back to your seat. Your head is very distracting.”

“But I’m comfortable.”

“Oh, you minx”-

“Alright, alrighty. Yes, ma’am~”

[theravenclawrevolutionary]

In one last celebration of Maxime's birthday here's a collection of three birthday scenes from my novel wip about him! This post is fairly long and certainly unpolished so read at your own risk.

Excerpt from Chapter One, featuring newborn Maxime

"Isn't he wonderful mon amour," Jacqueline asked her husband, tearing her eyes away from her son for the first time since he'd been placed in her arms. "Absolutely wonderful! And to think," she said pausing to look into François' eyes. "He was born out of love. Not everyone can say that for themselves."

"You're right," François muttered, thinking back to the day Jacqueline had told him that she was pregnant. She'd told him a month or so after they had done the very thing that caused it. He had been courting her on and off for a little more than a year and one night the two had let their emotions and desires get the better of them in the worst way possible.

The night Jacqueline told him, François had done two things. First he had gone out and drank for quite a considerable length of time. While he was out he had decided that he was going to marry Jacqueline. At the beginning of their still-new marriage, there were times when he wasn't sure whether he did it for his honor or the sake of Jacqueline and the child. Now, he realized, as he sat with his own little family, it didn't matter who he originally did it for. Either way, he'd made the right choice.

Yet even after they had promised to marry, the two were the talk of Arras. Everyone knew everyone there and all it seemed anyone could talk about was the brewer's daughter, her scandalous relationship with the well-known attorney, and the swiftly growing child that was the result. There had been numerous occasions several months before they were set to be married, and he'd been so terrified of what others would say and whether or not he was ready for such a commitment that he'd almost called off the entire thing. His own parents hadn't even attended the ceremony when it finally came around and Jacqueline's parents only went because witnesses were required. Yet here he was, four months married with a beautiful newborn son and a wife that he loved.

The child shifted his small arm slightly, inadvertently drawing his parents’ attention back to him. His tiny eyes opened slightly for a fraction of a second, revealing pale green irises that matched his mother's. Gently, trying her best not to disturb the child, his mother bent down to kiss him on the head. A few moments went by in comfortable silence. The three sat together, warm, and filled with love.

"He's going to be named after you, you know." François looked away from Maximilien's peaceful face, startled at his wife's words. She laughed slightly and laid her head on his shoulder.

"What?" Francois was completely taken aback.

“He's going to be named after you. Maximilien François; that's going to be his name." Jacqueline smiled up at her husband and shifted even closer against him, enjoying the slightly surprised expression on his face. Her husband was not usually an easily surprised man so she took great pride in the times she did manage to surprise him. "We've talked about this before, you know. It was the night I told you about him. I told you that after you came back to me." She refrained from adding, 'Not that you were sober enough to remember it.' As well as things had turned out, her husband’s fondness for alcohol did occasionally tend to cause problems when his emotions ran high enough. She could smell it faintly on his breath.

There had been no expectation of all-encompassing joy that night. It had been terrifying to say, like a criminal confessing his crime to a condemning judge. Her lips had trembled and her eyes had filled with tears as her lover approached their meeting place.

Francois had greeted her with a kiss to her hairline, his dark eyes taking in her pale face. He’d said some words as well, but Jacqueline didn’t hear them. Her own words spilled from her lips, burning as they left. Francois froze for a few moments like an animal caught in a trap. He made to move toward her and for a moment she thought that perhaps everything would be alright in the end. He fled. And then he’d returned.

Jacqueline could remember looking up at him from the place she had sat crying for hours. She could remember smelling the alcohol strong on his breath and clothes as he fumbled over his words. But she could also remember him kissing her cheek softly with one hand resting gently on her stomach and telling her that everything was going to be alright. And everything was. He’d gone out and bought a ring, and tried, really tried, to make things right. Jacqueline was so lost in her memories that she almost didn't hear the soft sound of her son fussing in her arms.

"Shhhh," she crooned sleepily, holding the child close to her chest. One hand reached out of his blankets for a moment and François tucked it back in as gently as he could manage. "Hush little Maxime. You will be alright. Nothing will happen as long as your father and I are here, and we always will be." Quietly comforting their son, Jacqueline and Francois sat together in peaceful darkness until the priest came to baptize him.

Excerpt from Chapter two, featuring six-year-old Maxime

“Come on little man. Let’s show you your gift shall we?” François headed for the door, making sure that Maximilien ducked his head before stepping outside. The street was mostly empty and the sky was still cloudy and grey, but the fresh smell of the recently finished rain filled their nostrils and the sound of their own laughter filled their ears. Jaqueline, walking slowly because of her pregnancy, and the other children with their little legs followed the pair out of the house. Maximilien gasped.

“Birds! You got me birds, Papa? Oh, thank you! Thank you, Papa!” A small wooden cage containing two gray doves chirping softly sat beside the door. Maximilien knelt down beside it and stuck his fingers through the slats, hoping that one of the birds would come land on his finger. He felt the water on the road soak into the knees of his breeches but ignored it. He was too entranced by the birds to care.

“You like them then,” Jacqueline asked smiling. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from her son.

“Oh yes! I love, love, love them! Do they have a name already? Or can I name them?”

“Go right ahead darling,” Jacqueline said, lifting Augustin into her arms. “They’re yours now. But you have to promise to take care of them, alright?” He nodded earnestly.

“I promise! Cross my heart and hope to cry! Wait… is it die? Hmmm… I dunno.” He paused to think for a few moments. “I’m going to name them um… Sunny and… and Tart!”

“They’re so cute,” Henriette squealed, pushing her way past her parents. “Can I pet one Maxime?” He made a face but nodded anyway.

“I guess so. But be nice. You gotta be gentle.” Maximilien took her little hand in his and slowly guided it towards the birds. They squawked a little and ruffled their feathers slightly but allowed the two to pet them.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Lottie look! See them?” Charlotte giggled and joined her siblings by the cage. François and Jacqueline smiled at each other in the setting sun.

It had taken a significant amount of time to get him to bed that night. He kept finding his way back to the cage which had been moved to his bedroom.

“Maximilien lay down!” He sighed and stormed over to his bed, stomping his feet and glaring at his mother as he went. “If you don’t behave, you’re going to have to be punished.” He flopped onto the bed.

“But Maman,” he protested. “I want to play with my birds!”

“If you don’t go to sleep you won’t be allowed to visit Grand-mère and Grand-père tomorrow. And I know you were so looking forward to it." Those words seemed to have the desired effect because Maximilien nearly fell out of bed as he scrambled under the bedsheets and pulled them up around his chin. “I thought you might see it that way darling,” Jacqueline said, smoothing her son’s hair and planting a kiss on his forehead.

Maximilien fell asleep easily that night with a smile on his face and the sound of his birds chirping quietly in the corner.

Excerpt from Chapter 25, featuring thirty-one-year-old Maxime

May 6th proved to be an interesting birthday. Most of the day was spent in the palace assembly hall that housed all the meetings of the Estates-General, listening to the bickering of hundreds of men. It was also discovered that, though the representation of delegates from the Third Estate had been doubled, the entirety of the men gathered still shared one vote. Outraged at the holdover from the outdated 1614 meeting, several men voiced their opinions on the largest class receiving the same number of votes as the minuscule portion of society represented in the First and Second Estates, none too quietly either. For Maximilien, a large portion of the assembly was spent gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the pounding headache forming behind his eyes.

Camille, who Maximilien hadn’t known to be around Versailles, found where he was staying and gifted him a surprise visit that night.

Maximilien had been sitting at the rickety desk in the half-light of the setting sun, scribbling down a few lines of poetry into his journal, when the knock came.

“Um… hel- hello,” a muffled, but familiar, voice asked from the other side. “Is this where Maxime, I mean Monsieur de Robespierre is staying? I’d heard that it is.”Maximilien sprang to his feet, removing his glasses and setting them beside the journal before running his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb it into some semblance of order.

“Camille? Is that you? What are you doing in Versailles?!”

“Yes. It’s me. Let me in and I’ll tell you.” Maximilien opened the door and Camille, with his curls dancing wildly about his head, bounded into the room. He embraced Maximilien with a grin and kicked the door closed behind him. “Oh! Right. Happy birthday by the way. That is the whole reason I stopped by after all.” Maximilien gestured to the delicate desk chair he had just been sitting at.

“Ah. Thank you. Would you… would you like to sit down? I feel as if you’ll be staying for quite some time.” Camille complied and sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, holding his breath a little as he did so, clearly hoping it wouldn’t break under his slight frame. “I’d offer you refreshments, but I feel that it’s painfully obvious that I have none.”

“That’s alright. I realized about halfway here that I should have brought you a gift of some sort.”

“I’m sure the tales of what you’ve done since we last spoke will be a gift on its own.” Camille laughed, the warm sound filling the dark cramped room and bringing back fondly bittersweet memories from their years at Louis le Grand. “So please, enlighten me as to what’s delivered you to the same place as I. And any other stories you find worthy of mentioning.”

“I haven’t been elected to the Estates-General as you well know,,” he began. “I wanted to so incredibly badly, but the men back in Guise aren’t nearly as fond of me as you are. I failed, almost certainly because of their distaste, but living in Paris for so long before with nothing but occasional visits home certainly didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry.” Camille dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.

“No matter. I’ve been enjoying myself to some degree. My law practice sputters out now and again, but it always comes back around. I write for newspapers on occasion too.”

“How’s Martin,” Maximilien asked, fearing the answer. He had little hope that their relationship had lasted the extent of nine years. “Are you two still together.” Camille let out a barking laugh still tinged with sadness, even after many years.

“No. I apparently was a ‘flight of schoolboy fancy” who was being used for cheap entertainment and all that. He was crying when he told me though. I think it was a lie. His father found out about us. But Martin doesn’t matter. I’m courting a girl now. Lucille Duplessis. She’s very, very pretty, extremely sweet, intelligent for her age, and, unlike Martin, she’s deemed proper by society. I’ve fallen head over heels for her and she seems to feel the same way unless she’s a fucking fantastic actress! Contrary to what her father has to say, I think we’re a good match.”

“Oh… That’s nice. I’ll have to meet her someday. I am sorry about how everything ended with Martin though.”

“‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Is that all you can say Maxime? You need to relax a little. Tell me, what have you been up to recently?”

“Life in Arras has been good to me since graduation. Not only has my law practice been mildly successful but I’ve also been elected to the Royal Academy of Arras and I spend a lot of time writing poetry. Living with Charlotte was not disagreeable either. We live in a small house we’ve been renting on the Rue du Saumon. It’s only a short walk to my office and an even shorter one to the parish church where my grandparents and mother are buried. In this time I have also realized a… a specific vein of fondness not only for ladies but a few gentlemen as well.”

“Maxime!” Camille’s tone was incredulous and a bit proud. “You’ve turned yourself into a right little rake, haven’t you!” Maximilien sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as his eyebrows knit.

“Not fondness in the physical way for either of them, like you, Camille,” he said hurriedly, trying to make himself clear. “I know these feelings to be of a solely romantic fashion. Additionally, no feelings have resulted in anything, hindered by my inability to flirt and to detect when someone else is flirting with me in return.”

“Poor Maxime,” Camille said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm and his hazel eyes shining. He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing out the curls. “Whatever shall you do?”

“Devote my time to helping others. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. You know that.”

“And I expect that’s why you wanted to be here, isn’t it. You wanted to be around when the revolution starts.” Maximilien raised an eyebrow. Camille cocked his head. “We’ve been discussing the inevitability of one for years. The Americans did it. They were fed up and they did something about it. We all know it’s only a matter of time before it happens. Danton, a friend of mine back in Paris, you really ought to meet him someday, believes it will happen soon as well.” Maximilien sighed and nodded. Camille was right, a fact he usually hated to admit. Even Arras and its surrounding small towns were rife with talk of forcing change on the country. Even at school, many years ago, the general consensus had been that reforms, real, meaningful reforms were due any year.

“You’re right, of course,” agreed Maximilien. “What better way to help people than to play an active part in achieving their will. I do hope that our ‘revolution’, as you are so fond of calling it, is more civil than the American’s though. What good can come to the people if we must wage war against ourselves?”

“Someday when the two of us are famous and well known from all the good we’ve done for France people will print little books, like those books with bible verses in them or short prayers, but instead they’ll be filled with quotes by you. You’ll have to start saying things like that all the time and hope that I don’t start selling a separate one with all your naughty quotes from Louis le Grand in it.”

“Unlike you Camille, I see no fame or fortune in my future in relation to politics.”

“If you say so Maxime. But I’m not sure how you’re going to help all of France if that’s the case."

[erable-writes]

Prucan Week Day #3: Moonlight Date

Day Three: Unconscious, Illusions, Intuition

    Honestly, Today was a good day for Gilbert. He got to sleep in as it was his day off, his little brother didn't yell at him for God-knows-what, he got to take the dogs to the park and play with them for a good hour, and as he was picking up lunch from his favourite cafe, an adorable little blond approached him shyly and asked him if he’d be interested in going out that night. Really, his day couldn't get much better. As Gilbert sat in front of the Television, watching football (Germany vs Switzerland, no contest) his phone suddenly buzzed. He grabbed at the couch a few times, trying to locate the device without actually turning to look (because he was so awesome he didn't need things like sight to get his phone. Suck it, Ludwig). After a full minute of useless grabbing, his hand connects with his phone, and he smirks in victory (which Ludwig doesn't see, but Gilbert makes sure to anyway, just in case Ludwig can sense it). Turning it on, he sees a message from the cute blond.

Hey, I got off work a little early. If you want, we can meet for coffee before we go out?

    Gilberts smirk widens by a noticeable fraction. Oh, tonight is going to be good. He's off the couch in a heartbeat, shrugging on his deep blue coat and pulling on his black gloves.

“Yo, Luddy, I’m goin’ out. Dunno when I’ll be back. Hold down the fort for me, ‘kay?”

    And before Ludwig can actually respond, he's out the door.

--------------------

The cute blond, who is actually named Matthew, is somehow even cuter in prolonged dosages. He’s a nervous type, eager to please and horrified by even the slightest of inconveniences he may commit, making him the perfect type for friendly teasing. He likes sweets and animals and nature, and as he gets more and more nervous he slips into a light french accent, hiding behind his wavy flax-coloured hair, gazing through the tangles with enchanting violet eyes. Gilbert laughs at his partner's shyness, causing him to blush deep red and try to back further away.

In short, Matthew is condensed joy.

Gilbert takes satisfaction in every moment he spends with Matthew. Every smile is a prize, every laugh a treasure, and Gilbert realizes hes falling hard for someone he met only a few hours ago, but hey, love is blind, or something stupid and sappy like that. So Gilbert works to make Matthew just as happy as he is. He compliments his accent, which causes Matthew to balk slightly and blush, stuttering out some apology: apparently he didn't notice he’d changed accents. Gilbert tactfully covered Matthews unintentional slip up by using his limited knowledge of french to tell him how cute he was.

Matthews' small, surprised smile made having to swallow his pride worth it.

They spent an unknown amount of hours like that: sipping hot drinks and chatting with each other. It was bliss; Gilbert could talk, and Matthew would listen. Matthew laughed, and Gilbert felt warmth fill his heart. 

It was a good night.

-----------------------------

“So, um,” Matthew starts, hesitates immediately, then steels himself with a long breath and ventures bravely on, “Would you, maybe, um, like to go… out?”

Gilbert blinks thoughtfully at this. Sure, they'd been out for the better part of the day already, with the sun dipping low under the horizon and the moon shining far overhead, but Matthew had been eluding to some greater plan all night. Even now, Matthew fidgeted back and forth, eager and nervous for an answer.

Gilbert smiled. God, he was too cute for this world. “Alright, lead the way, schatzi.”

Matthew instantly brightens, standing and ushering Gilbert closer. Gilbert pays the tab (because he can be a gentleman, suck it, Ludwig) and they're off. Matthew grabs Gilbert by the wrist, excitedly tugging him forward, and Gilbert is enamoured by his sudden energy. Matthew laughs airily as they walk.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night. You’re really gonna love this.”

They walk for at least twenty minutes. When Matthew finally slows, they stand on the edge of town, only a set of old, decommissioned train tracks stopping them from truly being out of city bounds. Gilbert looks around, trying to identify what's so great about this. An old trainyard doesn't really scream First Date Material to him, but maybe he's just old fashioned. Matthew turns to smile brightly at him, his eyes gleaming in the muted moonlight. Another insistent tug pulls Gilbert into a train car, where Matthew pats the ground with about as much force as his small frame can offer. Gilbert makes himself comfortable as Matthew himself sits by the door, peering out every few minutes and scanning the area. The train car is dusty, dark, desolate, and overall unpleasant, but Matthew still seems excited so Gilbert humours him. They wait like this for only ten minutes, chatting idly, before Matthew suddenly shushes him, peering out into the darkness once more. Now that their voices have died, Gilbert hears the crunch, crunch, crunch of someone approaching. Now his interest has truly peaked. What is happening now? Did Matthew enlist someone's help for this date? His question is answered when Matthew suddenly leans out of the train car, hands latching around whoever is outside. A startled yelp rings out before Matthew reels back in with his catch; Gilbert cannot see much, but the figure appears to be a young woman, who looks thoroughly confused and frazzled.

“What is-”

Is all she manages before there's a loud crack. Gilbert stares in horrible, wide-eyed disbelief. Matthew cradles the woman's head in his arms, acting like everything is fine and he didn't just snap her neck right in front of Gilbert's face. Matthew leans down, completely blocking her head from view, and Gilbert hears another snap as more bones break.

Somehow, Gilbert doesn’t vomit.

“What the fuck.” is the best he can manage, and honestly, its a miracle hes speaking in sentences and not screaming, and/or running as far way as he can get. Matthew looks back up at him, except it's not Mathew at all. It's a bestial figure, with long antlers akin to an elk, and skin the colour of the moon. His eyes are still purple, but there's no visible sclera, only glinting irises. 

“Is something wrong?”, Matthew asks, somehow managing to sound genuinely worried about Gilbert but not the dead women in his arms, “Do you not eat women?” 

“I- What the fuck, no, I dont eat-- what the fuck?” forget that thought about sentences. Gilbert is still impressed his lunch is in his stomach.

“Oh… would you rather her mind? I thought you’d eat flesh, but… we can share?”

    “What the fuck are you on? You can’t… eat people, thats fucking… you’re, you’re fucking sick, kid. What the fuck?”  

Matthew frowns. “Are you not… a demon?”

        “What? No, I'm not… you can't, why would you, demons aren't even real.”

“..Oh. Oh. I thought… with your eyes, and your… uh…”

Matthew trails off, looking almost guilty. Gilbert continues to stare at the dead body between them. Several tense seconds pass.

“Well”, Matthew finally begins, and Gilbert's eyes snap up to him, widening as he sees the displeased look plastered across Matthews face, “If you’re not supernatural, then I can’t allow you to know about this anymore.”

Gilbert doesn't have time to scream before Matthew descends upon him.

-------------------------

“...ert, Gilbert, wake up, you useless moron!”

    Gilbert groans as he slowly opens his eyes. He’s draped across the couch with his brother looming over him, looking about as angry as usual.

“I have work today, so you're in charge of the dogs. Do not forget to feed them, Aster needs to be given medication at 11 a.m, and Feliciano-”

“Did something happen last night?” Gilbert mumbles out, much to his brothers chagrin. He never did like being cut off.

“Your friend Matthew brought you home. Apparently you got so drunk you passed out and made a complete fool of yourself in front of everyone.”

Ludwig glanced at the clock, sighed, and turned towards the door.

“I have to leave now. Do not forget to feed my dogs.”

    Gilbert grunts in affirmation as the door slams. He tries very hard to remember anything about last night, but he's drawing blanks. The only thing he remembers is bright violet eyes against the pale moonlit sky. His phone suddenly vibrates in his pocket. Gilbert quickly pulls it out, turning on the little device. There's a new message from Matthew. 

Last night was really fun. Maybe we can go out again sometime?

Gilbert smiles a little. A night out with Matthew sounds harmless enough. ------------------- (reposted, now edited) A little longer than my last one. Really, I just wanted to write Canada as a demon. I also couldn't resist using ‘Misinterpretation’ from the reverse prompt.

[captainchrisfics]

Sweet as Strawberries

About: First-person pov narrator and her husband, Chris Evans, go berry picking with their daughter and chat about having another. Probably the sweetest, sappiest thing I’ve ever written.

Word Count: 2,343

Requested By: Anon! Thanks for submitting this, I genuinely had the best time writing it. Fluff is so soul-cleansing sometimes. Hope you enjoy!

Chris’s mouth was stained the faintest shade of pink between sneaking bites from juicy strawberries to the transfer of my lipstick every time he pressed his lips to mine. The apples of his cheeks and the top of his nose were rosy too, but that was from the morning chill. He pulled me into his chest and I looked up at him, admiring the way the noon sun glinted around him like a halo. Reveling in the bliss, I snuggled into the soft fabric of his worn flannel. 

He smiled down at me, rubbing his hand along my arm. “I told you it’s still too cold for this,” he said, chuckling as I shivered.

“I know it’s only April,” I responded, rolling my eyes. “But she wanted to pick berries with you all winter.”

Our eyes landed on the little girl running between the rows of bushes, wildly swinging her wicker basket. Occasionally, she’d bend down and pluck a good strawberry once a ripe one caught her eye, but the red ones were few and far between this early in the season.

“You remember when she was born?” I asked, pressing my cheek to Chris’s chest. He was a human radiator, but it still didn’t rid the cold from my bones. Really, I wanted to see if I could feel his heartbeat thudding through his layers of clothing.

Chris’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “Never gonna forget it,” he proclaimed, enveloping me in his strong arms.

“You said there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for her,” I reminded him with a tsk. Although I was sure my teasing grin would’ve given me away, I buried my face into the crook of Chris’s neck to hide it. “I feel like strawberry picking before you go film for the next few months isn’t a lot of her to ask.”

“Oh, just wait until the day she figures that out,” he chuckled. “You of all people should know she’s had me wrapped around her little finger the second she grabbed my pinky in that tiny fist.” Then Chris snorted as he started swaying with me, even though there wasn’t any music. “I never would’ve guessed it’d mean driving an hour and a half to the only farm opened this early in the season and freezing our asses off in the middle of a field.”

But then our daughter jumped up from the middle of a green patch. She raised her arm in the air, proudly waving the bright red berry squished between her small, chubby fingers. “Got a really good one!” she called to us, jumping up and down so hard her dress went flying. Despite the cold and our protests, she’d insisted on wearing a nice checkered red dress so she could match her favorite fruit. It looked awfully funny under the down coat and layers of leggings I’d wrestled her into anyway.

As quickly as she’d ran through the rows of berry bushes, unbearably eager to get her hands on whatever she could manage to conjure up in spite of the frost, she sprinted as fast as her five-year-old legs could carry her in our direction. 

“C’mon,” she pleaded once she’d reached us. Her pint-sized hand grabbed mine while the other wrapped around Chris’s fingers, dwarfed by their size. “You guys gotta help look,” she insisted as she tugged us through the field. “‘Cause I’m not gonna find all of ‘em for you to eat all of ‘em. S’not Halloween.”

I gave Chris a pointed look as I tried to stifle my laugh, telling him without saying it that this was his attitude coming through. He was already grinning at me with eyebrows through the roof, trying to convey the same. 

“You,” I mouthed, jutting my chin out to reference our little girl. As often as Chris liked to claim he didn’t know where she got it from, I had an idea. She inherited every last ounce of her father’s sass.

Chris’s lips drew into a tight line as his eyes crinkled shut and his head shook once in a defined ‘no.’ I raised my eyebrows, but before I could challenge his assumption, Chris said, “I didn’t touch a piece of her candy last year.”

I scowled as he blamed this on last Halloween. Our daughter finally talked him into wearing the old Captain America costume he snatched on the last set after her whole lifetime of begging to be brought around the neighborhood by Steve Rogers. He begrudgingly stepped into the old thing, bragging about how it still fit like a glove.

By the time they returned, our household had run dry, before I could even sneak any chocolate for myself. So when she collapsed in her bed, leaving her plastic pumpkin on the counter, I ate all of her Reese’s. Although she never liked peanut butter before, she decided the next morning that was her favorite candy and I’d committed an unforgivable crime. Chris, who was preparing for a role, refrained from pigging out with me and escaped punishment.

“I know, Daddy,” she said innocently, sending her dark pigtails bouncing with every step. She did too, he made sure she knew exactly who to blame.

“See?” Chris said between incredulous laughter. “At least someone in this family has a good head on their shoulders.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s important to learn to share,” I grumbled in artificial annoyance. Chris only laughed, but soon stopped as our daughter drew his attention.

She slowed down as she focused on looking more intently among the green vines and thick layer of leaves for the patch of particularly ripe berries she’d managed to find. Chris and I started swinging her between us almost absentmindedly. She squealed as she protested half-heartedly, screeching about needing to focus.

Chris glanced down at our little girl, watching her giggle and leap into the air as we carried her momentum further. His smile grew impossibly wider and carved a dimple into his cheek and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Chris took a deep breath, like he was trying to breathe in the bliss of this moment and replace all of his air as to never forget it. 

He looked at me, with the same smile that said so much more than that, his eyes searching for mine. Wanting to share the moment, to marvel at our little joy together. I grinned back, hoping it conveyed half the amount of pride and even just a fraction of the love that his expression did.

Then her little hands started wriggling more furiously from our grip. She ran between the rows, diving under a bush. She rose with two more bright red berries in her hands and an infectious grin on her face, the same smile that had me falling for her father in the first place.

Chris took only a couple strides to meet her before hoisting our daughter up onto his shoulders. She laughed in that lilting way her dad always seemed to squeeze out of her. It made me remember a time, entire years ago now if that’s even possible, that Chris and I would lay awake, staring at me moving stomach as she pushed and stretched underneath the skin. We would wonder what her laugh would sound like, what she would be like.

Too much like her father for her own good, if you ask me.

She popped the berry into her father’s mouth and scolded him for finishing it in one bite instead of saving some for her. They must’ve seemed giant in her tiny palm. Chris apologized anyway and reminded her what I’d said about sharing. As his hands quickly rubbed up and down her legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, he asked, “Can you see any more from all the way up there, darling?”

She rested an elbow atop Chris’s head to support her own. Our daughter peered over the field, a hand shielding her eyes from the high sun like a sailor spotting land. Her legs started to thrash with excitement, kicking Chris square in the chest. He couldn’t put her down fast enough. With her engine already revving, she took off once again to chase whatever berry she’d spotted.

Chris laughed as he caught the breath she’d knocked out of him. “She’s something else,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to his side. He looked at me dreamily, in a way I always wanted someone to but wasn’t naive enough to hope for before I met him, as he said, “Just like her mama.”

“Now that’s something I’ll take credit for,” I grinned as I bumped my hip against his. Chris wasn’t listening though, he was too preoccupied watching our daughter dart between the bushes. She’d occasionally turn back to see that we were still there and, upon realizing we were already looking at her, she’d try to show us the trophies sitting comfortably in her basket, only for a few to topple out. 

“I want another,” Chris said, so sure of himself. Without a doubt in the world.

“Yeah?” I asked, trying to hide the hope in my voice. Truth was, I’d been wanting to have another baby for a while now. She was getting so big, after all. I knew our daughter would always be our baby, but I missed having a little one that fit so well in the crook of my arm.

“I mean, as long as you do,” he started to backtrack. Chris shifted uncomfortably, retracting his arm and shoving his hands into his pockets. I tried to catch his eye, but his gaze was on the sky.

“Hey,” I said softly, looping my arm through his, “I want another too.” I leaned my cheek against his shoulder.

Chris’s chest collapsed with a sigh of relief. His head rested on mine, neither of us taking our eyes off our little girl. “Scared me,” Chris chuckled dryly as he pressed a kiss on top of my head.

“We’ve been talking about it for years,” I reminded him of the long, late-night conversations we had. Chris always told me he loved being a part of a big family and wanted the same for his kids, to have the built-in best friends he did. 

I wasn’t entirely convinced at first, but our daughter changed my mind. The second she opened those bright, blue eyes, I remember thinking that I’d like to relive that moment a million times over. And when she really laughed for the first time, properly from the bottom of her stomach, she threw her head back the same way her father did. And, one morning, she saw Chris meditating in the living room. Without a word, she climbed into his lap and folded her legs in the same way and watched him with one eye open, trying to sync her breathing with his. Every time little bits of Chris popped out of her, when she furrowed her eyebrows just he did or said something with the same inflection he would, I realized I wanted to watch our children grow up over and over and over again.

“I feel like the timing’s finally right,” Chris sighed. “She’s so much more independent and I’m not signed to any more projects after this one wraps filming. Just saying, you know, I think it’s a good time to start trying again,” he reasoned, tucking his hand into the back pocket of my jeans.

In the past few years, it had never been. She was too little, demanding too much of us to even consider having another any time soon as far as I was concerned. And then Chris started working again. He was always dashing off to some other state to film or another country for promotional press, gone so long he’d miss our baby growing up and I’d miss his help.

“When you get back, though,” I asserted. “No shot in hell am I gonna be able to make breakfast as early as she wants with that god-awful morning sickness.”

Chris laughed again, resting his chin on top of my head. “So you’ve been thinking this through?” he teased. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes at him, unsatisfied. “Kidding,” Chris retracted. “Of course we’ll wait another couple of months. I wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.”

“You say that now,” I warned, raising my eyebrows. “And then it’s three in the morning and I’m waking you up to send you to get some pickles because I’m craving that juice so badly I can’t sleep.”

“God,” Chris chuckled dryly. “Somehow, I’m still going to miss you.” He enveloped me in a hug. I pressed my forehead to the curve of his neck, trying to drown myself in his scent. Treasure the feeling of being in his arms while I still could feel his warmth. Tomorrow morning, his flight would come far too soon.

“It’s because you love me,” I mumbled against his skin, pressing my lips to his neck. I kissed up his jaw until I had to stand on my tip-toes to peck the tip of his nose. 

Chris’s warm hands found their way to my cheeks, numbed by the cold. He squished my cheeks together before placing a kiss on my puckered lips. “How’d you know?” Chris asked, looking at me with a crooked smile.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Had a feeling,” I shrugged into our hug.

Then another little body squirmed its way in between our legs, tucking herself between our knees. “You guys are not good at berry picking,” she insisted. “I found all of ‘em.”

“You did work really hard,” Chris said, placing a hand on her head. He ruffled her hair as the little girl’s features scrunched up with earnest annoyance. Chris pulled away from our hug to scoop her up into his arms. He peered into her small basket as his eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped with mock shock. “That’s so many. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

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[abyssal-creed]

Day 19: Someone in your life who inspires you

Tbh there's not really anyone ~i n~ my life that really inspires me that I know personally,,,, but lemme just say,,, Bang Chan from Stray Kids. It might sound weird but out of everyone I can name his is just the first that comes to mind.

He's inspired me and indirectly helped me through so much in these few short years of listening to them, so I guess I'll just name a few hehe

Obviously he is a brilliant composer and artist. The sheer passion and effort that he puts into doing what he does is truly astounding (not that the other members aren't the same) and the way he has stuck with it and gotten better and succeeded has really helped me find the motivation I very very often need to do,,, well most things honestly.

He's a wonderful friend and leader, his patience and understanding and just g o o d n e s s as a person is extremely admirable and I deeply respect him and how he treats his members and others around him. A lot of people don't follow in his footsteps on that account.

Bouncing off of that,,, he (as it seems to me at the very least) is very open minded and as I said before, understanding. Fellow Stay can recall the amount of times he's talked about or referenced (not only on vlive but in their music too!) typically "taboo" subjects or topics that might be a lil uncomfortable for some: mental health, periods, and a very big one for me(!!!) when he called us baby stays and used more inclusive speech to be more inclusive. Better yet, I know you've seen (if not, well then ig you haven't but you should XD) the photos of them going to pride and if I remember correctly Chan has talked about coming out (responding to a stays message during live maybe?) and just accepting people for who they are— kinda goes with their whole I Am... series huh heheh

That last one was very ranty I'm sorry I'm at 2 percent and am just typing everything I think of down XDDD

Um I had so many other thoughts but I'll refrain for now and just wrap this up 💀

All in all,,, Chan has been a guiding light for me (and many other stay) when maybe we struggled to walk by ourselves. He's so giving and strong and has gone through so much to get where he is now and I'll always be forever grateful for clicking on that SKZ video and listening to what they have to say. Obviously I made it to where I am now with my own strength and will,,, but it'd be wrong of me to just refute the impact that Chan has had in my life. It took me a very long time to get where I am now, and I'm not perfect, or completely "okay" but I'm here, and I'm making it in this world. Without his words and music to guide me, I don't think I would've been able to find the strength to discover myself, to accept myself, to learn, to grow, and to better myself not only for those around me but also just for me. I can finally stand up (somewhat hesitantly but I'm still standing) for myself and fight for what I know is right. I'm learning how to be open, how to be vulnerable, and due to him I've found the words to explain my opinions and my identity to those around me even if I know they will be less than supportive.

I honestly can't think of a single person who has helped me more with finding myself but also providing that lil boost to get me back on my feet and running again than Chan has (altho unbeknownst to him). So yeah,,, the person who inspires me to live this life of mine to the fullest and with compassion and understanding? Bang Chan. I honestly don't know how I would have accepted my gender identity without him and his team as a fallback when I wasn't steady. I should've waited for his birthday to post this I don't think I've ever talked so much about someone damn chill babe 😩✋

ANYWAYS!!! I would like to at least in spirit thank Chan (and Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin) for being so open and honest with stay and for being such pure beautiful souls. No one is without their struggles but despite all of them you guys have fought past them and even helped stay when we're struggling. You're honestly a guiding light for me and many other stay and I hope we can give back even fraction of the joy and comfort that you have given us.

I'm done ranting now y'all I hope all that is legible and comprehensible lol anyways Ilove every one of you and I'm so proud of how far you have come,,, stay safe <<<33333 and good night! pr good morning/afternoon it's 545am for me rn VWUAHHAHA GOOD NIGHT

[minaa-munch]

of Cake and Cream - Team Flake Edition

Two layers of exquisite vanilla and peach sponge, coated with a generous amount of buttercream icing that consisted of crushed sakura and momo no hana petals. Candied petals adorned the top and the sides with an artistic flair, while soft, perfect swirls of buttercream bordered the edges. The cake on its own, was like an edible jewel put on a wooden stand. 

The swirl in the middle glistened with fresh strawberry puree that had been mixed with a tinge of caramel. It was still fresh, so one could see the pinpricks of strawberry seeds that had been left on purpose.

Obito wanted to poke it so badly. Charcoal hues kept straying towards it while their sensei spoke. 

“Rin and I need to make a quick trip to the Medical Corps for a report she submitted.” The blond was in his usual, blue uniformed attire, though without the hitaite. Besides him, Rin was winding a scarf around her shoulders. 

“We’ll be back soon.” Minato may as well have been talking solely to Kakashi, since the Uchiha was too busy ogling the treat that looked divine (and probably tasted just as well, seeing as how talented the Jōnin and Rin were in the kitchen). It was good enough, since Kakashi kept nodding like the solemn little shinobi he was while Obito hummed on periodic intervals to indicate that he was listening. 

Sorta. Maybe if he poked the tip of the swirly thingy—

“I’m counting on you.” He snapped to attention just as blue hues slid towards him, “Both of you. Make sure Kushina doesn’t come here. Stall her if you have to.” 

“Hai, sensei” The duo responded, with Obito raising two fingers in a salute for good measure, “You can count on me!” 

Satisfied, Minato turned to Rin, gesturing for her to follow. The Iryō nin smiled, but it slid off the minute his back was turned. Brown hues narrowed at her teammates in warning, which was probably more effective than their sensei’s words. 

I’m always watching you, neh?

Both boys immediately straightened - and promptly stayed that way until her lingering gaze had disappeared out the door. 

“About time they left.” Kakashi was the first to speak. Pale fingers rubbed an exposed part of his left arm; a wound had scabbed over recently and it was annoyingly itchy. Rin had given him some ointment to deal with it, but it wasn’t that cumbersome. Besides, it would take more than a scrape to put him out of commission. 

At the moment though, he didn’t know what bothered him more - the fact that he had yet to hear about his Jōnin promotion or that he had been assigned a C rank mission with the sole crybaby of the team. He was perfectly capable of protecting his sensei’s loud girlfriend’s birthday surprise.

Speaking of - dark hues flickered to the Uchiha, slapping his hand from where he was about to poke one of the perfect cream swirls. “Sensei said not to touch anything, baka.”  

But it looks so…fluffy. “What are you, my grandma?” Obito grumbled, rubbing his slightly pink fingers. Trust the Hatake to act like an old lady, since he projected a particularly grumpy old man half the time. 

Ah but who was he kidding? Most of the old people he knew (which were a lot) were nice and polite. Kakashi was, simply put, a jerk. “Ne, you think sensei and Kushina nee will get married?” There was a curious tilt in his tone, before his attention was once again captured by the delicate, rosy swirls decorating the top layer, “I mean..I hear we’re almost at war anyways.”

“Sensei can’t be that stupid.” his friend’s reply was instantaneous, and not without a barely hidden scoff, “He’s a Jōnin and a Hokage candidate…that loud girlfriend of his will only hinder his performance as a shinobi.”

“Ano…don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

“Well, there’s a reason why you’re still a Chunin and I’m practically a Jōnin.”

Jerk. “You’re not a Jōnin yet, Bakashi.” Obito snapped, one finger successfully managing to swipe just a sliver of icing which was promptly deposited on the unsuspecting Hatake’s face, “Besides, doubt you’ll be a Jōnin with reflexes like that.”

“Oi, you weren’t supposed to touch that” Kakashi hissed, rubbing the offending wetness away with the back of his palm before grey hues narrowed a fraction at his idiot teammate, “this is a mission, baka. Would it kill you to follow the rules for once?” 

“I was careful” Came an all-too sunny reply, though the tell tale icing on his own cheek suggested otherwise, “Besides, its your fault.”

“Is not”

“Is too”

Arguing more was pointless - especially where the Uchiha was concerned. Instead, Kakashi decided on his patented glower which was met with a splatter of cream, courtesy one twirling wooden spoon between said Uchiha’s fingers – who was currently laughing his behind off. Normally, it wouldn’t be enough to faze the Hatake - his opponents had laughed at him before, primarily because of how small he was. Kakashi never failed to make them eat dirt later. 

But this was Obito and he was an idiot who knew just the right buttons to push. Pale digits curled into fists as a peach flush tinged his features (he was not pouting). Grey hues caught a bowl of leftover cream and it didn’t take him long to scoop a generous amount and send it careening towards Obito.

The splatter was satisfying, and clearly, an invitation for war. Needless to say, by the time their relatively chipper teammate returned, the kitchen was in shambles (polite term). A fine layer of cream coated most of the counter and splattered the shoddy kitchen appliances. A stick of butter had found its way in a pot of coffee, whereas the leftover strawberries formed a sticky mess on the floor; and a particularly sloppy mush of fruit and leftover icing in which the Hatake was rubbing Obito’s goggled face in.

The cake, surprisingly, had been left intact, which was a good thing seeing as how Rin had been contemplating turning her teammates into cake batter if they ruined their (her and sensei’s, of course) hard work. The Iryō nin could only watch from the doorway as the two boys clawed at each other. Resisting the urge to sigh like the all suffering adult she was, the Nohara instead cleared her throat, soft features already set in a frown, “What are you two doing?” 

Freeze (though Obito still managed to pull Kakashi’s bangs in a final, feeble gesture). “I-its not what it looks like, Rin chan.” Obito stammered from where his cheek was pressed against the sticky tile. Arms flailing, he tried to push the Hatake off and failed, “Ah mou! Its his fault!”

Kakashi practically bristled (it was less intimidating because of the squished strawberry oozing down his forehead) and in one smooth movement, had the Uchiha’s arm twisted in a classic lock behind his back, “A good shinobi doesn’t lie, baka.”

“Get off you freaky little gremlin!” Obito’s fingers spasmed uselessly in his hold and Rin couldn’t help but thank the fates that she had convinced their sensei to make a detour to the supermarket for a few ingredients. He would be so disappointed.

Speaking of– “Guys, quit it already. Sensei will be back any minute.” The Nohara unwound the scarf from around her shoulders before gingerly stepping inside. Normally, Rin was the more careful of the three, though the floor was sticky and cream had somehow managed to get everywhere. 

Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t aware of the entirety of ‘everywhere’ - no sooner had she stepped in did her foot slip on a splatter of broken egg and sugar. Arms flailing, the poor Iryō nin stumbled, hands finding little purchase against the slippery counter before crashing against her teammates with a soft whump. 

“Ow”

“Rin chan, are you okay? Get off her Bakashi!”

“I’m not on her, idiot.” Kakashi hissed through the flush decorating his face (or could be the leftover strawberry, it was hard to tell). The poor Hatake was smaller than the other two, and had conveniently been sandwiched between them - and if that wasn’t mortifying enough for a Jōnin, he didn’t know what was.

Well…almost Jōnin. Either way – pale digits pushed her off (though not before elbowing the loud idiot by accident) before he clambered off his filthy teammate’s back. Grey hues narrowed at the dirty tiles before flickering to Rin, just as the girl caught the table’s ledge, causing it - and the pastry - to tip precariously. Kakashi opened his mouth to warn her, but the cake tumbled before his words did.

Maa…what a waste.

The resounding crash, along with her squeal, was loud enough to make him cringe. By that point, Obito had gotten up with a hand on his abused cheek, dark orbs set in a patented Uchiha deadpan before the noise prompted him to turn. 

And…well, quake like a little scuttle bug because Rin looked murderous (and kind of cute - but mostly murderous) with the bottom half of their hard earned labor awkwardly squashed against the top of her head. If their circumstances had been any different, he would have compared it to a fancy old lady’s hat, you know, the kind with feathers on it?  

Except this one was edible and the owner’s eyes were welling up with tears – angry tears, mind you - but tears, nevertheless. “Ano…” The Uchiha swallowed as Rin wordlessly, yet carefully, removed the cake from her head, mindful of the ruined bottom half, “It…looks better this way?” He added, creeping slowly yet surely behind his younger teammate. 

Wrong answer, if the murderous gaze directed their way was any indication. Both boys blanched, and Obito had the good sense to whimper as the Nohara launched herself at them with a barely concealed snarl. Cue a pandemonium which involved more sticks of butter, broken egg shells and what was left of the cream and icing - amidst Obito’s yelling of course. The cake, their collective pride and joy, was lost in the fray; its top half stuck to the ceiling while the other half found itself splattered around the walls in haste.

There may have been a stray, poorly attempted wind jutsu thrown in for good measure, which would certainly explain why an egg shell flew out the window with the speed of a kunai, only to land against the ground like a sad, lonesome martyr. It just so happened that a certain Namikaze had been making his way back by the time it had chosen to sacrifice itself, and had almost stepped on it by accident. Blue hues blinked at it curiously, almost slowly, before following its trajectory which…

Wait, was that his kitchen window? Minato flickered to the Hiraishin seal he had placed in his living room without a second thought. Depositing the bags on the floor, he quickly dashed towards the kitchen, fingers already pulling out one of his signature kunai because they were on the brink of war as it were. Not that he sensed any alien chakra signatures, but one could never be too careful. 

Besides, his kids were in there. Kunai raised in his usual stance, Minato paused at the door, expecting an Iwa rogue–

Only to find three pre-teens locked in a battle to the death with – a whisk? Rin had her arms around her struggling teammates - okay, maybe that was just Obito. Kakashi hung in her grip, as if resigned to his fate with a deadpan that could rival Fugaku’s. All three of them were splattered with an assortment of cream and squished fruit, and— Kami, what had happened to his kitchen?! He could barely discern the cream from the walls and the numerous splatters of broken eggs and sugar. Some of it had found its way on the ceiling too, if the steady drip of something over the door frame was anything to go by. 

All in all, a war torn mess. It would have been impressive if he wasn’t so horrified.  

The cake was nowhere to be found; though it was safe to assume that its splattered remains decorated the walls with the rest of his wayward ingredients. If he had been a lesser shinobi, he would have turned towards the heavens and asked why - why. 

But, as it turns out, he was a Jōnin sensei and had conveniently lost his ability to delve on his emotions, let alone express them as well as certain others (coughKushinamaybeInoichicough). So instead of repeatedly bashing his head against the nearest wall like a part of him wanted to, he did what any responsible sensei would - allow a sliver of his chakra, tinged with the barest of killing intent, to announce his presence.

It worked like a charm. Rin and Obito froze (Kakashi merely grunted), as the three watched their sensei step into the kitchen, sandals making an odd crunch (probably another egg shell) as he did. Minato’s gaze never left theirs as he approached, his narrowed hues a clear indication of his displeasure.

He wasn’t…that angry. Truth to be told, making another cake was hardly cumbersome work – what bothered him was the fact that he had given them one job. It didn’t even matter who was at fault; their teamwork was clearly amiss. Blond brows furrowed at the thought, and he stopped a few steps shy of the still tangled trio, “What have you got to say for yourselves?” 

Pause. At least they had the decency to look embarrassed - Rin in particular, looked like she was on the verge of tears and Minato couldn’t help but feel some of his annoyance ebb away. The Nohara was a seldom acknowledged soft spot, primarily because she was the most well behaved of the three. 

“A-ano…sensei” Obito spluttered, prompting the man to pause. The poor Uchiha barely had time to flounder a hand towards the ceiling before the creamy layer of what had been the cake lost its hold with a soft squelch.

And fell. Right on their sensei; Konoha’s Kiiroi Senkō, current Hokage candidate in opposition to Orochimaru of the Densetsu Sanin.

“…”

To the pastry’s credit, it was probably the only projectile the Yellow Flash had been unable to dodge and would probably go down in history as such. Buttercream frosting, along with what could be considered flecks of vanilla sponge, decorated blond hair and blue, clothed shoulders. The Namikaze raised a solitary palm just as a particularly creamy glop of ruined cake slid down his fringe, splattering against tan digits almost like a work of abstract art. 

Meep. Rin’s arms around their shoulders tightened just as icy blue hues met their own and Obito forgot how to breathe. 

“You three.” 

Said three collectively squeaked. 

EPILOGUE: 

In the end, the three were made to clean the kitchen - with their sensei eventually joining them out of sheer guilt (he couldn’t stay mad at them for more than seven minutes - today was a new record at the ten minute mark). Kushina found out, of course, and made enough pastry related jokes to put everyone at ease. 

Except Kakashi. He didn’t want to admit that her jokes were actually funny. 

With Kushina’s birthday surprise thoroughly ruined; they had to go to Ichiraku’s to celebrate. Needless to say, Minato’s wallet (apart from one legendary cake that will forever be remembered) suffered the most that day. 

@konohagakurekakashi @strawberry-medic

[hanideyumeron]

tsuki roze x minamoto teru ~ quarantine gift exchange

this is for @jshk-oneshots​ uwu i’m pretty sure i wrote this at 2:00 am after feeling a very big urge to write cause i remember writing none of this yet here it is ._.   i feel teru is a bit ooc, so please forgive me ;-;

The Tsuki and Minamoto family had been rivals since what seems like the dawn of time. 

Each year, the eldest of each family would battle to see which one is superior; the Tsuki family or the Minamoto family. But as times modernised, battling with swords or guns became abnormal, so, unfortunately, the battling had to modernise just like the world. 

How did they do this? Why by getting the best grades of course. 

The eldest of the Tsuki family was no other than Roze who, like her name suggested, was as beautiful as the rose. She could bewitch anyone with her big brown eyes that looked as smooth as milk chocolate. Unlike the many people before her, she hated the ‘battling’ she had to do. Whenever she thought about it, she just wanted to stuff her head into her pillows and groan. 

Recently, Akane had been constantly objected to these bursts of anger and groans as Roze poured her heart out; saying how unfair it was to her that she had to beat Minamoto Teru of all people in grades. It was no use, however, as Teru was older than both of them, and would probably tie them upside down if they tried to do anything. She knew it was impossible, there was no use! What was worse was Teru loved to tease.

“Mmm, that’s sad Tsuki-san,” he said leaning over her desk. She could feel his eyes boring holes into her head. She even felt the urge to rub the spot where he was glaring at. All Teru was doing was looking at her. Then, he took her test and smiled down at her again. That same grin that she wanted to rub off so badly. “I got a higher score than you,” he said with a hint of cockiness. His smug smirk was still on his face as he hovered over Roze who, at the moment, really didn’t care about her scores. 

“Oh that’s a shame,” she mumbled looking at her score as well. It wasn’t bad, my goodness, anything but that. But if she wanted to beat Teru, my god she'd need to do better. Looking up to Teru for a second proved to be a bit stupid because as soon as she did, Teru let her see his icy blue eyes which sent shivers down her spine. She could feel what they meant. They were screaming ‘I dare you to actually try, wimp’. Ouch, her ego hurt a bit. “Too bad I don’t actually care,” she mumbled before looking away. 

Teru looked at her in confusion. 

That lunch, he decided to confront her about it since she usually ate alone on the rooftop. When he got there, he saw her sitting on one of the benches. Her hair was the same brown colour, indicating she hadn’t fought any supernaturals yet that day. She wasn’t facing him, meaning she wasn’t aware that he was currently up on the rooftop as well. Teru, being the secretly playful teen he is, decided to scare the girl. Yes, the two of them may have been rivals, but behind all that he liked to think him and Roze were good friends, although the rivalry did get in the way in those things.

“Booarch nemeses?” The question made Rose look up and blink. This time she was the one to filet her head. 

“Eh? I-I was joking!” She blurted out “W-We’re…I guess friends,” Why did it hurt when she said friends like that. It felt unnatural but it was there, almost as if it was like it was a bone that refused the crack and continued to hurt. 

“Friends…,” Teru mumbled, looking off to the distance. He thought back to when they were in the classroom, where the switch flicked on and they were rivals once more. He remembered what she said back there “Too bad, I don’t actually care,” It was no lie that Roze hated fighting Teru. Honestly, Teru hated fighting Roze. They were in the same class, sure, but all this competing sure got old and frustrating real quick. “You don’t actually see me as a rival, do you, Roze?”

The statement made Roze spit out her rice and choke on her spit before she looked straight in Teru’s eyes “EH? OF COURSE, WE ARE! Y-YOU WANT TO FIGHT RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR I WILL-,”

Before she could bring out her sword, Teru had already reached over the table to cover her mouth. He lightly shushed her, looking to the sides to see that people were indeed looking at the pair. He awkwardly smiled and pulled Roze out of the canteen, and to an abandoned hall. “Hey, I haven’t even eaten yet!” She grumbled angrily, which made Teru look back at her. Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed and looked down at the girl. 

“What were you thinking? You were really going to take out your sword in a canteen of all places,” he bent down when a thought went through his head “Don’t tell me, are you sick? Did that meal make you sick? Don’t tell me I have to-,”

“I’m not sick! Jeez, stop babying me, I’m not Kou,” Roze swatted Teru’s hands away and looked off to the distance. There was no sound. No people. Nothing. Just...them and the silence. 

“I don’t like being rivals,”

The confirmation made Teru’s eyes widen a fraction before softening again as the girl fiddled with her hands. Small and dainty, that’s what they were. Rose knew she knew for a fact, that she shouldn’t pour her feelings out to Teru, the boy she was supposed to be battling until their families’ had their fill. 

“I-I don’t like comparing test scores, competing in sports competitions, seeing who can be the most liked by people,” a laugh came from her throat, but it was agonising to listen to. It sounded like a broken record “Don’t you hate it too?”

Honestly, Teru did. Roze was in the class below her, and frankly, he didn’t like battling with someone younger than him. It felt as if he was constantly a level higher than she was. And it wasn’t fair. None of it was. He didn’t mind being an exorcist. Being one was one of his prides and joys. But upholding a grudge that his family had for generations, a grudge he personally didn’t have. It felt like a lie. 

And how could he lie to someone he genuinely loved. 

The only way he knew how to express love, was to use blunt words and small affectionate gestures. So with that in mind, Teru reached out she patted Roze’s hair, not knowing what on earth he was doing. This wasn’t Kou. This was Tiara. This was Roze. And he couldn’t treat her like them. 

With wide eyes, she gazed up at Teru, who awkwardly smiled back. “No...I don’t like it,” he mumbled sighing. Then, he decided to hug her, which made Roze feel more comfortable. “I have a plan,” he said briefly “How about...I tutor you and help you get the same scores as me. That way both of us win,”

The plan made Roze laugh wholeheartedly, pulling away a bit to look at Teru “That would be awesome! We could meet at the library so we won’t see our parents oh oh and-,”

Teru just listened to her rant about the upcoming plan. Honestly, for some unknown reason, Roze’s voice was calming. The two of them will end their pretend rivalry they made up for their parents and become allies. And maybe, end their families centuries-old quarrel officially someday. 

,”

The sudden jolt that was inflicted onto Roze’s shoulders made her shriek, making her drop her lunch on the floor. The bento landed with a sad splat on the ground which affected the two that the lunch was practically ruined. Rose whipped her head around, wanting to know who was the culprit that made her freak out. All she saw was a laughing Teru who thought that her shriek was hilarious and nothing short of amazing. He was holding his stomach from laughter and soon it began to hurt from laughing too much. “Hey, it’s not funny!” She yelled, pointing pathetically at her lunch. She groaned in frustration and pushed Teru back from her. She hated the way his laugh made her head all fuzzy and her thoughts turn to honey. It was a troubling feeling but a feeling she could get used to. 

“You owe me a lunch you prick!” Roze yelled. Normally she wouldn’t act like this, but because this situation involved spoiled lunch, especially her lunch, drastic measures needed to be taken. Namely guilt-trip-and-make-the-person-by-me- another-lunch drastic measures. 

Teru calmed down and looked down at the girl before smiling again, his princely charm glowing off him. “Fine, fine,” he said “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch. I need to talk to you anyways,” with that he started walking back to the doors of the rooftops. 

‘Talk to me?’ Roze grumbled, hesitating to follow him. Her gaze went back to the ruined lunch she was about to enjoy and then her mind angrily settled. If he was going to give her free food then she’d take it. Picking up her stuff, she caught up to Teru who was calmly making her way downstairs. 

When Teru bought her lunch, the two settled in the canteen of the school. Roze could feel the glares of fangirls hurt her back like arrows each time another one would look at her and Teru. Why couldn’t they mind their own business, jeez, Teru is a human being as well. Despite the glares, Roze just looked at her lunch and started to eat it. “So, what does the almighty Teru want to talk about to his arch-nemesis?” Roze said jokingly as she ate. Teru tilted his head and blinked.

“Is that what we are now?” He asked with a chuckle, scratching a bit on his cheek “Are we arch nemeses?” The question made Rose look up and blink. This time she was the one to filet her head. 

“Eh? I-I was joking!” She blurted out “W-We’re…I guess friends,” Why did it hurt when she said friends like that. It felt unnatural but it was there, almost as if it was like it was a bike that refused the crack and continued to hurt. 

“Friends…,” Teru mumbled, looking off to the distance. He thought back to when they were in the classroom, where the switch flicked on and they were rivals once more. He remembered what she said back there “Too bad, I don’t actually care,” It was no lie that Roze hated fighting Teru. Honestly, Teru hated fighting Roze. They were in the same class, sure, but all this competing sure got old and frustrating real quick. “You don’t actually see me as a rival, do you, Roze?”

The statement made Roze spit out her rice and choke on her spit before she looked straight in Teru’s eyes “EH? OF COURSE, WE ARE! Y-YOU WANT TO FIGHT RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR I WILL-,”

Before she could bring out her sword, Teru had already reached over the table to cover her mouth. He lightly shushed her, looking to the sides to see that people were indeed looking at the pair. He awkwardly smiled and pulled Roze out of the canteen, and to an abandoned hall. “Hey, I haven’t even eaten yet!” She grumbled angrily, which made Teru look back at her. Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed and looked down at the girl. 

“What were you thinking? You were really going to take out your sword in a canteen of all places,” he bent down when a thought went through his head “Don’t tell me, are you sick? Did that meal make you sick? Don’t tell me I have to-,”

“I’m not sick! Jeez, stop babying me, I’m not Kou,” Roze swatted Teru’s hands away and looked off to the distance. There was no sound. No people. Nothing. Just...them and the silence. 

“I don’t like being rivals,”

The confirmation made Teru’s eyes widen a fraction before softening again as the girl fiddled with her hands. Small and dainty, that’s what they were. Rose knew she knew for a fact, that she shouldn’t pour her feelings out to Teru, the boy she was supposed to be battling until their families’ had their fill. 

“I-I don’t like comparing test scores, competing in sports competitions, seeing who can be the most liked by people,” a laugh came from her throat, but it was agonising to listen to. It sounded like a broken record “Don’t you hate it too?”

Honestly, Teru did. Roze was in the class below her, and frankly, he didn’t like battling with someone younger than him. It felt as if he was constantly a level higher than she was. And it wasn’t fair. None of it was. He didn’t mind being an exorcist. Being one was one of his prides and joys. But upholding a grudge that his family had for generations, a grudge he personally didn’t have. It felt like a lie. 

And how could he lie to someone he genuinely loved. 

The only way he knew how to express love, was to use blunt words and small affectionate gestures. So with that in mind, Teru reached out she patted Roze’s hair, not knowing what on earth he was doing. This wasn’t Kou. This was Tiara. This was Roze. And he couldn’t treat her like them. 

With wide eyes, she gazed up at Teru, who awkwardly smiled back. “No...I don’t like it,” he mumbled sighing. Then, he decided to hug her, which made Roze feel more comfortable. “I have a plan,” he said briefly “How about...I tutor you and help you get the same scores as me. That way both of us win,”

The plan made Roze laugh wholeheartedly, pulling away a bit to look at Teru “That would be awesome! We could meet at the library so we won’t see our parents oh oh and-,”

Teru just listened to her rant about the upcoming plan. Honestly, for some unknown reason, Roze’s voice was calming. The two of them will end their pretend rivalry they made up for their parents and become allies. And maybe, end their families centuries-old quarrel officially someday.

[kylo-ren-has-an-8pack]

reyux pretty please?

A/n: Written for this as well as two other Reyux prompts I’ve gotten recently. I’m just combining them all into one. Forgive my current fascination with Resistance prisoner!Hux. I love anything where he either fakes defecting or is a prisoner. It’s such an interesting concept to see him totally out of his element. 

AO3 Link

Rey’s hands don’t tremble as she grips the container of rations firmly between her hands, but uncomfortable flutters make her feel less stoic than she looks. He deserves to be here. He deserves far more than what he’s getting actually, of this she is quite sure, yet this is easily the least favorite part of her day. It gives her this squirmy, uncomfortable feeling in her belly, being here. The few dank cells where the Resistance keeps the rare prisoner are cold and feel so different than the warmth that she experienced minutes earlier at the dinner table with Poe and Finn. It’s like a different world here in the dark and he deserves to be here. That doesn’t mean she has to enjoy it.

Wordlessly, she slides open a small panel on the translucent door that keeps the prisoner well in view. She pushes a container of food into it, waiting for the panel to hiss and lock back into place. She’s just about to turn to leave, eager to shake off the chills this place gives her, when she’s interrupted.

“If it’s the same pitiful excuse for a meal that it was yesterday, you may as well keep it.” A weak, bored sounding voice echoes from the far end of the chamber.

A haggard looking Hux sits in the corner of his cell, even paler than he was the day they captured him. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but his beard and even his hair have begun to grow noticeably. Probably only because he’s the type to keep it trimmed perfectly within regulation. Any difference is a big difference.

“Well, it’s all that you’re getting, so if I were you, I’d eat it.”

The entitlement in his voice strikes a nerve in her. He’s a prisoner. Would he prefer alternative options? They’ve certainly been discussed by General Organa and the few Resistance leaders left. He’s fortunate to be alive.

“Countless people on any number of planets are starving. You’re lucky you’re getting anything at all,” she goes on, her tone clipped and cold.  

She’s quite ready to leave now, to flee the darkness emanating off of this man. But no, it’s not darkness she feels, not just darkness anyway. That much, she had sensed the day he arrived. It’s another emotion she feels penetrating her whenever she walks down to this cell block. It’s the reason she’s come to dislike coming down here when it’s her turn to do so. She can feel it seep into her soul, the same way that she can sense fear or joy in her friends. It’s not just evil she feels from this General who has caused so much harm. It’s hopelessness. She realizes it with a start and immediately, she understands. She’s never been able to abide the feeling. Life without hope, well, it’s not much of a life, is it?

Again, Rey turns to leave.

Again, she’s interrupted.

“What’s taking so long?”

“I’ve just put it in. Your food is right th-”

“I’m not talking about the damned food,” he sneers. “Is the Resistance honestly so ill functioning that it can’t execute its prisoners in a timely manner?”

“Execute?” Rey tips her head to the side, eyes widening slightly. What had he heard? Or maybe he’s heard nothing and that’s just how they work. “Why would you-”

“It’s hardly surprising,” he goes on without giving the food a glance.

Rey doesn’t blame him for that this time. It’s not particularly good food, but none of their food is at the moment. The First Order is squarely to blame for their lack in numbers and resources, as far as she’s concerned, so she can’t find it in her heart to feel sorry about it if he doesn’t like what he’s given. She can think of more days than not that she’s eaten out of pure necessity with no pleasure involved in the process. He can do the same. Or is that only what people with hope do? The bad feeling sits heavily in her gut, no matter how much she tells herself that she shouldn’t care how he feels after Hosnian Prime, after what he’s been a part of, after everything. The longer she spends down here, the more she senses. 

“I imagine that’s more of an issue of backbone than actual functional concerns. It’s a simple enough task,” he continues, as if genuinely mulling it over.

“We managed to capture you,” she retorts. Their eyes meet then, and he actually looks slightly taken aback by that. It’s as if he had somehow forgotten the vital fact that any fraction of pride that he had left in him and his position is now misplaced. “I could take two steps out of this cell block and see more than a dozen people who would literally pay to be the one to end your life. You’re worth more alive than dead, at least at the moment. Backbone isn’t the problem.”

Rey turns on her heel for a third time, when a long sigh escapes the prisoner.

“Then just tell me. What’s going to happen to me?”

“Oh? Is being a prisoner of war too boring for you?" 

"Yes." 

Rey pauses. “…I don’t know.”

“Well, lie to me then.”

Her hesitance is rewarded by another dramatic sigh and roll of his eyes, and another tug in her gut. It’s that awful feeling again. Why won’t it leave her? His hopelessness and apathy aren’t her fault, but it’s so strong it chokes her. All at once, she finds herself talking without recognizing the words coming out of her mouth.  

“Fine then. You’ll turn to our side.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll what?” He nearly laughs, incredulity dripping from his tone.

“You’ll stay here as long it takes. You’ll realize that the First Order is evil and you’ll tell us everything you know and then you’ll be one of us. You’ll live here, safe, happy…it will probably be the same food for a while though.”

Hux stares at her for a long moment, then he does laugh, a short, sharp sound that sounds unnatural falling from his lips, but it’s a little bit of a laugh nonetheless. Shaking his head, he leans forward and takes the container of food, inching it closer by his fingertips. His expression still tells her that he’s unconvinced, but that isn’t what matters. The bad feeling in her gut has lessened ever so slightly as she watches him start to pick at the food.

“I might prefer execution.” A sarcastic smirk still tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Don’t worry. I’m sure that’s still an option,” she replies, her voice softer this time. “…I’ll see you tomorrow, Hux.”  

Send me a Star Wars rare pair, The Mandalorian, or a Ben Mendelsohn character/pairing prompt from any of his movies and I’ll write you at least 100 words of fic. Specify fluff, smut, AU etc! Minimum 100 words, maximum none, just depends on inspiration

Buy me a Ko-fi if the spirit moves you!

[tshepiso-reads-books]

Comics I NEED To Read in 2020

One of my goals for 2020 is to read more comics and graphic novels. I really liked all the comics I read last year and would love to broaden my horizons and discover new favourite authors and artists. Buckle in folks because this list is long.

· MS. MARVEL: NO NORMAL ·

G. Willow Wilson’s Ms. Marvel is probably one of the most popular comics of the last few years. I read the first issue of this run a couple years back and would love to read more because I remember it being super fun.

· THE UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL: SQUIRREL POWER ·

I have no idea what to expect from Unbeatable Squirrel Girl. If the cover is to be believed it’s going to be super cute and super fun and I’m totally down for that.

· RUNAWAYS: PRIDE AND JOY ·

I really want to read Rainbow Rowell’s Runaways run but given that Brian K. Vaughan’s original run only came out in 2005 I thought I might as well start at the beginning.

· THOR: THE GODDESS OF THUNDER ·

Jason Aaron’s Thor is iconic at this point and I really want to see what all the fuss is about. I’d love to have read at least a few volumes of this by the time the next Thor movie comes out because I suspect it will be heavily influenced by this series.

· AMERICA: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF AMERICA CHAVEZ ·

I don’t know much about America Chavez but I do know that this comic was really popular on Tumblr around its release and it doesn’t take much for me to give a comic a chance.

· HAWKEYE: ANCHOR POINTS ·

Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye is probably one of my favorite comics and Kate Bishop was a standout character. I’m excited to read her solo series especially because it’s written by Kelly Thompson and I loved her work on A-Force.

· ALIAS: VOL 1 ·

Jessica Jones was my favorite Marvel Netflix show and I’m really excited to see her origin in the comics. I’m sure this comic is iconic for a reason and I’m sure I’ll love it.

· SHE-HULK: DECONSTRUCTED ·

I don’t know why, but I think I’m going to absolutely love Mariko Tamaki’s work. Ever since I read A-Force I’ve wanted to pick up more She-Hulk stories and this seems like as good a place to start as any.

· CAPTAIN MARVEL: HIGHER, FURTHER, FASTER, MORE ·

I read a few issues (possibly even the first arc) of Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Captain Marvel run years ago and loved it. I’m ready to dive deep into the Captain Marvel franchise because I’m sure I’ll love it.

· SPIDER–GWEN: MOST WANTED ·

Spider-Gwen had probably the best story in the Into the Spider-Verse comic which I read last April and I was most excited to read more about her. I’m sure I’m going like wherever Jason Latour takes Gwen’s story.

· GWENPOOL, THE UNBELIEVABLE: BELIEVE IT ·

The extremely mixed response to the current run of Gwenpool made me really interested in picking up this original run. If the cover reflects the content of this comic I’m sure it’s going to be a wild ride.

· STAR WARS: DOCTOR APHRA ·

Naturally, my all-consuming love of Star Wars will bleed into my comic reading, so I decided to start with Doctor Aphra. Kieron Gillen, like Mariko Tamaki, just feels like an author I’ll love so I decided to start with his work for the Marvel-Star Wars franchise.

· BATWOMAN: THE MANY ARMS OF DEATH ·

I’ll admit a good 50% of why I want to pick up this run of Batwoman is the gorgeous cover but given that this is a comic I think judging a book by its cover is fair in this instance. The other reason I want to pick it up is that I loved Marguerite Bennett’s work on A-Force and would love to see what else she can do.

· ALL-STAR SUPERMAN ·

I am almost certain I’m going to adore All-Star Superman. For one, I watched a YouTube video about this comic and ended up bawling my eyes out so I’m pretty sure Morrison and Quitely are going to hit me right in the feels.

·SUPERGIRL: BEING SUPER ·

I’m always one for a good limited run and Being Super really appeals to me. If you can’t already tell I’m captured by the Superman mythos and I’m sure seeing how these god-like figures interacting with the human world will be a good time.

· MISTER MIRACLE ·

Tom King’s The Vision thoroughly fucked me up last year and I’m ready for him to fuck me up some more in this one. I honestly have no clue what this comic is about (I don’t even know who Mister Miracle is) but because it’s Tom King I’m picking it up anyway.

· FABLES: LEGENDS IN EXILE ·

This is probably one of the most intimidating comics I’d like to read this year. Fables has so many volumes and spin-off and tie-in novelizations that it’s honestly a bit overwhelming. But it comes highly recommended, so I’m diving straight in no matter my hesitation.

· THE WICKED + THE DIVINE: THE FAUST ACT ·

I know one or two die-hard fans of The Wicked + The Divine and given that it’s last volume came out in 2019 I’d love to start it this year.

· THE AVANT–GUARDS: VOL 1 ·

The Avant-Guards is the only contemporary story on this TBR, which says a lot about my tastes in comics, but I think I’m going to enjoy this one. Its diverse cast and the cute art style is probably going to be a fun read.

· THE ADVENTURE ZONE: HERE THERE BE GERBLINS ·

I fell head over heels in love with The Adventure Zone Podcast in August last year and absolutely have to pick up this comic. I’m certain I will adore this one and am so hyped to spend more time with Magnus, Taako, and Merle.

So, that was my extensive comics TBR for 2020. If I’m being honest there are dozens of more stories I would love to get to in the coming year, but I need to set some realistic goals. If you guys have any comics or graphic novels you’re hoping to get to in the coming year please share them down below cause I’d love to add them to my list.