#Project Chicken Soup Ficlet

[sleepykalena]

Rebelcaptain & teamwork, for the ficlet prompt!!

Yes, i’m still doing these prompts LOL

So this actually was meant to bea Zootopia AU, but it got much longer than ficlet length, so I switched it to aSelfie AU instead. (it’s been how many years now and I still have not seen anyred-headed Korean babies, why must you do this ABC…)

I’ve been writing way too muchangst thanks to Parka, so I’m opting for modern, bittersweet fluff instead. Hopeit’s still satisfactory though!

Rating: T // [ao3] // [more ficlet prompts]

Tags: POV Jyn, Modern AU, Selfie AU, Unresolved romantic tension, pre-relationship, friends to lovers

“Jyn Erso, is that really you?Here? In the office? After hours?”

Jyn rolled her eyes at the loftysound of Cassian’s voice but couldn’t suppress the small, proud smile creepingup. For the first time ever, Jyn Erso was staying late at work, after hours,well after the sun had set and everyone else had gone home.

Everyone else, of course, exceptCassian, who habitually stayed after hours anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, come off it,” shewaved him aside, nose still buried on her computer screen as she clicked fromone social media site to the next, checking up on her newly establishednetwork.

“So it’s done? We’re trending?”he asked with rising optimism.

“Yeap,” she said between clicks,her eyes still scanning one tab after another. “We’re trending on Twitter, andour diaper cream is featuring on the Instagram stories of major influencers. Weeven caught the attention of the bored, rich housewives with a high followercount.” She could feel a fizzing of excitement as she said the words, and theybubbled into the air to infect her work companion, whose eyes sparkled withenthusiasm.

“And you thought you couldn’t doit,” he teased.

It was true- there was no way she’ddo it on her own. It was diaper cream,for fuck’s sake.

“Because that whole hashtag-DiaperEyething was a joke,” she retorted. Itwas just an aside during idle chatter, a cynical comment about the power ofsocial media and the gullibility of the masses, a sarcastic product pitchmatched with an eyeroll strong enough for her eyeballs to pop out of her skulland roll away. But-

“You know…we could do that toboost sales,” Leia said with an uplifting tone at the end that caused a sinkingfeeling in Jyn’s gut.

Jyn couldn’t even backtrack on her own words- she was completely frozenwith shock that anyone could even take her so seriously, and all she could dowas blink.

She remembered Leia turning to Cassian in that moment. “See to it thatyou two work together to find a way to encourage our diaper cream to double asan eye cream. Unofficially and off the books, of course- don’t want a lawsuiton our hands. Let’s use the power of social media to save this product! I’mcounting on you two,” she said with a pat to Cassian’s stiff shoulder and awink to Jyn before walking away.

Cassian slowly turned to look at Jyn, and to her surprise, Cassian wasactually siding with her over it.

“No,” she told him flatly.

“Jyn, the company’s own CEO wouldn’t flat-out endorse anything she didn’tlike,” he soothed. “And I agree with her on this one- we really could have somethinghere, and you can give yourself thecredit for it.”

“You want me to actually make good on my sarcasm and make anunofficial, off-the-books campaign about this. Using social media. Which I don’teven have.” She turned her attention away from him and back to her computer screen,contemplating how to best fake a pleasant email for a client.

Cassian leaned over just enough that his stiffly-pressed tie got in theway of her view. “Who was the one who came knocking on my office door threemonths ago asking for help, again?”

“I asked you to help ‘rebrand’ me so that I wouldn’t lose my job; Ididn’t ask for you to help me become the top sales rep or anything.”

“Yes, but part of that ‘rebrand’ was a request to help you appear lessanti-social. Which means following through on tasks that require more socializing,”he said with a sweet smile.

Jyn hated that sweet smile, knowing full-well that his ability to pullthat off was a distraction tactic, meant to divert from his own brand of anti-socialtendencies. Then again, it was his mastery of that tightrope balance between saccharineand sour that helped him secure a position that was nothing short of being theright-hand man for the CEO, who just trusted them both with a project to helpsave a product for their pharmaceutical company.

Surprisingly, Leia was right toput her faith in them- Cassian took great pains to listen to her snark againsthumanity and put the right optimistic spin on them, and soon enough Jyn wasactually talking to her neighbors for once, many of whom she discovered weretired mothers eager to save money by using something they already had in theirhomes rather than heading to their nearest cosmetics shop to diminish the bagsunder their eyes.

And, as it turned out, they werepleasant people once they had the right amount of coffee in their systems.

There was no way she’d ever findthat out about them if it weren’t for this sharp-dressed man, who, at 7 pm, finallylet his “after 5” colors show by leaning casually against her desk with aslight slouch.  

“Still, you actually followedthrough. And you used to not bother with things like this,” Cassian pointedout. “You took a risk-“

“We took a risk,” she corrected him.

“No, no, you took a risk, you leftyour comfort zone, you kept an open-enoughmind to work with me to shape this concept, and we can expect to reap the rewardswhen we take a look at our sales next month. I just helped add the bells andwhistles. All that effort, all that footwork, all that investigation…that wasstill you at the end of the day,” hesaid with conviction, and Jyn’s heart thudded against her chest at theseriousness of his compliments.

Was he always this intense whenhe felt this firey about something? Is this how he managed to build such great rapportwith people?

But then her heart sank a little-was this just an act to get her hopes up with his sense of optimism? Or did heactually believe the words coming out of his mouth? It was hard to tell whatwas a teaching moment and what was a display of genuine pride for a friend.

Does it matter, though? She asked herself. It’s not like you’re seeking his approval.

“Leia said we were a winningcombination at the meeting,” she countered as she finally closed down her tabsand got ready to shut down her workstation. “But you had a large hand in that-people don’t buy products that don’t look attractive. And we both know I’m nogood at that.”

Cassian shrugged. “Alright, so we’rea team. A little bit of you, a little bit of me. But that’s what made us that ‘winningcombination’, so it doesn’t mean your efforts should be overlooked.”

For once, she turned away fromCassian not out of a desire to be left alone by avoiding anyone’s gaze, but outof fear that Cassian would catch the rising blush on her face.

Maybe, just maybe, in the farthest corner of her personal vulnerabilities,a small part of her hoped that he approved of her in a more specific way.

“Yeah…a little bit of you, alittle bit of me,” she muttered.

She checked the time again as shestood up from her chair- 7:20 pm.

“Crap, I’m late for a date,” she groaned.“I can’t believe I got so caught up in this project that I stayed after hours…Ididn’t even buy an outfit for it. I might have to cancel-“

“And miss out on anothersocializing opportunity? Don’t do it, Jyn,” Cassian chided. “You have to followthrough, even on the recreational stuff.”

“Yeah, but I was supposed toleave work right at 5 to buy an outfit, and I really don’t want to wear my workoutfit to a date- it’s already bad enough that people call me ‘Serious BusinessErso’ as it is.”

Cassian took a step back and eyedher. He seemed to really take his time assessing her appearance, and with eachpassing second, she felt more and more self-conscious, like she was anotherpharmaceutical product in need of a rebrand.

Suddenly, without a word, he grabbedhis heavy coat and handed it to her. “Take off your office bottoms and put thison.”

“You want me to use your jacketas a dress?” Jyn asked egregiously.

“Don’t knock it til you try it,Jyn,” he sighed.

Still skeptical, she grabbed itfrom him and made a twirling gesture with her finger. Cassian obediently turnedaround, patiently waiting as she hurried to remove her trousers, throw the coaton, and tighten the waist belt to give it form.

“This feels incomplete,” sheresponded hesitantly, which prompted him to turn back around and take a goodlook at her. There was an immediate frown on his face, and she knew it was amistake to even try it.

But then she looked at her seat,and-

“My scarf,” she said suddenly,and she grabbed it off her seat and wrapped it once, twice around her neck,letting it drape off her chest. She turned around to look at herself in thereflection of the nearby vending machine. It wasn’t particularly glamorous, butthe scarf’s gentle sparkle created an almost jewelry-like effect and, thanks totheir height difference, Cassian’s coat wore like a classy dress, bundling atthe waist and creating a puffy skirt as it followed the form of her hips. Her hairwas already formal, tied up to a neat and prim bun at the base of her neck whilethe loose fringes of her hair framed her face.

Jyn always hated adhering tofashion because it was anything but comfortable. But Cassian’s coat- still warmfrom his body heat and faintly smelling of his delicately pleasant, yet neutralbody soap- defied expectations. It was fashionable without being flashy, and wearingit felt like a hug, the kind of comfort she’d always loved in her own clothes.

In its own way, Cassian’s coatwas encouraging her to relax and have a good time in what could very well be anawkward and unsuccessful date.

But there was no way she’d admitthat to him.

“What do you think?” she asked,spreading her arms out to present herself. “A little bit of you, a little bitof me, right?”

He let out a huff as his smiledwidened. “Yeah. A winning combination.”

“Yeah, let’s hope this winningcombination doesn’t turn out to disappoint this date-“

Cassian took a step closer intoher space to stop her, and Jyn’s gasp caught in her throat. He stared at herwith an intense gaze; there seemed to be so many things he wanted to say, andthe longer she looked past his long lashes and into his eyes, the more confusedshe became. She could feel the words making their way out to match the fire inhis eyes, and her chest tightened with anticipation and a worry that he was aboutto say something that could knock her off her feet and send her into a tizzy.The smell of that body soap intensified as his warmth radiated to her, and thattiny little vulnerable part of her ran in circles, still optimistic, still hopingthat maybe-

“He could disappoint you just asmuch as you could disappoint him. That’s the risk you take when you go on thesedates but make no mistake- a date isn’t a failure if it means you’re able tonarrow down what doesn’t work for you. Then you can keep working to find whatactually does work.”

Jyn rolled her eyes. “What isthis, R&D?”

“For the self? Definitely,” hesaid, but despite expecting a smile, his face remained serious, and the convictionin his tone remained. Slowly, hesitantly, he rested his hands on her shouldersand squeezed them reassuringly. “You got this, Jyn. I believe in you.”

I believe in you.

It was surprising how hard fourlittle words could knock her off her feet and send her into a tizzy. She hadn’theard that from anyone since…

Actually, when was the last time someone said theybelieved in her?

She nodded. “Thanks,” shebreathed, her heart now pounding so rapidly that she swore Cassian himselfcould hear it. She hurriedly grabbed her bag and phone and tucked her chairback under her desk, making sure to turn away from him again to hide her blush.“I’ll see you tomorrow!” she called out as she headed towards the elevator.

The elevator doors closed asCassian waved cheerfully at her, but as uplifted as she felt from his pep talk,that small part of her- the one tucked away in that farthest corner of hervulnerabilities- sank with the elevators as it lamented the ever-increasingdistance between her and her coworker, the first one she ever considered to bean actual friend and someone she could depend on.

Jyn stepped out into the night andthe chilly air brushed her cheeks as she rushed to the train station, but, forthe first time ever, she missed the warmth Cassian stirred in her.

#rebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #writing prompt #fanfic #ficlet #callioope #ask sleepy #sleepy fics #Project Chicken Soup Ficlet #modern AU #Selfie AU

[myckicade]

Title: Sunshine - A Holiday Ficlet Pairing: Angel/Reader A/N: I might be projecting, here. I'm not entirely sure, but it's possible. FYI, I love the stuff, but the bulk of my friends and family do not. WARNING: He talks about throwing up. Don't wanna' turn anyone's stomach, without warning!

Taglist: @caspertheassholeghost @loompyinaway

Angel isn't really sure what to do, here. Like, really, really isn't sure. He loves you to death, and beyond, he does. So far is he is concerned, the sun shines out of your sexy little ass, and the last thing in the world he wants to do is to dim that light. He wants to protect you, not hurt you. He would sooner shoot himself in the gut, and bleed out, slowly. It sounds a little dramatic, but that is just how badly he wants to give you love and support.

But, looking down at his plate, Angel isn't so sure he has enough love and support to choke down this casserole.

"It's a holiday tradition in my family," you say, sitting down at the table with your own bounty of brown slop.

Angel ducks his head, and grimaces, as discreetly as possible. And, your family is still living? is what he wants to ask. He doesn't, because he still has some small sense of self-preservation embedded in his bones. He has to wonder, though... Would it be worth it, to just say it, and take his chances? Rip off the band-aid? Because, the alternative is still staring him in the face, a pile of mush that reminds him of the Clubhouse bathrooms after an all-night bender. Gods, Above, but he may never drink again.

Huh. A small miracle, that. You really can work wonders. This just can't be one of them.

"So, uh," he asks, after he's swallowed down the threat of bile creeping up his throat. "What's in it, exactly?"

You tsk, softly. "Should I write it down for you?" Yeah, he's asked about fifty times, already, no doubt. It's a stall tactic. Sue him. "Green beans, cream of chicken soup, cheese, and French fried onions."

Angel's stomach is ready to give, hollowed out and threatening to abdicate at the first introduction of that ungodly concoction. None of those things you've just listed belong together, he's pretty sure of it. Glancing up at you, Angel watches you put a forkful in your mouth. You groan with delight, like this shit is better than sex. (Which, he doesn't think so, thank his ego, very fucking much). You didn't even look that happy when he took you to that expensive restaurant for the proposal dinner. Geeze, if he'd known a plate full of yesterday's mush would have sealed the deal, he could have saved himself two hundred bucks, and the embarrassment of having to put on a monkey suit.

With a mental grumble, Angel glances back down to his plate. Nope. He can't do it. You can throw him out of the house. You can burn his Christmas gifts on the lawn. You can shove that antique diamond ring straight up his ass. He will not, under pain of fucking death, eat this motherf-.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Angel nearly leaps up out of his seat, in joy, shouting loud enough to startle you into jumping, and dropping your fork into your lap. The look you give him promises murder, but he doesn't care. He's never been so happy to feel his pants vibrate, in all his damned life. He shoves away from the table, fishing his phone out of his back pocket. EZ. Oh, damn him, but he hopes someone's been shot. Stabbed. Anything to get him out of having to go two rounds with the toilet bowl, later.

"Hey, babe, sorry. I gotta' take this," he half-lies, rushing out of the room like someone's set his ass on fire. (Which, hey, no one says that that, too, can't be the result of eating your cooking). Once he's out the door, and on the back porch, he answers EZ's call, puts the phone to his ear, and sighs. "Oh, Bro, you have no idea how bad you just saved my ass."

Back inside, your expression of doom shifts to a knowing smirk. What a big baby. Oh, well. Little does Angel know, you just don't give a damn. It's just more for you.

Masterlist | Request | Tag List

#Mayans M.C. #Mayans M.C. Fanfiction #Angel Reyes #Angel Reyes x Reader #Angel Reyes x You #Holiday Ficlet #Holiday Fic

[sincerelyreidburke]

I for once am in a mood for quindo fluff. Some playful bickering perhaps?

Given that you’ve asked me for this twice, Percy, I would have felt very bad not giving it to you.😂😂😂😂 Here’s the Quindo bickering content of your dreams, but from Remy’s POV! Set during junior year, and briefly featuring two more fictional hockey players of my creation.

Also on ao3, in the ficlet collection. (Ask/send me anything about the crickets!)

//

junior year | october

  The commotion in the kitchen wakes Remy up from the best nap he’s had in awhile, and that in and of itself is a sin.

Naps are not only a spiritually enriching experience, they’re also essential. Remy is slowly learning to use them as a remedy for the fact that he only gets so many hours of sleep per night. Ben keeps telling him that he should look into taking melatonin or something for the insomnia, but it always feels like a problem for another day. The other day it’s a problem for has yet to come.

So today, after he wakes up at five AM and does not fall back asleep, he spends the better half of the morning in the library busting out his entire upcoming paper for HI 387 (British Empire). When he finishes formatting his bibliography, he feels his primal nap instinct coming on, and the sky outside looks gray, which just helps the urge along. He gathers up his stuff, walks back to the house on Beech Street, changes into sweats, and flops into his bed with his feet on the pillow and head on the pile of stuffed animals at the end of the mattress.

Only God and Ben Shaley can judge him for his stuffed animal collection.

Some indeterminate time later, he wakes to the noise downstairs. He can’t make out exactly what’s being said, but he’d know Quinn’s shrill voice anywhere, piercing the stairwell and creeping right up into Remy’s room.

There’s a steady rain drumming on the window, and he lifts his head off of his arm. He feels like he accidentally imprinted the sleeve of his sweatshirt onto his cheek, if the weird bumpy sensation when he runs his fingers over his face is any indication. This is a sign of a good nap. Unfortunately, it’s been interrupted.

Downstairs, Quinn is still talking. He has one volume, and it’s loud.

Remy buries his face in between his stuffed snake and his duck, and sighs.

He lays in bed for a minute more, weighing the merits of attempting Naptime Part Two versus going downstairs to see what the fuss is about. In reality, he knows that there’s probably no fuss at all, and that Quinn is just on another of his random rants which must double as practicing onstage projection based on how loud and animated he can get. Remy fishes through his plush pile until he finds his phone, where he checks the time— it’s 3:02, which means he slept for at least two and a half hours. If he tries to go back to sleep now , there’s no way he’ll ever be able to get to sleep at the normal time to go to sleep.

So he rolls over, sits up in bed, and rubs his eyes. He feels a mighty yawn coming on, but it doesn’t actually hit him until he fixes his shirt— somehow, under his hoodie, it bunched all the way up to his chest in his sleep. And the ankle seam on one of his joggers is up to his knee.

Wow. It really was a good nap.

The yawn hits him when he stands up and out of bed. He kind of feels like a zombie, walking after such a deep sleep. He guesses it isn’t such a bad thing to be so well-rested. It’s been awhile.

Downstairs, Quinn’s voice persists. When he opens his bedroom door and steps out into the hallway, another factor comes into play— somebody is cooking down there, and, well, okay, he can say ‘somebody’ but the smell tells him without a doubt it’s Nando. It smells like that spicy chicken soup recipe he loves making on rainy, crappy days, and Remy had no idea he was hungry, but all of a sudden his stomach growls like a feral cat.

Jeez.

As he heads down the stairs, slow but steady, he can gradually start to make out Quinn’s words. “... do not understand even in the slightest how you can work like this—”

“Baby,” he hears Nando laugh, which puts a temporary stop to Quinn’s tirade. “I swear, there’s a method to my madness!”

“Oh, it’s madness, alright,” Quinn replies. “I mean, goodness , Sebastián—” There’s a clatter of dishware, like someone has put something in the sink. “You’re building an entire tower over here!”

Remy rounds the corner into the kitchen just in time for Nando to protest, “But I’m gonna clean it… promise!”

Quinn is the first thing he sees, orange-haired and pint-sized in a baggy (obviously stolen) sweatshirt and gesturing snappily. He stands next to the counter. “The issue isn’t that you’ll clean it eventually,” he’s saying to Nando, who leans against the stove with a goofy grin on his face and a ladle in his hand. The huge pot on the burner behind him, Remy wagers, must be the source of the smell. “The issue ,” Quinn adds, “is the mess.”

Which, okay, yeah. There’s a mess.

Nando has stacked the sink full of obviously relevant dishes, and both counters are laid with evidence that he was there, from cutting boards to empty cans to knives. Nando being a disaster cook isn’t new news, not to Remy or to Quinn or anyone else in this house— but he must have struck a nerve with Quinn today, by the looks of it.

Quinn looks ready to gear up for another rant, and Remy’s half-asleep brain doesn’t really love the thought of that, so he cuts in before he can. “ Crisse , Q,” he says, rubbing his eye as he stands in the kitchen doorway. “Is there a national emergency?”

Quinn folds his arms and lets off a sigh, leaning his hip against the counter. “There may as well be.”

Nando is grinning at him, like he’s trying not to laugh. “ Baby .”

They’re not alone in the kitchen, though— Ben is at the table by the window, sketching by the looks of it, based on his huge spreads of paper and the pencil stuck into his bun. Jordy and Sam are playing cards at the same tabletop Quinn is leaning against, and X is next to them, on his phone. “Stay out of it, Rem,” Ben remarks, turning in his seat to face him, with a half-grin on his face. “He is on the warpath .”

Quinn snaps his head over to Ben. “I am not on the warpath,” he says. “I am maintaining a sense of order.”

Nando puts his hand over his face and makes a noise like he’s trying not to laugh. Quinn whips back to him and jabs his finger at him menacingly, which is really hard to do when you’re 5’6 but your boyfriend is 6’4. Quinn does it anyway. “ Sebastián Hernandez , you are going to get it—”

Remy suppresses a laugh of his own, and slumps into the chair across the table from Ben. “How long has this been going?” he asks, in a low voice.

Ben is still grinning. “Like ten minutes?” he replies. “He got in from his drama thing and unleashed holy terror.”

Remy sighs. “Great.”

“I hear you talking about me, Ben,” Quinn calls across the room, despite the fact that calling is completely unnecessary given the size of the kitchen.

Ben shields his face with one hand. “White flag! I surrender. I’m sorry, your majesty, for my great offense—”

“ Benjamin .”

Ben winces, and pulls the pencil out of his hair. “Message received,” he remarks, and goes back to his spread of papers. It is drawing stuff. Remy doesn’t understand architecture homework, but Ben is great at it.

Remy watches as Quinn walks back to the sink. He turns the faucet on, as if to conquer the stack of Nando’s cooking collateral. “How do you people live like this?”

“How are you surprised?” X asks, not looking up from his phone but grinning like crazy. “You were in here all last year.”

Which is true. Although Remy just moved into Beech for his first year this preseason, Nando lived here last year, too. Quinn is well familiar with the disasters he makes in kitchens, particularly the Beech kitchen. At least freshman year, he was relegated to the shitty student kitchen in the basement of Wilson Hall, the freshman boys’ dorm. Beech Street gives him a space of his own. Which is good because the whole team gets to eat his food. But bad in the process of making said food.

“I’m not surprised, Xander,” Quinn says, turning to X, in a slightly less homicidal tone. He holds a soapy blue sponge in his left hand. “I merely wish that a certain boyfriend of mine would learn to clean up his messes—”

“I told you, baby,” Nando replies, stirring his soup with the ladle, “I’m gonna clean, when I’m all finished. What’s the use of cleaning during the process, when I’m just gonna make a mess again on the same surface?”

Quinn turns off the sink, presses his fingers to his own temple, takes a long breath, and replies, “What’s the use of keeping your empty bean cans on the counter?” He points the sponge to the counter, where there are, in fact, empty bean cans everywhere. His point makes a flicking motion and sends a stray sud flying into the air. It lands on the floor. “ Empty bean cans , Sebastián.”

“They’re just cans,” Nando replies.

Quinn bristles, puts the sponge in the sink, and dries his hands on a kitchen towel. “And the rubbish barrel,” he replies, pacing to the counter, “is right there.”

Quinn scoops the cans off the counter, opens the top of the nearby trash, and drops them into the bag beneath. With a hmph , he turns his pointy, freckled nose up at Nando, like he’s saying so there.

Nando blows him a kiss, which intensifies Quinn’s rage. “Thanks, mi amor .”

Across the table, Ben is still grinning even as he draws, like he wants to laugh, and Remy can’t blame him. This is not at all an unfamiliar dynamic— since their earliest days dating, Nando and Quinn’s relationship has been characterized by bickering like they’re an old, married couple.

Well, okay. In actuality, their ‘bickering’ looks more like Quinn bitching at Nando and getting nothing but heart eyes in return. Nando is a simp, and Quinn is an irritable priss, and they’re in love.

Remy doesn’t get romance, but he knows it works for them.

Ben looks up from his sketching, and catches Remy’s eye across the table. He wears the unmistakable smile of someone who is going to cause problems on purpose. “Duck,” he murmurs, in a mischievous voice with volume only for him. “Watch this.”

“Oh, God,” Remy mutters, but it’s too late.

Ben leans over the back of his chair and remarks, “Y’know, Quinny, you talk mad shit for someone who can’t cook to save his life.”

Remy snorts into the neckline of his sweatshirt. “ Ben .” At the stove, Nando guffaws. Jordy and Sam, who, as wise, observant bystanders, have chosen to remain quiet right up until now, both start heckling like their brains are connected. (They’re a D-pair, so they probably are, come to think of it.) “ Yoooo ,” Sam mumbles, and Jordy lets out a quiet, “Oh, shit.”

Flushed pink in the face, Quinn whirls on his heel to face Ben and Remy’s table. He has the energy of a tea kettle that’s ready to start screeching. “ Benjamin Shaley .”

Ben grins, owning his chirp. “What, so you can dish it, but you can’t take it?”

“You’ve gotta get used to that,” Jordy cuts in. “Being manager comes with the responsibility to get chirped…”

“Oh, trust me, Jordan.” Of all the people in the kitchen, Jordy seems to have irritated Quinn the least. “I am well accustomed to the chirping.”

“Yeah, Jordy,” Nando adds, with a big grin as he pulls up a steaming ladle of his soup. “He’s been dating me for two years.”

“Oh, please ,” Ben replies, because he is clearly not done. “I’ve never heard you chirp him in your life , Nanny. All you do is kiss his ass.”

Remy snorts again. “ Yoooooo !” Sam cries.

Nando drops his ladle into the pot. “ Rho ! I do too chirp him!”

Ben laughs wildly. “You do not ,” he says. “You don’t dare chirp him. You’re too busy simping twenty-four-seven.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you chirp Quinn,” X offers, still grinning at his phone.

Remy jumps on the bandwagon. “They kinda have a point, Nanny,” he says, and waits for the reign of terror to descend upon him.

But Quinn has apparently tuned out. Rather than participate, he has chosen the duration of this exchange to tidy up Nando’s counter mess. He throws away trash— the fragments of a poblano pepper, the remaining bean cans, a bag that held frozen corn. Then he deposits the cutting board into the sink with the knife Nando was using.

“There we go.” He wipes his hands on the dish towel, then turns around to face their side table again, and Remy thinks for a second that he’s going to take another shot at Ben. Instead, Quinn looks to him , which is terrifying until he says, very evenly, “Hello, Remy. I heard you had a nap.”

“Uh.” Remy isn’t sure if Quinn would kill him if he laughed. He can turn on a dime. It’s terrifying. But also beneficial, for managerial purposes. “Yeah,” he tells Quinn. “It was a good nap.”

“Well, good.” Quinn dusts off the front of his sweatshirt. It says Hernandez on the sleeve, as if its sheer size on him wasn’t proof enough that it’s stolen property. “I hope we didn’t disturb you too much.”

“Oh—” Now Remy does let out his laugh. He doesn’t dare tell Quinn that yes, actually, he did wake him up. He really did need to get up for the afternoon, so it doesn’t matter. “Uh, no. It’s fine.”

“Good.” Quinn smiles, then turns back around, walking to Nando by the giant soup pot. He rises on his tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “Isn’t that better?” he asks him, gesturing to the clear countertop.

Nando is still grinning, like the huge simp he is, and smiles sideways at Quinn as he stirs the soup. “Much better, baby.” He wraps him up sideways in his arm. Quinn gets swallowed by the sheer size of him, as usual. “Thank you,” Nando adds, and gives him an actual kiss.

Quinn is still flushed in the face, but now it’s that cheesy blush Remy has watched Nando give him so many times. Just like that, Quinn has cooled off, and the noise level in the kitchen is better for it. Remy looks away, because watching them together always feels like an invasion of privacy, even when they’re engaging in mild PDA. He thinks it’s just a him thing.

Nando keeps cooking. Quinn keeps him company. Ben gets back to drawing, and X to scrolling, and Jordy and Sam to their cards. The rain keeps pattering at the windows, and conversation returns to a normal level, and it’s a perfectly normal Sunday afternoon.

Yeah. Remy doesn’t get romance. And he definitely never will. But he loves this team, and he loves this house, and he really loves his friends.

#crickets #quindo #rat boy #ficlet #ao3 link #mini quinny #nandoooooooo #rhode island headass #kiersey men's hockey #kiersey college #mel writes

[dontfeeltoohot]

Here’s a little something that I am projecting on to since I am basically Bucky currently. Have a small little ficlet!

+++++++++

“You ready to go home?” Steve asks as he walks up to where his husband is drinking some water in the gym. They’ve both been training new Shield agents at the compound the past few weeks, and it’s a nice change of pace from going on missions.

Bucky nods, wiping his mouth. “Yeah.”

Steve frowns a little at how tired Bucky looks. He’s a little pale, and looks like he could use a good nap and some food. “How does chicken alfredo sound for dinner?” Steve asks quietly, grabbing his hand. They’re not huge on PDA, but something in Steve’s heart catches at how run down his guy looks.

Bucky visibly relaxes a little at the touch, and nods again. “That sounds good,” he says just as softly. Not that he wants to try and be any louder. He’d woken up that morning to a sore throat and achy body, but he’d not given in much consideration. He had work, and he obviously wasn’t going to not go.

Now though, Bucky’s absolutely ready to head home. His throat’s worse, the achiness from earlier has only settled deeper in his bones, and he feels a little fuzzy headed and chilled. Rubbing his face with his free hand, he follows Steve into the locker room to change. He hates to admit it, but now that he’s not working, now that his body is coming off the adrenaline from teaching combat skills, he’s hitting a brick wall.

It’s a miracle he’s able to get dressed and act normal. He feels like he can barely keep his eyes open, as they drive back to their small home a few miles away. Steve must notice too, because he squeezes his hand when they arrive back home.

“Time to get inside sleepy head,” Steve teases, but there’s worry in his voice too. Bucky never falls asleep in cars, never really takes naps. He stands and follows Steve in, coughing a little into his arm.

When they’re finally settled back inside, Bucky turns the heat up a few notches, then stands there for a moment, all aches and shivers and exhaustion. Steve walks over a moment later.

“You okay sweetheart?” He asks, brushing some hair from his face. It’s then that Steve feels the unnatural heat emitting from him, and coos a little. “Let’s get you in bed, hmm honey?”

Looking through glassy eyes, he nods and lets Steve man handle him to the bedroom. “How’re you feeling, really?”

“...bad I guess. Throat hurts. Achy,” Bucky explains, taking his shirt off. “Thought I was just tired,” he adds.

“You’re a little more than tired Buck. Get in bed and I’ll get some soup started. You just relax.”

#my fic

[asa-hana-da]

Ficlet 02: Between the Stars (Leontius)

(major spoilers)

(rated between T & M for implied sexual content)

Leontius Gaudet is the Head Gamemaker. This ficlet takes place probably 20 years before the start of the 220th Games.

A sharp rap at the door interrupts their labored pants and sighs. Leontius curses beneath his breath and crawls across the bed, kicking his partner’s clothes underneath as he pulls on a shirt. He buttons the shirt with one hand as he tosses the crumpled blankets on the bed’s other occupant.

Another knock sounds at the front door of his apartment. Leontius leans over to hit the button on the intercom and says into the video feed, “I will be right there, Elisia. Hold on.”

His assistant’s shrill voice bursts forth from the speakers, “Another tryst of yours? It better not be one of those Mu you seem so fond of, again-”

Elisia’s voice cuts off as she sees the other person in the room. Leontius had to move to the side to pull his pants on, not realizing she could see him. He curses and covers the camera with his hand.

“It is! Mr. Gaudet, the Games are in two weeks! You cannot keep going off and-”

“I will be at the door in a minute, Elisia,” Leontius says with a sigh as he cuts off the connection and finishes. 

The sound of a warm, vibrant laugh fills his head, followed by a breathy sort of chuckle from behind him. Leontius whirls around and eyes the seemingly young man curled in the center of his bed with a glare.

“Oh, so you’re a redhead this time?” Leontius hisses at the man. His hair, which had been a warm shade of blond just a few minutes ago when Leontius was running his fingers through the smooth strands, is currently auburn red. Like the color of rust. His eyes shine with amusement, a dark shade of green. “You like to ruin my reputation, don’t you.”

“Are you saying your other lovers aren’t handsome young men like myself?”

“One, you are not young,” Leontius whispers harshly, not that it matters how loud he speaks. “You are four years younger than me, old man. Two, I don’t have any other ‘lovers’ like you and Elisia keep thinking I do.”

The man grips the blankets and pulls them up to cover his torso, but Leontius sees his arms and back trembling from the movement and sighs. He gets up and eases his partner down on the bed.

“I’ll be right back.”

When Leontius returns, the man’s hair is blond again, and he is lounging with the blankets and pillows surrounding him. It’s been fifteen minutes; Elisia had launched into long-winded lecture on why he shouldn’t be fooling around so close to the start of the Games before asking him to approve a new set of computers for the control room.

“Sorry about that,” Leontius says. He doesn’t receive a response. Sighing, he walks over and thinks, loud and clear, Azure.

Azure’s head instantly snaps up to stare at him. Leontius apologizes again, not bothering to speak. It doesn’t matter, because Azure can’t hear him anyways. He shakes his head slowly in response, bright hazel eyes gazing at Leontius with a million thoughts and feelings that he won’t reveal. Leontius sighs.

He reaches out with one broad hand and pushes the blankets aside to run it over Azure’s side, his thumb pressing gently against the ridges of his ribcage.

“You’re too skinny. Aren’t they feeding you properly?” he asks, not entirely teasing. Azure can surely hear the irritation spike in his mind and emotions. “I’ll order some food. What do you want?”

He runs through the options in his head, envisioning fancy soups and breads, pastries, some sort of meat dish the avoxes served last week with a rich sauce.

“Stop that!” Azure protests, gripping his sleeve with an insistent tug and an odd flash of his own thoughts. It’s a muddled haze of guilt and mournful pain that guts Leontius straight through. He winces as Azure’s presence in his mind recedes. “I can’t handle such rich foods, anyway.”

“Alright,” Leontius concedes. “I’ll order soup. Plain chicken soup, okay? Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy,” Azure agrees with a sharp nod.

It doesn’t feel weird to hold these somewhat one-sided conversations anymore. They’ve been at it for thirty years, after all. Leontius puts in his order over the intercom again, keeping it to audio only.

When he returns to bed, he takes a moment to observe Azure’s labored breathing. The rapid rise and fall of his thin chest unsettles Leontius. Azure might look like he is in his prime, if one just looks at his face compared with Leontius’s, but Leontius knows better. Sometimes he is afraid to even hold his frail body, of asking for too much and being given too much in return.

“Leon,” Azure says, really says, in words that Leontius can hear. His voice is harsh and breathy, as if he has run a marathon and is just managing to squeeze those two syllables out.

Leontius shakes his head and sits next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing gently. Azure leans against his shoulder with a soft, exhausted sigh.

“The younger Mu are growing impatient,” he says, the words laced with worry and the odd, familiar threads of anxiety. Leontius can feel them as if they originate from his own heart, even though he himself is calm. “They are no longer satisfied with saving as many of our own as possible. They want action. They want change. And I-”

His telepathy cuts off immediately, leaving nothing but silence in Leontius’s mind. He nudges Azure, peering at his downturned face. He hasn’t aged a day over twenty or so, and it’s eerie.

“You’ve aged quite well yourself. Still handsome enough to attract ‘beautiful young men’ to your bed,” Azure teases. Leontius frowns and gives him a glare.

“I don’t need to know what’s going on in anyone’s head, let alone Elisia’s.”

Azure hums, though no sound comes out of his throat as usual.

“The younger Mu...I want to make them happy, but...”

“You can’t risk it,” Leontius says. “Not after what you loss in the war thirty years ago. The younger generation doesn’t know the sacrifices it took to get where you are now, so of course they push for change - that’s what it means to be young.”

“I don’t recall you being so foolish.”

Leontius smiles. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” Azure says with a matching grin. “But maybe not. Who else would risk everything for a Mu like myself? Your career, your life. You risk it even now.”

“We just do what we can,” Leontius says, rubbing Azure’s shoulder firmly, but not too hard. “Leave the fighting to the youngsters. I think you earned that right.”

His words won’t change the unease in Azure’s heart. Leontius knows this before he even speaks the words out loud. He welcomes everyone else’s pain as his own and can’t help but want to reach out to them even if it causes himself injury.

Leontius runs his other hand down Azure’s chest, to his abdomen where a scar stands out against his pale skin. Azure is trembling, but not from fear or pain; Leontius can feel the exhaustion in his thought waves, the sheer force of will that keeps him from collapsing. Biting his lip to keep himself from commenting on the old wound, Leontius pulls the blankets around him to conceal the scars for when the avox comes to deliver the soup.

“I wish I could live long enough to see the day that those younger Mu dream of.” Azure’s hopeless sigh cuts through the room’s air.

Leontius grips him tighter and repositions himself in front of him, holding both shoulders firmly as they look into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t say that,” Leontius says. “Don’t you dare imply that I’ll outlive you.”

Azure smiles faintly. He reaches up, though even that takes a bit of effort, and leans into Leontius’s hold to lay a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll try,” he says in that hoarse, airless manner of his. His speech used to be better, but years spent living among other Mu who he can speak to through thought waves has reverted his words to harsh, shaky utterances.

Leontius nods sharply. He doesn’t know what he would do if Azure leaves him, if whatever bond they have between them disappears into the universe to be forgotten.

“Alright,” Leontius says, helping Azure to lean back against the pillows stacked against the wide headboard. The bell rings again, and he goes to the front again to retrieve the cart and tray from the avox.

Being Head Gamemaker has its perks, like this huge apartment that is practically a house on a single floor. He always wants to lavish Azure with all the things he has at his disposal in the Capitol: warm blankets, gourmet foods, even just medicine to ease his pain when he catches a cold. But Azure always rejects whatever he can.

Right now, though, Leontius prides himself in winning the privilege of wrapping him up in fine blankets and throws, and feeding him a hot bowl of soup. Even plain chicken soup is a lavish sort of thing, coming from the Capitol.

Leontius nods to himself as he sits down on the bed with the bowl.

“Okay. Let’s talk. Last year, we saved one. I think it will be possible to rescue two this year. One of the younger Gamemakers had an idea for a forest fire that will be perfect...”

It’s not much, in the grand scheme of things. How many Mu are killed each year, aside from the ones in the Games? Leontius doesn’t wish to know. It’s terrible enough orchestrating the deaths of up to twenty-four every year and having to face Azure, to discuss with him which children they should save and which they need to condemn.

“Leon,” Azure rasps. “Stop. This is what we can do with what we have. It may not be enough in the ‘grand scheme of things’, but you know. It matters to those one or two we save every year. I wish you could talk to them. I wish you could see them grow and be happy with the life you gave them.”

“Stop making me out to be a hero.”

Azure simply smiles. Leontius doesn’t know what he is thinking, but he has found over the years that two people don’t necessarily need telepathy to understand each other.

All of the Mu that Leontius is supposedly spotted sleeping with are actually Azure, just projecting a different appearance each time. Everyone thinks Leontius is beyond bizarre for wanting to sleep with so many ‘dangerous creatures’, but not many dare to criticize him.

#unionofthestars: characters #«characters: azure» #«characters: leontius gaudet»

[sleepykalena]

I want a Prompt! What about fandom favorite “undercover as a couple”?

Hey y’all, I haven’t ditched these prompts, I’ve just got like 5 different fandom things on my plate that I have to juggle (on top of 2 work-related things), so thanks everyone for their neverending patience!

Rating: T // [ao3] // [more ficlet prompts]

Tags: POV Cassian, Undercover as a couple (sorta), Unresolved romantic tension

“Hey, Willix,” the man whisperedto Cassian from across the table.

Cassian had been quietly eating inthe Imperial Officer’s Lounge, and one particularly chatty officer had decidedthat striking conversation with him was a smart idea despite Senior LieutenantWillix’s clear body language indicating a desire to do anything but.

He said nothing, but insteadslowed his chewing significantly. His met his colleague’s eager eyes, but hekept his head low, a stare-down from a predator daring its prey to come closer.This part of Willix’s persona was the easiest to pull off- he had establishedhimself as the man of few words, unwilling to share anything that wasn’trelated to the task at hand-

“Is it really true that you and,you know, Captain Kestrel are a thing?”

This officer was pushing hisluck.

Cassian stopped chewing.

It was a preposterous assumption.There was a reason why Senior Lieutenant Willix and Captain Kestrel were broughtto this command- “We believe we can trustyou new lot to lead by upholding the standards of conduct expected of ourservicemembers, unlike your…recently retired predecessors,” they were told uponarriving on this station- and everyone else knew as such. The alleged conflictsof interest were too numerous for the station to function properly, and theirdesperation for better staff gave the Alliance a convenient opening to gathermore intel.

The accusation of fraternizationwas preposterous.

And yet.

Cassian’s eyes shifted and heturned just enough to see Captain Dawn Kestrel somewhere behind him sitting withher colleagues at another table. Although the others were engaged in mildchit-chat, Captain Kestrel opted to listen keenly, nodding along and appearinginvested in the conversation. Suffice to say, Jyn was playing the “strict butfair” officer role exceedingly well. Even as one of the officers took a verbaljab at the Rebellion and the others howled with laughter, she smiled politelyat the joke, nary a tightened fist to be found.

Jyn seemed to sense eyes on her,and their eyes met.

Cassian blinked slowly, a nod totheir charade. There. Now.

They kept their gazes held forone, two, three seconds longer, and, right on cue, Jyn’s lashes fluttered andher lips pursed before looking away shyly. Then, it happened again: one, two,three more seconds pass and Jyn’s eyes wandered back to meet Cassian’s.

It was his turn now; Cassian’stongue darted out quickly, wetting his lips to feign signs of dryness andthirst before turning back to the nosy junior lieutenant.

The act worked: the juniorlieutenant was fixated on Jyn’s reaction. Calmly, Willix reached for his glassof water and took a steady sip before setting it down quietly- pinky first tocushion the noise, of course- and said, “Whatever rumors you’ve decided tobelieve are blatantly untrue. I do hope I don’t need to remind you of the rulesregarding fraternization in our command, JuniorLieutenant.”

The junior lieutenant stiffenedin his seat, switching gears at Cassian’s insinuation. “No, sir, of coursenot.”

Willix then dabbed his lips witha napkin and stood up. “Very well. I’ll thank you to refrain from engaging in suchactivity.” As he cleared his table and exited the lounge, Cassian counted again-one, two, three, four five- and thefamiliar scrape of a chair sounded behind him.

“Finished eating lunch already,Captain?” one officer asked.

“Of course,” Captain Kestrelreplied. “Time flies when you’re with good company. But thirty minutes isthirty minutes, and I must head for another meeting.”

Senior Lieutenant Willix madesure to make his private meeting with Captain Kestrel count.

“Any news about their buildingplans?” Jyn asked softly.

Cassian was too focused on pressinghis lips firmly against her neck, gripping at Jyn’s now messy bun.

“Cassian,” Jyn whispered harshly,but he sucked on her neck a shade harder and her back arched. Her griptightened on his uniform, squeezing it to get the wrinkles in. The reactionsent Cassian’s urges into high gear, but he had to shove it aside. This act,however many layers were involved, was still just an act, part and parcel ofthe assignment. Cassian trusted in Jyn’s professionalism and was more thanhappy to be her partner when asked, but the way she panted was so light, sobreathy, so sweet that he nearly choked on the hungry growl he somehow managed tosuppress. He had to be better at handling his emotions- just because he hadfeelings for her didn’t mean he got a free pass to selfishly indulge in his colleague.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and pulledback to get a better look at her. Her lips weren’t quite reddened enough, themarks on her neck too subtle to show. But her cheeks were sufficiently flushand there were just enough loose strands of hair to indicate that CaptainKestrel was up to something.

Perfect.

He cleared his throat, trying notto dwell too much on her scent or the taste of her skin. “Not quite. But we’regetting a bit closer to securing some new trade routes.”

“Trading routes?” she echoed,looking Cassian up and down to check the state of his own appearance. “Seemslike they’re in need of resources to keep building.”

Cassian nodded, but tried not tohitch his breath at Jyn fingering threading through his hair, strategically dishevelingit for him.

“Excellent. I’ll send a report toDraven and maybe we can intercept the planets along those routes and see whatwe can work out to our advantage.”

Jyn looked up as she finished hersentence, and suddenly Cassian was acutely aware of how close their faces were.The room was a comfortable temperature up until then- now all he could focus onwas the heat rising from his neck and blooming on his cheeks.

There was a silence between themthat neither of them bothered to break. But the lack of action was killing himinside. Was she taking him in the way he did her? Was their undercover illicitcoupling act less of an act than he’d hoped? He was afraid to ask, and yet he’dkill to know the answer.

“How do I look?” he breathed,trying his best not to fixate on the glitter in her eyes or the plumpness ofher lower lip.

She opened her mouth to reply,but her answer hung in the air, suspended in the breaths between them. Cassiancontinued to fight the urge to keep that answer suspended by trapping itbetween their lips.

“Um, perfect,” she said finally.“You look perfect.”

“Right,” he said, licking his drylips yet again. Then, after another pause, “Best I head out then.”

He was about to turn and walkaway, until: “Hey, Cassian?”

Cassian paused, his breath heldup by hope. “Yeah?”

Her breath tickled his groomedbeard. Did she actually get even closer to him? His nails dug into his palms- stop it, Andor, do not violate her trust. Jyn’s eyes wereglazed over, like she debated telling him something else, but then her lashesfluttered again- this isn’t part of theact, he noted curiously- and he wondered…Maybe there was something morebetween them, maybe the way her eyes fluttered on cue was more than just anact, maybe, just maybe-

“Thank you. For agreeing to comewith me,” she said at last with a smile.

Cassian’s heart dropped, and he beratedhimself for even deigning to expect anything more. He returned the smile andsqueezed her hand reassuringly. “Of course; what are partners for?”

He turned away quickly to hide anyhint of disappointment his face, grabbing his cap from the table and setting itback on his head. To his luck, two ensigns were walking down the hallway justoutside the door, and they stopped abruptly to register the scene unfolding infront of them: Senior Lieutenant Willix was sneaking out of a meeting room, butfailed to close the door quickly enough to hide the fact that Captain Kestrelwas the only other occupant. Seeing the disheveled hair and strategicallywrinkled uniform, they looked at each other with wide eyes, as though to ask, “Isthat…? Are they…?!” but Willix cleared his throat and they stood at attention.

“Something wrong, Ensigns?”Willix said flatly as his eyes darkened. “You look as though you’ve seensomething.”

They were quick to shake theirheads. “No sir, nothing at all!”

“Excellent, just as I suspected,”he said, the subtle smile on his face contrasting with the tone of warning inhis voice. “Carry on.”

Cassian thanked the stars thathis persona gave him something to focus on other than the pang in his chest ashe walked off to the next item on his agenda. But had he taken just a second longer to leave, had heturned back around to look at Jyn one last time before shutting the door,perhaps he would have seen the look of disappointment on her face, or heard the sigh escape her lips as she quietly said,“Right. ‘Partners’.”

#rebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #writing prompt #fanfic #ficlet #Anonymous #sleepy asks #sleepy fics #Project Chicken Soup Ficlet

[sleepykalena]

Jyn falling asleep on Cassian's shoulder!!

Rating: G // [ao3] // [more ficlet prompts]

Tags: Fluff

Jyn stretched outwards, relaxing into the corner she set up for herself in Cassian’s ship as they headed back to base. It was a cold, hard floor, the walls just as rigid, but she was used to it- Wobani had some benefit after all, much to her surprise.

Cassian was still up, contacting K2, running more mid-flight checks, logging down notes of the assignment. The man was diligent as ever, making sure that everything that could be done would be done before he even entertained the notion of sleeping. Jyn used to be as diligent, back when she was with the Partisans, and most especially after her abandonment on Tamsye Prime.

These days, however, it just...wasn’t as necessary anymore. Not since Cassian.

She huddled up in her sleeping bag, head resting on a rolled up jacket on top of her pack, but despite her exhaustion and her body practically screaming at her to rest for once, she just couldn’t fall asleep. Jyn floated between a state of restlessness and fatigue as an uneasy tingle flowed through her veins, from her shoulder blades all the way down to her toes. She was trapped between wanting to move and being far too sore to move, not now that she began to lie down.

It was unclear how much time had passed between settling into some semblance of rest and Cassian taking a seat next to her, but she felt a hand on her forearm followed by a gentle voice: “Trouble sleeping?”

Jyn opened a single eye before nodding. “I hate it,” she mumbled groggily, sitting up and leaning back against the wall. Her breath was slightly labored, and she tried not to wince too hard at how battered she felt

Cassian outstretched his arm closest to her and she leaned on him almost immediately, a worldless routine between the two of them. Jyn knew exactly what to expect at this point, and her heart fluttered. Right on cue, Cassian reached up to stroke her hair, no longer tucked into a tight bun, letting his fingers thread through the strands. His fingers raked lightly against her scalp, and she slowly melted. Her head fidgeted slightly to better rest on his shoulder, while the rest of her body adjusted itself to an even more comfortable position. The durasteel walls of the ship went from frigidly cold to soothingly cool. Jyn’s eyes began to droop as she remembered the times Mama would brush her hair, slowly but steadily, and always in times of stress.

Perhaps she was more stressed than she first thought.

It hardly mattered at this point- Cassian was here, next to her, and the tension in her body melted away with each stroke of her hair. The fatigue blanketed her not in a way that made her face scrunch in pain, but rather in a way that comforted her and encouraged her to sleep.

The restlessness had gone away now, broken apart through the soothing touch of the man she called home, and the last thing she remembered before sleep completely took over was his warm lips atop her head.

#rebelcaptain #fanfic #ficlet #writing prompt #fluff #sleepy fics #ask sleepy #Project Chicken Soup Ficlet #literatiruinedme

[sleepykalena]

Pumpkin spice latte- Rebelcaptain

I’m actually surprised with myself on this one, considering i really don’t like the PSL hype >__>

Rating: T // [ao3] // [more ficlet prompts]

“What Starbucks drink do you think I am?”

Cassian craned his head from his desk to look at Jyn on the couch, her face lit by the blueish glow of her laptop screen.

“…Is this a trap?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” she said flatly, nowhere near as amused as he was.

“Why are you asking?” he asked more seriously this time, settling into the couch next to her.

Jyn leaned on his shoulder, crossing her arms. “BuzzFeed said I was a Pumpkin Spice Latte.”

He drew back slightly. “Really? You let a personality quiz call you a basic bitch?”

She pushed him. “That’s why I was asking!”

“Ah, so this is a trap!” he said wryly.

Jyn shut the laptop and started to get up. “Fuck off, Andor.”

He grabbed her forearm and pulled her back down on the couch, chuckling, then wrapped an arm around her to plant a kiss atop her hair, breathing in the gentle scent of her shampoo.

“You’re a bit basic at times,” he said, gesturing to the grey scarf wrapped around her neck, “and sometimes you’re a bitch to people-”

That warranted an angry, accusational pout from Jyn, and he chuckled again.

“-but you’re definitely no pumpkin spice latte.”

“Okay then,” she said slowly before challenging him. “What would I be then, oh wise one?”

Cassian rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Then, “You’re a flat white.”

“I’m leaving,” Jyn declared, attempting to get up again.

“I meant the drink!” he said, tightening his arm around her to stop her from leaving. “No joke this time- if you were a Starbucks drink, you’d be a flat white.”

She blinked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Cappuccinos have a lot of foam- it’s fluffy, but takes up a lot of space. Flat whites have a thin layer of microfoam- they’re velvety, and don’t take up much space at all.”

Jyn’s expression smoothed itself from unamused to neutral.

“You’re not fluffy, you’re velvety- subtle and smooth.”

She looked away, considering his words.

“People look at you and think you’re a latte or cappuccino, but you’re just a bit different. And even if a lot of people- BuzzFeed included- regard you a bit strangely for it, you’re appreciated by those who know what you’re all about.”

Cassian caught Jyn biting her lip shyly, refusing to look back at him to hide her blush.

He felt emboldened by it. “They’re also supposed to be small,” he continued, swiping playfully at the tip of her nose, “but one is more than enough to get you through the day.”

Jyn finally looked up at him.

“I-”

Her blush deepened, and Cassian took in the sight of his accomplishment.

“I want coffee,” she mumbled, still flustered. “Can we go get some?”

He regarded her expression, too captivating for words, and decided he wanted to bask in her shyness just a bit longer.

So, rather than letting go, Cassian kissed her lightly before wandering lower to nip at the weak point on her neck, smiling when she tensed up in surprise.

“Let me have this coffee first,” he said in a lowered, sultry voice, “then we’ll go get yours.”

#rebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #fanfic #ficlet #writing prompt #modern AU #fluff #pumpkin spice latte #ask sleepy #sleepy fics #Project Chicken Soup Ficlet #Anonymous

[sleepykalena]

for the 250 word prompt: “stop, you’re scaring me!”

Um…buckle up. this one’s gonna hurt a little.

Rating: T // [ao3] // [more ficlet prompts]

Tags: Angst, Arguments

“You mean so much to me,” Cassian said, finally, after they’ve exchanged so many words for Force knows how long. Time seemed to stretch inconceivably for him, and he was no longer sure just how long they'd been arguing.

Jyn, however, didn’t waste a second firing back. “I don’t believe you.”

“Jyn, stop . You’re scaring me,” he said, his voice shaking with trepidation. Jyn's words stung him and buried its way in deep.

They’d exchanged so many words that it was all a blur. What, exactly, did she not believe him for? It was all too tempting to ask what she meant by it, but was just as afraid that the response would rip him to shreds.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” she said simply, arms crossed. Her small stature was nothing to the size she inflated herself with her challenge. She was a balloon now, inflating herself with the fumes she had internalized over time and then some, trying as hard as she could to not explode on the spot. No, her self-control matched his, if not surpassed it entirely, in her sure-footedness and desire to come out of this argument the winner.

Was there a winner to this, though?

He saw her fingers twitch slightly; she was digging them into her bicep.

Cassian knew then and there that she, too, was afraid of what might happen in the next few seconds, and the panic started to seep in as he realized that there was a very real chance that both parties will come out of this hurt for the worst reasons.

Quick, tell her something , he ordered himself, but he was already in too deep, and his mind raced in several directions, never stopping on one thought for too long:

Give her an example!

When was the last time you put her above the cause?

Well, there was that one time when-

No, that wouldn’t count; she told Draven she was coming along because she knew you’d need backup!

But a backup wasn’t needed during that mission.

“I-” he stammered, but cut himself off abruptly.

Maybe not that time, but the assignment before that.

How did you overlook the changing of guards in that cell?

Okay, what about the time before that?

She’s always with you anyway, you basically have both her and the cause at the same time!

“Well, there was-”

Is she with you because she wants you as a partner for the assignment?

Isn’t that the reason why?

Are you sure it’s not because she’s trying to salvage something between you two?

You've actually been making her hang on by a thread, aren't you?

Jyn's nostrils flared subtly as she took in a deep breath, the last of her fuse wearing down by the flame inside her- that he helped fan.

Last chance, Andor!

Say something!!!

“I'm sorry,” he admitted, his brain still scrambled trying to find the right answer. “I can't think of a time that I didn't, not since Scarif.”

Cassian knew- judging by the pained wince on her face, a slight twitch of her features that he only managed to identify from being in her circle for so long- that he had the vibroblade wedged into her back, twisted and stinging.

And yet, despite the wince being far more subtle than his admission, Jyn had grabbed hold of that blade, wrenched it out of herself, and plunged it right back into his own heart.

The pain hummed from his chest and made its way to his neck, closing his throat shut and choking him.

Explosions from Jyn were never visibly apparent, but this new silence was an explosion in space- visibly grand, but utterly silent.

Her arms dropped to their sides.

“That's fine,” she said quietly, walking past him to grab the few possessions she had in his quarters.

The reaction was so much more painful than the hushed glare she gave him as they left Eadu all that time ago.

“Where are you going?” he managed to croak.

“I don't know,” she said monotonously, grabbing her code replicator and shoving it in her pack.

Cassian was sure he'd killed her a little inside this time, and a lamentation creeped up his spine as he realized how he once again let the cause implicate someone he never meant to hurt.

“Don't go,” he said feebly. “I love you, I just-”

“-never seem to say it unless you're in dire straits,” she said, cutting him off acidly, but she, too, sounded feeble. Her body and mind exhibited two different but very compatible emotions working together to help her escape.

It hurt to even ask. “Are you leaving me?”

She paused and looked him in the eye, but there was a keen sharpness to her gaze that almost made him flinch. “I don’t want to. But right now, I don’t want to be around you.”

Cassian didn’t know how to feel about the tepid response.

“I-,” she said, and her eyes began to shine with tears. “I’m afraid that if I stick around any longer it’ll just make me think I’m really not as valuable as I think I am.”

It wasn’t true, he wanted to tell her. He so badly wanted to tell her, but she sounded so... defeated .

“It’s alright,” she said a little too casually, slinging the pack up over her shoulder. “I’m used to being treated like I’m not. Comes with the territory.”

The doors slid open and Cassian was frozen on the spot as he watched her walk past him again.

She stopped at the doorway when he asked, “You’re coming back though, right?”

Jyn didn’t bother to turn around and look at him. “I will,” she said shakily. “I just don’t know when.”

The doors slid shut quickly, but the echo of the slam continued in his mind, pounding at his temples the further their distance became.

#rebelcaptain #ficlet #fanfic #therebelcaptainnetwork #writing prompt #angst #DangerousLee Rough Terrain #sleepy fics #ask sleepy #Project Chicken Soup Ficlet #jeronandor

[sleepykalena]

And/or "There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere inbetween." From A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

Rating: G // [ao3] // [more ficlet prompts]

Tags: Canon-Compliant, POV Krennic, Unreliable narrator

He wasn’t always a good man, buthe was on track to do good things.

This project was the pinnacle ofhis achievements. This...magnificent piece of machinery was going to make the galaxy better.

No. “Machinery” was far and awayfrom accurately describing the intense labor and mental work hours behind allthis.

This project was nothing short ofrevolutionary.

And yet...here stood this girl,about to transmit his blueprints tothe Rebellion. Her eyes were as fierce as the flames that licked the sands ofMustafar, boring through him with a heat he couldn’t run away from; the flashesin his memory alone caused his throat to instinctively close up, as though shehad channeled the powers of Lord Vader himself and sought to move in for thekill.

He had to stand in her way tostop her from ruining decades of hard work. In stealing his plans, she condemnedthe galaxy to chaos and violence, rather than bringing freedom and order.

She was a bad person, and had tobe stopped.

“Erso,” she claimed her name was.

It was then that he realized the eyesstaring defiantly at him at the top of the data tower on Scarif were very mucha product of Galen and Lyra Erso, long-forgotten because of his insurmountableschedule in the passing months. Galen’s eyes stared back at him with theferocity and determination of Lyra’s spirit.

He always hated thatdetermination; it never ceased to look at him with suspicion, as though itthought every step he took created a wave of destruction of the innocent.

As though he were a murderer.

Which he assuredly wasn’t, unlikethe rebel scum their daughter was clearly working for.

“You’ve lost,” she told him.

Preposterous.

The project was nearly complete; justa bit longer, and the construction would conclude. Then the whole galaxy willknow that peace and order can be truly achieved knowing that the Empire’senemies would be eradicated in a moment’s notice, wherever they hid.

He was a good man with a victory,not a loss.

Until he was shot.

“Leave it!” he heard the shootersay about him as he lay crumpled on the ground.

He lifted his head and saw thebeauty and splendor of his project peeking over the horizon. He marveled at thesight until, much like the Death Star rising like the sun in the sky, it dawnedon him that his time was up.

His own creation had come to erasehim from existence.

The rebel scum who shot him haddone him a disservice by not letting the girl kill him outright, insteadleaving him to be killed by his own invention.

Slowly, gingerly, he flipped overto look at the two who managed against all odds to unravel his successes. Henoticed the way they carried each other: they hobbled together, leaning on eachother as they headed towards the lift, as though they’d known each other foryears.

“Do you think anyone’s listening?”he heard the rebel say.

There was a pang in his chest ashe remembered how lonely his life had become, all in the pursuit of validation fromthose in power, wishing every night that he would be considered important, orthat people would listen to him.

No one really did, ultimately,and he realized that perhaps he took for granted the similarities between himand the rebellious duo.

He had, for starters, effectively issued a death warrant to an entirecity, most of whom were cooperative with the occupying Imperials, all in thename of testing his creation while simultaneously eradicating insurgent groupshiding in the underbelly.

Collateral damage in working towards the greater good, he oncereasoned with himself.

Now, Lyra’s accusatory starehaunted his mind once again: Murderer.

The Rebellion snuck into Scarifand killed several Imperial troops, collateral damage in working towards whatthey believed to be the greater good, even if it looked like chaos to him.

Given the damage this weaponcould do, it was now hard to call them murderers when they sought to destroythe very thing that made him amurderer.

It was in these last moments ofhis life that he realized: as much as he wanted to say he was a good man, orthat the rebels were bad people, the reality was a bit more nuanced than that.And, as he felt the winds change and watched the sky brighten, he thought thatperhaps most people fell somewhere in between good and bad.

Perhaps the rebels had more goodin them than he initially thought.

Perhaps he was much, much worsethan he cared to admit.

Orson Krennic took one lastbreath, refusing to take his eyes off his creation even as he went blind fromthe searing white light, and laughed inwardly at the irony of his situationbefore he turned into dust.

#rebelcaptain #fanfic #ficlet #writing prompt #canon compliant #sleepy fics #Project Chicken Soup Ficlet #crazy-fruit #ask sleepy

[sleepykalena]

How about jealousy for your 250 word prompts? Rebelcaptain of course!

Thanks for the prompt and the challenge! I actually had to whittle this down a lot because it was originally 435 words >__>

[Set in the same universe as Tension and Gestures]

Rating: T // [ao3]

Jyn threw yet another cadet over hershoulder, slamming their back down on the training mat. Bodhi, Dawes, andAvella watched the other cadets collectively wince; they wanted to stop theirtraining session, but Jyn’s instructions were clear: “We stop only when someonebeats me.”

Feeling devilish, Bodhi bet 30 creditsthat it would last 45 minutes.

Dawes bet 30 credits on an hour.

Avella looked up and saw Cassianwatching Jyn from the shadows across the way. Arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently,he huffed every time Jyn quickly pinned a cadet, as though he were pouting.

She bet 180 credits on 10 minutes.

They balked at her- an outrageous betfor outrageous odds.

As if on cue, Cassian shook his head disapprovinglyand stepped onto the training mat before the next cadet could subjectthemselves to another beat-down.

Jyn arched an eyebrow, butnonetheless lunged forward.

Cassian spun behind her, wrapped anarm around her neck, and mumbled something in her ear.

Whatever he said worked, because herknees wobbled slightly, a reaction Cassian quickly exploited by kneeing thehollow of her knee, forcing her body to collapse. He pinned her wrists behindher back, smirking at his swift victory.

Avella cackled triumphantly as themen forfeited their credits.

Bodhi was beside himself. “How inblazes did you-?”

Avella pointed at the couplescurrying out of the room- Cassian brushed his hand over Jyn’s ass possessivelyas the doors closed behind them.

“Never underestimate the power ofjealousy.”

[I’m taking 250-word fic prompts this week! Hit a girl up!]

#rebelcaptain #ficlet #fanfic #250 word prompt #competency kink #jealousy #sleepy fics #ask sleepy #Project Chicken Soup 250 #Anonymous

[sleepykalena]

bruh, im gonna request something rebelcaptain based on an x-files quote: "But you saved me! As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over! You've kept me honest... you've made me a whole person. I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing."

OF COURSE YOU WERE GONNA SEND A PROMPT LIKE THIS.

I’m not even remotely surprised, but it did sort of raise the stakes for me since this is basically representing your two main ships, so I tried my best with this! i hope you like it

Rating: G // [ao3]

You’ve put me throughhell, but you brought me back from it. Your rationale never makes sense onpaper, but always works in practice. You can break codes but prefer to breakarms.

And yet-

You kept me honest. Youreminded me of my humanity when I wondered if any part of me was even me anymore. You reminded me that I’m stillwhole, if I could let myself see it.

I may have saved youat the top of the tower, but you saved me from myself.

You owe me nothing,but I owe you everything.

“Jyn, I-”

A clatter rang out in the droidbay as Jyn dropped her wrenchand she yelped in surprise.

“Pile of banthas, Cassian, I didn’t even hear you!”she huffed. She turned to face him, head tilted curiously. “What’s up?”

He was going to do it.

He was going to tell her how he felt.

But the words evaporated in the heat as he stared back atthe eyes he became so enamored with.

Instead, he lifted his hand- palm out, thumb stickingdownwards, his four fingers gently curled forward.

Jyn stared at it and blinked.

Cassian’s ears reddened. “Um-“

His free hand hesitantly took hers; she instinctivelymimicked his gesture.

Once their curved hands met in the middle, however, hismessage was clear, and it was Jyn this time who went red as she saw the heartshape their hands made.

She looked up at him, bit her lip, and smiled shyly.

[I’m taking 250-word fic prompts this week! Hit a girl up!]

#rebelcaptain #ficlet #fanfic #fluff #tactile cassian #because what even ARE words? #they hardly know 'em #250 word prompt #sleepy fics #ask sleepy #Project Chicken Soup 250 #moonprincess92nz

[sleepykalena]

So forgive me, I'm going to throw some Last Unicorn quotes at you, because it's forever my favorite and I want to see what your creative mind does with them: "Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back."

…I really wish I knew the context of that quote.

I’ll consider the onslaught of prompts you’ve sent me as part of the long-awaited revenge you promised me, the heartless wretch. We’ll start with this one. Here’s to hoping I made the proper connection between the quote and the ficlet LOL

Rating: G // [ao3]

Cassian stood akimbo and admired thevolunteer army he swiftly worked to gather.

It was far from admirable. Sad,actually.

He wanted to make magic happen byoffering Jyn something substantial when the heads of the Rebellion bickeredthemselves into the ground, but the numbers in front of him were discouraginglypaltry. Still, they stood- determined, ready, waiting.

Maybe he couldn’t cast that magic.Maybe he wasn’t any sort of magician at all. Maybe he was just a man whocouldn’t look himself in the mirror after all he’d compromised. But perhaps ifhe tore a part of himself out- a realpart of himself- and offered it to her...

In the stuffy hangar, Cassian ledthe group closer and closer to Jyn, who turned around just as Baze pointed himout. She looked at him curiously, noticing the mishmash of misfits assembledbehind him.

Here goes nothing, Cassian thought, then took a deep breath.

“They were never going to believeyou,” he said.

It wasn’t the best of speeches,but it was one from the heart.

He offered as much of himself ashe could and hoped.

“I’m not used to people stickingaround when things go bad,” she said, accepting his offer, however meager itwas.

His gaze was warm. “Welcome home.”

She smiled brightly, and herealized she had no intention of giving back any bit of his offering.

That’s alright, he thought; he wantedher to keep it.

And so, they made the impossiblehappen, together.

[I’m taking 250-word fic prompts this week! Hit a girl up!]

#rebelcaptain #ficlet #fanfic #250 word prompt #canon compliant #welcome home scene #torn livers? more like heart eyes #i hope i did this prompt justice though cuz that is SUCH a peculiar quote #but thank you nonetheless! #sleepy fics #ask sleepy #Project Chicken Soup 250 #skitzofreak

[sleepykalena]

Self-study: Writer’s Edition

Tagged by @skitzofreak​ (which tumblr also didn’t inform me of. Thanks, bue hell site~)

The premise: examine the opening paragraph of the last 10 stories posted; look for trends, patterns, weaknesses **I’ll be using the opening paragraphs of the most recent chapter, if they’re multi-chap stories on my ao3

The point: understanding thought patterns and writing habits, identifying possible underdeveloped points in style

Here we go!:

1) Cockpit

It was peaceful in the ship as it continued to sail through hyperspace. Jyn and Cassian’s assignment had gone on without a hitch- although, if K2 had come along with them, there’d be no shortage of “suggestions” for a more optimal performance “the next time you two choose to dive head-first into something that might actually result in a slow, painful, and certain death”. Still, despite the higher-than-necessary adrenaline rush as they fled the scene, they were both alive and uninjured, which Cassian and Jyn unanimously agreed made this mission a success as their ship pulled away from the planet.

(I know this was ultimatley a Jyn POV fic, but at least it started off as wholly 3rd person. I don’t think I’ve ever had a paragraph with so many sentences, but this is really long regardless lol)

2) Parka (The Only Thing She Had Left)

Jyn woke up with a pounding headache and a sore throat.

How long had she slept?

Probably not long enough, she figured as she rubbed her temple, groaning at how heavy and stiff her limbs had become overnight.

The knock on the door wasn’t any better- the sound of it boomed in her head tenfold, echoing and bouncing aggressively, and she had to hold back an agonized plea to whoever was at the door to stop knocking.

(look at that, one-sentence paragraphs LOL and, once again, Jyn POV)

3) Chicken Soup for the Rebelcaptain Soul (Ficlet Edition)

He wasn’t always a good man, but he was on track to do good things.

This project was the pinnacle of his achievements. This...magnificent piece of machinery was going to make the galaxy better.

No. “Machinery” was far and away from accurately describing the intense labor and mental work hours behind all this.

This project was nothing short of revolutionary.

(Oh look, Krennic POV LMAOOOO)

4) 5 Minutes

5 minutes.

It was all they had, and Jyn was surprised to find that Cassian was determined to make it count in his ship, secluded from the hustle and bustle outside. The din of motors, whirring, machinery, and droid and organic movement and speech faded into a soft hum for Jyn, who was trying as hard as she could to conceal her heavy panting.

(Jyn POV, and i’m starting to realize I haven’t opened with dialogue so far. Paragraphs are still short af lol)

5) The Right Key

Cassian woke up at the same time as he did every morning and sat down at the island in his kitchen with the same old breakfast in hand:

Toast, whole wheat, with butter and jam.

Turkey bacon, crisp and crunchy.

Two eggs, over easy, salt and pepper with a touch of hot sauce.

Orange, peeled and sliced, pre-refrigerated.

Coffee, black.

(Short paragraphs strike back~ but, oh hayyyy Cassian POV, whoop whoop! also, looks like this is the only Modern AU i’m working on right now? wonder when that changed...)

6) Enough

She was soft, but was rough with playful resistance.

His skin ran hot, but the air around them nipped with cold.

Cassian could hardly believe it; he was pressed against her- or perhaps she against him, it was hard to tell at this point- but it wasn't enough.

(Yay, another Cassian POV! more short sentences.)

7) Pillow War

“Cassian Jeron Andor, what the fuck!?”

Cassian stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. He’d only gone to fetch the laundry, a mere 30 feet away, but he was six paces too far from their bedroom, door left wide open.

And there stood Jyn, stark naked, save for a pair of panties.

She wasn’t even covering herself up. Her anger and embarrassment was so strong that she was frozen on the spot.

(Huh, finally, a fic that opens with dialogue. And, another Modern AU! short paragraphs, as usual. alternating POV)

8) Chicken Soup for the Rebelcaptain Soul (250-Word Edition)

In the heat of the moment, she grabbed his arm and squeezed.

He looked at her with a wry, curious smile.

The smile caught her off-guard; he looked as though he actually liked it, as though he were curious to know if the gesture was accidental or purposeful.

Jyn couldn’t answer that, even if she wanted to.

What did that smile mean?

(Jyn POV, opens with a rehash of the novelization. I think this is the second most recent thing I’ve written that’s in-movie? doesn’t stop me from short paragraphs tho lol)

9) Slow, Tender, on the Wing

“Erso ‘round these parts?”

The mechanic gestured behind him without looking up from his work, using a wrench to point up at the wing of a ship.

Cassian should’ve figured Jyn would be working on someone else’s ship- she’d already worked on his when it came back to base and she was feeling antsy from the low Alliance activity.

(Cassian POV, opens with dialogue, tiny paragraphs lol)

10) The Language of Flavor

It really escaped K2SO how organic sentients could get so impartial to specific foods.

Understandably, food was required for organic sentients to live and function optimally. As such, it was important to ensure each member had the proper amounts of food to carry out a single mission before the ship leaves base.

(Not droids like himself, of course- he doesn’t even need food to survive.)

(My second-ever K2SO POV! short paragraphs again, but first story on this list to use parenthesis in the opener)

Total number of stories posted (AO3, with three of them being different collections of prompt fills): 28

Total words posted: 224,193

Number written from Jyn POV: 5 (this list), 14 (total)

Number written from Cassian POV: 4 (this list), 14 (total)

*Numbers include works with alternating POVs

Conclusion:

Fave opening: Single sentences, no dialogue

Fave POV: Apparently I’m an even split???

Fave tense: present

Fave style: stupidly short paragraphs, usually a sentence long, 4 sentences tops, probs much to the chagrin of my teachers back in school when they said you needed to have at least 5 sentences to make a paragraph. whoops.

Honestly, who’s down for this? @moonprincess92nz? @grexigone? @crazy-fruit? i’m not sure who’s down to do this, but if you’re interested, consider yourselves tagged! <3

#sleepy tags #tag game #author meme