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lordabovehelpme · 2 years

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Gentle Giant - Frank Castle x Reader

Word count: 3.5k

A/n: I have been in a major Jon Bernthal mood recently, so please accept this fic. I know I usually don’t write for him, but boy oh boy this was so refreshing to get off my chest. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: It’s funny how attraction works. It starts as nothing, but then it suddenly creeps up on you, filling your every thought and every space in your heart, and suddenly it’s allconsuming and you feel like you’re drowning in the need for him. And then all at once you can’t imagine your life without him.

Warnings: f! reader, language, mentions of gore, mentions of sexy times, all that fun stuff

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The sizzle of oil cooking vegetables fills the normally silent room, the scent of soy sauce and ginger coating the molecules around you with a sweet fragrance. Hips sway in a soft motion, caught on the tune that hums from your vocal chords. But nothing you can do can mask the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

You worry for him.

You worry so much it makes your heart ache, your fingertips twitch with the need to do something, your mind overwhelmed with the thought of him hurt… the memories of him coming back to you with a bloodied face and broken bones.

A deep frown works onto your face, pulling at your permanent smile lines, the lines he’s run his fingertips across with a featherlight touch.

That’s how he is… a big scary giant. A beast of a man that has single handedly taken down gangs and mobs. And yet, with you, he’s oh so gentle.

His deep thoughtful eyes hold you with such intensity. At first you named the darkening gaze and growing pupils as anger… frustration at how little you know about his world. Then after reconsideration, you called it nonchalance. Not anyone for him to care about. You were just someone to stitch his skin shut, someone to buy him beer and make him ungodly amounts of coffee, someone to fill the silence.

But you couldn’t tear yourself away from him, something inside you knew you could never let him go, so fill the silence you did.

You’ve spent countless nights, fingers bloody as you pour alcohol on open wounds and rub sauve on bruised skin. Talking to him. Babbling to him, with no real point or idea to your words, just… talking.

He’d stand with his large powerful hands grabbing the edge of your sink and you’d list off the things you needed to get from the grocery store, the various chores you have to do, telling him about the time you learned your lesson of separating the darks and whites with your favorite white jeans.

Never did he provide any stories of his own, never anything more than a grunt that he’d heard you, nothing but the way his eyes would slide to your own, and rarely the deep huff of laughter.

One night the dots started to connect. You were digging some glass out of his side and once again rambling off your day. When you remembered the asshole who had catcalled you earlier.

It’s New York… Hell’s Kitchen to be exact, of course there are catcallers, but this douchebag had followed you to your car, saying how much he appreciated your jeans.

“I mean come on, it was just a pair of old jeans. They have paint splotches and I think a curry stain… or something.” You nearly yell out to Frank, rolling your eyes at the memory.

Frank suddenly growls as you reach into a new cut. “Careful sweetheart.” He grumbles out, voice heavy with irritation.

“Sorry,” you lean back and have to take a breath, your frustration making your heart rate start to pick up, “then he fucking tried to reach for me and I-”

The loud crack of porcelain cuts you off. Your eyes snap to the area where the sound came from. A long crack runs from where he is clutching the edge of your sink along the side and halfway into the bowl.

Then you take him in.

You take in the hulking man before you, the deep heavy breaths wracking through his chest, his eyelids closed over those deep dark eyes, those strong eyebrows furrowed and pulling tight together.

Suddenly the air was akin to suffocating, drowning you in tension. Your heart skipped a few beats, blood rushing and thundering in your ears.

And yet, never afraid.

“Frank?”

You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate how it barely utters from your lips, you hate how it makes you feel even smaller next to him.

“And you what?” He turns to you, eyes open and holding you captured in his gaze, the tendons in his neck rolling under his skin, and his voice even gruffer than you somehow remembered.

“What?”

“To the guy, what did you do?”

“Oh, ummm,” you can’t look away, caught in the trap of his stare. “I twisted his arm like you showed me, pepper sprayed him, and then drove off.”

His shoulders slightly lift as he huffs out a chuckle, his eyes sparking with amusement and something that you can almost call pride. And was that barely a smile?

“Attagirl.”

You fluster under his praise and look back down to the cuts you have yet to clean, the way he said ‘attagirl’ swirling and replaying over in your head.

Since that night, things became different. You’d find yourself mindlessly running your finger along the new crack in your sink. His words echoing through your head each time with a new meaning and a new tone for your heart to nitpick and analyse. You really should be scared, never opening the door to him again. But you find yourself smiling wider with each pass of your index finger over the crack.

To be honest, you’re not quite sure when things changed. You just guessed it was after that night, but maybe it was always in front of you. ‘Right under your nose’ or how the saying goes. But, things start to change.

He starts to reach for you.

Thick fingers slowly drifting over to your own. The slight shuffle of his body closer to yours on the couch.

He starts to open up for you.

Heart-wrenching stories of his time overseas. Heartwarming ones of his family and brothers in arms. Ones that make you giggle and smile. Ones filled with laughter that have his own cheeks pulling tight in a handsome grin and make your heart stop beating and pull the breath from your lungs.

He starts to let you learn about him.

Learning about his subtle humor and his soft spot for children. Learning about his coffee addiction and how he hates it with cream or sugar. Learning about how he has a sweet tooth for chocolate, but not for the “cheap milky shit.” Each small bit puts the puzzle pieces together of who the man is before you, and you find yourself falling even harder for him.

His gaze starts to shift.

The twirls of emotions you once labeled as annoyance or hatred, now making themselves known as affection. Showing how much he cares for you. Or maybe it never changed, you just started to understand it.

But you never found yourself with enough confidence to ask about it, to do anything besides the subtle shuffle towards him, the fierce want to be able to reach out and take his head in your hands.

You happily took whatever he gave you. And when he was gone, you’d find yourself wishing he was still there.

It’s funny how attraction works. It starts as nothing, but then it suddenly creeps up on you, filling your every thought and every space in your heart, and suddenly it’s allconsuming and you feel like you’re drowning in the need for him. And then all at once you can’t imagine your life without him.

At first it was the want to run your hands along his body, to feel the power and strength beneath his skin. The want for him to take you harsh and fast against the wall. The surely addictive feel of his hands gripping your hips as your nails clawed down his back.

Then you started to focus on his lips. You started to ache to kiss them. When he’d sit on the toilet, a wet washcloth in your hands as you scrub off dirt and grime and stuff you’re happy you don’t know what it was. You’d find yourself brushing over his lips, slightly pulling at the flesh, imagining the feel of them against your own. If they’d feel soft or dry, if he would take over and shove his mouth against your own in a battle of teeth and tongue, or if he would do it nice and slow.

“Whatcha thinkin ‘bout?”

He startled you so bad, your hands flew from his face and heat crept up to your face. You didn’t answer him and he never asked again, but you didn’t miss that perplexing swirl of emotion in those deep brown eyes or the slight tug at his lips into a cocky smile.

But then you found yourself thinking about him in your bed, imagining the covers pulled between his strong thighs as he snored away his worries. You found yourself staring over to the corner of your couch, the one he has subconsciously claimed as his own, staring at his latest read resting on the side table. You found yourself starting to make more food, suddenly cooking for two instead of one.

You found yourself missing him. Not just the handsome sight of him or the husky voice of his that sends tingles down your spine, but also the presence of him. Even if it is just him quietly cleaning his guns on the table, you miss it. What was once just an attraction, now is something both a blessing and a curse.

You found yourself loving him.

One night he tested it. Or maybe you finally let your wants become actions.

It started the same as anytime before a mission. You handed him a thermos filled with his favorite coffee, his belly full of food, a gun on his hip and another slung over his shoulder.

He smiled at you and nodded slightly. The two of you never said anything really. He would say the classic “be back in a few days” or so and you would nod with understanding even though the thought of him out there makes your heart sink.

His strong legs carried him over your floor, those black combat boots making his steps echo through the room. There he went, walking away from you and for some reason your eyes started to water.

A funny feeling swirled in your stomach, the sense of oncoming dread coursing through your veins making your heart drop to your toes. Each step of his, away from you, was like sending a shock through your spine.

Why is this night so different from the others?

“Frank…”

His name falls softly from your lips, quiet and barely uttered but his steps slow, yet he doesn’t turn around.

“Wait…”

You want to ask him, yell at him, scream at him: why does this feel like a goodbye? Why do you suddenly care so much?

But your lip quivers and your hand wipes your falling tears away, your mouth unable to form the correct syllables or movements to convey what you’re feeling. Bundled up emotions rising to the surface and cracking your façade.

A loud sniffle comes from you and that’s what makes him look over his shoulder. Those intense brown eyes, cold and distant, locking onto you. And as another tear falls down your cheeks he fully turns, his gaze softing and holding the confusing sparkles you crave so deeply.

“Frank…”

His right hand flexes, his fingertips rubbing against one another in that frantic habit of his. The habit that makes your chest swell and flourish at the sight, as it reminds you of how he’s just a man.

You rush into his chest, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt. Your head tucks away into the middle of him, your eyes squeezing shut as tears fall freely and wet the cotton.

He stays stiff, arms down to his side, unmoving.

Until they don’t.

One hand rises to your lower back, fingers lightly brushing over your covered skin. The other hand finds purchase at the base of your neck, pulling you even closer into his hold. He doesn’t say anything, but his touch speaks louder than he could ever manage to.

Then two lips press gently against your temple.

They stay there, resting on your skin, as if time stopped around the two of you. He doesn’t move away. He rather pours as much affection and emotion into the kiss as he can.

“You’re going to be okay, sweetheart.”

That's when you knew, when it finally clicked that the little twinkle in his eyes, the one you’ve had months to ponder about, wonder about, question about, it’s not anything you guessed before.

It’s not anger or irritation. Not nonchalance or hatred. But the one thing he hasn’t allowed himself for years. The one thing that makes him keep everyone at an arm’s distance.

Love.

Because he knows it’s the one thing that truly scares him. The one thing that will break him to a point of non recovery. And yet, he found it again... with you.

“You’re making this fucking hard for me, sweetheart.”

The words sound gruff and angry, but coming from him, it’s how he says those three specific words. His own special way, a way that is so Frank it makes you smile, a way that says loud and clear: ‘I love you.’

Another kiss pressed to your temple. But it just makes your tears fall harder.

“Hey hey hey.” He coos at you, voice quiet and soothing. “Look at me.”

You do, you lean back and stare up into his gaze, your hands rising from his shirt to cup his sharp jaw. Your thumbs brush along the delicate skin beneath his eyes, along his cheekbones, and against the scratchy scruff lining his chin.

Like magnets, the two of you are pulled together. Each other's heart reaches out and pulls the other closer, until finally, after so long and so much questioning of your feelings, your lips meet.

You were wrong. You could have never imagined even the slightest bit of how perfect his lips are. They’re slightly chapped, but still so soft and plush. They fit perfectly against your own and his hand rises to cup the side of your face, holding you ever so gently to him.

You both draw apart, your head slightly dizzy, thoughts hazy, but he rests his forehead against your own, both your eyes still closed.

There’s such an intimacy of the moment, a different one than you’ve ever experienced before. It’s raw and wildly intense, speaking volumes without breaking the silence.

But then his nose drags up your face until his lips press against your forehead. And he pulls away, your eyes finding his own before he nods and turns away again.

You watch silently as he opens the door and your mouth opens, “Come back.”

He stops, his fingertips rubbing again, his mind working over your words.

You sigh, “Frank, please… promise me.”

He looks over his shoulder, eyes holding you with so much care and affection it makes you feel lightheaded.

“I promise.”

And then he walked out your door, returning to the cruel world and away from the safety of your home, of your arms. Leaving, for once, slower than he arrived.

That was months ago, and when he had returned you didn't hesitate to reach up and press a kiss against his busted lips, didn’t hesitate to wrap yourself in his arms and bask in the security he brings.

But alas, he still leaves and everytime it breaks your heart, tonight being no different.

You stir the vegetables, some rice cooking in the rice cooker on the counter. Sure it might be nearly one thirty am, but he said he was coming back to you tonight, so you are going to have a meal prepared for him even if it kills you.

Speak of the devil, you hear the door unlock and slowly open. You set the wooden spoon down on the counter and rush over to him, preparing yourself for the worst.

His eyes catch your own, tired and dull but full of love. “Hey sweetheart.” His voice is quiet, telling you that he didn’t catch much sleep over the last few nights. But his raspy greeting makes your heart skip a beat and a small smile starts to form on your lips.

After scanning his body and coming up with no major injuries, you rush into his arms. “Hey handsome.” He chuckles at your words and eagerness to touch him, but you could care less. Your chest swells at having him back in your home and safe.

He leans down and peppers your face in kisses, something that would have had your jaw on the floor months ago.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

You shrug, pulling him all the way into the room and closing the door. “You know I don’t sleep when you’re gone.”

He nods, but frowns at your confession. Stepping out of his boots and shrugging off his jacket, he sets his rifle and handgun on the table. Then he finds the back pocket in your tiny sleep shorts, sliding his hand into the fabric and giving your bottom a couple soft pats.

You smile up at him and wrap your arms around his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He happily hums and the hand squeezes the pliant flesh of your ass.

“Smells good.”

“Hmmm, come eat then.”

He follows you into the kitchen and takes a seat at the counter. You fly around, getting him a cold beer and putting the finishing touches on the meal before handing it to him.

“Bon appétit.”

He smiles at you, those eyes full of love and admiration.

“Thank you sweetheart.”

Sitting next to him while he eats, neither of you say anything, just enjoying the presence of him next to you. Sliding your chair closer to him, you rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Your brain deciding that now he’s home, you can finally rest.

You know he appreciates it, how you care for him. He spent years living on his own, surviving on his own that when you first started to care for him he resented it. But now he will eagerly let you fuss over and pamper him, the bunched muscles waiting for the moment to strike relaxing under your touch. Nights filled with bubble baths together, his hair brushed back with a pink headband and your favorite face mask drying on his pores. He loves it.

“Tired?” He asks you, scoping the rest of the rice into his mouth and setting the empty bowl in the sink. You can barely nod. “Yeah? Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you into the bedroom, lifting the covers and once you crawl in, placing them over your form.

It’s something that you’ve found he does selflessly and subconsciously: caring for you. Just as you fuss over him, he worries over you ten more times. With gentle featherlight touches and soft preses of lips to your skin, he pampers you in the same way. It soothes him to know that you’re safe, that you’re at home in his arms, that you’ve allowed him to become your protector.

“I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll be back.”

You frown, wanting him beneath the sheets with you. “No.” You murmur, voice slurred with the sudden onslaught tiredness.

He huffs out a laugh, “So stubborn.” Pressing a kiss to your head he tells you how you “really don’t want him in the clean sheets right now.” But to be honest, you could care less as long as he is touching you.

“I’ll be quick. That sound alright?” His hand moves over your cheek, brushing your skin and stroking his love in your flesh.

A large smile works over his features at your small demand of “hurry.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before turning away and into the bathroom.

Not soon enough he finally emerges from the steaming bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips as he pads over to the dresser holding the two drawers he’s taken for his own clothes. You watch with heavy eyes and a big sleepy smile as he lets the towel drop and pulls on a pair of black boxers.

He turns around and catches your gaze, a smug smirk working onto his face. But he just walks to his side and lifts the covers, sliding under them and pulling you against his firm chest.

“Goodnight sweetheart.” He presses his lips against your head and an overdue sigh falls from his lips. You close your eyes and shift as close as you can into his hold, overjoyed to have him so close to you again.

After so many months you’ve never been happier. Never having been able to reach out and touch him like you can now, never been able to rest your head on his bicep and breath in the spicy scent of his body wash, never been able to tilt your head and nip at the skin and raise a grunt from him.

But now you can. And you’re going to milk it for as much as he possibly allows you, and then some. Because he knows you love him, and you know he loves you. Neither of you are sure if you deserve it, but you do regardless.

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I hope you all enjoyed it! Like I said in the a/n at the beginning, I haven’t written him before, so if you liked it- please reach out and tell me! :)

Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated and loved!

Love, Lordy :)

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#frank castle #frank castle x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader #the punisher #punisher x reader #frank castle x you #i really liked writing him #so please tell me if you enjoyed it because i really want to write for him more

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clairdelunelove · 3 years

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AOT Valentine’s Day Headcanons

eren jaeger x reader, jean kirschstein x reader, armin arlert x reader, levi ackerman x reader, erwin smith x reader, porco galliard x reader, genderneutral!reader

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort

warnings: slight cursing, insane amounts of fluff

synopsis: small scenarios of what some aot boys would do for you during valentine’s day.

a.n: enjoy the lovely day with some of these cuties! remember to take care of yourselves and know you’re all loved <3

eren jaeger

this man would definitely try to cook a nice dinner for you

especially if you’re having a hard week

expect him to be researching the best recipe a couple days beforehand

“what are you doing, eren?”

he’ll glance up and nonchalantly mutter, “nothing, babe” while scrolling through fancy recipes

on valentine’s day it’s his time to shine

waits for you to leave the house and go to work before leaving to pick up the necessary ingredients

gets in a verbal argument with a store clerk if he doesn’t find the exact name of what he’s searching for

“are you deaf? I said I needed a bag of shrimp”

“and we have that, sir. you said you needed a bag of prawns right?”

“it’s shrimp! how many goddamn times do I need to repeat myself?”

gets home with bags full of groceries and gets to work

slowly chops all the vegetables and curses when he nicks his finger with the edge of the knife

puts too much oil in the frying pan and tosses everything in there

scrolls through his phone while waiting

spends fifteen minutes ogling at his screensaver

of course it’s a pic of you

ends up burning everything he made

orders takeout, plates it real nice, and attempts to brush off that it was his cooking once you’re home

“this is so good, babe!” you exclaim while lifting the fork to your mouth, “tastes like the order we usually get at that one French restaurant.”

“glad you like it, baby”

cue his nervous sweating

jean kirschstein

simp energy!

makes previous reservations to take a painting class with you

tells you to dress warm before the two of you head out

so! happy!

has the goofiest smile on the actual date

tucks your hand in his pocket while walking to the art studio

spends the whole time checking over at your easel

audibly approves of everything you do, even if you’re drawing a line

“wow, it looks great sweetheart”

scrunches up his brows while concentrating

listens to the art instructor say to paint something that they love

takes it quite literally

paints you

tries to get each pretty feature about you

swipes his hand over his cheek and gets paint on it

literally sweats out of pure focus and won’t want to leave until he’s done

“jean, babe, we gotta go”

“five more minutes please. almost done”

five min turns into five hours

jean’s painting of you is surprisingly amazing and he’s even lowkey impressed

has a random stranger take a pic of you and him together while holding up the paintings

treats you to an expensive restaurant afterwards and pays

full stomachs = happy couple

pulls you close while walking through the downtown streets

whispers cheeky pickup lines into your ear and presses a kiss against your head

best. day. ever.

connie springer

did you say it was valentine’s day?

shit

definitely forgets about the whole holiday but is quick enough to put something together for you

you both aren’t super invested in sappy holidays but connie tries each time

the morning of, he’ll run to the nearest shops and try to pick out a bouquet of flowers for you

everything’s sold out

will curse his luck and literally sprint out of there

kicks himself for not planning in advance as he’s walking up the driveway of your house

notices the neighbor’s beautiful flowers

idea!

he will dash through each neighbor’s yard and pick their flowers so a mismatched bouquet rests in his hand

“happy valentine’s day, my favorite goofball!”

“thanks, babe,” your wide eyes stare at the uncoordinated bouquet in your hands, “I love it”

cue the mud that falls to the floorboards

you scold connie about the dirt that’s still stuck on the roots since it dirties the floors

he’ll take you out to watch a comedy show too!

whole evening of laughter while his arm is wrapped around your shoulder

you were both glowing in happiness (along with having a sore stomach) afterwards

wraps his sweater around you since the evening was getting chilly

drives you home and gives you the sweetest kiss

he’ll pull away with a, “wow” while being completely dazed out

let’s you take his jacket home and texts you corny jokes the whole night

Maro Bott

desperately! wants you to be his valentine

almost cries tears of joy when you accept his confession which only makes you confused

“Marco, sweetie, we’ve been dating for two years”

“doesn’t matter, love”

shows up extra early with a bouquet of roses

“happy valentine’s day!”

expect him to walk inside the house and look through all your cabinets for a vase

helps you pick out an outfit because he has the “perfect date” planned

causes you to be wrapped in bundles of clothing

won’t tell you where he’s taking you once the two of you are in the car

“an,” you tilt your head and albeit a bit puzzled, “ice rink?”

“time for some ice skating!”

laces up your skates before he even does his own so he makes sure it’s secure

will ask multiple times if your feet are comfortable

once he has his skates on, it’s game over

can’t walk without holding onto your hand for a couple moments

“this is harder than I thought,” he confesses with a nervous grin

gets on the ice and falls

hard

the thump causes everyone to look at the two of you and he only responds with, “oh look (Y/n)! I’ve fallen for you! Get it?”

undoubtedly makes you giggle and onlookers awe

gets the hang of ice skating and teaches you how if you’re scared of falling

makes excuses to pull you close and sweetly kiss your cheek

“it’s part of the learning process”

the day was as sweet as Marco is

Armin Arlert

bookstore date!

will definitely plan in advance because he wants everything to be perfect

expect a good morning text that’s a whole paragraph long <3

still asks you, “can I be your valentine?” even if you are both dating

plan on wearing matching outfits for the day

light academia style of white turtlenecks, beige pants, and cardigans

will take a selfie with you and set it as his lock screen so he can awe at it every second

“you’re breathtaking”

intertwines your fingers with his when you’re holding hands

swings it while walking

lots of attention once the two of you step inside the bookstore

constant whispering about the matching outfits and innocent affection

he’ll lead you to the back of the store and spend the entire day there

sits on the floor, leaning against the wooden bookcase, and stroking your hair while you’re laying on his lap

silence = peace

piles of books around you both

“how’s the plot, love?”

will ask that when his head is resting on your thigh and inwardly loves how comfy you are

buys all the books you want and waves away your credit card when you try to pay

“consider it repayment for spending the day with me”

holds the tote bag of books the whole time despite it being heavy

stops by the cafe to buy cups of hot chocolate

notices a small amount of whipped cream on the corner of your mouth

chuckles and stops to literally lean down to press his lips against yours in order to wipe it off

whispers, “you’re so lovely, angel”

both of you will pull away with flushed faces and lovesick smiles

Levi Ackerman

“what’s this for, brat?”

frowns once he opens his front door and you’re standing there with a wide grin

“happy valentine’s day, dear! I wanted to watch a movie then-”

“yeah, yeah”

lets you in anyways

takes the large basket full of movies, snacks, and skincare out of your hands

sets it on the kitchen counter and you immediately pop a bag of popcorn into the microwave

your movements are quick as you’re scurrying around the kitchen retrieving bowls, plates, and napkins

levi watches you from the couch, inwardly pleased that you’re able to memorize the layout of his house since you’ve been over so many times

he’d never tell a soul though

movies with levi!

he won’t pay attention to the movie at all but still comments film mistakes

“he wasn’t even wearing that sweater in the previous scene”

“levi, honey, who even pays attention to that”

“people with eyes”

allows you to cuddle close to him but his fingers itch to bring you even closer

audibly groans when you move away to fetch something

“self care time!” you exclaim while holding up a pack of face masks

will not let you put one on him once he sees how silly they look

“please?”

“no,” he states, “they look fucking ridiculous”

does it anyways once your puppy dog eyes are on display

curses as you slick his hair back and put one on him

hates it and voices his opinion

but at the end of the day, he agrees with the saying, ‘happy wife, happy life’

and oh yes, you were going to be his wife one day

Erwin Smith

imagine sleeping in and waking up to breakfast in bed

pancakes, waffles, bagels, raspberry streusel muffins

and everything’s like

in the shape of a heart <3

turns on some classical, romance music

sweet candles that smell like vanilla = burning

that’s what this man would do

wakes up super early

determined to whip everything up pronto

folded all the laundry, cleaned the dishes, vacuumed the house

amazing

10/10 gentleman

“good morning, love”

edges the bedroom door open with his shoulder while holding a tray of delicious food

definitely still in casual wear clothes

a sweater and grey joggers that he wore to sleep

loves the smile on your face

says “happy valentine’s day” and presses a kiss on the back of your hand

sits on the edge of the bed while you eat

chuckles when you feed him

lets you though

brushes your hair back each time you take a bite to eat

amusingly shakes his head whenever you over-exaggerate a hum in delight

pleased smirks!

definitely tried to swipe whip cream over your cheek just to hear you giggle

it’s beautiful

watches the way the sunlight pours through the window and creates a glow on your face

serenity, calmness, and adoration

discreetly pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming

wouldn’t want this day to end

Porco Galliard

“you doin’ anything today or what?”

will be the first text you get from him in the early morning

after a second passes, the little dots show up to indicate he’s typing again

“nvm. lemme take you out today”

shows up to your place unannounced and immediately notices what you’re wearing

“you’re wearing that? like for real?”

“is there something wrong with it?”

notices the panic in your eyes and immediately stutters

“nah, just,” he’ll bring his hand up to swipe at his noise while avoiding your gaze, “think you’ll be cold but you can wear my jacket or whatever.”

leads you to his muscle car and opens up the passenger door for you

surprisingly chivalrous for the day

drives throughout town to pick up stuff like a blanket, picnic basket, pre-made food, drinks

pays for it, of course, because he claims he’s the better man like that

“only scummy men let their partners pay”

spends the whole day driving around, hand on your thigh, while blasting your fav songs”

rolls the windows down so other drivers look your way

will also flip off anyone that suggestively gazes at you

loves when you belt out the lyrics and eagerly want him to join your singing session

rolls his eyes, “me? singing? gross.”

will sing 100% but only if you don’t call his bluff

pulls to the side of the road and sets up a romantic picnic spot nestled in an open field

drapes his jacket over your smaller physique and only mutters, “wear it before you catch a cold”

spends the evening star gazing, letting you rest your head on his chest while his hands are folded behind his neck

carries you back to the car once you’re asleep, snaps on your seatbelt, presses a kiss on your forehead, and mumbles, “thanks for lettin’ me take you out today, idiot.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger headcanons #jean kirschstein #jean x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #armin aot #armin arlert #armin x reader #levi ackerman #erwin smith #porco headcanons #porco galliard #connie springer #connie x reader

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iphoenixrising · 3 years

Text

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are.

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan.

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders.

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel.

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine.

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this.

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates.

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

The Titans make it for the service.

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife.

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known.

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin.

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family.

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed).

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

#dicktimweek2021 #dicktim #dick grayson #tim drake #sad times #time loop #winter writes #my ficlet

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alexboehm55144 · 3 years

Text

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 39 - Before The Storm

"So what did you guys get out of the stuff we pulled from that Chinese base? One that was apparently supposed to be impenetrable." Nick asked before muttering to himself. "Heh, they were no match for this sly fox."

"We went to hell and back to get that stuff," Judy said.

"Thing is… we don't know yet," Jack responded. "There was a lot of information on those maps and papers you guys pulled. It will take time for the eggheads to go through it all."

"I have to say I really respect the analysts," Skye noted. "I mean, how much stuff have they looked at from just Heroes alone?"

The four mammals were sitting in Jack and Skye's Aston Martin as they drove through the busy Zootopian streets. Nick and Judy were in the back seats while the two ZIA agents sat upfront. All around the car, mammals moved and went about their business as the city entered the evening. Most mammals were probably heading home as the sky began to dim. While others were getting ready for a night on the town.

"You guys over at Heroes have recovered a ton of intelligence throughout this war." Jack said, "Servers, documents, maps. Knowledge is power."

"Yeah, that is true," Judy responded. "I can't believe how much action we've seen. This is a lot more than a normal day at the ZPD."

"Hey, sometimes things are pretty action-packed at the ZPD," Nick said. "There's a lot of dangerous crooks and thieves out there. Though none of them as crafty and talented as this sly fox."

This got a chuckle out of Judy.

"And here we are!" Jack said.

The car pulled into a parking lot of a one-story building with Japanese architecture. The walls were made of white-colored stone with wooden support pillars, covered by a pagoda-style roof made of matte green tiles. Mounted on the front wall was a red and white light-up sign that said:

"Tanukchi, Japanese Grill."

"Well, we'll certainly be eating good tonight!" Nick said, the four mammals stepping out of the car.

"Isn't this place pretty high-end?" Skye asked. "How did you get a reservation?"

"Well… heh…" a slightly mischievous look crossed Judy's face. "I may have let it slip that we were brave ZPD officers, and you two were selfless ZIA agents."

"Clever bunny," Nick said.

"And… I may have also mentioned that we were war heroes."

Sky and Jack laughed.

"Well, at least you got us a nice dinner," Jack said before the group headed inside the restaurant.

Inside the building, the walls were made of wood and paper, resembling traditional Japanese walls. However, there were also support pillars made of marble-like, red-colored rock with messy streaks of white running through it. A short distance from the two glass doors was a desk made out of bamboo, behind which was a fish tank teeming with aquatic life. The entire restaurant was filled with the sounds of people chatting and the metal clang of cooking equipment being used.

"Reservation for Hopps," Judy said to the fox behind the desk, prompting the mammal to check her computer.

"Hopps…. Ah! Right, this way!" The fox said, grabbing four menus and leading the two couples into the dining area. There were 4 grills, 2 for smaller mammals, 2 for larger mammals, set up in the dining area, each surrounded by stained wooden chairs. Above each grill was a vent to the outside. On the walls of the room were paintings of trees and natural landscapes.

The waitress handed out menus as the group sat down at a grill for smaller mammals. "Would you like to order your drinks now?"

Nick got a soda while Jack went for an ice tea. Judy had carrot juice, and Skye got water. The fox waitress left to get their drinks and appetizers.

"You know, it kind of surprises me how quickly life has got back to normal here," Skye said. The fox looked around at the families and groups laughing and enjoying their meals. "You would never have thought that a short time ago, this city was under assault by the Chinese military."

"I know," Judy said. "It's almost like a distant memory to everyone. But I suppose they're just looking ahead towards a brighter future."

"And the future is bright," Jack said. "We're really pressing hard on the PLA now. But regarding what you said, there are plans to make a memorial to commemorate the Chinese attacks on the city. The full-scale assault, the airship strike, and the concert."

"Well, I hope that helps the citizens of Zootopia remember what happened. And that we must be vigilant against those who want to hurt us."

"Hmm… well, we should get some fried rice," Nick said, perusing over the menu.

"Heh, thinking with your stomach, I see." Judy chuckled.

"I agree," Jack responded. "let's get some fried rice."

The waitress returned with drinks, as well as salads and miso soups for everyone. She also took their orders for meals.

"A chef will be with you shortly."

The waitress left, and the group began to enjoy their appetizers.

"Wow, this is really good," Jack said, trying the salad.

"Hopps told me this place is highly rated," Nick said, sipping the soup. "You did a good job getting us this reservation."

"I agree." Skye said, "thank you, Judy."

Judy smiled "aww, guys are too sweet."

A few moments later, a tanuki wearing a traditional chef's uniform came over to the grill with a small cart of ingredients and tools.

"Hello! Welcome!" The chef said, going over the group's order. "Let's get started!"

The tanuki started up the grill and began to cook the various vegetables for the fried rice. Skye took out her phone and captured the exciting moment in a video while the chef performed tricks. He spun his spatula and tools around in his hand and juggled an egg for the rice.

The chef then set up an onion volcano, filled it with edible oils, and lit it on fire. A tower of flame shot out of the small volcano, eliciting gasps from the officers and agents watching the show.

"Dinner and a show," Skye said.

The tanuki chef finished the fried rice, taking a small portion of the rice on his spatula and launching it in the air towards Jack. The rabbit opened his mouth to catch it, but it just bounced off his nose onto the floor.

The chef tried again, & this time Jack caught the portion of rice in his mouth. All the while, the other mammals laughed and watched the spectacle.

The tanuki then launched a portion of rice at Nick, who managed to catch it in his mouth on the first try.

Judy laughed clapped a little as Nick looked smug that he got it first try.

"We should hang out more often," Jack said as the chef began to serve the fried rice.

"I agree. It's just that we've been busy lately." Nick chimed in. "But when the four of us hang out, it's always fun."

000

"Come on, Toothdee, you'll enjoy it!" Laval said. "Arcades are fun. Although in Chima the arcades are usually less tech-savvy… but… same principles apply."

"I don't know…." Toothdee said, looking over some maps and papers in her room. "The end of this war is in sight, and I want to focus on my work so we can make the final decisive push to end this conflict once and for all."

"Hey, we've got them on the backfoot." Eris said, "besides, we're on shore leave right now. It's not the time to work. It's time to rest and recuperate."

"Yeah, you can't just keep fighting constantly. Evening though I do think that would be fun, you'll get worn out." Laval noted.

"Oh, alright, fine." The Heroes commander said, getting up from her desk and grabbing her phone and wallet. "Let's go."

"Great!" Eris said. "Laval spotted a place just down the road, within walking distance."

"Well, lead the way, Laval."

The trio left the typhoon and headed out of the guarded compound where the airship landed. The landing zone was in the city, giving Heroes good access to any part of Zootopia they needed to reach in the event of an emergency.

However it was not right in the center of the city, instead situated near the airport. This was to avoid buildings acting as flying obstructions and to cut down on noise pollution.

"You guys really love exploring Zootopia, don't you? Getting out and seeing the sights." Toothdee said as they walked.

"Totally!" Eris said. "It's a gorgeous city. I can see why Nick and Judy love it here."

"Yeah, I love exploring, so it's great to get a whole new city to explore!"

After a few minutes of walking, the group arrived at a building with big glass windows and a bright blue sign that said "arcade" on the front.

The inside of the building was dark, lit mainly through light from gaming machines. The air was filled with the sounds of said machines. Various boops and chimes were used to attract customer's attention. The floor was covered in a dark blue carpet, and a tired-looking mountain lion sat at a desk near the door.

The trio walked over to the desk, and the mountain lion didn't flinch upon seeing an evolved eagle.

"Hi, can we each get a card with $30 on it, please?" Toothdee said, "that seems reasonable, right?"

"Works for me," Eris said.

Each member of the group took out the required money and placed it on the counter. The cashier nodded and quickly transferred the money to 3 plastic cards that could be used to purchase games from the machines.

"Thank you," Laval said, the group heading towards the machines.

"What are you going to play first?" Toothdee asked.

"Uh… hm, well, I've seen this before," Laval said, walking over to a skeeball machine. "Now Chima does have games like this."

"I'll play against you!" Eris said, standing in front of a second Skee-ball device next to Laval.

"Alright! Your on!"

The couple slid their cards through readers on the machines, and balls were dispensed in return. As the two started rolling the hard plastic skeeballs down the length of the device, Toothdee went to examine some other games.

She spotted an arcade game with a large screen, and fake plastic guns hooked up to it. Across the top of the machine were the words "Terminator" along with a scary-looking robot head. Toothdee went over to the arcade machine and paid for a game before picking up one of the weapons. She could also keep her skills sharp while having fun.

The young warrior selected a level and began. Terminator robots appeared on screen and engaged. But toothdee fired the toy weapon at the screen, and the terminators in-game were struck down by gunfire.

As her character continued to move through the game world, gunning down robots, toothdee heard Laval and Eris behind her.

"Yes!" The eagle said. "I win! Don't worry, I know you let me win on purpose."

"I thought YOU were going to let ME win." Laval chuckled.

The pair came over to watch Toothdee, who continued to gun down terminators, even as her own player character took damage. Eventually, a game over screen appeared, and toothdee put the plastic toy gun back down on the machine.

"You know what's funny is most of the stuff here we can do for real," Laval said. "That motorcycle racing game over there? I can just hop on my speedor. That game you were playing where you shoot robots? You could just get a gun and charge into battle!"

"Heh, well, why don't you do that then?" Toothdee asked.

"Well, fighting can be fun. But it's nice just to do it… what's the word I'm looking for… Fictitiously! Without any worries, where you just have to get points."

"Alright, I can understand that. Now, what do you want to play next?" Toothdee said, turning towards the rows of game cabinets. "You guys were right. It is good to get out and relax once in a while."

000

Haida looked at a map on his phone and struggled to figure out where he was in relation to the roads and structures on the map.

"I'm telling you it's this way," Fabienne said, pointing down a roadway. "Trust me, I know this city."

"But it looks like it's this way on the map!" Haida said, pointing down a different street."

"It's not! Your just looking at it wrong!"

"Retsuko, what do you think?"

The red panda, who had been patiently watching the two argue, looked at Haida's phone. The hyena smirked, expecting his girlfriend to agree with him. Plus, he was pretty confident his examination of the map was correct.

"Hmmm…." Retsuko said, "I think Fabienne is right."

Haida's jaw dropped while Fabienne smirked.

"Alright then, this way."

The snow leopard started walking down the street, Haida and Retsuko in tow.

Haida looked a bit down that he was wrong, but Retsuko gave him a playful jab to cheer him up.

Eventually, the group arrived at a large stone building situated by the coast. The American flag was flying on a pole outside. There was a large wooden sign reading "Zootopia World War 2 Museum."

"Told you," Fabienne said.

The trio went inside, where a bunny attendant was waiting in a booth near the entrance.

"Hi! 3 please, general admission." Retsuko said.

The trio paid for their tickets and entered the museum, which was not very crowded. The rooms were filled with equipment, posters, flags, pictures, all from the Second World War.

Pictures of troopers in combat. Guns those soldiers would have used. Maps of the battle formations they would have been in.

Retsuko and Haida went over to a giant wall of black marble. Upon which were carved the names of soldiers from Zootopia who had distinguished themselves in combat during WW2. Above the wall was a black and white mural of US Soldiers of many different species.

Fabienne was busy looking at an exhibit about war correspondents during the Second World War. There was an old camera on display, articles published by war reporters, and photographs of correspondents. This sort of thing was right up her alley.

"It's amazing how much we've progressed," Fabienne said, looking at old photography equipment. She spotted an old camera that was a lot bigger than her phone and probably could only photograph in black and white.

The snow leopard moved on to a small exhibit that contained mannequins of different mammals in combat gear. There was a small video screen playing a video comparing the biological system of various mammals as soldiers.

"Humans make the best soldiers." Said a disembodied voice on the video, as the picture changed to show a human soldier on a long trek in the desert. "They have unmatched endurance and survival skills. Not to mention their skills in combat have been continuously refined and improved over millennia, in the many wars and battles fought by humans."

"Maybe that's why a human is the leader of Heroes," Fabienne asked herself.

"This does not mean other species are incapable of waging war. Many other types of mammals serve in specialist roles."

A picture of a Russian polar bear in arctic camouflage appeared on the screen as the announcer continued.

"Polar bears and other arctic mammals make good soldiers for sub-zero environments."

The screen changed again, showing a picture of a cheetah soldier.

"While cheetahs and Pronghorns make good couriers, depending on the distance being traveled."

The snow leopard found this fascinating. Every species was unique in some way.

The ZNN reporter moved to rejoin Haida and Retsuko. They were looking at an exhibit about imperial Japan and the war in the pacific.

"Wow, look at that," Retsuko said, examining a model of a US aircraft carrier.

Haida and Fabienne looked at a map of battle formations around an island, complete with pictures of soldiers.

One photo showed Japanese troops digging trenches around the island as defenses. Another picture showed US pilots getting into planes and preparing to launch from the deck of a carrier. A third picture showed US marines charging against stubborn and dug-in Japanese pillboxes on a hill, firing down at a beach.

"My God, it's so reminiscent of the current war," Fabienne noted, looking at another image of American and Japanese warships engaging each other as planes crisscrossed the sky.

"I know…" Retsuko said, "I mean, we're fighting in the pacific, with warships and planes. I guess history repeats itself."

"What I find amazing..." Haida said, "the US and Japan used to be such bitter enemies, and now they are great allies."

"Yep, it only goes to show you how things can change with time," Fabienne responded.

"Here we are, mammals from Japan, doing an important role in a US military organization," Retsuko said. "And there is no place I'd rather be."

The three mammals continued through the museum. Examining the past and how it could tell them about the present and future.

000

JayJay was in her cabin on the typhoon, putting away some clothes she had just washed. The wolf put a dress on a hanger, hanging it in the closet, before turning her attention to some stockings and a few shirts.

As the young hero finished putting her clothes away in a drawer, there was a knock at her door.

The wolf opened the door and smiled, seeing captain Boehm in front of her.

"Hey Jay, what are you doing?"

"Just putting away some clothes." The wolf said, quickly fixing her hair and making herself look presentable. "What brings you around?"

"Well… I was wondering if you would like to hang out?" The captain said, trying to speak confidentiality. "We could go somewhere. There's plenty of attractions around Zootopia. Or just stay here and watch a movie or something."

JayJay's tail started wagging.

"Oh! I'd love to take you out clubbing!" The wolf said.

"Clubbing? Eh… that's not exactly my thing…."

"Please!" JayJay said, giving Alex puppy dog eyes. "I'd love it if you came along!"

"Sigh, alright, fine."

"Yes! Trust me, you'll have fun! Let me just get my things and get ready to go."

"Ok, I'll go get my wallet. Meet you back here."

Both mammals used the bathroom, got their personal effects, and met back up outside JayJay's room before leaving the typhoon.

"I'm really excited," JayJay confessed. "You, my favorite person in the world, going clubbing and dancing with me, which is my favorite thing to do!"

"I mean, I'm not exactly big on that sort of thing… but I'll bite the bullet if it means spending time with you."

The wolf wagged her tail in excitement. The pair then came upon Kion and Jasiri, who walked down the hallway. Each had an arm around the other.

"What are you two up to?" Alex asked.

"We're just going out," Kion said.

"Oh! So are we!" JayJay responded. "I'm taking him to a club."

The wolf gestured at the human.

"Heh, didn't think that would be your kind of thing, Alex." Kion teased. "You are usually a very reserved person who tends to keep to himself."

"Your correct." The captain responded, "But I just like spending time with Jay."

"Well, I like spending time with Jasiri." The lion kissed the hyena on the cheek, making her blush. This prompted JayJay to turn to her companion. Giving a look that almost saying "What? Where's my kiss?"

"If you two are going out, what if we come with you? We could all hang out." Jasiri said.

"I'm fine with that," Boehm responded. "Jay?"

"I'm down! Let's go!"

The four left the typhoon and headed down the street, led by JayJay, who knew where all the excellent dance parties and nightclubs were.

"I am going to bring you out of your shell tonight." JayJay said to Alex, "you can't be so reserved all the time."

"I think you are the right person to do that." The human responded to the wolf. "You're so outgoing and social. I'm an introvert, your an extrovert."

"Opposites attract." Kion laughed.

After a few minutes of walking, the group reached a building with dozens of bright neon lights outside, shining in all colors.

"Hey! It's the party animal!" Said the bear bouncer, opening the door for the team to go inside.

More bright lights of all colors flashed above a dance floor made up of light-up squares, which also changed color frequently. Mammals packed the dance floor, moving and cheering as they enjoyed themselves.

A bar that glowed white from internal lights was stationed against one of the walls. Behind the bar were shelves of liquid backlit by blue light. Tables and chairs were set up around the main dance floor for mammals to chat and rest.

"Say what about loud noises?" Kion asked Alex. "I heard that introverts like things to be quiet."

"Yes, but Kion, I'm a soldier. I've heard the blasts of artillery strikes and the engines of rockets and jet planes. I can take some loud music."

"Do you guys want to get something to drink first?" Jay asked as the group drifted over to a table. "We need to stay hydrated if we're going to be dancing."

"What time is it?" Alex asked, "ah, I'll just have lemonade or something."

"Coke, please," Kion said. "No ice."

"Water is fine for me," Jasiri said.

"Alright! You guys have to pay me back, though. Kion, could you give me a paw? I can't carry all the drinks."

The wolf and lion left, heading to the bar.

"Say do we have any Glocks onboard the ship?" Jasiri asked.

"Yeah?" The captain said.

"I think I'm gonna try those as my pistols. See how they do in battle."

"Well, if you're going to use them, akimbo, we have plenty of attachments you can use. Sights, flashlights and lasers, muzzle breaks, and suppressors…. Heroes is well supplied."

"I can tell. I suppose all the money spent is worth it, though. We get the job done."

"Maybe you should get yourself another weapon if you find the pistols aren't cutting it. Like an SMG. Maybe an MP5 or UMP."

The human and hyena continued to discuss their weapons of warfare until Kion and JayJay returned with four glasses containing the drinks. The two giving Alex and Jasiri their beverages. JayJay had apparently ordered a beer, as her glass contained a foaming brown liquid.

"Jasiri and I were just talking about our combat gear," Alex said, taking a sip of his lemonade.

"Yeah, he thinks I should get an SMG for when the pistols don't cut it."

"I recently changed my armament as well." Kion said, "I quite like the LMG I got my paws on."

"Well, as I told Jasiri…" Alex said, "we have plenty of attachments you can put on."

"Oh sweet! I'll have to check those out."

"Well, while your running into battle with a sword and a big gun, my own equipment is a bit smaller," JayJay said. "Just a simple pistol and a machine pistol for when the going gets tough."

"Yeah, Kion, you are like the tank. With an LMG, a powerful sword, and your own strength to punch right through enemies." Captain Boehm noted. "Jay is more focused on her agility and speed."

"I've been thinking of getting a sword more like what you and Laval use. Chima style!" Kion said. "Also, JayJay, isn't your pistol an older design? 1911?"

"Yep! And not just any 1911. That very pistol was wielded by my ancestor, Jim Burdel, during WW1!"

"Wow, That should be in a museum."

"Hey, I like to think I'm doing right by my ancestor by carrying his weapon into battle. Though I don't know if he would like the paint scheme I've given it, he's not here to complain."

Suddenly the loud dubstep music slowed down, and all the lights on the dance floor turned a light blue as their movement speed slowed down.

"It's time for a slow dance!" The DJ said, "Maybe grab that special someone and bring them out onto the floor!"

Jasiri smirked at Kion and jumped up, gesturing for Kion to follow her, which he did. They headed out onto the dance floor, joining in the crowd of mammals.

Jasiri playfully pushed Kion, trying to figure out how exactly he should dance with his hyena. Fumbling with his paws and where to put them in a way that was not lewd.

The lion's lover just hugged him close, prompting Kion to wrap his arms around her and slowly turn and dance.

"Come on, Alex!" JayJay said, standing up, prompting the captain to do the same and follow her.

The two mammals reached the dance floor, surrounded by other mammals and couples, moving slowly to the music.

Under the blue light, the pair embraced, nuzzling against each other's fur and skin. Alex and JayJay closed their eyes, enjoying the moment with each other, along with the other couples on the dance floor, including Kion and Jasiri. But the human and wolf were just focusing on each other. Both of them were, to the other, the most important mammal in the world.

Moments like these were what they were fighting for. China was an autocratic nation, curtailing freedoms and liberties. But here, people could be free and enjoy themselves without fear of the government or military.

It was these moments of peace that made their battles worth it. Worth fighting for a million times over.

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floralguccistyles · 3 years

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prologue: soupe à l’oignon

Michel’s soupe a l’oignon was burning.

Michel had also been through a terrible breakup the night before in which he had found his boyfriend of almost seven years in bed with their personal trainer. Then Michel’s boyfriend had announced that he and this personal trainer were actually married, per a terrible ceremony in Las Vegas when they were both drunk. Therefore, Michel was technically the other man. Michel had never been the other man before. He was obviously having a rough time.

But the fucking soup was burning.

“Michel! The soup!” Italia shouted before the scent could officially assault all of my senses. The second the words left her mouth, however, I could smell it. The onions were burning to a crisp. There would be no saving them, of this I knew.

“Shit!” Michel yelled, immediately turning off the heat of the stove. He went to go grab the saucepan and the hurried “no!” didn’t leave my mouth fast enough as he gripped the cast iron handle with his bare hand for approximately three seconds before he yelped and dropped it back down on the stove top with a slamming sound. “Shit, shit shit!” he repeated, clutching his wrist with his other hand.

“Let me see,” I demanded, moving away from my own meal (which would be fine and not on the verge of burning for at least another five minutes) and towards Michel. He held out his hand to me with tears in his eyes and I honestly felt bad for the guy.

I just also felt really, really bad for the customer who was waiting for their soup.

“Go run it under cool water. Cool, Michel, not cold. Ice-cold will damage the tissue even more. Then get a rag wet and hold it over. You can just go ahead and take your fifteen.”

“My soup—”

“Italia and I will handle it,” I interrupted. The more time we wasted standing here arguing was time that could have been spent trying to salvage the soup. It didn’t help that we were already down a chef, since Frederick’s wife was giving birth, but we would make do. Italia and I always did.

“Thanks, Dom. I’ll be in the lounge.”

Lounge was a loose term. It was a tiny little room in the back that looked dingy and unkempt. Still, it was enough to pass health inspections. Only about two people could fit back there at a time, which was why I usually just sat in my car for my breaks.

“Sounds good, Michel.” My eyes locked with Italia, who was already working on melting the butter and oil for Michel’s soup in a new saucepan. Isobel, one of our dishwashers, had already grabbed the pan Michel had ruined and was scrubbing it clean with her thick rubber gloves on her hands. At least I knew she wasn’t going to be burned.

When Michel turned to go into the lounge, I grabbed an onion and automatically began chopping it. “Sorry, Italia,” I muttered under my breath, knowing she could hear me just fine. We had gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

“It’s fine. Tell Louis to offer them a dessert on the house because this soup is going to take at least another fifteen.”

I wanted to slam my head against the counter. Or better yet, use the pan Isobel was now putting on the drying rack to hit over my head. “Fuck. Alright.”

Finding Louis was easy enough. He was making his rounds in the front of the restaurant, his pleasant attitude most likely earning him more than average tips. The kind of people who came to Lesauvage were wealthy enough to tip generously. Sometimes they didn’t, but for the most part, Louis wouldn’t be starving anytime soon. “Louis!” I hissed under my breath when he passed by the kitchen doors, cups in hands to refill. He jumped comically.

“Christ, Dom, you scared me,” he replied in a quiet voice, not wanting any of the customers to hear. “What?”

“Tell table eleven there was a complication with their soup and dessert is on the house.”

“What the fuck happened to their soup?”

I raised a brow. “Michel made it.”

Michel’s boyfriend drama had already made it around the restaurant. Twice. Chefs were a nosy bunch. Louis nodded in understanding and filled up a cup with iced tea as he looked towards where I assumed table eleven was. I actually hadn’t ever really paid attention to the front setup of Lesauvage because I had always entered through the back door.

“Fine. But I’m recommending the chocolate mousse because you’re here and you make it the best.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” I replied with a wink.

He grinned. “Got me into your bed, didn’t it?”

Louis and I had a fling when I had started working at Lesauvage. I was fresh out of culinary school, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and he was the experienced waiter who comforted me in the lounge my first day when my boss had completely ripped me a new one. He was the unattainable, three-years-older coworker who I was moon-eyed over for at least five months before we actually slept together. And once we had, it was like some switch had been flipped inside my body and he was suddenly nothing but a friend.

Thank the fucking lord he felt the same way.

“You’re damn right it did. Now go make me proud, Tomlinson.”

When I hastily returned to the kitchen, Italia was already ten times ahead where Michel had been with the soup. I sent her a thankful look and grabbed the beef stock, passing it her way as I grabbed a knife and began chopping the green onions for my own dish.

As much as I complained about the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, I secretly thrived in it. It was what I had missed when I had been in culinary school. So many of my classmates cooked their meals silently. When I cooked at home, I blasted music and sang loudly and off-key to myself. At work, I had the conversation of other people. I liked learning about Italia’s kids and Isobel’s ex-boyfriend who kept trying to call her. I even liked Michel, even though right now he wasn’t my favorite person in the world.

School had been lonely. At least here I felt like I belonged.

“They’re good for the chocolate mousse!” Louis shouted over the sound of Isobel doing the dishes and Italia chopping more vegetables.

“You’re a saint, Tomlinson!” I replied, dropping the spices needed onto Italia’s cutting board. She slid them into the soup with her knife and the skill of a seasoned Lesauvage veteran.

The chocolate mousse was luckily already in the fridge cooling from my prep this morning, so I didn’t have to worry about making it at that exact moment. I did finish the salad I was working on and passed it off to Sydney, who was another runner. She grabbed the plate and sped off to table seven.

The time went by quickly when I was in the kitchen. My thoughts could roam because the movements of cooking were muscle memory at this point. When I had first been hired, I had been terrified to mess anything up. The first time I had pulled a Michel, I had cried. My boss had yelled at me pretty badly, but had brought me into his office afterwards to apologize and assure me that I was doing a great job. Now, it felt like second nature to pour the green onions into the butter garlic sauce that was sautéing. And when Italia handed me the soup that she had completed, I sent her a grateful look and wasted no time in handing it off to Louis. We worked as a team here.

I thrived on that.

“Get those chocolate mousses out and ready,” I told Michel when he came back from his break. His hand didn’t look too worse for wear, but he looked decently embarrassed. I knew, at least for tonight, there would be no more mistakes.

“I’m really sorry, Dom,” he said softly, preparing for my anger.

“It’s fine, Michel. Just work on desserts for now, okay? But this is the comp dessert for table eleven, so try to pay attention, yeah?”

He hung his head, but nodded and went to go prep the mousse. It wasn’t that Michel wasn’t talented. He wouldn’t have been hired if he hadn’t been a great chef. But the boyfriend thing was really getting to him. I hoped he had at least the next two days off to recoup.

“Dom,” I heard Louis say about thirty minutes later as he walked through the kitchen door. He had the empty plates from table eleven in his hand and handed them off to Isobel. “They’re ready for the dessert.” He eyed me questionably when Michel handed them off to me, as if it was wrong that I had let Michel touch them after his little mishap but I had faith in the chefs. “These better be good,” Louis said in a warning tone.

“I made them, Tomlinson, of course they’re good,” I snapped, clicking my tongue in annoyance. It was a bad habit I had done when I was a kid and never seemed to shake it.

He shrugged, taking the completed desserts and walking back out to the restaurant. “They looked great, Michel!” I encouraged, turning to continue chopping the beef I had been working on before Louis had come in.

When I cooked, time passed by without my notice. What felt like two minutes later but was really thirty, Louis walked back into the kitchen with a solemn look on his face. “They want to see the chef.”

“Who?”

“Table eleven.”

Shit. “You said they were fine with the soup, yeah?” Louis nodded, which meant the problem was with the chocolate mousse. And since Michel had done nothing but added the whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top, if they had a real problem with the mousse, it was on me. “Fuck. Alright. Italia, can you finish this dish for me really quick?”

Italia nodded, looking up from the celery she was chopping to examine the chicken I was seasoning to see how much she would need to do to complete it. Nervously wiping my hands on my apron after I washed them quickly, I tried to make myself look a little more presentable. It was rare that chefs were invited to the front of the restaurant, so we were usually unkempt and had food on our clothes. It didn’t matter to me what I looked like as long as the food was good, but I knew it was a shock to the high-end patrons of the restaurant.

Louis led me over to table eleven, where three people were sitting. There were two men and one gorgeous woman that looked like she could model for a living. She was happily chatting and holding hands with one of the men, excitedly waving around her free hand. He looked engrossed in her story, nodding and smiling and staring at her like she was the best thing in the world. Their companion was simply taking sips of his wine (a wonderful red that went really well with the chocolate mousse and I thanked Louis for obviously recommending it to them) and pursing his lips in response to whatever the woman was saying.

She stopped talking when she noticed Louis and sent a blinding smile at us. “This is the chef, I presume?”

“Dominique Blanchard,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake. I was thankful I had run my hands under some soap and water. We weren’t allowed to have our nails painted in case some of the varnish fell off into the food, but her fingers were perfectly manicured and painted a vibrant blue. “I’m sorry again about the soup. We had an incident in the kitchen.”

She waved it off. “The soup was fine. That chocolate mousse, however? It was to die for!”

I felt my shoulders deflate. I had been so worried that they were upset with their experience or food that I hadn’t even thought they had wanted to chat because they enjoyed their meal. “Thank you. It’s a Lesauvage specialty.”

“Dominique makes it the best,” Louis supplied helpfully from behind me. I grinned nervously.

“We all loved it,” the man holding her hand spoke, and I was surprised to hear an Irish accent. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And I was glad it took the attention off the fact that their soup was late. The other man stayed quiet, simply ignoring the conversation as he sipped at his wine again.

“I have the weirdest proposition for you. Please feel free to say no if you don’t want to, but I would kick myself if I didn’t ask.”

My eyes strayed back to the woman, who was talking to me politely.

“I’m two months pregnant,” she said happily, her hand going to her stomach like most pregnant women did when their pregnancy was announced, “and I’m so incredibly exhausted nowadays. I can barely muster up enough energy to come out to dinner, let alone make myself toast in the morning. And your chocolate mousse was the only thing I’ve been able to keep down for more than thirty minutes. I was wondering if you’d ever consider being a personal chef?”

Chefs at Lesauvage being asked to become personal chefs for celebrities or rich individuals wasn’t as uncommon as one would think. The chef I had replaced had left to become a personal chef for some actress who split her time between London and Los Angeles. As far as I knew, he simply travelled with her. But it was the first time the suggestion had ever been brought up to me, the first time that someone had liked my food that much.

Which was why my mouth comically fell open.

“I could pay you plenty!” she said, which led me to believe she was well-off. Well, that and the fact that she was eating at Lesauvage, which wasn’t exactly known for their cheap meal choices. “I just...I’m so tired all the time. The doctor said it was normal, but I don’t even want to get up out of bed sometimes. And I’m only two months along! I can’t imagine trying to cook myself meals when I’m eight months. You’d cook some things for Niall and Harry too, of course.” She gestured to the two males sitting with her.

“This is...I’m sorry, this is just incredibly unexpected,” I managed to stutter out.

“Of course, I’m so sorry I’m just flinging this on you. How about I give you my number and I’ll get back to you in about a week or so? Will that give you enough time to think it over?”

“Yes, of course.” Taking her number wouldn’t hurt, I told myself. She had a little card in her wallet with her information on it, and I saw that she actually was a model.

“I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you so much, Dominique. I’ll probably be dreaming about that chocolate mousse for the next six months.”

I was able to laugh at her joke even though it still felt like someone had shaken me into a concussion. I exchanged goodbyes with the three of them as they left the restaurant, leaving a more than generous tip for Louis.

“Well that was nice of them,” Louis said, clapping me on my shoulder. “Think about it, yeah? It’s not the worst idea in the world.”

It wasn’t. But I couldn’t think about the proposition until my shift was done tonight.

Welcome to the world of Mise en Place! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter and are as excited to read this fic as I am to share it!

#1dff #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #mep

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their-name-is-morgan · 3 years

Note

*hugs* Hello Hello~! Buongiorno~! It makes me so happy to finally see you again! I hope you're doing good. If it's VA characters requests you want, then may I ask for some Doppio relationship hcs?

Buonasera! Your words made me really happy <3 you told me I could turn this into a scenario, so I described what some of the moments you spend with Doppio would be like; I hope that’s ok! I also had a lot of fun writing this, so enjoy <3

Slice of Life (Doppio x Reader)

You and Doppio share an apartment in Sicily, a beautiful Italian island surrounded by crystal clear water.

When you met each other one day, during a relaxing morning stroll on the seafront, you never would’ve imagined that the man who stopped you from stepping on a grasshopper was destined to become your best friend, boyfriend and then fiancé.

And yet here you are, with your favourite apron on and your hair tied back, trying to bake a cake with the help of your soon-to-be husband, Doppio Vinegar, who is an absolute mess in the kitchen:

“Okay, do we have the four eggs we need?” you ask.

“Yes!” he points at the eggs on the counter.

“And what about the vegetable oil?”

“Um...” he looks through all the ingredients and lifts up a bottle filled with yellow liquid: “It’s here!”

“That looks terrible...” you can’t help but comment, examining it from up close.

“It kind of looks like someone peed in it.” Doppio adds, shaking the bottle.

“That’s gross, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that!”

You both share a laugh and then go back to going through the ingredients, just to make sure that you have everything in advance. You wouldn’t want to have to take a trip to the grocery store in the middle of your little baking session.

Once you can confirm that you have everything you need, you finally start with taking out all the pots and pans from the oven to heat it, since it shouldn’t take long to prepare the rest. While you’re dealing with that you address Doppio;

“Can you spray the butter in the pan?” you ask him handing it to him.

He takes it and looks for the butter sprayer:

“Sure! I can handle it.”

“I would hope so.” You say with a grin. His freckled cheeks tint a pretty pink and he stutters.

“Hey! Speak for yourself. I managed to live on my own for years, I’m not that bad at this.”

“Suuure.”

Once you’re both done with your tasks you stand next to him at the counter and place a large bowl in front of you. This is the part your fiancé always messes up when he tries to bake on his own: he puts too much sugar or water in the mixture, doesn’t whisk enough, reads the recipe wrong and throws in less or more eggs than needed, but this time you’re going to make a tasty cake no matter what.

“Okay Doppio, are you ready?”

“I am; are you though?”

He returns the question. You know the reason behind that mischievous grin; when you bake he can’t help but start at least one food war.

“...I may be. But! Pass me the cake mix.”

He does as you say without question; he then goes on to hand you the eggs, the fudge brownie mix, a cup of measured water and one of vegetable oil.

You throw everything in the bowl –you break two eggs each and he needs help with it or else he’ll make a mess- and it’s your turn to hand him something: a whisk.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

“Whisk for a couple of minutes until all the lumps are gone?”

“Yes! And don’t mess it up, Tiziano and Squalo are coming over tonight and I don’t want them to feel sick from eating this cake.” You warn him. He raises and eyebrow;

“Can they feel sick because of a few lumps though?”

You wave him off and turn around to start preparing the whipping cream for later.

“No, but let me be a bit dramatic!”

Once the batter has been deposited in the pan and put in the oven and the whipped cream is ready to be poured on the brownie cake, you can finally rest until it’s time to let everything cool down until the evening comes.

You start cleaning the kitchen up but you notice with the corner of your eye that Doppio is rummaging through the cupboards. You’re about to ask him what in the world he’s doing when he sticks his hand in a sack and throws whatever is in it in your direction.

It takes you a second to realize that the thing he just attacked you with is flour, and when you do you’re fuming.

“What the-! Was it necessary?!” you try to get it off of your hair as he covers his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Sorry! We didn’t use it, so it felt wrong.”

“It felt wrong to not make a mess?”

He looks at your expression and immediately starts feeling a bit guilty, so he steps towards you to help you clean up, but you quickly grab the flour sack and pour all of it on the top of his head, making him cough like crazy.

“Whyyy?! I didn’t pour this much on you!” he whines, but you don’t listen to him and rub his cheeks to spread it even better on his whole face.

“Well, you started it so you deserve it!”

“Okay, okay, that’s fair! Now get off of me!”

You both laugh and you let go of him, taking a few step back to admire your masterpiece: his hair is all over the place and all white, just like his face. Some flour got on his clothes as well, luckily you’re both wearing comfy things that you were planning change out of later.

“Now I have to take a shower before they get here!” he complains, pouting like a child.

“Ew, are you telling me you wouldn’t have taken one if it wasn’t for the flour?” you mock him and he throws some of the flour that got caught in his hair at you, making you giggle and try to run away from him.

“That’s not what I meant!”

During these two years of living with Doppio, you’ve learned that yes, he may be clumsy and messy and a little bit too clingy sometimes, but surprisingly enough he can also be a real gentleman when he wants to.

It’s yet another day and even if the weather forecast said it was going to be sunny, it’s already pouring before you can even step inside of your apartment building. Walking home from work wasn’t the best idea after all...

Luckily you always keep a small umbrella in your bag, so you open it and quicken your pace to get home as soon as possible. All you want right now is to take a relaxing bath and then have dinner on the couch, possibly while catching up on that TV series everyone recommended to you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that the loud ringing of your phone startles you; you pick it up immediately when you realize it’s Doppio calling you.

“Doppio? Why are you calling me? I’m almost home-“

“Where are you?”

“...In front of the convenience store we always go to, why?”

“Wait for me there, I’m already driving so I’m coming to pick you up!”

You slightly frown at his words:

“You’re on the phone while you’re driving and it’s raining? Doppio what the-!!“

He closes the call with a small ‘love you’ before you can even finish. You’re a bit annoyed at your fiancé because he’s always so careless no matter what, some may even say he’s stupid, but you can’t deny you appreciate the effort, so you sit under the roof outside of the store and wait for him.

He arrives not even five minutes later, and gets as close as possible to where you’re sitting so you don’t have to risk getting wet while trying to reach the car.

“Did you seriously call me while you were driving?” you ask him fastening your seatbelt, one eyebrow raised in disapproval. He lets out a nervous chuckle.

“You see... I decided to come pick you up, but I realized I had no idea where you were when I was already driving.”

“That’s not an excuse, you could’ve parked somewhere! You’re such an idiot sometimes...”

“Would I still be an idiot if I ordered some food and prepared a bath for you at home?”

You immediately stop complaining and stare at him in disbelief instead: he did all of that for you? And without even knowing you had a stressful day at work... he just wanted to treat you well. You do your best to avoid making him go off-road as you grab his face to kiss him all over his cheek.

As soon as you get home you happily find out that the water in the bathtub is still warm, so the first thing you do is taking a relaxing bath –Doppio even placed some scented candles here and there to make the atmosphere nicer-.

Meanwhile your fiancé prepares everything for your TV series marathon: he gathers all the blankets he can find, places the takeout food on the coffee table in front of the couch, turns on Netflix and makes sure all the blinds and windows are closed, so you don’t have to get up and deal with that if the weather gets worse.

You get out of the bathroom fully dressed in your comfiest pyjama, and smile when you notice he changed into his too: apparently he took a shower before your shift ended and he came to pick you up.

“Doppio.”

He’s sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. His hair is down and slightly messy.

“Yes, amore?”

“Sorry for calling you an idiot earlier, you’re the best person on this planet.”

You sit beside him and grab your own blanket and a slice of pizza; as a response he leans over to kiss your forehead, making your cheeks tint pink.

He grabs the remote and selects the TV series you were planning to watch but, as soon as the opening starts playing, he gets up with a start, making you jump as well.

“Wait!! I forgot to go to the bathroom before starting. Wouldn’t want to pause an episode because of that!”

Diavolo is Doppio’s boss and one of his dearest friends; or is he one of his relatives? You’re not that sure, the last time he brought that up was years ago and it was when you weren’t listening, so you didn’t understand, but you were too awkward to ask him to say it again at the time, so you continue living in ignorance to this day when it comes to that.

But what matters is that he often asks you how you even managed to get engaged with that scatterbrained man. You’d never tell him this, but you are sure why he never managed to even get a girlfriend- at least Doppio is a bit romantic!

“What’s with that face?” Diavolo asks you, tapping his manicured fingers on the surface of the small table you’re sitting at. You’re in a gelateria at the moment, waiting for your “waiter” to bring you your ice creams.

“It’s just! You ask that all the time! And I always tell you that I just do. You should try living with him for a day or two to understand.”

“And be his boyfriend as well I assume.”

“Yeah, that too. I guess he kind of just...”

The deep conversation between you and the well dressed man is interrupted by a loud scream that makes everyone’s heads turn towards the cash register.

There he stands, your “waiter” and soon-to-be husband, with his face all red because he probably didn’t mean to catch that much attention. But he still stares at you from across the room:

“(Y/N)...! Which flavours did you want again?!”

You’re embarrassed to say the least, and yet you can’t help but smile. You answer him before turning your head towards Diavolo again.

“...he kind of just makes every day of my life more exciting.”

#jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #doppio x reader #doppio vinegar x reader #jjba x reader #x reader #doppio vinegar #vento aureo

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

Hope you don't mind me sending one of these: Catlina - “you remembered?”

Hello there! I do not mind in the slightest! I'm sorry this took a while, but I have it finished for you! I do hope you enjoy though!

She still has about ten minutes before the meal is fully prepared and she’ll wait for another three hours in hopes that Liz will come. She has to come home at some point, Cat thinks leaning against the countertop folding her arms, It’s been almost two weeks. She lets out a slow breath, relaxing her body briefly, the shrill of the doorbell tensing her once more. Her eyes slide slowly towards the front door catching sight of the sleek black car parked in front of her house, Should I really be surprised at this point? She pushes herself off slowly making her way to the front door, pulling the cardigan closer, a soft knock out of time to her walk.

Cat pulls the door open, the first thing she sees are John’s blue eyes darkened by the night. He smiles as she leans against the door, meeting him with a small smile, “Little late for missionary work don’t you think?”

John gives a small shake of his head, “Hilarious,” one of his hands holds a reusable shopping bag as the other gestures inside, “May I come in?”

She stiffened, heart picking up speed, “She might come back John,” Cat glanced back at the stove avoiding his gaze, at least nothing looked to be burning, “She won’t want to see you.”

His smile falters for a split second, “Well I’ll leave if she does show up,” Cat bites her lip, casting her eyes downward, “I just came to see you.”

She perks her head up, giving a small tilt, “You came to see me?” He nods, “Why?”

He shrugs, “Does there have to be a reason,” he asks, face not matching the apathy in his tone, “I figured you could use some company.”

She lets out a sigh, turning away back to the kitchen, “You better keep your promise of leaving if she shows up, John.” Cat leaves the door open, John following behind quickly watching as she moves about the small kitchen. He gives a smirk as he notes her familiar dinner pattern of having a meat, something heavy in carbs, and a vegetable to form a complete meal, he can only assume there’s some kind of dessert lying in wait in the refrigerator.

He takes a seat at the round table, glancing around the room setting the bag on the floor next to him, “I’m surprised you didn’t find a house with a bigger kitchen my Catlina.”

“I didn’t need one,” she replies matter of factly, “Liz and I weren’t getting a lot of visitors so what was the point?”

“Because you could,” she still doesn’t face him head on, which is fine with him as he gets an opportunity to look at his ex-wife for more than just a few rushed minutes, taking in the new details about her. The way the grey in her hair shined through under the lights, how she moves about with more confidence than when he first saw her getting up from that bed seventeen years ago, and the sliver of art peeking out from beneath her shirt on her back making it easy to miss the scarred ends of sin if you didn’t already know of their location. “I made sure you’d have more than enough to get a nice place,” he muses, moving to stand.

Cat brings down the plates, three of them, with a huff, “I thought I made it clear I didn’t like using your money.” Her movements are sharp and short as she puts food on it, gripping the utensils with white knuckles.

“You did,” he sits himself back down as she walks over to him with a plate, “I just wanted to take care of you is all. You and Liz.” Cat gives a small eye roll, working to set the plate down gently rather than drop it like she wishes she could, it's part of her favorite set though.

Her jaw tightens moving to make her own plate, “I don’t need someone to take care of us. I managed just fine.” It’s a lie, his money came in handy when she kept moving hoping for a fresh start for Liz and then again when Cat had a breakdown the week Joseph became a fugitive. She never wants to tell him this though, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or the power over her.

“You were the one that asked me for money though,” she splays her hands on the counter, nails digging into the faux granite, “So it seems like you did need me.”

“Only because I was at the last of my options,” she says through gritted teeth, “I set aside my pride for Liz because she needed a place that was safe and as free as one could be with her,” Cat paused, turning to look John up and down trying to hold back the sneer, “genetics. Ones that no one lets her forget once they know.”

His eyes narrow, a hand running through his hair, teeth grinding, “I am aware of her life and how it’s been Catlina, there’s no need to remind me.”

“Never hurts to do so with you.”

John inhales deeply, closing his eyes, “There’s no need to bring this argument up once again, don’t you agree?”

She glares at him a moment more before nodding, finally allowing herself to sit down across from him. Her shoulders fall with an exhale as she settles herself, eyes casting downward, replying softly, “I don’t really feel like arguing with you tonight anyway.”

John lets the quiet loom, waiting for her to take the first bite before making any movement of his own. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly the accusations started with her, her anger did always have its way of festering beneath the surface and John had always been the one that could draw it out. Little by little until it all flooded out and she was no longer the same person he had grown to love and care for. John smirks to himself at the memories of their first few weeks together, “Do you remember those first few weeks and we did nothing but fight all the time?” She glances up at him, “Sorry. When we did nothing but argue.”

“We didn’t fight all the time,” Cat mumbles, pushing the food around on her plate. “I didn’t really like talking to you, I remember that.”

John laughs, “You and I still talked quite a bit,” his teasing tone getting an eye roll from Cat, “and it always seemed to end with you stating an opinion that I didn’t agree with.”

“You know I wasn’t the only one giving opinions,” a smile teases at the corner of her lips, pointing the fork at him, “You baited me into those arguments. Tested my patience.”

“Not like it was hard to do, especially then.” John smiles resting his chin on his hand, “We were so different you and I, like oil and vinegar,” Cat snorts, giving a small shae of her head, “Pretty sure my brothers still wonder how we managed to actually end up falling for each other.”

Cat stiffens at the notion, swallowing the bite in her mouth, “There are people that believe they know how we managed that.” The memories of when she would call out to him in the months following her return to society and the calm responses of the doctors telling her that it was all made up, some side effect of whatever they drugged her with echo on the edge of her hearing. She swallows the memories back, “We did seem to meet up in some kind of middle, I’ll admit, even if it was brief.” Cat can’t even fake a smile as she casts her gaze down, no longer focusing on the plate in front of her. John slides the chair closer to her, reaching out to place his hand gently on hers.

He gives a small smile when she looks up at him, “There’s still time. We can always pick up where we left off,” Cat’s stomach flips, her chest pulling towards him while everything else backs away. He can’t be serious. He knows why we can’t, “After all, we do have a child together, so I doubt we’ll ever fully be out of each other’s life.”

“John,” she warns, looking up, “we’ve talked about this.”

“I’ll be good, don’t worry,” he says softly, “Just hard not to think about, on today of all days.”

Cat frowns, “What do you mean ‘today of all days’?”

He gives a genuine smile, something she forgot he could do, “It’s the day this all started.”

“You remembered,” she gives John a pointed look, arching a brow, “the exact day I finally woke up after the accident?”

“I could tell you the exact date if you’d like but it seems a little irrelevant considering that day passed.”

She opened her mouth ready to argue, closing it as she glanced at the digital clock on the wall the date spelled out for her. “Our wedding,” she whispered, eyes moving slowly to look back at John slowly, unease threatening to climb her spine, “That was today wasn’t it?”

He nods, giving a small hum, “Married seventeen years today.”

“I think illegally in the eyes of the law, technically, but that’s more your department,” Cat looks down to the bag still at his feet, “Is that why you brought that stuff?”

John gives a nonchalant shrug, “Kind of seems silly now, don’t you think? Especially since I was the only one of us to remember,” he laughs softly trying to keep the mood light.

“I used to remember it,” she admits pushing some of the food on her plate, “Used to fixate on that date to a point I’d get upset when it wasn’t.” Cat lets out a slow breath, “Used to convince myself that you would finally come back, would whisk me away from that place and we’d live out our lives happily, because surely my husband, who loved me so deeply and obsessively, wouldn’t just abandon me on our anniversary.”

“Ah,” he hunches, leaning his elbows on the table, “I see.”

“Eventually days started to blur and I worked to actively not think about Montana. Honestly it became too painful to do so and I had Liz to focus on.” She shook her head, “So I’m sorry, I-well I needed to forget that date. Forget the significance of today.”

“I understand,” John attempts a smile that falls quickly, “The first one didn’t go so well for me either. I lost your ring….,” he sighs, “O well the dep-Chance stole it from me. Probably should have taken that as a sign looking back at it all.”

They let the silence fall, each taking small bites finding nothing either could do to lift the disappointment. Cat paused peering closer to the contents John had brought with him, the only thing she could identify with certainty being a bottle of wine. It’s just one night. It doesn’t have to mean anything long term, She bit the inside of her lip, It doesn’t even have to go beyond talking. She swallowed, inhaling deeply, standing to make her way to the cabinets, John watching curiously.

She pulled down two goblets, one a smokey black and the other a deep red, giving them a quick rinse and drying them off before walking back to the table. “Now don’t read too much into this,” she started going back for the wine opener, “but given we were both sort of on good terms with the other at the time of our first anniversary I say that we let ourselves celebrate it late.”

John smirked, arching a brow, “Do you really think that’s a good idea, my Catlina ,” he asked, pulling out the bottle from the bag, taking the opener from her.

“I think it’s the nice and right thing to do,” she smiled giving a shrug, “Besides it might help us get some closure on us.”

He pulled the cork out with ease, eyes widening, watching as she poured their glasses. There was little hesitation to her words, something that he once again should have seen coming, still it did little to ease the sting, “Yeah, it could,” he agreed reluctantly, “We both can use the closure.”

She threw him a smile, going to the fridge once more putting away the remaining dinner, John took a glance at the small purple wrapped box he pulled from his pocket as she announced her idea of celebrating. He took a deep breath sliding it back into place, opting to pull out the small container of chocolate covered fruit before Cat had turned back to him fully, his smile on to its full charm once more. He could let himself enjoy these few hours, let himself believe that there was a chance for them once more. John held up his glass once she sat down, “To celebrating our first and only year of marriage,” Cat laughed, tapping her glass against his before they took their first drink of the night. One night. She could let herself indulge in the fantasy she once, still, craved for just this one night. It didn’t have to mean anything more.

#x: tribulation #salvations two paths #catlina rojas oc #I'll put a banner later cause I can't find what I like at the current moment but I hope you enjoy it still!#getting some post salvations catjohn was interesting to say the least in getting that relationship right

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joezworld · 3 years

Text

Fools in Love (3/10)

Worst Thieves Ever

The next week passed in a blur of emotions and happiness for both engines.

Henry was astonished that he'd managed to miss all of the now-obvious signs that he was romantically attracted to Bear, and was now fully in the throes of "happy sickness", and genuinely felt better when Bear was nearby.

Bear, meanwhile, was on top of the world. Acknowledging that he was now actually in love meant that all of the pent-up emotions from the past decade were coming out all at once. He was downright chipper when he was alone, and when Henry was nearby, he was so absurdly upbeat that the other engines were wondering if The Fat Controller had bought another Hymek and swapped the numbers again!

“So,” Bear asked Henry as they sat in the yard between trains. “What do we do, now that we’re together?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said thoughtfully. “I know that humans go on things called ‘dates’, where they go to dinner and then the cinema, but I don’t think we can do that...”

“We certainly wouldn’t fit into the building.”

“And I don’t think we could eat dinner without bothering our crews.”

“Unless you want to pull a Thomas and crash through the restaurant wall.”

“Hah! We could always save that for the holidays.”

“Henry’s getting awful chummy with the Hymek, isn’t he?” James muttered suspiciously from the coaling stage.

“Goodness gracious me,” Duck said. “It’s almost like he’s known Bear for an extended period of time. What is it that happens when you spend a long time near somebody? I think you become friends with them.”

“You know what I mean. It’s like they’re different locomotives.”

“Perhaps their personalities contain more than one side. I hear that some engines can achieve that.”

“And what are you implying by that??”

“Your paint is dirty.”

“AAACK! Someone get a rag and some polish!”

46 040 smiled to herself as she watched the steam engines bicker. This was a funny little island, with so much more character than the Midlands.

Engines were nicer here, and they welcomed her as a friend on the first day she arrived - even if it had taken some time for their in-joke to be explained to her - she couldn’t believe that she’d rescued Spamcan’s rescuers. There was no in-fighting, no yard politics, just close-knit friends, even across class lines.

They also didn’t seem to give any mind to ‘how the railway should work’, as some of her classmates might say. As she backed down onto her train, she was acutely aware that the only engine newer than her was the laughing diesel-hydraulic in the yard. Everywhere else she looked, there was nothing but steam, steam, and more well-kept steam.

Modernization seems to have missed this island altogether. She thought as passengers bustled into the coaches. Even the rolling stock was antique - a bunch of ‘Big 4′ era corridor coaches, all nicely painted into a unified livery. On the mainland, the Mark 1s had displaced these old carriages from even maintenance trains, but Sodor was using them on top link services.

“Eurgh. Can you believe this, 40?” Oiled an unpleasant voice from alongside her.

She glared at the Class 56, annoyed by both his existence and his sudden appearance. From what she understood, the North Western Region often borrowed engines from other regions temporarily, which explained why she was still on the island and why the destable 56 was sullying this otherwise pleasant station. “What can I believe, 031?”

“This!” The diesel sniffed dismissively as 040 rolled her eyes. He had evidently decided that anything new to him was bad - a problem considering that he was barely two months old. “All of this outdated junk! I feel like I’ve been driven into a black-and-white film! Steam engines here, teak coaches there! I don’t think these vans are even fitted with brakes!” He looked back at his train - a line of surly looking vans glared back, clearly insulted. The brakevan on the rear seemed to be resigned to a difficult run before the train left the station. “I am immeasurably pleased that this is my last train on this island.”

“I think it’s charming.” 040 said quietly.

“You would.” 031′s tone was cold.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’d fit in here - you’re non-standard, just like they are.”

040 wanted to say something that would turn the air as blue as her paintwork, but before she could do so, a whistle blew, and 031′s driver began to drive the rude engine out of the station. “I don’t believe we shall meet again - your class’ time is coming sooner than you think.” 031 said with startling levels of nonchalance as he rumbled out of the station, his vans angrily trailing behind him.

“And good riddance to you too, you slag sucking shitstain.” 040 muttered to herself as the train rattled out of sight.

Shortly, her own guard blew his whistle, and she set off with the midday express.

Crovan's Gate Works - That night

"I didn’t think we'd be back here so soon." Henry whispered to Bear as they rolled into the Works yard.

"I didn’t either." Bear said, trying to disturb the rest of their train.

It was well past midnight, and both breakdown cranes, the support coach, and the battered Class 46 had nodded off on the slow ride from the accident site.

"Is she all right?" Henry asked quietly. He was leading the train, and couldn’t see.

"As well as she can be." Considering that the lightweight parcel vans had been reduced to so much kindling by the accident, it was amazing that the 46 was as uninjured as she was - just a few torn and warped panels, some gravel abrasions, and a broken nose.

If Bear was being honest, he thought that she'd gotten off better than the 56, who was physically intact, but had been subjected to one of the longest and angriest dressing-downs that The Fat Controller had ever given.

The poor engine had looked utterly shell-shocked as he took what remained of his train on to Barrow.

The two were silent as they pushed the sleeping 46 into the works proper, and then backed the breakdown train into its siding. Their crews were dead on their feet after eight hours plus overtime, and shuffled off to the works' bunkhouse for some well needed rest.

Henry and Bear watched them leave, not even remotely tired. Since their mutual revelation last week, neither engine had been able to sleep for very long, their minds spinning with thoughts of each other.

Even after a week, they had run out of all possible conversation, but could still spend hours without a word between them.

"D'ya think that this counts as a date?" Bear said after many minutes of comfortable silence.

"I think an argument could be made." Henry said thoughtfully. "We did something together, but from what I understand, usually there's supposed to be 'romance', and 'courting', not smashed vans and breakdown cranes. Also, I assume that, on a date, we should be enjoying ourselves and not wondering if someone is hurt."

Bear considered that for a long moment. It had been a pretty terrible date, considering they were clearing up a train crash. "Do you want me to court you?"

"I think that's supposed to happen before you fall in love, and I already have."

"Oh. Then what do we do if we're already..."

"Madly in love with each other?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"Well," Bear said finally. "Then we'll have to figure that out together."

------

Three Days Later

Henry didn’t see the 46 after he and Bear left in the morning - the massive service disruption caused by the accident meant that he spent most of the weekend shuttling ballast wagons back and forth between Cronk and Arlesburgh, as well as soothing Gordon’s temper over having to ‘dilly-dally in work zones all day’.

Fortunately, there wasn’t a great deal of damage on the main line, and after three days of frantic work, the maintenance of way crews had put everything back to normal. Henry was the first train through the rebuilt section with a massively-delayed Flying Kipper, and was surprised at how much damage the men had managed to reverse - the only remaining signs of the accident was the torn up lineside vegetation.

Arriving at Barrow, he found the yard in disarray - three days worth of goods trains were clogging the small yard, and the diesel shunter was so overworked that he forgot to be rude to Henry as he took away the fish vans.

The yard was so crowded that Henry couldn’t even get into the sheds to rest before his next train, and was forced to sit in the middle of the yard while his crew went for their tea break.

He wanted to get some rest as well, but the shunter was moving around the yard at such a rate that it was impossible to get more than a few minutes of rest before the Class 03 scuttled by with more vans.

After one large rake of hoppers were shoved out of the way, another engine became visible a few roads over - it was the 46.

Henry was surprised to see her - there hadn’t been enough time to fix any of her panels in the last three days, and indeed, she was just as battered and bruised as she was when he and Bear left her in the works. The only indication that anyone had done anything at all to her was the existence of a splint that had been taped over her broken nose to re-set it.

More worryingly, she looked almost haunted. Her eyes were wide, with a thousand yard stare, and she was mumbling something to herself over and over again.

“they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me”

Henry wanted to ask her what was wrong, but before he could, a shout arose from deeper into the yard. The shunter had split a switch with some wagons and was now trapped in a dead-end siding. Men began rushing out with tools to re-rail the cars, but it was obvious that it would take some time. The yard master, seeing this incident, didn’t go over to the shunter, but instead made a beeline for Henry, his crew trailing behind.

“If he’s done for, then we need someone to organize this mess!” The man called, clearly not giving Henry a choice in the matter. “And you’re it!”

---

After 35 minutes of careful shunting, Henry was on his final shunting move before he could enter the sheds and rest, while the men seemed to be turning the corner on freeing the 03.

“Right, then there’s this Peak!” Called the yardmaster, who was riding on Henry’s footplate with a sheet of train orders in his hand. “It’s the 0Z59 for tonight, just put it somewhere out of the way.”

He scanned the yard. “Track 33 looks clear. let’s leave it there and be done.”

“Zero-Zed?” Henry asked. “You’re not going to move her, are you?” A zero headcode was intended for light engine moves, while a Z prefix meant that the train was to be handled specially by the dispatcher. The 46 was battered enough to require special treatment, but her unrepaired condition meant that she should not be moving under her own power.

“Nah, they’re gonna send an engine for ‘er later,” The yardmaster replied. “She’s going right to Derby.”

Henry sighed as he buffered up to the still-catatonic diesel. Sometimes life was easier if you didn’t ask questions.

“they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me” The diesel said, her voice thick with horror. Her eyes looked at Henry’s face but saw nothing. It was obvious that she was off in her own little nightmarish world.

Then again, Henry had never had an “easy” life.

“What are they going to do to her at Derby?” He asked slowly, afraid of the answer he’d be given.

After flipping through his papers, the yard master gave a one word answer: “Scrap”

Henry stared morosely at the 46. She didn’t deserve this at all.

It took only a few minutes to move the 46 to an isolated siding near the sheds. As his driver uncoupled her from him, the 46 abruptly jerked out of her trance. She looked at Henry and his driver, her eyes suddenly clear and full of understanding.

“Save me. Please.” She said quietly. “They’re going to kill me.”

Henry was struck dumb by her request. The 46 had put more emotion in one sentence than some locomotives did in their entire lives. He wasn’t the quickest of thinkers to begin with, and now he had no idea of what to even say, let alone how he could help.

Fortunately, Sean - his driver - was much faster on the uptake. “Do you still work?” He asked her conspiratorially.

Both engines looked down at him. “Yes.” The 46 said after a moment. “They tested my motor and it works fine but they still said I wasn’t good enough to fix and oh god I’m going to die...” She trailed off in horror.

Sean turned an interesting shade of pale as he set the diesel’s handbrake. “We’ll do something. Just you wait.”

With that, he clambered back into Henry’s cab and set off for the sheds.

“We have to do something and I have no idea how we’re going to do it.” He said as soon as they were out of earshot of the diesel.

So concerned was Henry that he barely noticed Bear sitting in the shed as he pulled in.

“Is everything all right?” Bear asked as he saw the look on Henry’s face.

“They’re going to kill that 46.” Henry said without prompting. “She’s barely damaged and they’re going to take her to Derby and cut her up.”

“Right.” said Bear, looking like he just took a sack of bricks to the face. “Let’s figure out how we’re going to fix that.”

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

The harried yardmaster burst into the sheds. “Alright, up you get! The Hymek’s failed and we need you to drag his sorry carcass to the works!”

Henry, who had been pretending to be sleeping, set off at once.

Entering the yard proper, he found Bear at the head end of a train of cement tankers.

"Ah! Henry!" Bear called out in the least convincing voice anyone had ever heard. "As you can see, my complicated and unreliable gearbox has failed, rendering me immobile. Can you please pull me to the works?"

"Of course Bear!" Henry said in the same way that one would discuss the weather. "I will tow you to the works so they can fix your complicated and unreliable gearbox!"

The yardmaster watched in confusion as Henry backed down onto Bear's train. It was obvious that they were planning something, but what? This was about on par for a steam engine's level of deception, but diesels were usually craftier than this.

After a few minutes, Henry set off - or rather, he didn’t.

As he set off, his wheels slipped suddenly, his driver immediately closed the regulator, and both engines disappeared into a cloud of steam as Henry wheeshed in faux pain.

"Oh dear! He called from within the cloud. "I seem to have suffered a mechanical malfunction of some kind! Whatever will I do?"

"Who gives a toss about you!" Wailed the Class 03. "What about my work? You just blocked off half the yard!"

It was true - Bear had failed just before the switch to the main line, and when Henry had backed down onto him, he had completely covered the points. Now that he had failed as well, a large portion of the yard was inaccessible.

"I am terribly sorry." Henry didn't sound like he meant it. "Another engine will have to move us, as we cannot possibly move ourselves."

To his credit, the Class 03 tried, but with Henry and Bear's combined weight (and Henry holding the brakes on when nobody was looking), his little wheels just slipped on the tracks. "Super Rescue my buffers!" He scowled as the yard master started pulling his hair out. The yard was in a worse state than before, and there were no other engines that could reach the failed train.

Unless...

"Does that 46 work? The man yelled at his underlings, in the process missing the elated looks that flashed across Henry and Bear's faces.

"I think so!" Said one of the men. "They drove it here last night."

"Right!" He said with no small amount of relief. "Get that thing going - it'll be Crovan's problem and they can deal with it."

It took a few minutes for a crew to be found and for the 46 to be started, but soon enough she was being backed down onto the increasingly long train.

Henry and his crew watched with anticipation. Instead of damping his fire, Tim the fireman had been shoveling more and more coal into Henry’s firebox, while Sean had been nonchalantly walking around both engines and putting large amounts of sand under each driving wheel. As 46 040 was backed down onto the train, he gave a signal to Bear and his crew before climbing back into Henry’s cab.

The yard crew quickly coupled 040 to Henry, and waved to the signalman, who lined the points and dropped the signal arm.

The arm dropped. Henry and Bear's eyes followed it as it fell into the 'clear' position.

"Now!" Henry bellowed, and Bedlam ensued.

Sean hauled back on Henry’s whistle cord while shoving the throttle into the wide open position, sending sparks into the air as Henry’s wheels spun on the rails for a moment.

At Henry’s whistle, Bear's driver shoved the diesel's throttle to its furthest stop.

Black smoke belched out of both engines as they surged ahead. Henry slammed into the back of 040, shoving her along as his wheels found purchase on the sand covered rails.

Bear, his engine roaring, lurched ahead as he followed Henry, taking the tankers with him. The cement wagons yelled as the slack in their couplings was let out all at once, banging against each other as they were yanked into motion. A ripple of shock whipped all the way down the train, and the coupling in the last tanker was almost ripped out of its buffer beam from the violent departure.

040's crew were shoved forward in their seats by the sudden impact. Her driver had the throttle lever in his hand, and as he flew forward against the control column, he inadvertently shoved her throttle ahead to its furthest stop. The diesel shrieked in surprise as her motor revved to full power and she surged ahead with the rest of the train. 040 was a powerful express diesel, and she quickly began to pull the rest of the train along behind her as her engine reached its highest power setting.

"Go go go!" Henry yelled as the train accelerated away.

The yardmaster and the Class 03 watched in shock as the train thundered out of the yard. In just moments, it had cleared the yard boundary, and in just a few moments more, the last cement tanker was rattling over the lift bridge and onto Sudrian metals.

"What was that?!" The man said as Henry's triumphant whistle faded into the distance.

"More Sodor shite, I'd imagine." Said the little diesel as he rolled back into the yard - as much as he wanted to, he didn’t have time to speculate on what went on in the smokeboxes of those nutcases. "They're always up to some bollocks or another."

-----------

Henry and Bear yelled in triumph as they raced though Vicarstown and into Sodor proper.

"We did it!" Bear shouted.

"We did!" Henry chimed in. "You see that, 46?" He called up to 040. "That’s Sodor! You're safe!"

040 was astonished to the point of tears. "Thank you!" She said, her voice choked with emotion.

--------

Crovan’s Gate

Charles Hatt stared at the trio of unapologetic engines in front of him, unsure of whether he should be proud or upset.

“If I told you three that you damaged several of those cement tankers, the yard switches in Barrow, and exceeded the legal speed limit for a train of that configuration, would you be sorry in the slightest?”

“No sir / I’d do it again / Not at all” came the responses from Henry, Bear, and 040.

The Fat Controller hung his head in his hands. They didn’t even have the good graces to look sorry. The Peak was beaming from buffer to buffer, Bear looked sheepish but unconcerned, and Henry looked positively defiant.

“And you did this...?” He trailed off.

“Because otherwise they were going to kill her.” Henry said with a surprising undercurrent of steel to his voice.

“Yes. That...” Charles said again. “They truly told you that you were to be cut up?” He asked 040, slowly.

“Yes sir.”

“They did sir. There were train orders for it.” Bear said quickly. “She was supposed to be the 0Z59.”

“I see...” He turned to the 46 directly. “Who told you this?”

“Mister Stevens. He came down from the Midlands region to inspect me.”

“I see...” Charles mulled this over. He was vaguely aware of the nasty rumours surrounding the supposed railwaymen that the Midland Region was now employing, and this 'Mister Stevens' seemed like he fit the bill perfectly. “And you two did this... to help out your fellow engine?”

“Yes sir” Henry and Bear said in unison.

One hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

On one hand, these two had just damaged a significant amount of railway property and stolen an engine from a different region.

On the other... he did have a motive power shortage, and 46 040 was a class 4 - exactly what he needed.

And she clearly wasn’t needed by her region any more.

And stealing engines from the scrap heap was practically a Sodor tradition by now.

And he had acquired Bear in an almost equally brazen manner.

Sir Charles Topham Hatt II was many things, but a hypocrite was not one of them. “I must make a phone call. Talk amongst yourselves.”

The engines watched as he retreated to the foreman’s office. The phone was mounted on the outer wall, and his end of the conversation was very audible.

“This is Hatt, get me the London Midland Region please.”

“Yes, can you please inform Director Macready that Charles Hatt needs to speak with him regar- oh hello Lachlan.”

“Why yes, this is about 46 040.”

“I will have you know that we did not ‘brazenly make off with your property.’”

“To begin with, she was needed because the engines pulling the train ha- yes I understand that they didn’t actually fail, but-”

“Now there’s no need for that tone of voice-”

“Lachlan - Lachlan - Damnit Lachlan! That engine has only minor damage to it! You -”

“You clearly do not need it if - Spares? Lachlan, you just said that they were ‘going to the chop soon enough’, what could you possibly need spares for?”

“Now that’s just inappropriate.”

Whatever was said next was obviously deeply impolite, as the Fat Controller lost all patience with the Director of the Midland Region. “Now you listen here you limp-wristed disgrace of a Scotsman. That locomotive is mine now and will be forever more, you understand? If you ever try to come down from the ivory tower that has lodged itself in your rear end and do something about it, I will personally beat you to death with an Adze! Am I understood!”

After a brief silence, he spoke again. “I expect the transfer to be sent over at once. If they aren’t, I will forge your signature myself and I won’t stop with just those papers. Goodbye Lachlan.”

With that he hung up the phone and turned around to face the trio, who could barely contain themselves, and most of the works’ staff, who were surprised to see their controller use such harsh language.

“Don’t just stand there!” He said after a long moment. “Get to work! We have a new engine to repair!”

The noise from the locomotives was deafening.

#ttte #sodor shenangians #fic #headcanon #sodor #ttte henry #ttte bear #oc: Delta #ttte fat controller #literally half of sodor has been stolen from somewhere else #anyone who turns up in barrow yard and looks sad basically gets shanghaied #ttte duck #ttte james #fools in love

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suckerforsmylex · 3 years

Text

Little Red Riding Hood - Pt. 1

For my O.G. nonny who requested Lil’ Red, I’ve revamped it slightly and if you guys like this, I’ll bring back the remaining chapters and finish this one out. Enjoy and watch out for a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 🐺💋

“Jackie, get the fuck in here!”

Nikolai was always an asshole, but he was in an especially shitty mood. He didn’t like waiting and I had made him wait with Jackie at the trap house for over an hour. I misplaced my car keys and had to toss my whole apartment for them before I left. I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic before I finally got there.

They thought I was backing out and were arguing loudly when I knocked on the door. First, there was silence as Nikolai checked me out through the peephole. Then, the sound of the deadbolts unlocking and the chain coming off the door. The door opened abruptly and I was greeted with a shiny, special edition glock to the temple and forced into the kitchen.

Nikolai yanked Jackie by her skinny ass arm and pushed her down into the chair next to me. “You have thirty minutes to learn how to swallow this shit and then get it all down, Red. I’m not fucking around. You don’t want to fuck this up.” He slammed down a bottle of vegetable oil, an industrial size box of condoms and about 100 packets of heroin stacked high on a plate.

“Nik, what the fuck! That wasn’t the agreement. I’m not swallowing that shit,” I yelled out and backed away from the table. “What the fuck do you mean that wasn’t part of the agreement?!” Nikolai was waving the glock around and sweating profusely. “She’s taking the shoes, babe. I toooold you Lana’s doing the balloons! You’re such a fucking tool.”

Jackie was in the middle of laughing when Nikolai backhanded her across the face. Her lip was bleeding, but she just sniffled and wiped at the blood with her sleeve. She was still laughing a little. I couldn’t stop looking at her track marks.

“Fuck…right…um…come here, Red I don’t have all day here,” Nikolai said impatiently as he walked over to the closet. He pulled out a pair of black, Gucci wedges. “There’s 50 packets worth of H inside of each shoe. Well, not so much inside as they’re part of the fuckin’ fabric. My guys liquefy it and shit.” Nikolai stepped back smiling. He was proud of himself. The shoe method of drug running had worked everytime.

“So don’t be fucking around with these shoes on, they’re delicate. Take the plane into Gotham International then go to down to the East River Pier. Falcone will send a guy to come and pick you up at the airport and take you to the yacht and that’s where you make the drop. I’m giving you $2K up front and you get the other $7K when you finish the deal.”

I pulled off my Prada flats, put on the wedges and shoved the money Nikolai gave me into my tote. “$10K, Nikolai. They’re supposed to give me $10K altogether. So maybe you’re supposed to give me $3K?” I stood there with my hand out. Nik rolled his eyes and peeled off another $500 and shoved it into my hand. “Tough shit. That hour you made me wait cost $500, bitch.”

“Fuck Nik, I need that money!” I screamed out. I needed that money badly. I was a high-end shopping addict with a penchant for prescription pills and liquor. I owed money to a grimy loan shark and was late by three weeks on the vig. I was holding him off with heady flirtatiousness but he was becoming increasingly inpatient. He threatened to slice my face with a razor the last time I walked out of my apartment.

“Take the shoes and get to the fucking airport Red.”

——-

I waited on the packed TSA line behind a mom and her two kids and prayed for no drug sniffing dogs. I had my docs ready and handed them over to the TSA officer. “Scarlett Agnelli.” He said my name like he was reading a weird recipe he googled on the internet. It was strange hearing my government name. Everyone I knew called me Red. He looked me up and down. I smiled a toothy grin and he gave me a wink. “Have a nice flight, beautiful. Take care of yourself.” I never have any trouble with men. At least at first. They all pretty much high tail it when they discover I’m a lunatic.

I waltzed my way through TSA without ringing any alarm bells and even had time to visit the M.A.C. store before boarding the plane. At least Nikolai sprung for first class this time. I ordered a glass of white wine, swiped on a bit of red lipstick, spritzed myself with perfume and threw on my red cape. It always got cold on the plane and I wanted to snuggle up for a nap.

I woke up and we were throttling into Gotham International. The snow was starting to fall over Gotham making it look like the inside of a snow globe. I turned on my phone and sent out a text to Nikolai to let him know I landed. I freshened up with a little Evian spray and combed out my long brown locks. I grabbed my carry-on and set out to meet whatever goon was sent to get me.

I stood outside on the arrivals platform looking around. Gotham was beautiful at night and even though it was cold, I didn’t mind waiting. I pulled the hood of the cape over my head so my hair wouldn’t get damp with snow. Pretty soon I’d be collecting my money and be snuggled up at whatever boutique hotel they put me up at. I was already thinking about the mini-bar and room service.

A low voice woke me up from my thoughts. “Hey there, little red riding hood. I’ve been waiting for a sweet thing like you all night.” I looked up to see a very pale man with slicked back green hair and cool blue eyes. I gave him a once over. He was dressed in a white button down shirt and black trousers. His shoes were expensive as was his watch. His extended hand was covered in gold rings. His look was a little strange, but I decided he was suitable to drive me.

Falcone must have sent one of his made men. I guess he stepped up his game because of the amount of H in these shoes.

I shoved my carry on toward him. “Is this going to fit in there?” I motioned over to the purple Lamborghini by pointing at it with my mouth, my chin coming up slightly and my lips pursing. He started laughing uncontrollably. His laugh chilled me to my core but I couldn’t help but be curious. I decided then and there that I was up for a little adventure. He couldn’t touch me with all this H on me anyway.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” He grabbed the bag from me and our fingers touched. I felt an immediate spark of heat. “Scarlett, but call me Red, everyone does.” He rolled his head to the side and snarled. “Red. I like that.” He drove like a maniac, peeling out, not stopping at traffic lights, blowing stop signs and generally being a nut case.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Hello? Precious cargo over here. Do I have to remind you that I’ve got the product on me? You’re attracting unwanted attention. Falcone is going to slice your balls off if we get pinched, sweetie.” This got his attention. “Falcone?” He asked in a soft purr. “Yes honey, your boss. What’s your name anyway?” He grinned a wide smile and I could see his metallic teeth.

Fuck. Falcone has some seriously scary people on the payroll. He’s pretty hot too but he’s about as sharp as a spoon.

“Call me, Mister J.” I took my phone out and started getting driving directions to the pier area. “Ok, Mister J. Where are we staying tonight? I need to rest so we can make this drop bright and early tomorrow at the pier. Listen, I’m looking for 5-star but I can do 4-star if Nikolai forgot to make the reservation.” He leaned towards me with a wink. “I know just the place, doll.” His eyes were undressing me. It was nothing that I hadn’t experienced before but this felt different. I found myself flushed and hot. “Can we roll the windows down in here?”

“Sure Red, anything for you.” J smiled and put his hand up to my cheek. The coolness against the warmth building there was explosive. We parked outside the hotel and I tried to get myself together. “Did you bring the other shoes for me?” I asked curiously. “Shoes?” J had opened the car door and was standing over me. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, allowing me to admire and the tattoos that peaked out from underneath. Suddenly he snapped his fingers.

“Stay with me, kitten, you were saying something about shoes.” J grinned at me again and I had to look away to keep from melting. “Yeah, I can’t keep wearing these. I’m wearing the H you know?” He knelt down and started taking the shoes off of me. He slipped them into my tote bag and left my stocking covered feet shoeless.

“I’ll carry you.” J’s eyes were burning through me. I was slick between the legs and my breasts were swelling beneath my blouse. I was so enthralled by his gaze that I didn’t hear the texts buzzing in from Nikolai telling me that Falcone’s guy was at the airport and where the fuck was I because he was still looking for me.

#joker #leto joker #the joker #joker fanfiction #little red riding hood #mysterious #imposter #stockings #drugs #drug mule #wolf in sheep's clothing #revised

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creativeskullcreations · 3 years

Text

Outside chapter 17: Dinner at Home

New chapter, new plot. Plus got to see a little bit of Danny in this 'verse. :D

And plans are in motion now. What's gonna happen? Stick around to find out.

Stacy sighed as she got into the truck, undoing the professional looking bun her hair was in. Scout popped out of her bag when she set it in the passenger seat, gasping over-dramatically.

"Oh stop that. You're fine." Stacy told her, buckling herself in. She started the car, and got ready to back out of the parking spot.

"Says you! You aren't spending eight hours a day in a fucking bubble!" The puppet flopped out of the bag. "Are we going home yet?"

"No, we've gotta go grocery shopping." Scout groaned and threw one arm over her eyes.

"Aw man. I hate Walmart." She grumbled. "There's always too many kids staring at me."

"It'll be fine. We can go look at movies again before we get the food."

"Okay fine." Scout climbed up the door to look out the window. "But I want Pop Tarts this time! Real ones!"

"I think I can do that." Stacy agreed as she pulled into the parking lot. She reached over and grabbed her wallet before grabbing Scout, letting her settle into the hood of her jacket as they entered the store.

They checked movies, though there was nothing new out yet that they hadn't seen, and then went on to collect the items on Stacy's list. A quick checkout later and they were finally on their way home. It could not have come soon enough for Scout.

The way home from Walmart wasn't too long, maybe a ten minute drive on a bad day. So they got home quick enough, and Scout watched as Stacy started to juggle the many bags. She ended up having to sting them onto her prosthetic in order to get them all into the house, but did succeed in getting all the bags to the kitchen.

Will was downstairs, as he usually was at this time of day. Though, whether he was working on computers or his... hobby, was anyone's guess. Scout certainly wasn't going to go down there to check, either way. Instead she Jumped to her room, which was almost more of a closet with how small it was. But, it held a bed(in her own size!), a charging station for the Switch, and sometimes Stacy's laptop when she could be bothered to drag it in there. The walls were lined with multiple shelves with rope ladders connecting them, giving her a lot of storage space. Most of it was still empty, but she had collected a few things over the past several months.

Including clothes, apparently. Stacy had expressed concern with Scout running around with Mortimer's face on her shirt, and had enlisted Lisa to make her some new ones. Not that Scout could take her "shirt" off, of course, but she could wear other ones over it. Her favorite so far was a green one that said "eat dick and die". It was the best one, no contest, but Stacy wouldn't let her wear it outside the house.

"It's crude, and while I know you love that stuff it's not a good idea to wear that to my job. Someone could go to HR about it." Her Host had told her. Scout thought that was just stupid, but had agreed not to wear it to the workplace.

Stacy, meanwhile, worked on putting groceries away. It was good practice for her arm, especially in not crushing the groceries. She managed to mangle to bread only a little bit this time, and figured she was probably doing better than she usually did. Scout reappeared a moment later, wearing the green shirt Lisa had made her. She handed over the Pop Tarts to the puppet, who immediately tore into the box to grab one of the foil packets.

"It's almost suppertime, so don't eat too many of those." Stacy warned her, only to be met by a muffled grunt in response. She sighed, and just collected the stuff she needed; Kraft macs n cheese, premade burger patties, and some green beans for a vegetable. Maybe not the best dinner, but Will was still working and they needed some food.

As she got the stove going, a pan of water for the mac set up, and the pan for the burgers got oiled. She selected three patties and put the rest back in the freezer for another day while things heated up. The beans she dumped in a third pan on the back of the stove, adding a bit of salt for taste.

Scout watched all of this while softly crunching on the Pop Tarts. Months in the Host World, and she still didn't understand why Stacy wanted to cook. It was much easier and quicker to just grab one of the snacks laying around. Then again, maybe it had to do with that "nutrition" shit Will had told her about once.

As Stacy cooked she started typing out a message to Will on her phone, mostly to let him know dinner was done. He may have been just right in the basement, but she didn't want to go down there if she didn't have to. But as things finished cooking and she started to set the table, Will still hadn't come upstairs or even answered her text. And so, with a sigh, she covered the food and made her way downstairs.

"Will? It's time for dinner." She called as she reached the bottom of the stairs. No answer, but the muffled beat of heavy metal and the high pitched whine of a buzz-saw. She went through the door and was greeted with a mess. A wooden doll was stretched on the exam table in the middle, and Will was standing over it with the buzz-saw, shouting over the pounding music and whining noise.

"Hey, bitch! Make your boyfriend turn it down!" A red haired doll in a welded shut dog crate yelled over the music. She ignored it and instead punched a nearby gong with her metal fist. The resulting metal bang startled Will enough that he almost dropped the saw. He looked over and, once he spotted her, rushed to shut everything down.

"Yeah babe?" He asked, like he hadn't been threatening a sentient doll. The puppet in question was gagged, but sending a quite fierce death-glare at him.

"It's dinner time. Finish up here and come up, I made burgers." She told him, smiling a little as his face lit up.

"Score!" He quickly shoved the saw away before turning to take the doll off the table and put it into a cage. It swapped it's glare to her as he shoved it inside the crate, but Stacy just stared stonily back at it.

"Yeah, you keep trying that buddy. Nothing stops these two assholes. Ow!" The red headed doll sent Stacy his own death glare as she kicked his cage, knocking him over.

"Keep quiet." She growled out, not even looking at him. "Be thankful you're not tied up too."

"Yeah yeah. Go back to your favorite toy, Bitch." He huffed out. "Can't believe you keep that thing living up there with ya. If you had any kind of integrity, she'd be down here, in a cage, with the rest of us. Ow! Fuckin' shit would you stop that?!"

"Chucky, be quiet." A nearby doll in a ripped wedding dress scolded. "You know better than to antagonize her."

"What, it's true! That thing up there is just like us, but she gets to live in the lap of luxury! Hey!"

Stacy propped a foot up on the cage, tipping it onto it's edge and leaning down to glare at the toy inside. "You wanna stop talking now? Or do you want me to come back down here after dinner, Mr. Ray?"

The dolls said nothing more and Stacy righted the cage as Will finished up. The went back upstairs, locking the door behind them.

On the table was Scout, with half a burger patty in her mouth. She froze when the two Hosts walked into the room.

"Scout, seriously?" Stacy asked. "You're supposed to wait for us before you start eating."

Scout spat out the half eaten patty. "You were taking too long. I wanted to eat."

"You still should have waited. We only took a couple of minutes."

"But I didn't want to wait."

Stacy just sighed, and grabbed a bun out of the bag to squirt some ketchup onto. This was a fight just not worth getting into, especially when it wouldn't change anything.

Instead they made up their buns and sides, and were sat down to eat. Will prayed, and Stacy waited for him to be done before digging in. Scout didn't even wait, and just finished off her meat patty before digging into the macs and cheese.

The trio ate in silence, too hungry to talk at first. But eventually Stacy swallowed a bit, and decided she was sick of the quiet.

"So, you make any progress with the Gardner job?" She asked Will. Doll torturer or not, he did still have a "real" job, same as her.

"Eh, a little. Gotta ask who usually uses the computer, though. It's full of viruses from porn sites."

"Ew. Do they have a kid, or just a really stupid adult?"

"They've got a twelve year old girl, so she's the most likely suspect." Will swallowed another bite. "Miss Gardner is always away and working, like, three jobs so it's gotta be the kid or a friend she has."

"Who would go on a porn site? It's just naked sweaty Hosts, they're gross."

"Uh..." Stacy wondered how to handle this. And then wondered if Scout had ever gone on one of those sites, to know about that part. "It's... just a thing. Some people like to look at." She coughed. "Don't question it."

"Sure." Scout comped down on a green bean, and Stacy gave a soft sigh of relief. Scout was bad enough with her language already, and Stacy didn't want to risk her learning more words and terms.

Dinner ended soon after that, with Will loading the new dishwasher when everyone was done eating. He went back downstairs to finish up what he'd been doing. Stacy and Scout meanwhile went to play video-games. Well, Stacy played, while Scout watched her do quests from her lap.

"Go down that tunnel! Go! The left!" Scout pointed forcefully, waving her arms when she was ignored.

"No, that's where we came from." Stacy sighed, annoyed yet also a little amused. "Would you rather be the one playing?"

"No. I can't hold the controller." The Puppet waved her off before suddenly yelling. "You're not looting the bodies!"

"And you won't shut up." The Host muttered, looting a single body before going back to chasing the objective. "Are you sure you don't want to play?"

"How would I even fucking do that? Don't answer that."

"Okay." Stacy fought a few more Drauger. She thought about mentioning that she wouldn't really mind it, if Scout wanted to play, but decided against it. The body swap was still a sore subject, and she didn't want to ruin the good mood.

A ping from her phone, and she paused the game to answer a text from her brother. Being the nosy Puppet that she is, Scout tried to see what she was typing. "Who's that? I thought you didn't have friends."

"It's my younger brother, Danny. Doc wanted me to talk to him more, so I am."

Scout blinked. "You have a brother?" She thought back, tried to think if she'd ever seen any pictures of Stacy's family, but couldn't remember. Will she knew had a picture of his mother, but other than that neither Host talked about their families that much.

"Yeah." A couple of swipes, and she lowered the phone to show the Puppet a photo of a younger boy. He had the same reddish hair she did, but with much paler skin and brighter blue eyes. He was also wearing an absolutely atrocious looking sweater. "He's about eight or nine years younger than me, depending on who's had a birthday at that point."

"Oh..." Scout stared at the picture. "Why is he wearing headphones?"

"Those are part of his cochlear implants. He's deaf." She swiped back over to messaging to finish her text. "But he got the surgery at a young enough age that you pretty much can't tell. He's just got a little bit of a weird sounding accent."

"Oh, cool." Stacy finished her text and went back to the game, Scout watching quietly this time. "I have a brother."

Stacy fumbled an attack, but recovered quickly enough that she didn't die. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah. And three sisters." She squirmed a little, playing with the hem of her shirt. "... They probably all have Hosts by now. They were a lot better at... fitting in, than I was."

"Oh." Stacy paused the game, considering. "I'm... uh, do you you wanna talk about it?"

"Nah. I just thought you should know about them." She settled back, and Stacy unpaused the game. "I doubt I'm ever going to see them again, anyways. They were all assholes."

"Sounds like it, if they were able to "fit in" over there."

-------

Canon huffed, doing her best to try and suck in air. This was the... she didn't know how many times she'd been almost torn apart by the spells Mortimer was working on. Not really, of course, but it certainly felt like it. Like there was a scalpel carefully slicing into each stitch, cutting the small threads one by one.

"Hmm, looks like things are going well. I think I'm just about done with this spell." The magician commented, ignoring how the smaller Puppet lay limply on the floor. "Yes this plan has come together splendidly! Soon your sister will be right where she ought to be."

"... Great..." She groaned, trying to force herself upright. She failed, falling back to the floor with a soft thump. "I... can't... wait..." She had to finish the rhyme, at least, no matter how much it hurt.

"Indeed." He smirked, then grabbed a phone off the wall. "Oh Riley, we're just about ready to start! All we're missing now is the star! So gather your tools and a henchman, and go warm up the car."

"Preparations have already begun!" She relayed with an excited giggle. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

#hello puppets #outside #fanfiction #stacy stein #scout #riley ruckus #canon #will carson #mortimer handee

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jihyuncompass · 4 years

Text

Almost As Beautiful

Jihyun Week 2020 Day Four ( @mysme-events )

Canvas

Jihyun Kim x MC

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: “I have an idea.” Jihyun said. You raised a brow, but he continued before you could interject. “Please, hear me out.” You waved to let him go on. “I want to paint a portrait of you.”

To Jihyun, the person he loved was the most beautiful thing in the world. From the way you smiled, to how you danced, to how you looked when you first woke up in the morning. Everything about you was perfect to him. So it was a damn shame you didn’t see that in yourself though.

He noticed it early on in your relationship. How you tended to avoid looking in the mirror, how you would shy away whenever he tried to take photos of you, and the times he got photos, how you would refuse to look at them. He saw it in the way you spoke about yourself. The little jabs and comments you made towards your own appearance. It bothered him. It bothered him a lot.

However he never wanted to bring it up to you, afraid of hurting your feelings or offending you. So he waited until he felt like the right time.

That time came one night, you were laying on your side. One of Jihyun’s arms around your waist and your head laying on the other one. You could feel his gentle breath on the back of your neck. Your eyes were closed, just enjoying the feeling of being in his arms.

“Love.” Jihyun whispered to you.

“Yes?” You whispered back. He hesitated for a while, then spoke again.

“Why don’t you let me take photos of you?” Jihyun asked. You turned over so you could face him. He laid with your faces only inches apart. “Whenever I pull out my camera you always seem to try and hide. Why is that?”

You avoided his gaze. “I guess I just don’t like how I look in photos.”

“Is it just photos?” You sighed and shook your head. Jihyun moved his hand to cup your cheek.

“My love, I hope I’ve never done anything to make you think that-” You shook your head.

“Jihyun- god no. You’ve never done anything like that.” You rubbed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I guess I just don’t like myself a whole lot.” Hearing you say that, Jihyun felt like his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces. You saw the way his face changed. “Jihyun.” You whispered.

He pressed his forehead against yours. “It makes me sad knowing you feel that way about yourself.” He said. You sighed.

“Jihyun, I don’t want you to take it personally. It really isn’t anything you’ve done.”

“It’s not that I’m taking it personally love. I just, I think you’re beautiful and I wish you'd let me capture that.” You sighed and rolled to lie on your back, staring at the ceiling. Something about looking at him was making your heart act funny.

You covered your eyes. “There’s not much to capture. Really.”

You heard Jihyun sit up next to you, leaning over you. “I think there’s so much.” He pulled a strand of hair from your face. “I hope I can prove that to you one day.”

When he said that you laughed at the idea. However when you turned your head you saw how serious Jihyun looked.

“You can try.” You shrugged.

Jihyun took it as his new mission. Knowing that you didn’t feel confident and that you didn’t see yourself the way he saw you broke his heart, and was something he knew he needed to try and remedy.

“I have an idea.” Jihyun said. You raised a brow, but he continued before you could interject. “Please, hear me out.” You waved to let him go on. “I want to paint a portrait of you.”

Sitting up you shook your head. “Jihyun, you’re a great artist, an incredible one. But, I don’t know.” Jihyun put a hand on your knee staying close to you.

“Just one portrait, and if you hate it. I’ll get rid of it, you’ll never have to see it again.” He leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Please, let me do this.” You took a shaky breath but looking in his eyes you couldn’t quite find the heart to tell him no.

“Fine.” You said. Jihyun showed you his brightest happiest smile as he kissed you. You could practically feel the excitement radiating off of him in that moment. And despite your own anxieties. You also felt a little excited.

Over the next few days you could feel the energy coming off of Jihyun. He almost was like a child in his excitement. While you liked his enthusiasm it did make you a bit anxious. Even a week after you’d given him permission he still hadn’t said much about it. However you could tell by the way he looked at you a little longer, seemed to be almost studying your appearance. You knew it was on his mind.

Nearly two weeks passed before he brought it up again. The two of you were both cooking dinner together. You were focusing on chopping the vegetables for your dinner when he started talking to you.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” Jihyun asked. You glanced behind you for a second to look at him. You turned back to your work to answer.

“I don’t think I am. Why?” You could almost hear the smile in Jihyun’s voice.

“I think I’m ready to do your portrait. I know how I want to do it.” You looked back at him.

“How you want to do it? What do you mean?” He turned to face you.

“You’ll see. Does tomorrow work?”

“Sure tomorrow works.” With another smile Jihyun turned back to continue cooking. Leaving you wondering what exactly his grand plan was.

The next morning you awoke to the sound of Jihyun in the kitchen. You rolled over and forced your eyes open, seeing the bedroom door open just a crack. After a few minutes of lying down you forced yourself up and stumbled into the kitchen where Jihyun was cooking.

“Good morning.” Jihyun said, noticing your presence. “Did you sleep well love?” You nodded wrapping your arms around his middle. Leaning on him for support.

“I did. What are you making?”

“Some breakfast before we go.” He said. You looked over his shoulder at what he was cooking.

“Do you need any help?”

“I’m almost done, sit down and I’ll be over there in just a minute.” You held to his middle for another moment before regrettably pulling away from him. Sitting at the table you watched him cook. By the front door you noticed a basket, one you recognized as the picnic basket you both used often when going out on hikes or to the park.

Minutes later Jihyun returned with two full plates. Setting on in front of you and the other across the table for himself. You started to eat almost immediately, his cooking always just right.

“So.” Jihyun started. “After we eat I’m thinking we should leave pretty soon, I want to have as much time as possible.” Jihyun explained. You nodded, a pit of an anxiety starting to form. Noticing your face change he reached out to take your hand. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” You smiled at him and took a deep breath.

“I trust you.” You said. Jihyun showed you his most sweet smile. One of the ones that could always make you feel calm.

Once you finished your breakfast Jihyun ushered you to get ready. While you got yourself dressed you could hear Jihyun in the living room grabbing things and talking to himself. You couldn’t hear what he was saying clearly but yo0u could hear the quiet tones of his voice.

Emerging from the bedroom Jihyun smiled at you.

“Ready to go?” You nodded and motioned to your outfit.

“I wasn’t sure what to wear.” Jihyun grabbed the basket and his backpack.

“No need to worry about that, come on let’s go.” Jihyun held your hand while you left your apartment and walked to his car. “I need to run by my studio first if that’s alright? I have some supplies there that I’ll need.” He opened the passenger side door for you, and once you were sitting down he closed it.

Jihyun’s studio wasn’t too far from your apartment. Before the two of you met he had used his own house as his studio, but after he chose to pursue painting instead of photography he also decided that he wanted to try something different. Not wanting to work in the same space that he lived and slept.

His studio, like your apartment, radiated Jihyun’s energy. You’d helped him set it up and decorate it, choosing paint colors and decorations that felt calming and inspiring. Walking inside you could smell the lingering scents of oil and acrylic paints. Several unfinished paintings were leaning against walls or on easels. Art supplies were strewn across tables and workbenches. Small cacti and succulents lined the windowsills, each one of the pots painted by Jihyun’s hand.

Jihyun walked in and started sorting through some things on a table against the wall. You took your time looking around at the in-progress paintings all around you. Some were of beautiful landscapes, others more abstract and thoughtful. Each one though, was filled with a lot of heart from what you could see.

“Love?” Jihyun called to you. He was holding out a bag to you. “Can you change into this?” Taking the bag you glanced inside. You couldn’t see clearly but they were clothes you had never seen before.

“Where did you get these clothes?” You asked him, glancing up at him. He kissed your forehead and pushed the bag close to your chest.

“I thought a lot about how I wanted you to look for this. Please trust me.” After a quick kiss you went into the bathroom in the back of his studio. Changing into the clothes he’d prepared. When you’d finished you put your other clothes into the bag and took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror.

There was something strange about wearing clothes that Jihyun had picked out for you. Not an uncomfortable feeling, but different. The outfit was something that you never would have considered for yourself, and somehow you didn’t hate the way it looked.

Jihyun broke into the biggest grin the moment he saw you. He had been in the middle of putting some of his paints into a bag and folding up a portable easel to bring with. He looked at you over multiple times.

“You look incredible, my love.” He zipped up his bag and looked around one more time. “I think I have everything I need, are you ready to head out?” You nodded.

“Where are we actually going?” You asked him.

“You’ll see.” He said, putting his bag over his shoulder and reaching for the portable easel but you reached forward and took it first.

“Let me take this one, I feel bad with you carrying everything.” Jihyun shot you an appreciative smile and guided you out of the studio.

This drive was much longer than you would have thought. First Jihyun drove out of the city, quickly the tall buildings turned into flat land full of green grass. You played quiet music over the radio, driving mostly in silence. He didn’t have the GPS on but you assumed that he knew where he was going exactly.

You looked over at Jihyun, he was focused on the road, confident in where exactly he was trying to go. His eyes held a spark of inspiration you saw whenever he was preparing to start a new project. You saw that when he first got excited about his painting, or when he decided to try and pick up the violin, or when he found a new recipe to try. Or that one time he wanted to try and learn to knit.

So focused on him you hardly noticed when Jihyun pulled over to the side of the road. Stopping the car and meeting your gaze.

“We’re here.” Jihyun said. Looking out the passenger side window you saw a small hill, not quite able to see over it. “The perfect place is just over that hill.”

Together you gathered all his supplies and began your trek over the hill. You focused on your feet that you didn’t look up until you both stood on the crest of the hill and looked up.

Your breath was taken away by the field of wildflowers. All different colors that swayed in the breeze, and matched with the perfect blue sky. Taking in your surroundings you felt your heart flutter a bit.

“This place is beautiful Jihyun. How did you even discover something like this?”

“Back when I did photography I used to drive around aimlessly trying to find the perfect scenery to take pictures of. I don’t remember when I first found this place, but the moment I found it, it’s never quite left my mind.” You both walked down to where the ground was more even and looked out on the field again. Careful not to step on the flowers you walked down a small dirt path through the field.

“So why did you choose this place?”

“Well I wanted to paint the most beautiful person in a place that’s almost as beautiful as they are.” Your face flushed as he led you further down to a small clearing. He dropped his bags onto the grassy area and took out a blanket from the first backpack. Spreading it out over the grass.

“And what’s this?” You sat down in the grass while Jihyun set down the basket you saw at the apartment earlier.

He started setting out food and drinks on the blanket. “I figured we would probably want some lunch by now. Also, I thought this might make you feel a little more comfortable.” You looked down at the food he prepared, many of the dishes, some of your favorites. He must have been up early in order to have cooked and put all of this together without you knowing. .

“Thank you Jihyun, this is.” You shook your head in disbelief. “This is wonderful.” He smiled, and you both started to eat your lunch together. “So.” You said. “Is there a certain way you want me to pose?” Jihyun shook his head.

“No, I want you to feel comfortable. So just be yourself for me.”

With lunch finished Jihyun got himself ready. He set up his easel with this canvas, and squeezed colors out of tubes of paint onto a palette. You’d watched him do this before but you never got sick of the careful way he did it.

Just before he began to paint he pulled out his camera. You hadn’t even noticed he brought it with him.

“Why do you have that?” You asked him. “I thought you were painting?”

“I am.” He said. “But it’s good to have a reference photo just in case. Besides I probably won’t finish the painting today, but I’ll be able to look at the photo to finish it. Now, just look natural.” You laughed, looking at him for a moment. Your face blushed from the sight of the lens and so you turned your head away, looking instead at the wildflowers surrounding you. You heard a few clicks and then Jihyun putting the camera away.

“Got the pictures?”

“I did. Now all you have to do is just sit there.” You saw him disappear a bit behind the canvas and start on his painting.

Jihyun wasn’t one for speaking a lot while he worked. Once in a while you could hear a whisper but he didn’t say much that you could discern. Seemingly focused entirely on the painting, though he smiled when you looked at him, and especially during the moments where you would lock eyes.

You lost track of time out there, it was easy too. Just enjoying the feeling of the sun on your face and the wildflowers around you it was hard not to lose yourself, and hearing Jihyun working you just wanted to enjoy the quiet moment.

It was even easy to forget that he was painting you, there was little anxiety in you while he worked. At moments you were tempted to look at what he was doing but his glances at you kept you still.

At some point the sun began to fall, the lighting around you changing. With the growing darkness approaching Jihyun sighed.

“I should probably call it here. I don’t want it to get too late before we get home.” He began to pack up his paint brushes and paints. You went to look behind the canvas when Jihyun stopped you. “Not yet, I want you to see it when it’s finished. Not a moment before.” You sighed and leaned back while he smiled at you again.

“Fine. Can I at least help you take the bags back to the car?” Jihyun exhaled in that way that sounded almost like a laugh. He handed you one of his backpacks and the picnic basket. While he took one bag and the easel with the canvas. Careful to angle it so you couldn’t see the painting.

You both struggled to stay awake in the car, hurrying home to finally be able to fall asleep in bed together. Although you thought back to the canvas in the backseat, you respected Jihyun’s wishes and didn’t look back. Despite the temptation.

There was no doubt in your mind that Jiyun would create something good, but you couldn’t fight the small fear in you that maybe your image would be the thing that ruins the scenery.

“I promise you look beautiful.” Jihyun said, practically reading your mind. “Both in the painting, and in real life.” You sighed, soft and quiet. Even though your anxiety was still there, Jihyun’s kind smile made you feel okay. Even if the doubts still plagued your mind.

Less than a week later you were back in Jihyun’s studio. He’d asked you to come so you could see the finished product. He’d had it turned around so you couldn’t see it when you first entered.

“It’s done?” You quietly asked him. He leaned in, kissing your cheek.

“It’s done. And I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever painted.” He positioned you to stand just in front of the canvas. “Okay, I’m going to turn it around.” You nodded, struggling to figure out if what you were feeling was excitement, or fear.

The painting was one of the most stunning things you’d ever seen. Jihyun had beautifully captured every color of the wildflowers, every small detail. The sun visible in the distance, and then you featured in the center.

The sun created a glow around your painted figure. You saw yourself, sitting in the field of wildflowers surrounding you, your gaze looking wistfully out into the distance. Your outfit perfectly matched your appearance and the flowers around you.

Staring into the painting, your eyes filled with tears, you couldn’t look away. The painting pulled you in more and more.

“Love?” Jihyun asked. You took a shaky breath. Tears now falling down your cheeks. “Are you okay?” You pressed your lips together and nodded.

“Jihyun, it’s beautiful.” Your breath caught in your throat. “I-I’m beautiful in this.” Jihyun grinned and hugged you. Holding you tight against him. You sniffled into his shoulder, unable to stop looking at the painting.

“My love, my angel, my heart.” Jihyun said. “That’s the way you look to me all the time.” He pulled away just enough to look at your face. “I only painted what I saw.” You kissed him, holding his face in your hand. Holding him so tight you never wanted to let go.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you even more.” Jihyun said, his voice breathless and warm. You glanced past Jihyun’s shoulder at the painting again. Again overwhelmed with emotions, a beautiful painting, from a beautiful day, in a beautiful place, capturing a truly beautiful person.

#jihyunweek2020 #mystic messenger #mysme #jihyun kim #v #mysme v #kim jihyun #jihyun x mc #v x mc

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thelastspeecher · 3 years

Text

20 First Lines

I got tagged by @novantinuum to do this, and it seemed pretty fun!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

I won’t be tagging anyone else bc I’m too lazy, but if you wanna do it, feel free to do so and claim that I tagged you lol. So, here’s the first lines of my 20 last posted writes, from most recent to oldest.

Honestly, I thought more first lines would just be dialogue. That’s one of my go-to’s. And I swear, I’m not opposed to titling my writes. I like titling them. I’m just...really bad at coming up with titles.

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1. A Kiss From a Nixie

Stan and Angie stared silently at each other. Angie suddenly turned beet red.

2. Stan Falls in Love With a Frog

Stan sat on the edge of the dock, looking out over the water of Lake Gravity Falls. In the fading light, mist curled above the lake surface. He sighed and reeled his fishing line back in.

3. Untitled Superhero/villain AU prompt

Angie walked into HQ, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Despite being a villain for a couple years now, she had yet to come into work alone. But Lute was currently next to the toilet in their house, occasionally throwing up. She headed for the secretary to pick up her assignment for the day. The secretary looked up and raised an eyebrow.

4. Untitled Angie and her sibs prompt

“Ooh, cookies!” Violynn looked down. Her youngest sibling, six-year-old Banjey, stood by her side, staring with wide eyes at the tray of cookies Violynn had just finished.

5. Untitled Best Revenge AU prompt

Angie’s alarm went off. She groaned loudly.

6. Untitled Smallville AU ficlet

Stan and Ford walked down the dirt road that led to the McGucket Farm. Lute had called that morning to let them know that his twin sister had come back from boarding school and was settled in enough for visitors.

7. Untitled Restaurant AU prompt

Angie waited by the entrance of her apartment complex. Stan had followed her in his red El Diablo, but since he didn’t have a parking spot like her, he had to park a couple blocks away. He walked up, visibly winded. She raised an eyebrow.

8. Closure?

Max waited patiently in the back of the classroom for the kindergarten teacher to introduce him. One of his favorite things about being a hero was coming to school classes to tell them about what he did. And kindergarteners were always the best audiences. Their wide-eyed enthusiasm was infectious.

9. Skins and Stones

“We’re gonna need to dig out Junior’s child leash for Emory,” Stan said to Angie. He, Angie, and the kids were at the park, enjoying some fresh air and letting the oldest three run off their extra energy. Angie looked over at Emory, who, along with his twin Emmett, was a few months old. She raised an eyebrow.

10. Finally, Some Ford Content

Ford slowly woke up.

11. Untitled Best Revenge AU ficlet

Junior babbled excitedly at Stan as he went over the results of their latest hit.

12. Masks

Angie and Max sat high up in one of the tallest trees in the apple orchard. It was the only place on the McGucket farm with some semblance of privacy.

13. Junior

The front door slammed open. Angie stormed into the living room, where Lute and Stan were waiting for her to come back. After finding out Max had cheated on her, she had immediately gone over to trash his place.

14. Untitled Best Revenge AU ficlet

Max let out a heavy sigh as he stared at the canned vegetables.

15. Best Revenge

Max took a deep breath. He got out of his car and slowly walked up to Lute’s house.

16. Untitled Spy AU prompt

Ford took a drink from his glass of water. His hands were shaking with anxiety.

17. Origins

Stan fell flat on his face into the sand.

18. Untangling

Stan and Angie followed the McGuckets into the living room. Mrs. McGucket looked around the room with a slight grimace.

19. Untitled Restaurant AU prompt

“I still think it was a mistake to not be open later ‘n usual,” Angie said as she wiped down a table. “If we stayed open until, say, midnight instead of the usual closin’ time of eight, we could’ve catered to couples lookin’ fer a place to have Valentine’s dinner.”

20. Untitled Angenie AU prompt

“But her aim is gettin’ better!” Stan said jovially to the oil lamp carefully buckled in the passenger seat. Soft chuckling came from said oil lamp. Stan grinned, glad the joke had landed. “Y’know, not enough people appreciate my sense of humor.”

#what is a first line? apparently to me it is the first paragraph #also lsjkdnnjdfs you can really tell how I tend to go through phases of focusing on one AU #when all of my writes are listed out like this #tag meme #speecher speaks

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Yuletide fic 2/5!

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five Read them as I post here, or all at once in Ao3 under peterqpan

Dustin and his mom showed up ten minutes later, and Joyce threw her arms around Mrs. Henderson before dragging her into the kitchen and setting off another round of shocked gasps. Dustin walked in and burst out laughing at them all silently lighting up the twelve foot tree and enduring the Muppets.

“Fuck you,” Billy muttered, passing a string of lights to Will.

“Jonathan, my man, we definitely need pictures of all this,” Dustin cackled, and Will brightened.

Billy was turning his glare on Dustin when the main Christmas offender put an arm around him, hauling him close to whisper “I’m gonna take a look at Joyce’s car, cover for me.”

“What,” Billy said, staring at the tree.

“What?” asked Will, and Steve bent, pulling Billy with him.

“I’m gonna take a look at why your mom’s car won’t start.”

“Is that something you...know how to do?” Jonathan asked warily, and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s good at shit,” Billy interrupted, sighing. “Fucking straight A’s in shop.”

“El and Hopper are coming over,” Dustin said, grinning, and Steve squeezed Billy’s shoulders.

“Perfect, they can help,” he said happily, and Billy wondered what had happened. Where he’d gone wrong, and ended up in Christmasy hell.

Steve slunk off to the garage—Will helped by stealing Joyce’s keys out of her purse while she sorted piles of food, and they drove her car in next to Steve’s—and Billy and Jonathan strung lights around the trunk in awkward silence until another knock came on the door, and Billy dropped the lights to run and get it, opening the door in hopes of directing Hopper at the damn tree, and finding...Max and Lucas, on their bikes.

They stared back at him with set jaws, and Billy tried to figure out what was going on. “Did something happen?” he hissed at Max, closing the door behind him, and rubbing his arms in the chill air.

“Yeah,” she raised her eyebrows. “You’re throwing a huge fuckoff Christmas party. Let us in.”

“No,” Billy stared at her. “No, it’s not—”

“You’re not letting us in? She’s your sister,” Lucas hissed, and Billy groaned and yanked the doorknob, letting the door fall open behind him.

“It’s not a party,” he hissed as they elbowed past him. “People keep coming, I don’t—”

“We’re here!” Max yelled, and Dustin cheered, and then Will and the moms cheered, and Lucas clambered up the ladder to grab the lights from Will. Max started digging through the boxes again, Jonathan got his camera, and Billy backed back into the kitchen, where Joyce and Mrs. Henderson were staring into the fridge.

“He’s lost it,” Billy told them, leaning over the door. “I think he bought the whole store. Did he even get anything you can put together? I think he had some magazine with recipes—”

“...I can make hors d'oeuvres,” said Mrs. Henderson, rolling up her sleeves. “And pie. The turkey will be cold if we cook it tonight—”

“I think there’s stuff for sweet potato casserole,” Joyce muttered, hands on her hips.

“I can make that,” Billy offered with a sigh, imagining Steve’s eyes lighting up at a whole Christmas spread.

Their eyes narrowed as they surveyed him.

Billy shrugged. “Or some pie?”

The doorbell rang just then, though, and Billy wandered in a daze to let Hopper and El in. He leaned out to frown up and down the road, just in case the Wheelers all showed up, or maybe a busload of scientists, from the lab. Or Santa, he thought, ready for anything.

“The hell is all this?” he heard Hopper ask, and Joyce started laughing.

As Billy wandered back in, he saw El pelt over to Max, Lucas, and Will, who were doing a respectable job of lighting the tree, and Hopper lean in between the two moms to start discussing the menu. “Sounds like Billy can cook too,” Joyce said, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry I left him alone in the grocery store,” Billy said again, and Mrs. Henderson smiled.

“Sounds like if you hadn’t, Joyce would still be stranded on the side of the road!”

“Wait, what,” Hopper asked, and Joyce distracted him by handing him all the cans for pumpkin pie. Hopper huffed, glowering down at her, but turned to dig around in the fridge for butter, and Billy got him the flour, and got back a grumbled lecture on proper pie crust.

“My mom used vodka,” he offered, and Hopper frowned deeply at him.

“...’cause it evaporates out,” Hopper said. “Leaves just the good stuff. Smart lady.”

“Waste of vodka, though,” Billy muttered, rattling around for the can opener when he was blinded by a camera flash.

Joyce yelped like she had her mouth full, and Billy frowned over to see she had an olive on every finger, and she was trying not to choke laughing. Hopper threatened her with the wooden spoon, there were more flashes, and Mrs. Henderson patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Could you help me move some things around?” she asked, and he nodded, feeling weirdly lightheaded as Hopper squeezed his shoulder to thank him, and Joyce patted his hair, and Mrs. Henderson thanked him again.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Joyce told him, as he helped her chop green beans. Billy nodded, frowning at her. Hopper said “Atta kid,” as Billy got a pan under the pie just as it threatened to tip, and when Mrs. Henderson accepted his bowl of chopped vegetables and said “Bless you,” he fled to the garage, his hands shaking.

Steve’s legs were sticking out from under the car, and Billy dropped to lie on the floor, staring underneath. “Harrington,” he hissed.

“Whumf?” Steve asked, looking over. He had a plastic cap in his mouth. Billy stared back at him, took a deep breath, and nodded, scrambling back to his feet. “What? Billy!” Steve yelled, and Billy scrubbed at his face with his hands, and straightened his shirt. “Wait, Billy,” Steve’s voice said, closer, and Billy let himself be tugged backwards into a tight hug. “You okay?” Steve asked, and Billy laughed, nodding.

“Need me to come help?” Steve asked, and Billy shook his head, smiling as Steve turned him by the shoulders to see his face, frowning. “You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Billy huffed a laugh, his face still warm from being treated like one of their kids.

Steve narrowed his eyes, and then cupped Billy’s face with his stinky motor-oil hands, and kissed him softly. Billy lost time when Steve pulled shit like that, he was pretty sure, the same way he didn’t know where he’d been sometimes, between his dad getting home and going to bed—but it was only a few seconds, with Steve, and he liked it, chasing the feeling and Steve’s mouth as Steve stepped back, laughing, and Billy hugged him close again around the neck. He always came to himself safe, with Steve.

Billy stumbled back into the kitchen with his cheeks aching from his wide smile, and Joyce...stared at him, for a long moment, before snaking a hand out like a striking cobra and dipping it in Hopper’s pumpkin pie mix (he swore, and smacked her wrist with the spoon)and poking it all down Billy’s nose.

She grinned at him. “Go wash your face.”

“What the fuck,” Billy hissed, as she shoved him back out of the kitchen, but when he got into the bathroom and glared into the mirror, his stomach roiled, because Steve had left black fingerprints where he’d cupped Billy’s face, and there was a smear of oil where he’d run his thumb across Billy’s lower lip. Billy’s fingers shook as he washed it all off.

He forced himself to leave the bathroom, finally, when he heard Mrs. Henderson ask where he was, and walked back in the kitchen feeling like he was wading through cement.

Joyce— Mrs. Byers, he corrected himself, reminding himself to be respectful, at least—pulled him over and ruffled his hair, and when Hopper grabbed Billy’s arm, he only moved past the knife in Billy’s hand, and let go. Billy watched him walk by, the knife loose in his fingers, and Hopper patted his back.

Max gave him a weird look when she walked by with Will and Lucas, hunting up more lights, and found him cranking the apple corer Hopper had found and brought over for apple pie. “The hell are you doing,” she whispered.

“Making a fucking pie,” he hissed back, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you the slice with the apples I got off a wicked witch,” he told her, turning the handle, and watching the apple skin spiral away hypnotically. “She said it tastes like sleeping death. Yum.”

“...fuck you,” she said, after some consideration. “Lemme try that.”

“Hopper told me to make pie,” Billy told her, biting back a grin, and she growled.

“Share your toys,” said Mrs. Henderson, and Joyce and Hopper snickered, glancing at each other, and back at Billy, and he had to look away fast because it looked like they might kiss, which he did not need to watch.

“Fine,” Billy said, getting up to let Max try the apple corer/slicer/thing. “If you’re a shit,” he told her under his breath, “—I can figure out how to use this on you.”

“Don’t hurt your brain trying,” she shot back, eyes sparkling as she shoved an apple over the spikes to hold it in place, and began cranking like a demon so apple juice sprayed across the table.

Billy wandered out into the front room to avoid the apple carnage, and the tree looked good. He couldn’t see the bucket—somebody’d wadded something red up under there to hide it—there were enough lights that it lit the room by itself, and Lucas was up the ladder directing like a drill sergeant while Dustin made commentary on the ornaments. Will passed them up, mumbling things like “Sir, yes, sir,” as he swayed slowly to the Muppets. Jonathan wandered by Billy and took some pictures in the kitchen, and Joyce and Hopper started swearing, so probably that was a success too.

“Huh,” said Dustin, frowning down at the ornaments in his hands, and Billy sidled over to look.

“What.”

“Oh, no, just…” the kid glanced up, saw Billy, and glowered. “Nothing. Why the hell are you here?”

“I’m the one who told Steve to invite you, so suck it,” Billy told him, crouching to look at the ornaments. “What’s wrong, they broken?”

“Noooo,” Dustin drew the word out, screwing his whole face up at Billy suspiciously. “They’re just, y’know. Like, Hallmark, they put dates on the ornaments, right?”

“Yeah, I can read numbers, shithead,” Billy said, reaching in for a little Rudolph from 1976.

“Well there’s none from after 1976, fucknuts,” Dustin whispered back, and Billy frowned into the box. “Bunch from before that. Then it just kinda stops. Also, we’re almost out.”

“Shit, I coulda gotten some more,” Billy muttered, glancing around at the layers of dust on the boxes, the yellowed newspaper wrapping, and pushing down the idea of Steve’s Christmases stopping when he was ten . He frowned from the box to the tree, and Dustin snorted a laugh.

“F’I’d’ve known you had a tree, I coulda brought some,” Dustin whispered.

“We didn’t have a tree,” Billy hissed back. “I found Joyce Byers freezing to death and he went nuts. I’d have grabbed something—”

“We could make cookies,” Dustin bit his lips, thinking. “Popcorn balls. My mom made caramel popcorn balls last Halloween.”

Billy nodded, thinking. “We could make paper chains.”

“I can make snowflakes,” said El, dropping to sit between them, and pushing the mostly-empty box towards Will. “We made them in school.”

“I can find some paper,” Billy said, getting to his feet, and running upstairs to the electric typewriter in Steve’s parent’s room. He hauled a stack downstairs just in time to see Dustin climb up to sit on the kitchen counter next to his mom, and lean to whisper in her ear as she hissed at him and pointed to the ground like he was a misbehaving cat.

“Will has some, too,” said Eleven, yanking the stack out of his hands, and trotting over to Will, who had dropped next to the tree with his backpack, a stack of construction paper, and scissors.

“Pies are in the oven,” Hopper announced, wiping his hands dry on his pants. “Who’s hungry?” There was a chorus of “Me!”s, and he nodded. “Sandwiches,” he said. “Who wants a PB & J?” There was another chorus of “Meee!”s, and he nodded, grabbing the bread, as Dustin and his mom flanked Billy, asking about popcorn, and Joyce started digging through the fridge chanting “Jelly! Jelly! Jel—ew, what? Jelly…”

“We have some microwave popcorn,” Billy told them, warily, and Mrs. Henderson cocked her head, pursing her lips. “It’ll do,” she said. “Dustin, find the waxed paper.”

“On it,” he saluted, and dove between Hopper’s feet to dig through drawers. There was a lot of crashing and swearing from that direction for a bit, and Billy ducked back to the door to the garage to see Steve.

“It’s insane out there,” he said, stepping into the silence of the garage, broken only by Steve’s muffled humming. “...Harrington?” Billy asked, and Steve’s head popped up near Joyce’s hood. “You need any help?”

“Fuck you and your shitty Camaro,” Steve muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You just wanna bend over the engine so your ass sticks out and I drop something on my foot.”

“...yeah, probably,” Billy said, grinning.

“Just tweaking her battery terminals,” he said, and Billy nodded leaning to kiss his boyfriend’s head. “Hey,” Steve said, grinning up. “Thought I’d, y’know, change the oil, all that.”

“You want a sandwich?” Billy asked, squatting next to him, and reaching out to roll up the sleeve that had slid down Steve Harrington’s engine-oil streaked arm. Steve leaned over to kiss him, warm and soft in the cold air of the garage, and Billy scooted closer, sliding his tongue over the edges of Steve’s teeth, and tasting probably...more engine grease. “Hopper’s making PB&Js,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, and Steve grinned.

“Sure,” he whispered back. “Why’s Hopper here? Now? Aren’t they coming tomorr—”

“Everyone is here,” Billy groaned, letting his head drop on Steve’s shoulder. “Everyone. The pope might be coming—President Nixon—”

“Holy shit,” Steve snickered. “Yeah, bring me a sandwich, little woman.”

“Y’know most murderers are the spouse,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes, and Steve giggled, grinning.

“...you really like Christmas, huh,” Billy sighed.

“Nah,” Steve said, lying. “I’m just—this is kind of fun, y’know?”

“Fixing her car for Christmas,” Billy said flatly. “You should tell Shortness and Camera Perv to vacuum it out.”

“Ohhh,” Steve’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good, yeah.” He leaned in close again, warm against Billy’s side, his breath hot against Billy’s cheek, and kissed his jaw. “You like Christmas too, huh?”

I really don’t, Billy thought, eyeing his boyfriend’s bright smile. “Yeah,” he lied in return. “Yeah, I, uh, I have...memories. Of Christmas.” Steve looked away, laughing uncertainly, and Billy yanked him close, squeezing his ribs. “There’s pies in the oven,” Billy told him. “Will’s dancing around to the Muppets. I think Hopper and Joyce almost kissed over the sandwiches—” Steve snorted, letting his head fall against Billy’s neck, and nuzzling in with a sigh. Billy stroked the back of his neck, and kissed his ear. “Max is murdering some more apples, I think,” he whispered, feeling Steve’s laugh hot against his skin. “—no idea why. She’s gonna be in slasher movies one day.”

Steve hugged him tighter. “You think it’s gonna screw everything up, having us here?” he asked softly, and Billy cocked his head, frowning at the wall.

“...it’s your house, dumbass,” he said into the cool strands of Steve’s hair, wondering what the hell.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the shit, then,” Billy asked. “Respectfully.”

Steve burst into snickers again, scooting closer until he was practically in Billy’s lap, and Billy sat on the ground to steady them. “Feel like I stole Christmas,” he mumbled, and Billy squinted at the wall again, opening his mouth to ask for clarification. “Stole their Christmas,” Steve sighed. “We coulda put plastic over the broken windows. They could have had the Christmas they wanted—”

“Jesus Christ Whittaker,” Billy said, ignoring Steve laughing harder. “They’re all having a great time out there, you—defective. Fucking. Dimwit. Doofus. Is that why you’re hiding in the garage?”

“It’s a family thing!” Steve hissed. “Maybe they didn’t—”

“Look, we’re gonna make some goddamn Christmas cookies,” Billy told him, “—and you’re gonna come out of the fucking garage and watch something irritating on TV, and put on more torture music—”

“You hate Christmas,” Steve wheezed, like he’d taken a blow, and Billy gritted his teeth.

“Don’t make me spank your ass,” he told Steve, who was laughing too hard to talk. Billy pushed him away enough to stare into his wide brown eyes. “I love you a hell of a lot more than I care about Christmas. You want a turkey? I will cook you a goddamn turkey. You need to know they want you here? I will sit on your ass while they sing—” Billy tried to think of the worst of all Christmas songs, and had too many options. “—Jingle Bells,” he said. “You want a fucking reindeer I will go bludgeon one with those ski poles, okay?! Fuck.”

“Love you too,” Steve said, going all misty-eyed and goopy at the most annoying time ever.

Billy leaned in and kissed him, batting his dirty fingers away with one hand as he lifted Steve’s chin with the other. “Yeah, yeah,” he whispered, rolling his eyes. “You’re full of Christmas spirit. I’m gonna get you a sandwich.”

“I still love you when it’s not Christmas,” Steve muttered, rubbing his eyes on his rolled-up sleeve. “Don’t murder a reindeer.”

“What about that Rudolph one,” Billy asked, narrowing his eyes, and running his knuckles over where Steve’s cheeks were pink from the cold air in the garage. “Lot to answer for. Talk about annoying.”

“Don’t kill Rudolph,” Steve whispered, leaning into Billy’s hand for another kiss.

“What if I drop his body on Frosty,” Billy countered, and Steve raised his eyebrows, considering.

The faint sounds of Muppets and shouting suddenly blasted as the garage door clicked open, and Billy’s heart pounded in his chest, grateful they were tucked back behind Joyce Byers’ car.

“Billy?” came her voice. “Steve? Don’t just hide in here—”

“We’re not,” Steve said, standing, and hurriedly straightening his clothes like a character in one of Susan’s Edwardian romances, who’d been interrupted in the lap of a duke. Billy stared at him, then at Joyce, who was frowning at them.

“Uh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Dustin’s mom was going to come in, so—” she said, grimacing, and Billy realized she wasn’t going to say anything, and felt so lightheaded with relief he had to reach out and steady himself on her car.

“We’ll be right out,” he told her. We weren’t doing anything, I swear, he thought, glancing from her doubtful expression to Steve, who was still tucking the shirt in his pants, and yanking at his sweater like Billy’d just been halfway to third base. He was pink right down his neck, and Billy longed to slide his hands up under his boyfriend’s clothes, and see how warm he was with the embarrassment of nearly getting caught by Joyce Byers.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve mumbled unhelpfully, touching his cheek where Billy’s hand had been, and Billy groaned.

“Go clean up,” he hissed. “Put a different sweater on.”

“Oh,” Steve looked down. “Yeah, I should—probably should do that.”

Joyce turned and left before Steve, and Billy watched them go, wondering whether she was still deciding what to do, or whether she was giving them a break, for Christmas, and then she’d kind of—be a little distant, and Billy’d know it was because she’d caught him with marks where Steve’s fingers had held him close for a kiss.

She wouldn’t tell my dad, he told himself, because he’d seen Will flinch when Hopper reached over him to hang an ornament, and Jonathan curl in on himself, a little, when Hopper yelled sandwiches. Billy drew a long breath. It’s safe, it’s safe, he chanted, silently moving his lips. It’s safe, we’re safe from that, she wouldn’t, we’re safe from him.

He’d get her alone, he decided. Until then, there was no need to tell Steve they’d fucked up.

Billy walked out of the garage and got snagged by Mrs. Henderson, who wanted to know where the sugar was, and thought Billy was gonna know, like he lived there. He handed it over, and found her a pan, and a mixing bowl, and then Max kicked him right in the ass and ran, and he chased her out to the front room.

She slid to a stop in her stockings, waving at the sparsely decorated tree. There were two short, fluffy gold garlands, and for some reason a lot of wide, glittery ribbon, but even then, it looked like the decorators for a 5th Avenue department store had been kidnapped before they’d gotten rolling.

“It doesn’t look...too bad,” Billy said guiltily, eyeing the department-store sized tree with one measly box of ornaments.

“It looks dumb as hell,” Lucas said, frowning up. “I’m thinking...paper chains.”

“I’ve got colors,” Will said, cutting carefully around a snowflake, and Max held a hand out to Billy.

“Scissors,” she said, and he glared at her, but stomped over to the phone and grabbed the pair out of the pen jar and smacked the handles into her outstretched hand, along with a roll of scotch tape.

El was putting Will’s snowflakes on the tree, and it...didn’t look bad, actually, even if there weren’t nearly enough.

“We wrapped the ribbon around it, too,” Max shrugged. “From in with the wrapping paper.”

“Dustin’s on popcorn balls,” Billy told her, and she nodded, cutting thick strips out of Will’s red paper, and passing them to Lucas, who chained each loop off the next.

Hopper came out with paper plates and handed around a sandwich each, and Billy started wondering where Steve was—whether he’d hidden in his bedroom, or taken a shower, or fallen asleep—when Joyce came up and grabbed his arm, and Billy jumped and nearly smacked her in the face with his sandwich.

“D’you know if Steve has any more sleeping bags?” she asked, and Billy opened his mouth to ask why the hell she thought he’d have any fucking idea, then remembered them, next to the skiwear in the garage.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, leading the way, and realizing too late it left the two of them alone as the garage door closed behind them.

“Oh, good,” Joyce said, trotting over to where he’d been crouched holding Steve. “That’s one for El, and Dustin—and I can sleep on the couch—”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Billy said hoarsely. “Ma’am,” he added, belatedly. “About—about us. It—he’s all happy about Christmas, just—just let him—”

“Oh jesus, no,” she breathed, dropping the sleeping bag she’d stuck under either arm and walking up to squeeze his hands as the bags bounced behind her on the floor. One of them rolled around to bump Billy’s legs as she frowned up at him. “You two—”

Billy swallowed hard, having still, somehow, hoped she’d be surprised and confused.

“You two...” she repeated, squeezing his hands and patting them between her own as she frowned up at him. “It’s—it’s okay to be different,” she said, setting her jaw. “Everybody’s different, you—you can be a little—a little more different—”

“...you’re not pissed at us,” Billy breathed, closing his eyes. He felt tired, suddenly, and he leaned against the hood of Steve’s car, sighing.

“No—no, I’m not—how could— Will’s different,” she gritted out. “Will’s different, and—and he’s such a good kid, I—I love him so much,” she said, and Billy laughed, opening his eyes to see her stare boring into him. “I love him so much,” she repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with him. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“...okay,” Billy said, feeling like she needed him to respond, and she shook his hands like she was trying to get his attention.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, and he laughed, unable to meet her eyes. “Billy,” she said, and he nodded automatically at the stern voice. “Thank you for inviting us for Christmas. Thank you.” He nodded again, his eyes stinging, and she blew air through her cheeks, squeezing his hands again. “...who else knows?” she asked, and he took a weird shuddering breath, shaking his head when his voice wouldn’t come out.

“Just Steve?” she whispered, and he nodded, flinching as she reached up absently and messed up his hair again. “They won’t get it out of me,” she said, linking her pinky with his, so he snorted a wet laugh. “You two might want to be more careful, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and she stepped up next to him where he was leaning against the car, and pulled his head into her shoulder, stroking his hair. She smelled like cigarettes, the sandwich she’d been eating, her shitty car, and baking, and he let himself close his eyes again, inhaling.

“I wondered why you two were making a turkey,” she said, idly, and he laughed, relaxing as her arm tightened around his head, and he had to turn his head a little to breathe against her shoulder. “Sounds like he really wanted a nice Christmas with you.”

“He’s loving this,” Billy whispered, sighing. “He’s gonna wanna watch Christmas specials. He’s probably hanging his actual sweat socks on the tree. He’s lost it.”

“Hrrrrm,” she said, swaying a little back and forth, and Billy never wanted to move again, even as he started to shiver in the cold garage. “Y’know, kiddo,” she said, “—Hopper’s made fancy Christmas cookies before, with his—” she cleared her throat. “—uh, his—he’s—he knows how. What say we go make some gingerbread and blow your, um,” she paused, and Billy waited. “Your boyfriend away,” she decided, and he groaned, his face heating like he had a heatlamp inside.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, and she gave his head a last squeeze, ruffled his hair, and let go. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s get going.”

The shower turned off upstairs as they hauled the sleeping bags out of the garage, and El was shaping the first popcorn balls, pressing M&Ms into them in zigzag patterns like glass ornaments. Dustin wedged a candy cane in each, forming the popcorn around it as a hook, and Billy tried to remember how much candy he’d unpacked.

The popcorn was hot and gooey, and Mrs. Henderson grabbed Billy by the shoulders and pushed him at the sink as Hopper shoved the kids at the sink and watched them wash, and then coated everyone’s hands with butter. Popcorn balls started covering every surface in the kitchen, as Jonathan’s flash worked overtime.

“Whoa, wow, what’s happening,” Steve said, at Billy’s elbow, and Billy wanted to spin around and scream into his sweater, but instead he just pulled him closer and washed all four of their hands at once, while Steve smiled, watching his face.

“We’re making ornaments for your giant tree,” said Dustin, and Steve blinked, but the next moment Billy had a handful of butter, and he was rubbing it into Steve’s fingers, and watching him turn slowly red over his entire body.

“O-o-okay,” Steve yelped, staring at Billy as Dustin smacked a malformed popcorn ball into his hands.

“Hurry up, they’ll harden!” he barked, and Steve nodded, glancing around wide-eyed to see what everyone else was doing, but avoiding looking at Billy.

“Lemme know if I need to grease you up again,” Billy drawled, and Steve glared at him, his cheeks nearly magenta, before Joyce smacked them both, lightly, on the backs of their heads.

“Boys,” she said, and they both shut up, occasionally exchanging glances. Steve leaned to bump shoulders, and Billy grinned at his popcorn ball, pressing brown M&Ms in as a mouth, and orange for a nose.

“It’s a snowman,” he announced, and El gasped.

“I’ll make a Rudolph,” Steve whispered. “Candy canes for antlers?”

“Tomorrow we can crash them into each other,” Billy muttered. “Like a monster truck rally.” Steve snorted, reaching over and popping an M&M in Billy’s mouth with a warm, sugary, greasy finger, and Billy stared at his popcorn ball for several long seconds, willing his erection to subside.

On to Part Three

#harringrove #found family #boyfriend cookies #boyfriend kisses

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wayvshop · 4 years

Text

Cooking Together

↠ Word Count: 1,370

↠ a/n: I am not very familiar with cooking so I used what I could remember about making dumplings (feel free to correct me if I’m wrong on something)

↠ Pairing: Qian Kun x Gender Neutral Reader! (call me out if I missed anything)

↠ Warnings: there is an accident involving glass (no one is injured) and slight burns (not on purpose)

Kun rested his hand on your thigh, thumb absentmindedly writing his thoughts. After a short trip to the store to get groceries, you both discussed what to eat for dinner. You loved Kun’s cooking but you weren’t as experienced, relying on your boyfriend to patiently guide you through the process.

“We can start with something easy. Like dumplings! You like dumplings right?” Kun looked at you for a second, smiling as you nod your head, and returned his attention back to the road. “Did we get everything for dumplings?” You shifted your position, trying to look into the bags behind you.

“We should have everything already. Sit down love, I don’t want you getting hurt.” You sat back with a huff, taking his hand in yours once again.

He pulled into the apartment complex’s parking garage, quickly finding an open space to park in. “We’re home~” He hummed, unbuckling the seat belt and getting out of the car to reach the back seat.

You followed suit, reaching for a few bags but Kun grabbed most of them. “Here, let me carry some.” As you reached for one of his arms, he pulled away shaking his head.

“You already have some, I can get the rest.” He nodded at your hand, holding two of the lightest bags out of the 8 total. You rolled your eyes and started walking towards the elevator, knowing your boyfriend was going to carry what he had even if he had to waddle.

“So how do you even make dumplings anyway?” You both stepped into the elevator, smiling as Kun struggled through the small doors with bags on both arms.

“Should just be making the inside and any sauce we want with it. Everything else it just putting it together and cooking it.” He stared up at the ceiling, recalling the recipe. You nodded, watching the doors to the elevator close after pressing the button for the 3rd floor.

“Are we making it now or waiting for later?” He turned to you, leaning his head against the wall. You’d been staying together for a year now, you have seen him do that over a thousand times, yet your heart fluttered at the way his eyes looked so bright yet intense as he waited for you to answer.

“We can start once we finish putting up the groceries, that way we’ll work up our appetite.”

Ding.

The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open to reveal the familiar hall leading to your apartment. You were grateful as he pushed himself off the wall, politely waiting for you to walk out first before following.

The third door on the right read 313, the familiar numbers matching the same ones on your shared keys. You managed to pull your keys out, but struggled to flip through them with one hand already full. Sighing, you were about to put the bags on the floor when Kun reached forward, easily sliding them out of your hands and into his.

Mumbling a quick thank you, you focused on opening the door. Quickly finding the right key, you slid it in and turned the nob letting the door fall open as Kun walked in.

It didn’t take very long to put everything up with the both of you working together, occassionally tossing boxes across the kitchen and stopping to dance to the music you don’t remember turning on.

Somehow you found the skin, the chicken and vegetables for the inside, and ingredients for the sauce and watched as Kun set everything out on the counter while grabbing pans and oil.

“Okay, ready to learn?” He turned to you and smiled. After washing your hands, Kun gently handed you one of the round skins.

“Now, just dip your finger in the water and wet the edges.” He demonstrated on his own and watched you imitate him.

“Perfect. Now we can put the filling inside, about a spoon full.” He placed the filling in his and handed you the tablespoon.

Hesitantly you placed a small amount on the skin, watching his reaction to decipher if it was too much or not. “That’s good, just a bit more. Like this.” He placed his hand on yours and helped you scoop more, placing the filling on the skin.

“Okay, now what?”

“Now, we fold it!” He folded it like a taco, then slowly pinched the edge of it like small arrows.

You folded yours like a taco but struggled to pinch it like his. “Hold on you went to fast, how do you get it to look like that?” You leaned closer to his now completed dumpling, confused on the details.

“Here.” He stood in front of you, folding and pinching one end so you could watch. When you still struggled with it, he guided your fingers to the right spots and put pressure to show you how it works.

“Oh!” You hummed as you started a new one, mimicking the way the showed you and smiling proudly as you did it.

“Good job, now we have to do it 4 more times.” You slouched, sighing as you realized how much work was put into making dumplings. What about all the other things he cooks?

“Here, you do everything up to folding and I’ll finish it.” He moved some of the bowls around on the counter and set the plate of uncooked dumplings on his right as the stove took up the space on his left.

You smiled and stood on the other side of the plate, organizing everything so you could reach easily.

The rest of the dumplings didn’t take long to complete, the two of you easily falling into a rythm of preparing them and folding.

“Now all that’s left is cooking.” He grabbed the pan and set it on the stove while pouring some oil on it. Once the oil was hot, he set the dumplings on the pan while you watched from the side.

“Ah, can you watch them while I grab something?” Setting the lid on top he quickly walked away and left you alone to finish cooking them.

You watched as the dumplings sizzled, the water inside slowly evaporating as it helped cook the sides and keep them wet. You had watched your boyfriend pour water in when it seemed low, and with the water almost gone you decided to pour more. Shouldn’t be too difficult, all I’m doing is pouring some water in.

Grabbing the measuring cup, you gently lifted the lid off the pan and poured. The water and the oil heated caused the sizzling to grow, a few droplets popping out of the pan and hitting your hand. You jumped, not expecting the sudden heat and dropped the measuring cup.

"I heard glass, is everything okay? What happened?” Kun came running back into the kitchen with a small bowl and bottle but quickly set them aside as he noticed the glass surrounding your feet.

“I’m fine, just wasn’t expecting the oil to attack me.” You chuckled, trying to keep the mood light as he ran to grab something.

He returned wearing shoes and holding a towel and slippers, tip-toeing over to you. He set the towel in front of you and helped you put the slippers on so you could escape after setting the lid down again.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You didn’t get burned or cut anywhere?” He held your hand as he glanced over your form.

“I promise, I’m sorry about the measuring cup.” You glanced in the direction of the kitchen, brows furrowed as you recalled the mess.

He shook his head, pulling you closer so he could press a kiss against your lips before mumbling about getting a new one. “You stay here, I’ll clean up the kitchen and we can finish making the dumplings.”

After about ten minutes, he walked out holding the plate of dumplings with a cup of ramen in the center. “Let’s eat in the living room, hmm?” You smiled, following him to the small table and setting up.

As you sat down on the floor, Kun grabbed cups, soda, and utensils before joining you. You both quietly enjoyed the food, the only sound coming from the music still playing.

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floralguccistyles · 3 years

Photo

Remember when I said this fic was coming soon in March of 2020? Well...I promise I haven’t abandoned it. I want to finish Wildflower before I start on this, but I thought I might post a sneak peek because why not? Hope you guys enjoy!

mise en place, sneak peek

Michel’s soupe a l’oignon was burning.

But the fucking soup was burning.

I just also felt really, really bad for the customer who was waiting for their soup.

“Go run it under cool water. Cool, Michel, not cold. Ice-cold will damage the tissue even more. Then get a rag wet and hold it over. You can just go ahead and take your fifteen.”

“My soup—”

“Thanks, Dom. I’ll be in the lounge.”

“It’s fine. Tell Louis to offer them a dessert on the house because this soup is going to take at least another fifteen.”

I wanted to slam my head against the counter. Or better yet, use the pan Isobel was now putting on the drying rack to hit over my head. “Fuck. Alright.”

“Christ, Dom, you scared me,” he replied in a quiet voice, not wanting any of the customers to hear. “What?”

“Tell table eleven there was a complication with their soup and dessert is on the house.”

“What the fuck happened to their soup?”

I raised a brow. “Michel made it.”

“Fine. But I’m recommending the chocolate mousse because you’re here and you make it the best.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” I replied with a wink.

He grinned. “Got me into your bed, didn’t it?”

Thank the fucking lord he felt the same way.

“You’re damn right it did. Now go make me proud, Tomlinson.”

School had been lonely. At least here I felt like I belonged.

“They’re good for the chocolate mousse!” Louis shouted over the sound of Isobel doing the dishes and Italia chopping more vegetables.

“You’re a saint, Tomlinson!” I replied, dropping the spices needed onto Italia’s cutting board. She slid them into the soup with her knife and the skill of a seasoned Lesauvage veteran.

I thrived on that.

“I’m really sorry, Dom,” he said softly, preparing for my anger.

“It’s fine, Michel. Just work on desserts for now, okay? But this is the comp dessert for table eleven, so try to pay attention, yeah?”

“I made them, Tomlinson, of course they’re good,” I snapped, clicking my tongue in annoyance. It was a bad habit I had done when I was a kid and never seemed to shake it.

“Who?”

“Table eleven.”

She stopped talking when she noticed Louis and sent a blinding smile at us. “This is the chef, I presume?”

She waved it off. “The soup was fine. That chocolate mousse, however? It was to die for!”

“Dominique makes it the best,” Louis supplied helpfully from behind me. I grinned nervously.

“We all loved it,” the man holding her hand spoke, and I was surprised to hear an Irish accent. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I have the weirdest proposition for you. Please feel free to say no if you don’t want to, but I would kick myself if I didn’t ask.”

My eyes strayed back to the woman, who was talking to me politely.

“I’m two months pregnant,” she said happily, her hand going to her stomach like most pregnant women did when their pregnancy was announced, “and I’m so incredibly exhausted nowadays. I can barely muster up enough energy to come out to dinner, let alone make myself toast in the morning. I was wondering if you’d ever consider being a personal chef?”

#mep #mep sneak peek #1dff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au

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