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daily-coloring · 4 months

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Best of 2023 - Songs

Strange things happens ... Artists I never liked before became one of my favorite this year. Kesha for example, not to mention Noel Gallagher. The CUNT. Playlist here.

01. Roisin Murphy - Can't Replicate - "It's odd I should run into you just as I'm getting ready to run away. I was waiting for something, that thing is you. But, baby, you found me, before I found you."

02. Depeche Mode - Never Let Me Go - "I'm waiting for your love, I know you'll want me. When your body's had enough your senses will see. There's only so much time we have to play with, to waste it is a crime. We have so much to give. When uncertainty parts you'll be ready to concede. It was plain from the start, you've been running from me and I have been patient, I have been so calm, bit my lips through the torment. Please fall into my arms."

03. Conan Gray - Never Ending Story

04. Mermaidens - Sister

05. Rebecca Black - Performer - "Every time I try to be more vulnerable it's like I hit a wall. Can't go any further. I don't wish this on anyone it's gone on way too long patterns unbreakable. I'm a performer, got myself cornered, put on my armor, just like my mother and father. Multiple versions of the same person, all of them hurting. Don't think the performance is working."

06. Maneskin - Honey (Are You Coming)

07. Everything But The Girl - Karaoke - "That night down at the karaoke I was in the groove. Someone tried some Dylan but the place remained unmoved. A guy then goofed through Elvis. Why not, I thought, why not? If you want it, you can own it just aim, then take a shot."

08. Anna B Savage - Pavlov's Dog

09. Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Broken Toy

10. Kesha - Only Love Can Save Us Now

11. Daughter - Party - "I refuse to believe that there's a problem, you see. I could stop if I want, I just don't want to yet. I creep the volume up, I've gotta drown myself out. She's a rattlesnake, some stereo mind game. I play with myself. Yeah, she's on repeat, throwing up memories, that haven't deleted."

12. Rebecca Black - Crumbs

13. JMSN - Soft Spot

14. The Blessed Madonna featuring Jacob Lusk - Mercy

15. When Saints Go Machine - Gone

16. Tsatsamis - Everybody Wants a Piece of You

17. Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Everything Is Sweet - "Where everything is sweet and lovely and nothing bad ever happens, maybe, then, you would love me and my smile wouldn't hide the sadness. Take me to a place enchanted, take me to a heavenly fortress, where everything is sweet and lovely. Tell me that you dream about us."

18. Depeche Mode - Don't Say You Love Me

19. Orbital featuring Anna B Savage - Home

20. Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Reflections

21. Roisin Murphy - Eureka

22. HMLTD - Days

23. Noel Gallaghers's High Flying Birds - Pretty Boy

24. Joyce Muniz - Arrivederci Bella

25. Ai Weiwei + O Future + Aliah Rosenthal - Hum Bom!

26. Anna B Savage - The Ghost

27. Future Utopia featuring Kae Tempest - We Were We Still Are

28. Everything But The Girl - When You Mess Up

29. Roisin Murphy - You Knew - "Don't come the innocent boy, admit that you've got your motives. You knew exactly what motivates me I believe the record will show this and I think you've always known I have feelings for you that burn . (You knew) but you just won't go there with me. (You knew) and take some sort of responsibility."

30. Allie X - Black Eye

31. DJ Shadow - You Played Me

32. Depeche Mode - Ghost Again

33. Daughter - Be On Your Way

34. Clark - Town Crank

35. Blaue Blume - Crush

36. Air Jackson + ACI TONA - When We Were Younger

37. Interplanetary Criminal + Porij - Don't Hurt Me

38. Mermaidens - Push It

39. Shamir - Obsession

40. Tove Lo - Borderline

41. Tzusing - Balkanize

42. Kesha - Eat The Acid

43. Spoort - Stained Glass Windows

44. Noel Gallaghers's High Flying Birds - Council Skies

45. Orbital featuring Coppe - Moon Princess

46. Not Waving - Running Back To You

47. Joy Wellboy - Flush Me

48. Jake Shears - Radio Eyes

49. DJ Icey - Hold On To Me

50. Caterina Barbieri - Math of You

51. Anna B Savage - Touch Me -"Touch me, Please. Pull my hair, caress my cheek. One more graze that lingers. My mouth would part to welcome those fingers."

52. Glasser - Vine

53. Nina Kravitz - Tarde

54. Rebecca Black - Stick to my Stomach

55. Restive Plaggona - Non Chi No Ni

56. Young Fathers - Drum

57. Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Reflections

58. Sevdaliza - Who Are You Running From

59. Jodi Harsh - Hectic

60. Deus - Faux Bamboo - "Cause the house we live in it took years of building. Now the thunder's shaking, before the lightning I couldn't see it. Don't mistake it cause I'm ready for anything you better know. You're the one who breaks it. I'm not walking alone now."

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smokedgastropod · 1 year

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listen up, i need to tell you about my favourite category of sweets in poland - cemetary candy.

on all saints day, next to graveyards stand stalls offering sweets that aren't in the store. they aren't even made in a factory. there's also stuff like flowers and grave candles, but the candy is unique and! dependent on the region. you can sometimes find these stalls also during religious hollidays, but not the main ones - the more local and minor kind.

i'm from the south of poland (kraków/ cracow!), so i'll start with "trupi miodek" also known as "turecki miodek" which you could translate as "corpse candy" or "turkish candy". i doubt turkish people would recognize it as such though:

it's a hard caramel sweet, usually the flavour of vanilla, honey or almond, that's f-cking smashed with a hammer and sold in plastic baggies. is it good? i can't say. nostalgia blinds me, so probably it's not that great. (it's mostly sugar! hard sugar!). often sold with nuts in the package. the stall usually offers off-brand m&ms as well.

now, a bit up north, around warszawa (warsaw) you can find "pańska skórka" which translates as "noble/lord's skin" and looks like this:

also quite cheap and made primarily from sugar and egg whites, but the texture is different. you can't see this, but it's actually quite big and really hard at first, so you can't speak as you eat it. then it get's softer and is easily moldable, and kinda similar to dissolving chewing gum. usually flavored with vanilla, strawberry or apple.

around poznań you can find these bad boys:

these have three names cuz why stop at one? they're "rury" ("pipes"), "dachówki" ("roof tiles") or "trąby" ("trumpets"). they're crunchy and a bit like gingerbread. haven't tried them, poznań is on my bucket list though!

time for lublin and these:

they're called "szczypki" which comes from the word "szczapki", meaning thin and long pieces of wood used when lighting a fire. as with others, it's made with sugar, but also egg whites, gelatine, starch and water. they're similar to others on this list in terms of flavour.

there's also obwarzanki *odpustowe*:

i could find them in kraków, but they're technically a warsaw treat. now i'll be honest, i don't really like them, they're hard, usually dry and leave crumbs everywhere. not to be confused with obwarzanki *krakowskie*:

which are available in kraków and surrounding areas (which are also called an obwarzanek! because that area is round in shape! how cute!) year round. they're awesome, come with sesame seeds, poppy seeds, salt, cheese or a spice blend with paprika. they're a better pretzel, don't fight me on this.

a honorable mention goes to "misie bezowe" ("meringue bears"):

now those are technically made by an actual company and not by... just normal people in personal kitchens? as i said, cemetary candy isn't made commercially. these bears are, and they're as far as i'm aware available all over poland, but mostly sold alongside the treats mentioned above. they are cheap, have a weird, kinda processed aftertaste, and the inside of this waffle isn't filled with meringue, but some?? white filling???? the waffle is bland as paper too. i find them very nostalgic, but i'm aware they're probably the sh-ttiest out of all of them.

thanks for your attention.

#poland #sweets #regional #all saints day #graveyard

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aquilaofarkham · 3 years

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title: mishpachah rating: T+ word count: 3,085 summary: Five years after rebuilding the manor—and the birth of a new Belmont into the world—Trevor decides to share an old recipe with his newfound family.

For @fibulaa 💛 Thanks so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

The first bread Trevor Belmont ate while living his newly orphaned vagabond life was so dry it cut at the inner walls of his throat. He swallowed each bite with grimace after grimace, knowing that despite the pain, the already hardened child of thirteen could stave off starvation for a little while longer. Until he tasted the faintest tinge of copper on his ruined tongue.

Putting those years far behind, he now stands in front of a wooden counter, blurry eyed and with a yawn reminiscent of a sun drunk cat. It seems clean at first glance but in every corner Trevor notices fragments of past meals which he tried wiping away once they were finished and placed on a more pristine table meant for family. Bits of salt, half minced vegetables, and crumbs of bread much softer than the ones belonging to a later childhood he would rather forget. This kitchen, warm in its early morning sunlight, was the final instalment of the manor, newly risen from the ashes. Or rather, simply rebuilt thanks to the calloused, blistered, and splintered hands. No more ruined stone, no more fire blackened beams holding together little less than an architectural skeleton. The somewhat mirror image of Trevor’s lost home has been faring better than the castle. Too many memories, fresh, ranging from bitter to incomprehensible.

Slowly, he grows conscious of his surroundings and his own self. A continuing habit of being the first to wake not just in this manor hold but in life. Reluctantly opening his eyes prior to dawn covering the landscape while still traveling alone only to drag a pair of worn boots back along a similar muddy road. Trevor never wanted to wake up before the sun. He just couldn’t bear to stay in the same place for much longer whether due to the laundry list of dangers or more often than not, his newfound hatred of whichever backwater hamlet he unfortunately found himself in.

He’s happy to wake up early. Happy to never feel a need to leave or escape, happy to know that lack of food replaced with pints of liquid pleasure mixed with death will never plague him again. Happy to prepare breakfast in a hot iron pot over a well stoked fire. What he thought he lost forever has come back, along with new additions to the family he’s carved out.

Another presence bounds her way into the kitchen and ambushes Trevor from behind. He’s not old—not yet, he’ll give it time—but years of drinking have made their permanent stay, dulling the more acute senses. Makes it easier for a five-year-old to catch him off guard. Trevor’s eyes bolt open as tiny arms hold him in a tight cage.

“Good morning, papa!”

His ears ring at the sound of Mirele’s loud voice, but at least he won’t have to worry about nodding off. He stares down at the youngest Belmont who looks as though someone had split Trevor and Sypha straight down their centres into four pieces and sewed each differing half onto the other in order to create a new person. A homunculi of messy dark chocolate hair, bright eyes shining with blue ice, full rosy cheeks somehow conspicuously smeared with some sort of dirt or jam, and enough energy to wear out an electric powered jackrabbit.

“How’s my little monster doing this morning?” Everything Trevor says is laced with his own personal touch of affection and Mirele loves it.

“Mama and papa are still asleep. Help me wake them up! Pleaseeee?”

This doesn’t surprise him; Sypha has always preferred to savour her last moments of sleep longer than normal and Alucard is… well, Alucard.

“Tell you what.” Trevor places a lid onto the simmering pot with a heavy clank. “While this heats up for our breakfast, we’ll go wake up those lazy bones.”

“Right!” Hand in smaller hand, the two make their way upstairs into the shadowy master bedchamber. Curtains drawn with only a sliver of light cutting its singular path across the floor and over two distinct lumps covered by blankets and furs. They seem conjoined, linked in each other’s arms, unaware that a third party has been missing for long enough. Mirele plunges into the room first, jumping onto the bed as all children do when parents refuse to join the land of the conscious. She playfully shoves and cuddles her way between the two bodies who sink deeper beneath the covers, lazily moaning like ghosts.

“Mama! Papa! Wake up! It’s time to get up!”

Trevor hopes that his tactic of throwing open the weighted curtains works in a more effective manner. Listening to the rising chorus of wordless protests coming from behind, he’s pleased with the results. “Never thought I would be the one setting a good example for our daughter.”

“Do not get cheeky, especially this early.” Sypha’s response spills out like running water. It’s clear her mind isn’t quite all there yet. But she can scoop Mirele into her arms, find every ticklish spot, and illicit giggles that only canines might hear. “At least we both know how to have fun, right my sweet?”

“Vampires… nocturnal…” A deeper, muffled voice emerges from under one of the pillows.

“Something you’d like to share with us, Alucard?” Trevor quips, amused at how the other father of the household can never seem to shake off his morning dishevelment. Perhaps sleeping in a coffin would help—a very large one so he doesn’t have to be alone. Alucard reluctantly removes the pillow as tangled heaps of gold fall over his face.

“Vampires are supposed to be nocturnal. Would you rather I burst into ashes upon contact with the sun? Think of our girls, Trevor.”

“We’ve all seen you in the sun before, it’s about as dangerous as a clove of garlic.”

“I have my own means of physical protection. Far beyond your measly human comprehension, love.”

“Personally, I’ve been able to comprehend you plenty.”

Mirele stares up at Sypha, her bushy brows furrowed. “What does… comp… sshhheshion mean?”

“It’s just another word your fathers use whenever either of them want to feel smart.”

Alucard gives Sypha a gentle pinch on either side of her abdomen. “I thought you were on my side.”

“What about my side?” Trevor asks, excelling at the greatest strength he possesses—the ability to never take anything seriously, only when he must.

“I’m hungry,” Mirele speaks up. “Hungry and bored. Can we eat now?”

This life is not normal, but then again it is. It always has been for them. Normal once meant coming together because of violence, encroaching darkness, and some flimsy prophecy stringing them along one dead body at a time. A prophecy which never said what had to be done after they followed it to the hard earned letter. Perhaps that’s why Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard floundered afterwards. No instruction on how to live their upturned lives.

Fuck prophecy.

They made this life by their own standards and in accordance with their own desires. They loved how they wanted to love and no prophecy could have foreseen Mirele. How she calls for her father while both Trevor and Alucard turn their heads at the same exact second. How she quickly calms herself when presented with a bowl of warm oatmeal drowning in honey and wild fruits hand plucked from the surrounding forest. But it’s not enough. Nothing ever is for someone always growing, always wanting more from life at such a young age.

“Can I have bread?”

Trevor, half way through his bitter coffee, turns to Sypha then Alucard as all three parental figures exchange glances. They haven’t the heart to tell Mirele. No bread at the ready, only the necessary ingredients and a considerable amount of flour bags to blanket Enisala. There’s the option of making it themselves, yet it depends on a certain someone’s capacity for patience.

“How do you feel about baking our own?” Trevor’s voice wavers, which he tries to mask with his characteristic dry tone. It’s been a long time since he’s made bread. Then again, helping the manor cooks was a somewhat selfish endeavour as it meant extra servings for the baby of the Belmonts. Yet his proposal goes over well with Mirele, whose inherited eyes light up at the prospect of trying something new.

“I wanna make bread! Can we? Can we please?”

“When was the last time you baked anything, Trevor?” Alucard asks, genuinely curious and with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You still won’t tell us much about anything concerning your former life, let alone the sort of foods your family ate.”

Trevor feels a twinge in his gut—still better than a punch. His two lovers, even his daughter, they only know of his mother; a matriarch in her own right. They know her name, the monsters she killed, and not much else. Trevor’s excuses: he doesn’t remember anything about her, despite the fact that he does. He didn’t know her for very long or very well, so there’s no point in missing her. Trevor did know Sonia and he does miss her, sometimes more than he can handle. Then the easiest excuse: it’s just another self-preservation tactic.

Out of this inner reflection comes an idea. It breaks tradition in a way. For the Belmonts and other Jewish families, everything is passed down through the mother—recipes, forms of worship, blood memories, centuries old tactics of bruising one’s knuckles and temples. Trevor doesn’t think this slight deviation from his culture’s norm will make him any less of what he’s always been. Mirele will simply have to pick up where he left off when she’s grown.

He doesn’t want to think about that now. She’s only five after all. One lesson at a time.

“Alright. Gather round, pupils. The bread we’re making isn’t just any bread. Forget everything you know and everything you’ve been taught because this will be the closest thing to heaven you’ll ever taste.”

“How dramatic…” Sypha mutters under her breath. Alucard joins her amusement with a subdued chuckle.

“I believe you were partially his influence.”

Trevor knows how much trouble he’ll be in if he puts Mirele through the most agonizing cruelty of waiting a second longer than necessary. Fearful of her pint-sized wrath, he gives everyone the order to start gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, honey, and some indulgent herbs to make this particular bread something special. As much of a strategic leader in the kitchen as he is when the world is coming to an end. With everything spread out on the countertops, Trevor guides his family step by step through the only recipe he remembers. He calls this bread “challah”, which Mirele immediately strains her freshly green vocal chords, trying to pronounce the word exactly as her father does. She quickly gives up and focuses on mixing the ingredients with an intense look—almost to a fault as bits of sloppy dough fly out of the bowl. Good. This enthusiasm is what Trevor wants to see.

Kneaded and allowed time to rise, the next step is the most important. Trevor divides the dough into four halves, then again, and again until each participant has their own handful of raw unbaked strips.

“We have to braid them?” Mirele asks following his explanation.

“That’s right. It’s what makes this bread different from all the rest.”

“Just like when papa let’s me braid his pretty hair!”

Every pair of eyes turns to Alucard, whose smile widens in that way which causes his eyes to shut tightly. Fangs happily bared as he pulls Mirele into his flour and dough covered arms while she giggles in delight. After they all return to work, her loaf turns out the same way as the braids she gives to him—lopsided, uneven, lacking a few outsticking stray hairs, but filled with affection and genuine resolve.

Three loaves are placed into the oven, including a fourth crudely constructed but still adequately done piece. Mirele is now more willing to play the waiting game—so she claims. Sitting in front of the oven while staring directly into its insides, utterly fascinated, oblivious to her surroundings. Unaware that her three parents are whispering behind her back. Eventually, Sypha has to gently pull her away with her bottom dragging along the kitchen floor.

“How about you and I do something a little more interesting while your fathers keep watch over things.”

“But what about the c… the calla!”

“Don’t worry, they will look after it. And we are not going far, my sweet.”

“We’ll make sure nothing burns down.” Trevor assures, despite it being Sypha who usually revels in cinders and ashes, intentionally or not.

The two retreat down the corridor past diamond shaped stained windows and into one of the manor’s smaller libraries where the cabinets reach the high ceiling painted in deep blue hues. Scattered from corner to corner are constellations of stars and midnight clouds obscuring each phase of the moon. Once when Alucard found Mirele curiously asleep atop a number of pillows when she should have been in her own bed, it was his decision to paint the library in new colours. Sypha moves aside an entire shelf of thick volumes as though trying to find a carefully hidden switch that will lead them into a secret chamber. It’s what Mirele hopes but turns mildly disappointed when the books do not in fact magically shift to reveal a stone passageway. Her soured anticipation is only countered when Sypha places a box on the desk.

“Can you guess what’s inside?”

“Is it treasure?”

“Close! You are almost right.” Sypha opens the lid just as Pandora did except there are no horrors, no evils to be wrought upon humanity. Mirele peeks inside and her eyes shine with the glistening silver of trinkets, pendants, and talismans. She resists the innate urge to reach her hands, still white with flour, into the box only to briefly experience the sensation of holding one between her fingers. Even children know when something is sacred.

“These belonged to your grandparents. They used them for protection and strength. A long time ago, before you were born, their home burned down and everything was destroyed.”

“Papa’s home?”

Sypha nods, grateful that this story now has its happy ending, slight as it may be. “However, when your other father started building the manor we live in, he found this box trapped amongst all the rubble. It managed to survive.”

“What do they say?”

Mirele points to one pendant molded in the shape of a sword. Inscribed along the curve of its ash-riddled blade are the Hebrew names of angels which must have been muttered by Sonia or Gabriel. The longer Mirele stares, attempting to decipher yet another new language, the brighter her cheeks grow red with frustration. Her mother acts quick just as her eyes begin to water.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand what any of them say.”

“I can learn! Please, mama? I promise I’ll study really hard!”

Sypha’s lips curl as Mirele continues her begging. Oh the mind of a child. How quickly it changes.

The kitchen feels hotter, wafting through the air. Enveloping the room and everything caught between its walls. Trevor stands by the oven, a thick cloth ready in his hand. It shouldn’t take much longer. At least there’s no stench of something burning. Almost makes him pine for the days of his family’s massive stone oven and how he would sneak around at night and pick out leftover morsels from inside like an insatiable mouse. Not unlike the actual beasts which he hunted throughout the hallways before moving onto larger prey typical of a Belmonts’ work—or as large as his own runtish body mass could handle.

Minutes of quiet pass, still eyeing the loaves with a keen gaze. Trevor’s concentration soon broken by the feeling of two arms wrapping around his softening yet still robust midsection. Slow and careful, until his back is pressed against an equally broad chest.

“Can I help you?” He asks as Alucard buries his face into the curvature of his shoulder blades.

“You’re already helping.” The dhampir, unchanging in his physical appearance (a revelation both Trevor and Sypha refuse to acknowledge for the time being), tightens his embrace.

“Something wrong?”

“No… I just enjoy feeling how much softer and warmer you’ve become.”

Trevor’s cheeks blush ever so pinker and not because of the oven’s heat. By now he should be used to Alucard’s sudden bouts of outward affection.

“You even smell better.”

There it is. Trevor thought he would be waiting forever to hear that little jab, though said with nothing but a good heart.

“That might be the herbs you’re smelling.”

Alucard shifts around so that the two of them are side by side, cheek to cheek, as he chuckles in Trevor’s ear. “Come here.”

He doesn’t offer a kiss, not where Trevor was expecting. Instead of his lips, Alucard singles out every patch of stray flour on his face, kissing, wiping, even licking them clean. Cheek, jawline, and nose. Trevor’s expression twists into a ticklish, surprisingly delighted facade.

“You’re a half vampire, not a cat.”

“Better to clean you now than later.”

“Always so fucking odd…”

“You love it.”

Much to his lucky stars, Trevor manages one curse mere seconds before Sypha and Mirele return. They let their daughter speak at a breakneck speed neither one can fully comprehend—something about silver pieces and whether they can teach her a new language—until one series of questions finally sticks.

“Is the bread ready yet? Can we eat it now? Can we please?”

Trevor placates Mirele by revealing the fruits of their joint hard earned labour: four freshly baked and perfectly shined challah loaves each representative of whoever did the braiding. She bounces in her chair before simmering down to an excited tremble once Trevor warns her of how they need to cool. In order to make this more of a meal, he rummages about in search of two other beacons from his childhood. He’s rewarded with one of the few fresh apples they have left while Sypha, ever in tune with his inner thoughts, grabs another small pot of honey for him.

Trevor thanks her by gently running his palm across her lower abdomen, over the growing bump. He keeps it there for just a second longer, a subtle gesture of love noticed by Sypha. Fingertips intertwined with each other, they join Alucard and Mirele at the table as the midday sun shines golden through the windows.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #trephacard #my writing #*cvfic #jewish trevor

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ladyblogger-margie · 3 years

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Sticky Celebration

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader

Summary: It’s your birthday and Will helps you celebrate in a special way.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (general smut, PinV sex, unprotected sex, food play, oral F!recieveing, cum play) Reader gets a hickey.

Word Count: 1917

Prompt: Unwrapping

a/n: This got away from me. It also has barely anything to do with the prompt.

MY MASTERLIST

The weather was colder today than it has been the last week and the clouds were threatening rain all day but hadn’t followed through yet

You were curled up on the couch, nursing a glass of your favourite wine. This wine you only indulged on for special occasions was more expensive than a weeknight bottle, and the rarity of your treat made it all the more delicious.

The special occasion today was your birthday. Though the recent pandemic had kept you from being able to have the blow out party you’d been planning, it still ended up being a pretty nice day anyway. That was all thanks to Will Miller.

Your boyfriend Will had moved in with you not long after the pandemic started in the first place. You two hadn't been dating that long then, but the big step had felt just right when the rest of the world felt so wrong.

In the kitchen Will was doing the last of the dinner dishes. He wasn’t the greatest cook in the world and his range was limited, but he did a few things really really well. He also had a special talent for your favourite meal.

You’d asked him the first time he made it how’d he’d known the subtle tricks of the dish so well. He informed you that he had called your mom and asked her to share with him the secret. Not only that, but he’d gone to visit her to practice a few times.

Your mom told you later that that day was the one she knew that he was going to be your person for life. Knowing the story only made the food all the better.

You heard the water shut off in the kitchen, but Will didn’t reappear right away. When he eventually did, he brought with him a simple birthday cake with a few candles on top. He sang happy birthday to you, his voice like sweet honey whiskey. He set the cake down in front of you.

“Make a wish, sweetheart,” he instructed.

“But I have everything I could have ever hoped for already,” you said, and you meant it as you held his hand.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he winked at you.

You blew out your candles and he clapped his hands a few times before he took them off the top of your cake.

Then you couldn’t help yourself and you launched yourself on him, pushing him back on the couch. You gripped his head in your hands firmly and locked him in a place where you could kiss him firmly, and nip at his lower lip.

You seemed to catch him off guard and it took him a moment to respond to you. But when he did, you got exactly what you wanted from him. He gripped your hips tightly and pulled you close to him. He opened his mouth against yours and pushed your lips open to press his tongue against yours.

His hands snuck up your back and unclasped your bra. Then he broke his kiss with you just long enough to pull your bra and shirt off in one piece over the top of your head. Then his lips were fastly back on you, biting at your collarbone.

Will was normally so sweet, so gentle, but there was something about his energy tonight that was more urgent, more primal. You loved it.

You tugged on his short hair roughly, your kiss against his forehead sloppy and wet as he worked a hickey onto the exposed flesh of your neck. He pulled off you, a string of saliva connecting hips lips to you and you felt the wetness between your legs growing. You watched him, hungry, and his look mirrored yours.

You pulled his shirt off over his head and ran your fingers quickly over his muscular chest. Normally you’d take your time admiring him, but the pace was quicker tonight than usual. He was kissing you again, your hands finding the graphic scar on his abdomen. You remembered the story of how he got it and it only made you more desperate to fill him inside you, to prove the very fact he was alive and well.

In a quick, surprising movement, he flipped you over to your seat on the couch before he dropped to his knees between your legs. He propped himself up to trail his lips down your chest, scratching your exposed breasts with his well-trimmed beard.

You dropped your head back as he took your nipple in his mouth. He had one hand on your back, leveraging you to arch your back to his lips, and the other gripped tightly to your hip. When he bit the underside of your breast, you gasped and knew it would leave a mark - one you’d investigate later and fully appreciate.

“Careful of the cake,” you warned him as he shifted on his knees, dangerously close to the cake on the small table there.

He paused, then licked his lips.

“Did you want some cake, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone suggestive.

“Only if you feed it to me,” you replied with a wink.

He reached out to the cake and scooped a generous amount of icing to the tip of his finger and pushed it into your mouth. The action was sloppy and he dropped some icing onto your stomach on the way. He took care of that though, licking it up with his eager tongue as you sucked on his finger that was in your mouth.

He wasn’t finished though. He reached over again and this time grabbed a small handful of cake and smeared it across your breasts, the crumbs and icing sticking to your heaving chest. You squirmed under him as he ate the cake off your naked body, getting icing and cake stuck chaotically in his beard.

When he licked you mostly clean, but leaving you definitely sticky, you pushed him off you and onto his back on the floor. He watched as you stripped off your pants and underwear quickly and tossed them back on the couch.

Then you lowered yourself over him and straddled his waist. You smashed some cake against his chest and licked it back off him with hungry enthusiasm. You felt his hips buck slightly under you and felt his erection firm against you through the constraints of his jeans.

When he was as messy and sticky as you, you pulled off his pants and briefs and tossed them to the side. You paused for just a moment to appreciate just how hot Will Miller really was. He was flat on his back, his breathing elevating, and he was covered in cake, but he’d never looked sexier.

Then you didn’t wait any longer to wrap your hand around his long, thick cock and pump him in your hand. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply under your touch, reaching out to hold you in his hands.

You reached up and grabbed another handful of cake, this time pushing it into his mouth. He sucked hard on the three fingers you shoved in his mouth. He grunted as you pumped him fast and hard.

Then he flipped you to your back and traced down your naked body with his sticky lips leaving a messy trail.

He landed on your dripping cunt and devoured you enthusiastically. His hands were roaming your body frantically, grabbing, scratching, pulling on your legs, ass, and hips wildly.

You writhed under his mouth, moaning his name as he sucks on your clit. You feel the heat rising in your core as you rock against his face. You squeezed your eyes shut as your breath hitched in your chest.

It wasn’t long until you cum on his face, soaking his already messy beard in your slick. He doesn’t let up though. He pushes through your oversensitivity and mindless babbling, not giving you any recovery time. He tongue fucks you, and doesn’t give you any peace, just mind blowing ecstasy.

When you cum for the second time, your vision goes black as you squeeze his head with your thighs. You reach up and grab another handful of cake as Will kisses back up your body. You feed him the cake from your hand and you shove it roughly against his mouth.

He licks your hand, mixing icing, and saliva with your slick and leaving it on your skin. You pull his face to yours and kiss him, eating the smushed cake from his beard. The taste was a mix of vanilla and your own cum and it sent tingles through your body.

Will lined himself up between your legs and looked deeply into your eyes. He was a filthy sight and you wanted more.

“Fuck me, Will Miller,” you begged him, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him close to you.

He kissed you softly, more softly than he’s been thus far as he slowly pressed himself into you. He was so thick and so long it took your breath away to take him inside you so fully. But you loved that. You loved how full he made you feel, how connected it made you feel to not only his body but to all of him.

Will’s pace started slow, but when you bit his shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks, he picked up his power. He thrust into you so fully, it knocked a groan out of your lips that forced a smirk on his face. You knew he loved your little noises, but he loved the fact that he was the cause of them even more.

He fucked you so hard, so thoroughly, your tits bounce wildly and you felt your entire body tremble beneath him. He pinched your chin between his thumb and finger and forced you to watch him as he came deep inside you.

Then he kissed you, brushing your cheek with his thumb. When you felt him grow softer inside you, he pulled out and scurried down your body to watch his cum leak out of you. He pushed his fingers inside you, playing with his own cum, mixing it with your own juices.

You lay on your back, sticky and satisfied as you come down from your high and Will watched your pussy pulse and push his cum out of you. You knew you two made a huge mess, but you couldn’t find a single reason to care or worry about that now.

When Will was satisfied with what he saw, he kissed your inner thigh. He looked up at you, his eyes dreamy and expression soft.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” he said, “Thanks for letting me unwrap a present on your birthday.”

You cocked your head, “I didn’t get you a present.”

“You’re my present,” he said, totally serious. So serious you didn’t even laugh at how cheesy it was.

You stroke his face in your hand as you say, “I love you.”

Then he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower and helps you step in under the hot water. You brace yourself against him as he scrubs you both clean.

After he towel dries you, he wraps you in a robe.

“Can we have cake again tomorrow?” you ask with a smirk.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he replied.

Then he took you in his arms and kissed you deeply. You smiled as you faintly tasted vanilla on his lips.

Birthday Challenge Masterlist

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #will miller #Will Ironhead Miller x F!Reader #will ironhead miller #will miller x reader #charlie hunnam #william miller x f!reader #william ironhead miller x reader

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chocosvt · 3 years

Text

preview | kmg fic.

! read the full fic here !

✧✎ a/n: this is a preview to my summer mingyu fic! this includes the very first portion of the story, which in its entirety 50k+ words rip. so i thought a preview might be a cool idea! ALSO!! i’m thinking of making a taglist so if u r interested pls let me know, whether that’s thru dm’s or my inbox!

⚬ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 858 ⚬ genres: SLOWBURN, back and forth PINING, angst, summer romance, spice/nsfw mentions and smut, eventual friends to lovers, brief high school!au, fluff, slight love triangle, lots of teasing/flirting.

✧✎ synopsis: when you graduate high school, you realize you’re not really going to miss anyone, apart from a cute boy who doesn’t even remember your name. five years later, after accepting an offer to pass the summer at a friend’s lake house, he’s standing right in front of you. the universe doesn’t give second chances very often. you’re not going to let the honey boy slip away twice.

It’s graduation day, and you’re standing in the main foyer of your small high school, next to a table that is lined with different platters and refreshments. The line moves slowly as the students fill their paper plates. You keep staring at the gold tassel hanging off the back of Joshua’s cap, how it bobbles from side to side while he balances the plate on his arm and stacks it high with wafer cookies, flavoured in vanilla and strawberry. He grabs the last chocolate milk carton and you sigh quietly. It feels weird. You’re never going to see Joshua again once he relocates for business school.

In fact, you’re never going to see approximately ninety-eight percent of these students again. You look at some people, and you’re fucking relieved. Then you look at others, and there’s a dull disappointment. It’s not that your companionship was anything extraordinary, but there was gleeful memories and conversation and turning around in your seat for the hundredth time to ask for another pencil lead. The line continues to shift forward and you start reaching for a cupcake, but the person behind you darts much quicker, plucking it without a second thought.

You sigh again. It’s not worth it.

By the time you escape the line, your plate is rather sparse: some dry crackers, a couple pieces of cubed mango, and a juice box. The longer you stare at your plate, you come to accept that you’re not even hungry. Thankfully, Soonyoung slips by like a minnow following a shiny lure and you manage to stuff the plate into his arms. He’ll eat anything.

At the opposite side of the foyer, the yearbook committee are making their sales. You buy a yearbook and flip through the laminated pages, scoffing at a few photographs, impatiently skimming by the ones that you could care less about, until you come to the end of the book and there’s some blank pages meant to be inked with signatures. Joshua signs your yearbook, adding a poorly coloured-in heart beside his name. Soonyoung signs too, his handwriting slanted awkwardly across the paper, crumbs falling from the cookie shoved in his mouth which leaves grease on the surface.

A few others write their messages, and you think you could be satisfied. Jane, your chemistry partner for the entire first semester, just finishes signing the book when she spares a quick glance over her shoulder. She scribbles her name down in an indiscernible ribbon, pushes up her thick, foggy glasses, and calls out,

“Mingyu, wait! Let me sign your yearbook!”

Jane doesn’t even lend you a smile before she’s hurrying away. You want to bristle at how little she cares, but the indignance never reaches a boil, not when she had perfectly good reason for treating you like wadded bubblegum stuck in a wrapper.

It is Mingyu after all. He pokes above all his friends, pressing their yearbooks to the wall so he can sign them. When you look at Mingyu, something inside you flutters. At times, you smother the feeling in a crushing grip. And other times, you allow the feeling to bloom, a garden of often misconstrued, adolescent emotion.

You approach Mingyu and wait until the crowd thins. He laughs at an inside joke that Jane had written in his yearbook, to which you see that his braces are now removed, teeth straightened and pearl-white. He licks at his right canine as Jane plays with the end of her side-swept braid and reads the note that he scribbled for her.

She cups a hand to her mouth, “I still can’t believe we did that.”

Mingyu huffs a little too pridefully. “It was mostly you, but whatever.”

“You instigated it!” She laughs, hitting his chest.

Eventually, Jane wanders elsewhere in the foyer. The only two people in the corner are you and Mingyu. He squints at you transiently, then rubs his nose. You feel a bit like a criminal asking him to sign your yearbook, like it’s a grave offence, prompting the enormous lump in your throat as he takes hold of the book and clicks his pen. The point touches the paper, but leaves only a black dot.

“Damn... Uh… Sorry ‘bout this. What’s your name again?”

Oh.

The air becomes dry. It settles like powder. Irritable, chalk-like powder. Mingyu studies you patiently, his gaze gentle, mouth slightly parted while he awaits you to say anything really. The words start piecing together through your stutters.

“T-That’s okay. I-It’s—”

“Mingyu!”

Out of nowhere, Mingyu’s best friend was grabbing at the collar of his black cloak, jerking him away from the corner with a babble about how he was requested at the gymnasium, quote unquote, principal’s orders. Unable to sign your yearbook, Mingyu returns it without so much as an apologetic glance, instead swept away by Seokmin into the sea of mingling graduates. Alone in the corner, you look down at the paper, where there is nothing but a single dot. A spot of ink. The start of an affection and its blunt, unrequited end. You close the yearbook with your third sigh.

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

✧✎ a/n: as i mentioned this is just a preview! i’m still combing through the original fic and fixing stuff up :-) lmk if u’re interested in being on the taglist!! i’m not going to do this for every fic, but since this one is sorta like a holiday special (if that makes any cents) i thought it would b cool!

#caratwritersclub #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu #seventeen fanfic #seventeen mingyu #seventeen smut #mingyu smut #seventeen fluff #mingyu fluff

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Chuckles (Part Two)

Part 1 - 2035 | Part Two - 2036

This is the next chapter of my @tagsecretsanta fic for @angelofbenignmalevolence There is more to come....lots more (though most of it isn’t written yet). Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @tsarinatorment for the reading and support ::hugs::

Warnings: None other than wee!Tracys :D

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

2036

Christmas in the Tracy household was a big family affair. The house itself was a big one. Big enough to house extended family and the bustle and noise that involved.

Scott loved it. Loved everyone being together, the hugs, the jokes, the fact that Uncle Lee always called him ‘Little Jeff’ and told the best stories about planes and rockets. Aunt Val always brought the best Christmas cookies with various aircraft drawn on them with icing. Grandma Taylor had different coloured hair every year and this year was bright blue and included glitter. Grandpa Taylor invented toys for a living so he was always welcome. Though Virgil tended to hoard his attention and Scott wasn’t really sure why because Virgil pulled apart everything Grandpa Taylor gave him anyway.

But the best part of Christmas this year was that Daddy was home.

Daddy spent a lot of time away. Scott understood why, but that didn’t stop him from missing him. Dad had stories much like Uncle Lee and often they starred in each other’s tales, but there was something about his father that Scott just looked up to even more.

It didn’t hurt that Uncle Lee made a point of placing Scott’s father in the spotlight in all his stories.

Dad was an amazing person. A hero.

Dad was also very tall and strong and always had the answers Scott needed. While Mom looked after him and his two little brothers and he loved her very much, Dad was…Dad.

And Scott wanted more than anything to grow up and be just like him.

It certainly didn’t hurt that his father had the same colour hair and everyone said Scott looked a lot like him. Scott bore those comments proudly and made a point of doing his best to emulate what his father might do in any situation.

Scott was going to grow up, join the Air Force and do his father proud.

A clatter in the hallway and Virgil barrelled into the room. Uncle Lee, who had been retelling the Mars landing, stopped mid-word and frowned.

His biggest little brother’s eyes widened as he skidded to a halt and straightened himself up. “Uh, excuse me, Uncle Lee.” A blink, and he looked fit to burst. “Could I please speak to Scott?”

“Sure….squirt.”

That caused Virgil to frown. Scott thought it was funny. Uncle Lee never seemed to be able to remember Virgil’s name.

And besides, Virgil had a thing about being smaller than Scott and didn’t like it being pointed out.

However, Virgil hurried over anyway. “Scotty, can I borrow Chuckles?”

Blink “His name’s not ‘Chuckles’, it’s Chuck.”

“Oh, okay.” Virgil bit his lip. “But can I anyway?”

“Why?”

“Johnny won’t leave me alone.”

“He’ll eat his goggles.”

“Better than him eating my nuts.”

Uncle Lee made an odd sound that dissolved into a cough when Scott and Virgil looked at him.

Scott sighed. “Virgil, it’s Christmas. We’re supposed to share.”

Virgil dragged Scott part way across the room, away from Uncle Lee and lowered his voice.

“I tried, but the kit contains small bits. Mom said Johnny wasn’t allowed to play with small things. She said he was too young.” It was almost hissed under Virgil’s breath. “I don’t want him to get hurt or to get into trouble. Chuckles always distracts him.”

His name wasn’t ‘Chuckles’, it was ‘Chuck’ after Chuck Yeager, the first pilot to break the sound barrier. But Virgil had called the bear ‘Chuckles’ once as a joke, Johnny had picked it up and now it was all about Chuckles. It was annoying.

“Well, give him the nuts and tell him to go eat them somewhere else.”

Virgil stared at him aghast, but then his eyes widened. “Nuts. As in ‘nuts and bolts’, Scott! I’m building the robot Grandpa Taylor brought me. Johnny keeps trying to eat bits of metal.”

Oh.

Uncle Taylor had picked up his tablet, but was now staring at them, a question on his face. “You boys okay?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, Uncle Lee. Virgil just needs some help with his kit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Blue eyes gauged him, but Scott was more worried about his littlest brother and dragged Virgil out the door.

“Where is Johnny?”

“On the floor outside my room.”

“You didn’t leave the door open, did you?”

“No.”

Scott hurried down the hall. “Why didn’t you call Mom?”

“I tried. Mom is talking to Aunt Val and she sounded sad. I didn’t want to interrupt and I didn’t want Johnny to get into trouble. Chuckles will fix it.”

“His name is not Chuckles!”

Scott rounded the corner and to his horror, Virgil’s door was wide open.

He didn’t bother to acknowledge Virgil’s gasp of horror, but instead barrelled on through the door terrified he would find his little brother choking on the floor.

But Virgil’s desk was empty except for the scattered pieces of his project. A quick glance around the room and Scott quickly found Johnny.

He was no more than a tuft of red hair wrapped around Scott’s pilot bear, half buried in Virgil’s bed covers.

Two wide eyes popped up over the top of those goggles. “Scotty!”

Scott hurried over to the bed. “Johnny, are you okay?”

“Chuckles!” Johnny held up the bear and grinned.

Scott sighed and sat down on the bed next to his littlest brother. His heart was beating fast - he had been so scared.

Virgil stood in the centre of his room staring at Johnny, his lip trembling. It was obvious he realised what could have happened when he left to get help.

Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Scotty. I thought he couldn’t get in. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“Virg, he’s okay.” The fright in Virgil’s eyes had the eldest hurrying off the bed from one brother to another. “C’mon, Johnny’s fine. He went and got Chuckles, didn’t you, Johnny?”

The three-year-old’s eyes peered up at Virgil registering his distress and soaking it in like a sponge. His grin vanished and his brow crumpled. “Virgil?” Johnny clambered out of the bed and scampered over to his next eldest brother. “Chuckles? Chuckles make it better?” He offered Virgil the bear.

Virgil stared at Chuckles for a moment before reaching out and taking the fluffy toy. He poked at it gently before hugging it to his chest.

John threw himself at his brother with a huge hug almost knocking Virgil over. Scott reached out and steadied him before adding his own arm to the mix and hugging both his brothers at once. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Scott had to scrub snot off Chuckles’ ear later that night.

-o-o-o-

Christmas Eve was family relaxing time before the busy of the next day. Mom, who had been in the kitchen with Onaha since just after breakfast, called a halt to everything at six in the evening and they sat down for a light buffet of a meal. Every family member donated time or a dish which was mostly warm finger foods like pie and things on sticks.

Scott always looked forward to dessert on Christmas Eve because there were all sorts of interesting things to be had. Aunt Val’s Christmas cookies was one of them.

He stood staring at the different planes so artistically drawn on each of them. They were good enough to be recognisable and none of that generic kiddy stuff kids’ books tried to throw at him. Some were historical, some more modern.

“Trying to decide which plane to eat this year, honey?” Grandma Tracy crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Her long blonde hair flopped over his shoulder as she leant in to kiss him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Scotty.”

“Merry Christmas, Grandma.” But he was still frowning at the cookies. “I can’t see Dad’s plane.”

“Your dad has flown several of those.”

“Yeah, but I want the Sparrowhawk Anderson ZX3.”

Grandma snorted. “Then you’ll have to chase up your father. I saw him nab it earlier.”

Scott turned to his grandmother. “Really?”

“Really.” And it was his father’s deep, smiling voice as Scott was suddenly scooped up in strong laughing arms. “C’mon, ‘Little Jeff’, I’ve saved you your favourite cookie.”

Scott giggled and squirmed, but ultimately clung to his dad, resting his head on his shoulder for just a moment as he was carried across the room to his father’s chair and plomped down on his lap as the man sat down. The longed-for cookie was produced and Scott grabbed it. “Thanks, Dad.”

A big hand on his back, another on his knee, Scott was held close.

“So, what have you and your brothers been up to this week?”

Scott stared at the cookie with the grey, blue and red jet iced on top. “Virgil, did a good drawing of a plane. He didn’t get the tail quite right, but I helped him with that. Johnny learnt some new words.” He couldn’t hold back any longer and bit into the cookie.

It was the best.

Dad snorted. “I heard. I suspected it was you who taught Johnny to say ‘extra-orbital’.”

Scott grinned, his mouth full of biscuit crumbs.

“Swallow before you talk, son.” But his father was smirking.

Scott downed the remains of the cookie, caught between enjoying it and the opportunity to sit and talk with his dad. “He knows all the planets, too.”

“Really?” His father frowned. “He’s only three years old, Scotty.”

Scott sat a bit straighter. I taught him all the names and showed him Mars where you and Uncle Lee went.”

The smile that appeared on his dad’s face only encouraged him. “Virgil drew him pictures of each of them and we stuck them on the wall in his room.”

“That was very kind of the two of you.”

“It made Johnny happy.” Scott didn’t want to mention that Johnny was sometimes sad and always serious. “I want to help him.”

“It sounds like you are doing an excellent job.”

“I’m the eldest.” And Scott knew what Dad was going to say.

“Yes, you are, and that means you have to look after your little brothers. They look up to you and they are your responsibility.”

Scott stared up at those serious grey eyes and for just a second Dad looked like Johnny. “Yes, Dad. I will, I promise.”

His father’s big hand patted his back. “I know you will.”

Scott smiled.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Scott Tracy #chuckles

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sweetdreamhellofanight · 3 years

Text

Imperfection

Tyler Rust x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,092 Summary: No one’s perfect at everything.

There were two distinct beeps coming, and you knew exactly what they were.

Underscored by the beeping were his groans and reactions to something hot, from what you could tell. It sounded as though he’d burned his hand.

Still, you waited in the doorway, gathering yourself before going in to see just what mess he’d made.

There was no smoke, you noted, so that was a good sign.

But the high-pitched noises gave you a headache, just hours after you’d proudly realized that you’d gone an entire day without one.

You’d spoken too soon, it seemed.

There was clanging and crashing and frustrated cursing coming from the kitchen, all drowning out the noise of your entrance.

You dropped your keys in the bowl by the entrance, hung your coat up, and put your purse down. You pulled your hair back into a loose bun, rolled your sleeves up, and finally entered the kitchen.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” you said, loudly over his phone’s timer and the oven’s beeping, making him jump.

Tyler turned to you, his expression somewhere between frustration and embarrassment as soon as he saw you.

“You’re home,” he said, eyes going wide, as though he weren’t expecting you home at your normal time.

“So are you,” you said, smiling as you leaned in the entrance. This was normally his gym time, arriving home at least an hour after you. But today, he stood in the kitchen with an apron on, hair tied up in a messy knot, covered in flour and batter.

“I, uh,” he started, looking from you to the oven, to the pan on the stove with small wisps of smoke coming off whatever was inside it.

A cake, it seemed.

“Experiment gone wrong?” you asked.

He sighed, and nodded in defeat.

Tyler wasn’t usually the type to get frustrated, not the kind of person to let little hiccups get the best of him. But today, as you saw him staring at the burning pan, you smiled wide.

You didn’t enjoy his irritation, but you enjoyed seeing him out of his element.

Just a tiny bit.

Especially after that hike he’d made you go on at the crack of dawn earlier that week.

But you weren’t smiling because you were happy he’d messed up.

You were smiling because, despite the mess in the kitchen, and the smell of something burning, and the incessant beeping that had greeted you, your heart swelled when you looked at him. In all his disheartened and messy glory. He even looked cuter in this moment, you thought.

“I wanted to try something,” he said, deflatedly. You nodded. “And...I did something wrong.”

You walked up beside him, your hands folded behind your back, peering into the baking pan where the smoke began to subside.

“Cake?” you asked.

“Coffee cake,” he said. “The one you really like,” he added, quietly.

You nodded.

The top crumb layer had burned first, something in it had cooked too long and you weren’t sure what he could’ve put in there that would make that happen.

You picked up the fork laying beside it and poked around it, pushing charred bits of crumb off to the side, poking through to the cake itself.

“Well the cake is done,” you said, pulling the fork out to show a clean pull. He sighed beside you, defeated by dessert.

Carefully, you carved a small piece out, bringing it up into the light to take a look at it.

And, for the most part, it looked perfect.

You blew on it on instinct, and took a small bite, immediately crunching on something that shouldn’t have been crunchy.

You stopped and looked up at him.

He looked even more nervous now, and you tried to smile through it.

“Here,” he deadpanned, handing you a napkin. You hoped your eyes conveyed enough of an apology before you spit the bite into the napkin, throwing it out.

“I don’t think everything got mixed together,” you said, wiping your mouth.

He slumped against the counter, dropping his head,

“But it was almost perfect,” you assured him.

“Almost isn’t perfect,” he mumbled.

You moved in front of him, hands on either side of his face, bringing him up to look at you,

“Oh, come on, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

He frowned,

“It’s that bad?” he asked, quietly.

You shook your head,

“You’ve got abs and never eat cake! I don’t expect you to be a perfect baker!” you teased, leaning in close. It got the smallest smile out of him. You kissed his forehead, the heat of the kitchen catching up with both of you, now.

“I tried to follow your recipe, he said, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer, “but I can’t read your handwriting.”

“Ahh,” you said, laughing, “so that’s where you went wrong.”

He buried his face in your neck, laughing for the first time since you got home, and you hugged him tight,

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” you finally said.

“Bad news first,” he mumbled.

“Cake can’t be saved,” you said, running your hand through his hair. He sighed, so you pressed another kiss to his head. “We’re gonna have to throw it out. I’m sorry.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Good news?” he asked, quietly.

“The kitchen is such a disaster that...I think we’re just gonna have to go out to eat,” you said, pulling his head up to look at you.

He smiled, but still didn’t look at you.

You curled a finger under his chin and lifted gently, waiting until his eyes met yours,

“I love that you can’t bake a cake,” you said.

His face twisted in confusion,

“I was beginning to think you were the perfect man. It’s nice to know you can’t do it all.”

He rolled his eyes,

“The perfectionist doesn’t want perfection? How’s that possible?” he teased.

“A little failure here and there keeps things interesting,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, making him smile wide.

He kissed you deeper, hands squeezing your waist, but kept you there, pressed close against him,

“Happy birthday, sunshine,” he whispered against your lips, making you laugh. “Sorry about the cake.”

“Don’t be,” you said, “My birthday is still perfect because I’ve got you.”

And that got a genuine, full smile out of him, and there really wasn’t anything better than that, you thought.

“Now go get ready cause I can’t keep looking at this mess,” you said finally, pinching his cheek, sending him on his way.

#nxt fanfiction #tyler rust #tyler rust x reader #my writing #***#no one with abs like his can bake a cake and that is my theory and i'm sticking to it #anyways i'm in love with him but what else is new

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jaspers-levis · 4 years

Text

Continuation Two: Dusk

TW: Self-image, allusion to eating disorders, abuse mention

PSA: The point of this story is not that the reader has value as a woman because of Paul’s attention. Everyone has value. Period. Size, shape, orientation, identification, race, religion, etc are all things that make us who we are but do not define our value as a human being. You don’t need a significant other to believe you have value before you suddenly have value. The point is, sometimes we as humans struggle to see the truth already in front of our own eyes. Our loved ones are there to remind us that no matter what the voices in your head say, you are perfect just the way you are.

Continuation Two: Dusk

Paul Lahote x female reader

“Ugh!” you grunted, your hand slipping from your waistband as you tried desperately to shimmy into a too-tight pair of shorts from last summer. The jean material would barely fit over your hips, shockingly snug despite the fact you were sure you hadn’t gained that much weight over the last year. You tugged one last time, only to hear the material rip. “Damn it!” Sighing, you slid the shorts down your legs and pulled them free, falling back onto the bed in defeat. It hadn’t been that long since you’d been able to fit into those shorts easily, and the size was already on the larger side in your mind. How could you possibly have gained so much weight in such a short time?

Nothing would fit you beside your largest pair of athletic shorts and even those were snug; you took a deep breath to hold back tears and failed. For years your ex had ridiculed you over your size until you obsessed over every calorie, every crumb on your plate. You’d prided yourself on dropping sizes every few months, until you’d gotten to your ‘goal size’. It was an incredibly unhealthy point in your life, both mentally and physically, but if it was possible for you to make your ex happy in some small way it meant one less way he could hurt you. Now it was a hard to break habit to value your appearance by the number on the tag, a habit you’d thought you’d dropped until now. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks and dripped into your hair, sticking it to your face.

Your phone buzzed beside your head, despairingly you smacked the covers until you found it.

hey babe, be home in a few. dont forget the bonfire 2nite!

You groaned, smacking your forehead lightly. The first bonfire of the summer with the entire pack celebrating the official start to the season was this evening; the weather was supposed to be warmer than it had been in the last few months so you’d pulled out your summer wardrobe in the hopes that everything still fit. This was the last pair of shorts you tried on and everything else was similarly too small… your heart sunk. You wanted to wear something cute to the bonfire, but nothing seemed to fit.

It normally wouldn’t be such a big deal, but Emily and Kim were both small and athletic and always wore clothes that highlighted their form. Quil’s new imprint Hannah was tall and slim, with a river of striking black hair and a fondness for crop tops and short shorts that showed off her endless legs. It felt like every other female you knew was fit and perfect--besides you. You knew it wasn’t a good idea to compare yourself to others but it was hard when you were constantly surrounded by supernaturally attractive men and their similarly attractive significant others. Why couldn’t you be slim and perfect too? You felt like a chubby little frog next to them…

“Babe, I’m home!” Paul called from the kitchen, the front screen door slapping shut behind him. Hastily you sat up and swiped at the embarrassing tears dripping down your cheeks but it was too late. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Paul was at your side in an instant, his warm hand sweeping your hair over your shoulder and resting against your neck.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” you muttered, turning your face away. “My dumb shorts don’t fit.”

“Oh,” you heard the frown in his voice and he picked up the offending garment from the floor. “These ones? Well baby, these are tiny! No wonder they don’t fit, they’re practically a children’s size.”

“But I used to fit in them just last summer!” you cried, turning to him and grabbing the shorts. “How did I get so fat??” You thrust yourself up from the bed and went to stand in front of the full length mirror. “I used to be so tiny, I never had a problem fitting into anything. Now I’m just a chunky little gremlin…”

“I’m sorry, what?” Paul asked incredulously, coming up behind you and yanking the shorts from your hands and chucking them forcefully into the corner of the bedroom. He slid his hands under your shirt and wrapped them around your waist. “Honey, no. For one, you’re tiny still, especially compared to me,” he chuckled and gently kissed your neck. “And secondly, who the fuck cares? We’ll buy new shorts.”

“It’s not that, I should be able to fit into them still! How could I have let myself gain so much weight?!” you sniffed again, glaring at your shape in the mirror and seeing every slice of pizza, every spoonful of ice cream, every piece of bread…

“Seriously? You’re not overweight!” he retorted, his dark eyebrows pushing together.

“Compared to Kim, and Hannah, and, and, and everyone else I am!” you sobbed, trying to pull away from him to hide your shame.

Angrily he spun you around and cupped your cheeks to look into your eyes. His hands trembled slightly, the only betrayal of his weakened control. “Y/N. You are NOT overweight. You are HEALTHY. You’ve gained weight because when I met you, all you had in your fridge was a bag of salad and a carton of eggs. Do you know how happy I am to see you fill out? Do you know how much it made me nervous that you would forget to eat for a day? I look at you and I see someone who is happy and healthy now. Every inch of you is perfect.”

Startled at the raw emotion in his voice, you hiccuped. Paul’s eyes were serious and dark in above his russet cheekbones, but not without love. Tenderly he wiped away tears with his thumbs. “I love you for better or for worse, no matter what you look like, no matter how much you weigh or what size you are, no matter what you do with your hair or if you wear makeup or not, or if you wear nice clothes or sweats,” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours in the barest imitation of a kiss. He pulled away and smirked suddenly. “But luckily, you’re exactly my type, and I think you’re hot as fuck.”

You giggled at that, leaning into his touch. “So you don’t think I’m fat?”

Paul rolled his eyes and pressed his face into your neck, nipping delicately at the sensitive skin there. “No, you’re delectable,” he growled, pulling the two of you back onto the bed with you on top and slipping his hands under the ragged t shirt you wore to caress your back. “And tempting,” he kissed your collarbone. “And perfect,” he pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat. Planting hot kisses across your skin, he began to lift your shirt, his eagerness abruptly making itself known against your stomach.

“Thank you,” you whispered shyly, ducking your head against his shoulder.

He growled softly and paused in his attempts to undress you. “For what?”

“For helping me remember my value, even when I struggle with it. I… haven’t always been good at remembering that my size shouldn’t matter.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he smoothed the hair over the back of your head.

“What do you mean, ‘you know’?” you leaned back and frowned.

“Honey, I’ve seen photos of you from the time that you were with your ex, and you’ve mentioned he’d abused you. It’s not hard to make the leap,” he pushed himself up on his elbows and swallowed a shudder. “I swear to everything that is holy, if I see that fuckwad ever again I will rip his fucking teeth out one by one and make him eat them like candy.”

“Okay, well we’re not going to let that happen, for legal reasons,” you laughed and smacked his chest.

“Mm, well, you better hope he doesn’t show up again because I can’t make any promises,” Paul shrugged unremorsefully, but calmed enough to stroke his fingers down your bare thighs straddling his waist. “All I can do for now is make sure you know how loved you are, how smart and funny and strong you are, and remind you that I love every piece and part of you just the way you are.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest, suddenly overfull of adoration for this fierce, wise cracking, temper-losing, enormous giant of a man who had a tenderness to him that belied everything his friends and family knew about him. Looking down at him, all you saw was the love in his eyes, the truth in everything he said. Paul had fought hard and earned every bit of the trust you placed in him, trust you had always had difficulty in placing in another person. While you believed in the imprinting mechanics having seen it first hand, it had taken you months to trust Paul in spite of your supernatural bond. Now, for the first time, you felt yourself truly letting your guard down, having shared your last and most shameful weakness. And he loved you, despite that. “I love you so much,” you smiled shyly and bent to kiss him lightly.

“I love you more, honey,” he returned your smile before deepening the kiss into something smoldering and languorous. Paul kissed you like it was the first time, the last time, and every other time in between, worshipping every inch of your skin with his lips and hands until you were burning up with desire. No matter that you didn't have anything to wear to the bonfire, it was likely you wouldn’t make it there before dusk anyways...

#paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #twilight fan fiction #twilight #twilight fanfiction #Twilight wolf pack #werewolves #twilight wolf #twilight wolves

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nothing-fancy94 · 4 years

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TDR Valentines Special

Hey guys! Whew! I made it before the day ended! Here’s a special little gift, exclusive to my tumblr followers. A little bitter sweet short story of Amy while in the cadet program. I wrote this quickly and didn’t proof read, so my apologies for the errors. Hope you enjoy!

And if you’re new to my stories check them out on Fanfiction, here’s a link to the one this short is taken from: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13221856/1/Team-Dark-s-Rose

...

Valentine’s Special

~Valentines Day - 7 months ago~

The sun had set early, but that hadn’t stopped the throngs of Mobian lovers from clogging the streets of Station Square like a fat heart’s artery. Amy Rose glared at the passing couples as they giggled in their respective pink bubbles. She was sitting at a cafe, books and papers laid out around her as she studied for her next exam at G.U.N. and she now regretted leaving the cadet dormitories. She hadn’t wanted to stay there with the possibility of her roommate distracting her, but now she would take the incessant chatter of tech and inventions any day over the mewlings and giggles that filtered through the air.

She had forgotten… She Amy Rose, the love sick Sonic fanatic had forgotten it was Valentine’s Day. She sighed and closed the book in front of her, it was obvious she wasn’t going to be getting anything done. She packed up her study materials, ordered a latte to go, and took to the streets taking small sips of the hot beverage. As she passed window display after window display of pink and red hearts, she wondered how it was possible that the holiday had approached without so much as a thought in her mind. The commercial industry literally shoved it down consumers throats beginning in January, and the buzz of the female agents would’ve been focused on who was asking who out to see the new Needlemouse Movie that was debuting tonight. She had somehow managed not to hear any of it, or hadn’t registered the meaning.

Or I was deliberately avoiding the subject.

The thought hit her like a sledgehammer, and she paused in her walk. That’s right… it hadn’t been that she wasn’t exposed to it, she had blocked it entirely from her mind, due to certain events in her life. Mainly the subject of her affection hating her. It was only two years ago that she had spent the whole month of February planning extravagant presents and formulating a plan of attack to get Sonic the Hedgehog to go on a date with her. Last year she had found some time to leave him gifts at his headquarters, but this year she couldn’t even do that. Not after the fight they’d just had… not after she had completely pushed him away. Burning any chance she had at even being his friend.

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, and she wanted to fall into the ground, she wanted these feelings to go numb. She wouldn’t even care if it meant she could never love again, because what she was feeling now felt like dark, heavy clouds of despair that just would not dissipate. She wanted to scream, wanted to punch that couple that sat just a few feet from her. Wanted them to feel the same pain as her, because how dare they get to have something that was forever out of her reach.

The couple must’ve sensed the murderous aura because the girl looked over and her eyes widened in fear. Amy’s face was twisted in a devious grin, and her eyes were brimming with tears, but she looked anything but sad. She looked more like an insane person ready to tear apart the next person who gave her a side glance. The girl whipped her head around and tugged aggressively at her boyfriend’s sleeve before urging them to leave.

Amy watched them go, a thick armor of anger protecting her from feeling anything else. Once they were out of sight, she tossed her half drunk latte into the trash, and shoved her hands into the grey G.U.N. hoodie she wore. This was pathetic, here she was, moping around and acting like a mental patient. She turned and was about to head back to the barracks when a bright neon sign caught her eye. It was a human holding a bat, and hitting a small white ball. The words read ‘Batting Cage,’ and below it was a sign that was black with red writing.

‘Single and bitter? Join us for Solo Hits! Break last year’s record and earn a prize! Singles Only!’

Amy stared at it for a moment and then she grinned, an evil light glinting within. This seemed interesting… at least it would kill some time before she returned.

She entered the establishment, and walked up to the teenage rat that was leaning casually behind the counter. His bare muzzle was a minefield of angry zits, and his whiskers were tangled and oily from lack of care. Amy walked up to the counter and slammed some paper rings onto the counter and tapped her foot impatiently. The rat was wearing a green polo and shorts, and when he saw her - an attractive female hedgehog - he straightened up and patted at the wrinkles in his shirt. Flecks of unknown food crumbs fell to the floor.

“How can I help you miss?”

Amy smiled as sweetly as she could muster and pointed to the sign behind him that advertised their single night deal.

“I’d like to participate in the single challenge.”

The rodent looked her up and down, obviously doubting that she was alone, but when no male companion walked through the doors, he reached below the counter and pulled out a helmet and pink bat.

“Here ya go miss, don’t worry about the high score, I can just give you a prize anyway.”

He winked, and tried at a smizing smile that came off as a sneer. Amy wanted to curse his snide little face. How dare he assume she couldn’t do as well as any male in the place. She was tired of people looking down on her abilities, so she decided to teach this little asshole and any other male watching, that she wasn’t some weak girl in need of handouts. Amy narrowed her eyes slightly, and started to put her long quills into a ponytail. Still smiling with fake honey, she giggled,

“Oh I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble…”

“It’s nothing at all miss,” The rat said, his chest puffing out, easily falling into her trick. She giggled again, her high pitched tone reaching into the depths of the place. Suddenly the sharp tings! of balls hitting metal bats slowed until several single males were peeking out from their cages, their animal instincts reacting to her feminane presence.

“Oh you’re so silly!” She exclaimed, and put the helmet on, and grabbing the bat, “Just out of curiosity, what is the score? I’ll try to get close so you won’t get in too much trouble.”

“15,000 points miss, you get 50 points for a hit and 100 for a home run. But if you get 3 strikes you’re out.”

“I see,” Amy freigned disappointment at the impossible odds, and the males around her started to feel a bit antsy.

“Don’t worry little gal,” a large armadillo interjected from the cage next to the one she was standing by, “I’ve gotten the closest, 7,350. I know I’ll get it this round, my prize will be yours.”

Amy turned, her eyes wide and sparkling, “Really? You’d do that for me?”

The armadillo blushed, and scratched the back of his head, “Oh it’s no thing at all. Though I wouldn’t mind if the little lady would join me after for a drink.”

Amy smiled sweetly, and entered her batting cage, leaning her bat against the fence that separated them. “Well aren’t you just a gentleman.”

Her voice was light and bubbly but as her face angled away from him, a dark smirk wrinkled her muzzle and she took off her helmet to remove her hoodie, not wanting to become hot and uncomfortable. The males in the immediate area completely left their cages and crowded around with wide eyes and drooling mouths. All Amy had on beneath her hoodie was a workout bra, as she had planned to hit the GYM after studying, and her body was sculpted to perfection from the past year of training.

Amy turned and looked at the armadillo who looked as though a meteorite had just fallen from the sky in front of him.

“I have a better idea. Let’s make a bet, if I don’t break the record then I’ll go out for a drink with you. But if I do, then you have to fulfill my wish.”

The male blinked for a second, before a shit eating grin developed on his face. To him this was a piece of cake. There was no way this small hedgehog girl could break the record, and even if she did, there was no way she wouldn’t ask for something that was easy to fulfill.

“Okay then doll, you got a deal!”

“Oh wonderful!” Amy jumped up with enthusiasm, her ponytail bouncing and the eyes of several males went up and down to follow her path.

She put her helmet on once more, and lifted the bat, putting it on one shoulder and then the other. Then she turned to the males watching and awkwardly smiled, “Aww, jeez… this is my first time.”

This caused a roll of laughter to filter through the place, and the armadillo smiled triumphantly. Amy tapped the opposite side of the plate, and crouched down, waiting for the ball to come whizzing past the plate. When it did, it flew by without even the threat of a swing and slammed into the backboard. She heard chuckles from behind her, and a male say, “Wow dude! Looks like you’re gonna get luuuuucky tonight!”

Amy smiled, and waited as the second ball came, but this time she purposely waited until the ball passed the plate before swinging.

“Oh Chaos! This is hard! Can I take back my bet?” She asked innocently looking behind her at the armadillo. The brown male folded his arms, and shook his head his mouth split in a smile from ear to ear.

“No take backs sweetheart. You’re only as good as your word.”

“You’re mean,” Amy huffed, and the surrounding men mockingly joined her with sympathy. She turned and began to wag the bat as she waited for the third ball. This time she hit it, and it went flying out of sight. She stood on her tip toes as she watched it soar through the air and hit the large red wall that marked the home run area. Her score board flashed and the words ‘Homerun!’ flashed in pale yellow lights. This time there was silence behind her, and she smirked in glee.

“Wow! Is that good?”

The males mumbled and the armadillo nervously chuckled, “Yeah doll… but don't get your hopes up. It was probably beginner's lu -”

TING!

Another homerun. Amy wanted to laugh out loud at the hushed exclamations of disbelief behind her, but she had a record that needed breaking. She settled in and got to work.

...

“156,200 points! New record!”

TING!

“156,300 Points! New record!”

Amy was beginning to feel a little worn out so she decided it was time to stop. Besides she’d blown the record out of the water. She stepped back and fanned herself as the ball flew harmlessly across the plate and a voice came over the intercom, “Strike 3, you’re outta here!”

She huffed, and pulled the helmet from her head, her jade eyes bright and her quills splayed in a sweaty mess behind her.

“Whew!” She exclaimed, and continued to fan herself as she excited her cage, walking past the throngs of males that had gathered around her. They parted like the red sea as the little pink hedgehog walked through, her tail wagging happily. The batting cages were the quietest they had been since it’s opening; not a single metal ting could be heard. Amy walked up to the counter, the teenage rat stood with his mouth wide open and his whiskers twitching in disbelief. Behind him stood a large skunk male who had a managers pin on his broad chest.

Amy stood at the counter, and slammed the bat and helmet on the table. She smiled genuinely, and felt elated at her accomplishment. She hadn't felt this good in years.

"So… I believe I'm owed a prize."

The manager made a sound that was close to a coughing chuckle and he walked forward.

"Well little lady, I do believe you are."

The male was smirking and he pulled out a gold ring from the cash register. It had a baseball embedded in it.

"This allows you to come here for free as long as your record holds… and by my guess, that's going to be quite a while."

The skunk was smiling knowingly and his blue eyes sparkled with humor. Amy smiled back, took the ring and stuck out her hand.

"Name's Amy Rose, just wanted to introduce myself to you since I'll probably be seeing you a lot from now on."

His grin widened and he took her hand in his, "Its a pleasure Ms Rose. My name is Ronni, and if any of these knuckle heads give you trouble, you let me know. Hey! Randy, get your ass over here!"

The armadillo cautiously made his way through the crowd, his hands rubbing against each other nervously.

"Yeah Ronni?"

The skunk smiled and crossed his arms.

"I do believe you owe this miss a wish. And I hope you won't back out."

"That's right," Amy said mischievously, "No take backs, and you're only as good as your word."

The armadillo gulped, visible sweat glistening on his temple. He tried at a smile but his voice cracked as he spoke.

"W-what is it that you want?"

Amy smiled her jade eyes brighter than the sun.

"Well, if you'd be so kind as to follow me to the tattoo parlor next door, I'll tell ya."

...

Amy was practically skipping down the street, her lips split in a wide grin, and her ponytail swinging wildly. If she looked insane before because of her anger, she now looked completely mental with a flower growing out of her head. She couldn't get the image of Randy's face as he stared at his new tattoo on his chest, a red rose with the words 'I lost to Amy Rose,' around it.

Without realizing it, her feet had lead her to the one place she never thought she'd find herself. Instantly the smile melted from her face, and her eyes went blank. All her early joy was instantly sucked out of her chest and she was left standing before the large building with colorful circles like an empty husk. There were piles of presents and boxes, stuffed Sonics and flowers, piles of letters that surely confessed many a females love.

She felt her stomach do flip flops, and her throat twist. Curse this heart that only beat for a blue blur, curse these feet that always led her back to him. Back to the one who could cause her to feel higher than the moon, and lower than the dirt with just a word.

She wanted to just leave, to just go home and forget she was ever there. But then the door opened and her heart screamed to run across the street. Sonic stood outside the headquarters, his jean jacket hanging on his arm. He was looking around in what seemed to be shock, but then he started to move through the piles. He tossed boxes behind him, flipped over envelopes looking at names, and when he had finished making his way through all the piles he stood back with an unreadable expression on his face.

She couldn't look away, people passed her, cars moved and honked between them, but she felt like she was right next to him. She closed her eyes and she could smell him, feel his breath on the chilly night air and hear his chuckle as she presented him with some extravagant gift. She slowly opened her eyes once more, but he was gone, disappeared into the night.

Amy sighed, and turned but against her wishes she felt her body moving across the street. Her backpack slowly moved to the front, and she didn't take her eyes off the doors while her hands riffled through the contents of her back. Fingers grasping hesitantly on a pen, and a crumpled corner of a scrape piece of paper.

She reached the doors, and crouched down, her fingers trembling as she scribbled out three words. She didn't sign it, she didn't leave anything else, she didn't want him to know it was her. For the first time in her life, she didn't want him to know her feelings. She stood when it was finished, and ran from the building, a tear finally falling from her eye, those words pasted to the inside of her eyelids. Words she knew she would never be able to speak out loud again... not to Sonic, not to anyone.

I love you.

#sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #valentine #sonamy #team dark #sonic #fanfiction #short story #short fiction

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elizabeth-234 · 3 years

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The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Thirteen: Trust in me

Happy Monday. This completes day thirteen of whumptober: breathe in and breathe out. Enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen: Moments in Time

“Say hello to your new guardians.”

Peter pulled down the sleeves of his shirt and gave a withered glance at Tony who greeted them with a smirk in the lobby of the hospital. He ignored the flip in his stomach. This was a different Tony All that mattered was finding the truth and if he was a bit giddy from escaping the hospital, well, he wasn’t going to complain.

“Hell, Tony. You work fast when you want to.”   

“What can I say,” He said saddling up to them and throwing his arms around each of their shoulders. “I’m the kind of person who can…”  

“Stuff it?” Rhodey added helpfully.

“Fuck off?” Peter said to which Rhodey laughed.

“I can offer my support and guidance to this wrecked youth in need. You imbeciles. It’s not too late to take you back.” He said with a side eye at Peter as Rhodey and him continued to laugh together.

“We have to keep him. I mean he looks so good in the plaid and all.” Rhodey shoved them all so they wobbled over each other’s legs and barely missing the spinning doors. Peter remained squished between them the whole trip to the car. His cheeks hurt from smiling.

Unlike so many years ago they arrived at the apartment with the gloom of impending doom. Though he still had a flash of apprehension, this time was fresh. He almost expected to see the door split in two on the floor and broken kitchen table, but there wasn’t a single scuff mark or dented piece of furniture in sight. Not even the fabric of the couch, less faded green than he remembered, was worn from use.

At the hospital it was difficult to believe the he had time traveled but the apartment it was obvious. The rubber pile in the corner turned out to be a clear inflatable seat with glitter. Behind it was a sturdier, more expensive looking chair pushed into the corner. The influence of Rhodey and Tony and their youth, he assumed, was abundant. He often wondered how long they lived in this space.

They settled around the table Peter had last seen in pieces. He grabbed the cups out of the cupboard to pour water.

“What?” He said as he set them down on the table. They eyed each other before Rhodey spoke.

“How did you know that’s where the cups were?”

Peter looked down at the table clenching his fists in his lap. “Oh, uh, well. That’s just how it was at my house and I assumed the same here. It’s a fairly common cupboard design about 45 percent of people have the cups to the left of the stove.”   

They stared at him and shared another look. Peter watched as Rhodey shrugged.

“Alright.” Tony said clapping his hands to gather them around. “I need to fill you in on the cover story and just make sure everything’s okay with you. This is not an actual kidnapping no matter what my compatriot says.”   

“You thought it sounded cool as well.” Rhodey crossed his arms in front of him.

“Of course, it sounds cooler. Anyway, I want to preface this by saying I can undo any of this if you want. You also don’t have to sign them now, although if someone comes sniffing around it would be better.”

He shifted through the stack of papers laid out on the table and began describing the plan. Tony hadn’t been joking when he mentioned guardians earlier. The guardianship, as far as he could tell from reading through the papers was as legit as his driver’s license. Peter signed his name wondering how legal this all was. Tony was putting the papers away in a matter of minutes.

When he asked how everything wrapped up so quickly Tony said: “I’m rich, kid, and money buys this type of stuff way too easy to be okay with but it does have its advantages. Case in point here.”  

“You were right to be worried. The CPS was looking for you. Along with…”  Someone kicked Peter under the table.

“Ow!”

“Oops that was meant for Rhodey.”  

“Ow, damn Tony.”

The two devolved into bickering from there and Peter never learned what Rhodey was going to say.

The brush moved up and down the wall. It repeated the same motion over and over leaving a trail of evidence on the vertical surface until it dried. He knew what room would be his before they walked him down the hall. There was the bed and dresser but was void of all the decorations that had been hanging when Peter lived there before.

“We’ve just never gotten around to decorating. So, it’s up to you, honestly I couldn’t care less so go all out.”

Peter requested blue paint and bedspread but gave no more direction than that. All three of them dressed in old t-shirts so the painting would go quicker. Peter’s thoughts wandered after the first wall. With every new stroke of paint, he wondered how and if he was changing the future. The possibilities confronted him with every decision no matter the size. He could be changing everything. The time space continuum could be irrevocably destroyed by him eating a bowl of Wheaties in the morning. Not that the apartment was stocked with any healthy cereal.

The worst aspect was the secret voice in his mind that wanted to change everything. He wanted to storm out and never return to the apartment. He longed to stay wrapped up in his new comforter and never leave. He wanted to go see May. Longed to stare at her smile and wrap his arms around him. Would she recognize him somehow in the deepest parts of her? Would their connection transcend time and reality? What was the right choice?

The answer scared him.

The impossibility of the situation was precisely why he was staying inside the apartment as much as he could. This afternoon was paint day.

“Why the long face, Peter?” 

“Go away Tony.”  

“Well, he’s got a point. You look like you wanted to paint it with lavender and we wouldn’t let you. I knew that lilac would’ve been perfect.”   

“Shut it, Rhodey.” He said with a reluctant smile. Tony stepped toward him and with a flick of his wrist, pointed the paint brush at him. Peter wiped his sleeve along his chin.

“Point to you, Honey Bear. I need to step up my game.”  

“What-what do you mean?” Peter dipped his paintbrush into the pot, making sure to wipe one side off before dabbing it into the corner of the wall.

“We’ve got a small bet going to see who can make you smile more. Believe me, kid. It’s harder than it looks. Here I thought I was king of moody but you might take the cake.”

They gave each other high-fives as Peter deadpanned. He should be mad they were betting about him. They were laughing and he agreed, it was ridiculous. Their attempts were absurd and stranger still, it was working. Tony rubbed in the point he won from Peter’s smile. Before he could celebrate Peter jabbed him with the paintbrush staining his shirt with a blue dot. He turned to Rhodey and with some extra strength and a precision throw launched the paintbrush at him.

Both exclaimed and an all-out war ensued.

The room was painted… eventually.

The paint never came out of their clothes.

None of them cared that much.

“Did you hear that our esteemed guest. It’s movie night, although I wouldn’t get too excited because it’s Tony’s turn to pick.

“You guys watch without me, I’m not feeling it.”  

Peter found out within days of living with their younger versions that Tony was right. He was the king of moody and he was wearing the crown tonight. Only with the promise of cookies and popcorn had he emerged from his room wrapped snug in one of his blankets. Tony snatched the cookie tin away from Rhodey and, with crumbs on his mouth, refused to watch any movie his friend suggested.

“But we didn’t celebrate Christmas Tones. Pllleeease.”

“You know I don’t like it.”   

They sat, arms crossed, staring at each other. Peter shifted his weight between them. He was on his way to make popcorn at Rhodey’s request but Tony’s refusal had put a stop to the plans. He risked a glance at Tony who was still staring daggers at his friend.

May and Ben had seen how Peter struggled with the holidays in the beginning years of living with them. While they never forced cheer on him, they created traditions Peter could find a sense of newness in. Instead of baking gingerbread cookies, they cooked pfeffernusse. Rather than hanging stockings, their faux fireplace was lined with t-shirts they decorated and sewed up at the bottom. Sometimes Christmas wasn’t about Christmas as much as it was about just being with people. Peter had an idea. It just so happened to involve a movie he’d watched with them twenty-five years into the future.

“How about we watch some good old classic horror films. House of Dracula?”

The suggestion was unfair in some ways because he knew Tony only watched horror movies during the holidays. Their conversation at the hospital shed some light on the reason why he refused to watch family films at this time of year. Peter decided not to question if this was a previous tradition or if he was the one to introduce it.

Two hours later found Rhodey snoring – heavy breathing, he insisted – on the couch. Peter and Tony carried the empty dishes into the kitchen. Peter began washing and Tony leaned against the island counter, water in hand.

“Hey, Peter?” Tony handed him the glass but didn’t move away from his side.

“Hmm?”  

“How did you know I liked to watch horror movies?” Peter froze for a moment and began scrubbing again. He forced himself to laugh.

“I didn’t. I picked something not Christmassy but still a movie so Rhodey would be happy.”  

Tony hummed. “You’re a strange kid. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” He scrubbed harder.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Do I? I don’t know you. Not really. I don’t think I ever did.” The frustration was hot on the back of his neck. Peter rinsed the brush and began scrubbing anew. “Why do you watch horror movies at Christmas anyway?”

Tony contemplated his words. Timed slowed in that moment. The water dribbled down his wrist and into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, Tony’s foot tapped against the cabinet, and the snores from Rhodey wafted into the room. Finally, he stopped tapping his foot and turned toward Peter.

“It was something my mom and I did. I, uh, didn’t get along with my dad and used to get scared too easily. We would watch them together to conquer that fear I had. It’s stupid but I just never associated Christmas with Christmas growing up.”  

“It’s not stupid and, if it means anything, I understand. When I lived with my aunt and uncle we never really celebrated in a traditional sense. I’m sorry I snapped.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s nothing I didn’t deserve. I’m trying not to push but I am me so bear with it while I practice.”  

Peter chuckled. Tony had no idea how pushy he was sometimes.

Peter choose the wrong one.

It was such a small detail; one he barely noticed was absent on his second introduction to the apartment. Tony had given him a magazine and instructed him to pick any phone he wanted for the living room. He dropped it on Peter’s desk and hurried off not answering his questions about what happened to the last one. Peter gathered from Rhodey that someone, he wasn’t going to snitch, had thrown it out the window.

Yes, out their multistoried apartment window.

Peter flipped through it and then he’d seen the one. It was so cool complete with clear plastic and these colored innards. The neon fidgets inside would move when you were on the phone convinced him so he’d ordered it without a second thought.

It wasn’t until he awoke in the middle of the night sweat soaked through his shirt that he remembered. He stumbled to the office and rummaged through the papers in hopes of finding the receipt. Of all the times for someone to organize.

Damn it.

The phone in the future wasn’t clear with neon accents. It was a hamburger. The phone was in the shape of a hamburger. Would this food shaped communication device be the difference between life and death?

He didn’t know.

It was his fault.

He backed up into the hallway until his back hit the wall.

Peter barely noticed the shaking of his hands but could feel the pins and needles of each breath he took. His breath stalled and built up the pressure in his chest begging to escape out. His fingers tingled. Peter lost track of time.

“Breathe in and breathe out.”

“We’re here… sitting right beside you, Peter.”

“You are here in our apartment. You are Peter Parker. I’m Rhodey. That’s Tony and we are going to be okay.”  

Peter came back to himself in slow increments. His back was pressed against the wall. There was cramp in his legs from curling them up to his chest. He stiffened and then relaxed. Two bodies were pressed against each of his shoulders. His head was bent up, resting on Rhodey’s shoulder and his hand was tucked into Tony’s palm between their bodies on the floor.

He didn’t remember his mission or how angry he’d been. All he could think about was the fact he might have ruined it all. He might have taken their future away and it was all his fault. What would happen if he ever went back to the future and these solid presences were no more all because he made a mistake?

Rhodey shifted in his sleep. Peter’s head fell more fully on his shoulder. He breathed in the minty scent and some of the anger he dragged back with him from the future chipped off his heart. Did the truth matter from the future when the Tony and Rhodey from here and now were beside him, comforting him?

Peter closed his eyes and slept.

Thank you!

Next Chapter Fifteen: Down Once More

#whumptober 2020 #whumptober2020 #no. 13 #breathe in and breathe out #breathe in #peter parker #rhodey #james rhodes #tony stark #marvel #avengers #spider man #fic #fanfic #ao3 #AU #time travel #avengers AU

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thecozywhaleshark · 5 years

Text

Pocket Monsta X - Origin Stories

A/n: @zerotexas1975 asked me “why do they (the pockets) call reader mom? how did they meet? did they find reader and decide to stay? are they born like Tinkerbelle?” and I thought, you know that is an adorable question that I hadn’t really thought about. So without further ado, how your favorite Pockets came to be with their moms:

Sometimes, little bits of luck come into your life when you least expect it. Sometimes that comes in the form of an unexpected pay raise, or not getting a parking ticket when you know you’ve stayed in a spot too long…and sometimes, it’s a little figure about the size of a mouse, who crawls into your lap or your house or shows up at your workplace, and decides to stay.

Having a pocket is a sign of good luck, a sign that they decided you were a good person, or maybe you needed a friend. They tend to show up when you need them, and once you have them, they’ll forever stay. Nobody knows for sure where they come from, but they seem to be drawn by the need to have a mother-like figure in their lives, someone who will take care of them as long as they can, who will put them in their pocket and love them unconditionally. Unfortunately, sometimes pockets choose wrong, and their moms will kick them out, no longer wanting them, no longer loving them, and the pockets have to find a new home. That is their greatest fear.

So, if by any chance, a pocket decides to come your way, give them some snacks and ask about their day, if they decide they like you, they will crawl into your pocket and stay.

Shownu:

When you opened your cupboard one day to get a snack, you were surprised to find a small figure sitting in there eating saltines.

As soon as he saw you, he immediately dropped the cracker he was holding and hid behind the cinnamon container, shaking in fear. Figuring the little pocket was just hungry, you try to coax him out, offering him the rest of his cracker. He gingerly takes it, and when you sooth him that it’s alright and you’re not mad, he steps out from behind his hiding spot and stands in front of you, shuffling his feet.

He is immediately apologetic, blurting out as fast as he can how sorry he is and how he is normally a good boy, he promises, he just got so hungry, and he hasn’t eaten in days and when you left your door open getting groceries he couldn’t help himself and he hoped you wouldn’t miss a few crackers and he can do chores or something to pay you back and-

You shush him gently and hold out your hand, offering to make him an actual meal. He’s so shy and fidgets while you cook for him and ask him questions about his story. When you give him his meal he’s so polite and cute and he wants to help you clean up. When he asks if you could please place him on the floor so he can leave and get out your hair you refuse, telling him he doesn’t need to leave if he doesn’t want to. You find it sweet that he likes your food and you like his company and offer him a home.

He gives you the biggest scrunched eye smile and nods so eagerly as you pick him up and bring him to your room to start preparing him a little bed.

Wonho:

When you walked into the bakery you work at, you found the display counter a complete mess. There were crumbs everywhere, half-eaten goods, and tiny little footprints across the counter in powdered sugar. In the middle of the display case, sleeping inside a smushed thumbprint cookie and sucking on his fingers, was a little pocket.

When you gently nudged him awake he looked at you with big glassy eyes and immediately started crying. You didn’t know what to do, so you just picked him up and gave him a hug, making soft shushing sounds while running the tips of your fingers over his back until he sniffled and hiccuped. He laid against your chest, clinging to your shirt, as he told you what had happened to him.

His old mom had distracted him with the sweets of the bakery and then left him while he had his nose pressed up against the display glass. He had hidden under the counter's edge on the floor, watching the feet of everyone who entered and exited the rest of the day, looking for his mom's bright pink stilettos. When they never came back, the owner closed up shop to go on a weekend vacation and pocket Wonho was stuck in the empty shop all by himself.

All weekend he had wondered the store, eating the sweets from the display case and crying.

Your heart went out to him and you asked if he wanted to stay in your apron pocket while you worked your shift, and he nodded. He slept most of the day, tired out from a weekend of wandering and crying, but when he was awake, he was the sweetest little thing. As he warmed up to you he talked a lot more, and the first time you heard him giggle you felt yourself melt.

You both got attached to each other quickly and when you asked him if he wanted to go home with you he hugged you so fiercely and nodded against your chest.

Kihyun:

You always wondered why your desk was always so well organized every morning, even when you were sure you had left it a mess the day before. It always left you puzzled and you wondered if maybe it was a kind janitor or something, but you weren’t sure.

One day, you came into work an hour early and got your answer. Rolling pencils back into the drawer and straightening sticky notes into rows was a pocket.

“Um, hello,” you state, sliding your chair back from your desk and sitting down.

“You know, you’re really messy. You have the messiest desk in the office. I should know, I’m here all the time” was the reply you got back. He didn’t even look at you, just busy with his task.

“Do you live here?” you ask, helping him clean the trash from your desk, holding up the wastebasket as he pushed a piece of crumpled paper in.

“With my mom. But she hasn’t been in lately. I think she left me here on accident, but she’ll be back...” he speaks with confidence, but his voice shakes a little at the end.

With some gentle nudging, you find out his mom was the old secretary who quit before you were hired, placing Kihyun alone in the workplace for over 7 months.

You talk to him throughout your workday and he decides he really likes you.

You offer to take him home and be his new mom and he’s thrilled, but first, he wants you to take him to the supply closet. He gets upset when it’s left unorganized, and besides, he’s left his favorite bowtie in there.

Hyungwon:

Stopping by after work one day, you walked into a little corner flower shop and picked up a little bouquet of sunflowers and Baby's breath.

What you were not expecting was the little figure that tumbled out when you unwrapped the paper wrapping on your kitchen counter.

A sleepy pocket looked up at you and yawned big, stretching out his arms and looking around him, blinking slow.

“Momma?” he asks, holding up his arms and you pick him up carefully and put him in your pocket, where he immediately falls back asleep.

That’s just how it be sometimes.

Minhyuk:

Pocket Minhyuk wandered the library for fun, he had always been on his own and he liked to listen wistfully to the parents and volunteers as they read children books, hoping that one day he would have a mother of his own to read him stories.

One day, when you were reading to a group of kids, doing volunteer work, he decided that he really liked your voice and he thought you were so pretty. He clambered down the shelf he had been listening from and made his way across the carpet to where you sat and sat right down at your feet, looking up at you in awe with the biggest smile on his face.

When you finished the book, he tugged on your pant leg and asked you to read him more. You picked him up and put him on your lap with a smile and an “of course!”

He excitedly pointed at all the pictures and made all the appropriate animal sounds, and you loved the way he giggled whenever he got to flip the page, standing up to run over and drag it before plopping back down on your lap and leaning against your stomach.

When you ask where his mom was, he turns around and cuddles up to you, hugging you with his arms spread as big as he can across your stomach and states, “right here.”

Jooheon:

You were busy loading your car with the props you had used for your presentation after work and were trying to figure out how to fit them all in, that you didn’t notice when a small figure climbed into your car and scrambled to hide under the seats.

You slammed the door, hopped into the driver's seat and turned on the radio to listen to some nice classical on your way home.

You were tapping your fingers against your steering wheel to the music and were about halfway home when he climbed over the center console and tumbled onto the passenger seat, complaining,

“Can we please listen to the rock station?!”

You screamed, swerved through the lanes and slid your car to a halt on the side of the road.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady, lady!” he screamed, clutching at the cracks in the leather of your seats. “What are you trying to do, kill me?!”

“WHAT THE F - WHO ARE YOU?!” you yelled, clutching at your steering wheel and looking at him panicked.

He dusted off his little leather jacket and held out his hand.

“I’m Jooheon. But you can call me Joo. Or honey. Or Joohoney. I like that one.” He gives you a big dimpled smile.

You kept staring in shock and he sighs, putting his hand down. He begins to pace the seat and tells you that he thinks you’re cool and you have fun cardboard thingies and he thinks it would be fun to live with you if you don’t mind?

He looks are you with such big eyes and gives you another charming dimpled smile and you can’t help but sigh and start the car.

“Buckle up.”

You have a pocket Joo now.

I.M:

When you woke up one morning and stumbled into your living room, you noticed a small figure curled up on the floor next to your heating vent.

It had been a cold night, and you weren’t surprised to see the window cracked and find that the small figure was a pocket boy, doing his best to keep warm. You closed the window and grabbed the blanket from your couch, placing it over him. In his slumber, he pulls it close around him and you smile, walking away to let him sleep while you made your morning coffee.

You’re sitting at your kitchen counter when you see him stumble into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning little man, would you like some breakfast?” you smile at him over your mug and he nods, yawning into his hand.

You watch him as he gnaws at the end of a banana until he’s stuffed full and then he staggers over to you sleepily and pulls on your fingers so he can sit in your palm.

He doesn’t say much that first day, but you have an understanding. He lives with you now. You have become a pocket mother.

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ask-bloodmaw · 4 years

Text

Being Adopted

this is the start of this blog. For the most part it’s just gonna be questions and asks but this short story is to get the ball rolling. for a tldr: Edge aka underfell papyrus was visiting Blue aka underswap sans when a underfelly, demony looking bitty slapped into his face. he was dared to raise it for at least 2 days and after taking it home and feeding it, he gave it a tumblr ask blog to occupy itself with.

edit: there was an issue with some of the text from the bottom ending up on top, so i fixed that

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s because you just can’t stay away from me!” Blue said cheerfully as he placed a plate of tacos on the table.

“I came because I was forced to take a day off for your information! Your invitation just happened to be for the same date.” Edge crossed his arms. He wasn’t going to admit to Blue he was glad he was allowed a day off. Working in the guard in Underfell was perfectly fine, but ever since his brother Sans, now Red, had fixed that machine in the basement and they knew of other universes… well it was nice for a change of pace.

Speaking of his brother… “Yeah sure Boss, as if you weren’t hoping for a day off.”

“But Undyne was none too happy. If it weren’t in the job contract that I be given one day off each month, I would not be here right now.”

“Well,” Blue spoke to cut the tension that was starting to form. “No matter what the reason, I’m glad you’re here!”

“How long until Sci shows up?” Red piped up. To the side Edge rolled his eyes. Of course his brother would be asking after his scientifically inclined counterpart. There were times where the idea of his brother getting together with another version of himself did not agree well in his mind, but Edge supposed it with the fact that they were from different universes the other Sans was more or less a different person.

Sighing, Edge picked up a taco. They were normally too mild for his tastes, so he added a little bit of salsa from a nearby bowl. He let a small smile appear on his face for just a moment. This wasn’t his first time in Blue’s house. The first time there had been no salsa, but it ‘just so happened’ the next time the innocent counterpart of his brother had some ‘leftover’ salsa when Edge next visited. The same with the following visit. Reports from Sans showed that the salsa was only there on the days he managed to visit an-

SMACK

Edge whirled around, summoning two sharp bones. Whoever hit him was going to pay. Just because he was in a more relaxed environment didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight. “SHOW YOURSELF!”

Everyone was focused on Edge now, surprised by his sudden actions. Well except for Classic. The Tale version of his brother was lying on a nearby couch and was instead looking near Edge’s boots. “Just some weird toy. Maybe Honey was screwing around again.”

Edge reluctantly made his attacks disappear. Honey, Blue’s brother, has always been rather scientifically inclined himself due to his friendship with his world’s Undyne. Edge supposed he should return this thing to his lazy counterpart, so picking it up he… dropped it as it bit him.

“What the f-” “Swear jar!” “I didn’t even get to say it Blue!” Edge yelled, still looking at the thing. The small and breathing thing. This wasn’t a toy or machine. It was alive. He tried picking it up again now more prepared. The thing bit him once more, but since he expected the pain, he didn’t drop it. Looking closely, Edge could see it was a skeletal being. It was just… the size of a small bird. But there were horns on its skull and it had a tail which didn’t quite look skeletal. It was more magical based. It also seemed to be dressed in a rag of sorts.

The guard winced as the thing bit in a more sensitive place on his hand. He did his best not to fling whatever this was across the room. That was when Blue came over and managed to pry it off of him. “Aww! It’s so cute! Ow! Though it really likes biting and hissing.”

Indeed, when Blue had taken the creature, it had kept biting but was now also hissing at him. “Maybe it just don’t like ya.” Red suggested. “It wasn’t hissing at th’ boss.”

“But it was still biting me.” Edge added on to his brother’s comment. He did not want this creature to become fond of him. He didn’t even live here. And this thing was so small, it would be killed within a week. Within the day if his cat got to it.

“But it wasn’t hissing too!” Blue repeated Red’s statement. “So it must like you most! Look! It’s even got red eyelights! Just like from a fell universe! Or maybe it’s a bitty! Or maybe both!”

Edge didn’t bother following along. He knew Blue knew the multiverse that they lived in much better than most. “Either way. What are you suggesting? That I keep it? You know I can’t do that with my universe.”

“Ya saying you can’t keep it alive?” The Sans on the couch questioned.

Again, Edge rolled his eyes. “I likely could, but it would only be a matter of time before-”

“Twenty G.”

Everyone was silent for a few seconds before Edge spoke up. “Do you mean twenty gold? Why?”

“That’s how much I’m betting you can’t keep it alive for two days.”

Red and Blue looked between Edge and Classic. Edge only took bets he knew he would win, but the way Classic had posed it… If Edge took the bet, he had to win. If he didn’t, it was just as bad as losing it.

“Look, if it’s a bitty, Blue can figure out what he needs for it, but it would take up his time. Since it seems to like you better, it stays with you for a day or two while he sets up. After that, you hand it off ta Blue and only have to see it again those rare times you visit.”

Edge supposed Classic was right. And while he wouldn’t admit it, he did have a soft spot for weaker beings with a certain edge, like a cat, or whatever this thing, likely apparently a bitty, was.

“Fine. I will keep them alive for two days. It surely is not hard. The only thing necessary is to separate it and Doomfanger.”

With that, Edge got up to leave, knowing he would need to use some of his free time to set up the house. That, and the sooner he started taking care of this thing, the sooner he would be done. Red didn’t follow behind, which was perfectly fine. It was better his brother wasn’t in the way.

The bitty kept biting at his hand, though not as hard as before. If it was from a fell universe similar to Edge, then likely this was just the only way it could attack. And seeing as how Edge had yet to kill it, it was giving the slightest sliver of trust to him. That, or it was just getting tired.

The tall skeleton swore when the bitty bit him harder when it was jostled a bit from Edge getting the portal machine he had to get home. It was the newest design which currently only he, his brother and Blue had been given, seeing as how Blue needed it most, Edge was Red’s brother and Red was dating the one who made it.

Edge closed the portal the moment he had stepped through into his house. Even if being inside his home was safe from the underground outside the door, he could never be too cautious. Edge looked around, making sure he really was alone and checking all the curtains were drawn before calling for his cat. The gray animal raced out from wherever she had been hiding and ended up at Edge’s feet, rubbing against his ankles and looking for a treat.

Edge bent down, earning another bite from the bitty as he used his other hand to pet his cat. The skeleton then walked to the kitchen and placed the bitty on the counter, freeing his hands to open the cupboard and pull out a bag of cat treats, which he opened and pulled out two to give to Doomfanger.

The skeleton also pulled out a third and placed it in front of the bitty. Admittedly Edge realized he should have asked Blue what these things eat, but if it didn’t like the treat, other food would be easy enough to give the thing. Even if they couldn’t get as much food as their non fellverse counterparts, Edge had a well paying job to afford plenty, and it wasn’t as if this tiny thing could eat them out of house and home.

The bitty looked down at Doomfanger eating the treats and seemed surprised when one was placed in front of it. It picked the treat up which was a decent size when held in it’s tiny hands. It took a big bite out of the treat, and while it wasn’t the best tasting thing in the world, it was still food. The bitty then stuffed the rest in its mouth before chewing, being careful not to choke. Once it had swallowed, it looked up to the skeleton looking down on it and fluttered its little bone wings under the rag it wore. It held up its hands briefly, hoping for something more before putting them back down. Likely that was all it would be given.

Edge was glad to see that the bitty was okay with the cat treat, especially when it seemed to want more. He wasn’t going to only feed it with those, so he instead decided to let it try some pieces of cat food kibble. It seemed the bitty was also pleased with those and was surprised by the new type of food.

Edge let it eat as he picked up Doomfanger and carried her up to his room. He set her on his bed before quickly leaving the room and closing the door behind her. He could hear Doomfanger mewling to be let back out when he started down the stairs, but Edge didn’t want to deal with watching both the bitty and his cat at the same time when he was still learning how to care for the former of the two.

When Edge returned to the kitchen, he found the bitty crawling around the counter. Or maybe not crawling as it seemed to be actually walking on all four limbs. He stood in the doorway, watching it for a few moments before it noticed him and sat back down.

“Well, it seems you found the food edible at the very least since you seem to have eaten it all save for a few crumbs.” Edge spoke to the bitty. He wasn’t sure if it understood him since it seemed to droop slightly at his words. He wasn’t sure if it was just because of his inflection or if it could only understand his tone of voice. Edge sighed and picked the bitty up and went over to the living room, setting it on the couch. He quickly picked it back up when it decided to claw at the fabric. “Don’t! The only part I allow to be torn up is the legs and that is because I can’t convince my cat to use the scratching post.”

The bitty seemed to understand and just sat on the couch this time, watching Edge. He looked away for a moment to pull out his phone and when he looked back, the bitty was gone. He jumped up trying to figure out where it could have gone when there was a scratching noise. Edge looked down towards the noise and saw the bitty clawing at the feet of the couch. “It seems that you can understand me.”

The bitty looked up at Edge again before going back to clawing the already clawed up piece of wood. Then it looked back up, eyes focused on Edge’s phone. The skeleton took a moment to figure out what the bitty was so focused on, but when he did, he rolled his eyes. “As long as you don’t destroy this, I will allow you to mess with this and occupy yourself.”

Edge set the phone on the ground before quickly grabbing the old sock Red left lying around and rolling it up to place behind the phone, propping it up for the bitty.

It walked over to the phone before sitting in front of it. It tested out the screen with one of it’s tiny hands, surprised when the screen reacted once its palm was touching. It managed to open up the camera, confused by the image of the wall behind it which was being captured.

Edge sighed and picked up the phone again and unlocked it. “It’s probably easier if I set things up for you. Hmm… Are you able to type?” He asked before setting the phone back down on the notes app with the keyboard up. Quickly, the bitty pressed three keys: ‘yes’. “Well I guess there’s one think. I know Blue set something up for me when I first learned of the other universes, so it may be useful for you.”

After a few minutes, the phone was placed back down in front of the bitty. It looked at the mostly white screen with an orange pattern taking up the top third and a circle between the two parts with a diamond shaped icon. “A dumbed down version should be enough for you to understand. I’ve set up a place where people are able to message you and you will be able to respond. I don’t care what you do with that otherwise. If you ever need help just come to me. For now, I will be making some food for myself.”

As Edge walked away, the bitty looked towards him, and though it was too quiet to be heard, it still said “thanks.”

#ask bloodmaw #undertale #underfell

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drowning-in-dennor · 4 years

Note

i've spammed you and i'd ask you to angst one of them but nah so hongice 4

hello children prepare for suffering [the following work includes depictions of violence.]

...

When she lays eyes on Leonor, her heart breaks.

She is the same as the last time Sula saw her, but this time, there is that defeated light in her eyes that makes her want to cry. Leonor bears no physical wounds, thank goodness, but the expression on her face is broken enough to make up for that.

“Hey.” Even her voice is hollow. It only brings another stab of pain into Sula’s heart.

“Oh, goodness.” She rushes to her lover’s side, kneels next to her and holds her gently, as though she is made of glass. “Leo, what did they do to you?”

“Nothing.” Leonor forces a smile. In her eyes are tears that long to flow. “That’s the problem. If they hit me, yelled, did anything, at least I’d be thinking about that. All I can wonder is if it’ll hurt.”

She blinks back her own tears. “This isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t,” Leonor agrees, “but we can’t change that. I’m going to get my brains blown out in an hour because I nicked my brother a birthday present. That’s a stupid reason for me to be executed, but it’s not like we can do anything about it.”

“I wish we could.” Sula caresses her face, hands trembling. “I really do.” From her pocket she procures a little package wrapped in paper. “But since we can’t, I - I brought this. Y-You know, as a final gift.”

The package holds a slice of honey cake, which Leonor breaks up into bits and eats. “Did Theresa make this?”

Sula nods, for a moment feeling at ease watching her lover lick crumbs from her lips and brush her hands clean. Then she crumples up the greasy piece of paper, and reality comes crashing back.

Leonor notices her expression and snorts. “Don’t look so sad. You’re the last person I’ll talk to before I kick it, can you at least try to look happy?”

She snickers at that, though inside it feels as though she’s falling apart. Sula leans in, focusing on Leonor’s beautiful, almond-shaped eyes, wanting to lose herself in them, and accidentally brushes her lips against hers.

Silence. Then Leonor twines her arms around Sula’s neck, and pulls her in. Their lips touch, mingling the flavours of honey, butter and tears, and her heart breaks in two.

Boots clomp along the hallway outside. Sula pulls away, filled to the brim with despair. “Goodbye, Leonor.”

The sad, lost reply is a weak smile. “We’ll meet again.”

(Word count: 416)

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silverfootstepswrites · 5 years

Text

Lullaby [20%]

10% 20% 30% 40% 50% 60% 70% 80% 90% 100%

Read Equinox here and come back!

“It’s too hot,” Sakura sighed.

“Sorry about the AC. Should I turn up the fan?”

“Turn off the sun, please,” she groaned, rolling onto her back on the floor of his living room.

“I could try. But that might kill the whole planet, you know.”

“Don’t care. I wanna wear socks again. And sweaters. And scaaaarves,” she whined. She rolled over again, rubbing her face against the front of his shirt.

Kakashi propped himself up on his elbow to watch her tantrum. A smile tugging at his lips. He draped his free arm over her waist.

“Should we go get ice cream?” he suggested.

“Ughhh,” she groaned.

“Come on,” he urged as he sat up. Sakura buried her face in her arms shaking her head. All the talking and moving woke Biscuit, who wandered over from his spot by the door. He stepped over Kakashi’s leg to nudge Sakura’s arm. She wrapped her arm around him and hugged him close to her chest.

“Biscuit, make summer end. Mommy’s dying,” she lamented. Biscuit’s wide eyes flew to Kakashi, who laughed.

“Alright, let’s go. Ice cream time,” Kakashi decided. He lifted her easily, throwing her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Her laughter filled the house as he carried her out into the hall.

“Let me try a bite.”

Kakashi held out his frozen yogurt bar. It was the prettiest shade of light green, dotted with pieces of brittle.

“I’ve never been a pistachio person. This is pretty good,” she had to admit. He gave her a smug look. She pushed him with her shoulder. Their sandals lay abandoned near the plastic bag from the grocery store.

They sat on the concrete patio behind Kakashi’s house. He had turned on the fan. It didn’t help with the humidity, but the air blowing over their backs did feel nice. She leaned against his arm until eventually he lifted it to drape it over her shoulders instead.

The crickets and cicadas seemed to be competing to see who could be louder that night. Their combined songs filled the balmy air. But that was as much a part of summers in Old Pines as everything else. When she had first moved to town, the sound had kept her up at night. Now, she had trouble sleeping without the serenade on the hottest nights.

Sakura held up her spoon. “Say aah.”

He reached for the spoon, but she yanked it away from him. “Say it,” she insisted.

Kakashi sighed. “I can feed myself.” But he still lowered his hand. She fed him a bite of her strawberry ice cream. And then pecked him on the mouth before she acted like nothing had happened.

Kakashi mashed his lips together. Trying to hold in both the ice cream and a laugh. Sakura went on eating her little cup of ice cream. Humming to herself as she tapped her bare feet on the concrete.

“Sakura.”

“Mhm?”

“Can you finish your ice cream quickly?”

“Why should I do that, Kakashi?” she asked, not looking up at him. She bit back a smile when she felt him grab her free hand in the darkness. His palm damp with sweat..

“I want to go back inside.” He squeezed her hand a little as he added in a small voice, “...please.”

“Why? To play chess? Read a book?”

“Sakura,” he groaned, his head falling on her shoulder as she laughed a little harder.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be right there. I can’t say no to those puppy eyes,” she relented.

A few days later, Sakura woke in the middle of a dream. A little unsure of whether she was still sleeping or not. Her bulky but reliable air conditioner hummed out back, pumping cold air into her house. Because even in the summer, she liked to sleep under the covers.

She lifted her head, eyes cracking open. Her phone sat on the nightstand where she had tossed it the night before. She had forgotten to charge it. The blinds next to the window were shut, but she could still see the sunlight trying to peer in past the slats.

“Whozzat?” she mumbled as she heard a click.

The back door opened, footsteps clomping into the kitchen.

“It’s me,” Kakashi called back. She could hear the rustle of plastic. And the tap of little black nails on the floor.

Sighing, Sakura flopped back onto the pillow. She heard the jangle of keys before they hit the kitchen counter. Cabinet doors opening and closing. And then, several seconds later, she heard his footsteps approaching. She cracked an eye open, arms stretched out at her sides.

“Long night?” asked Kakashi from the doorway.

She grunted, eye drifting shut.

“Alright. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep,” he replied. He took a few more steps. She felt him smooth his hand over her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. And she sort-of forgave him for waking her in the first place. Especially when he kissed her forehead too.

Biscuit hopped up onto the bed. He seemed to know that she wasn’t in the mood to play. Instead, the pooch wormed his way under her arm, curling up against her stomach. She slept well, the air conditioner blasting, and the faint tap of a knife against the cutting board drifting in through the crack in the door.

The second time Sakura woke, she felt much less murderous. She sat up, rolling her shoulders a couple times. Biscuit was gone. Rubbing her hand through her hair, Sakura sniffed. She smelled coffee. And something else that made her stomach rumble in anticipation.

As she opened her mouth to call for Kakashi, her eyes fell to the other side of the bed. Kakashi lay on his back, hands folded across his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. He looked so serious that she refrained from speaking. It seemed like he had something profound to say.

“Even your snoring sounds pretty,” he finally sighed.

“I don’t snore!” she exclaimed.

“You do. It’s adorable,” Kakashi stuck to his story. And then he turned his head to look at her. She tried to scowl at him. But it didn’t last for long as he reached up to run his fingers along her cheek. She bent her head so that he could reach, his teasing forgiven right away.

“I didn’t ask before. But are you sure you were just tired? You seemed... upset,” Kakashi then brought up. His hand fell back onto the bed.

Sakura’s smile dimmed. Her mouth twisted to one side.

“Just... my head’s been busy, I guess,” she confessed. She ran her fingers through her hair, just to have something to do with it.

When he smiled at her, she returned the expression. Almost like a reflex. And it was just as reflexive to close her eyes when he leaned in to kiss her. Soft and lingering, just like his hands as they ran over her hair, down her back. His forehead pressing against hers as he inhaled. Exhaled even more slowly.

“Breakfast?”

He had made a fluffy omelet for breakfast. She sat at the kitchen table, her chin resting on her fists as she watched him. Biscuit wandered over to sit at her feet. He knew better than to try to beg Kakashi for scraps when he cooked.

Kakashi draped a towel over his shoulder as he reheated the skillet. He popped slices of bread into the toaster oven as he waited for the pan to heat.

There was something incredibly attractive about a man who knew his way around the kitchen. She especially liked watching his arms and shoulders as he used the spatula or reached for something across the counter. Although, her personal favorite was watching his hands as he sliced vegetables with precise movements. Unfortunately, she had missed out on that part of the cooking process this time around.

“Honey?”

“Mhm?” she replied, only half-listening.

Kakashi turned to look at her. He had found a jar of honey in the cabinet. “I meant, do you want honey on your toast?”

“Oh.... yeah.” Sakura blinked a few times. As he twisted the cap off the honey, he turned his attention back to the stove. He nudged the knob to lower the heat. The contents of the frying pan sizzled a little more quietly.

“Are you a ... pet name person?” Kakashi asked.

Sakura considered this for a moment. “I’m a nickname person, I guess. I mean, all my friends call me Bunny,” she finally admitted. And then she tilted her head as she thought a little harder.

“Kakashi?”

“Yes.”

“Babe?”

He froze.

“Do you not like that?” she inquired.

Hands braced on the counter, Kakashi let out a heavy sigh. When he finally turned to look at her, he suddenly looked very tired.

“Sakura, despite appearances, I’m an old man. My heart can’t take something like that,” he warned her. His hand on his chest for emphasis.

“Aw, you’re young at heart, babe,” Sakura teased, tongue between her teeth as she grinned at him. Kakashi just sighed again. Shaking his head, he pushed off the counter to plate the food.

He set breakfast in front of her a minute later. Thin slices of apple covered the surface of the toast, glistening from the drizzle of honey on top. The butter-colored omelet was flecked with what looked like chives. He had even sliced up strawberries in the shape of hearts to garnish the edges of the dish. But Kakashi didn’t sit like she expected. Before she could ask, Kakashi poured her a cup of coffee fresh from the carafe.

“This looks amazing. Thank you, Kakashi,” Sakura said as he set the mug in front of her. He smiled at her in return. Chair legs scraping against the floor, he finally settled in the seat opposite from her.

She took a big bite of the omelet and then fed him the next slice. They were content to chew in silence for a while. Save for Kakashi’s snorting laugh when Sakura took a bite of her toast and did a little happy dance in her seat.

“I love you,” he suddenly declared as he watched her munch on her toast.

And mouth dotted with crumbs, Sakura barely swallowed her mouthful of food before she replied, “Love you too, babe.”

Kakashi laughed as he reached over to brush the crumbs away with his thumb. And then he leaned across the table to replace his hand with a kiss.

#equinox #lullaby #multisaku #kakasaku #writing #happy valentine's day

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toshiyesri · 5 years

Text

Bakugo woke up to the sound of pots banging.

He was going to ignore it, roll over and go back to sleep, but then he heard the sounds of Kirishima’s laughter. And the smell of burning.

Only my friends . . .

The kitchen was a scene of absolute carnage. Flour was tipped over, spices and bottles of oil scattered like fallen warriors, the sunshine catching on the egg yolks dripping onto the floor and turning it a golden honey color. There was even butter smeared on the floor tile. And hell . . . was that smoke coming out of the coffee pot?

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Cooking?” Kaminari said. Eye wide with evident guilt, he hid the spatula he was using to scrape burnt egg off the pan when Bakugo had come in.

“You call this cooking?” Bakugo asked. “Nevermind,” he added, when he saw Kirishima’s lip wobble. “Get out of here. I’ll show you how a real breakfast is done.”

“Uh, Bakugo-” Mina said, hovering with Sero by the smoking coffee maker.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

They scattered.

Well, except Kaminari. But he was perched on a stool up out of the way. Good enough.

The mop made a wet slap against the tile, and he dragged it over in the direction of the coffee pot, unplugging the appliance. It hadn’t been used in years. The dirtied pans fell into the sink unceremoniously. The tap came on too hot but he ignored it, scrubbing furiously.

“Why are you all here anyway?” Bakugo asked, up to his elbows in soapy water.

“Kirishima wanted to surprise you! Sorry this got so out of hand, I thought I could make toast and eggs at least, but . . .” Sero trailed off peaking around the doorway. He had flour smeared on his cheek.

The sink full of new, sparkling clear water sat with the dirtied pans at the bottom, Bakugo’s face distorted and tiny in a thousand of the soapy bubbles.

The floor wasn’t as bad as it looked. Most of it was spilled egg, and he made a mental note to clean with spray later.

In less than twenty minutes, it looked like they’d never been in the kitchen.

“We can go-”

“Who’s gonna eat all the food I’m about to make then?” Bakugo said, cracking an egg with one hand into a bowl. Maybe he could at least try and teach them something.

“I will!” Mina declared, pink curls popping up behind Sero. They watched from behind the cupboard door as Bakugo made his way around the kitchen.

“Whoa, cool dude- is that an espresso machine?”

“What did you think it was? That coffee machine hasn’t been used in years. Probably why it caught on fire.”

Bakugo pressed the blinking buttons, a little coffee icon lighting up on the screen when he opens the back. Empty. “Do any of you even drink coffee? Here, catch.”

Kirishima and Sero fumble the metal tube between them while coffee beans clatter around inside.

“What’s this?”

“Instructions are on the bottom. Don’t break it.”

That should keep them occupied.

Bakugo goes through breaking the last of the eggs by the time Mina finally gets the courage to enter the kitchen again.

“How do you not get any shell in it?” she asks while standing over his left shoulder. Kanimari abandoned his stool at one point and he’s leaning over his right, but of them staring with wide eyes as he adds to the pile of shells to the side of the bowl. Since he’d have to make two eggs per person anyway, he’ll just add in the extra two left in the dozen just in case someone’s still hungry.

“It’s not that hard,” Bakugo said. “Just tap it on the edge of the bowl like this,” a hairline fracture shot up the side of the egg with a second tap, “flip it over and use your thumb to crack it open.”

“Aren’t you supposed to-” Kaminari began to ask.

“What, get it every time on the first try? Why bother. It’s easier like this.”

“What about the toast?” Mina asked, pointing at the toaster. A sad piece of burnt bread stuck out the top still.

“It’ll get cold if we start them now.”

“You really know what you’re doing,” Kaminari said, tilting his head to watch Bakugo finish the last two eggs and pull out the whisk, the ooze of freshly broken yolks visible through the glass bowl.

“Like I said, it’s not hard.” It wasn’t like Bakugo was going to learn mediocre cooking skills. What kind of hero wouldn’t know how to make breakfast?

He pulled open the cabinet again, causing Kanimari to duck to avoid his elbow.

“Did you dump half the salt?”

“We weren’t sure how much to put in,” Mina said.

“That’s what measuring spoons are for.”

“My mom always just puts stuff in and tastes it.”

“That’s- these are eggs,” Bakugo said, disgusted.

“So?”

“Salmonella poisoning, Kaminari!” At least Mina knew something. The burner kicked on with minimal fuss, heating the frying pan.

“Oh.”

“Can you get the loaf of bread out of the freezer?” Bakugo asked. The remains of salt got tossed into the measuring spoon, while Bakugo was mentally counting the number of 1/8th of a teaspoon he needed. It was just enough for the number of eggs. Usually he’d measure by weight- but, screw that, it was too early. The butter sizzled as it hit the hot pan.

“Sure thing!” Kaminari said, shooting off to the fridge. “Uh, is this it?”

“That’s a turkey! Here, it’s this one.”

“Are you sure? It’s really long.”

“Just bring it over here, will you?” Bakugo said, carefully spooning the egg into the frying pan. He couldn’t look up to check to see if they had the right thing, but thankfully they did. Pre-sliced at least- he didn’t know what foresight had pressed him to do that.

“Clear the crumb tray will you? There’s probably a bunch of burnt stuff in there from earlier.”

“What-”

Bakugo shoved the spatula into Kaminari’s hand, giving him quick instructions while switching over to the toaster. The toast remains got plucked out and thrown away, and the toaster was unplugged and rattled over the garbage can. Bits of blackened bread fell unceremoniously out of the slot.

“There.”

After plugging the thing back in- really he should just have Kaminari power it- he filled the slots with bread. Good bread. Not whatever weird stuff they brought over. Turning down the timer by half, he told Mina to switch them out.

Kirishima held up the coffee grounds. “Is this what you wanted man?”

“Perfect. Put that in the machine.”

Bakugo’s kitchen was way too small for this.

Rescuing Kaminari from the eggs, Bakugo kept and eye on the other three. They were watching in fascination as the toast didn’t burn and the coffee machien made tiny happy burbling sounds. It lit up pink.

“Kirishima, can you get a cup?”

“Sure thing. Is that a cat?”

“Kirishima, focus.”

Bakugo should have known better, because the cat mug landed under the espresso machine.

“There’s heavy cream on the left door.”

“Got it!” Mini cried when she found it.

And, somehow, breakfast was made.

“I’m never eating again,” Kaminari said, after he had stuffed his face, saying something about the egg being the best thing he’d eaten for breakfast for the whole year. That wasn’t a very hard feat to accomplish- he ate granola bars.

But Bakugo had to admit . . . it was pretty good, even for him.

Must’ve been how he put less salt in the eggs.

#food #content warnings:#bakusquad #and also eggs #I don't like eggs but I can pretend

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