#i might try to send out at least a few today but that’s no guarantee

[theghostpinesmusic]

Alright, so this is my last Euro tour write-up, from the last show of Euro tour! I've had a lot of fun doing these jam write-ups over the last few weeks, which kind of surprised me at first, to be honest. Once I share my thoughts on a few of the jams from December's Goosemas run, I'll probably keep doing these, but do less of them (at least until the band starts touring again). Maybe I'll pick some favorites from earlier in 2023? Maybe I'll pick some favorites from shows I've personally attended? If anyone has a request, send it! I can't guarantee I'll get to it, but it would be fun to have audience participation.

Some relevant history: way, way back in the day, I had a Phish show review blog where my stated mission was to listen to and review every show of "Phish 3.0" (basically every show they've played since 2009). I wrote reviews in the blog from 2013 until 2018, and covered most shows up through the band's 2017 summer tour. It was a lot of listening and writing about one band. Maybe obviously in retrospect, what ended up happening was that the constant hyperfocus on Phish and essentially listening specifically to rate each show relative to the others ruined the music for me. I'd been seeing as many Phish shows as I could afford from 2009 through 2016, but by 2017 the music all sounded same-y to me (hint: it wasn't), and so I only saw one run apiece in 2017 and 2018 and then didn't really listen to anything from the band again until 2021. Nowadays, I'm enjoying the band that was my lodestar musical obsession for fifteen years of my life in moderation, but for a long time there I'd sabotaged my own enjoyment through hyperfixation and an insistence on comparing every song and show to every other song and show.

Long story short, for a guy who was born way too late too the Grateful Dead in their prime and slightly too late to see Phish in their prime, over the last four years Goose has become the band I was actually born at the right time for (if that makes sense). As such, I've always been really careful to not "burn out" on them by listening too much, by writing too much about them, and/or by endlessly comparing songs, shows, jams, etc. I was a little worried when I started writing these posts that I was taking the first step down a counterproductive path, but so far, like I said above, it's been fun. I've been trying to approach particular jams instead of entire shows or tours, and to write focused not on the question of "Is this good or not?" but instead on the question "What do I like about this?".

I think that might be a good change to make in areas of my life outside of my Goose fandom, too, but I digress...

Anyway, today's jam/video is a two-parter because that's how the person who posted this video on YouTube chose to do it (in case you didn't figure this out yet, I don't post the videos to YouTube myself, I just find them and write about them). It's a bit like the "The Whales"/"Butter Rum" Thekla post I already did, except this time around the jam comes out of the first song ("Hungersite" while it's the second (and third?) songs that are almost entirely composed rather than improvised.

So, "Hungersite" first. This tune is probably the closest thing Goose has had so far to a radio "hit." They even made a live-action, Office Space-themed video for it, like it's the 90s! It is a catchy-ass song, but it's also chock full of the weird, abstract lyrics and (post)modernist imagery that Rick likes to write so much (and that I like to hear so much).

"Hungersite" has been a jam vehicle for the band basically since it was introduced (2/26/22 first time played), but I feel like it started getting really out there frequently in 2023. The version from the Capitol Theater run in March was an early introduction to the (in my opinion) new tier of improvisation the band discovered this past year, and pretty much every version for the rest of the year that wasn't played at a festival show (fourteen in all!) was incredible in its own way.

I'd say this London version is actually one of my least favorite "Hungersite"s from this year, actually, and that's saying something considering how good it is. Maybe I'll cover some of the others some other time...

Now that I've done such a good job of selling the London "Hungersite," let's get into it!

While I won't wax poetically at length about the song proper here, I particularly love Jeff and Trevor's contributions to the composed parts. All the parts are well thought-out and it really feels like a great indie rock song that stands just fine on its own without a jam.

At the 3:45 mark, the song has a neat, built-in, very Phish-y guitar peak that I (and most people in the crowd on any given night) always look forward to, though now it's hard for me to hear it without thinking of Trey playing it at Radio City.

We return to the chorus one last time after this (love Peter on the organ here!), and then we get a reprise of the song's main riff at 5:25 that leads into the jam proper 5:55.

I might be hearing things here, but in this version it sounds like Rick changes the key of the jam right away, rather than staying in the song's key for any length of time. Regardless, the rhythm section drives things here initially, while it feels like Rick and Peter are both kind of circling each other, feeling things out.

Rick asserts himself a bit more starting at 7:30, and if you listen enough to actually hear Trevor (obligatory mix complaint!) you can hear him and Rick playing off each other here.

Right as things are starting (to me) to sound a little rote, Ben shifts up the beat to something more driving, and that pushes everyone to reconfigure a bit. Some tasteful shredding from Rick ensues. I love the blues riffing at 10:15 in particular.

Rick backs off at 11:05, and we quiet things down a bit. Peter jumping over to the clav over this driving beat is a perfect move, sending the whole jam into a much murkier space. I love how the lighting changes here to suit the sound, too.

The wall of sound that Peter is kicking up between his clav playing and his synths really starts to take center stage around 13:30. I feel like a lot of the jams I write about here feature Rick front and center (and, to a degree, that's because most of Goose's jams do feature him front and center), but I think this is a great example of how he can play rhythm and/or add effects to someone else taking the lead (Peter here, but Trevor too at other times). In fact, a lot of my favorite Goose jamming tends to have Rick in this "support" role, mostly because he's really good at it, but also because it usually means that they're heading somewhere weird and new.

Somewhere around 15:00, this jam turns into a full-band collaboration on a level that all of the best jams do, and then the shit that Rick starts playing at 16:00 just melts my brain and I die.

Okay, I'm being a little hyperbolic here, but this is what I often refer to in my setlist notes as "that baroque shit" and I am fully a sucker for it.

He returns to this riff a few more times (a la the Manchester "Thatch"), and the rest of the band rides the absolute groove they have going into the ground in the meantime. You know it's a good jam when the back-of-the-house camera is visibly shaking up and down.

Rick hits the riff one more time at 20:16 and then it's full steam ahead to an absolutely enormous peak. Unlike a lot of the other jams I've covered recently, "Hungersite" jams tend not to return to/reprise the song proper at the end, so we just crash to a triumphant halt at 21:10 and softly transition out of the noise and reverb into "Seekers On The Ridge Part One."

I don't want this post to get obnoxiously long, but I want to write a short thing about "Seekers." If you don't already know, Goose has a whole pile of songs that contribute to a larger mythology/legendarium (think Phish's Gamehenge, but less goofy). Of the ones I can think of off the top of my head, most of the songs that fit into this sub-oeuvre tend to be more prog-rock-style in their composition, and the lyrics vague, mysterious, and more than a little Joseph-Campbell-esque. I don't write about most of these tunes because, with the notable exception of "Elmeg The Wise" (which I'm sure I'll get to someday), they aren't typically songs that get jammed out. That said, "Seekers" is included in this video, and it's one of my favorite non-jammed things the band plays regularly, so I thought I'd share.

There are two "parts" to the song, and they have almost always been played back-to-back, though they've been separated on a few particularly memorable occasions. There's no long-form improvisation in either part, so everything you're hearing (except for the occasional, brief solo) is entirely composed. I don't have much else to say other than that if you've come this far in reading, you should give the rest of the video a listen!

I absolutely love the chorus to the first part. Peter's piano chords and Trevor's bassline just make it absolutely epic-sounding, especially in person. In fact, I'm tempted to say that Trevor is the MVP of the "Seekers" songs in general. I also never get sick of hearing the transition between the two parts (happens here at 27:30). Peter's Vibe tone at the beginning of the second part (similar to what he plays on "Red Bird") really makes it work.

Rick takes one solo during "Seekers," at in this version it's at 29:55. Sometimes this solo is kind of muted and sometimes he just rips it, presumably depending on his mood. This time, he chooses violence.

And that's all I'm writing about (for now, at least) from Euro tour. It feels like a nice, contemplative note to go out on. Next time, it's Goosemas: In Space!

#goose #goose the band #music #live music #jams #tour journal #writing #jam bands #videos #Youtube

[sometimes-clones]

deleted the previous recent posts I made about the ask call cause clutter but yeah sorry for not getting to them this weekend oof

i’m just a bit out of it still. I’m not gonna give another estimate for when I’ll get to them since I’m sure it’ll be wrong so just really I’ll get to them when I get to them! sorry ^^;

#i might try to send out at least a few today but that’s no guarantee #anyway yeah. figured I should be honest and say idk when I’ll get around to them. #ooc stuff

[favoniuscodex]

first anniversary headcanons [ albedo, childe, diluc ]

prompt: you’re celebrating your first anniversary with them. what’s in store? characters: albedo, childe, & diluc reader: gn!reader warnings: none word count: ~2.1k words

a/n: the last of tonight’s fic spam... hopefully </3 these got a little long, so pt 2 will be diluc and kaeya and pt 3 will be xiao and zhongli ! (alphabetical order hehe)

albedo

albedo tests the waters before your anniversary appears. he isn’t too well-versed in the nuances of romance, but even he is aware enough of the significance of the date that marks a year spent together. amongst alchemic notes and dates of important meetings lies one of the few dates marked in red ink on his calendar: your anniversary, outlined in a heart. you knew of your boyfriend’s tendency to bury himself in work and, rather than awaiting disaster, you had taken the initiative to put the date on the calendar.

albedo smiles softly to himself whenever he sees your familiar handwriting in the midst of all of his. the gentle reminder gives him something to look forward to -- and something to plan. alchemic success is guaranteed if enough calculations and work are put into it and albedo thinks of your anniversary the exact same way. he isn’t the type for surprises and instead approaches you about what you would like to do to celebrate such a momentous occasion. 

which is how, of course, the two of you end up perched on the roof of the knights of favonius headquarters. you snack happily on appetizers you had picked up from cat’s tail earlier in the day while albedo sets up two art easels and their respective canvases. such an idea had been albedo’s suggestion: paint the city of mondstadt together from a high vantage point. if the two of you did it right, your canvases would align to make a full portrait of the cityscape, as viewed from the roof of the knights’ headquarters.

as albedo supplies the art supplies, you supply the refreshments, having picked up a bottle of wine, light snacks and, of course, albedo’s favorite: sugary pastries from a local bakery. your contribution had been a surprise, but you hadn’t failed to notice the way albedo’s expression had softened at the gesture. the two of you talk about everything and nothing as you paint, with topics ranging from how the two of you would spend next year’s windblume festival together all the way to how albedo’s alchemy could bring your soon-to-be-conjoined painting together.

as the two of you finish up, the difference in art styles between the two of you is striking. albedo smiles at the sight, adoring how the two different pieces come together to make one whole, but his eyes widen slightly as he turns to face you.

“come here,” your lover beckons and you happily listen, bounding over to your boyfriend enthusiastically. he lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, to which you send him a wide smile in return.

“what is it?” you ask in a soft voice, standing close to him. albedo’s eyes fixate on a certain spot on your face, but before you can ask what is wrong, he lifts up a hand and brushes the pad of his thumb across your face in a quick swipe. as he pulls his hand back, his thumb is tainted with blue paint. you let out a bashful giggle.

“you had paint on your face,” albedo deadpans and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“you have something on your face too!” you insist and albedo’s eyes widen once more.

“where?” he asks, lifting his clean hand up to feel fruitlessly at his cheek. as he glances down at his fingertips, you decide to strike, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. his face flushes in response, but familiar blue eyes narrow as he glances back at you.

“actually, i believe that you might have missed it,” albedo says. with little hesitation, the alchemist leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. you giggle quietly at the gesture and you feel albedo smile into the kiss, yet he doesn’t pull away, instead electing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer.

childe

childe has always had a penchant for dramatics. he always wants to be in the limelight, whether it is on the battlefield or within your heart. despite your approaching anniversary, you still sensed that childe felt insecure in your relationship, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t sweep you off your feet at all times, you would leave. therefore, you had let it slide when you brought up your anniversary and he had shrugged it off.

you knew him far too well for that. childe never shrugged off such things. but, every time you tried to make plans, childe would just knowingly smirk at you and tell you to keep your day available and that the two of you would figure it out when the day arrived. you hadn’t believed him for a second, but you had played along anyways.

on the day of your anniversary, childe knocks on the door to your apartment in liyue, a bouquet of glaze lilies in hand, accompanied by a wide-toothed grin on his face. he’s dressed in a perfectly fitting suit, with his tie matching the color of the outfit that a scared-looking fatui agent had nervously dropped off for you earlier in the day. childe’s eyes rake over you as he takes in the custom fit outfit on you, before his ocean blue eyes finally snap back to yours and a devilish grin appears on his face.

“you look hot,” childe declares, as if such a statement is merely a fact of life. to childe, the sky is blue, water is wet, and you are completely irresistible.

“thanks,” you return dryly, but mirth shines in your eyes. “i would hope that i do.”

after you situate the flowers in your apartment, childe takes your arm in his and immediately begins to ramble about the previous day’s escapades, which involved both threatening a band of treasure hoarders and training fatui recruits. you smile and listen to your lover excitedly talk about such things, appreciating how he gestures wildly with his free arm, but you see right through his charade. such conversation is merely an attempt to distract you from asking him details about your night.

but, much to your pleasant surprise, childe did not hatch a half-baked plan. instead, the harbinger had rented out the entirety of xinyue kiosk for the two of you. you weren’t sure how much such a thing cost, especially due to the high demand of the restaurant’s services, but the nervous look in childe’s eyes as he awaits your approval stops such questions from exiting your lips. instead, you smile brightly at him and praise him for his choice in restaurant. he rewards your kind words with a quick peck to your lips.

rather than being the typically energetic, rowdy man you had fallen in love with, childe is reserved and polite to a near fault for the first half of your meal. he pulls out your chair for you, he suggests what on the menu to try, and he even goes as far as to use chopsticks properly. while he often did try, chopsticks were the only potential weapon the harbinger had yet to master, often dropping them on accident. however, he holds the chopsticks in between his fingers with an eerie stillness and that’s when your heart both seizes up and melts. 

childe had practiced for your anniversary.

before you can stop it, a soft laugh escapes your lips, interrupting the story he was sharing with you. you reach across the table and place your hand atop childe’s free one and squeeze it gently. his eyebrows raise at your sudden interruption, but it only serves to make you giggle once more.

“what?” childe asks, perplexed.

“i love you, you know that, right?” you say, playing absentmindedly with his fingers as you stare into the blue irises you had come to adore. at your words, childe’s shoulders visibly relax and he laughs. it’s no longer one of forced formalities, but rather the signature, cocky one that was typical of him. your smile only widens at the sound.

“i love you more,” he insists and you playfully consider if such a statement to be possible before shaking your head.

“nope! i love you more!” you insist and childe’s eyes narrow, glinting at the hint of a challenge.

“oh? do you want to bet on that?”

diluc

you’re completely thrown for a loop when diluc wakes up and leaves for work on your anniversary without acknowledging the date. you watch in a half-asleep haze as he changes into his typical outfit and black jacket from the comfort of the bed. you await any indication from him that today is different from the rest, but no reassurance is ever provided. instead, he gives you a quick kiss, tells you he loves you, and heads out of your bedroom for the day, leaving you to lie in bed, perplexed. the two of you had even talked about possible anniversary plans, too.

had he forgotten? sure, diluc was a busy man, singlehandedly dominating mondstadt’s entire wine industry, but you had thought he would at least remember this. as you eat breakfast in silence alone, you stew in your thoughts. was it ungrateful to be mad about such a thing when diluc already did so much for you? hell, you even had the ability to have shorter work hours because of all of his effort and all that he provided you, but the lack of something to do only left you ruminating in your own feelings.

when he finally returns, your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes, despite the fact that he is home earlier than usual. diluc wraps you up in a familiar embrace and you want nothing more than to burst out in tears and cry to him about how you feel forgotten, but diluc’s words interrupt you before you can do such a thing.

“adelinde informed me that one of the maids broke the dining room window,” diluc says. “would you like to go see how much damage there is with me?”

it’s an odd proposition and you want nothing more than to yell at him about how he forgot your anniversary, but you nod and take his hand anyways, for it was diluc asking such a thing and you were utterly whipped and absolutely in love with him. curse these emotions, you grumble to yourself as he guides you to the dining room of dawn winery. as you enter through the double doors, all of your anger at diluc subsides at the sight in front of you.

the dining room has been decorated with several red floral bouquets, ranging from the pinkish-reds of liyuean silk flowers to the deep crimson of traditional red roses. furthermore, string lights and candles illuminate the room in a soft, pale yellow glow, adding to the intimacy of the centerpiece of it all: a cloth-covered table for two, fully prepared for the two of you to eat from.

diluc glances over at you, but manages to contain his nervousness, instead shooting you a cool expression.

“happy anniversary, darling,” he declares and you turn to him, swatting him on the arm lightly. the gesture lacks any real force behind it and diluc only laughs at the motion.

“i thought you forgot!” you exclaim and diluc smiles at you. you glance away, muttering to yourself. “jerk.” the word lacks any malice behind it and diluc only lets out another soft laugh as he clutches your hand more tightly within his.

“do you like it?” he asks, gesturing with his free hand to the scene in front of you.

“i love it,” you respond immediately, gaze fixating on the flowers once more. “who set it up?”

“me.” diluc confesses. “i did not work today. i simply came in here and spent the day setting everything up.”

at such a confession, your heart aches with guilt. archons, he had spent the day preparing and you had the audacity to think he forgot? deciding to alleviate your guilt by giving him something in return, you choose to respond to his statement by pulling him in for a kiss. diluc stiffens in surprise as your lips meet his, but he quickly relaxes into it, placing a hand on the side of your face as you try to convey your gratitude for setting up the venue.

when the two of you finally part your passionate kiss, a light string of saliva forms between the two of you, quickly breaking as you pull away. diluc’s cheeks are flushed scarlet with heat and he stares at you, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the kiss. you decide your debt is paid, albeit temporarily, and take your hand in his once more, guiding him to the table.

“i love you,” diluc states as you tug him gently. you turn to grin at him.

“i love you too.”

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #childe #albedo #diluc

[saffyspirals]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 + 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚜

; aka: drabbles that aren’t long enough to post individually!

; with: draken, baji, sanzu, kazutora and chifuyu.

; author’s note: these are separate drabbles, but they all have a shared theme! they either include a text message, or some sort of written note. i might make a part 2, since i really enjoyed writing this up.

; warnings: all of them are timeskip! characters, except baji. chifuyu’s drabble is suggestive. sanzu’s drabble is unintentionally longer than the rest. proofread, but i guarantee i didn’t correct all the mistakes.

completely exhausted from last night’s shift, draken is in no condition to wake up at seven-thirty to get your kids up, dressed and driven to school. that’s why you turn off his alarm, minutes before it’s set to ring, and climb out of bed yourself. you tiptoe next door into your kids bedroom, and gently wake them up; a finger comes to your lips, a silent signal for the children to stay quiet. you get them ready in no time flat, and have them come down for some breakfast, before you usher them out the door and into the backseat of your car. you climb into the drivers seat, and pull out your phone to send your beloved a message. it reads; ‘good morning, sleepyhead. thought i’d let you lie in, since you got home pretty late last night! i’m taking the kids to school, and then i’ll go to work from here. there’s leftovers in the oven if you want them, make sure you eat something before heading to the store today! love you, and i’ll see you tonight.’ he reads the text hours later, gobsmacked by your overwhelming kindness. it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like he’s a little kid, experiencing what it’s like to fall in love for the first time. but, he concludes, that feeling never really does go away, when you love somebody.

baji knows that today is going to be a bad day, when he manages to sleep through the three alarms he set for himself. today, baji is supposed to sit his maths exam. he’s bad at every subject (except kicking ass), but maths is a bit more of a struggle than the others. that’s why, he’d had you, and chifuyu tutor him for the past few weeks. although he’d found it helpful, he can’t help but feel his oversleeping is a bad sign that all of his hard work was for naught. he hardly has time for breakfast; actually, he doesn’t even get to try to eat. his mother catches him looking through the fridge, and forces him to leave. “you’re going to be late, keisuke!” now he’s hungry, and unconfident. halfway to school, he meets up with you. you’re wearing an awfully cheerful smile. you’re good at maths, there won’t be any problem passing. but, he comes to realise, that’s not why you’re so happy. nearly at the school’s entrance, baji’s cell buzzes in his pocket. he fishes it out. a message from you? “why are you texting me when i’m right—” “just read it!” you turn away from him when he does. ‘baji keisuke, i believe in you. good luck on your exam today, you’ll pass with flying colours! get more than 60%, and you’ll get a little <3 from me.’ “just a little one?” a smile creeps up on his lips. “listen, i typed it out so we wouldn’t have to discuss it out loud!” you hiss, still refusing to meet his eyes. “fine, fine.” he begins drafting out a message to send back. ‘70%, and i get way more than just a little <3. deal?’

‘where r u??’ you message sanzu for the millionth time in the last two hours. it’s just gone midnight, and you’ve yet to hear from him, who’d promised he’d be home by nine. yes, he was his own person, and yes, as an adult, he had a right to be out wherever whenever, but would it kill him to at least tell you his girlfriend first, so you wouldn’t make dinner for two, and worry about him? your cell phone shuts down; a result of not heeding its warnings to find a charger. you groan, before reluctantly pulling yourself up from the sofa. your charger is in yours and sanzu’s bedroom, you figure you may as well go to bed from there. you climb up the stairs, steps creaking beneath your feet as you go along. you see no point in turning on the light when you get there, opting to just plug your phone in, and bury yourself under the covers. your eyes become heavy almost immediately, and you slip into the realm of dreams. mere minutes after you do, the front door is unlocked, opened and shut again. “i’m home!” he announces, kicking his shoes off before coming through the hall into the living room, where there’s light. you’re not in the room (you’d forgotten to turn off the light), but the smell of his favourite dish keeps him from choosing to look for you elsewhere. within the living room is a little dining area. on the table sit two plates; one for you, one for him, he presumes. both meals have gone cold, and by the looks of it, they’d done so a long time ago. he feels a tad guilty about that. he turns out the light when he leaves the living room, before starting up the stairs. the sound of creaking is much more pronounced than yours — he’s heavier than you — but, as sanzu finds out when he enters your shared bedroom, the noise isn’t enough to wake you. he ruffles your hair a little bit when he gets close, before shifting over to his wardrobe to undress. down to his boxers, sanzu climbs into bed with his phone. he plugs it in, using the charger on his own side. once it turns on, it’s flooded with several missed call and text notifications, all from you. the tad bit of guilt he’d been feeling before grows drastically. ‘i’ve made your favourite for dinner today! i’m kinda excited you’re coming home on time, hehe’ | ‘where r u? the food’s getting cold!’ | ‘dudeeee i’m rlly hungry, i might just eat without you!’ | ‘sanzu?’ | ‘haruuuuu?’ | ‘SANZU HARUCHIYO’ | ‘where r u???’ | he drops his phone on his beside table, before turning over to face your back. he comes closer, close enough so his chest is touching you. his arms wrap around your middle, and two kisses are left on your shoulder. “i’ll make it up to you princess, i promise.”

kazutora is the first to give in. two nights after your argument, he sends a text. ‘let’s talk.’ it’s not quite the apology you’d been looking for, so you respond with a, ‘about what?’. he doesn’t reply again, so you leave your cell on your desk, and go to your bedroom window. you open it up, and, eyes closed, take a whiff of the cool air. “did you know i would be here?” a familiar voice yells. only then down you think to look down; standing in your driveway is his truly, and he’s holding a bunch of stones. “can you close your window? i want to throw these at it, and attract your attention in a more romantic way.” you roll your eyes at him, though you doubt he could’ve seen from there, before stepping away from your window. you choose not to close it, before leaving your room, and going down the stairs, to open the front door. kazutora is disappointed you don’t want to do things his way; you’re not following the script he’d planned in his head; but decides to enter your house without a peep, not wanting another argument to ensue. “why are you here?” you start, offering him a seat on the couch. kazutora doesn’t sit, favouring standing close to you. “i want us to make up.” “why? what did you do wrong?” he huffs at the difficult position you’re putting him in. not really knowing how to answer, he takes your hands, and intertwines them with his. when there’s no resistance on your end, he leans down, lips making contact with yours for a moment. there still isn’t any rejection, so kazutora continues. he presses his lips against yours again, and your eyelids flutter shut. you can’t feel any more at home than this; the built up frustration you’ve been feeling towards him simply melts away, ceases to exist. you’re soft for him, and he’s soft for you. even if neither of you manage to utter the words, “i’m sorry,”, you know you’ll be just fine.

upon arriving at his doorstep, chifuyu notices something yellow stuck on the door. it’s a sticky note. and, after inspecting it further, he recognises that it’s from you; your handwriting gives it away. ‘you’re in trouble.’ the note reads. his first thought is ‘?’; nothing immediately comes to mind when he questions himself about what he could have done. he pulls the note from the door, crumples it up, and shoves it into his pocket. he’d ask you about it when he got inside. he calls your name when he does, but gets no answer. figuring you can’t hear him, he decides to look around the house for you instead. before he goes anywhere though, chifuyu removes his shoes, and picks them up to place onto the shoe rack. this is when he comes across a second note: ‘BIG trouble.’ he starts visibly sweating. he calls out for you again, still receiving no response. the note follows the first one into his pocket. chifuyu starts up the stairs, knowing that whenever you’re pissed, you remain in your shared room. “i’m sorry!” he bursts through the door, eyes squeezed shut, hoping you’ll have mercy. “keep ‘em closed.” you command. he hears you shuffle out of bed. he senses you as you come close. he feels your arms wrap around his middle. on any other day, he would have relaxed upon feeling your touch. “chifuyu, now you can open them.” you crane your neck up, to meet his gaze when he looks down. surprise takes over his features. “do you like it?” you ask, taking your arms away from him to gesture to your body. you’re wearing nothing but undergarments; the same ones he’d offhandedly mentioned he’d liked, when you were shopping online for clothes the other night. “you—you’re gorgeous!” he splutters, scratches of pink decorate his cheeks as his eyes trail over your figure. “but, why am i in trouble?” “because,” you stand on the tips of your toes, so your lips are by his ear. your fingers intertwine at the back of his neck. “you’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

[here’s my masterlist] !

#tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #draken x reader #baji keisuke x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #kazutora hanemiya x reader #matsuno chifuyu x reader #ryuguji ken x reader #baji x reader #sanzu x reader #kazutora x reader #chifuyu x reader #draken #baji keisuke #sanzu haruchiyo #kazutora hanemiya #matsuno chifuyu #draken x y/n #baji x y/n #sanzu x y/n #kazutora x y/n #chifuyu x y/n #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyorev scenarios #tokyorev imagines #tokyo revengers fluff #x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

Hot Showers

This gets a little more risqué (nudity mentioned but that's it really) toward the end of the fic than I typically (or ever tbh) have written (from my point of view) so you've been warned. Probably "teen plus" as a result. (I'm not great at warnings/tags so sorry).

Masterlist

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Marinette giggled as she and Roy tinkered with the shower head and box. Their plan was fool proof, no flaws what's so ever. Jason would run out the scalding hot shower straight into Roy’s safe arms and they’d fall in love, then kiss and live happily ever after. That’s how it goes right?

As much as it pained her, to yet again fall for someone who wasn't interested in her, she wouldn't let herself get in the way of his happiness. Roy was her best friend. He deserved happiness. Even if his happiness was with Jason and not her. She got why he loved Jay. Jay was perfect for Roy with his leather, ruggedness, and wicked dark humour. Roy would always be her best buddy with Jay a close second.

It was inevitable that she’d fall for Roy. How could she not fall for the goofball of a roommate. He was charming, caring, chaotic and smart. His humour matched hers as well as he also adored Jagged. He dealt with the admin mistake amazingly as she ended up being placed in the male dorms. She doesn't really regret using Marin instead of Nettie on the forms to shrink her name to fit as she'd never have met the crazy man next to her.

Ok, that might be a slight stretch of the truth given they both had taken the same university course. But she'd never have guaranteed that they'd have worked together.

Also, his looks were nothing to be scoffed at… she's never forgotten bumping (literally) into his toned chest, damp hair and piercing green eyes as he walked out of the bathroom in first year.

She really was a sucker for green eyed Adonises who put her as 'just a good friend'.

"Wha'd'ja think? The mechanism seems ok? It's a little sticky though."

Roy's voice broke through Marinette's musings, giggles and reminiscing of topless moments, knowing he will never be hers. Stealing Roy's hat Marinette to place it on her own head to keep her overgrown fringe out her eyes (she really needed to cut it) she stuck her tongue out to focus on the mechanism Roy referred to.

"Can you grab me a nail file and tweezers Roy? I have an idea on getting it to move smoothly."

Handing Marinette the tools requested, Roy wrapped himself around his roommate, resting his head over her shoulder to watch her tinker with the contraption.

Marinette groaned inside her mind. It was times like this that made it so much harder adoring Roy and not acting on it with his sweet oblivious behaviour.

"It'll work right? This plan is fool proof, right?"

"Yeah yeah, the contraption is perfect. Look, I got it to work without sticking now."

"Nets!! That's not what I meant." Roy hugged her closer, "Course the fucking thing will work. It has us working on it. This stuff is a breeze. I meant, like, Jay will come running into my arms and I can declare my feelings."

"Roy… I love you…" Marinette grimaced internally stating that. Roy will never take her seriously or the true depth it meant with how often she said it, but at least she got to say how she felt even if it was never returned. "I'm $h1t at knowing whether it will work. My dating history and setting up is appalling. I never told the guy in lycée that I liked him. The girls set up loads of ridiculous situations for me to fail at. The only major success I had was setting Al's up with Nino by trapping them in a cage. This fits in with the crazy plans perfectly and it's you. You're not a coward plus how could Jay hate you?"

"Love ya too Nets. Thanks for the prep talk. I can do this. Jay will love it… afterwards."

"As this part is finished, do you want to assemble it together?"

"Yeah yeah, I get ya hint. Get the giant to put the shower together. I got this you little Pixie."

Marinette flipped him off as he let go of her allowing her to stand up and move away from him.

"I'm going to the gym. That way at least I can have a shower without issues. When's Jay over? I can grab take out on the way home."

"In an hour, I think. Have I told you I love ya Nets? Pizza and beer night!!"

"Not enough Roy, not enough… and for that I'm grabbing Chinese"

She stuck her tongue out at Roy and dashed into her room to grab her gym kit.

°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°

As Jason lounged on the sofa, Roy attempted to watch the trash film he selected nursing the beer he was drinking. There was a reason he let Marinette chose films. She seemed to have an endless knowledge of them and about the directors. Though she said she was just reciting information she’s heard over the years from an obsessed friend and would be in the same boat as him otherwise.

Roy was struggling to keep his cool without Marinette around. He was so close to Jason, he could smell Jason's aftershave and something distractedly Jason. It was sending his mind into over drive. The plan was all set up ready and he just needed to wait. He didn’t like the waiting and now his nerves were all over the place like his mind with how Jason kept looking over at him.

“So what madness were you and Nets working on today?"

Jason’s deep voice caused Roy to jump and his attention to scatter.

"What?! No madness. We've had a quiet day. Nothing dangerous at all."

"Bullshit Roy. Nets tools are still in the living room. They'd be in her room if she wasn't working on something and *you* would have joined in. You're practically joined at the hip."

‘$h1t!’ ran through Roy’s head at Jason’s observation, very little escaped the 'not a bat' attention. "Errr….", Roy eloquently replied. He could hear Marinette’s scolding in the back of his head at his lack of words and distraction technique.

Jason threw a pillow at him, which Roy manages to catch. He resisted the urge to bury his face in the pillow, to look at Jason. Roy felt his ears start to heat up under Jason’s all knowing stare.

"Harper, you're a $h1t liar. I really haven't a clue how Nets hasn't figured you out yet."

Before Jason could continue grilling Roy about his latest project, a loud thumping of what sounded like someone kicking the door.

“Foood!! Nets is home!!” Roy cried jumping over the sofa to let his saviour in, ignoring Jason shaking his head at his behaviour. He finally got what she meant with the nerves she felt before each of her friends' crazy plans. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell his friend about how he fantasised about his thighs. His arms. How he loved and hated the showers at JL post mission. How when they sparred, that one shifted move and it could turn into something... something more.

Roy dragged Nets into the building and manoeuvred her to the kitchen neglecting to help by taking some the tower of food out her hand focusing complete to the panic ringing in his head. “Help me... he’s so fucking cute today.” Roy whispers into her ear.

His roommate and best Wing Girl looked at him with a sigh. “Chill Roy, just chill! The more you work yourself up the worse it’ll be. Forget the future. Focus on food so we can put phase one into action yeah!?”

Roy smiled. He could do this. This was why he adored his Pixie companion. She really was perfect friend. He dragged her into a hug with relief that she was here rushing through him, chuckling at her antics to escape his grasp.

“Grab the plates and make yourself useful instead of smothering me Roy. Jay! You gonna help too?!”

As the three navigated the small kitchen dishing up food. Every time Jason’s hand brushed his, Roy felt his heart flutter. Heat rushed through his body. His nerves were fried by the time they all were seated, from Jason’s heated touch and the desire for more contrasted with Marinette’s soothing balm calming his soul.

°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°

Jason tried to focus on the food in front of him, but fu©k, it was hard especially with having a few drinks with Roy before Marinette turned up. He might have been harbouring a minor, not so big, little (HUGE) crush on Roy’s roommate and keeping it in check was hard, especially with alcohol. She was hot! Especially with the loose crop top and joggers she was wearing from her post workout. The hint of her abs and wet hair dampening the white top gave him all the wrong ideas. Her morbid humour match is his dark one and her love for rock music sold it for him. Roy was a strong man to be able to resist her, that is if he was resisting… with how Roy draped and snuggled close to her it was hard to tell.

Jason’s issue was he wasn’t sure if Roy was overprotective and physical close of Nets due to seeing her as a little sister or there was something more was under lying. He’d seen the pair try to hide their blushes. Their cosiness and whispered conversations. The fact Roy was often tactile with him made it harder to work out as maybe that was just Roy with his best friend's. With his attempts to find out Roy’s affections, it felt like getting a straight answer from B was easier. Roy always responded with lots vague responses and misdirection.

It was driving him insane, Jason desperately wanted to know where Roy stood so he knew whether it was green to maybe… possibly… make a move on Nets… without violence form Roy.

Lost in his own musings as Nets and Roy chatted animatedly about a potential 'illegal' modification to their bikes Jason didn't notice the downpour of beer which flew his way.

"WHAT THE FU¢K NETS?!?!!"

Jason jumped out of his seat as beer drained down his top onto his jeans. Roy rushed to pat him dry with napkins he'd grabbed, red faced to match his hair as he pat down the beer from Jason's head. Nets looked at him with her soulful doe eyes that peered out partially hidden by her lashes and overgrown fringe.

"$h1t!! Mon dieu!! I'm *so so* sorry Jay!"

With a pout and sorryful expression she looked up at him, melting his anger with her innocent look.

"It was an accident. I really didn't mean for that to happen. Are you ok? Did ya want a shower?? I'm *sure* Roy has some spare clothes he can loan you?"

She spoke with such a saccharine voice that shivers went down Jason's spine and whatever anger that remained disappeared.

"Errr, Yeah! Look, I'll, I'll go grab some spare clothes and towel for ya Jay."

Roy gulped as he exited the room to get the items leaving Jason suddenly feeling flustered, standing in wet clothes that clang to his body, with only Marinette left in the room.

"I'll just, I'll go be in the bathroom if Roy asks."

Marinette sent him a beguiling smile as he wanders out the room.

°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°°~°~°

Screams echo the apartment as Jason dashes out the bathroom flames licking behind him as he runs towards Roy who had grabbed a fire extinguisher and covers him in the water before panicking as saw the shower curtain was still alight.

"Arghhhhhhhhhhh!!! Nets! NETS!!! THE BATHROOM IS ON FIRE!!"

Marinette quickly comes into the hallway to find Jason naked, Roy hopping foot to foot holding the fire extinguisher and not doing anything. Grabbing the item off the flapping man and ignoring the nakedness of the other, Marinette tackled the flames and quickly put them out. Thankfully it wasn't as bad as she thought and easy to get under control. Before turning to Roy and Jason raising her eyebrow at the pair while chucking a towel at Jason.

"You b@$t@rd!! What in hell?! what you thinking Roy?!?! What was that?!"

"I'd call it a hot shower … "

Marinette gave Roy a pointed look at that comment.

"A hot shower Roy?! Where was the shower bit!"

"I might have forgotten to reattach the water element…"

"Might?!?! Might?!?!"

Jason felt the green fire in him growing as he stepped closer and closer to Roy. His friend was a madman. He was bonkers. He was going to kill him. Whether the him being Roy or himself he wasn't sure.

Roy suddenly grabbed Jason's shoulders, dragging him closer and kissed him. Roy poured all his affections into a heated kiss, hoping Jason would understand what he was trying to say. Jason paused in shock. That… that wasn't what he was expecting. His eyes blew wide as he processed what was happening. He saw Marinette give a bittersweet smile at the pair before she turned and left them to it as she re-entered the living room. His attention snapped back to Roy as he quickly let go to step back.

"Ummm, I like you… a lot… this was an attempt to ummm well… kick start telling you maybe…"

Roy's face was flushed vibrant red. Partly due to finally kissing his crush, partly from admitting his feelings and a lot due to remembering Jason before the kiss was angry and likely to kill him for the flamethrower shower and that he had kissed him unasked plus on top of that Jason was still in the hallway in only a towel.

"You like me?!?! Me?!?! What about Nets?!?! I thought you liked her … how can you not like her. She's a walking goddess?"

"Yeah I like you, like really like you…why wouldn't I? and Nets well, I love her too, but you're you Jay. I've liked you since forever."

Jason stared at his friend semi gormlessly, blinking slowly, as he tried to understand what was happening. His friend. His best friend. Who had just tried to kill him via fire. Had just said he liked him. Liked him more than a best friend. Roy had just kissed him. Given it was mostly one side, it still managed to be a decent kiss. Roy said he loved Nets, but from what he said it implied he loved him, HIM, more.

Did he like Roy like that? Jason knew he liked Nets but Roy was something he never considered...

"I err.. $h1t I fu¢ked this up. Forget it. I made this awkward. We can stay mates Jay….this never happened 'i can't believe I let Nets talk me into this'"

Jason grabbed Roy face in both hands and kissed him back heatedly, surprising Roy causing an ‘eeeps’ to escape his mouth. Especially as Jason now had his towel in his hand at Roy's face, not around his waist and his tongue requested to entry to his mouth. A second later Roy melted into Jason’s grasp, memorising the feeling he’d longed for. Moments later came too soon for Roy’s liking, as they slowly broke away to breathe again, Jason stared deeply into Roy’s eyes.

"Do you like like Nets? Be honest with me Roy!"

"I guess…"

"Not guess. Yes or no?"

"Yea…"

"Awesome. Ditto. I never considered you in the equation before. Always Nets but maybe… maybe do you think… did you want…?"

It was Roy's turn to look at Jason like he was the madman. Maybe he was mad, he was standing in his hallway, after almost being burnt, naked. He contemplated what Jason was trying to say and his eyes glimmered in understanding finally. God damn bats being as clear as mud with their emotions.

"Yeah," Roy whispered out, "yeah that sounds good. Shall we go ask her?"

Grabbing Jason's hand, the pair walked back into the living space to find Marinette tidying the mess they had made earlier. She looked up and squawked at the sight of Jason still wearing nothing as she threw a cushion at him.

"Clothes, Jason, clothes!!! Oh kwami's help me!"

Her face was brilliant red as she gazed up at the ceiling to avoid looking at the muscular men before her.

"Cack! One mo, Roy!"

Jason ran out of the room to put something on… anything… other than the towel which was lying on the floor in the hallway.

"So it went well then Roy?"

"Yeah Nets it went good."

"I'm so happy for you. I knew he couldn't resist you. So proud you did it. However unconventionally."

"About that…"

Marinette paused and finally looked at Roy standing awkward in their home. She tilted her head in confusion as to what Roy was worried about as he nervously fiddles with his cap. She walked up to him and brought him to the sofa to sit down.

"Talk to me Roy. What's wrong? I'd thought you'd be happy. This is what you wanted right? I didn't push you into something you weren't ready for, did I? Oh god I did, didn't I! I'm so sorry Roy. I'll take the blame. Don't worry we can fix this."

"What no!!! That's not it Nets. Promise."

Jason finally rejoined them, wearing a pair of Roy's shorts and a t-shirt that was a size too tight. Which left nothing to the imagination causing a flustered look dance across Roy's face.

"Nets," Jason sat beside her, and not Roy, adding to her confusion. "Can you answer this honestly this question? Please..." Marinette slowly nodded hesitantly, shifting to look at Jason, unsure what was happening with her friends. Jason gently took her hand and asked, "Do you like like Roy?"

The new blush that rushed to her face answered the question really, but Jason waited for the woman to regain her senses and answer him. Ducking behind her hair Marinette nodded at Jason. Roy hand darted up, before his mind had caught up, too tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

"Oh Nets… I'm an idiot. A major idiot."

Roy pulled her close to rest his forehead against hers, leaving Jason stroking the back of her hand.

"Nets, I adore you too." He kissed the tip of her nose, "Can you answer my question now. Do you feel the same way about Jay?"

"Wha…" she pulled away from Roy to look at the men before her, glancing between them like they were insane.

"I like you, Nets. God's know I like you, since I met you and your sadistic humour at Roy's misfortune. But I think l like Roy too. Roy well, the dense tool says he likes me, but I've seen the looks he's given you too. I'm pretty sure the feelings were mutual, just he never entertained it."

"Thanks Jay!" Roy grumbled before grabbing Marinette's other hand and kissed her fingers. "Did you wanna try with us?"

Roy looked at her earnestly. Hoping. Wishing she said yes. Her large, pretty eyes gazed into his, then to Jays. Slowly she licked her lips before opening her mouth.

"Just so I'm clear. You both want to date each other. But you also want to date me??"

Roy beamed at her, "Yes!" He leant forward and gently kissed her lips, savouring the taste compared to his heated, frantic outpouring with Jason.

"Dude! She didn't say yes. She just clarified what you were saying!" Jason exclaimed facepalming at his ?boyfriends? enthusiasm.

Roy quickly pulled back, "Oh, ooops!", only to witness Marinette looking up at Jason with wide eyes as if asking a silent question from him to nod in response. Carefully, as if uncertain of what will happen, Marinette kisses Jason slowly, easing into it before retreating. Shyly, as if she hadn't just kissed the pair, she smiles coyly at them.

"This wasn't the outcome I was expecting from this evening, but, I'd quite like to give it a go."

#maribat #maribat au #ml crossover #dc x mlb #ml x dc #dc x ml #mlb x dc #jasonette #roynette #marinetteXjasonXroy #poly #semi risqué writing #jasonXmarinette #marinetteXjason #marinetteXroy #royXmarinette #maribatJasonXroy #maribatRoyXjason #JayRoyNette

[nightowlfandom]

Rich! Bad Boy!Min Yoongi- Try Me

Just wanna say if you see your name used here, I don’t have beef with you okay? I had a random name generator in another tab and just used the first name I saw.

Once again someone doesn’t want me to be great so....this might be the only post today because I....dunno I can’t post when I’m not in a good mood and its been real shitty.

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

X RATED PROMPT LIST| NON X RATED PROMPT LIST

RUN IN HERE AND COME GET Y’ALL JUICE

Leggo!

...

You were practically glued to his side. His arm was tightly wrapped around your waist as he led you across the room. You had perched your designer sunglasses on top of your head to get a clearer look at your surroundings. Why were you wearing sunglasses at night? Because you could, of course.

Your wore a backless floor length gown in one of his favorite colors. He had insisted you wear your fur coat, but you convinced him to let you leave it in the car. You were on full display, not only for him but for anyone else who thought that they had bought the most gorgeous date for the night. That title was forever and always reserved for Min Yoongi’s girl and tonight only proved it more and more. 

He walked with his held held high as if everyone around him was beneath him. His attired screamed ‘try me, bitch’ From his black suit and tie to crisp white dress shirt and shoes that were worth more than someone’s rent for five months. His hair was slicked back and while he didn’t bother to raise his own pair of shades, everyone could see the glare very evident on his face.

You two were the epitome of a power couple, in the most literal sense and everyone respected that.

“Mr. Min! Welcome!” a nervous and frantic looking man rushed up to you. “This must be your beautiful companion for the night.” he bowed repeatedly. So many times that you lost count. He held his hand out for you to take, but you were left to stare awkwardly. You had no idea what to do in that moment. After a second or two you held your hand out, which he shook a bit too aggressively.

Yoongi calmly used his free hand to raise his sunglasses up. “You gettin’ paid to rip my girl’s arm out its socket?”

“Oh! my apologies Mr. Min!” he instantly let your hand go. “I wasn’t aware.”

“You never are.” he scoffed, allowing his shades sit on the top of his head. “Is our table ready or did they send you here to waste our time?”

“You’re fashionably early! Your comrades haven’t arrived yet.” the host stammered. “Follow me!” he practically disappeared through the sea of people. 

“What a tool.” you spoke for the first time since you left the car. “I’ve never seen a bigger kiss-ass in my life.”

“Hm, trust me I’ve met worse. He’s just a dick-rider for the men who really own this place.” He leaned down and spoke into your ear. “Those guys will literally shit on someone else’s table if I tell them to.”

“How riveting.” you rolled your eyes playfully as he led you through the crowd. It was easy for people to get out of your way. One look from your boyfriend and they were hugged the nearest wall or throwing themselves against the various tables set up all over the place. “Remind me again why we’re here?”

“Don’t make that face.” He smirked. “I told you, official business.”

“And we couldn’t do that somewhere less...sleazy?” you scoffed at the old man with five different women on his arm. “Yoongi-”

“It’s only for a few hours.” he assured. “Then after that, we can do whatever you want, okay?”

“You said that last time.” you hid the pout forming on your face.

“You have my word.”

“Or so you say.” you slipped out of his grip. “Until you have more trash take out.” you shook your head as you walked ahead. Yoongi watched you from behind as you walked ahead. Of course you didn’t need him by your side to be considered intimidating. He bit his lip at the idea of ripping that dress off your body when you got back to the hotel. Shit, he might not even manage to keep his hands to himself in the car.

Yoongi joined you at the table. “ You feel like Soju tonight?”

“Depends on if you want me to start fighting or not.” you raised an eyebrow at Yoongi.

“Hm, on second thought how about imported beer.”

“This isn’t date night at your place, dear.” you replied jokingly.

“Hm, you’re right. It’s been a while since we’ve splurged. We can do wine tonight!” he chuckled in reply as you both sat down. Just as you both got settled, you were met by a small crowd. Yoongi’s friends, of course. 

“Oi! Watch how you handle my fucking jacket! It’s worth more than your life.” Namjoon snapped at that host.

“My apologies sir!”

“Yoongi, Y/N. Good to see you.” Seokjin shook Yoongi’s hand firmly. “Sorry we’re late.”

“We just arrived ourselves.” you replied, relaxing as Yoongi wrapped his arm around your waist again. “Yoongi insisted.”

“Of course he did.” Jungkook sat down. “I saw the other women glaring at you.” he laughed. “You sure know how to make an entrance.” he raised your hand to his lips for a short kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course she does. She’s the best looking woman here.” he huffed as if it was obvious. The host quietly bought the selection for the night.

“Wine for the lady, the usual for the rest of us.” Yoongi spoke for the table.

“Yes sir!”

Before anyone else could speak, a woman in a red dress and white fur coat strode up. “Yoongi? Is that you?”

“Meredith....fancy seeing you here.” Yoongi looked less than thrilled.

“Very!” she seemed a little too happy to see him. It was funny because you had never seen nor heard of this woman in your life. “So...I tried to call you.”

She was completely oblivious of you sitting right there and you didn’t like it.

“What are you doing here?” Seokjin annoyedly spoke up as his drink was poured. “If you couldn’t tell, we’re all trying to enjoy ourselves.”

“I just wanted to catch up with an old friend!” she put her hands up in defense. Her eyes suddenly landed on you. “Whose this?” she fixed her face in disgust

“Y/N L/N, who the fuck are you?” you raised an eyebrow. Your posture straightened up as she glared at you. You threw your sunglasses on the table, crossing your arms as you perked up.

“Are you Yoongi’s pet or something?” she put a hand on her hip. “ Guess they’ll let anyone in!”

“Pet? Oh Honey...Even if that were true it would still mean I’m sitting here and your standing there looking stupid....”

“Oh yeah. He’s probably waiting for the perfect moment to get rid of you!”

You held up a single hand to up Yoongi to signify that you didn’t want him to speak. He looked livid, however you didn’t see the point in him wasting his time or energy on this woman. You slowly stood up. The host held your glass of wine with shaky hands, unsure of what to do.

“Thank you.” you grabbed the glass from him. “Run along now.”

“Yes mam!” the scared host scurried off, obviously not wanting any confrontation. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Yoongi asked, watching you with weary eyes. You weren’t confrontational so this was a huge surprise.

“Meredith. That is your name, right?” you smiled sweetly. You took a sip from your glass. “Hm...What a darling coat! I bet it goes with anything.”

“Of course it does! It pairs best with red. I bought it in Paris...” she put a hand on her hip as if she was a model. “As you can see.”

“Too bad beautiful gowns and expensive fur doesn’t make the wearer any less cheap than the next bitch.” you instantly shut down the false sense of security you built for the disrespectful woman. 

“EXCUSE ME?!?”

“Not done yet....” you cleared your throat before speaking again. “ Whore, Pet, Wife ,Girlfriend, whatever you want to call me, go ahead but best believe my place in Yoongi’s life will always hold rank over you, my dear. You weren’t even important enough for him to tell me about you and we’ve been together for four years going on five as of two months from now.” You put your free hand on your hip. “That’s number one.” you laughed gleefully.

“Damn Yoongi, your girl has guts.” Namjoon whispered.

“That’s my babe.” Yoongi sat back and watched you drag Meredith for filth.

“Number Two! Before you try to feed me shit and call it sugar, make sure you take off the tags on your clothes.” You pointed to the obvious department store tag. “Clearance...nice. I also know fake diamonds when I see them, don’t play yourself.”

Nothing was wrong with fake gems, or clearance items...but pretending you were better than everyone else while lying...that wasn’t gonna go down.

The girl had went completely quiet now.

“Three. Last but not least. Get over this whole convoluted ‘I’m better than you’ ideals you follow because the same people you turn your nose up at are the same people who you rely on on a day to day basis. Shiny hair, expensive clothes, and a posse of fake friends who tell you everything you want to hear does not guarantee happiness. Insulting me because it gives you short lived joy does not guarantee happiness. Pretending you actually have any sense of class when it’s obvious you faked your way to the top of social stardom does not guarantee happiness.” you put your wine glass on the table. “So before I proceed to tell you to go fuck yourself and to stay away from me and my BOYFRIEND...any questions?”

Not even five seconds passed and this woman walked off without another word. You didn’t feel bad, not by a long shot. Respect is something that’s earned any ANYONE who didn’t understand that could get a piece of you.

You sat back down next to Yoongi, grabbing your wine again. “Gentlemen, forgive me for that outburst.”

“Damn babe.” Yoongi wrapped his arm around you again. “That was hot.”

“Good because I’m highly fucking livid right now.” you calmly took a sip of your wine. “Who was that woman?” you turned to glare at Yoongi.

“She was an actress who was paid to portray my wife for a business thing I was forced to do.” he shook his head. “Y/N I promise she means nothing to me. It was before we even met.”

“Good. Let another girl talk crazy to me, I’ll kill you both.” you said with a straight face. “Her for thinking she can talk to me any way she wants, and you for keeping things from me. I will cut you deep, sir.”

“Damn I love you.” he bit his lip. He turned your head towards himself to give you a deep kiss. 

...

As he had promised, he could barely keep his hands off you in the car. The minute the doors had shut, Yoongi had the hem of your dress bunched up in his fist. His lips feverishly laid open mouth kisses along your exposed neck. 

“Yoongi, we shouldn’t do this here.” you whimpered, even though your actions said the completely opposite.

“Why? No one is gonna stop me. They damn sure won’t say shit about it.” Yoongi stopped for a split second to turn a glare to the limo driver, who was trying very hard not to look in the rear view mirror. “PUT THE FUCKING DIVIDER UP.” he barked.

“Yes sir!!”

Yoongi pushed you down onto the seats, causing you to let out a laugh. The divider was put up and you could hear the sound of fabric ripping.

He had tore a rip up your dress.

“Goodbye $3,000 dress.” you huffed.

“More where that came from.” he laughed, which was quickly replaced with a sadistic smile. “Spread your legs, baby.” he pouted. “Daddy wants to finger you”

“In the car-"

 “When we get back to the hotel, I want you naked on that bed.” he growled. “If not, I’ll fucking rip whatever you have left off.”

... (The Hotel)

He couldn’t even keep his hands to himself in the elevator, any part of you he could get his hands on, he touched. By the time you two had gotten back to the room, you were thrown on the bed. Your dress had a huge tear up the leg and the straps were holding up either. Yoongi had discarded every article of clothing except his pants which were hanging low on his hips at this point.

“How do you want me?” he flicked his tongue against his bottom lip, looking you up and down. “I’ll do whatever you want, babe.” He watched as your shy wall was quickly put up and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Baby doesn’t know?”

“Nuh uh.” you hid behind your hands with a shy smile.

“Hm...my hands?”

“hm....nuh uh.” you shook your head again.

“Hm...my mouth then?” he bit his lips, standing right in front of you. “Where was that fire, honey? Come on.” he grabbed your hands. “Want me to eat that pretty pussy, baby?” He gathered the rest of your dress in his fist. “Come here.”

He began kissing up your bare thighs. You shook your legs, biting your lip. You felt him pull your panties down.

“You were so brave for me, sexy girl. Where’s that fighting spirit? Do you want me to eat this sweet little- hmm.” he dragged his tongue up your slit, laying opened mouthed kisses along your pussy. “You’re brave for the outside world but you still need daddy to take care of you, huh?”

“Mhm!” you nodded desperately.

“Baby you taste so fucking good.” he laughed, lashing his tongue against your hot flesh. “You’re moving so much.” he cackled. “Hmm” he dug his nails into your thighs. “You like it when I eat this pussy?” 

“This is mine.” he mumbled against your heat. “This is all mine. Don’t think I’m done with you yet...”

#bts smut #hoseok smut #jimin smut #jungkook smut #namjoon smut #taehyung smut #seokjin smut #bts imagines #bts scenariois #bts x reader #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #taehyung imagines #smut scenarios #smut imagines #imagines smut #hoseok imagines #jimin imagines #namjoon imagines #yoongi imagines #seokjin imagines #jungkook imagines #bts au #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #min yoongi imagines #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #nightowlfandom

[beskar-cowboy]

The Following

Summary: The Mandalorian takes an interest in you. He likes to linger in doorways. (2.1k words) link to read on ao3 

Pairing: The Mandalorian x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, potential violence against reader, stalking, protective Mando, yearning, mutual pining, sexual tension, this takes place before Episode 1 so no baby and Mando doesn’t know how to process his feelings lol

The Mandalorian doesn't speak to you.

He never has.

He watches you work without ever once coming up to the bar. He conducts his work with Karga, leaves shortly after with every single pair of eyes in the cantina on him. You can’t tell if he doesn’t notice behind all that armour and beskar, or if he doesn’t care.

Then he’s gone for days again. Sometimes weeks, months. Sometimes it's a long time before you see him again and you think you’ve forgotten how shiny that helmet is. But then you’ll see something glimmer in the corner of your eye and in comes the most feared bounty hunter.

The Mandalorian watches you.

So much so that Karga and the people who conglomerate at his preferred table tease the Mandalorian for it. Just go up there, order a drink, say something!

It’s not that easy, Mando thinks. But he doesn’t entertain them. They’ll never let it go if he engages in this conversation so he bottles it up, swallows it whole and one day he’ll die with it deep inside his chest and no one will ever know.

But it’s never that easy either.

The people in Nevaro are anything but sweet, and eventually the Mandalorian notices how the patrons of the cantina bother you. He watches how the entitled ones saunter up to you, bother you with too many questions, too many touches which you recoil from, all of them unwanted. He watches how they don’t get the message and it angers him. Which it really shouldn’t; he’s never fucking spoken to you and you can clearly handle yourself.

He’s taken note of the dagger which you holster in your belt, as well as the one lodged against your ankle, tucked away inside your boot. They’re well hidden, but not from Mando.

Point is, you don’t need his help. You never indicated that you needed or sought protection from anyone other than yourself. He’s seen you throw a punch, he’s seen you threaten, promising a good fight they won’t win. He’s seen you handle yourself.

Which is why this is all the more confusing for him.

He’s started…. Escorting you home….. From a distance. He thinks you don’t notice him, how he’s always a few steps behind you, lost in the crowd with his visor tracked on you.

He’s convinced himself he’s doing it for you, for your protection, for your safety, because he ultimately feels something for you that he can't even fully admit to himself yet but actually.  

He’s just as selfish as all those other scumbag patrons that you have to deal with at the cantina.

He’s selfish when he stays till the end of your shift, when he makes sure you see him placing those extra credits for you on the table he was sitting at, when he lets you walk out before him and stays close while you lock up the cantina and then pretends to walk in the opposite direction.

He thinks you don’t notice him, the most feared and prestigious bounty hunter. But you do. That glimmer.

You round the corner, close to home but you press yourself tight up against the wall. Waiting.

And he sees it - obviously - your sudden movements, the sway of your hips as you send yourself around a corner you don’t usually turn on. He plays it cool and keeps walking straight ahead except you’re grabbing his cowl and sending him crashing against the wall you had been pressed against - dagger to his neck.

“You’re too shiny for your own good.” You seethe at him and Mando has to stop himself from laughing.

It’s strange to see such a furious, almost dangerous expression on a face with such kind eyes, soft - pretty features.

“Why are you following me?” You ask, pressing further into his cowl with your dagger, cutting through the thick material. He raises his hands slowly in surrender, friendly.

And you know he is. You know he is because you’ve watched him the way he watches you.

He leaves you extra credits when Karga doesn’t, he stacks the cups everyone’s used to reduce the mess you need to clean up at the end of the day. He’s polite, quiet. He’s never done anything to prove himself a threat. But you can’t help it, not in some place like this, like Nevaro.

“Why have you been following me?” You ask gentler this time, lowering the dagger and slowly putting it back on your belt.

You’re a bit embarrassed, you’re not sure why you nearly attacked him like that, you knew it was him, you know he wouldn’t hurt you like that but that little voice in the back of your head didn’t let you grow up like that, didn’t let you grow up trusting, naive, dumb. You grew up defending, attacking, protecting. Nevaro might breed cowards but it also breeds fighters.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t respond and you huff, frustrated that he still won’t engage with you. He’s nothing but an armoured wall to you, you couldn’t possibly know of the fucking tsunami going on inside his head right now.

How you shine underneath the moonlight, how it lights up your skin all these new colours with the neon lights off in the distance, your eyes, your nose, your lips. He’s never seen you this up close, not in the cantina, not outside in the real world. The feared Mandalorian is rendered speechless.

You back away from him, deciding to let the fight in you die and go on your way home. If he follows, he follows. But you know the Mandalorian won’t hurt you.

//

He doesn’t walk ten feet behind you anymore.

The Mandalorian has started walking beside you now, keeping up with your pace, however leisurely or rushed - depending on the day.

People stare at him, at the both of you now, when you walk through the night time streets of Nevaro. What’s the bounty hunter doing walking so casually with someone like you? Were you just as dangerous as him? You liked the edge it gave you, that’s what you told yourself.

When he sees your building complex in sight, sometimes he’ll tap your arm and head off, knowing you’re good to make it the last few steps and not wanting to hover like an overbearing parent.

Is that what this is? The need to protect something other than himself?

In his line of work, violence and danger are guaranteed. He can’t control his situation but maybe he can yours. If he can make sure you stay out of danger, that’s good enough for him. But why?

You know why, he’s quick to suppress those thoughts, those bubbling warm and hot feelings he gets when you’re around. It’s easier when you’re not there, when he’s back on the Crest, alone. It’s easier to not think about you. But when you’re right there… he can’t help himself. Can’t help but let those thoughts bubble to the surface like lava.

Whether Mando stays at the cantina until closing, or if he swings back around - after stopping at the shop for parts or the covert - he’s always there. He has been everyday for the last week now. And he’s here tonight.

He watches you work from where he stands, leaned cooly against the entrance with his feet crossed and his hands resting over his stomach.

He watches the way your eyebrows knit together in concentration, trying to scrub the counter clean of whatever substance is clearly caked on. He watches you shine the glasses, put everything away neatly. He notices how tired you look, the way your shoulders sag and bags underneath your eyes - they still shine so bright, even in the low light of the cantina.

“Here.” You toss him something he’s not expecting yet he catches it with ease.

A meiloorun fruit.

You give him such an easy smile  - like it really is that easy - as you lock up the cantina and begin on your way home.

He stares at the fruit as you walk side by side, the colours remind him of a sunset.

You both know he can’t take off the helmet and enjoy it now, in the dark of the night. You both know he’ll savour it slowly when he’s back on the Crest, alone and tired. He’ll let it drip down his fingers, down his hands and forearms and think of you.

If he could eat it now he’d share some with you, he’d watch you bite around the skin he just bit into as well and watch the juices drip into your mouth, like they do into his. Maybe he’d kiss you and you’d share the juice together. He wonders if you’d let him kiss you -

“I know you can’t eat it now but, I just noticed that you didn’t eat anything at the cantina today so I thought you might be hungry.” You shrug, kicking some rocks with your boot and watching them roll further away. Anything to distract yourself from looking at him.

Mando is easily flustered, but no one would guess it from just looking at him. His cheeks burn underneath the beskar helmet, eyes wide.

You had seen the fruit lying around the back of the cantina, stole it all for him. Because you thought he might be hungry. His heart palpitates hard, like he’s sprinting after a quarry, it nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Thank you.” His voice comes out rough, harsh. Like he’s not used to saying those two words. He’s not.

You look at him and smile back. At least, you think he’s smiling under there. You wonder what his smile looks like. You hope he can’t tell how flustered you are. That modulator in his helmet must automatically lower his voice or something, it rumbles through your belly and lights something on fire.

You two continue to walk in silence, so close your arms nearly graze. You notice how softly he grips the fruit, how small it looks in his leather gloved hands. You’d be lying if you said you never thought of those hands, those gloves, that old and worn leather - touching you.

You shiver and you blame it on the cool desert night.

“You know I can handle myself, right?” You ask, fidgeting with your hands and avoiding the intimidating T-shaped visor.

That question had been burning a hole in your tongue for the past week, you’d been dying to know why he started doing this, why he took it upon himself to walk you home every single night.

The Mandalorian stays silent. You take his silence as doubt.

“I was perfectly fine before you came along.” You spit, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. He likes how easy you are to light up, little spitfire.

“I know.” He answers cooly, breathy, like he’s chuckling - at least you think it’s chuckling, you’ve never heard him make that sort of sound before.

You huff, unamused. Mando looks at you then, watches you walk with your head held high and looking straight ahead, watching as your small complex comes into view.

The moonlight lights you up like that first night you had confronted him. The Mandalorian remembers how truly dangerous you had seemed - even to him. If you were anyone else he would have raised his blaster and fought back.

The blue light of the moon cools you, makes you seem… chill. Relaxed even. He wants to touch your face.

“You’re very capable.” He adds, as he thinks of you - you with fire in your eyes.

His words nearly startled you, you weren’t expecting anything else, much less a… compliment from the Mandalorian. You suppose that means a lot coming from him. He watches your eyes widen, how they turn to meet his, already looking.

That startles him, knocks the breath out of his lungs and he nearly keels over from the blow. Somehow you got him, dead center, straight on. Your eyes pierce his and he feels like he’s been shot. He feels like you can see him and he’s scared for the first time in a long time.

The Mandalorian is scared.

And you smile, teeth sparkling like a predator and you say, “I am.”

You are.

When you reach your door, you fidget with the keys. He thinks you’ll drop them but you don’t.

The door creaks open into your small hut, smaller than he had imagined for some reason. This is the closest he’s ever gotten, the most he’s ever seen of this other side of you; where you are when you aren’t at work, when you’re not around him.

He watches the light disappear from your face as you step inside the dark cavern. You don’t close the door behind you. You stand on the other side of the precipice, watching him in the dark like an animal waiting to pounce. His heart races.

He lingers in the doorway, waiting for something - admission, confirmation, permission. Anything.

You take his hand in yours and tug him through the doorway. He lets you.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #din djarin #din djarin x reader #one shot #my writing #gender neutral reader

[morganaspendragonss]

I hope that you are doing well! I love the your writing! If you are open to a Tarlos fic request: TK to Carlos after the doctor has told him Carlos might not make it through the next 48hrs "I cannot imagine life without you, please don't let me live my greatest fear. I won't survive."

Carlos has been working a case and it happens that he becomes a target. He starts getting messages at work, at home and becomes paranoid but doesn't tell TK, but TK can see that Carlos is on edge. Carlos picks a fight with TK so that he goes to stay with Owen for a while. Carlos does this to protect him, let him at least stay away so that if anything happens, TK is safe. Then one night, Carlos is alone at home and someone breaks in, torture ensues and he is barely clinging to life. He calls 911, Grace answers and he can barely get the words out "it's Carlos, send help". 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 10: i can't imagine my life without you

thank you!

ao3 | 1.9k | descriptions of torture, major character injury, angst, hopeful ending, open ending

TK knows he’s annoying people. The atmosphere in the ambulance is thick with tension whenever they’re out on a call, and it’s not much better back at the firehouse. He tries to keep his distance, occupying himself in the gym or aggressively doing chores, but he can’t avoid everyone forever and his bad mood is starting to spill over.

Like when he and Nancy fell back into their old pattern of snipping at each other, or when he nearly bit Paul’s head off when he asked what was wrong. It was less the question itself—though TK certainly doesn’t want to get into why he’s so out of it—and more the way Paul phrased it. Nobody likes to be asked ‘trouble in paradise?’, particularly when the answer is yes.

He just doesn’t understand. It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

Carlos hadn’t explained why; when TK had tried to push, he’d turned it into a fight, until TK had no choice but to leave. He’s been staying with his dad for a week now and he desperately misses his boyfriend, torn between wanting to go over and check on him and wanting to give him space.

He’d settled on a text, a simple you okay?, which still felt woefully inadequate. Carlos had been on edge for weeks before the blow up and TK hadn’t been able to get a word out of him about why.

The text is still unanswered, though it’s been marked as Read.

TK huffs and hauls himself up into the ambulance to check stock. He knows Nancy has already done it and she’s going to be pissed if she catches him, but he needs to keep his mind occupied somehow, lest he start to spin out. But the peace he finds is short-lived, as not ten minutes after he starts, TK looks up from his clipboard to see Judd approaching, hands held out in a pacifying gesture.

It has the opposite effect, TK’s nerves becoming that bit more frayed at the spooked animal treatment he’s getting, but his pointed glare does nothing to deter Judd. Nor does turning his back and returning to work, as he finds out when Judd’s heavy footsteps stop behind the rig and don’t move away.

“TK,” Judd says, his voice suspiciously rough.

TK doesn’t bother turning around, hoping it will get the message across. “Fuck off, Judd,” he says, which would normally be a guarantee of riling him up enough to get him to either leave TK alone or engage in a more physical manner.

At this point, TK doesn’t really care which reaction he gets.

Unfortunately, he’s not in luck today. Which, honestly, tracks.

“I got a phone call,” Judd continues, undeterred, “from Grace. Now, I figure you’ll be getting a similar one soon enough, but we thought it might be better if you heard it from us first.”

TK sighs and hangs his head, reluctantly turning around. “What?” he snaps out. When Judd doesn’t react, not even with a raised eyebrow, a quiet dread begins to pool in his gut, a little voice in the back of his head telling him he already knows ‘what’.

He tries to push it down, but there are very few reasons why Grace would call Judd and ask to talk to him. TK takes the proffered phone in a shaking hand, his heart starting to pound as he lifts it to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hey, TK.” Grace’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but there’s a soothing note to it now, and more of the pieces start to slot together in TK’s head. “Listen, honey, I’m at work and I just got a call come through. I’m… I’m so sorry, TK. It was Carlos.”

TK’s breath catches, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he demands, voice shaky. “What do you mean ‘you’re sorry’?”

“He was… I don’t know. He was barely able to talk, but it sounded real bad. EMS 122 were in the area at the time so I sent them out; they should have arrived at the hospital by now.”

And TK… TK doesn’t know what to say to that. He slumps back on the bench in the rig, breathing turning shallow as he imagines what could have happened to Carlos. The last time they’d seen each other—the last time they’d spoken—it had ended with them throwing insults across the kitchen island and with TK packing a bag and slamming the door behind him.

The thought that it might be the last memory they have together kills him inside.

He needs answers. Before he can face this new reality, he needs to know what happened, which means there’s only one thing he can do right now.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to hear it.”

*

Judd has followed him up to the mercifully empty bunkroom, refusing to leave after both his and Grace’s attempts to dissuade him had failed. TK ignores him for the most part, but he does give in to his request to put the phone on speaker. Much as he wants to deal with this on his own, it is a kind of comfort to have Judd’s steady presence next to him.

“Are you sure about this, TK?” Grace asks for the millionth time. TK appreciates her concern, but he needs this. He needs to hear it for himself.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then.”

He hears a few clicks and then the recording starts, Grace’s voice coming over the speaker.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

No response.

“Hello?”

The silence continues, broken only by static, and then what TK recognises as heavy, gasping breaths.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

A few more seconds pass, and then, “Grace.”

TK has to suppress a sob at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice—though, if he didn’t know for sure it was Carlos, he wouldn’t have recognised it. His words come out ragged and hoarse, riding on breaths that seem to be getting slower and more laboured by the second. TK clutches the phone tighter in his hand, biting down hard on his lip.

“It’s… It’s Carlos. I… Send help. Please.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Grace goes unanswered, and TK suddenly notices that he can no longer hear the sound of Carlos breathing. His own breaths hitch, his lungs refusing to expand properly, and his vision blurs with tears as he curls in on himself, hands braced on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly onto the covers.

He doesn’t notice Judd taking the phone back, nor is he aware of him moving to sit next to him until he’s being pulled into a strong embrace, TK’s head cradled against Judd’s chest. Judd whispers things TK doesn’t hear as his hands gently rub his back, the touch grounding him as he loses himself to tears and the overwhelming pain in his heart.

Five minutes later, TK’s phone rings.

Fifteen minutes after that, they arrive at the hospital.

*

“Please,” TK whispers, clutching onto the hand in both of his. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t… I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t, you understand me? I can’t. If you leave, I won’t survive it, so you just hang on for me, alright? Forget what the doctor thinks, you keep fighting, and come back to me. Please, Carlos. Please.”

TK looks up, hoping to see Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes staring right back at him, but of course they’re not. He might never see them again, which is something TK is still trying to wrap his head around. That’s not the only thing either; Carlos has so many injuries that he’s struggling to remember them all—the only thing he does remember with horrific clarity is the doctor’s words when he’d asked to speak to TK privately.

“We’ve done what we can, but I’m afraid Officer Reyes’s wounds are grave and there is a significant possibility that he may not make it beyond the next 48 hours. If he does, then we will re-evaluate, but currently his chances of recovery are slim. I’m truly sorry.”

TK wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to Carlos’s bruised knuckles. His other hand is completely shattered, and TK can barely stand to look at his face; it’s been beaten to a pulp, there’s a patch over one eye, and whoever attacked him even went so far as to rip out some of his teeth.

It’s grim, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his body. Torture is the only word to describe what happened to Carlos—brutal, savage, and without mercy, somebody tortured him in their home.

And he was alone.

*

“Son, you didn't know.”

“That’s no excuse. I left him.”

“Carlos pushed you away. He was trying to protect you.”

“And where was I when he needed protection?”

“TK—”

“Don’t, Dad.”

*

“TK, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please, Mitchell. I need to know. Carlos knew something was going to happen but he chose to drive me away instead of letting me in. I just… I just want answers.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

*

Carlos makes it through the 48 hours, but not without incident. Somewhere around hour 32, the machines had started going haywire, summoning an army of doctors who shoved TK out of the room, leaving him to stare in through the blinds as they worked to save Carlos’s life.

They’d done it, but it had taken TK hours to come down from the resulting panic attack.

*

“Oh my god.”

Mitchell is standing at his shoulder, watching him warily as he flips through the file she brought him from the station. She keeps looking around anxiously, as if her sergeant is going to appear and arrest her for misconduct at any moment, but TK only has eyes for the images and words in front of him.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the myriad of threatening messages they’d apparently found in Carlos’s desk.

She shakes her head. “We noticed he’d been acting weird, but we figured something was going on between you two. He never said a word to anyone that I know of.” She pauses and sighs shakily, placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder. “We, um. We found some at your house, too. In Carlos’s nightstand.”

TK stares, first at Mitchell, then at the file, then at Carlos, still just as silent and motionless as he’s been since the day all this happened. “Why?” he breathes, and he doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing the question to.

*

The doctors are amazed when they get to a week and Carlos’s heart is still beating. He still has a ventilator breathing for him and there’s still been no sign of him waking up, but he’s not giving up.

TK wants to say that he never doubted him, but he can’t ignore his paramedic training. He’d heard how badly Carlos was injured; he’d seen the crime scene photos and all the blood coating their bedroom.

(He’d needed several minutes in the bathroom to recover from that sight)

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, all the signs pointed to Carlos not making it.

But he’s still here. Still fighting. And TK can’t help but let that little bit of hope into his heart.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #judd ryder #lone star #911ls #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #📍 anon #userkimmy #userjillian #tuserjenny #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyeslonestartag #userbones

[sigmaleph]

@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.

First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...

Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.

This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.

if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese

I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.

As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.

This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.

The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[

Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.

It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).

Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?

This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Eat at better restaurants.

With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket

What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.

Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!

It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.

Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.

I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.

At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.

I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.

how.

Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.

Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.

What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.

This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.

Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.

The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.

still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.

The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.

There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.

Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.

I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.

Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.

[original post]

#dreamwidth crosspost

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Opposites attract (Paul Lahote x Reader) Chapter 4

Warnings: Swearing?

Word Count: 1.7k

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

Life had a round about way of giving you what you had longed for all along.

You had spoke to Paul for hours up on the mountain side, the world around you quiet as the only thing you could focus on was him. You sat side by side, invisible sparks crackling between warm skin as he told you everything there was to know about your new found wolfiness. He reassured you that even though you were mates, it didn’t mean you had to feel pressured into anything, an imprint was there to be anything for their other half, a friend, a lover.. You shivered at the sound of being Paul Lahote’s lover, you had to stop yourself from pinching yourself a few times.

It was dark by the time you made the descent down the frosty mountain, in normal circumstances you would have most likely died of hypothermia by now, but as you’d established, life was anything but normal.

You were laughing at something Paul had said when you heard a twig snap in the distance, it caught Pauls attention to, he tensed, pushing you behind him. Your face scrunched against his back as a foul smell invaded your senses and that’s when it happened.

A flash of red hair was all it took for your body to start quivering.

—————————————————————————---------------

“So that was a vampire?” You were changing back into clothing, your other stuff shredded in the shift. “I thought they would look… less human?” Your nose scrunched up when you thought about the vampire stench that came off the one they called Victoria.

You looked towards Paul who was tense with a capital T. He was mad that he didn’t sense her approach sooner, hating the fact that you were newly shifted and still had much to learn about being a wolf. What if something had happened to you? Luckily the red headed vamp disappeared when you and Paul started chasing her, the pack had followed behind in a second, your link alerting them to the threat nearby.

You walked closer to him, scared that he might be too angry. His back was rippling and his muscles tensed. Your small warm hand reached up to touch the space between his shoulder blades and it was like magic. In an instant he relaxed as invisible electrical current crackled between your skin.

He turned slowly and looked down at you, his gaze warm and calm when he looked into your eyes. He took your hand and pulled you into him, your bodies colliding in a much needed embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. You sighed and snuggled your face into his toned chest as his arms came around you like a cocoon of safety.

“Yes Y/N, that, was a vampire. The only reason she’s here is because of the fucking Cullens and their pet project.” You felt his jaw tense on the top of your head, your hands rubbing small circles on the lower part of his back.

“What do you mean their pet project?” You hadn’t found out about Bella yet and her involvement with the Cullens. Vampires were your natural enemy now, but some part of you still found it romantic that a blood sucking demon fell in love with a human. A human that you didn’t really know, had only met in passing when she was little and used to visit the Blacks. Since then, you’d never seen her again, but by the sounds of things, you’d be seeing her very soon.

Sam had agreed to helping the Cullens. The pack had a treaty with them but it was unheard of for Wolves and Vampires to help each other, at least that’s what you were told anyway, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that when you got angry a bushy tail would maybe appear.

Alice, one of the Cullens, could see the future? Honestly things were still feeling like a dream. Anyway, she could see the future and had a vision of a big bad newborn vampire army appearing from the watery depths below and invading forks. Naturally the Cullens would have handled it on their own if they could, but the numbers predicted were too many and they needed help. That’s where you guys came in. They would never see you coming.

“So were going to learn how to fight these newborns?” Paul had sat down while giving you the lowdown, his arms never leaving your waist, he just plopped you on his knee instead. You felt him tense again.

“Paul if you tense anymore you’re going to break a bone.” Your fingers found the back of his head, playing with and twisting the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re not going to learn to fight anything.” That made you halt your finger twirling. You looked at him with a scowl and he raised an eyebrow as if saying “try me.”

“Im a wolf like the rest of you now, just because i’m your soulmate doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know how to defend myself or learn how to.. you know… be a frikin wolf! What if you weren’t around and some vampire came about and boom, Y/N doesn’t know how to defend herself, then what?” You stood up from his lap, pacing slightly in front of him.

“I’ll never leave your side so you don’t have to worry about that babe.” That made your heart flutter but also angered you at the same time.

“As much as I love that Paul, it’s not realistic, what if Sam sends me off with other members of the pack or what if something comes up and you’re just not around? You can’t guarantee that you’ll always be around.” You watched Paul huff. Actually huff life a child would when they were told off.

“Awh come on you big baby, i’ll be fine!” You were interrupted by Sam and Emily coming through the door, Quil, Embry and Jake following behind, Leah coming in seconds after the rest.

“Who’s fine where, what?” Leah grabbed a cookie from a bowl Emily put out, she still want gotten over the feeling of betrayal when Sam left her to go to Emily, but you thought you saw a glimpse of… something there. Maybe she was getting used to being around them and the guys more. You’d like to think it would help now that you’d be around too, she had a confidant, a shoulder to lean on. You’d have to talk to her after, when you were both alone, find out if she was okay with everything going on. It’s not exactly like you could help it, but still, you wouldn’t be a good friend if you didn’t at least check in.

“Nothing, Paul is just worried about me learning to fight with the rest of you guys, you know, for the big, impending doom of the vampire army.” Sam frowned.

“I have to admit, I kinda agree with Paul on this one.” Leah stopped munching on her cookie when Sam finished his sentence. Embry and Quil looked around awkwardly and Jake wasn’t really paying too much attention.

“The training starts in two days and you’ve only just turned for the first time today, it might be too early for you to gain control over your wolf.”

You couldn’t believe Sam was siding with Paul. What the hell was the point of you turning and being chosen to be a Wolf, being told you’d have to give up everything you’d been working towards, for you to then be told you can’t fight and do what the fuck you were designed to now do.

“This is bullshit. I was perfectly fine being a normal girl, studying, working towards something I’d been dreaming of my whole life. Now this happens and you tell me i’m not ready. Whatever.” Leah stood at the same time you did, you heard Paul’s chair scrape back.

“Babe come on, it’s not like that.” You glared at him.

“Then what’s it like Paul, because i’m sure if I was a guy and didn’t have an imprint and the roles were reversed, i’d be training with the rest of you, newly shifted or not.” You grabbed your phone and house keys and made your way to the door, Leah walking beside you, most likely knowing exactly how you felt.

——————————————————————————————————

The next morning you woke to 20 missed calls and 40 texts, mostly from Paul a couple from Sam, one from Emily and even one from Jake. You snorted as you turned over in bed, noticing Leah sprawled out like a starfish, mouth hanging open, hair in every direction. Same old Leah.

You opened the message from Emily, wondering what she would have to say, she wasn’t someone you’d really spoke to before because of the whole love triangle but she seemed nice.

“I spoke to Sam about how unfair it was for you to miss out, all sorted ;)” .. what the hell did that mean?

Then you read the messages from Sam. “Training starts tomorrow at 8am, don’t be late, sorry about what happened the other day, i’m not used to having a pair of imprints in the pack.”

You could see where he was coming from. As the leader it was probably hard to always please everyone and Sam was obviously siding with Paul because he’d been part of his pack longer, friends when they were younger and he knew what it felt like to have the need to protect your mate. Still, they would just have to get used to it.

Leah soon woke and then left, pack duties. You would be put on duties soon enough, but first, you needed training. So that left you with a day of doing nothing, well, that was until you heard a knock on your.. bedroom window?

You grabbed the first thing that was closest to you for protection, a hairdryer. You hadn’t opened your curtains yet so couldn’t see what horror awaited, what if that red headed vamp followed you, but wait, wouldn’t you smell her? Or are your abilities not heightened enough yet? You got closer to the window when there was a knock again. The closer you got the happier you felt. Frikin Paul. Curtains pulled back, balcony door opened, your soulmate stumbled through wearing nothing but shorts.

“Babe, you’re a werewolf, were you seriously going to attack me with a hairdryer?"

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

@mariasblogsworld @rosella26 @punkfrogz @jjpogueprincess

@angeliken

@yoongitoo

@stinkii-boii

@geminidas

#twilight #twilight imagine #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #twilight fluff #mates #soulmate #imprint #bond #paul lahote #paullahote #quillette #quileute #twilight series #newmoon #eclipse #breaking dawn #wolves #jacob black #jake #quil #embry call #sam uley #paul lahote x reader #cullen #cullens #edward cullen #esme cullen #rosalie cullen #rosalie hale

[theramseyloft]

7/4/21 Loft Notes

Loft Notes:

Barron and Passenger seem to have become a thing.

Nobu tread Amiga

Creampuff and Artemis both jumped in my lap.

I have a lap Imp

Scan briefly came to see me.

Nettle's egg is fertile, making him officially a grown-ass man.

The cock currently highest on the list to retire is Pippin, for his flighty genes.

He has a home lined up, but just hatched a peep out of Lucy.

Once they wean, we'll bring him in and prepare to send him home.

Hmm...

On second thought, it might be better to retire Farthing.

Once Pippin is out of the picture, Farthing may try to woo Lucy.

And the Almond gene is homozygous lethal.

Patron: "Farthing doesn't seem particularly great at like, having children without you seeing him tread the hens though? it seems a bit of a shame to retire him on a possibility from an outside pov considering iirc you really liked his structure and mellow personality and yet his only contribution will end up being Lucy"

"if they pair up and you remove the eggs asap then the homozygous lethal problem will not happen as the fetus will not develop on time and he can then 100% be bumped up in the retirement list while you birth control them"

Patron: "I was just reading about what makes almond homozygous lethal and I can see the concern with almond being a dominant gene. Has he shown interest in Lucy? Beyond his usual I mean?"

Yes. The only reason he isn't after her presently is her clear preference for Pippin.  While Pippin had Cookie, Lucy preferred Farthing.

Lucy is contribution enough, especially with so many young cocks about to come of age.

It isn't a low possibility that Farthing and Lucy will pair once Pippin is gone.  It is practically a guarantee, with a minor chance that they won't.

On that, retiring Farthing is better for the flock.

I am very ill at the moment. I actually pulled this up to say that Bird-Bird's remains keep getting pulled out into the same place in the yard.

Not by an animal.

They aren't chewed.

Just lifted from where they were decomposing and set in the grass.

This has happened every few days since she died.

So this time, I gave her remains to the one hill of fire ants halfway across the yard that I maintain peace with.

Let's see the hateful fuckers dig her out now.

Patron: "Think its kids doing it?"

Humans, of what ever age.

If it's kids playing in my bushes that just don't want to deal with a gross thing, for one thing, why dig her up? But for the other, she isn't in the bushes anymore, so hopefully they'll leave her the fuck alone.

That corner of the holly is where especially loved pets of mine are burried.

So it's extremely upsetting that that site is now being dug up and disturbed.

Bluh.

The price of Royal Wing Classic Mix has gone up to $27.99 a bag.

Thaaaat's gonna suck.

We go through two of those bags a week.

Patron: "How much was it previously?"

$24.99 last week.

Patron: "That's nearly an extra bag of seed a month at the previous price"

Yeah, that's a significant jump.

Patron: "It adds up to a quarter of a year extra you're paying for"

wasn't it about this time last year that it jumped up from $19.99 to $24.99?

Patron: "it used to be 19.99????????? double oof. why is it increasing so much??"

Patron: "Have you considered buying feed from Chewy? the least expensive pigeon feed on there is $24.70. n shipping is free if you buy 2 or more bags. it seems like thats what all the racers do nowadays"

Patron: "Ya, I think at that price you should switch to Chewy. https://www.chewy.com/versele-laga-classic-pigeon-food/dp/259128"

Holy shit!

Shipping is the whole reason I wasn't getting that blend in the first place!

I wouldn't have to add the extra beans and safflowers!

Ordered for next week.

Patron: "Chewy has good customer service too. (In case you get a bag with weevils or something). They are very quick to send out a new one after chatting about any problems."

Today was Grocery Day.

We spent $17.27 at TSC on Perpethrine ($15.99) and tax ($1.28)

$60.46 at another TSC on 2 50lb bags of Royal Wing Classic Mix ($27.99 x 2) and tax ($4.48)

and $56.16 at Chewy.com on 2 50lb. bags of corn free Verse-Laga pigeon feed ($26 x 2) and tax ($4.16) Shipping was free.

Bringing our PayPal Balance to $329.38

[sunlightandsuffering]

I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT DIKEODJRKRK LIKE SHES EVEN NICE TO REINER

😂😂😂 bro Its kinda funny tho Eren would lose his fucking mind.

She likes Reiner... fucking Reiner.

She keeps sending him flirtatious glances and cute little winks every time she drops off a scone or a water refill and Eren simultaneously wants to pull his hair out and stick his fork through Reiner's eyeball. And the blonde man sitting across from him knows it. He keeps giving Eren nervous looks and he's grabbed at the collar of his shirt too many times now just to be readjusting it.

Does she not SEE him or something. He doesn't want to be vain but Eren knows regardless of Mikasa's long lost love for him, he's a good-looking guy, he can wheel girls and it's easy. Objectively Reiner is also good-looking, but they're just not the same, Reiner is built like a wall and Eren is a bit more lithe and his face more chiselled. He personally thinks he's a bit better-looking than Reiner but still what the fuck Mikasa?

Well time to turn on the charm, he's usually okay at seducing waitresses, it's been a hot minute though.

Turns out he's not so great at it or maybe Mikasa just hates him he's not entirely sure. At every turn she stonewalls him.

Flirty wink: ignored.

Writing his number down on a napkin and slyly handing it to her: balled up and thrown into the trash. Coincidentally running into her after coming from the bathroom: IGNORED

Flirtatious banter: she takes the opportunity to smile and laugh at Reiner.

He's on the worst losing streak of his life and he doesn't understand.

"Hey, Mikasa is it? That's a really pretty name, does it have any meaning or anything." The line is a last resort and he only does it because he can't think of anything else. He just knows he needs to make some kind of impression on her.

She gives him an unimpressed look, "No, I'm surprised a guy like you said it correctly though, usually everyone gets it wrong." His jaw drops, a guy like him?? A GUY LIKE HIM?? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN??

He can't believe the love of his life hates him because he's been stereotyped as a douchebag. How tragic.

He tries to rebound from her epic destruction of his character, "Well I'm sure you haven't met a lot of guys like me I'm a bit different than what you'd expect." She looks at him in disbelief, but hey at least she's not trying to flash Reiner her epic rack through her low-cut shirt anymore. Now she's just irritated. "Guys like you are a dime a dozen. I bet your name is Kyle, you're probably in business school and president of your fraternity. You do stand-up paddle board yoga on the weekend with your dog at your parent's beach house and you flirt with anything that walks because you can. I've got news for you Kyle, not interested."

All of their friends are just kind of staring in horror at the epic takedown they've just witnessed but Eren shrugs it off he can take the verbal abuse, there's just one thing he can't get over.

KYLE?? SHE THOUGHT HIS NAME WAS KYLE?? Why is he being stereotyped like this, why isn't Reiner, he looks like way more of an asshole than he does.

His face downturns and his mood sours, he doesn't even want to flirt with her anymore, she's just being mean now.

Well might as well stick it to her today, give her a memorable story for her friends, he'll come back another time without a man bun and maybe she'll change her tune. "My name is actually Eren. I'm in pre-med, definitely not involved in a fraternity but Reiner over there is," he points at his blonde friend, he needs her to know he's a douche, SHE CAN'T like Reiner more than him.

He leaves a wad of cash on the table with a generous tip for his meal, "I do actually enjoy stand-up paddle boarding but I don't have a dog and on the weekends I usually volunteer at my dad's clinic. I don't usually flirt with a lot of girls, only ones with dark hair and bad attitudes but since you're so obviously not interested Mi-Ka-Sa," he draws out her name as he stands, towering over her a small grin on his face, "I'll take it as my loss for today but I'll be sure to see you next time."

He leaves her with a wink and he doesn't bother to look back as he leaves the restaurant, waving at Levi who is busy cleaning up behind the cafe counter where they sell pastries.

Mikasa feels AWFUL. That's the meanest she'd ever been in her life but in her defence she's having an awful day and she'd thought the blonde guy, Reiner was cute. He's just her type, blond, tall and with pretty eyes. Of course she'd noticed that the other boy was equally attractive if not more so but she'd written him off as an asshole almost immediately. So to say she's shocked by his response to her is a bit of an understatement. She's a terrible human being and she almost considers running after him, but she still needs to help his friends pay their bill. She gives the debit machine a mournful look as her guilt kicks in. She'd taken all of the stress of her day out on him, it wasn't his fault her car had broke down this morning and that almost every consecutive customer she'd had today had been a dick in one way or another.

She's about to awkwardly ask who wants to pay their bill next when a curly haired girl pipes up from her spot in the corner of the booth. "Hey I know you have absolutely no reason too, but can you do us a favour and run after him. I can almost guarantee it'll be the best decision of your life."

Everyone else around the table is nodding seriously and she doesn't understand at all but well if they all agree, who is she to say no. She leaves the debit machine and speed-walks out of the restaurant, picking up to a quick jog when she spots him well into the parking lot and almost to a silver car.

"Hey!" She yells but he doesn't hear her, he's fiddling around on his phone. She breaks into a sprint just to catch up and she curses how wide their parking lot is.

"Hey you! Eren!" She yells again when she gets close enough and he finally stops, turning to look at her. She stops in front of him, wheezing a bit to catch her breath, god she's out of shape these days.

"What can I do for you Mikasa?" He asks, as if she didn't just insult him.

"Give me-" She wheezes again, "a minute." "Got it." He says and she takes a few more deep breaths before she finally speaks. "I'm really sorry about everything that just happened, I um-I've been having a bad day and I took it out on you. I didn't mean it, I was just being a dick."

She looks up to observe his reaction, preparing to be reamed out for her rudeness but he just grins, green eyes twinkling. "What time are you off?"

"Ugh-six?"

"Good. I'll pick you up at six."

He turns and starts walking towards his car again.

She is dumbfounded. What the hell is she supposed to do, did he just ask her out. "Wait are you asking me out, like on a date." "Do you want it to be a date Mikasa?" "Yes?" "Then it's a date." He gives her one last wink and she's left staring after him unsure how to deal with the entire interaction. Apparently now she has a date.

#why did i write a whole fanfic #I AM BUSY WITH MY A/B/O FIC #I need to stop! #eremika #why is eren so smooth tho for real?? #lys's drabbles

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

bright lights and baseless worries - q. hughes

When ya girl is finally on a monthlong break from school, she’s able to get in more than one piece a week. I knew I wanted to do some holiday piece for Quinn, and 100% got this idea in the shower the other day and just sat down and got to writing. In my totally unbiased opinion, it’s very cute, and I’d love to hear what you think - I love reading the tags on reblogs and having y’all in my inbox!

word count: 3.3k+

“Do you want to meet my parents?” 

Your fork stopped halfway to your mouth, the spaghetti threatening to fall off the end. “Do I want to what?”

Quinn laughed, taking a sip of water as he sat across from you at his dining room table. “Do you want to meet my parents? They’re flying in after the next roadie, in a week and a half or so. They really want to meet you, but I get if you don’t want to, or you feel like it’s too soon. I’ll make up an excuse for you, say you were called into work for some big project or something that you can’t get away from.” 

You weren’t sure if there was some unspoken protocol for when was too soon to meet your boyfriend’s parents, but you were pretty sure six months wasn’t pushing it. “Quinn, I’m still in university,” you said with a laugh. “There’s no work for me to get called into. And I’d love to meet them, if you’re sure that’s what you want. I don’t want you feeling like you have to because your parents want to meet me. I want it to be because you want it too.”

“Of course I want you to meet them,” he said, smiling softly at you. “Almost more than that, I want them to meet you. Sure, you’ve seen each other over FaceTime and they know what I’ve told them about you—”

“All good things, I hope?” You quipped.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Nothing but the best. But you’re incredible, and I want them to be able to meet  you, so they get to see how amazing you are in person and don’t think I’m crazy any more for how much I talk about you, So there’s that.” 

You ducked your head, tapping your fingers against the dark grain of the table. “Well, I’d love to meet them, Q. Anyone who’s spent any length of time around you knows how much you love your family, and I’m so excited to finally get to know the people who raised you into the incredible man you are today.”

Quinn blushed shyly. “It’s going to be great.”

---

Vancouver in December had always been one of your favorite things. Vancouver any time, really, but the holiday season really let your hometown shine something special. Literally. From the first of the month, all of downtown was decked out from tree to storefront to lamppost in yards of bright, sparkling lights. And then there was the massive, hundred-foot tall Christmas tree that lit up the square in front of the art gallery, throngs of couples and little kids running up to its branches in a bid to get their picture taken. It had finally started to snow a few weeks ago, so a light dusting covered the sidewalks, giving way to the shoe prints of the hundreds of passersby. 

Downtown was where you found yourself now, wandering around on a Wednesday afternoon after you had been let out of your final, your purse on your shoulder and nothing but sheer worry in your heart. Quinn had come back from the road trip that morning; his parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning. His parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning, well under 24 hours away, and you had no clue what to get them. You had been in clothing stores, homegoods stores, souvenir shops, but were no closer to figuring out what to buy. You had been about to buy a nice bottle of wine, one of yours and Quinn’s favorites, but then you wondered if maybe it was weird to give wine at a first meeting, or if they’d look at you funny for gifting a bottle of pinot grigio when you were only 21. And it had to be something they could bring back on the plane, so nothing that was too fragile or something that might spill or anything with over 3.4 ounces of liquid. You should have thought about that before considering the wine. 

You had texted your roommates in a panic, but letting them know that i’m meeting quinn’s parents tomorrow and I have no idea what the FUCK to get them please help hadn’t yielded any particularly useful suggestions. Aliya had suggested a tie for his dad, which Sara had vetoed immediately, saying that a tie was both far too formal and far too strange a gift to extend. Sara, who was the apartment’s resident caffeine addict, had recommended a few of her recent favorite types of “artisan, hand-roasted coffee.” It had seemed like a good idea at first, with everyone and their mother getting into craft versions of every drink imaginable, but then you started overthinking it, thinking that maybe they wouldn’t like the roast, or the undertones, or it would be too bitter and they’d drink it and hate it and then they’d hate you and — 

You huffed, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes and leaning up against the column of some storefront you had spent less than five minutes in. Quinn chose that exact moment to call, and his timing couldn’t have been any more welcome. “God, I’m such a mess right now,” you said by way of greeting. 

“Everything good?” He asked lightly, but you could hear the concern laced under his voice. 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding, “but I’ve been to at least a half-dozen stores in downtown and I’m starting to get worried because I still have absolutely no clue what to get your parents tomorrow and nobody seems to have any good ideas.”

“You realize you don’t have to get them anything, right?” Quinn asked. “Seriously, they’re not expecting it, and I promise they won’t think any less of you if you don’t.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Q, my mom’s going to skin me alive if she heard I showed up empty-handed to meet your parents, but that’s besides the point. I want to make a good impression.” Your voice cracked. “I really want to make a good impression.”

He sighed on the other end of the line. “I know you do, babe, but I guarantee that no matter if you buy my dad a Rolex or show up in your pyjamas, they’re going to love you.”

“But how do you know that?”

“They’ll love you because I love you.” He spent a few more minutes on the phone with you, trying his damndest to reassure you that Jim and Ellen weren’t nearly as scary as you somehow thought they were, that they’d welcome you with open hearts and open arms just like his brothers had. The Devils had played in Vancouver the month prior, and much to Quinn’s delight, you and Jack had gotten along like a house on fire. Jack had made good on a promise he had made while he was in British Columbia, sending you a cache of Quinn’s baby photos as soon as he got back to his apartment in New Jersey. 

You slid your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, feeling marginally more reassured that his parents wouldn’t immediately demand you break up with their son if you didn’t spend the equivalent of a year’s tuition on welcome gifts for them, but nervous nonetheless and no closer to your goal than when you drove into downtown hours before. 

---

You tapped your heel nervously on the floor of Quinn’s living room, fingers nervously twisting your rings around as Quinn leaned up against the couch, glancing between you and his phone. “Mom says they’re almost here.” Quinn would have picked them up from the airport himself, but he had had a morning practice, and then they decided to get settled into their hotel room, so them coming over to his apartment before you were all set to go out to dinner was the first time either of you were going to see them. He looked at you, your brow still furrowed from overthinking. “I know you’re still worried, and I get that, babe. I was terrified when I met your parents for the first time. But you’re going to do amazing.” Your parents lived in Surrey, forty minutes away in the same house you’d grown up in, so it was a much less formal affair when they had asked to meet Quinn. You went over to their house for brunch one weekend, and that was it; Quinn was right, though. That hadn’t meant he was any less nervous. If anything, it only amplified his worries because if he wasn’t able to make a good first impression in one of the most low-stress environments a person could think of, what would that say about him? What would your parents think? But just like he said, it had been such a non-issue that by the end, he was wondering what he had been worried about in the first place. 

“I know it’ll be fine,” you conceded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “It just seems different, somehow. Like, I’ve met people’s parents before, friends and exes and people at school, and of course I wanted them to like me. I think it’s just…” You paused, looking up at the ceiling and trying to gather your words, “I think it’s because I see this, us, going somewhere. I see it lasting. So if you’re going to be in my life for the foreseeable future, then so are they, so it just seems that much more important that I like them and that they like me.” 

Quinn bent over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Don’t worry.” The doorbell rung, and you took the thirty seconds it took for Quinn to go over and open it to turn your phone on, checking in the camera to make sure you didn’t have a piece of kale stuck in your teeth. You didn’t, but you really should have known better. Quinn would have told you. 

You stood up, plastering a smile on your face as he pulled the door open and his parents stepped into the entryway. His dad had just hugged him when his mom pulled him in, rubbing his back as she greeted him. “So good to see you, Quinn, Chag sameach.”

“Chag sameach, Mom,” Quinn said back, before stepping back and nodding to you. You stepped forward hesitantly, Quinn’s warm hand on the small of your back quelling your fears as much as he could. 

He had barely opened his mouth to introduce you before his mom burst forward. “Is this her?” 

You relaxed slightly, nodding. “In the flesh. So nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Weinberg-Hughes.”

She waved you off. “Ellen, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’s so nice to finally get to see you in person!” She pulled you into a hug that looked just as heartfelt as the one she had given her son, and it only took a few seconds for you to relax into her touch. 

“Jim,” his dad greeted you with a warm handshake. 

You turned back towards the coffee table. “I, uh, got these for you two when I was downtown the other day.” You handed his mom a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and his dad a potted succulent, something you originally hadn’t been too sure about but Quinn had assured you his dad would love. “It’s got a travel-safe box that came with it, so it’ll be good to go on the plane ride back,” you said. 

His dad smiled. “Quinn told you I’m not much of a green thumb, hm?” Quinn’s eyes widened; his dad laughed. “It’s true, I love plants but I seem to somehow kill everything I touch, so this really is a wonderful gift. Thank you.” 

“Did you light the candles yet?” His mom asked. 

Quinn shook his head, nodding to where his menorah sat on the sideboard. “I wanted to wait for you.” If his mom was going to be there for the first night of Hanukkah, he was going to wait for her if he valued his own well-being. The candles were already in a box off to the side; Ellen opened them and placed first the shamash, then the first candle all the way to the right as Quinn went into the kitchen for a lighter, coming out a second later. You made to move out of the room, unsure if it was disrespectful to stay. You got your answer quickly. 

“Stay,” Quinn said. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“It’s part of the tradition that the whole family — whoever’s around, obviously, stays for the lighting. That’s you, now,” Ellen explained. Your cheeks burned, but not out of embarrassment. Out of the fact that Quinn had been exactly right, just like you knew he would be, just like he had told you he would be. His parents welcomed you quicker than your own best friend’s had, and five minutes after meeting them in person for the first time his mom had already all but called you family. You were giddy inside. You perched on the couch as she and Quinn recited the Hebrew blessings, a soft smile on your face as you watched the interaction. You knew your boyfriend loved his mom. That much was clear, from the times you were both on FaceTime to the phone conversations you overheard to the way that he spoke about her with Brock, or Elias, or really anyone who would listen. But it was something special. 

You gathered in the living room after the menorah was lit, your heels abandoned by the door and your body curled into Quinn’s as the four of you waited for the candles to burn down. Ellen and Jim supplemented Jack’s childhood stories of Quinn with some of their own, one of which had your boyfriend groaning into your shoulder, asking his dad if you really needed to know that story in particular. Jim just laughed, clapping his son on the back, telling him that the embarrassing anecdotes were really a litmus test of sorts. “If she doesn’t run after hearing this one, you’ll know that she’s a keeper,” he said while winking at you. You stayed. 

You had a 6:30 reservation at a restaurant downtown, some place one of the other guys’ girlfriends had recommended when you sent a message in the group chat earlier asking where to take Quinn’s parents because I def don’t want to seem pretentious but like they also need to know that I have taste. He drove with his dad in the passenger’s seat, leaving you and his mom to share the second row. “Have you ever seen his freshman year roster photo from Michigan?” she asked, pulling out her phone. 

Quinn groaned from the driver’s seat. “Mom, do you really need to show her?”

“You’re so young, it’s cute!” Ellen protested.

“I was 17 and didn’t know how to do my hair yet and was so nervous for the photographer to take it that my smile looks like it was frozen onto my face.”

You ducked your head, poorly concealing a snort of laughter. “Okay, if it’s half as good as Quinn makes it seem, I’ve got to see this one.” Ellen handed her phone to you just as Quinn pulled into the parking lot; you handed it back a minute later, the grin on your face still evident as he parked the car, walking around to your side to open your door. 

Picture didn’t scare you off?” he asked jokingly. 

You stood up quickly, pressing a brief kiss against his cheek. “Not at all.”

The food was incredible, not like you had expected any less. The salmon was maybe the best you had ever had, and the crème brûlée you and Quinn shared was nothing short of spectacular. You had left the last bite for him, knowing how much he loved the dessert, but he shook his head with a small smile, gently pushing the bowl back to you. The gesture hadn’t been missed by his mom, who had poorly concealed her happiness at her son’s kindness. You headed back to Quinn’s apartment after a walk by the harbor with his parents, a little after nine. “We got you two a little something,” his dad said as his mom reached into her purse. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you said quickly as Ellen pulled out a small, flat wrapped package.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Just something we thought would look nice in here,” she gestured around the living room with her spare hand., holding it out to you. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Your face burst into a grin as Quinn looked over at the photo, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your shoulder. “Happy Hanukkah, Ellen.” You ran your thumb carefully under the seams, popping open the paper with as much precision as the moment was affording you. You unfolded it, looking up at your boyfriend. “Hang on. Is this…?” 

He nodded. “I think so.” You were looking down at a picture, set in a silver frame that shone so much you could see your reflection. But it wasn’t a normal picture, one that you’d throw up on your Instagram story or delete from your camera roll without a second thought. It was from that September, a few months after you and Quinn had started dating and the first time he had taken you to meet the boys. You had already met Brock and Elias a few weeks earlier when they came back into town for training, but it was the first night he had really let you into his life in that way, started to take down some of his walls and trust you with every part of himself. You had been curled up with Quinn on a couch in Brock’s living room, towards the end of a party he had thrown to welcome everyone to the start of a new season. You didn’t even remember what Quinn was talking about, but as you looked down at the photo, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist and your head resting on his chest, you realized that it could have been Poptarts or Disney movies or the deepest darkest secrets from the furthest parts of your soul, because it was you, and it was him, and that’s all that mattered. You didn’t even realize you had started to tear up until Quinn handed you a tissue. “Thanks,” you mumbled. You looked back up at his parents, crumbling it in your hand. “Seriously, Jim, Ellen, thank you for this. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but thank you for getting it. It means a lot.” 

His dad gave you a hug as his mom moved over to Quinn’s kitchen, plucking her bouquet out of a vase and walking back over to hug first her son, then you. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re half the woman Quinn says you are, and I think you’re more, then you deserve the world.” 

Your cheeks heated as they walked through the front door. Quinn gently took the picture from you, admiring it as he padded over to the sideboard and placed it next to the menorah, whose candles had long since burnt down. He walked back over towards you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. He pulled back, a wry smile on his face as your foreheads pressed together. “Do you finally believe me?”

He didn’t even have to explain his words, because you knew. Finally believe him that you didn’t have anything to worry about, finally believe him that his parents would love you, finally believe him that thing you had going on wasn’t one he wanted to give up on. Not now, not ever. Your head nodded before your words could catch up to you, spilling out of your mouth like they had always been there. “Yes.”

#hockey imagines #quinn hughes #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl

[suddencolds]

even the tiniest drabble with kaeya and albedo where one of them has a cold would make me super happy. i don't even care which one is sick, really, but if you want something more specific i feel like albedo being the sick one could be cute? and albedo has a canon liking for dessert/sweet things so maybe kaeya brings him some hot chocolate????

Hi anon!! First, the mention of sweets is so cute?? I live for Kaeya knowing that and specifically bringing Albedo hot chocolate 😭 (Also to the one other anon who asked for Albedo sjfhajfsh), I’ve always wanted to try my hand at writing Kaebedo, so I hope you enjoy! <3

—

Albedo is in a hurry.

“Good morning,” he says, when Kaeya runs into him just outside Jean’s office. “Forgive me. I can’t stay to talk.”

“Good morning to you too,” Kaeya says. “Busier than usual?”

Up close, Albedo looks slightly off—he’s paler than usual, save for a flush high in his cheeks. Closer inspection reveals that he’s shivering, too, if only slightly.

“Much to get done,” Albedo says back. “I have another shipment I need to attend to.” Before Kaeya can find a chance to respond, he’s already turning, heading for the exit.

Kaeya sighs. “Albedo.”

Albedo turns on his heels, sniffing softly. “What?”

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Kaeya asks, as nonchalantly as he can. Albedo looks surprised for a moment, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. Then he nods.

“I am fine, I promise. I think I’ve...” he trails off, his gaze going distant and indistinct, and ducks into his shoulder. “...hiih’TSCHh!... caught a cold, snf.” Albedo clears his throat; Kaeya almost misses the grimace that follows, the discomfort that catches in his eyeline for a split second, there and then gone. “I should be back to normal in three to five days. Until then, I suggest you keep your distance.”

“Should you be working if you’re ill?” Kaeya asks, skeptical. “If you’re just running deliveries, I can help you with that.”

“It’s only a cold. No fever, and no symptoms that would warrant any additional concern…” Albedo rubs his nose, sniffling into a raised fist. His breath catches again, sharply, without a release. He sighs.  “...I’m sorry. I should really go. I would have liked to stay to chat..”

Then he’s slipping out the door to the Knights’ headquarters, and Kaeya—who still has a day of work ahead of him—doesn’t follow. Still, it bothers him as he goes out with the Knights. It’s been a winter colder than most, and it can’t be much better on Dragonspine, which is cold enough already without taking into consideration the variations of the seasons.

Albedo is honest when it comes to things like this. Kaeya knows that if he says it’s really nothing, he will be fine.

But he’s well-enough acquainted with illnesses to know how simple colds can still be fairly miserable. Albedo had seemed well enough, but appearances can be deceptive, and a cold is a cold. The weather in Dragonspine can’t possibly be conducive to his recovery; Kaeya can’t imagine the stress from running errands is helping, either.

—

Days like this aren’t frequent, but they’re tiring. Albedo gets caught in a frenetic back-and-forth between the camp at the base of Dragonspine, his own laboratory campsite up in the mountains, and the Knights of Favonius Headquarters in Mondstadt, transporting materials from outpost to outpost, double-checking the packaging, informing Sucrose and Timaeus about how the more fragile—or perishable—items should be handled.

By the time he’s back at his campsite, the exhaustion is starting to catch up with him. There are torches, set up around the periphery of the campsite, and usually they do a fair job of keeping the campsite area warm. Today—maybe owing to the fact that it’s particularly windy, or maybe only because it’s a colder winter than usual—he finds that it’s not exactly the most comfortable place to work.

Albedo takes a seat on one of the crates. He’s certainly well enough to be here—the cold he’s caught is an annoyance, but he’s certainly worked through worse. His throat hurts when he swallows, and every few minutes he has to pause to sniffle, wipe his nose briefly into the handkerchief Lisa had insisted that he take, crane his head over his shoulder to cough in an effort to avoid contamination of the materials he’s been using in his alchemy.

It’s disruptive, in the most inconvenient of ways, and he’s not getting any better out here, but he has so many new orders to sort through. He has a new shipment of Fontaine’s specialties to investigate. Rest can wait.

It’s not long before he’s raising the handkerchief to his face—he suspects it will stop being useful soon, for how much he’s used it—in ticklish, agonizing anticipation.

“Hiih... hiIH’izZZSch!!”

He winces, sniffling. The sneeze is just wrenching enough to send pain lancing through his throat.

“HiiiH’GZSChh!” Now his nose is running too, which is even worse. Still, he can’t bear to open his eyes; the anticipation is still there, persistent. “Hheh… heEHh… hehh’NGKT’shh! snf, snf...” He thinks the smoke might be getting to him. Perhaps it would do to try to sneeze this cold out—to expel all of the pathogens first, before his cold has the chance to worsen. Judging by how things are looking, it might happen even if he doesn’t do anything to encourage it.

“heh… hehH’iiSSSCh! HEHH’GKTschh!”

“Woah, bless you,” says a familiar voice.

Albedo’s eyes snap open. “Kaeya…?” He winces, still sniffling, and lowers the handkerchief from his face. Something must be wrong, he thinks—it must be urgent, too, if Jean had thought to send Kaeya up here on such a short notice. “Don’t tell me I mixed up the delivery shipments, snf, rest assured, I’ll… h-have it sorted as soon as I… hiih… can... hiih’GZZSchh!”

“Bless you again,” Kaeya says, sounding unbothered. “Relax, nothing’s wrong. Just thought I’d check up on you.”

It’s a puzzling response, to say the least. Albedo frowns. “Did you need something?”

“No, but I brought hot chocolate,” Kaeya says. When Albedo looks up, he sees that Kaeya is holding two mugs, one in each hand—both of which are miraculously still steaming. He holds one out in Albedo’s direction. “Sucrose tells me you have a taste for sweets.”

“I… am indeed fond of them,” Albedo says, taking the drink from him.

Kaeya brightens visibly. “This is an old recipe. You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.”

Albedo takes a sip. The taste of it is slightly dulled under his worsening congestion, but it’s warm, fragrant and light, just sweet enough to not be overwhelming. “It’s exceptional,” he says earnestly, curling both hands around the mug to relish its warmth. “I would appoint you Captain of Drinks, if I could.”

Kaeya laughs. “You flatter me. I’m glad it was to your taste~ So,” he starts, smiling in that familiar, unreadable way, “is there anything I can help with?”

“Not off the top of my head... hiiH’DSCHhH!” Unprepared, uncovered—Albedo looks away, suspecting that his face must be red. “...Apologies. I’ve done this...”—he gestures vaguely to the workspace in front of him—“...many times before. I assure you, I can handle it. Did Jean send you?”

“Jean? No, I sent myself. I’m off work for today, and you said there was lots to get done, and you’re not feeling well, so...” Kaeya says all of this simply, as if his presence here is really only natural. As if he’s made the trip here—in the freezing cold, unpressured by the Acting Grandmaster, unaccompanied—just to stand here now, smiling, as if none of that is a big deal. He says, “Let me help?”

Albedo gapes at him.

“I would like to help,” Kaeya adds, sensing Albedo’s hesitation. He takes a seat on one of the crates opposite to Albedo—too close, really, to guarantee that he won’t contract this, which Albedo wants to comment on too. “That is, if you’d let me. I have no doubt you’d be able to handle this by yourself, but I can’t imagine it would be much fun. I’m better at alchemy than you might expect.”

“How chivalrous…” Albedo starts. He turns away to cough softly into his shoulder. “Captain Kaeya, you always manage to exceed my expectations.” It’s illogical, he thinks. There should be no reason why Kaeya’s presence would affect his illness in the least. And yet...

Kaeya smirks. “Since you are so intent on working hard, I figured I would lend a hand. So, where should we start?”

...he definitely feels better already.

[part 2]

#ask #sneeze fic #snz fic #snz kink #i never know how formal to write albedo (even with his voicelines as a reference) but this was really fun to write #1st half in ka/eya's perspective 2nd half in al/be/do's... i do know how perspectives work i swear... #my fic

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 109

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 4)

Lang Junxia swings his leg over the horse’s back in the dark, and hurriedly leaves as the rest of them stare off after him.

Out of the four, Zheng Yan is the only one looking battered and exhausted. He’s plainly the least involved, yet he’s spent all night running around, swimming one moment and getting injured the next, even jumping into the river twice.

“Come over to my house and let’s get you bandaged,” Duan Ling says.

Zheng Yan hums an agreement absentmindedly, clearly still thinking about something. Duan Ling notices that all of them are out of sorts, though the one who really ought to be preoccupied has to be himself. Wu Du still seems pretty normal, but Chang Liujun and Zheng Yan look like they’re sleepwalking. Duan Ling gives Chang Liujun a pat on the back. “Hey, Chang Liujun? You alright?”

“Just leave me alone!” Chang Liujun flies off the handle.

Chang Liujun has clearly had one too many surprises, and he can’t even walk straight anymore. First it’s Mu Qing getting kidnapped, and him spending most of the night on edge over it, then it’s the crown prince being taken hostage, and finally right before Amga left, he threw them a bolt out of the blue. All this has left him in a state of extreme shock.

But he doesn’t ask any questions at all. As soon as he returns to the estate, he leaves them to report to Mu Kuangda. Duan Ling had been drunk earlier, and the situation changed too quickly; it took him almost an hour of getting windblown by the river before he sobered up and began to feel terrified about the evening well after the fact. He must sort out everything he has learned as soon as possible, for too much has happened this evening.

Once they step through the door, Duan Ling goes looking for an ointment while Zheng Yan ignores them and sits down. “Bring me some wine.”

Meanwhile, Duan Ling gives Wu Du’s chest a pat, and Wu Du nods back at him to let him know he still has the stuff. “I’ll head over to the estate and find him some wine to drink.”

Zheng Yan strips himself down to the waist, leaving his robe bundled up around his waist, revealing an expanse of pale muscle; he’s still deep in thought.

Duan Ling gets the ointment ready and kneels down at his side, planning to apply it to his wounds. “How did you get hurt?”

“Got hit with a sabre underwater,” Zheng Yan replies absentmindedly. He seems rather distracted.

Out of the four assassins, Wu Du held back and bided his time through the entire affair, Chang Liujun didn’t draw his sword, while Lang Junxia dallied over how Cai Yan was on one side and Duan Ling was on the other. Only Zheng Yan threw all his strength behind saving this “crown prince” as though his life depended on it. Why did you work so hard to save him? What did Cai Yan ever give you?

Of course he wasn’t given anything; Zheng Yan had merely fulfilled his duty. Duan Ling did think that the first to jump into the river when Cai Yan fell in would be Lang Junxia; he never thought Zheng Yan would be the one to jump in without any hesitation. As he thinks about this Duan Ling can’t help but feel a bit moved; it may have seemed like the one Zheng Yan saved was Cai Yan, but in reality the one he carried out of the water was actually Duan Ling himself.

Zheng Yan is immersed in his thoughts, a deep furrow forming between his brows. Duan Ling knows that he must have heard what Amga said before he left, and he’s meditating on it now. Has he had some inkling that something isn’t quite right? Duan Ling isn’t sure whether Zheng Yan knows his dad or not, and whose side he’s really on.

Before Duan Ling does anything else, he cleans Zheng Yan’s wound, swollen and pale from all the time it spent in the water. Then he grabs a plate and dissolves the medicinal powder in the ointment. Finally pulling himself back to the present, Zheng Yan turns and stares unblinkingly at Duan Ling.

“What did Amga say in the end?” Zheng Yan says suddenly, “When I came out of the water all I heard was splashing water and I didn’t quite catch it.”

Duan Ling falls silent for a moment before he says, “I didn’t quite catch it either. Let’s take off your glove.”

Zheng Yan puts his hand on the table, and Duan Ling slides his finger under the edge of the glove to take it off. It’s woven with thin silk-like strands of metal, presumably for catching concealed weapons and fighting hand-to-hand against a blade. There’s a black-inked white tiger tattoo in ancient script on the back of Zheng Yan’s hand.

It’s this tattoo again; Lang Junxia’s tattoo is on his arm, Wu Du’s tattoo is on his neck, while Chang Liujun’s tattoo is on his face.

Noticing that Duan Ling has caught sight of his tattoo, Zheng Yan gives him another look.

“It’s the same as Wu Du’s.” Duan Ling leaves the glove in a wooden basin to dry, and cleans Zheng Yan’s arm and palm with a dry cloth before applying ointment.

“Did Chang Liujun catch what he said?” As though he’s turned into someone else, Zheng Yan says coldly.

“I think … he may have caught it.”

And thus Zheng Yan stops talking, and they both fall silent for a bit. Duan Ling finishes applying ointment, wraps Zheng Yan’s arm in bandages, and Zheng Yan’s gaze turns to Duan Ling’s face again.

“You’re rather pretty,” Zheng Yan murmurs, then putting one hand against Duan Ling’s chin to make him look up a little, his eyes focused on Duan Ling’s lips. As he does so his expression changes as though he has a mind to try something. Duan Ling’s heart is drawn all the way to his throat in an instant.

It all happens in the blink of an eye; the corner of Duan Ling’s mouth curls into a half smile, and raising a hand against Zheng Yan’s, he moves it aside. Zheng Yan’s eyebrow draws together in a frown again.

“What are you trying to do?” Duan Ling backs away from him. He wonders if Zheng Yan has discovered anything in that brief moment earlier. He still remembers his father telling him before that the shape of his lips is hereditary. Zheng Yan is familiar with the Marquess of Yao’s family, so he must have met Duan Ling’s aunt as well — would he ever associate Duan Ling’s features to hers?

“Being with Wu Du is boring.” Zheng Yan is back to his usual self, smiling roguishly at him. “Why don’t you come have some fun with me? Let me take good care of you for three days and three nights and you’ll never be able to leave me, I guarantee.”

“Did you teach His Highness how to have fun? I noticed that you were quite ready to jump into the water earlier.”

“Now that’s not something you can just say. You think your head’s attached to your shoulder too securely, I’m afraid?”

Duan Ling wants to change the subject to Cai Yan to get a handle on Zheng Yan’s attitude towards him. “Who was the one that was with him today?”

“That guy’s name is Feng Duo. Treacherous as hell. Don’t get on his bad side.”

Wu Du has come back, and he puts a jar of wine on the table. “Drink it, then hurry up and go. We’re damn sleepy.” Then he starts stripping and changing into the casual clothes he wears at home as if Zheng Yan isn’t even there. As it occurs to him, he says to Duan Ling, “Get Zheng Yan a clean suit of clothes.”

Zheng Yan waves to tell him there’s no need. He picks up the jar, takes a mouthful, and promptly spits out the whole lot.

“What is this? Your piss?” Zheng Yan says with his face contorted.

Wu Du has finished changing his clothes, and folding up those sheets of paper, he puts it in his sword case. “Why do you talk so much? It’s the middle of the night. Where am I supposed to find you good wine? I got that from the kitchen.”

Duan Ling has a headache from the wind, and so he goes to lie down on the bed to listen to their conversation. Wu Du asks Duan Ling, “You asleep?”

“I’m awake.” Duan Ling turns over, facing Wu Du and Zheng Yan. “Who’s Feng Duo?”

“A criminal,” Zheng Yan replies. “He colluded with a foreign power. He was sentenced to death and scheduled to be executed after autumn, but the capital was relocated in autumn so he relocated along with us to Jiangzhou.”

“What was the crime he committed?” Wu Du isn’t really informed about stuff that happened at court either.

Zheng Yan replies languidly, “Thirteen years ago, Southern Chen set up a plan to sow dissension in Liao. Fei Hongde lobbied the Yelü family to accuse the Liao capital’s literati Cai clan of ‘awaiting an opportunity to commit treason’. Before he joined the Shadow Guard, Feng Duo’s older sister married a Cai, and in order to save his sister he leaked this information to Cai Ye. After that he was sold out by someone in the shadow guard and off to jail he went …”

Duan Ling and Wu Du exchange a look, communicating silently that they’re both aware of why Cai Yan chose Feng Duo now. And seemingly not paying any attention, Zheng Yan drinks another mouthful of wine.

At the same time, candle flames flicker in the darkened palace.

As though he’s scared out his wits, Cai Yan keeps gasping for breath. Even after he’s changed his clothes, there’s still nothing but fear in his eyes. His lips have gone pale; he couldn’t calm down.

Lang Junxia is sitting before the table, quietly pondering over his tea.

Cai Yan finally calms himself down, and with a few steps he’s already in front of Lang Junxia. The very moment he reaches out, it’s to slap Lang Junxia across the face in one ringing, clean smack.

“How … How dare you …”

Lang Junxia doesn’t say anything at all, and the next thing Cai Yan does is to kick with all his might, turning over the table in front of him, sending it crashing against the floor.

“Say something!” As though he’s gone mad, Cai Yan howls at Lang Junxia, “Say something —!”

“It’s gotten quite late,” Lang Junxia replies, “you should get some sleep, Your Highness.”

“You traitor!” Cai Yan howls. “You double-crossing turncoat! You scoundrel!”

In a flash, a sword shimmering with cold light is up against Cai Yan’s throat; he hasn’t even noticed when the sword actually left its sheath, and Lang Junxia is already gripping firmly onto the other end of the sword.

He realises then, that he’s dismissed all of his attendants, and Lang Junxia can at any given time run through his throat with a light touch of his blade.

Cai Yan takes a half step back, but the Qingfengjian follows him the same distance, as though it’s his shadow.

“Your Highness mustn’t make so much noise.” Lang Junxia lowers his voice and says solemnly, “Otherwise all that’s going to happen is get us both killed for no good reason.”

Cai Yan calms himself and backs away another half step. This time, the blade does not follow him.

“It’s too late … It’s too late.” Cai Yan says, trembling. “They all heard what he said. Especially Zheng Yan. He’ll definitely tell my uncle.”

“That’s not your uncle.” Lang Junxia sheathes his sword casually, and his tone is without emotion. “That’s someone else’s uncle.”

“You’ll kill him for me, won’t you?” Cai Yan says, gasping. “He got lucky and managed to escape, so you’ll help me kill him again, and then kill everyone who heard those words. Lang Junxia, just like what you promised me — as long as I’m in this position, no living person will ever know.”

“Humans can only do so much,” Lang Junxia says thus, “I’ll try my best. Drink some calming soup and get some sleep. Once you fall asleep you won’t be scared anymore.”

“Kill him. Go kill him now. I’m begging you! Lang Junxia!”

Cai Yan throws himself at him, but Lang Junxia spins around, grabs Cai Yan by the collar, and pushes him to the edge of the bed. He whispers in Cai Yan’s ear, “Your Highness, killing a random person who has nothing to do with you will only make Mu Kuangda suspicious. Don’t forget, Chang Liujun also heard what was said tonight.”

With some difficulty, Cai Yan swallows. Lang Junxia doesn’t say anything else, and he turns to leave the room.

Over and over again, Cai Yan is thinking about how Duan Ling is still alive one moment and the thought fills him with unimaginable fear, then the next moment he’s thinking about how Amga has yelled the truth at them, and how he’s going to have to answer if Li Yanqiu asks him about it. Amga is just trying to throw confusion into the mix! Slander! It’s clearly slander!

On his initial return to court the rumours had been flying as well, and ultimately it was Wu Du who made the final judgement and verified his identity. Yet how has Duan Ling made it to Wu Du’s side?! Wu Du called him “Wang Shan” … Is Wu Du aware of who he is?

Wu Du had never met him before, and Duan Ling also had no way of proving his own identity, so how on earth did he manage to survive?

Cai Yan sits up again, and says to the attendant standing outside, “Send for Feng. Hurry. Send him in.”

Feng comes in, and he’s come in such a hurry that he hasn’t even had a chance to change his clothes. He stands outside the bed curtains and asks, “What does Your Highness require?”

Cai Yan thinks it over for a long time. The words are at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to begin. Finally he can only say with exhaustion, “Sit over there. Just sit down.”

And so Feng sits down nearby. Cai Yan heaves a long sigh, leaning against the pillow, pale and wan, staring weakly at the ceiling of the bed.

“Does Your Highness need to summon the imperial physician to take a look?”

“No.”

He’s already thinking about how he can escape from the palace and leave it all behind, but where can he ever go? Zheng Yan, Wu Du, Chang Liujun … every one of them are experts in the martial arts. Without Lang Junxia’s protection, chasing him down would be child’s play. He has violated the oath he made before Li Jianhong, and it torments him as though he will live in a raging fire for eternity, never shall he find peace.

And even so, he never once thinks about begging for Duan Ling’s forgiveness. He knows that Duan Ling won’t forgive him — even if Duan Ling acquiesces, Li Yanqiu would definitely make mincemeat out of him. Worst comes to worst, he can always poison Li Yanqiu … kill him too … kill everyone … An extremely hideous thought flashes across the recesses of Cai Yan’s mind, and the thought seems to drain him of all his strength, making him fall asleep in a daze.

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#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2374

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

Sam is almost completely still as the feelings rattle through him like a roller coaster’s last run on a derelict track. He only lets it out—the blend of frustration, betrayal, and regret—in the way his fingers squeeze his knee through his jeans, skin damp against the denim. Keeping his hands clasped, and watching those clasped hands, was more grounding, but he needs one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear, and that activity is getting pretty damn tired.

Bucky’s voicemail clicks on for the third time in a row.

“Bucky,” Sam says, “I know you prefer calls to texting, so what are you doing ignoring me, man? Haven’t used your cell in so long that you’ve forgotten how to hit the answer button? At least it rang. That’s something, I guess.”

He sighs away from the speaker where it won’t be recorded for Bucky to hear later. Maybe he did divert his message from the snarky sarcasm he was planning to leave the guy, but Bucky doesn’t need to hear him sigh on top of that.

For a few moments, Sam taps his foot along with the muffled music of his nephews’ video game coming through the closed door. He knows the boys’ routine (and if he ever forgets, he sees the copy Sarah has on the fridge door) and that this isn’t their usual scheduled time for whatever they’re playing out there. Best guess: Sarah wants them hogging the TV so she won’t be tempted to peek at that government-sanctioned shitshow. Sam can’t blame her. Actually, he wonders if she blames him. The disappointment was so clear in her eyes before he stopped making himself meet them. He thought he was doing the right thing when he handed the shield over. Are there people out there who think he’s let them down, or just his sister? Just himself?

He can’t talk to Sarah right now and he’s thankful that she’s giving him some time to himself, but as soon as he got it, he realized he didn’t know what to do with it. Just like that shield. Dialing Bucky over and over—tapping in every number every time because that appears to be part of this pity ritual he’s performing—seemed like the thing he should do. Probably won’t answer. That asshole is terrible at staying in touch. Still, Sam’s heart feels a little heavier with every word closer he gets to the end of this message. Feels like he’s trying to keep the thing afloat in his chest, like his parents’ boat down at the dock. This is what he knows he should do when everything in him wants to sink—reach out, talk to people. Kinda self-sabotage when he picks the one person almost guaranteed not to answer.

Oh, he’ll hear back from Bucky eventually, probably a handful of choppy texts sent in the middle of the night two weeks from now. Sam knows his pattern; Bucky’s chattiest between 3am and 4am, so chatty that what are likely intended as longer blocks of text arrive in broken fragments because he wants to make everything into neat paragraphs, like he’s writing a damn letter, instead of just getting to the point, but he hits send too soon. Sam would teach him—with plenty of mocking and name-calling, but he would teach him—only while he’s been running ops all over the planet, Bucky’s shrunk his own world way down. He’s gone local to the extreme and it aggravates Sam, even though Bucky isn’t his responsibility, isn’t his other inheritance from Steve. It’s sorta just easier to feel like Bucky is a misplaced bequest than to acknowledge that maybe he misses the guy and his sharp-shooter’s eye and his caveman hair. He can’t keep calling him.

“Thought I’d give you a heads-up,” Sam says, voice weary with this half-true excuse. “Maybe you already saw.” He clears his throat and says quickly, “Anyway, guess I’ll hear from you when I hear from you.”

He’s pulling the phone away from his head and has barely ended the call when it’s ringing in his hand. He answers and catches Bucky’s voice saying his name before it’s even back up to his ear.

“Bucky?” Sam says. “You have a senior’s moment and forget where you left your phone?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I saw it was you and decided to ignore it.”

“But you called back.”

“You wouldn’t quit calling. Seemed like you needed me to tell you directly to knock it off.”

“Jackass.” Sam’s gaze darts to the door, but it’s still shut. No chance Sarah saw him grinning over this easy banter. Always the banter with this idiot. Always easy. He sniffs and turns his chair away from the black TV screen. “Did you see that joker on the news?”

Bucky’s either less self-conscious or more inept because he sighs right into the mouthpiece, an exhausted breath in Sam’s ear that has his fingers fleetingly digging into his knee.

“Couldn’t believe that shit,” Bucky tells him in a rough voice. He’s clearly holding back his own feelings about today’s events and, from the sounds of it, they’re more along the lines of anger, hurt, and a simmering desire to wrench the shield from the arm of the new Captain America. “You know that thing’s supposed to be yours.”

“You saying I should’ve done something to stop it?” Sam demands.

“Coulda.”

Sam forces his shoulders to drop, draws a slow breath in and pushes it back out.

“It wasn’t mine anymore, if it ever was. I gave it to the Smithsonian. They sealed it in this glass case and added it to the exhibit.”

“Not a very tight seal.”

“Guess not,” Sam agrees.

“You shouldn’t have turned it over,” Bucky says. Sam’s silent, frowning, and Bucky goes on. “Forget about the shield being given to somebody else—it shouldn’t have even been in a glass case. Doesn’t belong there.”

“I do just fine without it,” Sam assures him. The practicalities of carrying that shield around are more straightforward to discuss than his yawning uncertainty in the face of Steve’s legacy and his place relative to it. “The shield would only get in the way of the wings.”

“You and those wings.”

“Hey, they carried me over Tunisia recently. Show some respect.”

“Didn’t hear about that,” Bucky says in a tone that’s difficult to interpret, though Sam squints thoughtfully as he listens.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t even be telling the likes of you, but it was discrete. As far as the major players are concerned, I was never there.”

“So it was illegal?”

Sam’s head tips back as he laughs hard.

“Why, you wanna turn me in?” he jokes. “Working on the government’s trust? What’s the next level up from a pardon? Knighthood?”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Bucky groans, which really does make Sam smile.

“I’m sure it would’ve been illegal if you were there,” he says automatically. Too fast, his imagination fills it in, a fictional alternative materializing in his mind. Him and Bucky, cocky in reckless freefall. Him and Bucky, fighting back-to-back in a plummeting aircraft. Sam screening Bucky from enemy fire with his wings. Bucky deflecting a stray bullet with his arm before it could hit Sam.

“Nah, I can’t do that no more.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re an angel.”

“Anybody get hurt?” Bucky asks.

Sam glances through the window at the blue sky, the truck rolling unhurriedly past with the driver’s arm hanging out to catch the sun. Beautiful day. He remembers a kick that sent a guy through the door of the plane, sucked out into the sky, another guy tossed aside who tried to fight him in midair, and a helicopter aflame as it went down. He shrugs and figures Bucky’ll hear the gesture in his voice.

“Nobody who didn’t know the risks.”

“Of going up against Captain America?” Bucky probes. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know, that would almost be a compliment if you got my name right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not using the name just to avoid compliments from me.”

“I honestly can’t say which one would feel more wrong,” Sam says, passing a hand over his head as he leans back in his chair, “calling myself Captain America or hearing a little overdue praise from you.”

“I’m not really a words guy. Ask my therapist.”

Sam sits with that for a second. He’s happy that Bucky’s talking to someone. He needs it, badly, after decades of violence and being belted into the passenger seat of his own brain. It’s more than Bucky’s ever admitted to him before, but Sam would bet—and bet big—that seeing some stranger named as Steve’s successor today has gotten to Bucky as much as it’s gotten to him. Something like that is bound to open Bucky up a little. He’s the only other person Sam can imagine the news having such a monumental impact on.

“You could try words,” he goads, not wanting to leave Bucky hanging more than a few seconds after his admission. “What else do you have if you don’t feel like being a human action figure?”

“I have my system. My rules.”

“Oh yeah? What rules?”

“Three of ’em,” Bucky informs him. “Nothing illegal. Nobody gets hurt. Making amends for the actions of the Winter Solider.”

“You don’t have to make amends for something you—”

“Don’t. It… helps.”

And who is Sam to question what’s helping Bucky? After the multiple-lifetimes’ worth of hell the guy’s been through?

“Good for you, man,” Sam offers softly.

“Save it, Sam.” The words are clipped but light. Sam grins.

“No words for me either? You more comfortable with me sticking to actions? How are we supposed to talk to each other when you don’t come to Tunisia with me?”

“Wasn’t invited,” Bucky quips back.

“You mighta been if you answered your phone more often. I’m not gonna send you the details to a covert operation in a text.”

“You wanted me in Tunisia?”

“You get shit done,” Sam acknowledges simply. You wanted me in Tunisia? echoes in his head. His heart’s bobbing like a buoy now. You wanted me in Tunisia? You wanted me?

“Not like that.”

“‘Not illegal,’” Sam repeats. “‘Nobody gets hurt. Making amends.’”

“Right. Can’t do any of that.”

“Well, I’m glad this regime’s working for you, but you have to admit it’s weird that I saw more of you when we were fighting alien hordes.”

“What can I say?” Bucky asks in a tone that seems to consciously flatten the charm out of it. “I’m old-fashioned now.”

Sam snorts.

“You were old-fashioned then.”

“I assume you had a team on the ground.”

“I had to,” Sam says over the sound of a squabble in the other room. Immediately, he can hear Sarah’s voice rising slightly above, breaking it up. Just like that, there’s the looping music of the video game again. She’s raised those boys well. “Couldn’t wait around for you.”

“I might show up if you asked me on better dates.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was a goddamn op.”

It’s startling to hear the sound of laughter. Not hearty, deep, rich, or loud, but definitely laughter. Bucky laughs? Sam backtracks a minute. Bucky makes jokes? About dating? About the two of them dating? Evidently, that is something he’s capable of, along with returning calls during daylight hours.

Sam shifts in his seat.

“You could come around sometime,” he suggests, nervously rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “If you like fish and you’re ever in Louisiana.”

“I do like fish,” Bucky says. “I’ve been going to this sushi place a lot lately.”

It’s not his taste that surprises Sam—it’s the readiness with which he responds to the invitation. He would’ve sooner guessed that Bucky would tell him to shove it up his ass. In a joking way, but still.

“On dates?” Sam asks, telling himself he’s providing some good-natured hassling and that it has nothing to do with the odd feeling he got when Bucky’s joke about them dating caught up with him.

“One. Mostly, I go with Mr. Nakajima.”

“And that’s not a date?”

Sam laughs and wishes he could shut his own mouth as firmly as he’s (many times) told Bucky to shut his.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his eighties, so he’s more age-appropriate for me than most people, but I murdered his son,” Bucky says grimly.

“Amends?” Sam guesses, adjusting his tone to cope with Bucky’s emotional switchback.

“I haven’t told him yet, but, yeah, I’m working on that.”

They’re both working on something, Sam thinks. Both confronting something that feels too big to tackle—the decision not to announce himself as the new Captain America, guilt for assassinations Bucky had no control over but which span the better part of a century. Sometimes it seems to Sam that they go up against the easiest situations as a team and face the hardest stuff alone. But he called Bucky, and Bucky called back.

“You could bring some of those amends down here and trade them for a snapper dinner,” Sam proposes, aiming for irritatingly cheerful to pull Bucky back out of the dark.

“What do I have to make amends to you for?”

“Being a dick. I’ll text you my sister’s address.”

Sam swiftly ends the call. There are two possible sources to which he can attribute the small surge of adrenaline he feels: hanging up on Bucky and the fact that he might’ve just asked him on a date. When Sam dialed, he knew it was because he didn’t want to do this alone, but he thought that meant watching the appointment of an upstart Captain America. Although he believed he could count on Bucky’s understanding today and for the near future, asking him down to have dinner with Sarah and the boys (or tricking him into it, since he didn’t exactly say it’d be a thing with the whole family) lengthens the timeline. Near future? Inviting Bucky to meet his family and see where he grew up means recognizing that he’ll be in his life a little longer. Alone? Sam might forget the meaning of the word.

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes