#rosemary like the plant but its girls loving each other...

[thatnununguy]

more sapphics before bedtime

#doodle #homestuck #kanaya maryam #rose lalonde #rosemary #one of the cutest ship names i have ever heard like omg... #rosemary like the plant but its girls loving each other... #even though overall I don't really care about this pairing? #not in a negative way #but i just don't really think about it often #they are really cute to draw though #in other news im thinking about actually doing and POSTING all the asks I've gotten #in the beginning i haven't factored in my anxiety about interacting with people online #and now it's biting me in the ass ouch ow ow owie :(

[dellaspinstales]

Loving Cup, Chapter One

Riff x Reader (West Side Story)

Notes: Just a beginner writing this for fun! A story inspired by the new West Side Story film. Y/N, sister of the Sharks’ gang leader, Bernardo, falls dangerously in love with Riff, the leader of the rival Jets. Maria does not exist in this universe :-) Please note I take creative liberties in my story in regards to timeline and characterisation in comparison to the film!

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“Please Y/N, it will only take 10 minutes to pick up. Solo diez minutos, just 10 minutes.”

Anita’s sparkling eyes are contorted in desperation as I gaze up at her, my head lolling lazily upside down as it hangs over the edge of her bed.

“It’s not possible. You know work starts at 8, and it would take me too long to get there beforehand…Unless you want me to go when my shift is done?” I try my best to raise one questioning eyebrow, but I’m certain it's ineffective. Despite however much I’ve practiced in our bathroom mirror, even holding down my right eyebrow with my index and middle finger, I’ve found it impossible to this without inevitably raising both.

Anita makes a big show of inhaling deeply and exhaling with a shudder through her nose as she folds a sky-blue bedsheet on an ironing board. She’s always been a little dramatic since we were children, playing in the stone-paved streets of Puerta de Tierra. I was quite a few years younger than her, five to be exact, but I worshipped each brick that I watched her step on with a ferocious and unapologetic sense of self, even as a preteen.

As neighbours, we often found ourselves reluctantly stuck together in my home as our mothers hashed out the details of whatever new gossip was drifting its away around the town over a cup of café. I was a kid who preferred to gaze out of my bedroom window at whoever was passing by and concoct little tales about what they were carrying in their bolsas rather than make conversation. But Anita never made me feel shy, and we spent many nights giggling on the floor of my bedroom about silly schoolmates and ridiculous jokes we’d heard.

I still remember when I first caught Anita’s eyes lingering on my brother. Bernardo couldn’t have cared less about girls at the time, or so I thought. It was a late weekday, and he had just returned home from boxing practice with his friends. Anita and I were sprawled in the living room, rolling coral-coloured sea-glass marbles between us when he stormed in, with an ink-blue mottled bruise seeping through his left knuckles. He ripped a strip of grey fabric from the shirt he was wearing and wrapped it around his hand with a mindless coarseness, his furrowed brows connecting with intensity, rather than concentration. Anita was watching him with a cautious wide-eyed gaze, like he was secret she was debating whether or not to keep.

I never felt left out when they struck up a romance; Bernardo and Anita just made sense. For so long I was totally blind to the connection between them, but it could not be unseen once I finally identified it. They were so deeply comfortable in each other’s presence that their romance appeared to be a naturally unfurling consequence of an innate connection. When my mother passed away, Bernardo and I just had ourselves and Anita. There was nothing left for us in Puerto Rico, so we all packed up each other and what little belongings we had to America, the land of opportunity and “prosperity,” where Nardo could turn his boxing talent into a career.

Our New York apartment is undoubtedly cramped, but we’ve done our best to turn it into a home over the past two years. My main method is plants; I’ve dotted our entire home with potted greenery. The kitchen windowsill is lined with basil, rosemary, and thyme plants, whilst the bathroom is home to a grand fiddle-leaf fig. My bedroom is filled with greenery that extends to the fire escape outside my window.

Anita, on the other hand, adores lace; lace curtains, lace bed-sheets, lace dresses. The worst are the lace pillowcases; I can’t stand the way they get caught in my hair, forcing me to detangle my curls first thing every morning. I squirm a little and look down at my right forearm, where there is a raised red imprint of delicately patterned semi-circle, almost like an embossed wedding invitation. I push myself off the bed, raise my eyes to our ceiling and let out a long, dramatically pained groan. A smile lifts Anita’s cheeks as she whisks towards me, her layered mint skirt flapping with her speed as she envelopes me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you”; her words are muffled as she buries her head in my shoulder, pushing us back down onto the itchy lace sheets. She knows I can never say no to her.

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I lean against the cashier counter of Café Rosa, propping my face up with one hand as I gaze out onto the street. Glass panels compose the entire storefront, a feature I’ve come to adore over the past year I’ve worked here. We sit on Chambers Street, a border of stores between Jet and Shark territory – “neutral ground.” Outside the café past the sidewalk is a wide grey road, often filled with shoppers or wannabe troublemakers milling about.

I can see the world from the comfort of my counter. My typical sight are scrawny underfed white boys wearing ragged denim jeans, sauntering around as if they own the place: the Jets. Nardo was so wary of this job and tried his best to convince me to work with Anita at the bridal shop. Thankfully I convinced him otherwise. This is no man’s land after all, I said again and again until Anita felt badly enough for me to chime in in agreement. Baking is the one thing that brings me the most pleasure in this world, and I would never have let this opportunity slip from my hands.

Nardo was eventually pacified after speaking to Señor Garcia, the mustachioed, broad-shouldered, pleasantly Puerto Rican owner of Café Rosa. Garcia is deeply kind and fiercely protective. Our café is largely supported by soft Puerto Rican women wearing soft Puerto Rican skirts who miss eating Puerto Rican food – it’s not exactly a hotspot for spiky white men to congregate. But Garcia possesses some kind of sixth sense that on the very rare occasion that the door swings open and in walks a troublemaking white boy, he appears by my side instantly – even though he spends most of his time baking in the windowless kitchen behind the counter. We have a practiced choreography in such situations; Garcia mans the cash register with a gruff hostility, while I slink off to the side and busy myself adjusting the baked goods in the long glass counter to his left. No eye-contact and no words are exchanged; I only fill in the paper bags with whatever the white boy wants and slide them across the glass surface towards Garcia’s waiting hands.

Nowadays, Garcia is a little more lenient with me. It’s not usual for me to be alone in the store for a few hours each day for the past month, as he tends to another smaller bakery that he opened that’s far deeper into our neighbourhood. I’m grateful for the freedom and I’d do nothing to jeopardize it, but I can’t deny that I’ve been feeling increasingly uneasy for the past couple weeks. However much I’d like to believe I’m working in no man’s land, the increasing Jet presence is obvious, even just from my cashier counter view. Three days ago, a couple of them bashed in the windows of a Dominican-owned grocery store, just a street over from the café. There’s little I can do or say without losing my position – if Nardo were to find out, he would definitely send over a group of his men (and himself) to stand outside the café and teach any Jet boys on the street a lesson. That’s the last thing I want; all I care about is having the time to practice my baking with Garcia. I don’t have time to indulge boys who look for an excuse to pretend to be fighting men, even if they are my brother.

Today is one of those Monday afternoons where I feel every minute stretching before me as if it were an hour. I pull out the white paper bag I’ve stuffed in a cubby on my side of the counter. Inside is roll of soft woven fabric, pale yellow with the hint of a golden shimmer, like sunrays glinting against dewdrops on the petals of a sunflower. The material is captivating, and I can’t resist running my fingertips across it. Of course, the favour Anita requested would be for my benefit; I’m certain she will turn this material into a dress for me to wear at the high school Summer Social. The event is still a few weeks away, but Anita needs her time of course. It’s just one of the ways she tries to make my life the life she dreamed of when coming to this country, even if it means hours of toiling away in her room after long shifts at the bridal store.

I’m about to run my hands over the material again when I hear a loud yelp. My head whips up to see that what had been a reassuringly empty view mere seconds ago has now been shattered by a squad of Jets, at least six of them, laughing and clambering over each other. No doubt they’ve just broken through another storefront, or maybe just somebody’s skull. I’m not taking my chances today. I throw the fabric spool onto the glass counter and move towards the windows. It takes three sets of shutters to cover all the entire storefront. I start at the left, yanking the beaded cord, and the shutters clatter down with a reassuring thud.

The boys are too close to the café, congregated on the side of the road, overlapping the curb in the front of me. They’re close enough that I can see flecks of black, green, and purple along the arms, on their shirts, and their tattered jeans. I move to the middle window panel and tug down the cord. Their noises aren’t getting quieter, and their proximity is causing a sick feeling in my stomach.

I walk past the front door towards the last window panel. I take a moment to peer out of the glass. One of the boys catches my attention; he looks no more than 15, definitely the baby of the group, but is equally splashed with paint. I suppose defacing with paint is not as bad a truancy as I was expecting. Another boy runs up from behind him and clamps his hands down on his shoulders, giving the baby a little shake. This new Jet is a little taller than the rest of the crew but he’s just as skinny. His face is gaunt with sharp cheekbones that protrude enough to make it clear that it is a combination of genetics and situational weight. A breeze ripples open his raggedy t-shirt, revealing a white undershirt that is stained with a giant paint splotch. I squint a little. Is he wearing a glove? Its 95 degrees out. Must be some kind of gang fashion statement. What an idiot.

I stand on my tiptoes and crane my neck a little to scope out the setting beyond my immediate field of view, but no other Jets are on the fringes. That’s some relief, at least. My fingers are closing around the final cord when my eyes drift back to the gloved hand. It hits me that it’s not a glove after all; it’s just grey paint. The realization makes me smile in spite of myself. I glance up to see that the grey-handed boy is looking right at me. He’s standing in profile, with his hands still on the kid’s shoulders but his head is entirely turned to face the little remaining corner of exposed window, a corner that I fill almost entirely. Unmistakably blue eyes peer out at me. It’s a glowing, piercing blue, the kind of colour that warms up his entire skin tone.

He slides his hands off the kid’s shoulders and turns his body to face me entirely, hands hanging by his side and breathing heavily. I can’t read the details of his gaze – it’s not a menacing expression, it just seems like he’s reading my face, but it turns my blood cold either way. I can feel his eyes shifting to look at all the corners of my face and the feeling freezes me in place. It’s not until that he takes a tentative step forward towards the café that I snap back into my body. I yank the cord, the shutters fall, and the boy is gone.

#riff #west side story #riff west side story #mike faist #riff x reader #mike faist x reader #riff fanfic #west side story fanfic #wss

[fanficimagery]

When Enough is Enough pt. II

Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.

Words: 8.5K Author’s Note: Okay so some of you asked to only be added to part 2 of this while others asked to be added everything Bucky.. and a few others weren’t exactly clear. So if you want to be tagged in any future Bucky related imagines please let me know so I can get your blog name written down on my list.

Tags:  @aya-fay @70s-chic @sipsteacasually @kaitlyn2907 @scarlettwitch99 @thingsforimagination  @mimilh @felicityofbakerstreet @eternalharry @eliwinchester99 @intothesoul​ @wintershadowkat  @b1sexualtonystark  @meredeph @miszswan

The Sunday before you are to return to work, you sleep in until nine in the morning. Your thoughts are immediately on Bucky's impending arrival and you couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach. He's a friend, just as all the others are, but you couldn't help but notice just how attractive this new friend of yours is. But not only does his attractiveness draw you in, his easy-going teasing and protectiveness does too. However, Bucky Barnes is still a man trying to find his footing in this world after all that's been done to him and finally getting his name cleared, and if he finds comfort with you then you're going to try your best and be the friend he needs.

So since you're not dressing to impress, you dress in your favorite lazy outfit after your shower- leggings, sports bra, a faded sleeveless band tee with the arm holes having been cut down to around your ribs, and a pair of socks. Damp hair gets gathered up into a messy bun and you walk around your apartment to pick up some things you had unknowingly left out.

You've skipped breakfast, so when there's a knock on your door and you open up to find Bucky standing there, you groan in relief. He raises both hands with paper bags hanging from each. "I come bearing sushi. Wanda let it slip how much you love it."

"Yesss." You step back, quickly taking in his own comfort outfit of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt under an opened jacket. "Did you bring plenty of wasabi? And you can just kick off your shoes anywhere."

"Of course." He hands you the bags so he can kick off his shoes and strip out of his jacket before hanging it up. You don't know why, but seeing him in a short sleeve shirt makes you happy, knowing full well he was weird about his metal arm being out in the open. "And plenty of dipping sauce as well. Wanda was more than happy to give me advice."

"Wanda, huh?" You chuckle, leading the way to your kitchen. "You actually told her where'd you be?"

"Apparently I looked very pensive this morning. She asked and I figured she was a better confidant than Steve or Sam who would have made a big deal about us hanging out."

"True." Setting the bags down, you let him empty them while you head to the fridge. "Beer?"

"Yeah."

Grabbing him a beer and yourself a can of Cola, you return to the table and your eyes widen at the sight of all the sushi. "Damn, Barnes. That's a lot of sushi."

"Don't act like you won't eat half of it."

You laugh as you take a seat, handing him his beer and pulling a few trays to your side of the table. You take a container of wasabi and dipping sauce for yourself, and grab a pair of chopsticks to start digging in.

You moan in delight at your first taste, happily shimmying in your seat before taking another. Eventually, you ask, "So what are you going to do when I'm back at work and I can't keep you entertained by getting shitfaced?"

Bucky grins around his mouthful of food before chasing it down with a swig of his beer. "We actually got a mission comin' up so I'll be leavin' around mid-week."

"Well that sucks." You sigh. "Now who am I going to send random pictures to when I have downtime at work?"

He grins. "You can still send them to me. I just won't get back to you until after the mission's complete."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you continue to eat- Bucky dodging Steve's texts about where he is and when he's coming back, and you sending the middle finger emoji over and over to Wanda who keeps wondering how your date is going. Then once most of the sushi is gone and Bucky puts what little is left into the fridge, the two of you head to the living room. You immediately flop onto the couch as Bucky takes the plush recliner, only for you to hear him moving the chair into its reclined position seconds later.

"Oh. I definitely need to get one of these."

You laugh as he snuggles down and you pick up the remote to bring up your streaming services. "Anything you've been meaning to watch?"

"Not really. Just show me your favorites."

You start off with some humor by playing the Goonies. It's a movie that no matter how many times you've seen it, it always seems to make you laugh. And it seems Bucky is not immune either when they make Chunk to the truffle shuffle. Titanic plays afterwards, but only after making sure Bucky found it somewhat interesting after reading the movie summary to him. He is interested from beginning to end and doesn't even laugh at you when you shed a few tears for the old married couple who opt to stay in their bed as the room floods.

When a break is needed, you head off towards the bathroom as Bucky finishes off the leftover sushi. Both of you check your phones and read each other the missed text messages from Steve and his worrying behavior.

"Wanna tell Steve to fuck off via video message?" Bucky takes a moment to think on it before he grins and nods. "Excellent. Sit in the recliner. I'm gonna crawl up all in your business. That okay?"

"Yeah."

As Bucky gets comfortable in the recliner, you sit on the armrest before sliding down sideways onto his lap. You bring up the camera app on your phone and switch it to video, sliding your right arm behind Bucky's neck while holding your left arm out to capture the two of you on the screen. "Ready?"

"Sure, doll."

You chuckle quietly and then smirk mischievously as Bucky relaxes his expression into his best resting bitch face. After you hit record, you say, "Hey Rogers, stop being a little bitch and sending us text after text. I'm tryin' to fuck your best friend here." Bucky's expression cracks as he barks out a laugh and you turn to face him while grinning. You share a laugh with him before facing the camera once more. "Only joking, but seriously stop buggin' us. I promise to send him back in one piece."

As you prepare to send the text to Steve, Bucky says, "You're terrible."

"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."

"Occasionally."

You huff another laugh as the video message finally sends. You and Bucky both watch as the delivered status turns to read, and then those three little dots appear as Steve starts typing his reply.

"Tell Bucky to wrap it before he taps it." You burst out laughing at Steve's text, Bucky's rumbling laughter only fueling yours even more. "God I hate your best friend sometimes." And before you climb off Bucky's lap, because honestly you were getting a little too comfortable, you send Steve a few middle finger emojis before deciding on a third movie to watch.

The third movie you choose is one that never fails to make you laugh- Bridesmaids. You had a moment of hesitancy because of the sex scenes, but you figured they were ridiculous enough that it wouldn't be awkward. Thankfully you're correct and you get the added bonus of hearing Bucky's laughter again during Megan's scenes, especially when they get food poisoning and are all fighting for the bathroom.

You and Bucky take yet another break after the film, just stretching and finding something to drink.

"So what's the verdict, Barnes? Are you enjoying the films?"

He grins. "Your taste is all over the place, huh? That last one we watched was raunchy."

"But hilarious! You need to watch the Hangover trilogy, but you definitely need to watch that with Steve and then watch him squirm at the pictures that roll with the credits."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jurassic Park holds his attention and he can't help but comment how stupid one has to be to replicate dinosaur DNA and then open up a park with live dinosaurs. You laugh, but don't bother commenting. You'll tell him later there are more movies involved, with yet another idiotic man who felt he could get the park up and running once more.

It's getting dark, but it's still a little too early for dinner. One more movie and then you'll order or go out and pick something up.

"So this last one for the day is a movie that's directed more towards the female viewers, but you did ask for my favorite films and Practical Magic is my absolute favorite."

"Well put it on, doll."

As you press play on Practical Magic, you quickly grab a throw blanket and snuggle in. Instead of watching Bucky, you watch the film and mumble certain quotes to yourself. The magic scenes always bring a soft smile to your face just as Gary's confession to Sally of I wished for you too breaks your heart, and Sally and Gillian's heartfelt sister moment makes you cry.

Afterwards, Bucky hums in thought. "So that's your favorite?"

"Absolutely." You tell him. He's watching you curiously and you grin. "If I show you something, you promise not to laugh?"

"I'll try."

"Whatever. That's good enough for me." Standing up, you walk towards him and kneel, and tell him to pull your shirt sideways by the armhole next to your left arm. There on the back of your left shoulder and forever etched into your skin is a salt shaker, a rosemary plant, a lavender plant, and a heart. You then rattle off one of your favorite quotes to him. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

Bucky chuckles as you get up, retaking your spot on the sofa. "You really are a fan of the movie."

You nod. "As a little girl, I was fascinated by magic. I thought I'd grow out of it, but I only grew more fond of it. And then I found Practical Magic and it had a bit of everything I adored."

"So what's the one scene that just gets you every time?"

"Ugh. You're making me choose?!" You feign being distraught and he grins. As you think about it, you keep coming back to two scenes in particular. "So there's two," you tell him, "and I'm not choosing between them." Bucky nods, awaiting your answer. "Gillian's possession. When Sally calls together the other mothers who were mean to her in order to make a temporary coven to save her sister, and Gillian begs Sally to just let her ghost ex have her."

Bucky hums. "That was a bit sad, doll. I saw you shedding a few tears over that."

"Mhm. And the other scene is when Sally comes clean to Gary and admits that she did a spell as a child to call forth her perfect love thinking it wouldn't exist, only it did. When Gary tells Sally that he wished for her too, it just breaks my fuckin' heart."

"Let me guess, you were one of the girls who cast her own spell after seeing that scene." You stay quiet for a moment and the second you feel your face heat, Bucky laughs. "What did you wish for?"

You groan quietly. "If I tell you, you can't laugh!" He only smiles in response and you know he won't drop it until you tell him. "Fine. So even though I knew it would never work, I gathered the weirdest objects and wished for a significant other with dark hair and colored eyes. He had to be protective and funny and love me for me. Simple."

For some reason you can't seem to meet Bucky's gaze then and you feel awkward the longer the silence stretches on.

"So dinner?" He asks.

"Oh god, yes please. Pizza and wings?"

"Sounds good."

You have the nearby pizza place on speed dial, so after finding out Bucky's preferences you make the call and place the order. It's going to be about a thirty minute wait, so you fill the time sending Steve pic after pic of Bucky who's none the wiser as he scrolls through his own phone and adding the most asinine comments to each picture. Steve thinks it's absolutely hilarious.

Then when the pizza and wings arrive, you beat Bucky to the door and thrust several bills at the delivery boy. He's more than happy with his tip and you hurriedly wave him off before shutting the door. You laugh at Bucky's disgruntled expression and then place everything on the table while gathering a beer for both you and him.

"Don't let me have more than two," you tell him while handing him his own bottle of beer.

Bucky agrees and the two of you dig into your own personal pizzas and boxes of wings once you're situated around the table. As you're eating, Bucky asks about what other movies you hold near and dear. You fill him in on a few others and he hesitantly puts it out there that he'd be up for another movie marathon when you both have a day off. You agree that that's doable.

Halfway through dinner, as you and Bucky are chuckling over the thought of making Steve sit through Bridesmaids, there's a sound of glass breaking from your living room and a muffled curse. The two of you immediately cease making any type of noise and Bucky is up with a gun in hand.

"Where the hell did that come from?! You hiss.

The telltale sound of a window then sliding shut can be heard.

"Shut up and get behind me."

The authority in his voice makes you freeze and your heart flutter at the same time, and you have to mentally scold yourself before you quickly do as he says. You follow Bucky towards the living, ready to duck at the ready, only to sigh and roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bucky stands tall and lowers his gun. "Parker." You can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Mr. Barnes?" Peeking around his shoulder, you raise your eyebrow at your best friend who's been too busy for you and is now frowning at Bucky. When he catches sight of you, he asks, "What's going on?"

"Uh, well we were having dinner until we thought someone was breaking in."

"Alone?!"

Your brow furrows at Peter's incredulousness, only for him to realize you're not impressed with his tone. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, um, yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, gesturing to his face where there's a scrape on his cheekbone. "My ribs took a beating too. Can you patch me up?"

"Sure." You sigh. "Why not."

Before you can leave to go to the bathroom to get the supplies you need, Bucky says, "I'll just get out of your way then."

You stop and face him. "What? But we haven't even finished our food. It won't take me long."

"It's fine, doll." He grins when he realizes you're trying to get him to stay. "You gotta hit the hay early anyway. We'll talk soon."

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, sighing when he won't budge. "Well at least take your food with you. No use in it going to waste."

Bucky nods and heads back to the kitchen, collecting his food. You watch him and then follow him to the door, holding his food while he bends over to lace up his boots. Once he retakes his food and you open the door, he thanks you for the time away from the tower and disappears down the hall.

Shutting the door and then heading back into the living room, you tell Peter to get back into his regular clothes so you can get to his ribs while you go gather your medical supplies.

Meeting Peter back in the living room and setting everything down on the coffee table, he says, "So you and Bucky-"

"Don't." You pick up the peroxide bottle and soak a cotton ball in it. "Bucky and I are friends."

Peter manages to keep his mouth shut as you clean the scrape on his cheek and place a small bandage on it. Then when you've checked his ribs and tell him he just needs to ice them, he mumbles, "Friends who apparently lick each other." You snort and think nothing of his sullen tone, but when you look at his face you see he's actually being quite serious. There's no chuckle or boyish grin and for a moment you're absolutely floored at his attitude. "I don't think I'm comfortable with Bucky being alone with you in your apartment."

"Are you- are you kidding me?" You huff and take a step back from him. When Peter just continues to frown, you shake your head at him. "First of all, I'm an adult woman who can make her own decisions."

"I know, but-"

"I'm not finished!" You snap. Peter's eyes widen, but he smartly ceases talking. "I am allowed to have friends whether you like them or not. We have a pact, Petey, and since I'm still abiding by it I would hope that you would too."

"Yeah, but that's for significant others!"

"Significant others or friends, it doesn't matter. And you should be grateful I've kept my mouth shut when it comes to you and Leslie because let me tell you, I've been biting my tongue a lot these past few weeks. Bucky and the others have stepped up since you've abandoned me, so you have absolutely no room to tell me that you're uncomfortable with him or any of them being around me."

"Leslie isn't that bad and I have not abandoned you." You snort, but don't bother opening that can of worms even further. He finally gets annoyed with your quietness. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here because you needed a bandage. Tell me, Peter, where are you going after here? Where are you going after making five minutes of small talk and calling it a night?" He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, shrugs, and you shake your head at him once more in disappointment. "Exactly. Just go, Peter. I'm so over this conversation right now and I have work in the morning."

"Wait, but we promised we'd never leave a conversation where we were still annoyed with each other!"

"And we also promised we'd never judge who the other decided to spend time with, but here we are." He frowns at you. "Go to your girlfriend, Peter. We'll talk again in another few days or weeks or whenever. I don't care right now."

Peter stands there, gaping, before he pulls himself together and makes his way back towards the window he had crawled through. He glances at you one last time, but you merely keep staring until his mask encompasses his head once more and he lifts the window before taking his leave.

As the window shuts behind him, you sag in on yourself and your breathing stutters in your chest as your eyes fill with tears. You've never been this angry at Peter and the fact that he thinks it's okay to ignore you until he needs something and then has an opinion about who you hang out with was just too much for you to let slide.

You quickly gather everything from your coffee table and return it to its rightful place in your bathroom, and throw away the trash. Your appetite is long gone, so you put up what's left of your food and then head to your room to gather some clothes so you can shower and get into bed.

By the time you've crawled into bed, you're still a bit annoyed. So grabbing your phone, you pull up your text messages and click on Bucky's thread.

To Bucky: Well that was a shit show. I don't think I've ever made Petey leave my apartment while we were still angry with each other.

From Bucky: I'm sorry, doll. Anything I can do?

To Bucky: If he gives you attitude, get a non-serum individual to punch him. You, Steve, and probably Nat will send him flying into the wall.

From Bucky: If I remember..

To Bucky: Well I mean if you forget, I won't complain. I'll probably laugh when he comes crying to me.

From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.

To Bucky: Whatever. You adore me just the way I am. And now I should get some shut eye. I'll talk to you soon. Night, Sarge.

From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.

For the next couple of weeks, you keep yourself busy with work. Bucky and a few others do go on a mission as he said they would, so you keep your texts to a minimum of three each day- a good morning, a random story from that day, and a good night. They're gone for four days and in those four days you've not heard from Peter. The only reason you know he's not completely done with you is the fact he likes your posts that you put up on social media.

But since you're not currently speaking to your best friend and are too exhausted to hang out with anyone else, you're in a bit of a funk and completely caught off guard one evening when the patient a police officer brings in smacks you right across the face. You had been trying to insert an IV into his arm when he completely lost his shit, and then you were hit so hard that you were strewn across the gurney behind you. And in your vulnerable position, a fistful of your hair had been grabbed and yanked right before the police officer had intervened and pulled the patient off of you.

You had been given a bit of time to ice your cheek before you had to get back to work, but your face and scalp were hurting you the entire time.

On your way home, however, you're surprised to receive a call from Pepper. You're heading towards your apartment complex when she invites you to dinner there at the tower since Darcy is finally back in town, and you hate to do it, but you're not exactly up to be around such a rowdy bunch. So you apologize to Pepper and ask her to apologize to Darcy for you, and take a rain check. Immediately she knows something is wrong, but you only tell her you had a rough night at work and all you want is a hot shower and to crawl into bed. She hesitates but wishes you well, and the call ends moments later.

When you get home, you waste no time in locking the door behind you and heading straight for your bathroom. You strip down and take the hottest shower your body is capable of handling, and let yourself relax in the steam-filled room. Afterwards, as you're drying off, you gently dry your hair since your scalp is still sensitive and then get dressed in some of your comfort clothes.

Then heading out into the kitchen, you find some leftovers in your fridge and heat those up, tiredly sitting at your kitchen table and digging in. Just as you're done with your food and heading towards the living room, someone pounds on your apartment door. You sigh, hoping they go away, and have only plopped down onto the sofa when a familiar gruff voice speaks through the wood.

You quietly groan as Bucky tells you he knows you're there and you get up to open the door for him. He's on the verge of knocking again when you swing the door open. "Hey. Pepper said-" He trails off as he takes in your appearance, expression going slack before his jaw clenches in anger. "Who?"

You shake your head, gesturing him inside as you turn around and walk towards your sofa. You hear your door click shut before the footsteps follow you. "Work got a little hectic. No need to hunt down anyone, Barnes. I'm fine."

"Half your face is bruised, doll. You are not fine."

"It's all part of my job." You shrug and plop down onto the sofa once more. Pulling a blanket over your lap, you stare up at your friend. "There will always be a drunk and disorderly patient. I was just lucky he didn't do more damage."

Bucky frowns, but he doesn't push you on it. Instead, he walks over and sits next to you, angling his body towards yours when gentle fingers grasp your chin to angle your face more towards him. "What exactly happened?" He asks as his eyes dart over every inch of your face.

"Some petty criminal did some damage to his head in the back of a patrol car. Police officer brought him in and he seemed pretty docile up until I jabbed him with the IV. He got the drop on me. It happens." Gentle fingers brush along your cheekbone and you flinch. Tears sting your eyes as you sniffle. "I'm fine."

"Just because you keep sayin' that doesn't mean it's true."

Your bottom lip wobbles at his words and you lose the battle with keeping the tears at bay. The moment they fall, Bucky pulls you into a hug and you cry into his shoulder. "Dammit," you mumble. "See what you started!"

Bucky chuckles and he holds you a few moments longer, rubbing a hand up and your back to offer a semblance of comfort. When he lets you go, you fall back against the sofa cushions and wipe the tears away with your blanket. "So what are we watching?" He asks while settling in next to you and draping an arm behind your head.

"Shouldn't you go back to the tower and have dinner with the rest of them? I'm-"

"If you say you're fine one more time, I will drag you back to the tower and let Steve motherhen you."

You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."

"And for that horrendous nickname, you've lost the privilege of choosing what we're going to watch."

You laugh and don't bother arguing with him about it as he leans across you to snag up the remote. When he settles back down and you snuggle into his side, you huff a small laugh when he settles on TLC which is showing 90 Day Fiancé.

"Why this show?" You ask.

"Because it blows my mind that some people are so oblivious and can't see that their chosen partner is only in it for the green card."

As you let his reasoning sink in, you can't help but giggle as you picture Bucky sitting in his own apartment and bad mouthing the TV because he didn't like the decisions the people were making in their love life. You watch along with him, cringing at the more obvious couples that are only headed for future divorce and smiling when one of the couples is actually in it for love.

You manage to almost watch a complete two hour episode when there's a knock on your door, but you're too comfortable to get up and answer it.

"You get it," you say as you nudge Bucky.

He nudges you back. "It's your apartment."

"Yeah, but I don't feel like getting up."

"You could have at least come up with a better excuse."

You grin, finally taking your eyes off the screen and glancing up at Bucky. "M'too tired. Brain's not working fast enough." He continues to give you a deadpan stare until you jut out your bottom lip. "Please?"

The second Bucky's lips twitch, you know you've won. He huffs and roughly pushes himself up off the sofa as if answering the door is a hardship, and you go back to watching TV. At least until you hear a familiar voice stammer, "Uh, h-hey Mr. Barnes. Is Y/N home?"

Your gaze snaps towards the door where Peter is standing out in the hallway, hands in his pockets as he sheepishly stares at Bucky. The man in question turns and raises an eyebrow at you as if saying what do I do and you give him a terse nod to let him know it's okay. Bucky steps aside and Peter readily walks in.

"I should be getting back to the tower," Bucky suddenly says. "You kids have fun."

This time it's your turn to give him a deadpan stare and he smirks right before slipping his boots back on. Then as soon as they're laced up, he's walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Peter, who hadn't stopped staring at the intimidating man, finally turns to look at you. And when he does, his eyes widen.

"What happened to your face?!"

You sigh. "I'm fine. Just had a little incident at work."

"And Mr. Barnes was what? Comforting you?"

"First of all, can you stop calling him Mr. Barnes? You two avenge together and what not. I'm pretty sure that means you're on a first name basis." Peter grins as he takes a seat on the recliner near you, shrugging. "And Bucky was here because when I turned down dinner at the tower, Pepper figured something was wrong. Bucky took it upon himself to check in."

"So are you two like a thing or something?" He wonders.

"We're just.. friends," you say. "For some unknown reason we clicked and we're comfortable in each other's company."

For a moment Peter doesn't say anything, nor will he meet your gaze, but then he's looking at you and sighing. "I'm sorry." You blink at him, surprised to hear the apology. "I shouldn't have freaked out that one night. Who you are friends with and who you decide to date is your business."

You finally smile, even though it's rather small. "Thank you. And don't get me wrong, I know you meant well, but you should have dropped it and just trusted my judgment."

"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.

"Soo.. are we good?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"Good. I was getting tired of you liking my posts and not commenting on them."

Peter snorts. A moment of silence passes and then he says, "So you'll be glad to know that Leslie and I aren't together anymore. I broke it off earlier tonight."

You wince. "Sorry."

"Nah. Don't be. She was totally using me for access to the tower." You're torn between being smug about being right and being sad for your friend who just ended his relationship. "I only realized it earlier when she got upset because Mr. Rogers posted a picture of you and Mr. Barnes together, and she had a few choice words to say about it."

"What? Steve posted a picture of us?" You quickly pull out your phone, checking social media for any notifications. There are none, but as you get on Instagram you check Steve's page and sure enough there's a new pic that shows Bucky staring fondly at you as you laugh at something on your phone. "That little shit didn't tag us!"

As your thumbs move furiously to give Steve a piece of your mind and to comment how adorable you and Bucky look, Peter can't help but say, "You're attracted to him."

Your texting falters and you quickly glance at your friend to gauge his reaction, but when he just looks amused, you shrug. "I mean have you seen him? How could I not be attracted to him?"

"Does he know?"

"I have a feeling he does. Asshole likes to fluster me every now and then."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he likes you back." You snort and go back to finishing up the comment on Steve's post. "I'm serious. When we stopped talking, he threatened me. He was pissed that I made you cry and said I was lucky. He's actually really scary when you're on his bad side."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you can feel your ears heating up, followed by your cheeks. Peter starts to laugh and you groan in embarrassment. "Why is this so weird? Dating should be easy!"

"Well he is an Avenger.."

"I don't care about that! He's just- he's really, really hot. It's intimidating."

"Wait, what?" Peter huffs. "So you're intimidated by his hotness and not because he's a super-soldier with a metal arm?"

"Well yeah."

Expression melting into one of confusion, your friend eventually shakes his head at you. "You're on your own with that. Good luck."

You hadn't realized how much everyone had known about your and Peter's brief falling out until the two of you were laughing together once again at the tower. It seemed like everyone had sagged in relief now that the two of you were poking fun at one another once more, and you had to apologize for apparently making it awkward for them.

And now that your best friend knew of your crush on a certain super-soldier, there was lots of teasing material. Of course you kept him in line when you could, but there was no stopping the force of Peter, Wanda, and Darcy combined.

It's a random Tuesday night when you've driven over to the Tower, Bucky having called you over for dinner with a few friends. You had the day off so you didn't mind heading on over, but as the elevator doors slide open after having ridden up to the communal floor, you yelp in surprise as the small gathered crows that shout, "Happy birthday!", at you.

Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Peter pop confetti poppers as you step out of the elevator, eyes wide as you glance between each of them. "My birthday is not until tomorrow!" You hiss.

"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.

"Mhm." Your eyes then narrow, glancing behind them at the streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling. "And how'd you guys even know?"

Everyone glances at Peter and he takes a step back when your gaze slides to him. He chuckles sheepishly. "I might have hid your birthday cupcake here and Steve found it."

"Petey," you groan. "Why couldn't you just hide it at aunt May's like usual? You know I dislike birthday celebrations."

"You don't dislike them. You just dislike all the attention being on you."

"Whatever. Where's Barnes? He's the one who lured me here under false pretenses. I got a bone to pick with him too."

Everyone turns around and Bucky's head appears from around the corner. He smirks and you glare at him. "Not false pretenses. We are having dinner," he says. "It just so happens to be a birthday dinner. And it's running a little bit late, so until the food gets here you get to open presents."

"You guys all suck."

Peter and Wanda each take a hand and drag you further into the room, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky fully steps out from behind the wall and you aim a kick at his shin as you're walking by. He laughs as he easily dodges it and then you're standing by the kitchen island that's been cleared of everything other than birthday presents.

You huff a small laugh and shake your head fondly at them. "I love you guys, but you do know you didn't have to get me anything, right?"

"Shut up and open the presents," Bucky says.

"Open mine first," Sam says, reaching into the small pile and pulling out a white envelope. "Unlike the others, I was literally told within the last thirty minutes we were doing this so yeah. It's not the best present, but I think you'll enjoy it."

You smile at Sam as you open it, chuckling at the plain birthday card and his brief personal message written inside. But it's what else that's inside that makes you meet Sam's gaze once more, smiling fondly at him. "Thank you. I can't get enough of bubble tea and I'm sure I can do some damage with this gift card."

"You're welcome."

"Mine next." Peter reaches in for a medium-sized box and hands it over to you. "I know you're not a fan of presents, so I got you something I actually knew you'd enjoy."

Raising an eyebrow at him, you pull the lid off of the box. Then glancing down, you snort before pulling out a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila. "I knew we were best friends for a reason."

Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."

"Please. Responsible is my middle name, Rogers." Everyone snorts and instead of trying to remain serious and feign offense, you end up laughing. "Sam and Buck are good babysitters. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's to be determined," he says. "Here. Open mine. I honestly had no idea what to get you, but Peter assured me you'd enjoy this."

Putting the bottle of tequila back in its box, you accept Steve's gift. Pulling off the ribbon, you can't help but laugh when you see what's inside. "Cards Against Humanity." Peter cheers. "We're playing this the next time I have off," you say, grinning at Steve.

"What is Cards Against Humanity?" He wonders. "I just picked it up and boxed it."

"It's possibly one of the most confusing card games or raunchy card games you'll ever play," Sam says. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Steve. I seriously can't wait to play it."

"You're welcome."

Wanda claps her hands. "Mine and Darcy's next. She ordered online and I had to pick it up earlier. But, um, I'm not sure you want to open it up in front of everyone."

"Oh god. Don't tell me it's a vibrator."

Sam laughs out loud as both Peter and Steve start blushing. Bucky looks rather amused and intrigued as Wanda slides two boxes over to you. She shakes her head, giggling. "Not quite."

For a brief moment you're relieved, but then her answer sinks in and you're hesitant all over again. You groan. "Is yours safer? I feel like it is. Which one is it?"

Wanda only smirks as she pushes her box towards you. You open it, marvel at its contents, and then put the lid back on much to the boys' displeasure. Trying to keep a straight face, you look at Wanda. "How many sets did you get?"

"There's four. All in colors that will look amazing against your skin tone."

"Thank you. I'll send you pictures when I wear them."

"Yes please! Natasha wants to know how they fit as well. She was the one who suggested them."

"I'll send them to the ladies group chat then."

"Well that's not fair," Sam complains. "First for not showing us what's inside the box and then you guys have a ladies only group chat. I wanna be in the ladies only group chat."

"But then that defeats the purpose of it being a ladies only group chat," you muse.

"Come on," Peter then whines. "What was the present?"

Your gaze slides to Peter, but instead of outright saying what it is, you say, "Think back to that one Halloween night where you wouldn't let me out of the dorm until I switched costumes."

It takes him only a minute to understand and when he does, he snorts. "That wasn't a costume! That was lingerie."

"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.

"Lingerie can be worn as a costume?" Steve wonders.

"I was actually a Victoria's Secret Angel, complete with the most amazing set of wings, and Petey forbade me from leaving the room. It was a sad, sad night."

"As much as I wanna get into that," Sam says, "I wanna know what Barnes got you more."

You chuckle and glance at Bucky, smile faltering when you see him tense. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and offers you a grin. "Open the bigger one first."

Wanda clears away the other presents as Bucky slides his two towards you. You feel giddy as you grab the bigger box, untying the black silk ribbons and lifting the lid. There's tissue paper you open up and you gasp, happily giggling. "You didn't?!"

"Well you did say it was your favorite movie, sweetheart."

"Yes!" You glance up, beaming at Bucky, and your heart swells at his own smile being directed at you. "I really, really love this. I can't wait to hang it up."

"What is it?" Peter wonders, trying to peer across the island.

"It's a quote from Practical Magic," you say and Peter huffs a laugh, knowing full well your love for that movie. You carefully pick it up and turn it around so everyone can see it as you read it off by heart. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

"Aw," Wanda coos. "That's adorable."

"I made Bucky watch this movie a while back," you say. "I need to show it to you one of these days."

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

With nothing else to say, you place it back in its box and set it aside in favor for the second box. It's a little smaller, but you're excited for it nonetheless. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, you immediately laugh at the white petals scattered atop the tissue paper.

"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.

Steve and Peter laugh, but you're so focused on the notecard that's under some of the petals. Lifting it up, you read the note to yourself because immediately you know it's personal. My better half has to be funny, get along with my friends, won't judge me for my past, and has decent taste in movies.

Heart fluttering, you bite the corner of your lip when it feels like you're smiling way too much.

"Well what does Prince Charming have to say?" Sam asks.

"That's none of your business." You close the note and then tuck into your back pocket, chuckling when Sam and Wanda complain. When you meet Bucky's gaze, you immediately flush and mentally curse yourself when you see him smirk in return.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you center yourself and then part the tissue paper. You look at the second portrait and gasp after you read it.

"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.

This second portrait is of a hand drawn bowl with a tipped over salt shaker, a small bundle of lavender, a small bundle of rosemary, and a heart beneath it. Above the bowl is a swirl of flower petals and inside the swirl of petals, in very pretty cursive writing, are the words I wished for you too.

Did he just- did he confess his own feelings by using a Practical Magic quote? Or was this just you overthinking his present? You glance to meet Bucky's gaze and at his gauging expression your eyes fill with tears.

"What did you do, Barnes?!" Sam scolds him. "You made the poor girl cry at her own birthday celebration!"

But Bucky isn't paying him any attention, instead he's solely focused on you. You set the present aside and walk around the kitchen island on shaky legs, and Bucky readily reaches for your waist as you grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.

You can't believe you're kissing Bucky, but then he squeezes your waist and returns the kiss, and you know you made the right choice.

Someone gasps, but then the following words let you know exactly who it is. "Darcy is going to be so angry she missed this." Wanda. That is Wanda.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam wonders. "What type of present can cause this type of reaction?"

You smile against Bucky's mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before falling flat on your feet after having been on the tips of your toes in order to reach his mouth.

"It's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," you say. You turn around to address your friends, but Bucky doesn't let you go far. He wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you back so you're resting against his chest and tucked beneath his chin. "It's a movie about witches," you explain. "These two little girls are being raised by their aunts and they see them performing love spells for a local woman. Basically, one of the young girls refuses to fall in love after witnessing a love spell gone wrong and she does her own spell to call forward a love that would be impossible to find- a man who's favorite shape would be a star and who had one green eye, one blue. Years down the road, the sisters accidentally murder a man."

Sam snorts. "How the hell does one accidentally murder someone?"

"Shush." Wanda admonishes him. "I want to hear the story behind the gift."

You and Bucky chuckle, and you continue to explain. "Anyway, they send in an US Marshall to investigate the disappearance and the one who had done the love spell at a young age starts to fall for this man. She ends up telling him about the murder, but he doesn't quite believe her. Then they're on the verge of hooking up when she gets a good look at his eyes- one green eye, one blue."

"Oh my god. That's so cute!" Wanda says.

"It gets cuter. And sadder," you say. "So she explains to this man about her family, the murder, and how she can't be with him because he's only attracted to her because of a love spell she did when she was just a little girl. At first he's skeptical about this spell bringing him to her, but then he ends up believing her. And as he's walking away from her, he stops to tell her I wished for you too."

"So you made out with Barnes because of that?" Sam shakes his head, chuckling. "Wow."

"It's fuckin' adorable. Stop ruining the moment, Samuel!" Bucky laughs at your words and pulls you closer to him.

"So while I'm happy for Buck," Steve says, "I'm still really curious about what Darcy's gift is."

Peter nods. "Same."

Wanda giggles, but says nothing as she grabs the box and slides it over to you. You groan because you know it can be nothing good, but you still open it since everyone is watching and waiting. As soon as you part the tissue paper and read the box, alongside taking in the picture on the box, your face flames as you shove the lid back on. Wanda cackles.

"I hate her."

"She said to give the remote to-"

"Don't!" You cut Wanda off, blushing even further. "I know who she means to have control of that."

"They- they make underwear that does that?" Bucky muses and you die a little on the inside in embarrassment. You elbow him as he starts to laugh behind you.

Sam instantly knows what the gift is now and starts to laugh, but Steve and Peter apparently need some help.

"Lewis got you vibrating panties, didn't she?"

"Oh my god, Sam, if you don't shut up I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

Steve is torn between laughing and trying not to make you even more uncomfortable, but his amusement wins out. "Given Y/N's flustered state, I'm assuming Darcy wants Bucky to have the remote."

"I mean this seems like it could make for an interesting night."

Everyone laughs at Bucky's sudden interest in the box you're doing your damnedest to keep shut, but luckily Peter steps in. "As much I love watching Y/N squirm, can we get ready to eat? I'm starving."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go wait downstairs for it, kid."

Sam and Peter head for the elevator to take them down to the lobby, and you turn around in Bucky's hold. "Help me take this stuff to my car so I don't have to do it later?"

"Sure thing, doll." He grins. But instead of stepping away, he pushes you further into the kitchen island. You smile as he cages you in and then huff a laugh when he reaches for the box behind you. "So exactly how long do we have to be dating before we can test these out?"

You slowly lean upward so your lips brush his as you say, "I'd say very, very soon if you would put your ass into gear and help me move these presents like I asked."

Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "Then let's get to it."

The telltale sound of a phone's camera goes off and you turn your face towards the sound. Wanda is beaming, her phone pointed towards you and Bucky. "Darcy wanted evidence I wasn't lying. She's going to be so happy."

Bucky turns his face to look at her then, his cheek brushing against yours where he's yet to back off from you. "Tell Lewis I said thanks for the present. I'll give her my review of them in a few weeks."

Wanda's eyes widen and you immediately blurt, "Don't you dare!" But she's already texting and you know the group chat full of ladies is going to be full of messages that you'll have to reply to later. Quietly groaning, you slap your hands against Bucky's waist and push him back. Looking up at him, you shake your head but the corner of your lips turn up in amusement. "You're terrible. I would threaten to withhold sex, but I've been looking forward to that for a while. I'd just be punishing us both."

"Just tell me when and where, sweetheart, and I'll be there."

"Oh no. You guys are going to be that couple," Steve complains.

And without missing a beat, you face him and say, "Fuck off, Rogers!" Bucky snorts.

"You're cranky when you haven't gotten laid."

You gasp as Bucky bursts out laughing right in your ear, but he quickly catches you as you try to lunge for his best friend. "You know what, I was going to be discreet when banging your best friend, but now I'm going to tell you all the filthy things Bucky likes to do just to annoy you. I will go into excruciating detail about the look and taste of his dick!"

Steve blanches as it's Wanda's turn to burst out laughing. "You've done it now, Steve."

And as Steve looks to Bucky for help, he merely shrugs. "You brought this on yourself, Stevie. Hope you enjoy the play by plays."

Relaxing in Bucky's hold and moving so you're hip to hip with him, you slide your arm behind his waist and hook your thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. "We're going to have so much fun."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #peter parker #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #darcy lewis #the avengers #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel

[sepublic]

Maddie and Marcy!

           Forgive me for bringing it up, but- A big reason for me loving this episode was that it gave me MAJOR The Owl House vibes, what with its horror and magical tropes and everything! The whole bit of brewing potions makes me miss that show… But also, Marcy really IS Luz, and I say this with the highest compliments- Coupled with her Cynthia Coven book, which… I believe Cynthia Coven is based on one of her beta designs? If so, THAT’s a neat cameo, I always like it when shows bring concepts back into the fray like that!

           On another note, looking at the Revival Spell, it makes a warning to only use it on non-speaking creatures… And below, there’s an image of what seems to be an angry Toad. Is this Barrel, and/or Andrias’ Toad friend? Did he try to resurrect his friend at one point, but things went horrifically wrong… Possibly with that Toad friend becoming that horrific monster we see, paralleling Marcy and Andrias, as both are now subservient to a Toad-related friend???

           I liked Marcy in this episode, I like that she has some of her own input to offer Maddie, showing that she’s grown… But at the same time, she just sort of goes with what others tell her, and it’s interesting! For someone so curious and thoughtful, I think Marcy is potentially non-critical of what others tell her, possibly because being highly autistic-coded (and I speak from experience), her first assumption is to just trust people and take them at face-value, so she doesn’t pick up on hidden cues, and thus tends to be fooled easily! Or rather… Perhaps Marcy IS capable of thinking beyond that, but sometimes she goes with what she wants to believe, because it’s easier and she doesn’t want to stand up for herself! Her accepting the status quo because of what Sasha taught her, and then apprenticing beneath Andrias… This could create a dilemma.

           It’s possible, even, that Marcy was toxic to Anne in a sense, in that she may have dismissed Anne’s questioning and potential stepping-out-of-line in the past, because she was certain that Sasha or whoever was in charge knew what they were doing? And Marcy didn’t want to question it, especially not to risk losing control… So in a sense, Marcy could be a dark reflection of Anne, in that they’re both afraid of stepping out, but Marcy never got the chance to learn beyond this, and ended up sort of shutting down the questioning of others like Anne, because she didn’t want to lose them either?

           I have to wonder if there’s no big twist on Marcy’s toxic flaw; If it’s something we’ve been seeing gradually worked upon, because she’s in a positive and supporting environment… But in a flashback, we’ll see just how those traits worked badly for Anne when underneath Sasha’s influence, and how much Marcy has changed since then! So yes, Marcy WAS bad for Anne… But like Anne, she just needs a good environment to flourish, and seeing how she was bad in the past, will give a whole new appreciation to each episode where she’s grown!

           Also, small detail- But that Abomination joke was fun for me, I’m sorry for constantly bringing up The Owl House, but I can’t help it- Especially since it’s a plant abomination, so now I’m already thinking of Jerbo! I love how this episode gives the chance for side-characters to interact with each other, instead of just with the main cast, I love plots like these, and I love Anne and Sprig making a meta observation of it within the episode, and accidentally making a jab at themselves in the process. Again, I like seeing Wartwood and its cast outside of Anne and Sprig, because it gives the chance to flesh out the world and setting, and makes you appreciate more how Anne and the others interact with these people before and later on!

           I do have to wonder what Frobo is up to… But with Hop Pop, I love that joke and Freudian slip by Marcy, that was hilarious! Marcy honestly reminds me of Luz and that makes her more endearing, in the sense that she’s finally giving appreciation to these characters and their interests, first Hop Pop, then Maddie, and now we get to see these people really bond and flourish with one another! And Rosemary, Ginger, Lavender- I’m glad we get to see more of them now, I didn’t even recognize them in a previous episode, and I kind of felt their dilemma… A few minutes DID turn into three hours, and seeing a young Maddie was cute! Also, their deep, warbly voices and the veins, as they grew huge; That actually did unnerve me for a bit… But also, I appreciate how Maddie went out of her way to enlarge herself, just to play with her sisters and comfort them- She could’ve gone straight for the potions, but she felt the need to address why the potions were used in the first place!

           With how Marcy doesn’t have too much to counter nor necessarily agree with Maddie’s initial opinions on siblings, and I think it’s clear she has none; Which of course, just makes her more lonely! I have to wonder if any of the three human girls have siblings… Definitely not Anne and Marcy, maybe Sasha? But it’s likely distant there herself, as we’ve all speculated… But anyhow, again- I like seeing a new character in the form of Marcy come in, to give appreciation to characters that they might not otherwise get! I really resonate with her fascination with magic, and hope to see more of it in the show, perhaps as an element for worldbuilding later on? The necromancy jokes were great, and I look forward to the next episode!

#amphibia #amphibia marcy #marcy wu #amphibia maddie #maddie flour #speculation

[pocketsizeddemon]

Litha - Bang Chan Smut

           I got the idea last year but I didn't really have time to do anything and I'm beyond lucky that I got to finish it just on time this year. Hope you enjoy~ Chan has his first weekend off in a while and he spends it on a camping trip with you.

Bang Chan Smut , 2.5k words , AO3

       It was a lovely, sunny early June afternoon and you and your boyfriend, Chris were chilling on your balcony. Your hands were playing with his fluffy black hair as you were enjoying the sunshine. You still couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have been calling him your boyfriend for over a year now. 

           Earlier, in April, a little after your first anniversary, you shared with him one little thing about yourself that you weren’t entirely sure how to address all that time. You were a witch. Not the fairytale kind. A real-life, moon-loving, herb-growing, tea-drinking, spell-casting, witch. You didn’t know what to expect as an answer but after a few minutes of silence he just exclaimed with a giggle “Well, suddenly the number of candles and house plants make a lot more sense now!” 

           After that followed a lot of random conversations about your craft and even more 3 a.m. texts like: 

“Wait so you can turn people into animals?”

           “No babe, but I can jinx them to get their tongues twisted when they talk shit about me.”

but you were beyond happy with how sweet, understanding and curious he was about this all.  

           “Babygirl?” his voice brought you out of your reminiscing and you looked at him with a smile. 

           “Yes, love?” you asked

           “You had a really adorable look in your face. Were you daydreaming?”

           “Ah- I was just thinking of how lucky I am to have you…” a soft blush blooming on your cheeks as your voice trailed off. He chuckled and leaned up to kiss said blushing cheeks. Before he was able to answer, a yawn escaped him.

           “Oh, baby. Are you tired?” you asked, fluffing up his hair.

           “Yeah… my insomnia has been getting worse lately…” his voice trailed off as a frown appeared on his face. “Oh!” he sat up excitedly as his eyes gleamed with hope. “Can you… can you help me? Is there like a spell or a potion you can do?”

           You pondered for a few moments before answering.

           “Well, there are a few things I can do. I already have a bedtime tea blend that I can give you… And you’re going to have to come to pick something up on the weekend.” You smiled at him.

           “Why on the weekend?” he asked.

           “Full moon on Friday.” You winked cheekily before getting up to prepare him a jar of your bedtime tea. (Lavender, Chamomile, Valerian root, Linden tea)

           You wouldn’t get to meet him properly for the next two weeks as they were preparing for the comeback but that didn’t stop you from visiting his studio for a little while that same weekend to drop off the special restful sleep & sweet dreams sachet that you had made for him just that Friday night. (Lavender, Rosemary, Sea salt, Hops flowers, Sugar, Chamomile, Valerian, Amethyst and Rose Quartz)You kissed him sweetly and wished him a good rest before leaving that night. 

~

           You spent most of Saturday morning as a bit of a road trip, driving to your destination and listening to music in the car and just enjoying each other's company. Late on Saturday afternoon, you arrived at the beach you had found a few weeks ago online. It was even more beautiful than the pictures showed and the weather seemed to be just perfect for your camping trip, although it was still a bit too cool for swimming. After setting up your tent, you took off your shoes and went on a long walk on the beach. You and Chris picked up a few seashells, threw skipping rock and you just had to admit, he was great at that.

You returned to the tent as the sun was setting and just in time for dinner. Before you could even bring the food that you had left in the cooler, back in the car, Chris had already built a little bonfire. 

           “Funny how you built a fire...” your voice trailed off as you two finished up your food, “You see, today, or better tomorrow is the summer solstice!”

           “That's another witch holiday, right?” he beamed 

           “Exactly!" you smiled back at him. “Remember last year on the picnic we had on the 1st of May how I told you about Beltane?” He nodded and grinned, remembering very well what that story had sparked. 

           “While in Beltane the God and Goddess unite for the first time, in Litha, Midsummer, the God is maturing and the Goddess is pregnant, that’s why most fruits, vegetables and all grains are ripening and growing this season. And it's celebrated with big fires and staying up until sunrise to greet the longest day of the year.” you quickly wrapped up your story since you didn't want to overwhelm him. 

           Yet little did you know that his mind was racing in a whole different direction. All Chris heard was “pregnant” and his eyes focused with you, glimmering mischievously. Ever since the first of May, when you guys made love in the forest and he filled you up with his cum it’s all that he’s been thinking. He didn’t actually want to get you pregnant, not just yet, but cumming inside you and imagining you soft and round with his baby was doing things to him.

           “Speaking of my craft” you tried to change the subject a bit “how's your insomnia been treating you lately baby?”

            “I had almost forgotten about that” he turned to you with a massive smile “I really can't thank you enough babygirl. The tea on its’ own had been doing a great job calming me down before bed but after you brought me the little bag? I've been sleeping like a baby! I don't know if it's because it works or it's because I look at it and think of you... And feel warm and safe...” he held your hand lovingly rubbing circles on your palm. But it does a great job! Please just... Tell me anything you want, I want to thank you.”

           “Well I am a witch!” you jokingly answered, “You could give me your firstborn!” You laughed at your own joke until you turned to him to see a smirk on his face. 

           “Oh perfect! Let’s get baby-making!” he pounced at you, pushing you in the tent, suddenly very happy with himself that he had remembered to pack a groundsheet with him. You pulled him on the floor with you, him peppering your face with small kisses as you giggled. He leaned over you, supporting himself on his hands as he gazed upon you, his eyes sparkling with love and mischief under the soft lighting of the fire and the stars. 

           He slowly dipped down to kiss your lips, ever so softly but you pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. Over two weeks away from him had you craving for his affection and touch. His lips were so soft and sweet you simply had to bite them.

           “Eager girl…” he teased as he pecked your lips again.

           “I just missed you… a lot” you answered quietly, your fingers tangling to his hair.

           “I can’t complain, babygirl. I really missed you too.” He kissed you again, hearing a small sigh of content leave you. His warm fingers were soon on your waist, toying with the hem of your shirt as his lips lowered to your neck. 

           Your shirt and bra came off first and he could already see your nipples react to the cool summer breeze. He cupped one of your breasts while teasing the other’s nipple with his tongue, not missing your reaction. Your breath hitched as his warm tongue met the sensitive skin and a fluttery moan left your lips.

           Chris’ shirt followed before he leaned back down to keep on scattering kisses and small bites along your neck and exposed chest. His hands were now resting on your hips, massaging and squeezing the soft skin under the thin linen pants you were wearing. You couldn’t help but squirm in response. You were almost surprised by how hungry he was for you. Even his kisses were seemed hotter than usual, as he was lovingly leaving hickeys on your neck. It wasn’t long before you felt his finger fumbling with your zipper.

          You helped him take them off, wriggling out of the tight jeans with a chuckle. He kissed every single patch of skin he could reach while removing them, along with your panties. You instinctively spread her legs a little and he pushed them further apart. His hands rested on your thighs as he looked at you in all your naked glory.

           “Which one of the Gods am I supposed to thank for sending the most marvelous girl to me?” he mattered between scattering kisses on your inner thigh.

           “Hmm… Eros I suppose. Or maybe Aphrodite.” You answered with a warm smile and an even warmer blush, as your fingers weaved through his hair. 

           Chris' hot breath was getting closer and closer to your core. When his lips touched you where you needed him most, you let out a little moan. He took his time eating you out, humming as your thighs clenched and relaxed according to his Ministrations. Your hips were moving on their own account, following the movements of his tongue on your pussy, desperate mewls spilling from your mouth, but he was having none of that. 

           With his arms wrapping around your thighs and his hands now resting on your abdomen, he pinned you down, hearing your little whines of protest. He locked eyes with you and you could barely keep your eyes open as his pillowy lips sucked on your clit. Your back arched off the floor and your moans only urged him to continue. Switching between licking your folds with his skillful tongue and sucking he was making a squirming mess out of you. He could feel you clenching as your release approached so he focused on your clit even though his jaw was starting to ache but his efforts paid off as he saw you orgasm from just his tongue. After kissing your hipbones, whispering words of praise, he came up to your lips for a kiss. Taking advantage of his relaxed state, you flipped the two of you around. 

           “My turn.” You smirked cheekily. You kneeled in between his legs, pulling down his pants along with his briefs as he was steadying himself on his elbows. You were a bit impatient, silly as it seemed, but you wanted to make him feel good too. His painfully hard erection was resting on his stomach and it made your mouth almost water. There was precum already leaking from the tip and you wasted no time, licking it off. 

           He hissed as you licked up from the base to the tip, feeling his veins on your tongue. You slipped the tip in your mouth and sucked on it before you slowly started taking in the rest of his cock. Your hands were pumping what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, trying to match the pace. Chris groaned when he hit the back of your throat, his hands grabbing at the floor of the tent. Your head bobbed as you tried to take more of him, tears prickling your eyes in the process. 

           “Fuck! That feels good babygirl.” He moaned as you finally took all of him in your mouth. “But” he continued as he stroked your cheek “I want to fuck you so much, baby. I want to cum inside you. I did say we’d make a baby.” 

           His dick twitched as you let him off of your mouth with a pop. You crawled on to his lap, his hands grabbing on your hips as his tip rested against your wet folds. You adjusted your position and slowly took him in, as you felt his grip tighten. Soft gasps could be heard as he sank deeper inside you, stretching you out. Chris marveled at the sight of you above him, your flushed cheeks, swollen lips and messy hair were beyond beautiful to him. 

           He couldn’t keep himself from staying still, even though he wanted to admire you a little more. He started thrusting up, meeting your unsteady pace, his hands trailing up towards your chest. You moaned as he met you with a particularly hard thrust, your legs shaking as you were starting to get tired.

           He didn’t need you to say it twice and took no time in flipping you over. Your legs, instinctively wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to you. You left a moan as he could reach deeper in this position. His groans responded to you, as he felt you clenching around him. Your hands reached to his neck, pulling him down for a rough passionate kiss.

           The smile on his lips was prominent even through your kiss and he set up a slow, sensual pace wanting nothing more than to make this last longer. Deep, slow thrusts, drawing long, breathless moans from you. Praises and I-love-yous were whispered in your ears as he kept a steady pace. You were overpowered by how he was sweetly making love to you, rocking the tent with his powerful thrusts. 

           With the knot in your abdomen started to grow tighter you begged him to go faster and he complied. His pace grew faster as he leaned closer to you, hitting just the right spot to make you see stars. He could feel your blunt nails scratching his back as he lost himself, pistoning faster and faster. Groans spilled from his mouth as he noticed you tightening around him, your orgasm approaching. You were but a pleading mess, so close, looking so beautiful just for him, moaning his name as you squirmed with pleasure. Knowing he couldn’t hold any longer either, he fucked you even harder. With the first few thrusts, your back arched off the floor of the tent, your moans filling the little space as you writhed in his arms. He let you ride out your orgasm as he chased his own, releasing his hot seed deep inside of you.  

           “That was amazing!” he said as he laid down next to you, left out of breath. You curled into his arms for a cuddle with a soft hum of agreement. Pressing your lips together into a kiss, he wrapped his arms around you as he played with your hair.

           “You realize that this was only round one, right?” you stated with a smirk after a few minutes of cuddling, causing him to chuckle.

           “Of course not, I haven’t given your my firstborn yet!” he answered through his laugh as he peppered your face with tiny kisses.

           And that’s how your night went. Soft warm cuddles, turning to slow and sensual lovemaking and back to cuddling again until the sunrise, leaving both of you pleasantly tired and sated. 

          “Did you really mean that Chris?” you asked him with half-closed eyes while basking in the soft pink light of dawn that was peeking through the tent's entrance. “The baby-making thing...?” 

          “Well... Perhaps not just yet but I can surely picture myself starting a family with you in the future. I love you so much.” He stated before nuzzling into your neck as the sun shined his first rays upon your skin.

#bang chan #stray kids #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz memes #skz smut #skz fluff #stray kids fanfic #chris bang #christopher bang #cb97 #smut and fluff #litha #midsummer

[lockedstuck]

moving your mouth to pull out all your miracles

April 2021 - Gamzee Makara

You don’t like the way your thoughts proceed on halo, helldog, or haloperidol, or whatever Karbro calls it. After you take it, the world feels blunt, impersonal, and grayscale, like you’re a motherfucking puppet with a head full of straw. Your brother used to love a poem about that, about some guys with straw heads, but mostly about the world ending.

Kurloz liked a lot of motherfucking things before he did nine months in Rikers for cocaine distribution. Originally it was only supposed to be six months, but he got into a fight and got three months added on. When he got out, he was thoughtful and quiet, even a word of acknowledgment seemingly beyond him. You’ll be damned if that ever happens to you, if you let the system hollow you out until you can’t express the simplest serendipity.

Right now you’re sketching your friends, quick sketches with the charcoal set Dr. Levin brought you. One of Karkat having a rare smile for June, one of Sollux and Roxy talking about programming, one of Dr. V addressing the group about healthy coping mechanisms, and one of Porrim braiding Calliope’s hair. You always feel more like yourself when you’re sketching or painting. Fewer thoughts in your head to get jangle-tangled together and create nonsense. You can keep your miracles straight this way.

You’re cool. You’re easy. You’re loose. No snapped strings, heads full of straw, or blasphemies here, no motherfucking way. The ativan caravan marches through your head, sings your sharp edges to sleep. Nurse Dolores knows what’s up, she only makes you take the medications you want to take. Your cognition flies free, like birds in a breeze, a calm going on between your ears.

Roxy turns and grins at you, her face pale as the moon against her dark hoodie and darker lipstick. She has a smile all her own, a knowing smile like the two of you are in on the greatest secret in the world. You wish you knew precisely what that was about, but everyone has their own internal workings. You can’t know and fix everything about everyone all the time. That’s what you were trying to explain to Sollux last night.

He’s a good guy, but he takes too much on. Same for Karkat. They take on everyone’s issues and make them their own. Only the mirthful messiahs should be able to do so much; humans like trying that hard is a minor sacrilege. If the pair of them would just stick to themselves, maybe they wouldn’t be so sick. You’ll fold more flowers for them - paper flowers that banish repetitive, ruminating thoughts.

You like Roxy a lot, though. She dances through each emotion in its totality, riding the waves of her feelings without fear. Okay, maybe not fearlessly, but with more abandon than you would expect. When she looks at you, you feel warmth all the way to your core, the way you are when you’re about to fall asleep all curled up in your sheets.

Speaking of sleep, Dr. V says that if you keep sleeping through the night, and keep what he calls “disruptive outbursts” about the Dark Carnival to a minimum, maybe you’ll get discharged in a couple of weeks. You’re not exactly in any rush to go home. Home means having to fend for yourself, and fewer friends to keep you in good spirits. Besides, Kurloz is home, and for all that he may be your brother, he gives off bad motherfucking vibes. You wish he’d be easy, like old times, but those days are a long way off.

You remember when you used to be able to relax at home. Relax, smoke a joint, sell an eighth or two, and have dinner without having to fend off your brother’s brooding.

Karkat takes the seat next to you, and you clap him on the back. Physical contact may be discouraged here, but there’re no narcs around to encourage law and order at the moment. You think a support team got dispatched to address Feferi wandering around with no clothes on again.

“What’s up?” Karkat asks.

He nevertheless looks preoccupied and far away. That’s unfortunate.

You take another folded flower out of your pocket and hand it to him.

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts,” you recall from a play you had to read in AP English a couple years ago. You can’t exactly remember what the play’s about, but stray lines here and there stick out to you like a sore thumb. Except neither of your actual thumbs are sore.

“That’s from Hamlet, isn’t it?” Karkat asks, shaking his head at you. “What’re you, the bard of 3 East?”

Now you’re not certain about that, but you’ll take it.

“Someone’s gotta be, ain’t they? I got more poetry if you want it.”

Karkat sighs. “Yeah, lay it on me, Makara. Dr. Vandayar told me I’m not getting discharged next week so I’m not feeling great at the moment.”

Poor Karbro looks like he’s full of thunderstorms. Maybe a calm vista will quiet him down. You pull a few lines of poetry free from your memory.

“I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk upon the beach... I have heard the mermaids singing each to each... I do not think that they will sing to me.”

“Go on,” Karkat says, looking all at once pensive and a little sad.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves... Combing the white hair of the waves blown back... When the wind blows the water white and black,” you recite. Now, Roxy, Calliope, and Porrim have stopped to listen to you. You go on, establishing a proper rhythm.

“We have lingered in the chambers of the sea... by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown... ‘till human voices wake us, and we drown.” When no one says anything, you interject, “That’s the end of the fuckin’ poem, y’all.”

“It’s beautiful,” Porrim whispers. “Did you write that?”

You shake your head in the negative. “Naw, that’s some other motherfucker’s ideas outta my mouth. I wrote a couple of my own lines last night if you wanna hear ‘em, though.”

“Sure,” Calliope says, smiling and clapping her hands once.

“My muse distills my melancholy, pins it to the corkboard with a tack. She presses down upon the pigments, bleeds my blues into the boldest black.”

Even Karkat looks surprised. He narrows his eyes at you.

“If you don’t go study art or literature, or something along that line, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Ain’t no need to resort to murder, brother,” you reply. “And while I’d like to go sit in a motherfucking college somewhere, I ain’t got shit for tuition.”

“If I have to take up a goddamn collection, I am sending your ass to college. Tout-suite.”

You guess now is not the time to inform him that you straight up flunked outta college after you kept forgetting to go to class. You sat in the grass memorizing poetry and sketching the first dandelions of March, which got in the way of your learning anything or taking your exams, or any of the shit college students are supposed to do. You didn’t mean to forget, but you’ve never been great at any routine shit.

And you’ve always had a knack for going where your thoughts take you. When you were a kid, you would leave the house and walk up and down the streets of Harlem unattended. Your grandmother used to read you the riot act for doing something so reckless and nonsensical. Later, during your hospitalizations, you learned that the way your thoughts stuttered and tangled was called schizophrenia, and doctors medicated you accordingly. They called your prophecies delusion, and you beg(ged) to differ.

The medications ground your thought process to a stuttering halt. You hated it. You hated being cut off from yourself. So you stopped taking your meds. And here you are again, with your strange thoughts and remembrances.

“Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio,” Karkat murmurs.

You grin at him. He understands more than he lets on.

June winks at you, and then walks away to the women’s side of the unit, presumably to call her father. She calls him every day at 8 am and 3 pm, like clockwork. Karkat gazes at her as she walks away, the back of her short dress fluttering behind her.

“June looks nice today,” you say to him.

 He stops staring and glances at you for a moment.

“Yeah, um, she looks nice every day,” he replies. “Not that I make it my business to notice.”

You point to the delicate paper flower he has in his hand. “Sometimes the most miraculous thing you can fuckin’ do is give another person a taste of serendipity.”

Roxy smiles her cheshire cat smile from her seat by the television.

“That’s right, Crabby. Dontcha think June deserves her very own miracle?”

Karkat reddens, looks at the flower in his hand, and takes off for the women’s side.

“Hey, Egbert!” he shouts. “I have something for you.”

By the time you see June again, she’s wearing the small red flower in her hair. Roxy gives you a satisfied little nod, then asks you if you’d like her to put your hair in braids.

“I’m not as good as Pomary with hair, but I’m alright, I guess. Your hair looks like some birds took up residence in it, dude.”

“Why, thank you,” you reply. You take a seat at her feet, after she grabs her comb, brush, hair grease, and spray bottle out of sharps.

She’s right. She’s not a thing like Pomary when it comes to braiding. You’re used to the gentle motions of Porrim’s hands as she manipulates flowers into your hair, but Roxy tugs great fistfuls of your hair into twists. It feels nice, like she’s tethering you to the present, to the here and now.

You tell her that, thank her for bringing you back, and she blushes crimson.

“Aw, I’m not tryna do all of that,” she responds. “Just tryna work through my anxiety. Dolores gave me an ativan an hour ago, and I don’t feel it yet.”

Roxy bends low, and plants a kiss on your forehead, right where your skin meets your greasepaint. Her lips are the softest thing you’ve ever felt.

She keeps braiding, manipulating your hair into cornrows. With Roxy near you, you don’t necessarily have to be a prophet or an apostate of the mirthful messiahs. You don’t have to deliver special messages to special people. You can just be Gamzee Motherfucking Makara, doing you as per usual.

#gamroxy #junekat

[itstaskeen]

Leaves

Grass trimmed short between rectangular beds. Aromatic leaves, the air scented by blossoms, tiny green leaves of the Thyme, Rosemary with dark green leaves and white central stripe growing on woody stems,   sprawling Oregano with its sweet pungent smell, Mint in its clay pot reaching for the sun, Chives growing like grass with their round purple flowers on tall stems, Basil waves gaily in the summer breeze right next to the garlic to keep the aphids at bay. Combined what music they make, each Italian and Greek dish an orchestra of flavour. 

  I can never see flowers too many times, I can never tire of their sweet fragrance. Each one is a delicate bloom, no matter if it is a formal garden or wasteland. Their petals are delicate works of art and their hues are medicine for my soul. I guess it's not just me that feels that way though, we bring flowers into the hospitals and graveyards, we send them to express our love, we plant them in our yards though they bear no edible fruits. Gardening was always a hobby of mine since I was a child

Its a very entertaining thing to do but it can be quite messy. My whole body was covered in mud as I was trimming the bushes and watering plants and planting some new flower seeds. *pov * Today I finished work earlier than expected. As I arrived home I found y/n gardening. She was putting her full effort into it and doing it passionately. Her hair was barely combed back into a messy ponytail, and dirt was smeared across her cheek and forehead. With her sports bra coated with mud and jeans caked with dried mud. Though covered in dirt and mud she was truly beautiful, stunning as always.

*Y/NS POV * You were occupied sprinkling water on the Chrysanthemums when you felt a pair of muscular arms wrap around your waist from behind making you gasp. You looked behind to see it was tom. Y/N: You are back early T: Just wanted to see my pretty girl Y: your pretty girl? T: yes mine 

*THIRD PERSONS POV* He pulled you closer to him and started pressing kisses across my neck to my collarbone. Y: TOMM! T: hmm Y: Don't come close to me T*stilll pressing kisses on you *: Why not love Y: I'm covered in mud * pushing tom away * T: but babeeeee I wanna cuddle * he whines and wraps you in a hug * Y: let me go and take a shower first  * letting go of him * T: okay but don't come back begging me to cuddle with you Y: huh?? I think it's the other way around Y: don't come back begging me to cuddle with you * you said mocking him * Y: I'm going to the shower rn T: can I join you at least Y: come along then *you looked at him with a smirk*

READ FIRST SIN PART 1

HERE

#tom angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland frat au #tom holland imagines #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x fem #fictober #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #taskeen writes #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #peter parker smut #tom holland is hot #wtf did i just write

[beforetheflowers]

Poinsettia

SPNAdventCalendar2020 prompt: day 13, poinsettia

Read complete on AO3!

Ok, I’m a little late with this, but here we go. Read the first half below the cut!

Hunters might not get paid for doing their jobs, but it was not uncommon to receive gifts of appreciation. These gifts ranged from invitations to sit down for a home-cooked meal, boxes of snacks and drinks, a good bottle of scotch, gift cards to restaurants… actually, the gifts took the form of food quite often. 

It was curious, this human impulse to show their love by feeding each other. Taking care of each other’s most basic need, giving the blessing of not needing to worry about where the next meal was coming from. 

Though angels did not, as a rule, feel hunger, Castiel understood it intimately. He’d been human quite a few times in the last decade, and he knew the dull ache that could only be filled by sinking his teeth into something delicious.   

Of course, Castiel made a point of breaking heaven’s rules. He never told Dean this, but occasionally he would fly out into a field or forest and let his grace drain into the Earth, depleting his own power so that he could become something close to human. It wasn’t easy to do in winter; someone would probably get suspicious if a grove of trees suddenly sprouted greenery under their blankets of snow, but he made it work. 

Let’s just say that a particular river in Kansas was full of incredibly vigorous fish, and leave it at that.

Draining his power in that way allowed Castiel to experience mortality with Dean. His vessel aged, so subtly that Dean hadn’t even noticed yet, but Cas was determined to grow old with him. They had their eternal youth to look forward to in the afterlife. 

It also allowed him to feel human drives; hunger, thirst, desire, pain. All the risks and rewards of freedom.  

Castiel also felt that taking care of the Earth was a proper angelic duty. He wasn’t interested in being an agent of fate, or a tool in Chuck’s arsenal. But blessing the Earth with life gave him great joy and contentment in his role as an angel. His grace was a gift he could give to wild things. 

So, although Castiel understood humanity’s gift-giving impulse on a personal level, he found it quaint and charming nevertheless. In times of hardship, humans reached out for each other instead of turning away, they gave more generously instead of less. Despite the flaws of their species, Castiel believed they were good at their core. He wasn’t sure he could say the same about angels.

The winter holidays seemed to motivate humans to give more than any other season. Perhaps it was simply the darkness and lack of plant growth in winter that pushed them to share resources, but… they took care of each other.

Cas was, however, sometimes baffled at their choice of gifts. 

One day in late November, he had gone grocery shopping while Dean was at work and had seen rows and rows of tiny replicas of popular fictional characters, stuffed animals in unnatural colors, pink models of kitchens, and even boxes of toys that weren’t assembled yet. How any of these objects helped humans survive winter, Cas didn’t know. 

Musing about the nature of humanity along the ends of the toy aisles, he had walked past a little red creature that started singing at him. He finished his shopping quickly after that. 

Also in November, Cas had received another bewildering gift from a family he had saved from a poltergeist. Dean had been at work again when Cas heard a strange report on the police scanner; officers had responded to a call about a strange man smashing up the neighbor’s house while everyone was out. 

When they had arrived, they found all the doors and windows closed and locked. Inside was indeed smashed up; the dining table was broken down the middle, stuffing was ripped from the couches, glass littered the floor from shattered picture frames and ceramic decorations. There was nobody in the house.

The mom left work right away after the cops notified her, and - Cas perused the subsequent report - she had mentioned instances of paintings falling off the walls, doors slamming, furniture being moved, but nothing close to the destruction of that day. The police had chalked it up to a very clever home invader and told the family to invest in a better security system. 

A security system wouldn’t work against a poltergeist, if indeed that was what the family was dealing with. 

Cas packed a duffle bag with ghost-hunting paraphernalia and teleported to the end of the family’s driveway. The family had been unwilling to trust him at first - apparently, they didn’t appreciate blunt honesty - but when the sun went down and the poltergeist started hurling knives around the kitchen, they welcomed Cas back inside, where he made quick work of the poltergeist. 

As it turned out, they had recently purchased a painting of a sunset from a charity auction. All seemed normal until Cas tore off the paper backing, revealing the signature of the painter; it was not created by some local artist as the family had assumed, but by someone who went down in history as a serial killer. The alizarin crimson was fortified with actual human blood, and the victim had become a restless spirit, tethered to the painting and unable to rest. 

Cas burned the painting and the spirit finally moved on. In their gratitude, the family had insisted he take home the apple pie that had been cooling on the counter and shoved a plant into his hands. Arms full of ghost-hunting equipment and the family’s generous gifts, Cas left, waiting until he reached the cover of shadows before teleporting home. 

The pie was a good gift because it made sense. Food. And a dessert at that, a delectable treat. Dean especially would like it. But the plant?

It had broad red leaves with tiny yellow blooms in the center. The lower leaves were dark green. A poinsettia. 

The Aztecs had cultivated this plant for its usefulness as medication and dye, but surely the family didn’t expect him to use it for those purposes. Of course, Cas knew about its association with Christ. Legend held that an angel encouraged a girl in Mexico to give a gift, no matter how plain, for Christ’s birthday. She gathered a bouquet of roadside weeds, but when she placed them on the altar, they became the blazing red, star-shaped leaves of the poinsettia. 

Cas had no idea which angel had performed that particular miracle, but it sounded on-brand for the heavenly host. Most angels only helped humanity when it served the glory of the Lord. Or maybe Cas was just a cynic. 

Either way, it didn’t explain why the family had given him one. They didn’t know he was an angel, right? The plant symbolized sacrifice, success, happiness, or purity; was it perhaps a wish that he would experience one of these? He’d take success or happiness, but he’d sacrificed far too much already, and he was so far beyond purity that it was almost a joke. 

Dean was already home when Cas, bypassing the struggle of opening the door with his hands full, teleported into the kitchen. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Flinching mightily, Dean nearly flipped the contents of the pan straight onto the floor. He chuckled weakly when he saw who it was. “Jesus Christ, man. Could you try knocking first, or something?”

“My hands were full,” Cas explained, finally setting everything down. He put the pie and the plant on the table and returned the duffle bag back to its place in the basement before returning to Dean. 

The smell that pervaded the house was wonderful; garlic and rosemary under the scent of sizzling steak. Cas’s stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. It was easy for an angel to lose track of such things, but Dean always took care of him. 

“Have a glass of wine,” Dean said, handing him a cab sauv. He leaned his back against the counter, watching Cas and his cooking at the same time. “Tell me about your day, baby.” 

Cas told him about the poltergeist and the gratitude of the family. “I don’t understand why they gave me this plant,” he ended the story, brushing one soft, red leaf between his fingertips.  

“What do you mean? It’s a poinsettia.” 

“Yes. It’s a holy symbol that often represents the crucifixion in the Western, Christian tradition. Why would they want to remind me of that? It was a horrible event, really. A man died.”    

Dean gave him that look, half exasperation, half amusement, that usually meant Cas had failed to understand some social norm. “People always give each other poinsettias around Christmas. It doesn’t really have any deep symbolic meaning these days, it’s just pretty to look at.”

Well, that was certainly true. It was a vibrant little thing, with plush crimson leaves and yellow center, like it was both reaching out for the sun and reflecting it deep within. Cas could feel the life buzzing inside it, drawing water and nutrients from the soil and exhaling oxygen through its broad leaves. 

It was a good gift, he decided with a little smile. 

But that wasn’t the end of it... 

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #destiel #@bend-me-shape-me #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #fanfic #writing prompt #holiday prompts

[trashfor-imagines]

My Senpai | 4

Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re Goshiki Tsutomu’s older doting sister, second year at Shiratorizawa and captain of the girl’s track & field team. At your brother’s first practice you sneak in to support him and end up meeting the impressive force that is his captain. Warnings: None really. Mentions sex. Spoilers: We’re encroaching on manga territory. Takes place after Karasuno v Shiratorizawa.

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating in forever! I lost my original chapter and got discouraged. I started rewatching Ushijima episodes to refresh my grasp on his character.

[1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5]

-

It was a shock. You never thought Shiratorizawa was capable of losing this year. Ushijima appeared unaffected, but that was just him. It was always mental for him and he had the ability to act with a sort of chivalric grace whenever faced with conflict. God, your boyfriend was really cool. Your brother, however, it broke your heart to see him cry.

After the award ceremony, you raced down to wait by the bus. Ushijima walked out first, his head held high. Noticing you, he simply rested his large hand on your head before getting on the bus. Quiet hello’s and thanks for coming’s were whispered to you. Your little brother could barely make eye contact, the last one to get on the bus. Reaching for his hand, you gave it a squeeze before letting it go and heading for the bus that brought the cheer squad.

The ride felt long. You spent most of it listening to music and playing with the sleeve of Ushijima’s spare team jacket he’d given you shortly after dating. You smiled and chatted occasionally with your fellow students, but the topics of discussion were focused on how Ushijima and the third years were doing. They expected you to have the answers and quite frankly, you thought it was obvious.

Getting back, you made your way into the gym to see the team working on serves. You sat quietly on the sidelines and watched as everyone gave their all, letting out their frustrations from the day. You never knew you could find the slams of volleyballs to be comforting to where they could put you to sleep. Or maybe you were just exhausted. Either way, you woke up from being carried.

“Wakatoshi,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to his chest.

The two of you snuck into your dorm room, stripping down into your underwear and entangling under the sheets. Ushijima’s body was like a radiator, warm and comforting.You ran your fingers through his hair patiently. If he wanted to talk, then he would. Until then, you whispered little praises to him, pressing kisses to his shoulder between sentences.

“I won’t lose again,” he spoke quietly.

Months passed and things continued to go well between the two of you. They were better than ever honestly. During Christmas you visited each other’s families at his request. You didn’t even have to prompt it! Your parents loved him. They thought he was quite the protector type and approved. His mother ended up accepting you once she realized you were intelligent and genuinely loved her son. Your personality had definitely thrown her for a loop.

Graduation was soon approaching and the two of you decided on a five year plan together. Long nights were spent discussing goals and dreams, wondering if they would be compatible with one another. He intended on going pro right after school; the Schweiden Adlers seemed most likely and they were based in Oita. You still had your third year of high school to finish, but you were applying to Kyushu University for architecture. It was in Fukuoka and closer than your other options to Oita. It was just a couple of hours by train or car. You also had plans to stick with track and field and keep your spot on the national team for as long as you could. You both had your eyes on the 2016 Olympics.

For a year the two of you managed to maintain a healthy long distance relationship.

After graduation, there were farewell and congratulatory parties almost every day, but the most fun for you was going apartment hunting, together. It was like a vacation, enjoying the beaches and hot springs. You spent a week staying at his apartment where the lease was ending soon. He said the two of you needed a new place together, that his current apartment wasn’t fitting enough for you. On your third day in Oita, Ushijima decided on the place, a 2 bed and 1.5 bath townhome instead of a one and one apartment. When you told him it was a bit expensive, he said it was perfect because he wanted you to have your own space at home to study for school without being bothered by him. You cried right there and he handled it like a champ. The two of you moved in a week before you started school.

“Wakatoshi!” you called to him from the rooftop terrace. He appeared, sticking his head out from the sliding glass door. You wiped your cheek, smudging dirt across your face. “Can you help me move this bag?”

He slipped on his outdoor shoes and walked over, lifting the bag of dirt and moving it to one of the two raised garden beds that he built earlier today. The two of you had plans for a small vegetable garden. “I thought we were going to plant seeds after lunch. I’m almost done cooking.”

“I know, I just got really excited. I was staring at your beautiful work and couldn’t help myself,” you cooed, giving him starry eyes.

Sighing, he set the bag down where you needed it before taking your hand and dragging you back inside. “We’ll do this after lunch. Together.”

“Aw, are you jealous I tried to start before you?” He didn’t say anything in response, making you grin. “My handsome farmer, I’m so sorry.”

After lunch, the two of you filled the garden beds with dirt and carefully planted seeds for carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, peas, basil, parsley, rosemary, thyme, marigolds, lavender, and scarlet plume celosia. Ushijima had done quite a bit of research on complimentary plants. Hours really. Hours spent doing online research and drawing diagrams of how the garden should be set up for its fullest potential.

You were watering one of the garden beds when you caught a glimpse of Ushijima squatting with a spade in his hand. It was so cute how concentrated he was and how much attention he was giving this simple task. Biting your lip, you sprayed him briefly. He blinked, as if not comprehending what happened and looked up, as if blaming the sky. A muffled laugh escaped you. You went back to watering the garden bed as he went inside. Minutes later you heard the glass door slide open and didn’t pay much mind to it. Suddenly you felt chilled and were thoroughly soaked. Moving your hair from your eyes, you looked up to see your boyfriend holding a bucket over your head.

“Wakatoshi!”

Soon you were off to university, moving into a small dorm room with a single suitcase. Your dorm was littered with photographs of you and Ushijima and it was hard to cope with the fact that you wouldn’t see him through at least the rest of summer, maybe not even until the end of September if your school’s track team did well.

For a month you and Ushijima would call or FaceTime every night and tell each other about your days. He was quite proud of the garden the both of you planted and would send you progress photos and then describe what he saw in fine detail. Honestly, you didn’t realize your boyfriend was capable of being so invested in something other than volleyball. There were a few times you tried spicing up your phone calls, but honestly Ushijima didn’t get it. He was terrible at phone sex. It was fine though. Summer break was.... just a few months away.

It was a Saturday night after track practice when you got a phone call from your boyfriend.

“Wakatoshi! You’re calling early. I haven’t gotten back to my dorm yet,” you spoke, excited to hear from him.

“(Y/N), I’m lost.”

Your brows raised in surprise. “Lost, how? Do you need me to look up how to fix something?”

“No, I’m somewhere on your university’s campus.”

You felt your heart skip and you immediately ran toward main campus. “Okay well tell me what you see.”

In thirty minutes you were in your dorm taking a shower and Ushijima was reading the newest shonen jump he picked up at the train station on your bedroom floor. You came out with your hair in a towel and one of Ushijima’s t-shirts you had stolen. He set aside his magazine and pulled you down into his lap, holding you tight.

“I’m so surprised you came. I’m so happy,” you squealed, burying your face into his neck and running your fingers through his hair.

“I missed you too. I can stay for two days, but then I must go home.”

Pulling back, you let your fingers run over the stubble on his jaw, pouting a bit, “So what do I owe this short visit?”

His stare was intense and a faint blush kissed his cheeks. “I recognize that a few times you’ve tried to... initiate some things on the phone. I admit I’m not very good at it, so hopefully my presence now can make up for my... lack of experience.”

“Wakatoshi,” you breathed out in surprise, gazing at him with so much love. He literally traveled almost three hours because you were horny without him. Pulling the towel from your hair, you knocked him over onto his back as you jumped him.

Visits like these happened sporadically and soon it was fall. Track and field season was over which meant you could make your weekend visits home to Oita. You’d leave Wednesday nights and head back to school on Sunday mornings. Despite the second bedroom serving as a private study for you, you found yourself curling up to Ushijima almost always - as long as he wasn’t busy.

This was life for a couple of years. The two of you had become quite the duo. In fact, throughout your relationship, you had only argued about two things:

You broke your phone once and he wasn’t able to contact you and he freaked out from not knowing what was going on.

He forgot your anniversary and cancelled on your date for volleyball and you laid in on him for it.

Things were great until the 2016 Olympic qualifiers came around. You had broken a metatarsal in your right foot at the first qualifying meet of the 2015 season. You were out for the next eight weeks and even then, you weren’t going to be in shape to qualify because you had to go through physical therapy and get your athletic abilities up to par. Your coach told you that staying on the national team, going pro, and qualifying for 2020 was still possible for you. It didn’t stop the feeling of complete and total devastation that wrecked you and you were jealous.

Ushijima wasn’t sure of how to help you; he’d never seen you so vulnerable before, never seen you so sad, but he did his best to support you, even if that meant being a punching bag. He was consistent, despite things he had going on for his own Olympic goals.

After two months it was summer break. You had to go through physical therapy and you moved back home to Oita, transitioning to online classes for the second term of the year. Because Ushijima’s love language was different from most, you found yourself being forced to do your PT homework exercises, no matter how down and bratty you got.

“Wakatoshi, I don’t want to do stairs,” you groaned, curling up into a ball on the couch.

“You must, or you won’t be ready to start training any time soon,” he replied simply.

Your foot was throbbing and you were on your period, and everything just felt like shit. All you wanted was to watch anime and eat the small bag of chips you had hidden under the blanket you were under. Ushijima had been so strict with your diet and honestly all you wanted were trans fats, sugar, and carbs. With ease, he ripped the blanket from you, exposing you in your underwear clutching a bag of Calbee honey butter flavored potato chips.

“You should get up and walk the stairs now,” he said, prying the bag of chips from your hands, “if you want these back.”

Throwing your legs over the couch, you winced, balling your hands into fists in frustration. You got up, favoring your left foot, which he noticed. He walked up the stairs and sat on the top step, waiting for you to follow. Biting your lip, you moved slowly, trying to ignore the pain. There were 14 steps to the top and you had to go up twice and down twice. You were doing fine until your second trek up the stairs. It was a misstep and you slipped and you were clinging to the stair case, crying. It was embarrassing for you to be like this in front of him. This sweet giant quickly enveloped you in his arms and had you lying on your side of the bed, gently caressing your foot as you sobbed through it.

When you were calm again, Ushijima left for a while before returning, dinner in hand. The two of you sat in bed and had the meal he made in silence. You’d barely eaten, but you waited until he finished before you curled up to his side.

“I’m so sorry, Wakatoshi.”

“I would be surprised it you took this easily. You’re a competitive person. It’s one of the things I find attractive about you,” he replied. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, his fingers gently running up and down along your own arm.

“Really?” you asked, feeling shy. He hummed in affirmation, glancing down to make eye contact. Smiling, you played with the hem of his shirt that was beginning to ride up. “What else do you... find attractive about me?”

“You’re thoughtful, kind. The way you pursue your passions and you’ve encouraged me to pursue my own; you believe in people wholeheartedly.” A thoughtful expression settled on his face as he spoke on effortlessly. He paused and his brows furrowed briefly before settling into a relaxed expression. “You’re beautiful.”

Placing a kiss to your forehead, you watched as he got up and headed to take his evening shower.

While you couldn’t compete, you concentrated on therapy and school and finished your courses early for your degree. You picked up a simple class to stay enrolled until your four years at school were up*, this way you could go back to competing your last year of university. The summer of 2016, Ushijima took you with him to Brazil. Japan didn’t win, but the competition was incredible. You got to meet with track and field athletes and it reignited your passion for competition.

You’d graduate come spring and then your focus was on 2020 Tokyo.

-

*In Japan, early graduation doesn’t exist. It was explained to me that if you attend a 4 year university, you have to be a student for 4 years before graduating, even if you complete your degree early.

tag list: @hihiq​

#Ushijima Wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #shiratorizawa #my senpai #haikyuu!! #haikyu #haikyū!! #reader insert #imagine #fanfic #volleyboys

[finding-fallen-stars]

YGO Questionnaire Part 2 Electric Boogaloo

So, my gf/bf @howaboutalittlehelpneos tagged me to do this again a... good long while ago, and I had wanted to wait until I'd finished my GX rewatch before trying this again. But ouch oof I accidentally also got through all of 5Ds again before getting to this lol

But the 5Ds rewatch definitely reshaped a lot of my thoughts, so... cracks knuckles. This won't be spoiler free, fair warning~

Favorite Series: ugh the formatting killed my original essay on this but okay GX and 5Ds are pretty tied in my book, now-- I love them equally, but in different ways! GX fulfills my love for subversive coming-of-age stories with a heartwarming, humorous, and also soulcrushing touch, and I love how each season brings a new story and new characters-- it's like reading installments of a novel series, and I think the formatting works wonders for it as a whole. It has some absolutely phenomenal character writing, too-- even the characters I dislike are ones I can appreciate for what they introduce to the story! And honestly, not enough people give the first two seasons of GX the credit it deserves: they're half the charm, really. How are you going to feel the full impact of the heartbreaking content in seasons 3 and 4 if you aren't properly attached to the characters?

But on 5Ds's side of things... it fulfills my love for stories with time loops, found family, human nature, and of course, love and death and how they intertwine. I love how the leading characters are just a bunch of broken kids from broken circumstances who all find a home with each other, and of course, how it highlights class disparity and how fucked up the prison/"justice" systems are. Yea, sure, maybe it underwent executive meddling and all, but I genuinely love it for what it is and I wish more people appreciated it... my only problem with 5Ds is the untwist with Z-ONE and then the ending s m h I adore it overall and I could go off for a long while on it. Overall, these are my two instinctive recommendations for anyone getting into Yugioh!

(look at these boys they're so important) Favorite Protagonist: Oh, believe me, absolutely nothing has changed here-- Yusei Fudo is and always will be my favorite protagonist, and my rewatch only solidified that.

I just... love him so much? He's seen so much hell in his life and carries so much guilt on his shoulders, but he still has room in his heart to believe in others and to believe that anyone can defy fate and find hope even at rock bottom. I love that he's initially introduced as this quiet, brooding figure when he really just turns out to be a huge softie who wears his heart on his sleeve half the time and wants to bring about change for Satellite and its people. Plus I just really love that his greatest flaw is something that would ordinarily be a positive trait-- he's Overly self-sacrificial, to the point where he's basically setting himself on fire to keep others warm, and that's not really framed as something Heroic

Just... he makes me so happy. I have two Yusei charms that I ordinarily keep on my keys (one was a gift from Zenzen) and they're a constant source of serotonin for me. He's Peak comfort character for me. Best protag in my book Favorite Rival: Same deal here-- still Manjoume!

look at him he's so important

While he spends a lot of the anime getting the good old damsel in distress treatment (getting suckered into a cult, getting knocked into a coma, becoming a zombie, getting fucking Killed, etc), I still think his character arc is really well-written overall and I only appreciated it even more when I watched GX again. I love the fact that he's got a soft heart he buries beneath the edgy facade, and that he's simultaneously really sharp and also kind of dense lol. He's just a fun character and watching how he evolves from episode one to episode one hundred eighty is such a satisfying journey.

Plus, props to him for being such a versatile duelist-- 50 wins in a row is HARD as is, let alone with a deck full of cards he just found laying around in the Arctic. Three ace monsters, three different archetypes... he's a really good duelist and I'm proud of him for it

Oh, but honestly, I don't really dislike any of the rivals-- I'm neutral towards Revolver and Reiji, but the remaining four (Kaiba, Manjoume, Jack, and Shark) compel me. yes I accidentally wound up liking Jack Atlas shhh Favorite BFF: Honestly, I really like most of the characters who fit this archetype-- Joey, Crow, Gongenzaka, Soulburner... I still lean a little bit more towards Joey, but I really appreciate all four of them. I'm gonna say Joey again, just because I find his evolution as a character the most compelling, but I appreciate the other three a lot. Soulburner has the best design though Favorite GFF: Oh absolutely still Aki, but I honestly... really love most female Yugioh characters? I'm assuming this is lead girls only, but like. I'm dumb and gay and I love Girls so this is naturally the most difficult one for me to answer lol

Aki just resonates with me the most because she's the prime example of how trauma doesn't always manifest in palatable ways-- when we first meet her, she's angry and lashes out at anyone and anything just because she wants the world to suffer in the same ways she's suffered, and then... we get to watch her grow from that, once she's free from Divine and able to heal the way she needs to heal. I know the second half of 5Ds didn't give her character the attention it deserved, but I'm still proud of her for winding up on the path she did-- seeing her channel her power and energy into wanting to heal and help others was just so good and was one of the few things I really Loved about the 5Ds ending.

oh, but like. Asuka Tenjoin and Aoi Zaizen are very close seconds for me!!! Aki just has a vice grip on my heart Favorite Villain: Okay, it's still technically Vector-- I think he's the most entertaining, well-written, and effective villain out of all of the ones we've seen so far, but... I also want to add Takuma Saiou and then all of Yliaster as honorable mentions?

As someone fond of tarot myself, I was naturally pretty intrigued by Saiou the first time I watched GX, but my attachment to him only grew the second time around where I actually got the chance to understand his character better. Plus, like... the visuals with him are fucking astounding and he's always so interesting to watch.

As for Yliaster, I just... really love how the big bad of 5Ds turned out to just essentially be a broken man desperate to save anyone and anything and three robotic reconstructions of the friends he'd lost. I still think the untwist with Z-ONE was stupid and I much prefer the idea of him and Yusei being the same person, but I'm still compelled by the other three-- well. Paradox less so, because we don't get a lot of Paradox lore, but. Aporia and Antinomy for sure.

ugh Yugioh has some damn good villains

Favorite Card: now that I actually play the TCG game...

Stardust is always going to be my favorite of all cards because it checks every box for me (my favorite YGO character's ace monster, space theme, what more could I want), but Aromaseraphy Rosemary has really become one of my aces in my best TCG deck! I'm still mastering irl plays, but I'm happy with my progress and I love my plant gang...

Favorite Episode: alright, here's where there's actually been a Lot of change, so...

Season 0: Episode 16: "Turnabout by a Hair's Breadth - The White-Robed Crisis" -- The more I think about this one, the more I love it; there's a... lot of corruption in the medical industry, and I've seen a lot of it firsthand, so just. Seeing a corrupt doctor get what he deserved at the end was cathartic, in a way? Plus, a Jounouchi-centric episode is always a good time.

Duel Monsters: Episodes 96-97: "Darkness vs. Darkness/One Turn Kill" -- this hasn't changed, I still love seeing Marik and Bakura bitch at each other for two whole episodes LMAO

GX: Episode 152: "Activate Super-Fusion! Rainbow Neos" -- This one hasn't changed and it likely never will-- I take so much pride in seeing Judai push forward, past the fear and guilt he's carrying, all to save Johan... it's cathartic and I never get sick of watching it.

5Ds: sweats. still all of Crash Town, but also episodes 137-147-- the Ark Cradle is one of my favorite parts of 5Ds and one of my favorite YGO arcs period, and even though each duel is a fucking gut punch, I love the emotional intensity and weight in each episode... It hurts but in a mostly good way

Zexal: Episode 143: "The Aloof Duelist 'Nasch': The Destined Final Duel" -- this one hasn't changed! Still hurts, still love it, I still weep over Ryouga Shark Kamishiro on a daily basis

Arc-V: Episodes 81-82: "Our Respective Battlefields/The Ultimate Falcon VS The Black-Feathered Thunder" -- Okay, honestly, this was hard because I... genuinely. really don't like Arc-V very much at all lol (it's just not my cup of tea, but more power to those who do like it!), but I thought this duel was a lot of fun! Shun is my absolute favorite from Arc-V and I really like the friendship he struck up with Crow a lot, so here we are

VRAINS (so far): Episode 25-26: "Virus Deck Operation/Three Draws Leading to Hope" -- honestly I am so biased because I just really love Blue Angel and I loved seeing her get a well-deserved victory like this lol. I'm not done with VRAINS, so this is probably gonna change, but anytime Blue Angel or Soulburner are on screen, I'm happy

Favorite Decks to Use: Aromages will always have my heart, but I adore Cyber Angels too! I'm building my Trickstar deck, my Synchron/Stardust deck (just waiting on Dawn of Majesty...), and my Magician Girls deck, too! Fusion, Ritual, Synchro, XYZ, Pendulum, or Link?: Synchros my beloved... but also Ritual Years in fandom: I've been here for just a little over one year now! and I wuv it... I'm never looking back Who am I tagging: no one I'm too shy

#yugioh #ygo tag meme

[eeveevie]

indecent promposal

From this prompt list: basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss

Introducing: Rosemary “Rosie” Sheridan! She’s baby. Also has a super suppressed crush on Butch. It’s complicated. Thank you @dreamxng-forever​ for prompting and letting me write for her! I went overboard!

Butch Deloria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer) 

2473 words | [read on Ao3]

Rosie thrived on scavenging—she loved discovering new wasteland objects or pre-war oddities that reminded her of home—Vault 101. She supposed the real reason she enjoyed surrounding herself with so much junk was because she was still trying to figure out her place in the Capital Wasteland, still forging her own path now that she was on her own.

Well, mostly alone.

Butch—she could hear him rummaging though boxes in a different part of the store, shouting little exclamations over to her when he’d find something of interest. He was something else that reminded her of home—she liked to think that was the only reason why she had agreed to string him along after finding him in Rivet City. Weeks of bickering had turned into months of amicable companionship, bordering on friendship. Rosie slowly found she disliked him less but was unable to formulate rational explanations in her mind as to why. Her childhood bully deserved civility, sure, but niceties? A second chance? Preposterous. Anything more than that made her head spin.

The light of his Pip-Boy illuminated his face as he unearthed an intact box, letting out a low whistle as he inspected the contents. “Hey Stitches, get a load of this!”

Butch had been calling her that since adolescence, as soon as she was old enough to begin assisting her father in the Vault clinic. About that time, the youngest Deloria would find himself needing Doctor James Sheridan for a myriad of reason, including stitches. It wasn’t uncommon that Rosie would perform these duties, and after so many visits, the moniker stuck. She would’ve preferred her actual name, but anything was better than Doc, or Nosebleed—both of which he still called her.

In the stretch of silence, Butch had brought the box over to her to see for herself. It wasn’t full of the usual wasteland garbage but instead contained what appeared to be pristine articles of pre-war clothing. Hesitantly she reached inside, gently touching at the soft fabric of the pink dress before removing it completely. She was careful as she unfolded it, holding it fall against her vault suit as she imagined briefly what it would be like to wear such a delicate piece of clothing.

Butch peered inside the box, tugging out a dark suit blazer from beneath another dress. He chuckled, eyebrows quirked up as he waved the arms of the jacket sleeves around. “Kinda reminds you of the gettup we wore to prom, huh?”

Rosie remained silent, sucking up her bottom lip between her teeth. She didn’t have fond memories of their time leading up to graduation, including the small dance the Overseer and adults had organized to celebrate the teenagers’ successes. She clung to the dress for a moment longer, before allowing the fabric to fold over her arms.

Butch’s expression faltered, but instead of becoming annoyed like he would’ve in the past he awkwardly shifted. “What?”

She decided that maybe an explanation was owed. “I didn’t go to the vault prom.”

“Whadd’ya mean?” he asked in return, brows furrowed. “You were there! With Amata!”

Rosie had to give it up to Butch’s memory and wondered how much more of their childhood he remembered. Though, this was only a few years ago, and they had known each other their whole lives. She sighed, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “Fine. I was there for all of thirty minutes before you spilt punch on my dress, and I had to go home.”

She expected him to argue or to deny it even happened. What Rosie didn’t expect was the frown and glimmer of guilt that flashed through his expression when she glanced his way. She continued looking at the pink, satin dress in her hands, wondering why this civilized version of Butch unnerved her. Not that she wanted him to taunt and torment her, but at least that would be relatively normal—but after all this time, would it?

“It’s not like I had a date, anyways,” she added, resentfully. Not that she had very many boys her age to choose from anyways. “I’m sure you did.”

“Ya’ don’t have to guilt trip me, Stitches,” Butch finally spoke, his laughter indicating a teasing tone. “Let ol’ Butch make it up to you.”

Rosie groaned, detesting the third-person speak for two reasons—it was corny, and usually mean that ol’ Butch had an incredibly bad plan. She didn’t even want to ask, but he was already gesturing to the dress in her hands and waving the tailored coat he held around.

“We could get dressed up, the two of us—”

She cut him off immediately. “Absolutely not.”

He stumbled, not anticipating her strong refusal. “Whoa, whoa! Let a man finish! Some fancy clothes, some good drink from the bar, some music on your fancy jukebox?”

“What?” she questioned. “A prom do-over?”

Butch grinned. “Exactly!”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard the best part yet!” he argued.

She didn’t have to—did she even want to?. “No.”

“Come on, Rosie. Give a guy a chance why don’t cha?”

Sure, he was pouting a little too much for her tastes, but he had also done something so incredibly rare in speaking her name that her interest was piqued. She wished it wasn’t that easy for him to get under her skin, but something told her he wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about what it would be like to be the center of attention for once—to be the center of his attention. Her skin crawled—and she couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

She relented. “Okay.”

Butch clenched his fist with a grin. “Alright! You won’t regret it.”

The mirror in Rosie’s bedroom was cracked and dusty but served its purpose as she examined her appearance. She had pinned back her long dark hair, applied what little makeup she owned and had left her glasses atop her nightstand—for the first time she looked more like the maturing woman she was supposed to be and not a scrawny teenager chasing her father’s shadow. An enduring thought reminded her that she was still young, she had time to grow into her womanhood.

When she took a step back, she felt a rush of anxiety flood her senses. The dusty pink dress was very flattering and fit her in all the right places—Rosie was materialistically a girl’s girl and loved the color and fabric—but overall, the very fact she was dressed up while the rest of her surroundings were in shambles seemed foolish. Why had she allowed Butch to talk her into this? They had countless of important matters to attend to—no time to be reliving the past just because he wanted to make amends. As she adjusted the tie around her waist, she reminded herself that maybe it was more than that—thoughts she didn’t want to dwell on.

Rosie could already hear the Ink Spots playing when she emerged from her room, glancing to the fuzzy outline that was the jukebox and determined that Wadsworth was floating nearby. With a steady breath she approached the stairs and gripped the railing tightly as she began her descent. Butch was leaning against the back of the downstairs sofa, arms crossed as he stared up at her. Or at least, that’s what she thought, suddenly wishing she had opted for practicality instead of vanity when forgoing her glasses.

Halfway down the stairs, he whistled at her and the cat-call made her flush in a foreign way. Butch chuckled, catching the way she nearly stumbled. “Where’re your frames?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

She didn’t dare to let go of the handrail until her heels were planted firmly on the first-floor ground. He was more reminiscent of a blob until she approached, features clearing up as she stood before him. He was wearing the black, styled suit he had found—sans the tie—with the first few buttons of his collared shirt left open. Rosie figured that had been on purpose—she could teach him how to fix a tie later. He pointed to her face, reminding her he had asked a question.

Still blushing from the way he had whistled at her, she brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. She wasn’t entirely comfortable indulging her childhood insecurities. “Pretty girls don’t wear glasses to prom.”

“You’re such a dork, Stitches,” Butch softly laughed, but there was no insult to his words. Instead, he nodded at her, a hint of red peeking at his ears. “Ya’ look good,” he added. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Rosie smiled, still feeling flustered by the entire situation. She wondered if it was too late to back out and suggest dinner at the Brass Lantern instead. As if Butch could see the excuses formulating in her mind, he jumped into action, raising his hand up between them in offering.

“Does my best gal want a dance?”

She desperately wanted a respite from how flushed her cheeks felt, wondering if they were as pink as her dress. She was mortified by her own embarrassment, confused by her own emotions—it would be so much easier if she had somebody else to talk to about all this. Like her father. A second thought made her realize her dad would be overly clinical, blaming it all on teenaged hormones. But she did want a dance—what else did she want?

“No dirty dancing!” she said, in her own way of acceptance. She grasped his hand, biting back the sensation of warmth that radiated up her arm. That hand was usually pushing her away—she hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. Butch smirked as he carefully placed his other hand along her waist, prompting her to rest her palm against his shoulder.

“Do we need a ruler?” he joked, eyeing the space between them. Rosie rolled her eyes, shifting a little closer as he led them in a little square-step, all the space her home allowed. Butch was surprisingly a natural and predictably, she was awful.

“I’m bad at this,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet as she very nearly stepped on his toe for the third time.

Butch paused, nudging his hand against her chin to catch her attention. The action was so bizarrely intimate that Rosie stared at him bewildered, her skin aflame—but he didn’t seem to notice that he had shocked her senseless, gripping her fingers to lead them back into another step. It had to be intentional—no way he was that clueless—the way he touched her. He had to know exactly what he was doing to her, and she wondered if it was all some kind of big joke.

“Better than most,” he assured, bringing her back to her senses. He winked. “So you’re a good date after all.”

Rosie wasn’t good at matching his wit or his teasing, but she wanted to try. She couldn’t just stand there and be undone by some nice words. She thought about asking about the full prom package—reminiscing about the day after in the vault when a few lucky girls walked around the halls wearing hickies like badges of pride. Forming the right way to ask such a thing didn’t sound right in her head—she wasn’t a natural flirt, didn’t have the experience and after so many pretend conversations floating in her mind she had to stop and ask herself why she was thinking about Butch Deloria kissing her neck.

Her heart was racing as she found herself staring at him, wondering when he had sprouted up and became so tall. Years ago, when they were fifteen. She had stayed tiny while he filled out, muscles more defined now that he was her companion out in the wasteland. Of course, he still cared about his hair—thick black strands quaffed to the front like the gangster-type he aspired to be—too bad he was the only Tunnel Snake left. When she met his baby-blue eyes, she was done for, cursing the day she found him in the Muddy Rudder. But maybe it was a forgone conclusion since their paths crossed that fateful evening—she’d forgive him, and eventually, gradually, perhaps begrudgingly fall in love with the boy.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Rosie thought, as Butch gradually scooted her closer despite her earlier warning. Nat King Cole was crooning a slow song, and they had slowed in their movements. He squeezed her hand in his, raising an eyebrow. “More quiet than usual, Stitches.”

She didn’t want to admit how annoyed she was with herself, and certainly wasn’t about to divulge how in that moment with Unforgettable playing from the balcony she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t want a calling card on her neck—no, that could come later—what she wanted was something sweet and demure and chaste. What she wanted was something she had missed out on in her youth—her first real kiss. Ridiculous didn’t even cut it, feeling incredibly absurd for thinking she could ever get it from Butch—that she even wanted it from Butch.

“Um,” she hesitated, thinking he must’ve been able to feel her pulse racing along her wrist. She tried not to stare at his mouth, darting back up to his eyes—but that was worse. The heat radiating off her face could cook a brahmin steak.

He smirked, lips quirking up to the side. At first she assumed he was all too entertained by the sight of her aflutter but when she studied him carefully, she realized it was an endearing look and beneath the surface, he was perhaps just as nervous as she.

“Come’ere,” he tugged her right into his chest, and before she could protest he had wrapped his arms around her waist and back, one hand resting against the back of her head. “Dance like this for a lil’ bit.”

Not a question, but a statement. After a few sways, Rosie adjusted, tucking her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his shirt.

The longer she stayed there, swaying to the songs that continued to play, the more she understood that they both needed this distraction that evening. Butch wanted to apologize, make up for the past in his own way, sure, but what they really needed was one night where the wasteland wasn’t demanding their attention. She was just as confused as ever, heart and mind filled with endless questions about life and love and everything in between, but for the first time in months, Rosie felt calm. Kissing Butch could wait, if only it meant she could dance with him for a little while longer.

#fallout 3 #butch deloria #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #rosie sheridan #otp: it's just a flesh wound #because ya know she's a medic lol #I have no idea what I'm doing with this ship oh god #also I wanted to write sweet baby rosie here she is #young stupid teenaged love #these two are dorks and I am in love with them

[fericita-s]

The Sky Will Be Blue

After seeing the Royal Sommerhus and this family portrait, I wanted to write some happy fluffy family times of Agnarr, Iduna, Elsa, and Anna. It takes place in the canon-compliant When All is Lost series but can stand alone. Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic​ for beta-reading!

Agnarr gripped Iduna’s hand with a nervous energy that made her smile. He had promised a delightful surprise for her and the girls - one that would last a whole month.  Maddeningly, he had refused to answer any of their questions about what it was.  Iduna knew their summer schedule was usually busy with travel in and out of the harbor of their northern kingdom being easier in the warm weather.  The resulting influx of visiting dignitaries meant summer was their  peak season for official meetings and events.  To have Agnarr take this time away from the council and from the castle felt like a gift, no matter what the surprise actually was.  

With Anna and Elsa asleep in the back of the wagon, Iduna readied herself to show enough enthusiasm for all three of them. But as they rounded the last bend in the dirt-packed road, she gaped in open-mouth surprise, dramatic gestures forgotten in the expression of her genuine shock.

“There it is! Our summer cottage! What do you think? I had it built for us; a special place for us to spend time away from the castle and the bustling town.  So we can feel more like a family and less like royalty.” Agnarr smiled at her and she smiled back, laughing as she brought her hands to her face and then to his arm, squeezing him tight.

“Oh, Agnarr, it’s beautiful!” She looked at the cabin, painted brown and red and white, and the grassy roof that made it look like it was part of the mountain rising up behind it.  The way it looked carved out of the earth reminded her of the earthen dwellings of her childhood.  She then noticed a sign and laughed again. “The Royal Sommerhus?” You wanted us to feel less royal so you named our cottage The Royal Sommerhus?”

Agnarr jumped down from the wagon, and offered his hand to Iduna as she climbed down.  “Well yes, but notice my restraint.  Not one letter in gold! And I left some things unfinished so we could do them together.  The window boxes could use your attention. I thought you would rather plant those than have someone else do it.  I had the servants deliver books and paints and brushes and canvas.  Dolls for the girls and lots of room for Elsa to make snow without anyone noticing. And see?  There’s a gate here to keep Anna from wandering off at night and falling into the fjord. The guardhouse is at the edge of the ridge - it will be quite private back here.”

Either at the sound of her name or because the wagon had stopped moving, Anna sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Mama? Papa? Are we at the surprise yet?”

Agnarr leaned over the side and lifted her up, cradling her against his chest. “Yes, dear one, we are here! A special house for us to live in this summer, away from the castle.”

Anna gasped and squirmed in his arms, desperate to go have a look.

“Elsa, Elsa, wake up, wake up! We have a new play house! Like a dollhouse! But bigger! But smaller than a castle!” Anna slipped from Agnarr’s arms and Iduna caught one of her hands. The dispatch of guards had pulled up behind them now and were beginning to unload the wagons and tend to the horses.

Elsa rose from her sleeping position and Agnarr scooped her up as well, placing her on the ground with a kiss. “Papa! It’s lovely! Can we go see?”

“Certainly!” Agnarr took Elsa’s hand and she took Iduna’s.  The four of them walked to the cottage, the scent of rosemary and heliotrope in the air and beams of sunlight falling on the red door. It already looked like home.

***

“Anna! Elsa! Time to eat!” Iduna called up the stairs and braced herself for the leaping hug she knew would be coming from Anna, who had decided that instead of navigating steps she could just throw herself off the top of them and be caught by whoever happened to be there.  Anna tossed down her dolls and then herself, and Iduna managed to catch her before her head collided with the trunk in the alcove at the bottom step.

“Soon you’ll be four Anna, and then you’ll have to start using stairs with walking feet instead of flying feet.” Iduna tucked the dolls under each of Anna’s arms and gave her a gentle pat on the bottom.

Anna laughed and ran to the kitchen. “No, Mama, I always fly!”

Elsa walked down the stairs, a lump of ice beginning to take shape in her hand. She had been making ice models of each of the flowers they had planted in the boxes and the yellow rose was her next project.

Agnarr was in the kitchen, a picnic basket on his arm and a blanket over his shoulder. “Shall we, ladies?” He bowed and gestured to the wide expanse of green grass just outside the kitchen door. Anna and Elsa ran ahead, already knowing where the best picnic spot was.

Iduna and Agnarr trailed behind, hand in hand.  Iduna breathed deeply of the salty air and Agnarr watched as some strands of her hair danced in the wind.

“Being here, further north like this…the way the breeze is always moving, I…”Agnarr shrugged and shook his head, unsure of how to continue. “I sometimes think I’m about to remember something but it slips away before I quite have it.  Your hair, floating about you, my whole body flying. But I can’t make sense of it. It’s maddening!”

Iduna turned her head to look at him. “We played in the wind.” She looked around to be sure the guards were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear, that the girls were occupied with their dolls ice flowers in the shade of the trees. “When the forest was open. We played hide and seek and the wind helped me find you.” For a moment, he was worried he had made her sad, but then she laughed. “The wind pulled you into the air and even then you tried to chase me.”

Agnarr leaned in close and kissed her behind her ear. “I’ll always chase you. And I’ll always catch you.”

Iduna laughed again, and then ran, shouting over her shoulder “I wouldn’t be so sure about that! Who’s carrying a heavy basket and a cumbersome blanket and who is as free and as fast as a fox?”

Elsa and Anna saw their mother running and joined in, dolls discarded haphazardly and ice flowers carefully set down.  The shrieking laughter of a family of four echoed in the trees as the wind pulled and tugged at their hair, their clothes, their memories.

***

“Do you want to build a snowman?” Elsa and Anna lay on the blanket, full of food and starting to get sleepy. And when Anna got sleepy, she liked to quickly come up with a new activity to stave off napping. She sat up, pulling on Elsa’s hands. “Do the magic!”

Elsa sat up too, and began making a miniature snowman. “Here.  This snowman likes summer and sun and all things hot.”

Anna giggled. “Snowmen can’t like summer! He can’t get hot!”

Elsa shook her head. “Not this snowman.  He’s special.  He likes picnics.  And eating sandwiches outside. And taking naps when he gets sleepy. And he especially likes you.” Elsa handed the snowman to Anna. “I bet he’d like to take a nap with you.”

Agnarr swatted at a bee that buzzed near his ear and watched as Elsa paused in her storytelling to pick a dandelion and blow on it, sending a shower of fuzz over Anna that made her laugh and then sneeze. Elsa lay down again and Anna copied her, snuggling the snowman close as her eyes started to close.

Iduna lay down too, putting her head in Agnarr’s lap, pulling his arm around her like a blanket. “Wake me up when Anna’s awake. I’ll just – “

Agnarr and Elsa looked each other, silent laughter coming from them as they looked at the sleeping half of their family.

“Let’s look at the clouds, Elsa.  I bet I can find one that looks just like The Duke of Weselton’s mustache.”

***

“Agnarr! She’s gotten the goat on the roof!” Iduna’s voice carried into the cottage from the front yard where she was considering the quickest way to scale the roof herself.

“Again?” Agnarr ran out of the front door, and bumped into Anna who was proudly looking at the goat she had led onto the top of the house.

“Goats like climbing! And grass! I like those things too!” Agnarr watched in horror as she swallowed, and saw the streak of green remaining in her unfurled fist.

Agnarr caught Iduna’s arm before she began using the shutters as footholds. “The goat will come down on its own when it’s ready. I’m more worried about the grass she ate.”

“Oh that’s fine. She might have a stomachache, but that will just teach her not to eat it again.”

Anna burped and laughed. “Yummy!” She pushed another handful of grass into her mouth and Agnarr slapped a hand to his forehand, groaning.

“Always check the other hand! I should know that by now!”

***

Bags packed, furniture covered, and goats hugged, the family said goodbye to the sommerhus and stood in front of it for one last look before the journey back to Arendelle proper.

“It’s a wonderful home, Agnarr. Let’s come back next summer.  Anna will be easier at almost-five than almost-four.”

Agnarr draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear, whispering “Or perhaps earlier than that, just you and me. Judet has had the whole month off. I’m sure she can handle the girls for a time this fall so you and I can play hide and seek just the two of us.”

Iduna kissed him and then whispered back. “Are you so sure I’ll let you catch me?”

Agnarr lifted her up and twirled her around as Elsa and Anna pulled on his legs for their turn spinning with Papa. “I’ll always catch you.”

#agduna #when all is lost #royal sommerhus #king agnarr #queen iduna #mama and papa arendelle #toddler anna #kid elsa #olaf origin stories #happy family fun times #frozen

[isingonly4myangel]

How do you think Monty, Sibs & Phoebs are handling this quarantine situation?

Welp...

It's rough, but they’re managing and some days are better than others.

Sibella's losing her entire mind, being the extrovert that she is. 

She's done a fair amount of online shopping, mostly clothing and bath products. She started the quarantine doing her hair and makeup every morning, more out of habit than anything else, but now she's given up on the makeup and her hair spends most of her waking hours in a messy top knot. But even now her nails are painted- she did her best to recreate a nail salon treatment for both she and Phoebe one evening. There are newly delivered sheet face masks in the fridge to keep them fresh for later, and even Monty has agreed to do one. She got tired of scrolling through social media weeks ago, and now she really only looks through the Instagram stories of people she's particularly interested in keeping up with. Her sleep schedule is totally jacked, and there are a number of days that find her sitting outside at dawn, sleep having escaped her grasp that night. She's working her way through not only Netflix but also Amazon and Disney+, though her new favourite streaming service is Broadway HD. She's always loved the theatre, and in recent years she's been working both onstage and onscreen. It's one of the things she misses most fiercely during this lockdown, and being able to experience even that tiny portion of live performance offers significant comfort. She's also doing her best to practice her languages, journaling both in French and Italian almost daily. Something new she's found in quarantine is comfort in nature. She likes to sit outside when the weather is nice, she helps Phoebe with the gardening. One afternoon, Phoebe looked out the window to discover Sibella lying on her back on the grass in the yard, music in her earbuds and a smile on her face.

Phoebe, naturally more introverted, is less distressed about staying home but is more nervous about the virus itself. The cleaning regimen in the house is due to her, and every precaution is taken for anyone leaving or returning to the house. She spends a lot of time in her garden, caring for her roses and mint, peonies and rosemary. She loves watching them grow week to week, admiring their progress and new blooms. One of the few perks of suddenly having more free time than she could have imagined is that now she can actually chip away at the stacks of books she's had lined up to read. She always jokes that her to-read list is taller than she is, and she's happy to have the chance to jump into a story that is not her current reality. Though parts of her current reality she still appreciates. Currently she's reading a collection of Elizabeth Bishop, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet. She leaves little sticky notes on pages to mark her favourites, and she enjoys reading them aloud to Monty and Sibella. She's also considering subscribing to the Masterclass program, because it seems like it has material that the whole household would be interested in. When Monty plays the piano, she likes to sit next to him on the bench and sing, and sometimes she joins Sibella in the shower. She loves to have her hair washed by Sibella, and though she's never admitted it out loud, the blonde is definitely aware of the fact. Phoebe is also doing a good deal of baking, finally having the time to work her way through the Pinterest board of recipes she's saved. Last week it was red velvet cupcakes, this week she's planning Oreo truffles, as it's currently too hot to turn on the oven.

Monty lands, as usual, somewhere between Sibella and Phoebe. In several ways. He's really more concerned for them than for himself- he spent the first few days of quarantine unwillingly imagining what might happen if one of his girls got the virus, how he couldn't stand to lose either one of them. Just thinking about it at length he nearly drove himself to insanity. He's calmed down considerably since then, and he's decided to just make the best of the situation. There are definitely still moments of anxiety, but he keeps the fear at bay by trying to stay busy. He's beaten three video games so far, and he's making good progress on a fourth. He's particularly enjoying being able to make music- he hasn't been able to really sit down and play, because usually any free time he had was later at night, and there's a lovely old woman living next door who he wouldn't want to disturb. But now he can practice in the afternoon, and none of the neighbors seem to mind. In fact, Doris- the grandmother from next door- dropped a letter through their mail slot one day, telling him how much she enjoys hearing the music, so now when he sits down at the piano he makes sure to prop the window open. Sometimes she leaves little notes on the front porch with music requests, and he always learns the pieces for her. In the evenings, occasionally he and Sibella and Phoebe will sit outside around their little portable fire pit and he'll play his guitar while the girls sing. On some songs he'll even chime in with a harmony. Those are his favourite moments, the ones he gets to share with his girls. He sifts flour for baking endeavours and fills watering cans for Phoebe, listens to reviews of new shows from Sibella, and freezes leftover coffee into ice cubes because he knows the blonde likes iced coffee when it's hot out. He sets the table so they can have breakfast on the patio, pressing a kiss to Sibella's forehead when she admits she hasn't slept yet as she sits down to breakfast. He mixes cocktails in the evenings, makes sure Phoebe can always find her reading glasses. And naturally, the three of them spend a good deal of time in a tangle of limbs and bed sheets.

There are, of course, more difficult days. It's hard to even open the news, much less keep up with it. Sometimes Sibella will spend too long trying to read about what's happening in the world, and she ends up curled into the corner of the sofa, clutching a pillow to her chest while she tries to fight off the hyperventilation. When Phoebe's first mint plant keeled over in its little pot and could not be revived, Phoebe cried for hours, and at a point it was not just about the mint. There are moments when Monty has to hold Sibella and/or Phoebe close, his face tucked into their hair and neck, just to calm his racing heart. Doris's birthday was earlier this month, and the three of them stood on the front porch with tears in their eyes, watching Doris and her daughter press their hands to either side of the window, reaching for each other but only able to touch glass. There are sometimes tearful late-night discussions with the three of them all seated on the kitchen floor. And some days, it all just seems too difficult, and they all stay together in bed well into the afternoon. Some evenings, they have to watch something familiar and comforting, taking a break from their exploration of new content; a couple of weeks ago, all of them sobbed their way through 'Christopher Robin', and last night Sibella begged to watch Mary Poppins (The others agreed, of course, and now there are plans to watch the Princess Diaries series, as Monty confessed to only having seen the first one).

But even when things are difficult, they turn to each other. The three of them work as a team, and they know that if they just hold tight to one another they'll come out of this alright.

#gglam #answered #quarantine writing #A Gentleman’s Guide To Love and Murder #headcanon? #modern au #sibella hallward #phoebe d'ysquith #monty navarro #ot3 #gglam trio

[sweetc2020]

weird asks that say a lot from @julietgiulia​

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? Coffee mugs

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? Chocolate 

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? Neither

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? Shy, conscientious, perfectionist

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? Glasses

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? All contributors

7. earbuds or headphones? Earbuddies :)

8. movies or tv shows? Movies

9. favourite smell in the summer? Hot soil, flowering plants, fruit and needle trees, post rain, towel after ocean swim, wind through car window driving through forest(ed highway)

10. game you were best at in p.e.? Hockey, soccer, california kickball, high jump and arm hang? 

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? Usually oatmeal or millet with omegas, fruit and oat milk or avocado bagel with black pepper and nutritional yeast

12. name of your favourite playlist? A nice mix for ness

13. lanyard or key ring? Key ring

14. favourite non-chocolate candy? Licorice, candied fennel or anise seeds

15. favourite book you read as a school assignment? Les miserables, The thief lord, The cellist of Sarajevo - off the top

16. most comfortable position to sit in? Slumpy posture, one leg over or under the other, knee tuck or apple sauce

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? Hiking boots or black sambas

18. ideal weather? Sunny after rain a little windy

19. sleeping position? No pillow usually on my left or on my back or front with one leg bent 

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? Notebook or notes app

21. obsession from childhood? Fairies and making homes

22. role model? Opa

23. strange habits? Not sure what qualifies as strange

24. favourite crystal? Not really into them but maybe jade or quartz 

25. first song you remember hearing? I turned out a punk or something by Joe Strummer

26. favourite activity to do in warm weather? Backpacking

27. favourite activity to do in cold weather? Cuddling, snowy adventuring, dancing

28. five songs to describe you? Hazel (bob dylan), Planted a thought (arthur russell), Junie (solange), Corridor of dreams (the cleaners from venus), Even cowgirls get the blues (emmylou harris)

29. best way to bond with you? Quality time, presence, care, spontaneity / silly curiousity

30. places that you find sacred? Oma and Opa’s yard and greenhouse, forest, Veluwe, ocean

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Floral dress, nice earrings with sambas and sweatshirt or hiking boots, wool socks and over shirt, with shorts and tank top

32. top five favourite vines? Fresh avocado is the only one that comes to mind

33. most used phrase in your phone? Yay sweet and or That’s funny

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? Can’t think of any

35. average time you fall asleep? 2am

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? Probably one of those justgirlythings ones here or Fb I have no idea

37. suitcase or duffel bag? Suitcase

38. lemonade or tea? Tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? Lemon tart

40. weirdest thing to ever happen to you at your school? High school - Maybe bear spray yoe evac? authority figure telling me what I was wearing was inappropriate? psych teacher crying in class? Post sec - Tiktok famous boy makes a tiktok of me knitting in psych class? boy crushing steals my textbook just to get me to go to his car so he can return it to me? 

41. last person you texted? Daisy 🌼

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? BOTH

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? Hoodie

44. favourite scent for soap? Rose, patchouli, rosemary, lavendar, mint, etc.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? Fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? Naked 

47. favourite type of cheese? Cashew cheese or if I could brie

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? White nectarine but there are so many to try!

49. what saying or quote do you live by? “She walked with her entire body as if to gain momentum for an event in which her entire body would participate.” - Anaïs Nin (A spy in the house of love)

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? Probably my kid best friend

51. current stresses? Health issues, unstable income

52. favorite font? Freight rn

53. what is the current state of your hands? Coffee shakes

54. what did you learn from your first job? Hundreds of PLU’s, how to pack groceries, how messy and wasteful people are, that everyone should have to do a customer service job in their lifetime, how really great and awful people are, that I shouldn’t let other people’s stresses make me feel like I should be stressed, that quitting is good sometimes

55. favourite fairy tale? The six swans, Vasalisa the wise, Baba yaga, Bluebeard, Rumpelstiltskin, The red shoes, The velvet ribbon, Goldilocks and the three bears, and many many more

56. favourite tradition? Writing letters and cards, dressing up for halloween, celebrating birthdays

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? Eating disorder, depression and heartbreak (although these are things I still need to keep being overcome)

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Writing, taking notes, learning about my body, feeling for what resonates

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? Heyo, how bout that!

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? Nausicaä of the valley of the wind (hayao miyazaki)

61. favourite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Recently found on my Tumblr feed from a book waiting on my shelf: “I want to believe, walking those aimless nights, that I was praying. For what I’m still not sure. But I always felt it was just ahead of me. That if I walked far enough, long enough, I would find it–perhaps even hold it up, like a tongue at the end of its word.” - Ocean Vuong (On earth we’re briefly gorgeous)

62. seven characters you relate to? In no particular order, not long thought out: 1) Sabina (A spy in the house of love), 2) Elio (Call me by your name), 3) Patti (Just kids), 4) Sally (The ruby in the smoke), 5) Camille (Un amour de jeunesse), 6) Dani (Midsommar), 7) Orla (Derry Girls)

63. five songs that would play in your club? I follow rivers - the magician remix (lykke li), JA! (bizzey), Gasolina (daddy yankee), Nice for what (drake), This must be the place - naive melody (talking heads) / love my way (psychedelic furs)

64. favourite website from your childhood? Myscene, Club penguin - those free gaming websites 

65. any permanent scars? A few on my face from tables and my dog, one on my knee from flip flops on a boat launch, a few burns here and there that probably aren’t permanent

66. favourite flower(s)? Always changing, echinacea and yellow roses rn

67. good luck charms? Change on the ground, nice earrings, well worn shoes, spotting flowers or animals

68. worst flavour of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? Cream of mushroom

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? Popped in my head, maybe not the most fun - the flower bud in the centres of apple tree fruiting spurs make the king fruit (the biggest and best apple from each spur) and if you pick the king blossom then all the surrounding blossoms will be bigger and better 

70. left or right handed? Right

71. least favourite pattern? Galaxy?

72. worst subject? Economics

73. favourite weird flavour combo? Miso and apple, blueberries and coconut curry, orange juice and beer (I don't know if its really possible to find a “weird” combo maybe it’s more like “not found in my culture”)

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 5 if 0 is no pain (I don't think I’ve been above 8.5)

75. when did you lose your first tooth? No idea

76. what’s your favourite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? Gnocchi or boerenkool

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? Flowering plants

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? Station coffee

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? School id

80. earth tones or jewel tones? Earth

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? I don't think I have much experience with either

82. pc or console? I cannot either way

83. writing or drawing? This is my kryptonite question

84. podcasts or talk radio? Podcasts if I had to choose

84. barbie or polly pocket? Polly pocket

85. fairy tales or mythology? Mythology (stories are linked more)

86. cookies or cupcakes? Cookies

87. your greatest fear? My health issues keep accumulating and getting worse forever

88. your greatest wish? My health issues resolve

89. who would you put before everyone else? Myself, Suzmom or Marleymoon

90. luckiest mistake? Choosing mini school, don't regret it but maybe not the best decision

91. boxes or bags? Bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? Sunlight and rocksalt lamps

93. nicknames? Ness, nessie, nessa, bean, bear, benjamin, kindje, sweet pea

94. favourite season? Late spring or late summer

95. favourite app on your phone? Flo, Spotify, Google maps, notes, weather, find my

96. desktop background? Santa Catalina Island off the coast of Southern California

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? 7+

98. favourite historical era? I love revolutions and renaissances but all of em have hard times and good times

#questions #mine

[xoxoiwatobi]

I’m your (late 😅) gifter for the @tachibanamakotobirthdayexchange​, @chibistarlyte! Super sorry about the delay—now let’s get you that slightly angsty + fluffy MakoHaru you’ve been waiting for!  💚💙

Summary: Haru needs a little reassurance the night before they begin their separate college careers.

Read below, on AO3, or FF.net. No trigger warnings, just 2.3k words of light angst with fluff and a happy ending. Takes place right before they start university! Thanks to my girls, @uravityesque and @mrssakurahatake , for looking over the first draft of this fic. 💚

A Little Distance

Makoto stood from the futon they’d only just finished assembling and glanced to the sliding glass doors, the streetlights coming in bright. He sighed. “I should probably get going now, don’t you think?”

Haru stood, too; he couldn’t argue, even though he might have wanted to.

Only a few days ago, they could have stayed up until well past midnight and it wouldn’t have mattered at all. Makoto could have walked the few yards to the Tachibana’s, he could have fallen asleep right where he sat at Haru’s.

But now…

Now, Makoto needed to catch a bus home. Because they weren’t in Iwatobi, he and Makoto weren’t nextdoor neighbors anymore.

And after tomorrow…

On the mornings Haru lingered too long, he wouldn’t have his baths interrupted with an exasperated grin and a gentle scolding. On the rare mornings he didn’t linger in the water, he wouldn’t step outside to find Makoto on the stoop, coaxing a kitten into nuzzling his hand, into purring and wrapping its little body around his ankle. Makoto wouldn’t stand up with a final pet and a bright “Good morning, Haru-chan!” Makoto wouldn’t laugh as he glared at the ‘-chan’.... Ren and Ran wouldn’t chase after their weekend runs along the beach, wouldn’t beg and pout for them to stop and help them find the prettiest shells and seaglass instead. And on nights when Haru couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t look to the South and see the soft glow shining through Makoto’s curtains, the green light that meant Makoto was still awake, too; the beacon that meant he could toss one of the pebbles they’d plucked from the shore at the glass and Makoto would part those green curtains and—

After tomorrow… Makoto wouldn’t be waiting at the edge of the pool to offer his hand, to help Haru from the water, to pull him out of his head. Not at practice, not at meets…

Haru looked down, swallowed. He’d had plenty of time to prepare, of course. They both knew where they were attending university, where they were living, what they were doing. They’d known it for weeks. But his halfhearted imaginings were nothing compared to facing the reality of it.

Then Makoto was nodding, turning to find his backpack, turning for the door.

And Haru didn’t want to face it all, not yet. He could feel his anxiety rising, climbing up his spine to animate his body. It moved him forward, moved his fingers to the hem of Makoto’s sleeve. His hand was light, his knuckles barely brushing against the pulse in Makoto’s wrist, the lightest tug on the slack material beneath his fingertips.

Makoto didn’t freeze, he didn’t go stiff or rigid; he didn’t turn to face Haru. He just stood, his arm loose at his side. Giving Haru the time, the privacy he needed to voice the thing they’d both danced around these past weeks.

“We’ve...we’ve never been…” so far away went unsaid, Haru’s fingers tugging more insistently at the soft cotton.

Makoto nodded slightly. “And tomorrow will be the first time we won’t walk to our ‘first day of school’ together, too.” His voice was always soft for Haru, but tonight it was even more so. Because he knew Haru needed it.

Because tomorrow, Haru’s day would be filled with new people—dozens, hundreds of them. People who wanted him to talk—to them, about himself. People who didn’t just know, people who would have to learn. Haru’s fingers twisted deeper into Makoto’s sweater.

“Well, beside that time in second year when you skipped.” Makoto’s laugh came out shallow, just barely shaking the sleeve in Haru’s hand.

That morning, Haru had been moody; he’d been short, dismissive even, with Makoto. He’d been thinking of Rin. So he’d told Makoto to go on without him, ...then he’d never shown up. Haru’s grip tightened around the soft cotton, pulling it taut. That day, most of the last year, the night of the festival… There were so many times lately when Makoto had deserved better.

He would… He just…!

On instinct, Haru leaned in, immediately letting out a shaky breath at the contact, his fingers slackening some around the cotton yarn. Makoto’s sweater was plush against his forehead, too; the body beneath it was warm, strong. Like Makoto always was for Haru. He could breathe again, deep and slow, soothed by the familiarity of the fabric softener the Tachibana’s had used for the last decade. This, Haru realized, was as close to Iwatobi, to home, as he could get....

Haru felt Makoto’s quiet hum radiate through his shoulder blade before he heard it, the words that followed: “I could try out the new futon,” Makoto murmured. “I could stay.”

“No!” Haru started, jerking at Makoto’s sleeve. He’d thought about it—of course he’d thought about it. He’d thought about more than that: If they could both miraculously get out of their leases, if they could find a two-bedroom perfectly equidistant between their two universities, if they could do it all before classes started…. Haru bit his lip. He was keeping Makoto from getting the rest he needed for tomorrow, and Haru had promised himself in Australia that he’d be better, that he’d be more for Makoto. More open; more aware of Makoto’s dreams, the dreams they shared… “No,” he whispered. He meant it, ...even as he leaned in closer, even as he kept his hold on Makoto’s sleeve.

Makoto hummed again, content to let Haru rest against his shoulder, stand together in the quiet for however long Haru needed.

Haru let the silence stretch until his heart no longer felt like he was waiting for the starting pistol to fire, until the adrenaline had receded. He let out a sigh, an audible acquiescence.

“It could be good for us, you know.” Makoto’s words were contemplative, cautious. “A little distance.”

Haru stiffened, each muscle tensing, ready to dive again.

Makoto felt it; his tone softened further: “We don’t really know what the world is like without the other right by our side.” He cleared his throat. “We might discover a new side to ourselves this year. That’s what college is for, right?”

Haru shook his head against the hard ridge of Makoto’s shoulder blade, bangs catching on green yarn with each rejection of Makoto’s premise. With every we Makoto had spoken, Haru had heard the underlying you: Makoto was hedging, still so afraid of over overstepping Haru’s boundaries again after all the things Haru had said beneath the fireworks….

Makoto chuckled softly, knowingly, then Haru felt his chest expand, Makoto’s shoulders broadening with the intake. “Doesn’t mean I won’t miss you...,” came as an exhale.

Haru’s breath caught, his lungs empty as if Makoto had breathed out for him, too.

Makoto laughed again, too loudly. “All the time, probably—things aren’t nearly as scary when you’re there!” His shoulder rolled slightly, involuntarily beneath Haru. “...But it’ll be good for both of us, you’ll see. New perspectives highlight what we love about how things are, ...what we might want for the future, don’t you think?”

Haru heard the unspoken you’s again, but there was something else, too…. Something that made his chest tighten differently...

Makoto understood the volumes of Haru’s silence, Haru’s stillness. His reply was a true whisper this time: “But not everything has to change, Haru. Not if we don’t want it to.”

Makoto had spoken directly this time, no underlying you’s; there had been hope in his voice, certainty and quiet confidence, patience. Haru let Makoto’s words wrap around him; let them sink in and find purchase, let them wash away and replace the anxiety that had swept over him.

With another little sigh, Haru’s fingers slipped from the braided cotton, letting his knuckles graze the length of Makoto’s palm, catching another second of that warmth. He took a step back, watched as a true laugh shook through Makoto, as red colored his ears.

“You might have to get better at using your phone, though.” Makoto’s voice was louder now, clear and warm as his shoulder had been against Haru’s skin. Finally, he turned, green searching for blue.

“You know I hate texting,” Haru grumbled, glancing out at his small balcony, not quite ready for the surge that would come with meeting the verdancy of Makoto’s eyes, ...instead finding the little rosemary plant the twins had given him for graduation.

“I do,” Makoto laughed, deep and sincere, and followed Haru’s gaze.

The time for hard freezes in Tokyo had passed; Haru was in no danger of breaking his promise to Ren of keeping it alive. Ran had told him she hoped its blue flowers would remind him of the ocean.... Their mother had given him a kiss on the cheek and a series of new mackerel recipes that featured the Mediterranean herb....

“They’d love a picture of it out there.”

They would, the Tachibana’s deserved a photo at the very least. “Tomorrow.” Haru nodded and turned back to find Makoto looking at his watch, smiling ruefully at the placement of the hands.

“I really do have to go now. Should’ve known we’d lose track of time again—I could’ve just brought my stuff for tomorrow and rolled out of bed and into the pool like you! Well, off the futon.”

At that, Haru’s eyes finally made the leap to Makoto’s. He’d hoped Makoto would want to continue the routine they’d started in their last few days of freedom once classes began, but the extra commute before class on top of Makoto’s college workload….

“I’ll only be getting up a little earlier than we did for ISC in middle school. Don’t worry.” Makoto smiled, kind eyes crinkling to a close. “And besides, I can’t just stop swimming, can I?”

Haru nodded, lips tilting up slightly in return. “Text me when you get back to your place.”

Makoto grinned—just a little—at Haru’s sudden willingness to utilize technology.

Haru rolled his eyes, hoping to distract from the color on his cheeks. “Goodnight, Makoto.”

At least Haru wasn’t the only one blushing….

—

Despite Makoto’s reassurances, Haru woke up a little apprehensive, a little tight—his jaw and neck, his hands, his calves—like his body had drawn itself taut overnight. He and Makoto would be in the pool within an hour, ...but mornings like this one were why he and Makoto had hunted for an apartment with a suitable bathtub.

Some mornings, he just needed to wake up to water.

And not a minute after submerging himself, Haru’s phone buzzed at the edge of the tub. He’d brought it with him...just in case. In case maybe he didn’t hate phones as much as he once did, ...in case Makoto read his mind like he always did.

Haru allowed himself a small smile for the first two rings, the remnants of that smile still tilting his lips up when he swiped open the Facetime call.

Makoto grinned wide and bright. “Good morning, Haru-chan!”

Haru gave a brief flicker of a grin, ...then dropped his phone.

“H-Haru!” came Makoto’s flailing on the other side, half a second before his phone broke the surface of the bath. The water garbled Makoto’s voice as his phone drifted to land face-down on his jammers: “Nwwwoooh!! H-Hawu?! Hawu!”

A moment later, Haru took pity on his oldest friend and fished out his phone, only just keeping himself from a full-blown grin.

“Haru!” Makoto cheered, the video shaking with his relief. He’d brought his phone up close, as if he were playing a particularly difficult scene of a video game and had a say in the view, ...rather than being the other half of a FaceTime call. “I-I thought I’d just watched you drown your parents’ graduation present!”

“You got me a waterproof case for it, remember?” Haru couldn’t keep the mirth from his voice, watching realization slowly dawn on Makoto’s face.

Makoto let out a loud laugh; green, green eyes closing in self-deprecation as he slapped his forehead. “I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s what you get for calling me ‘Haru-chan.’” He didn’t quite manage not to sound petulant, but that was okay. He hadn’t really tried, not when he knew it would make Makoto let out another laugh; crinkle up the corners of his eyes in that warm, perfect way. Not when he was determined to never take that sound for granted again.

“Mmm,” Makoto hummed casually. “Sorry, Haru. Old habits and all...”

Haru chuckled, then. Just the once, but it was unguarded under Makto’s fond gaze. He propped his phone against a bottle of shampoo, while Makoto readjusted his from several kilometers away, his image growing smaller. Haru narrowed his eyes as the video focused, only just noticing the apron strings around Makoto’s neck. “Where am I? On your kitchen shelf?”

“Mmhhhmm! I’m making breakfast, something you might want to consider doing so you have time to get all your laps in before your very first day at university!”

Haru hummed noncommittally and sunk deeper into the water, into the comfort of Makoto’s voice. “Your first class is literature, right?”

It was easy to lose track of time with Makoto alternating between chatting and humming some soft K-pop song as he cooked, the quiet sizzles and scrapes of the kitchen lulling him deeper into the bath, his nose only just above the water line.

“I’ll beat you to the pool at this rate, Haru.”

Haru hid his smirk under a stream of bubbles.

A year of this wouldn’t be so bad. Not preferable, ...but not horrible, either. He dragged himself out of the water, phone in hand, and reached for his towel.

“So we’ll get ramen tonight at that place Kisumi recommended? Nagisa and Rei want to hear about our first day and their new recruits, so we can....”

No, it wouldn’t be so bad. And maybe next year… Maybe next year, they’d have a morning routine without phones, without distance.

________

Hope you enjoyed your gift, and I'm so sorry it's late! 

First time writing for Free! or MakoHaru—hope I did them justice!!!—but I don’t think it’ll be my last. 💚💙 Might have a few ideas for a continuation of this one, if anyone's interested.... ;)

Thanks for reading!

- @xoxoendoh

#Free! #makoharu #makoto tachibana #haruka nanase #tachibanamakotobirthdayexchange #endoh writes #nanase haruka #tachibana makoto #free! dive to the future

[deliasbabygirl-blog]

The Death of Aphrodite

Prompt: #51: “And I thought there was a spark between us.” - anonymous

Summary: AU - Cordelia Goode is no longer able to look over all the witches within her coven by herself, so she requests the help of a powerful witch from New York City - Miss Wilhelmina Venable. The new mistress of the mansion rules with an iron fist, mightier than Cordelia ever would, but it appears she has a soft-ish spot for a younger, doe-eyed witch named Y/N. Y/N finds herself falling head over heels for the regal woman, but is she seeing things that aren’t truly there? Only time will tell...

Pairing: Wilhelmina Venable x reader

Word Count: 1,763

A/N: this is my first time writing for venable, but i could not resist this request. this piece also features cordelia goode, obviously from the summary. i hope i did the character and request some justice. feedback and love is always welcome. 

November

The thin lavender lace covered her soft breasts and round of her ass, her crimson hair falling over her shoulders, brushing along the delicate fabric. She hovered above you, thighs pressing against the back of your own, her hungry touch ripping open the black silk of the bralette you wore. A quiet moan vibrated from your throat, feeling her fingers running along the curves of your body as though she had craved this very moment, as though she was roughly memorizing each piece of you.

Her fingers found the hem of your underwear, tearing them from your skin with the strength she relished in showing you, a satisfied smirk playing on her crimson-smudged lips. The aroma of peppermint on her breath and vanilla within her hair ghosted over you, delighting your senses, mixing with the tender feeling of her touch along your clit, her teeth suddenly sinking into the soft flesh of around your collarbone.

“Miss Venable!” you heard a familiar voice calling for the striking woman above you, and she grunted in frustration, retracting herself from your skin, rolling those lustful eyes as she angrily collected the lilac blazer from the floor. “Miss Venable, a word please!” the voice called again, evidently closer to the locked door of the older woman’s bedroom.

“Fucking Cordelia Goode,” she mumbled beneath her breath as she clothed her bare skin with her usual suit, cursing the woman requesting her presence. Her eyes flickered toward you, glaring into you with a burning fire you could feel coursing through your veins, your blood boiling from her stare. “Well, you can’t just stay here like some slut,” she gritted.

Swallowing the excruciating lump growing within your throat from her harsh words, you untangled yourself from the white sheets, hurrying to collect your own bundle of black clothing from the hardwood. “I’m sorry, Venable,” you found yourself mumbling as she shook her head, ignoring you, walking out of the room with her usual refinement.

Though your heart sunk deeper into its cage, resting at the bottom of the housing bones, you forced a smile onto your face for you almost made love to the most exquisite woman you had ever seen. Buttoning your shirt across your chest, you frowned once more, aware of the anchoring feeling weighted within your stomach.

 February

Within the reflection of the mirror, you saw the handle upon your bedroom door turning, the shadow of feet beneath the painted wood. Feigning ignorance to whom was entering without knocking or announcing their presence, you continued brushing through the knots of your hair, glancing quickly toward the vase of red roses and a single lilac upon your nightstand. The appearance of familiar crimson hair and purple clothing crossed the threshold, the sound of the door clicking shut cocking your brow. “Hello, Miss Venable,” you smiled at her in the mirror, noticing the smirk toying at her lips.

“I see you got the flowers,” she stated, her tone indifferent. Though her attention now laid on the disheveled sheets upon your bed, you nodded. “I did. They’re beautiful,” you turned toward her once placing your brush upon the vanity, thinking of how she had left them in the open on your bed. There was not a single way you could have missed them. “Thank you.”

She hummed contently, pushing the bedding toward the opposing edge of the bed allowing her to sit down upon the smooth sheet along the mattress. “Come,” she demanded, a tint of amusement ribboning the single word. Her eyes were finally on you now, the dark gaze watching you through those adorable glasses perched on her nose. The fluttering in your heart tickled your bones, the wings of butterflies aiding you toward her, your hands finding her thighs as you leaned into her for an awaiting kiss.

Fingers tangled within your hair, drawing a subtle groan from you, her soft lips working against yours. You slowly straddled her thighs, feeling her free hand sliding around your waist to press firmly against your back. Tongues met shyly at first before she greedily dominated the embrace. She rolled you from her lap, nearly slamming you against the mattress below, climbing atop you.

Capturing her breath, allowing you to catch yours, she looked down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, the tender touch causing your stomach to knot in anticipation. Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, and you swore she smiled down at you, but she was never one to truthfully smile. “You’re such a good girl,” she whispered, darting her attack toward your neck. With a flick of her wrist, the door audibly locked, your thighs trembling at the awareness of her motives.

 April

The savory aroma of rosemary and garlic wafted around the crowded dining room, the lengthy wooden table occupied with baked chicken, roasted chicken, prepared greens, steamed seafood, macaroni and cheese, and other varying comfort foods steaming from their assigned dishes. Around the table, nearly chair seated a witch of the coven, elbows brushing elbows, but the chair residing at one end of the table remained empty: Venable absent from the family dinner.

At the opposing end of the table seated an irritated Supreme, pushing around the food upon her plate, her cheeks painted a flushed pink. She had already grumbled about the other woman’s absence to all of you, her displeasure evident in her feign excuse for the older woman not being there. You silently watched her, it seemed all of the witches did, neglecting their food on white plates to ensure their Supreme was alright.

Suddenly, the eruption of doors swinging open, slamming against the walls behind them, abducted the worry for the blonde woman, rather capturing all attention on the entering witch. Cordelia must have known just whose entrance would cause such a ruckus for she neglected to look behind her at the duo of opened doors or the woman sauntering into the room as though she was on time.

A familiar throbbing appeared between your thighs seeing the elegant yet conservative woman, and the swollen feeling of adoration pumped within your chest. She continued toward her assigned end of the table, passing each chair in silence, ignoring the bashful, worrisome stares following her. Fingers brushed along your shoulders, over the edge of the chair, causing a shiver to trickle down your spine.

The flush of heat surged through your chest, warming your cheeks with a blush you prayed you could hide from the other witches, staring down at your plate, neglecting to tuck loose strands of hair from your face. Knowing the moment Venable was seated, for the usual mumble returned to the table, you dared a glance at the older woman, finding her eyes already awaiting yours, and a bashful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Cordelia loudly cleared her throat, erasing the grin from the woman’s smile, stripping your attention from her. “It is nice of you to join us, Miss Venable. As a future reference, we meet for family dinners every Wednesday at six. I am sure you got confused or carried away with all of your other activities around the coven,” the blonde spat venom, her eyes flickering to you before she continued. “But this is something we are prompt for.”

“Dear, Cordelia,” the older woman counteracted with poison laced in her syllables, you heart thrashing from the realization that the Supreme was aware of the ongoing relationship. “I assure you, there is nothing more important to me than sitting around a hundred year old table eating dry chicken and overcooked potatoes. I will ensure I am on time next week.”

 August

“This has gone on long enough, Venable,” you heard Cordelia’s voice nearly echoing off of the walls of her greenhouse, your tears continuing to stream down your cheeks as you hide outside of the open doorway. “I asked you here to help me train these young women to better understand and control their powers, and I find out you’re fucking one of our students!”

There was a sinister chuckle from the other woman, a menacing snicker promising the blonde’s roaring was unmoving, unimpressive. Ghosting fingers squeezed at the animal within your chest, the excruciating pain of worry that the best thing to ever happen to you would disappear the moment this argument ended between the women.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see what is so humorous, Venable! You are here to train these young women, not use them for your own twisted, perverted games!” the Supreme continued, and you heard the shatter of glass before another deafening laugh. Silently heaving, attempting to catch the breath stolen by crippling anxiety, you sunk to the dirt beneath you, indifferent to the filth collecting on your clothes.

“Y/N,” you heard your name on the blonde’s steady voice, realizing she was summoning you, aware you were there, but the fear paralyzed you to the earth. Two differing heeled footfalls neared you, silencing on the dirt beside you. You could not peel your gaze from the several plants laid out across from you, could not glance toward the two women whose stares burning into your skull.

“I thought,” you sniffled, breathing haphazardly into the night, your lungs frantic and panicking. Cordelia crouched beside you, placing a reassuring hand upon your shoulder, her thumb running along the slight exposed skin. “I-I thought…was that all I was to you, V? A game? I thought I meant something, and,” you swallowed, your words sounding as damaged as you felt. “And…I thought there was a spark between us, or something like that.”

The response of thundering laughter compared similarly to knives slicing through every single layer of your already battered heart, their blades falling into the oblivion of your stomach, the most excruciating aching you had ever known. “A spark? There is nothing between us, dear, you just listen very well. You’re very obedient. I like an obedient slave.” And as though the thought of conversation bored her, the woman walked away, the image of crimson hair and lavender slacks blurring as she disappeared toward the house.

Screaming into the warm Louisiana night, you clawed at your hair, cursing yourself for being so childish, for thinking she could have loved you. Cordelia’s gentle embrace held you tightly, your head falling to the crook of her neck, soaking the fabric of her black shirt with saltine tears. “Venable loves no one but herself,” she whispered, running her fingers through your hair. You hardly heard her voice over your angered, pain whimpers. “Trust me, darlin’, I thought she loved me once.”

#venable x reader #ahs imagine #venable imagine