#Napoleon loved his hot pockets

[napoleondidthat]

“Ah! Finally my HotPocket is ready!”

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Summer Birthdays Surprises of Love

Summer Birthdays Surprises of Love

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Napoleon Bonaparte x OC (Elaine) Tag: Established relationship Birthday Fluff Surprises Kisses Fluff

Word Count : 1.327 Author’s Note: Happy Birthday Honey @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

I am here to wish you a very happy birthday as very happy indeed you make me everytime we chat. 😍

You always shine like a star enriching the fandom and the entire workd alike with your dazzling presence. 😘

I am happy and proud to call you my friend for it I wish to see you smile everyday like today. 🥰

I thus hope in all honesty this humble gift would be enough to thank you for all the adventures we shared together. ❤

Tag list @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 

@violettduchess @lichtluv @rjthirsty 

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊 Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a placid summer morning, on any other occasion they would have used it to their own advantage to go to the beach or stay home lazing around in their private pool in long sessions of love making … but not that day.

They were lazing cuddling on the swinging porch bench talking about everything and nothing, his fingers lazily caressing her hair as she purred softly nuzzling in his neck pawning at his chest heabutting it like a clingy swan.

“I hope you enjoyed my homemade breakfast.”

“Of course I did, thank you. It was all delicious.”

“Good cause I have so much in store for you today.”

“You didn't have to ?”

“Trust me there is nothing more rewarding than making you happy the day you are born.”

“I love you so much. Elaine.”

“I love you too, Leon.”

Gently he took her hand in his, enticing his ginger sin hers as they walked through the garden. 

She began to walk toward a bush when suddenly crouched down to it, something white caught her eyes and soon she noticed it was a piece of paper far from ordinary.

A swan origami, that judging by the expert way it was made it must have been a work of his lover, proved by the elegant signature of the written words on its wings.

The idea he learnt it only to make her happy, warmed her heart with affection.

“What did it say, my little ?”

“It seems we have to find all of them, to find a surprise.”

“We haven’t time to waste then.”

And so their whimsical treasure hunt began, bringing them on trees’ tops and in rabbit’s holes, patching every corner of the garden 

It was noon and the air was pretty hot but the freshness of the wind helped them regain their energy, to continue.

At each paper bird they dove deeper into the forest surrounding their cottage and before they knew it they reached a little lake.

It was a special place for them, she still remembers the first time he brought her to propose to her. 

It was so romantic she wasn't able to hold back and jump in his arms tumbling with him on the ground.

She smiled fondly at the memory following him as she sat quietly next to the pool diving her hand in it, splashing playfully his husband who smiled brightly at her all the while. 

“Ahhh Look Napoleone ducks.”  

She clapped her hands happily as the birds walked towards her, lining up to be petted, squealing excitedly as she distributed them some pieces of bread Napoleon offered her to take from the paper bag he had hidden in his trousers pockets.

Her laugh tingled like a wind chime in the summer breeze and as warm as the sun.

“They are so pretty. Leone, I found your duck-version.”

There was an innocent mirth in her smile as she took the black and white goose in her arm gazing back at him, enough to enrapture him in that lovely spectacle.

“Ehhehe I am sure it did, but it seems his companion is quite jealous.”

“Oh this laughing merrily she took another all white with little spots of brown here and there.”

“It looks like you nunuche.”

“Ehhehe You are right. I wonder if they are a couple.”

“I am sure they are.”

“I love petting them, they are soo soft, and they seem to love you too.”

“I see you have rivals ma reine.”

The pout on her lips was way too adorable but he desired to see her smile more and so he leaned over brushing his lips on hers.

“Don’t worry Rose, you are my only one.”

“As you are to me, Leone.”

“I know you would have liked it mia piccola that’s why I brought you there.”

“How long did you know they were there ?”

“I discovered it only recently, they must be newcomers.”

Before they knew it, the ducks vanished in the forest where they came from.

“Ahhh they went away.” she looked so down he had to took her hand squeezing it softly 

“Please don’t be sad, we can come here as many times as you like.”

“Really ?” The sun returned once more to her cheery blossom eyes as she gazed hopefully at him.

“Of course we can.It will be our little secret.”

She giggled happily squeezing his hand as he entwined his fingers with hers, before walking away hand in hand gazing up at the stars as the begin twinkle in the night sky. 

“Leone.”

“Yes dear ?”

“Our home isn’t in the opposite direction ?”

“It is … but my surprise isn’t.”

“What, there is more ?”

“Of course I want to make you the happiest you ever were today.”

“You are always so gentle to me.”

“Au contraire, ma reine. You are the sweetest one, I am only showing you my love.”

“But you do it everyday.”

“As you do but today is special, n’est pas ma petite ?”

“You have a way with words you know.”

“Only for you ma petite rose.”

Swiftly he went to hug her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist before tickling their way to her eyes.

“Now my good girl, close your eyes.”

She giggled softly, placing her hands above his. 

“Your surprises never fail to make me happy.”

“I hope this won’t be an exception.”

Gently he guided her toward a place where he made her sit on an armchair, she obeyed promptly leaning back against the cushions, turning to look in the directions where she heard him walking toward. 

“Now open your lipsand say Ahhh.”

“Like this ?”

“You are going great mon amour. Now close it and enjoy.”

The sweet savour of chocolate mixing with the light taste of the fig was a treat for her taste buds, cherishing the surprise as much as she was, chewing on it slowly, not wanting the taste to be washed away from anything … except that from Napoleone’s tongue, an image that makes her cheeks ablaze with a mix of ambarassent and anticipation. 

“Leone, it's delicious.” 

“I am so happy to hear that, then you are definitely ready for it.”

“For what ?”

“Open your eyes.””

“Oh my gosh.” 

“Do you like it ?”

“Leone I love it.”

She jumped in his arms smacking a kiss on his lips before reaching for the cake, at the center of the candid tablecloth stood a complex sculpture entirely of white chocolate of two swans whose curved necks created a heart.

“You baked it yourself.” 

She couldn't believe her eyes, it was an amazing gift like those she could only dream of, but with Napoleone around she knew that each dream turned into reality.

“I did, it took ages but it was tenfold worth it to see you smile.”

“Happy Birthday amore mio.”

“Thank you Napoleone.I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There is no need to, your smile is more than a royal reward for me. Your happiness brightens my day, you do. Your existence gave me purpose, never forget that.”

His touch was unbearably gentle as he brushed on her cheek,  gazing straight into her eyes conveying all the honesty and affection of his words in a tender kiss as he melted his lips on hers.

“I love you mia principessa more than you ever know.”

“I love you too, mio principe, so very much.”

The stars in the sky twinkled even brighter as he carried her princess style toward their room, ready to give her a much more intimate proof of his love, to the one and only that captured her heart, making him happier than he ever was, than he ever imagined being in all his dreams.

Together they found home to create, cherish and fill with the feelings bounding their heart, the same emotion that made the Universe go around since the beginning, the powerful spell of love.

[cloudcountry]

YESS, MATCHMAKER TROPES ARE SO INTERESTING 👏 Ngl, I was kind of nervous sending that one in kjfgndfkg-

So instead of doing school work like a normal human being, I decided to impulsively put together a whole bunch of concept voice lines/dialogue pieces for Ikevamp Beethoven 🧍 And yes, I am very normal about him (This is a lie)

But before that!! Have some more details about him- (Ngl, I love how we’re both talking about an Ikevamp OC and I’ve,, never played the game- I’m gonna try and see some gameplay about it later though if I can kjfngdfh-)

-He has a coarse German accent

-I like to think he’d occasionally slip in a few German words here and there,, (is this a self-indulgent detail of mine? ,,Perhaps-)

-Despite being a composer, he actually can’t dance or sing! As he says, “I can compose, thank God, but I can’t do one other thing on earth.”

-He did speak softly, but after he started to experience hearing problems, his voice shifted into something more louder

-The more angrier he gets, the more louder and thicker his accent gets-

-He speaks kinda formally, but again, he’s a Grump™, so he can be quite curt,,

-Fluent in German and English, can also speak Italian and French, and he does know some Latin!

-He always carries paper and a pen with him, just in case he gets inspired or has an idea for music

-He’s,, kind of lonely?? He doesn’t have many friends given his sharp tongue and hot temper,,,

-Again, he’s partially deaf/has hearing problems, so he’s picked up the habit of lipreading. But he’d definitely appreciate it if you spoke louder to him (though, he’d definitely wouldn’t want anyone shouting at him)! He’s gonna have trouble hearing you though if you’re like,, far across a room or something. Ngl, this led to me writing this-

MC, at one far end of the room: What was your childhood dream??

Beethoven, at the other end: What??

MC: What was your childhood dream??

Beethoven: ?? No, I like ice cream!

Dhjfbg Anyway,,! On to the voice lines, asdfgh-

Beethoven: Greetings, MC, my name is Ludwig van Beethoven. Any charm or taste I may have has been poured entirely into my compositions. Regarding myself, I am simply a freelance musician. That's all the introduction you need.

Beethoven: Social etiquette of Viennese aristocracy? Hah, it’s an endless subject. Shaking off commoners, behaving only in particular ways… It all demands carefully calculated courtesies that I find hard to conjure myself. Herr Comte de Saint Germain is a nobleman himself, is he not? I’m sure he is more knowledgable on how noblemen and noblewomen behave than I.

Beethoven: My opinion on Napoleon Bonaparte? Hah! That “emperor,” that wretched snake, is nothing but a small, ordinary tyrant who tramples on human rights. He’s a miserable blackguard, a godforsaken man with a puddle of poison for a heart! He’s a beast in spite of his charms. No, lower than a beast. Stay far away from him, lest you get caught in any deception of his. 

[Note: “Small,” he says,, Ikevamp Napoleon is 5’8. Ikevamp Beethoven’s 5’3, literally the shortest man in the cast,,]

Beethoven: Ah, MC. I was just about to go out on a walk through the forest. Forgive me, but I would like to go alone today. I need to sort out my thoughts.

Beethoven: …Ah-hah! I’ve come up with a new melody! I must write this down immediately.

Beethoven: Watch that the notes in my pocket don’t spill out.

Beethoven: I’ve written a new song. Would you like to hear?

Beethoven: Nothing is more intolerable than having to admit to yourself your own errors.

Beethoven: I love a tree more than a man.

Beethoven: My thoughts on Herr Mozart? Well, I have always greatly admired him, ever since I was a young boy. I regard myself as one of his greatest admirers. …Hm? Why do you seem surprised? I am capable of praise. …Pardon? You’d think we’d see each other as ‘musical rivals…?’ What a ridiculous thing to say. I don’t regard him as a rival at all. His music has qualities I wish to emulate, yes, but me and nobody else will ever be able to do anything like that.

Beethoven: I have never thought of writing for reputation and honor. What I have in my heart must come out; that is the reason why I compose.

Beethoven: Ach, was für eine Qual... Ah, MC. I didn’t hear you approach.

Beethoven, at Napoleon: Do you think I give a damn about you and your pathetic violin?

Beethoven: When I was younger, I had trouble keeping up with reading and writing more than other children. There’s a term for it now, I believe…? Dyslexia, if I’m correct. While I have gotten better at the subject, I’ll admit, I do occasionally struggle. But in any case, I would rather write ten thousand notes than a single letter of the alphabet. Music comes to me more readily than words.

Beethoven: Ah, sehr gut, you’ve found my notes. Thank you, Fraülein MC.

Beethoven: My family? …They are not something I wish to talk about.

Beethoven: The amount of money one needs is terrifying…

Beethoven: Only the pure in heart can make a good soup. 👌 

Beethoven: Music can change the world. Yes, that is what I wholeheartedly believe.

Beethoven: When I first started developing my partial deafness, I was sent into a panic. The ringings in my ears were a telltale sign of what was to come. When my deafness started getting worse, I avoided social gatherings because it was impossible for me to say to people “I have trouble hearing,” or “I’m going deaf.” If I belonged in any other profession, it would be easier for me to say, but in my profession, it is a frightful state. I remember once I laid my head on my piano, desperately and loudly banging the keys just so I could hear what I was playing.

Beethoven: "Eine ungenügende Leistung…” No, it’s fine, it’s just something I often heard when I was a boy. You can ignore it. 

[Translation: “What an unsatisfactory performance…” He may or may not be hinting a little at his father here,, who again, struck at Beethoven’s hands whenever he got a note wrong-]

Beethoven: I hear a musical genre known as “jazz” was quite popular for a time. I've had the fortune to hear a few records. The free, unweighted playing style greatly amuses me. Perhaps I will try my hand at the genre someday.

[OKAY,, I DON’T KNOW IF THERE ARE ANY KIDS IN THE MANOR, BUT I REMEMBER THERE BEING A FLASHBACK INCLUDING CHILDREN,, AND THERE WAS AN IKEVAMP FIC INCLUDING KIDS,,, I feel like I’m incredibly wrong though, so please correct me asdfgh)

Beethoven: I know of no more sacred duty than to educate a child. If any children wishes to learn piano, or any other instrument, you may send them to me, but I am a strict teacher. I’m not one to release a student partway after he or she begins their studies.

Beethoven: I recommend being virtuous to the children. Virtue alone, and not money, can make one happy. I speak from experience. …It is my wish that they may have a better and freer life than I have had.

Beethoven: Vampire haben ein verbessertes Gehör und Sehvermögen...? Hah, was für ein grausamer Scherz, den Gott mir präsentiert. …No, no, it is nothing. 

[Translation: Vampires have enhanced hearing and vision...? Hah, what a cruel joke God is presenting to me.]

Beethoven: I value honesty and integrity above all else. One who lies is not pure of heart.

Beethoven: The foundation of friendship demands the greatest likeness of human souls and hearts. No friend have I. I live by myself alone; but I know well that God is nearer to me than others in my art, so I will walk fearlessly with Him… However, Fraülein MC, that is something you have changed, and I must thank you. You have been my first true friend. I shall never forget the days I spent with you. All I ask is that you continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours. 

Beethoven: Now, off with you! You’re a happy woman, you’ll give happiness and joy to many other people, and there is nothing better or greater than that.

Beethoven: In the world of art, as in the whole of creation, freedom and progress are the main objectives. Persevere, do not only practice your art, but endeavour also to fathom its inner meaning; it deserves this effort. For only art and science can raise men to the level of God. It demands that we shall not stand still.

Beethoven (this one is specifically aimed at you, Auburn 🫵): What do I think of Herr Newton? I admire both his intellect and contributions to the sciences and mathematics. I don’t know him well, but whenever he starts to talk about his sciences, I can hardly keep up. It’s not my forte. However, I do have great respect for him - he is the pioneer of his field. …Ah, I must ask, have you established a courtship with him yet? Was? Why do you look so shocked? You are trying to make your apparent interest in him quite clear, aren’t you?

Evil Beethoven be like: “I hate Mozart.” / “I like Napoleon.”

Dghkjd I hope you enjoyed this!!

Jackdaw Anon 🐦

I ENJOYED THIS IMMENSELY JACKDAW ANON IT WAS SO GODO AND WELL PUT TOGETHER KASHGDJASGHDJSA I AM AMAZED AT HOW MUCH THOUGHT YOU PUT INTO ALL OF YOUR IDEAS EVERY TIME I GET AN ASK FROM YOU :D!! AND PLEASE, DONT BE EMBARRASSSED I LITERALLY GOBBLE UP EVERYTHING YOU SEND ME AND I LEAVE NO CRUMBS RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Beethoven: Only the pure in heart can make a good soup. 👌

THIS LINE MADE ME LAUGH AS I WAS READING and i know you mentione dhim actually saying something like that before BUT IT MADE ME THINK OF CLAVIS WHO IS AN IKEMEN PRINCE CHARACTER THAT MAKES THE MOST FUCKED UP SOUP KNOWN TO MAN ITS HILARIOUS HELP

oh gosh and the dialogue you wrote about him slowly losing his hearing? gahh i had to cove rmy mouth i was so?? haunted??? by the imagery of his just desperately slamming piano keys and omggg you're too good at this.

[Translation: “What an unsatisfactory performance…” He may or may not be hinting a little at his father here,, who again, struck at Beethoven’s hands whenever he got a note wrong-]

CAN WE FIGTH HIS DAD IS THAT ALLOWED I WOULD LIKE TO PERSONALLY ON BEHALF OF THE ENTIR GRUMPY AMN ENTHSUIAST ASSOCIATION.

DW JACKDAW ANON THERE ARE KIDS!! not in the mansion, but isaac and napoleon teach a bunch of little kids and im sure they wouldnt mind teh addition of beethoven!! he can teach them music since mozart isnt really taht social (and even though beethoven isnt either, i can see the kids taking a shine to him anyway LMAO)

HIS DIALOGUE ABOUT TEH MC BEING HIS FRIEND SHSPTOWPSTTSOPSOTOPOP STOPPPP IM CRYINNG!?!?!?!?!? THATS SO WHOELSOME AND SWEET :(((( ASJHGDJAHSGD WHY ARE YOUS O GOOD AT THIS I HATE IT I HAVE GONE THROUGH SO MANY EMOTIONS IN THE SPAN OF LIEK TEN MINUEST HELLO!!!!!

AND THE DIALOGUE YOU WROTE JUST FOR EM?!?!?!?!? I LOST MY SHIT WHEN I READ THAT HELLO YES SIR I AM MAKING MY INTEREST VERY CLEAR I AM KISSING HIM GOODNIGHT I AM MAKING HIM SANDWICHES I AM SETTING UP HIS TELESCOPE FOR HIM EVERY NIGHT SO WE CAN STARGAZE AJHSFDJASFDSAG

THANK YOUS O MCUH FOR THIS JACKDAW ANON YOU ARE LITERALLY AMAAZING

[your-dandy-king]

Murat jerks at the sound of Soult's orders. No matter what, that particular intonation of always turns sends him back into the mindset of when he was a new recruit. Every soldier, no matter how many years have passed, has that raw reflex burned into them.

Marmont is lying in the snow, shaking, crying, clutching at where Murat had struck him with the blackjack. Murat snorts. Enough then, and less than Marmont deserves, but now is not the time.

He shoves the blackjack into a pocket of his coat and, eyes clearing of rage, sees where he is for the first time.

The cold air slices into his chest like a white hot blade.

White.

Cold.

Ice.

Russia.

I fucking hate it here.

He sees shapes moving under the surface of the river. It is not the Berenzina, he thinks, too narrow. Not the Niemen either.

He hears Duroc tell Marmont to shut up. Murat doesn't stop him, because Duroc will do what he always does. No one gets left behind, even if they might deserve it. What comes after, though, no one can know.

He takes a step towards Davout, who is struggling. He and Davout had their differences in life, but he never wanted him to suffer. Well, not really, anyway. Captain Levavasseur beats him to Davout's side, and Murat makes a small nod of satisfaction. Good enough.

Which leaves him to deal with one other. Napoleon. Or some version of his brother-in-law at least. The worst version of him.

I miss him.

No, not this one. Murat misses the man he once called brother, the one he joked and laughed with on that long march through the Russian winter. Murat had tried so hard to keep everyone's spirits up, Napoleon's especially, even as his own spirits withered within from the needless death and agony around him.

I loved you once.

This one, though, is sleeping like he doesn't give a single goddamn fuck about what's going on and where they are.

Disgusted, he looks away and towards the river. He finds it hard to make out the shapes beneath the half-frozen surface. A limb here, a formless face there ... oh. Jean, what are you doing here? You should be home with Helene.

And Caroline, oh, Caroline, why are you here too, what is it that you're trying to tell me?

Maman.

No, get a damn grip on yourself, that's not them. A trick, a terrible trick.

Irritated, angry, he stoops over and hauls Napoleon to his feet by the scruff of his neck. "I think you should know I don't care what happens to you, but Lannes would be pissed at me if you got left behind. So, get the fuck up and move."

(@murillo-enthusiast, @le-brave-des-braves, @perdicinae-observer, @alexanderfanboy, @askgeraudduroc)

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

🖼️𝑁𝑒⁣𝑦'𝑠 𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒🖼️

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

Previously... 🐱Internalised Catgirl Misogyny: ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ) 🎨An Interloper in the Gallery 🖼️N⁣ey's Painted Paradise: ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 )

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

He smiled. He was so happy. — @le-brave-des-braves “Motherfucker! [...] She begged you to save him, you say? What kind of 'comfort' did you give, Marmont?” — M⁣ur⁣at of @your-dandy-king “Can someone tell Lannes that he isn’t allowed to just go ice diving during active duty. . . I’m too tired.” — Na⁣pol⁣e⁣on of @alexanderfanboy “D-DUROC!” — M⁣arm⁣on⁣t of @askgeraudduroc “Hah...” — D⁣a⁣vou⁣t of @perdicinae-observer

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

The air is freezing but it’s actual air. They can breathe. Murat finally stopped bleeding. They are standing on the bank of a large not quite frozen river. Dnieper. If they look in the water, they see faces. If they looked long enough, they would recognise the friends they lost. — ❄️

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

For a moment- he is sitting on the chair in that room of which the provenance he had not known, he is listening to a young man who he had felt such bitter irritations towards, he is cold and he is still and yet he still reaches out of his frame towards the only comrade he had at Waterloo, or was he reaching out to a lost young man who could have been his son? And then the moment is sketched away, to be replaced by a winter that he did not himself experience.

Soult: ...

He looks around - Murat is attacking Marmont, Napoleon and Duroc are transfixed by the water and may be about to fall in, Davout has fallen and is retching, macarèl de macarèl.

Soult: ATTENTION! TO ME!

He barks the words, as if he is calling to his soldiers, not to his colleagues. He glares at them, seemingly untouched by the doubts that Levavasseur had introduced just before.

I don't know what happened to Marshal Soult but he is clearly different from all of us.

He does not feel the chill in the air. He does not recognise the bodies in the water. He does not care to think about philosophical meanderings that have no practical impact on rational realities. It is preferable that he is not succumbing and faltering to what everyone else is succumb and faltering to, yes, definitely, so there is no damn point to thinking about why that is the case. Again, he calls, and he moves- towards Murat and Marmont.

Soult: Murat, Marmont- gentlemen, we are in ENEMY TERRITORY. We can litigate this later! Everyone, away from the water! Davout, can you stand? Levavasseur- help Davout stand!

He grabs the collar of Duroc's coat and yanking him back as much as he is able, and as he does so, he glances at the water- Surely he is not hoping to see Caroline, Franceschi, Mortier, Lameth, so many- He does not recognise the bodies in the water, and, despite himself, despite everything, that hurts.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

[cha-melodius]

Ten Random Lines

Rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

I was tagged by @rmd-writes and @clottedcreamfudge, thanks for the tag! I started out using a random number generator but then ended up mostly choosing multichaps (with a few exceptions) because it was more fun to see wtf was happening at the "midway" point in something that long. Also I have noticed that almost every single one is an AU, lol seems on brand I guess.

Amor Magnus Doctor Est (TMFU, napollya)

Illya manages to send a text saying just that, though if Napoleon keeps doing whatever he’s doing against his pulse he’s going to rapidly lose the ability to think at all. He moves to slip the phone back in his pocket again but before he can do it an answering text comes in. IMPORTANT, it reads. ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE.

The Makings of a Perfect Christmastime (TMFU, napollya)

“Napoleon, wake up,” Gaby says, and there is an unmistakable thread of panic in her voice that finally makes him pull the pillow away and crack an eye open. “Everyone is up, and they’re expecting breakfast or something.”

Class(room) Warfare (RWRB, firstprince)

Thank God he’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice Henry gawping at him like a particularly stupid goldfish. Unfortunately Henry’s not sure some of his students don’t notice, based on the increase in tittering from the room, which is nothing short of mortifying.

A Good Man Is Hard To Find (MCU, lokius)

Before Mobius can even begin to think of a plan, Loki is pushing him down into the desk chair and straddling his lap, and Mobius stops thinking altogether. Suddenly Loki’s mouth is on his, hot and insistent, and his hands are pushing into Mobius’s hair, clutching at the short strands.

Love is a Losing Game (TMFU, napollya)

There are two reasons why Illya goes directly to his mother’s apartment after his plane touches down in Moscow: 1) because she insists that she only hear the results of his tournaments direct from him, so she gets annoyed if the papers report on them before she knows; and 2) because right now, the thought of returning to his own empty apartment is unbearable.

The remainder are below the cut, and the last one is actually a few lines from the midpoint of what I have written so far in a long RWRB spy AU WIP...

White Knuckles (TMFU, napollya)

“Wait, please tell me you’re not skating scenes from fucking Romeo and Juliet with him,” she gasps. Napoleon tips his head, not quite a confirmation, but enough, and Gaby’s grin widens. “And you’re skating as Juliet?!”

Once in a Lifetime (MCU, lokius)

Where did you even get that, the nineteen-seventies? Loki had sneered, the first time he’d seen it. That tie makes you look like an aging hipster. Mobius had not asked how Loki knew what a hipster was, given that he hardly seemed to care about Midgardian trends. He’s also never admitted that he has no idea where he got the suit, only that he likes it no matter how unfashionable it makes him look. Anyway, once some punk in the Village had yelled ‘dope suit’ at him from across the street, so it couldn’t be all bad.

Here It Goes Again (Mandalorian, caradin)

Now she waits outside the maintenance shaft with Mayfeld, and every loop she smirks when she sees him and says the same thing. Wish I could say it looked good on you, but I’d be lying. Just one of those moments that proves that no matter how much it might seem to the contrary, she’s not immune to repeating herself in the loop. Reminds him that no matter how much she supports him, he’s ultimately alone in this.

The Hardest Cut (MCU, lokius)

Mobius wakes up with a splitting headache and, unfortunately, a very clear memory of the previous night. When he stumbles out into the kitchen he half expects to find someone else there, another bodyguard sent to take Loki’s place. Who could blame him for wanting a different assignment, after Mobius had made an absolute fool of himself?

Nova, Baby (RWRB, firstprince) WIP!

There’s a decent chance that Henry’s not in London to begin with—he could be off on some mission, god knows where—and a vanishingly small probability that Alex will succeed in getting any information on him from the agency. For almost anyone else that probability would be a big fat zero, but Alex isn’t an exceptional intelligence operative for nothing. Anyway, he has to try, because he knows he’ll never get past this if he doesn’t.

Tagging @mirilyawrites, @heytheredeann, @stutteringpeach, @dreamycloud, @therogueheart, @cheesecurdsgravyandfries, @indomitable-love, @somedrunkpirate, @deducitetemporacarmen, @afewbulbsshortofatanningbed

[agoddamnsupernova]

A valentines idea: Kate gives Yelena her first ever rose

"Lena, I'm taking Lucky for a walk!" Kate shouts over her shoulder as she clips the leash onto Lucky's collar.

"Bring back vodka!" Yelena calls from her shower and it makes Kate smile as she heads out the door.

"It's Valentine's day, buddy," Kate says to her dog as they ride the elevator to the lobby. "I don't think Yelena has ever celebrated, so I want to make it good. Will you help?"

The dog tilts his head at his master, a soft grunt coming from him and she takes it as a yes. "Good, we're gonna have to get you a sweater."

Lucky seems unphased as they make their way outside, him pausing just outside to pee on the hydrate. "You're gross," Kate teases.

They make their way all over town, grabbing groceries and a costume for Lucky before Kate stops at the flower shop just down the block from the apartment. "Roses seem cliche but I have a feeling she won't mind," Kate rambles mostly to herself as she picks out a bunch of fresh looking ones, tipping well because it was the day of.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Kate smiles as she heads out, her heart fluttering somewhere in her throat.

She had gotten everything she could think of to make the night special, including a bottle of Yelena's favorite vodka to go with the meal she had planned. It wasn't often that Kate cooked but she had spent the last few days looking into how to make Yelena's favorite dish from home.

When they get inside the door, Yelena is still somehow in the shower and Kate is grateful for the Russian's overuse of their unlimited hot water as she sets up quickly.

She writes something meaningful in the card she had bought, signing it with her name and a heart before sealing it and setting it down with the chocolates and roses. After that's finished she starts working on dinner, her playlist playing lowly from her pocket.

By the time Yelena finally descends from the loft, smelling of Kate's body wash, skin glowing from the hot water. "You are busy, Kate Bishop, what is the occasion?"

"It's Valentine's Day," Kate replies, turning to face her girlfriend with a smile. "Here, I got you flowers and chocolate and a card."

"I did not know we would be celebrating, I have not gotten you anything," Yelena says softly, taking the red envelope in her hands.

"You don't have to get me anything, I just wanted today to be special for you," Kate grins, plucking a rose from the bouquet. "You do so much for me all the time."

Yelena smiles softly, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "I have never--you got me roses..."

"Of course I did," Kate hums, moving to slide her arms around Yelena's middle. "You deserve only the best, Yelena."

"I can't believe you did all of this for me," Yelena murmurs, pressing their foreheads together as a tear slips down her cheek. "You're so perfect."

"Hardly," Kate chuckles, brushing their noses together. "You spend so much time taking care of me, I wanted to do this for you."

"I love you, Kate Bishop," Yelena whispers before kissing her softly, bringing her closer as though she were afraid that Kate would disappear.

"I love you, too," Kate smiles softly, bringing a hand up to brush the tears that slip down Yelena's warm cheeks. "Don't cry, my love."

"Happy tears," Yelena replies, leaning into Kate's touch. "Thank you."

"Oh hush," Kate replies before pecking Yelena's lips. "I need to get back to the cabbage rolls or the filling might burn."

"You're making my favorite?" Yelena asks so softly that it hurts Kate's heart just a little.

"All of them actually, I've been watching cooking videos while you've been at the gym," Kate admits with a blush as she gets back to work. "Although, I will admit I didn't make the napoleon, I bought it from the bakery you like."

"Marry me," Yelena replies and for a moment Kate can't breathe. "Only if you want to, you know."

Kate chuckles softly, scrubbing at her eyes to fight off the tears that threaten to spill over. "Of course I want to."

"I should really get a ring then, huh?" Yelena teases as she settles down to pick through the large box of chocolates.

It makes Kate laugh in a way only Yelena manages to as she gets to work filling the cabbage rolls. "I suppose you should."

Send me things?

[thunderheadfred]

💥Bakugou HC's💥

Aged-up pro hero Katsuki for all of these. Some NSFW beneath the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He’s scary good at everything he tries. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. It’s infuriating. Has zero patience when other people can’t immediately master a skill. Never let him teach you anything. Not that he’d offer, nerd.

He WILL offer, though. A lot. He can’t believe you still can’t Do That Thing. Tsh. Like THIS. You're gonna hurt yourself, Dummy.

But hold on. Of course you have unique skills of your own. You work hard to improve yourself. Trust me, he's the first person to notice. He doesn't praise anyone lightly, so when he raises his eyebrows and whispers he's impressed, your heart will go thermonuclear.

Perfect spelling and fully punctuated texts. Never uses abbreviations. Employs a grand total of four emojis, all of them angry faces. Constantly leaves you on read. He's busy, dammit.

Doesn’t smile or laugh in public (except sarcastically). His real smile is a crooked, fragile thing. Never make him feel self-conscious about it, or you might not see it again for weeks.

He does not talk about his private life to the press. Ever. Will K.O. rookie reporters who can't keep their big mouths shut.

HOweVER: he's intensely kind to his fans. There is a whole photographic sub-genre of little girls in cosplay hugging Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight like he's a Disney Princess.

Too smart for his own good. Emotionally hyper-vigilant. Overthinks every interaction to hell and back. Will act like he's not listening but actually hears every single word in a ten-block radius.

INSECURE AF. 110% convinced he will never be good enough. Terrified of his loved ones leaving him behind. Does he do anything to assuage his fears? Like... talk to anyone about it? Hell no. That would require admitting he has fears to begin with.

Seeing people upset makes him upset, especially if he doesn't know how to fix it.

The epitome of being mean because he cares. He genuinely does not seem to comprehend that monosyllabic grunts and lopsided shrugs are not actually that comforting.

Because he was such a brat growing up, he wants to make up for it now. Sort of. In his own way. Look, he's trying, okay?

He smells - so - good. Obscenely good. He doesn't wear cologne; are you joking? There's the burnt-sugar caramel candy smell of his quirk, for starters. And since he sweats deadly ammunition, he showers and wipes himself down almost constantly. He always smells clean. Like a fucking meadow.

Never got that growth spurt he was hoping for. He’s a short man - not even THAT short - but he has a Napoleon complex anyway. If you’re taller than him, the collars of your shirts will all be stretched out. He’s constantly dragging you down to his level. He will assert himself all the fucking time; the pissing contest is never-ending. Don’t wear tall shoes unless you want him to drag you around on a leash. If you’re shorter than him, that’s good. That’s very good. He likes that.

He’s an incredible cook, but everything he makes is a nuclear fire challenge. Adapt or starve.

- - - - -

Dating

Makes artisanal, nutritionally flawless bento lunches for both of you. When people assume his S.O. makes them, he gets fucking pissed. Damn right your co-workers are jealous of my cooking.

Your pet name is Dummy. Don’t like it? Fine. You can be dumbass.

There will be zero PDA in this relationship. His hands are shoved so deep in his pockets you can’t even try.

Intensely private with the press. But with his friends, he will brag about you nonstop. Bakugou Katsuki has the most talented and attractive and intelligent S.O., and anyone who doesn't recognize that is blind. Were you assholes even listening?

A mutual buddy definitely recorded one of these drunken brag-rants and sent it to you for safekeeping. Do not let Katsuki find out about it, unless you enjoy having an ash pile for a phone.

Gets jealous about everything, at least at the start. He calms down eventually. Kinda. He stops saying shit to you about it, anyway, because he learns to trust you. But anyone who so much as looks at you in a too-friendly manner will get the death stare of a lifetime.

He’ll throw all kinds of temper tantrums and the two of you will argue about every tiny fucking thing. He’ll scream out car windows, he’ll ball up his shirt and gnash on it. But he will never raise his voice at you. He’d rather die than make you feel unsafe.

Honestly, the constant bickering is really just... uhh... passionate communication. Eventually you both hash out the important things. You'll learn how to step around his landmines and actually make your points, and he'll learn to open up. A little.

Once you meet his mom, Katsuki starts to make a lot more sense. His family just... emotes like that. Eventually, you and his dad form a spousal support group consisting of exactly two lifetime members. He teaches you the Bakugou family semaphore you need to survive a long-term relationship.

Katsuki can dish it out but absolutely cannot take it. The only person who can level with him about serious issues without explosive fallout is his dad. Or, on a lucky day, Kirishima.

If you give him a legitimate criticism (even gently!) he will take it about as gracefully as a knife to the gut, because it confirms everything he hates about himself.

To your never-ending shock, you’ve made him cry. Yes, CRY! You monster! More than once! His lip gets all *trembly* and his eyes get all *watery* and all you want to do is hug him, but. No. He’ll storm out and wander around for a few hours before coming back with the problem perfectly solved.

He always takes your advice to heart. No, he will NOT talk about it, stop asking.

Gets mad if you don’t snuggle him on the regular. Will drag you into his lap with a pissy little grunt. There might be two seats on this couch but you will not be needing both of them.

Takes pictures of you while you sleep.

Takes even more pictures of you when you're awake but think he's out of the room.

He looks at all these pictures when he's away on high-stakes jobs. He gets all bleary eyed and sleeps in a salty puddle without you. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

You don’t have to meet him at the door or anything, but when he says “I’m home,” you’d better answer fast. If he doesn’t know your precise location in 0.05 seconds, he will assume you’ve been kidnapped. He never checks the fridge for notes. Never assumes you've gone down to the konbini for a snack. No, it’s kidnapping every time.

A terrrrrrible bed partner. He goes to bed at senior citizen hours and will never fuck you after sundown. He snores SO loud. Runs hot and sweats through the sheets. Slaps and elbows you in his sleep and aggressively spoons you with his loud, sweaty body. You WILL want to suffocate him. Separate bedrooms aren’t such a horrible idea......

BUT HANG ON, because in the morning he transforms into an honest-to-god angel. He's half awake, his guard is non-existent. Morning Katsuki is a doting kissy-faced marshmallow man.

If you can wake up before the ass-crack of dawn, he will pamper the fuck out of you. You are royalty for one (1) hour only, and he is your bleary-eyed slave. You want a cuddlefuck? You got it. Hugs? Kisses? Take as many as you need. You want a perfect, fluffy, NON-SPICY omelette with a heart drawn in ketchup? Here it is, gorgeous.

Then he gets in the shower and the spell is broken.

- - - - -

💥bang BANG💥

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this here is an ASS. MAN. He'll spank you with his quirk; doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Wants to see you wince when you sit down later.

Likes pounding you face down with a vice grip on your waist.

Unfortunately, even with all that said... he doesn't exactly have the feral beast sex drive you were expecting. He’s married to his work and has the fuddy-duddy habits of a once and future valedictorian. Only fucks you when he has the time and energy to fully dedicate himself to it.

But ohhhh. Shit. When it's time? It's TIME. The man will rush for nothing. Stamina for days. Making you cum as many times as possible is a point of pride. Yeah, you passed out once.

You’re gonna need those days off when he’s done with you.

That dick THICC.

Sends unsolicited dick pics. Only after you’ve been dating a good long while - he doesn't show that shit to just anyone. But yeah, don’t check your phone at work. He won't cum without you; those pictures and videos are time bombs. You better get home. Now.

Physically dominant as FUCK, but won’t verbally degrade you unless you ask. Well, let’s be honest. Unless you beg.

Praise him and reap the rewards. A long hard ego stroking will get him off more than touching his cock ever will.

Will grab your hair and fuck your throat. Will also stop immediately if you need him to.

The two of you have safe words and gestures. Even for vanilla stuff. He’s paranoid about scaring or hurting you. He insisted you both sign a color-coded ‘love contract’ that he meticulously formatted in a word processor. When you gave him guff about it, his blush was the darkest crimson you’d ever seen.

Coin-flip: he will sometimes be unbelievably gentle in bed. Doting and affectionate, taking perfect care of you. Like, it’s baffling. There’s no warning, the switch just flips. When you want him to be extra-rough and mean, he’ll sweetly worship you instead. For hours.

Bonus: he likes being penetrated. But of course he’s got a complex about that too. Super intense power bottom. You will never fuck him hard enough. He’d like to see you try. Hit his prostate just right and he might literally explode.

You'll live happily ever after but he will say he loves you out loud exactly once. Maybe. If you're lucky. And you're both about to die.

[vukovich]

ohkey, my lovely. prompt for your peculiar postings because i need it and all the snap-back fratboy vibes, m'dear, please!

the adventures of napoleon, the gargantuan bong (ref this post!) *rats ride the penis* and *gargoyling the bong" must feature.

because. of course.

kk. big love. xo

Bruh… Bruh? Bruh.

--

“A la bataille!" Neville entered the living room, alphorn of a bong held over his head. "Viva la French!"

"France," Draco corrected. He sighed and looked up from his o-chem book to check the clock. "It's eleven AM."

Neville plopped down on the sofa next to Draco. “Saturdays are for the boys.” He shrugged and twisted the grinder over the coffee table. It loosed a snowstorm of some of the skunkiest shit the man had ever dragged into the house.

Draco scrunched his nose. "Did you pick that in a fucking ditch?"

Neville shot him a lop-sided smile and stroked Napoleon's side like a blown-glass pet. "Napoli wanted something new."

"You need a girlfriend."

Neville hugged the bong to his chest, holding it between his knees and feet. "Shh, don't listen to him Nap."

Draco sighed again, drew a breath, and smelled pizza. Hot pizza. The house permanently smelled like something between pepperoni and unwashed men, but fresh-baked crust and bubbling cheese were present now. His stomach growled, and he set his textbook on the coffee table next to Neville's 'herbological studies'.

"Who ordered pizza?"

Neville shrugged as he packed the bowl. "Dunno, but I'm gonna hit this, hit that pizza box, and hit the hay."

"It's eleven AM," Draco repeated.

A knock sounded from the doorway to the kitchen. Nobody knocked here. The cute guy from Draco's organic chemistry class stood in the entrance. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the battered furniture, empty Bang cans, and smattering of discarded socks.

"Uhm," he started. "Hi?"

"Not yet," Neville said succinctly.

"Harry!" Draco said with a start. He was early for their study date. Whether they were studying or on a date, Draco hadn't been bold enough to ask.

"Uhm, yeah, I-" he shifted his backpack on his shoulder. "Some guy who works at White Castle let me in?"

Draco scooted over on the couch and patted the seat between him and Neville. "Theo. He doesn't work at White Castle. He just dresses like it."

"Uhm, right," Harry said. "He seems... nice."

He hugged his backpack to his chest as he sat down, eyes never leaving the bong held between Nevilles knees. Harry slid closer to Draco, and Draco reached an arm behind him on the backrest of the couch.

Neville quirked an eyebrow, then winked at Draco. He held a hand out to Harry. Slowly, Harry shook it. Neville nodded sagely. "I'm Neville. This is Napoleon. As a guest, you shall take the first hit of the day."

"That's what the White Castle guy said about the S'mores vodka." Harry scrubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shuddered. He wiggled closer to Draco, bodies pressed together. "Uhm, I'm just here to study. Draco's my lab partner."

Neville carefully set the bowl in the stem and dug around in his pocket. He pulled out a vintage brass Zippo with a griffin on it.

"Sorry, Harry," Neville said. "I don't make the rules."

Theo poked his head in from the kitchen. He tipped the bill of a White Castle snapback, then spun it around backwards. "I’m mad makin’ rules," he said around a mouthful of pizza. "All of 'em." He washed the pizza down with a swig from a handle of S'mores vodka. "And you gotta hit the bong. Or we gotta hit you with the bong, shawty."

Harry fiddled with the zipper tab on his backpack. Draco leaned down just close enough to smell his hair. He closed his eyes. Harry was so warm, and so close. If Harry really wanted to study, he'd have suggested meeting at the library.

Draco slid his arm lower, almost around Harry's shoulders, but not quite. Harry leaned his head back onto Draco's bicep, and Draco's heart skipped a beat.

Neville flicked the lighter a few times and frowned. Nothing but sparks. Theo whipped a silver blur at him, and it thunked off Neville's shoulder into his lap. "Thanks, Prez."

"S'why y'all voted for me," Theo said around the mouth of the bottle. “Mad presidential.”

"Eleven AM," Draco muttered to himself.

Neville and Theo stared at Harry, who reacted by snuggling closer to Draco. Draco wrapped his arm around Harry, and Harry let out a long sigh that smelled like vodka and fake chocolate. Draco nuzzled his face into Harry's hair. "How many shots did you do on the way in?"

"Uhm. Like. Four."

Draco snorted a laugh. "Some lab partner you are."

Harry shrugged, pulling Draco's arm tighter. "Forgot my book and notes, too."

"Hm. What's in the bag, then?"

"Change of clothes. Other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

Harry turned and met Draco's gaze with a coy smile. He bit his lip for a moment before stretching up and laying a peck on Draco's chin. A flush burned up Draco's neck, and he leaned down for a lot more than a peck, but something thunked against his forehead.

"Goddammit," he muttered, rubbing his head. Theo's lighter sat in his lap. Harry picked it up, letting his knuckles graze against Draco's zipper.

Neville and Theo stood next to the other end of the couch, bong held between them like a family photo. Theo pointed at Draco with the vodka bottle. "You gotta light it for your 'lab partner', D. House rules."

"Since when was that a house rule?"

Theo took another swig. "Like, 'bout thirty seconds ago."

Theo and Neville exchanged a loaded glance. Neville nodded. Theo grinned. Neville patted the arm of the couch opposite Draco and beckoned Harry over.

Harry looked up at Draco. Draco bit back a grin. "You're going to have to hit it from the arm of the couch." He mussed Harry's hair. "Short stuff."

Harry scoffed, but smiled back. "I mean, if it's a rule..."

“S’totally a rule,” Theo said, dragging Harry off the couch. “It is time!” he yelled. “For the gargoyle boil!”

Draco rolled his eyes, but knelt at the bottom of the bong with the lighter. Above him, Harry crouched, shoes on the arm of the sofa. Neville wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders to hold him steady.

Theo thrust his bottle into the air. “Release the fi-yaaaaaaaah!”

Draco rolled his eyes again, flicked the shitty lighter, and held it to the bowl. Harry took a long, slow breath, and smoke gurgled up into the bottom third of the bong.

“Again,” Neville said.

“Again!” Theo shouted.

Harry glanced down at Draco, and Draco nodded. Harry took another long pull, and the weed in the bowl crackled.

“One more,” Neville said, watching the smoke rise.

Draco licked his lips and watched Harry’s fingers wrap around the glass, his lips open, and his chest heave. He took a massive drag, and Neville let out an impressed “Woooooo!”

Harry’s eyes watered, and Draco crawled up onto the sofa next to him. Harry leaned down and pressed his mouth against Draco’s. Their lips parted, and Draco inhaled his breath. Under the cloying dank trash of Neville’s ditch weed was the faint taste of S’mores vodka. Draco pulled back and blew a faint white cloud over his shoulder.

“Fi-yaaaah!” Theo sang, shoving Harry off the arm of the couch and into Draco’s lap. He took the bong from Harry’s hands and pretended to jerk it off while taking a hit. He held his breath and pointed at Draco. Smoke poured from his nostrils as he spoke. “Saturdays are for the boys. So sayeth the president.”

Draco shrugged. “Boys will be boys.”

“Touché,” Theo said with a wink.

He passed Napoleon over to Neville, who held it like a microphone and sang, “Riiiiiiiiiiiicola! Riiiiiiiiiicola!” and proceeded to glue his face to the glass, exhaling through his nose with each pull until he stood in a cloud of his own making.

Harry wiggled closer to Draco’s chest and buried his nose in Draco’s neck. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and mumbled into his hair, “Want to go upstairs?”

Harry hummed contentedly. “Maybe. What’s upstairs?”

“My room. We could watch a movie or something.”

Harry pulled back and grinned. “Hm. ‘Or something’ sounds good.”

Next to them, Neville and Theo swapped bottle for bong and back again. Harry slid off Draco’s lap and pulled Draco to his feet. “Show the way.”

Trying to hide his rising giddiness, Draco took him by the hand and pulled him toward the stairs as the room below broke into a two-man cheering squad.

“Go, Neville, s’not ya birthday!” The lighter flicked. “Sumday, s’gunna be ya birthday!”

Draco opened his bedroom door, and Harry shoved him through.

A crash from below made them both pause. Glass shards crunched, and the lighter clattered to the floor.

“Napoleooooonnnnnnn!” Neville wailed.

“Aw, shit. Man down.” Theo slurred. “That’s mad fucked, bruh.”

Liquid splattered.

“Stop pouring vodka on him!”

Draco stood in his bedroom doorway and listened, fighting a chuckle. Behind him, Harry hopped onto the bed.

“Fuck, man, sign of respect to our fallen king.” Theo burped. “May he rest in pieces.”

“Napoli…” Neville sobbed.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned around to apologize, but a pair of jeans hit him in the face.

He pulled them off his head. Harry was kneeling naked on his bed. “We gonna ‘study’ o-chem or what?”

[batteryrose]

I'll ask about the ones you like, if they don't get asked about before you receive this: Ikevamp Napoleon and IkePri Nokto :D

hehe. Hehehehe. Hehehehehehehehheheh....

NAPOLEON

who? | only know their name | loathe | ugh | overrated | indifferent | dead | alive | just okay | cute | badass | my baby | hot | want to marry | favorite | blorbo that started an unhinged arc

I said before that I don't like the idea of me actually having any relationship with any of them EXCEPT THIS GUY. He really feels like someone you can communicate and maintain a long and healthy relationship with. I think I'd genuinely pocket him and bring him with me everywhere.

I like the balance of his demeanour—which is kinda rude, teasy, not too nice, yet at the same time he's actually just very kind so you can take him lightheartedly (I still reference jp napo to this day, who curses sometimes and calls you idiot). His inability to verbalise his niceness sometimes that leads to him acting awkward. His sensitivity to people's feelings and thoughts—I think he's actually pretty good at this. The other dimension of him—his past, that could be explored extensively and added to his character and decisions. And after all that life he's had, his current goal of having a chill life! Relatable! Simple!

Bottom line: he'd do the cooking, he'd do the cleaning, and I'd be the breadwinner of all our adopted children thank you very much

NOKTO

who? | only know their name | loathe | ugh | overrated UNDERRATED | indifferent | dead (in I want to CRUSH HIM between my hands kinda way) | alive | just okay | cute | badass | my baby | hot so pretty | want to marry | fave | debilitating gender envy

Controversial opinion: I like fake people

I'm JOKING but also this sort of... Difficult to speak to Characters, cunning and deceitful Characters, are REALLY interesting. Adds some twists and turns into dialogues and plotlines. Realistically I wouldn't touch him with a 10 foot pole but I'm looking at him as a character and narrative tool here, unlike how I look at napo. But even if I do, he's not as ridiculous as Clavis is, I think. Still kinda sane. You can kinda get through him. He has clear goals, and he's very intelligent.

In my opinion he shouldn't be approached by an earnest, honest, caring character like Emma. He should have someone that's difficult to 'get' too/have ulterior motives/needs to get something from him/have political interests that might challenge his. I think he needs someone that he'd take seriously from the get go. I think that'll bring out his full character potential the most. Also it's sexier

Ngl I was getting really frustrated during the beginning of his route that it felt like hatewatching... Up until when he made Emma his fake fiance and they tricked the benitoite merchants together, and he grinned at her after their success like they are partners in crime. THAT. THAT RIGHT THERE. I LOVE IT. I want to be cunning together. Be tricksters. Be Evil

So I was kinda eh about his character development where he's actually soft and nice or whatever. But in the end. I can't help it. I like the whumpy boy. He's sad and lonely and he's my pathetic blorbo.

Anyway THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING ABOUT THEM KRYS!!!!!

[needcake]

whumptober 2021, day 3: taunting

.

.

The King of Northern Lusitania.

That was what his Marshal claimed to be now that he had taken the country without resistance.

France could barely conceal his disgust. The Marshal, standing by the window of a house he had confiscated from a noble family that had fled to Brazil along with the court, seemed to have forgotten for a moment that, although he had been appointed Ambassador to Portugal in the years before the invasion, he was far, far, from the succession line of the new country they would create after partitioning Portugal into three, and that this insubordination would not go unnoticed once the news of his claims reached Paris.

But this was a matter for another time. His last conversation with Spain before coming to Lisbon had left him with a persistent headache and his patience was wearing a little too thin.

“Is he here?” he limited himself to ask and the Marshal informed him that no, the man he wanted had been moved to another location after his last escape attempt. “Take me to him, then.”

He cared very little for the thoughts the Marshal was entertaining in his head as he stared at France, but the longer he went without complying to his order, the more France felt like breaking his nose.

At last a junior officer was called upon and he was taken down the street to an unmarked door, past the two soldiers posted at the entrance with their weapons on their shoulders, and up two flights of marble stairs. All the furniture and the ornaments in the house had been removed, every painting, every object on display, even the chandeliers. Of their existence, only the empty squares of faded color remained on the wallpaper.

The empty corridors echoed their footsteps and the young man guided him to a door at the far end, pulled a heavy keychain from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“I’ll have that now,” he told him and extended his hand. He hesitated, his eyes darting between France’s tight lips to the insignias in his uniform. He deposited the set of keys on France’s white gloves and stood at attention. “You can go wait downstairs now.”

He waited until the young officer had nodded and complied, his steps fading in the distance, before he breathed deeply in. The ache in his head was killing him.

The first thing he saw after he pushed the door open was Portugal’s furious green eyes, his body a shadow against the wall in the dark room.

“It’s a lovely day outside, you should open the curtains,” he said as he locked the door behind him. Portugal remained in silence, still glaring at him. France huffed a breath and walked to the window himself, throwing the curtains open and allowing light to enter the room. Portugal squinted at the sudden change in luminescence, but he soon glared at him again.

France allowed himself a small smirk.

“Do you remember when father dragged you back after your brilliant escape attempt while he was in the East? You looked at him like that too.”

“And he beat me,” Portugal said, his voice a little hoarse. From disuse, France presumed.

“Ah, yes,” he said lightly, unbuttoning his gloves. “Castile wouldn’t leave your bedside.”

“You said I deserved it.”

France held his gloves in one hand; looked at him in the eye. “You did.”

The growl that escaped his lips as he surged in his direction would have amused him were France not in such a terrible mood. Tackling him to the floor and twisting his arm behind his back took less effort now than when they were children.

He pressed his knee over his spine and Portugal stopped struggling, breathing hard into the wooden floorboards.

“You never learn, Ulterior,” he whispered above him, watching Portugal turn his head and snarl at him for the choice of name. “I’ll always win.”

“Get off me,” Portugal spat, but France only settled his weight more firmly down on him.

“You have always been too angry to be good at fighting, Portugal. Stop struggling before you hurt yourself.” He felt him breathe deeply a few times, but his body was still too coiled, still too tense for France to release him just yet.

He looked around the room and saw that it had been stripped bare of its ornaments as well. Only a few pieces of furniture remained.

“Father would have been disgusted with the way we treat our prisoners,” he commented out loud and felt Portugal shift beneath him.

“Stop calling Rome that,” Portugal said, but his voice was lower, his body less resistant.

“Why?” France asked, lowering his body over Portugal’s. “We’re sons of Rome, you and I. Us and the Italies are all that’s left.”

“Romania is still alive,” Portugal countered quietly, the fight finally draining from him, his fingers unclenching behind his back.

“That he is,” France whispered into his ear, brushed his lips against the soft cartilage and felt him shiver in his grasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll find him eventually.”

He released Portugal’s arm and felt his eyes on his back as he got to his feet and walked over to the bed.

“What was the nickname Castile had for you when we were kids?” he asked, sitting on the feather mattress, tucking his hair behind his ear. Portugal got up gingerly from the floor, dusted the knees of his simple cotton trousers.

“Lusi,” Portugal whispered, the word heavy in his mouth, laden with memories France did not know and did not care to know. He hummed, undoing the fastenings on his collar and breathing a little easier.

“Did you have a nickname for him as well?”

France followed Portugal’s eyes down his chest as he continued to undo the buttons of his uniform coat and smiled to himself.

“Dickhead,” Portugal told him and France snorted, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat next. “Yours was Asshole.”

He laughed, shrugging off his outer clothes and folding them carefully by his side, the pressure on his head somewhat subsided now that he had removed his heavy, hot uniform. Portugal’s eyes were trained on him, still standing a few feet away, still hesitant and wary.

“Come here,” he called, extending a hand towards him and watching with some amusement as Portugal’s face contorted into a frown. Huffing an impatient breath, he rose to his feet and went to him instead.

Portugal seemed somewhat smaller, dwarfed by a too big linen shirt and his simple brown cotton trousers. But his body was still the same as France remembered when he pulled him closer, his arms still strong and hardened by years at sea, his eyes still a pale shade of green when he looked at him.

“You are always so difficult,” he told him, settling his hands on the curve of his hips, watching his eyes as he looked down at France’s lips. “Always stubborn as a mule.”

His hands came to rest on his chest, neither to push him away nor to pull him closer, and France sighed, pushed his hair back over his shoulder, ghosted his fingers across his face.

“He is not going to come for you,” he said and Portugal’s eyes turned to his, the soft skin around them tightening slightly in worry. “England has what he wants now that Brazil’s ports are open to him.”

The hands on his chest gripped his shirt, but there was no more fight in them, no more blind, raging anger. “You’re lying,” Portugal whispered quietly, but his voice was thin, threadbare, doubt creeping into his words, taking hold of his thoughts.

“England doesn’t need you anymore,” he continued, petting his hair, caressing his cheekbones, his jaw, his ear. “But you already knew this, didn’t you?”

His fingers slackened, the last wall of his resistance crumbling under his words and France leaned in, brushed his lips against his. “Oh, Lusi,” he whispered, “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

Portugal's mouth opened beneath his lips and France smiled, “Don’t you want to come home?”

 --

Notes:

In 1807, French Marshal Jean-Andoche Junot led the French army across Spain to seize Portugal in November 30. When he reached Lisbon, however, he was able to see the tails of the ships that took the Portuguese royal family and the court across the Atlantic to Brazil, which effectively saved the Portuguese Empire from falling into Napoleon's hands, but caused them to lose the mainland territory.

After taking control of the country, Junot seized what was left of the Treasury and any wealth available that had been left behind in the escape. He also put in motion the partition of the territory as devised by Napoleon, which would divide Portugal into three, granting the Southern portion to Spain's PM, Manuel de Godoy, keeping the middle part for France itself and giving away the Northern part to the King of Etruria. Junot, however, who had been France's Ambassador to Portugal during 1804-05, decided to proclaim himself as King of Northern Lusitania. Napoleon was not amused.

As part of the agreement to help the royal family escape Napoleon, the Portuguese regent, future João VI, opened Brazil’s ports to British trade, which had suffered under Napoleon’s Continental System and US neutral policy. At the time, Portugal and her colonies were responsible for consuming around half of Britain’s exports. That trade was thus protected after being moved to Brazil, which in turn made the continental territory of Portugal redundant.

However, the partition of Portugal never took place because in May 1808, after trying to double-cross Spain and take control of the territory, the Spanish revolted and the Portuguese followed in June. In August, the British sent troops under the command of Arthur Wellesley, future Duke of Wellington, and the French were forced to leave Portugal in what would be the first of three attempts to take control of the country.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 14

Happy Chronicles Update! I promise I'm still trucking along on this baby. I think?? We've also officially reached the halfway mark on this installment, which is kind of. Wow. That's WILD.

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to today’s episode of Luka’s Word to the Wise: whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be perfect. it just has to be good.

thanks, I.

Ivan is right. And technically, so is his Ma, who’s been telling him and Juleka this for as long as he can remember. But Luka will give them the gratification of saying I told you so when this is all over. Even though he could take a stab in the dark and guess that only one of them would take him up on that offer. And it wouldn’t be Ivan. And it wouldn’t be his Ma.

In between messaging back and forth with Bubbles over the next couple of days, Luka puts together a flyer. It’s not exactly the best—just something he threw together on one of those free graphic design websites, definitely nothing like a Gabriel billboard. But it’s punchy, and it fits the vibe, and it gets the overall message across. And more importantly, Juleka doesn’t give him The Look for it. In fact, she smiles over his shoulder when it’s done, and she rubs her fist in his hair, and she affectionately says, “Now can you chill?”

Luka only grins and throws her into a fireman’s carry for another round of ping-pong. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t know how to be totally chill any more.

They pool pocket money, leftovers from past paychecks, to put in an order for copies at the local print shop. Only Rose has ever been; she tells them she’s tagged along with a couple of old friends from an art club to print issues of the comic they’ve been working on together. It’s nice to see her take the lead, point out the best paper stocks and finishes and spot colors, whatever those are, based on what she’s overheard. It certainly beats the alternative: four barely-adults standing awkwardly at the counter, pretending they know what they’re doing.

Even if, according to Luka’s Ma, that’s most of what adulthood is, anyway.

They decide on something glossy because it makes the colors pop, and admittedly Luka has to thank his lucky, anxious stars for saving the file in every format imaginable because he wasn’t sure which one they’d need. Before he leaves them and heads to work on his bike, Juleka gives him another smile, and Ivan manages a single, subtle nod, and Rose’s eyes sparkle. And it’s starting to feel a little less like a thing he needs to do. It’s a thing he wants to do. With them.

And, well. Any bonuses are just that. Bonuses.

These days, Luka’s made it a point to bike past the bakery on his way to work, because if he’s as much of a regular as the Dupain-Cheng family claims, then he might as well act like it. To be fair, he doesn’t always stop in to talk or buy something; in fact, most times he doesn’t. maybe it’s some silly sense of hope that he’ll be seen. That Marinette really did talk to her parents about picking up an extra shift or two behind the counter. That there’s still room on the bulletin board for him—them. And most times, it is just Mrs. Cheng at the storefront, organizing displays or chatting with a friendly customer.

But sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it is Marinette, idly staring at the window with what he can only assume is her sketchbook at her side and her apron tied around her waist. And sometimes, she looks up at him. And sometimes, she waves and smiles with all the warmth and none of the sweat of July.

That’s why he does it. For the sometimes.

The flyers, once they’re printed, are nothing short of gorgeous, but Luka can’t bring himself to take any of the credit for it. More than anything, he’s just happy to see his bandmates all in on this, even if he did jump in with both feet. Even if they do still rib him during practice about how he’s way too invested in this. (At least Mylène has only nice things to say. He’ll have to remember to order a few extra pastries just for her.)

They split the flyers into four stacks, because of course Mylène insists on helping and of course Rose and Juleka insist on going together. They run or pedal off in different directions once they’ve put a game plan together, and at least Luka can credit them for not teasing when he offers to take the third and fourth arrondissement. They all know it’s where the bakery is, in spite of how he talks up the Place des Vosges. They know, and they don’t have to say anything.

He’s still trying to figure out whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have your real-life friends on your social media accounts.

Even as he’s hanging the flyers in downtown coffee shops, in libraries, on signposts and public bulletin boards, Luka can’t stop staring. With every flyer he pins or tapes up, he finds something new to love about it. A splash of neon color in the top left corner. The jagged, cutting edges of the lettering. The blurred glow of a spotlight. Every time he looks, he gets the feeling that he’s already there. Music pounding in his ears, stage lights burning so bright and hot they make him sweat, fresh calluses on his fingertips that he’ll regret and adore later. He doesn’t think of stardom often, but he imagines this is something close to it.

At the very least, it’s what he would want to make of it.

It’s close to closing by the time Luka arrives at the bakery-patisserie; the usual lingering smells of fresh bread and sugary frosting and the easygoing music are both conspicuously absent when he walks in. But Mr. Dupain and Ms. Cheng are both missing from the storefront, and he has to double check the time on his phone to make sure he didn’t accidentally arrive too late, or that he’s not interrupting some closing routine. It shouldn’t take long; he spent almost the whole bike ride over rehearsing what he needed to say. He looks around cautiously, even clears his throat in case it gets someone’s attention.

It does. Marinette pops up from behind the counter with a squeak, and it startles him so much he nearly drops the stack of remaining flyers in his arms. And that would’ve been a pain in the ass as much as it would’ve been straight out of one of Rose’s cute romcoms for Marinette to round the counter and help him pick them up until their hands brushed over the same one.

Jesus. He really needs to get out of the house on his sister’s date nights.

He really needs to have a date night.

He also really needs to stop thinking about date nights when the person he’d actually consider a date night with is right in front of—

“Luka?”

He blinks to attention, standing awkwardly in the quiet. God, he really hopes he wasn’t staring at her when he zoned out like that. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Marinette shrugs it off with an apologetic smile. “We’re fresh out of napoleons, you know,” she says casually, slipping past him to flip the sign on the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess I will—wait—” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

Marinette pauses at that. Even seems to stand a little taller, intrigued. Hopeful? “Oh…? Then why…  are you here?”

Meekly, Luka holds up one of the Kitty Section flyers and nods toward the bulletin board. Here’s hoping he—it— isn’t too much of a disappointment.

Marinette squints at the flyer for a second, and then her eyes widen and spark in delight. She looks… impressed, at least. which isn’t to say she’s never seemed impressed by him before. It just makes all the things he’s been working for a little more worth it. “Wow,” she says. “You really weren’t kidding about being in a band, huh.”

“You know it,” he says with what he prays is a casual shrug; this… wasn’t part of the script. “I don’t wear this thing on my back just to look pretty.”

She stifles a laugh, then claps a hand to her mouth immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t implying that you’re not handsome—pretty— “

Oh God. She’s stammering. And it’s adorable.

Marinette composes herself with a deep breath and her arms folded over her chest. “There are pushpins in the corner,” she says. “Hang it up wherever you want.”

Except Luka can’t help feeling like she’s got her eyes on him the whole time. Either she’s coming to terms with the fact that he was telling the truth all along, or she’s… judging him. Or the flyer. And honestly, he can’t tell which is worse. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he notices she’s still staring. “Did I put it up at a funny angle or something?”

“No, just… thinking…” Her voice sounds distant, perhaps somewhere he might never find her. But then she snaps her fingers, and she says, “That’s it!”

“Uh.” Luka’s brow furrows. “What’s it?”

“Oh, just… sorry, my thoughts just ran away with me, I guess.” Marinette steps toward the flyer, brushing her fingers over it and wincing. maybe it’s just from the finish; his nails have scraped over then more than once, and it felt just as bad as a chalkboard. “I was just thinking, well…  you’ve been good to my parents and all. Why don’t we help you with promotion? You know, put postcards in the boxes or bags. It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Luka nearly spotters, but the only thing he can manage to say is, “Where am I gonna get postcards?”

“I can make ‘em.” She says it like the simplest, most obvious thing in the world, and looks him up and down when he falters. “If… you and your band are okay with that, I mean. Cause I, y’know… dabble, in graphic design. But I don’t want to impose, if you’re okay with this. It’s your band and all.”

“I can,” he starts to say; then he stops himself, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I can ask them?” Idiot, he thinks. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. “I’ll let you know what they say. Have to come in bright and early tomorrow anyway, right?”

Marinette only smiles. It’s faint, almost absentminded, but that sweet little tug at the corner of her mouth is hardly lost on him. “You don’t have to.”

“Ask them?”’

“Come by.” Her bag is hanging on a peg by the register, and she’s off rummaging through it before Luka can ask what she means. He gravitates toward her more than he actually walks to her, and by the time he reaches the counter she’s fishing a card out of her wallet. It’s pink and black, decorated with the same spray of flowers and monogram as her apron. when he turns it over, there’s her name at the top, and below that, two email addresses. And two phone numbers.

He looks up, wide-eyed.

“So,” Marinette says. “Unless you’re coming all this way for a napoleon, a pear tart, and my pretty face, I think you’re good.”

“I—” Luka turns the business card over and over as though it will teach him now to speak again. “I guess so.” Does she know he thinks her face is pretty? Wait—of course she does, he gave her that note. Oh, Jesus, does she still have that thing? It’s been weeks. “Well,” he says, scuffing his heel against the tile. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll come anyway.”

Okay, that was definitely not part of the script.

But then, neither is the way her eyes are sparkling. “Well,” she murmurs. “Maybe you will.”

“I should, uh—” He jerks a thumb toward the door. “Go, um. Happy closing?”

She laughs behind a hand, glancing between him and the tacked-up flyer before she grabs a broom and sends him off with a delicate wave. And to be honest, Luka’s never been angry with nature before, but he curses the wind for being so loud that he can’t hear that giggle in his head, over and over. Almost as much as he thanks it for drowning out all the stupid things he said, and the lingering questions of why she offered at all.

Luka’s Word to the Wise, Part 2:

Progress isn’t linear but it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can’t stutter your way through getting a girl’s number and succeed.

[viterbofangirl]

first line meme!

@fallynleaf​ said in her post to consider myself tagged, so I’m happily indulging in this lil’ ego boost! Thanks for the opportunity, m’dear! ^_~

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

NB- These are all unfinished and unposted WIPs. It behooves me to note that some of these are not at all recent. However, they ARE fics that have “first lines” at all, which is not necessarily a given as my Creative Muse is obnoxiously nonlinear in her inspirations.

~~~~~

1- The Gray Ghost had suffered some engine trouble somewhere on Interstate 65, so Mom and Dad hadn’t managed to make it to Chuck’s wedding. (Early Edition: ”Belly Up to the Bar”, a canon-compliant continuation of the episode “Occasionally Amber”, Gary/Toni except kinda not really because she’s totally pissed)

2- Oracle, Texas. 1878. A gnarled husk of a town still trying to deny that its glory days are past. (”Gunslinger”, my serious treatment/retelling of the Roger Corman western)

3- The gate clanged shut behind him, and Meng Yao took a deep, steadying breath. (MDZS: ”Leverage”, an Untamed AU based on inspired by pretty much continuing @littlesmartart​‘s brilliant setup and concept)

4- Many, many nights would Jiang Cheng lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling and pondering the razor’s edge of chance he’d toed. (MDZS: an Untamed chengqing fic set post-canon, current working title is “Second Chances” but I don’t like it)

5- Napoleon Solo flipped though an outdated magazine with little real interest as he lounged in one of the chairs lining the lobby of the car rental establishment. (TMFU (2015): ”Girls Just Want to Have Fun”, a fic set in my “Eight Strapping Daughters” universe where it is currently 1987 and Gaby and Illya have had eight daughters, any of whom are capable of taking over the world... and all of whom are about to spend the day at a shopping mall)

6- He felt the phone vibrating in his pocket. (Sailor Moon: ”Moon Revenge”, a Minako/Kunzite bodyguard AU)

7- The Moon was visiting Earth. (Sailor Moon: ”No Miracle for the Likes of Us”- another working title- which is Venus/Kunzite-centric exploration of the end of the Silver Millenium)

8- Chibi-Usa hasn’t stayed very long after Helios departed. (Sailor Moon: ”Rebirth AU”- you guessed it... working title- a Minako/Kunzite-heavy-but-not-exclusive AU that deviates from the manga/SM Crystal canon after the end of the Dead Moon Circus arc where the Shitennou are revived and the events of Star never occur)

9- Monday, 7:00 AM: Alarm goes off.

Monday, 7:00:08 AM: Alarm thrown across room. (Sailor Moon: “Codename: Teen Idol ‘Dite”, a side arc set in the above AU where, lacking any catastrophic galactic conflicts to fight against, Minako is going out of her mind with boredom and takes an undercover job as an idol as part of a police/Interpol sting operation)

10- Normally, Salazar Slytherin took great pride in his self-control. (Harry Potter: ”Release”, a short Hogwarts founders one-shot involving a maddening magical construction project and a sudden bout of swearing)

11- It was the first truly warm day since winter had broken, and Salazar Slytherin wandered the grounds with no purpose or destination in mind, simply basking in the sunlight until he began to feel the chill of the dungeons recede from his bones. (Harry Potter: ”And Treat Them All the Same”, a Hogwarts founders story about Helga Hufflepuff’s background and why she feels very strongly about equal treatment)

12- Salazar Slytherin stared at the wardrobe for another minute before finally deciding to throw another fur over his fur-lined cloak, leather jerkin, and wool tunic.  (Harry Potter: another one-shot Hogwarts founders fic with a teeny bit of Helgazar where the very cold-blooded Slytherin has to deal with a snowball fight, currently but not definitively titled “Snow Day”)

13- As the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, Brooklyn burst through the thin stone crust encasing him, his awakening roar shifting into a yawn as he stared blearily at the skyline and tried to remember what century he was in. (Gargoyles: ”Return of the Time Dancer”, Brooklyn’s return to New York- family in tow- after his Phoenix Gate adventures)

14- The couple breaking their fast that morning were strikingly handsome, if perhaps past the most fashionable age. (The Scarlet Pimpernel, Pride and Prejudice: “Scarlet Impressions”, a crossover fic that pretty much unfolded itself when I a) crunched numbers regarding the dates and years of respective storylines and b) realized that while Lizzy and Marguerite would get on like a house on fire, Darcy’s only possible reaction to Sir Percy would be unmitigated horror poorly repressed due to the latter’s much higher social standing)

15- Paris really was lovely this time of year. (MCU: “Threads and Patches: Part One”, first part of a three-part Clintasha AU set after the events of Civil War and most emphatically *not* farm-family friendly)

16- The briny air filled her lungs to bursting, but she continued to draw in breath until it hurt. (Highlander the Series: “The Mad Viking Saga”... because, frankly, EVERYONE should have an Immortal™ self-insert character and I refuse to apologize or feel ashamed of mine)

17- “Your Highness?  The oracle is here.” (Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas: “Sinbad and the Garden of the Hesperides” a sequel to the animated movie that actually should be titled “Proteus and the etc., etc.” bc it’s mostly about him and giving him the ending I think he deserves, a.k.a. an OC love interest and a chance for adventure while on a quest to save his city from a plague)

18- Bare feet pounded on the hot, rough pavement as Sinbad dashed around another tight corner. (Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas: “Fast Friends”, an eight-chapter prequel telling the story of how Sinbad and Proteus met and grew up together, wherein each chapter progresses with each year they know each other from when they meet to when Sinbad leaves)

19- Reed was well-known as your stereotypical absent-minded professor. (Fantastic Four: “Shut Up and Dance With Me”, a Reed/Sue fluffy one shot where Reed is adorable because fight me)

20- The spaceport on Aruus Minor reeked of fuel, welding torches, and sweaty coveralls, but it was a welcome change from the recycled air of the Lambda shuttle. (Star Wars Legends Expanded Universe (BITE ME DISNEY): “Everything Unsaid”, a Luke/Mara chance encounter set during the we-share-an-unbearable-degree-of-compatibility-to-say-nothing-of-the-overwhelming-sexual-tension-but-both-of-our-lives-are-kind-of-a-mess-and-neither-of-us-feels-ready-to-deal-with-our-feelings-for-each-other-so-we’ve-individually-decided-to-just-ignore-said-feelings-while-simultaneously-being-drawn-to-each-other-whenever-we’re-so-much-as-in-the-same-fucking-hemisphere years)

~~~~~

WHEW! Well, it sure was fun to tease all my followers with a taste of fics that will neverrr be finished! As far as patterns go, seems I tend to prefer either set-up paragraphs or punchy one-to-three-liners intended to trick intrigue people into reading further. My favorite is definitely #9. It’s a diary/log of Minako’s day, and her POV is hilarious and sooooo much fun to write like that!

Anyone who wishes to participate should consider themselves tagged, and PLEASE TAG ME IF YOU DECIDE TO PARTICIPATE!

[kinkinwrites]

Pink Colored Love ~ Ramuda Amemura [Angst/Fluff]

Warning: idk bro, you tell me, it’s just really sad. Also, it’s after the most recent Drama Track, Fling Posse before the 2nd DRB, so I recommend listening to that first if you haven’t, but you do you boo.

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

He breathed out the smoke from his lungs, the smell of cigarette impregnating his clothes. Out of the window of his apartment, he could see his beloved Shibuya. It was early in the afternoon so the streets were bursting with people, every single one of them living their lives without a care about what those above them could do. With one last puff, he pressed the lighted tip of the thin stick cancer against the ashtray.

It was completely unacceptable for his works to smell bad, so he always had to be careful to keep the smoke outside of his home and he did that by standing beside the wide open windows. Sighing, he used the remaining of his strength to close said window and move to the couch, kicking his feet on top of the coffee table. His entire body felt numb from the fight against himself, damn it, Chou-ku had managed to create subjects who were way stronger than he could ever be. They didn't have a single thread of humanity, unlike him they were perfect machines. 

A mix of guilt and something less bitter but more painful filled his chest. He couldn't put a name to it, that sensation, that feeling that had awoken inside of him the second that stupid duo stepped in to help, the moment Gentaro called him his friend. Ramuda's eyes fluttered closed. His delicate hands reached inside of his pockets to retrieve and unwrap one of the various lollipops Dice had found inside the jackets of the clones. The other clones, his brain didn't fail to remind him. He was no better than them… Actually, he was the failed experiment.

He had always hated it in silence. His cute face, his small and skinny body. He was a twenty-four year old man trapped inside the body of a child. It didn't matter how many women he fucked, he never came to terms with how disgusting it was every time he stood in front of the mirror. He wasn't a child for God's sake. Why couldn't he be like Samatoki? Or Ichiro? Or… God damn, he would settle for someone like Dice! And that child-like attitude he had to keep to make everything work like they needed him to… 

His blue eyes opened. And although he couldn't see himself, he knew their reflection showed how all he was could fall to pieces at any moment. Bringing an arm up to his face to choke the sobs that threatened to fall out of his lips, he used his free hand to pick up his phone. Well, the phone Gentaro so gently gave him after he smashed his own. It wasn't an issue really, he knew this number by heart and he needed it now.

You continued to climb the stairs that lead to the top designer's apartment. Were all the other floors sold when he came or was it his Napoleonic complex? Anyways, you were out of breath as you quickly jogged the last dozen steps. Ramuda Amemura was one of your frequent clients and although you weren't exactly fond of him when he wanted to play the idiot, he could afford your fees and then some. However, something felt terribly wrong as you picked up the phone, even though it wasn't unusual for him to call you out of the blue, he didn't use his usual playful tone and when he tried to call you "big sis" it felt off, like he was tired of playing pretend.

In your line of work it was part of your daily routine to deal with broken men and women that looked desperately for leftovers. Leftovers of whatever love they could get. But it sure wasn't something you had ever expected Ramuda to do. He already owned the hearts of multiple ladies with cleaner resumes than yours. You knocked twice instead of ringing the bell. "Come in." 

You gulped at the sound of his deep voice but decided to enter anyway. Pieces of fabric thrown everywhere, cigarette butts filling the multiple ashtrays scattered around the room, candy wrappers on the floor… what on Earth had happened to him? People could argue that you shouldn't care and that with the filthy job you had maybe it'd be a better use of your time to worry about yourself, but you had left society expectations behind long ago. In this fucked up world even someone like the pink haired man, who was lying on the sofa, could go up in flames and become nothing but dust in the blink of an eye.

He hadn't even bothered to look up at you. Head thrown back onto the backrest, both arms covering his face, the end of a lollipop stick sticking out of his closed lips. You took your sweet time taking off your jacket and shoes, leaving everything by the door before tiptoeing around the small pieces of plastic paper that covered every inch of the normally tidy apartment. Although you didn't bring it up to your conscience, you kept note of the unusual deep breaths Ramuda took, and the way his whole body trembled when he exhaled. 

"Can you prepare a bath for me, please?" His voice albeit shaky was clear enough for you to make sure you hadn't misheard. He was asking for it, not ordering you around. Yes, sir, you could. Making your way around the sofa to reach the bathroom door, you made a strategic stop behind him. Both your hands reached down to his arms, slowly moving them down his face. To your surprise he didn't offer any resistance which, to be honest, only fueled your theory of    something being wrong with him. You had never seen the short male look this tired. 

As soon as the idea came to life in your mind, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his forehead in a soft loving kiss. "I'll get the bath ready, you can relax here Mr. Amemura." His body seemed to stop shaking for a moment as a smile you couldn’t see creeped up his lips. “Don’t call me that.” But he liked it. You could hear the tension leaving him.

Warm, not hot. You swatted your hand slowly inside the half filled bathtub to check the temperature once again before closing the tap, the water tainted a soft pink. Without taking a moment to dry your hands, you stripped off your clothes and covered your naked body with one of the multiple satin bathrobes Ramuda kept in the bathroom.

When he heard you were done preparing his bath, the young man stood up, taking a moment to stretch his sore body before dragging his tired self next to you. He looked up at you for a moment trying to find a reason why it was your face, the one that came to mind when the world spinned out of control. At the end of the day you were just another girl on his bed… even more, he paid for you to be here. Why you, then?

Like almost everyone else, you were taller than him but he didn’t mind it. You were pretty but not like the models that tried on his works and posed for the cameras, you were attractive in a different way. He could recite by heart every single detail about your body yet he never got bored of it. You were a professional, he reminded himself, of course it was part of your duties to keep him hooked. Still, he caressed your cheek with the back of his hands, letting his fingers trail down to your chin.

Maybe it was stupid of him, maybe he should transfer the yen and tell you to go, maybe he should resort to the usual service, to tie you down and have his way but… that sweet bitterness he felt stopped him. You saw his eyes grow teary and tired and just a little bit hopeless. Your hands trembled but your skilful fingers worked through his clothes, taking off his blue coat, putting aside his white shirt and helping him with his black pants and underwear. As you straightened up after picking up his bottoms from the floor, you felt his arms around your waist. 

He didn’t want you to see, not yet. Ramuda’s bright eyes were closed as he buried his head in the space where your collarbones met, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume mixed with the rose smell that came from the tub. Almost without realizing it, you found yourself threading through his soft pink locks. You were almost afraid of talking, of moving, of breathing in any way that could finally shatter what was left of him.

“Close your eyes for me?” The barely audible whisper made your heart ache but you obeyed nonetheless. He slowly raised up his head, making sure you weren’t looking and only then letting go of you. His hands made quick work of the bathrobe and tugged gently at your wrist, guiding you in the direction of the tub, making its way to your waist as he helped you sit down in the water. “Please, keep them closed.” He asked- no, begged you. He didn’t want you to see, he couldn’t bear to let you see a body that wasn’t that of a man.

He took a moment to admire the scene before his eyes and it took all of him not to break down in tears. You looked so calm, so serene, so… beautiful. The water pooling around your body, your head resting against the wall, your hair slowly getting wet from the dampness in the air around you. Maybe this was the reason he kept on calling your number, not minding how much money he had to throw away. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t see him as an ex-member of The Dirty Dwag, or the leader of Fling Posse, or even a fashion designer. No, you only saw a man. You saw past his walls, you saw the broken man inside cause maybe, just maybe, you were broken too. 

You rejoiced in the comfort of the bath for a moment, when you felt him enter the tub as well. His breath hitched, as if the simple effort of keeping his balance was too much for him but without receiving his orders, you kept still. You didn’t want to do anything that could potentially hurt him. But why in the world did you care about him? Tears stung your closed eyes at the feeling of him slowly resting his back on your chest, the back of his head finding the perfect spot on your shoulder. He moved your hands towards his torso, your brain picking up fast enough on it and holding him between your arms, a long sigh escaping his lips to be followed by the almost imperceptible trembling of his entire body as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“(Y/N)?” He muttered, between quiet sobs. You hummed in response, your heart breaking at the loss of his playful tone. There weren’t many things Ramuda was truly scared of, probably part of how he was programmed to be, and probably this one fear was the failure in his coding. The terrified faces of Gentaro and Dice filled his thoughts again, the fear they felt not by being in danger but by the possibility of losing him. 

As if he was worth the sacrifice.

He was nothing but a weapon. And useless weapons are supposed to be disposed of. A whimper crept unbidden out of his throat, making you spill the tears you were trying to keep at bay. In his pain, the real Ramuda had stepped out of his persona. He shifted his position so he could hug you as well, holding onto you like you were the only thing that kept him in this world. And for him, you were. He pressed an innocent kiss to each one of your cheeks, and then to each one of your eyelids, a sign you took to open your eyes. “(Y/N)...” He repeated.

He had accepted those feelings in his chest long ago but refused to put a name to them, he wasn’t supposed to feel them in the first place and name them would make them real. But when push came to shove, he wasn’t truly scared of dying. And he was certain that was also the case for everyone else. No one could stop death and therefore there was no point in fearing it, what feared was losing it all. Losing the world, losing his newfound emotions before having the chance to truly feel them all. His fear wasn’t dying, it was never getting the chance to live.

His turquoise orbs fluttered shut as his thin lips pressed a tender kiss to yours. Contrary to what you usually expected his touch was soft, like you were an illusion that could vanish in front of his eyes. Warmth filled your chest and this side of him. If only… no, it was impossible, he was just a client and- Ramuda interrupted your train of thought by licking your bottom lip oh-so-gently, just a touch of the tip of his tongue. His small but sure voice coming right after.

“Please… love me.”

[ltjlily17]

Its hard to dance with the devil on your back

Was it a boy or a girl to text you last ? It was my husband. He was responding to a meme I sent him about Napoleons penis.

Name something you are doing tomorrow? Feeding the baby.

Do you sleep on your stomach? I used to. I wish I still could. Like my body wants to roll on my stomach, but it hurts my back and pelvis when I do it. I’m hoping that will change eventually.  

Where are you going to be at 4pm tomorrow? No idea. Probably hanging out on the couch.

Last time you saw fireworks, with whom & where? All the 4th of July celebrations were canceled around here this year, so people just bought fireworks and lit them off at their houses. For months, ha ha.  

Are you missing someone? Nah.  

Do you like horror or comedy? Both.

Who did you last share a taxi with? The first time I went to New York was before Uber existed, so we used taxis. It was my roommate, Lori

Dogs or cats? Both are pretty cool. 

What were you doing at 12 this afternoon? Sleeping. I sleep from 8a to 1pm these days. Completely normal, I know.

Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now? Yep.

What’s your favorite season? Fall. Although the fall is getting less and less fally here every year.  

When’s the last time you did something you knew was wrong? I’ve been taking what I assume are hospital bills and just putting them in a pile to be dealt with later. Dealing with all of that is just insane. I actually got a phone call the other day and the lady ledt me a voicemail saying I needed to call and make a payment plan to pay my $105,000 balance and I just don’t know how someone could even leave a voicemail like that. 

Do you hate being alone? Nah. I’m actually pretty good with whatever circumstances. I have a limit to maybe being too alone, but mostly I’m good.

Is there a girl that knows everything or mostly everything about you? Close-ish. I’ve had the same best friend for like 20 years.

What about a guy? The husband.

What color shirt are you wearing? Plain black. Second shirt of the day, first one was vomited on. 

What are you listening to right now? Spotify Daily Mix 1. Husband banging things around in the kitchen trying to cook, ha.  

If you won a lot of money on the lottery, what would you buy first? Hmmm, no idea. Maybe bedroom furniture? We painted and pulled up the carpet to reveal the hardwoods and got a new ceiling fan, but I still have the same dressers and nightstands that I had when I was 15 and I’m, just, tired of them. They’re in great shape but man, 21 years is a long time to look at the same dresser ha ha.

What was the last thing you bought? Target order online. The baby is on special preemie formula and we can only reliably get it at Target. 

What’s your greatest fear in life? Death.

Who was the last person to see you cry? Husband. The aftermath of having a baby and then just coping with life caused a lot of tears. Also, lack of sleep. 

Who was the last person you hugged? My husband. Hugging other people is still frowned upon due to the pandemic. 

Do you think you would be a good parent? Ha ha, hopefully, its a little too late to go back now. 

When was the last time you cried? I need one of those workplace accident style signs for this. 3 days since the last sobbing. 

Who was driving the last time you were in a car? I was. I dropped off some paperwork to a mailbox to get out of the house the other day. 

Does any part of your body hurt right now? My tailbone hurts when I’m sitting like all the time these days and I don’t know why or what to do about it. 

Who was the last person that text you and what did it say? I was chatting with a friend about one of my house plants earlier. A bunch of them were neglected when the baby and I were in the hospital for two months and I’m trying to nurse one back to life. 

What was the first thing you thought this morning? When my husbands alarm went off at 8, I thought oh good, I can finally sleep. 

How many times do you talk on the phone a day on average? Zed. 

Do you like your bed? No. I fucking hate it. The blankets and whatnot are great and we got one of those adjustible bases so we can sit up and read and stuff but our mattress is just so awful. My husband for some reason convinced himself he wanted a firm mattress- spoiler alert, he didn’t- and we ended up with this compromise memory foam thing that is so hot and uncomfortable. If it wasn’t so exensive I would’ve set it on fire by now.

Hey, that’s what I’ll do with my lottery winnings from above- new mattress.

Do you like your life? Zoomed out, yes. Day to day, questionable.  

When did you last talk to your brother or sister? I have neither. But I do have two friends that might as well be sisters and I’ve talked to one today and the other last night.

Do you ever wanna know who you are going to marry? I do know. Why did we have to spoil the surprise? Ha ha.  

How much cash do you have on you? Zed. There are some dollar coins in my wallet from having to put a $20 in a vending machine a couple of months ago.

Who are the 3rd and 7th texts in your phone from? One is some automated system thing from the vet I take the dog to that I never even opted in on, and the other is me sending my husband a door code that our contractor gave him over the phone so he wouldn’t forget. 

Are you tanned? Nope. Rarely am. This summer it was over 90 degrees and I was pregnant, so I didn’t spend a lot of time outside. 

Are you upset with anyone? Nah.

Did you get any compliments today? Ha ha, no. I only saw my husband and the baby.  

Have you ever gone to court? Once, because I got 3 speeding tickets within 6 months when I was 19.

Do you get jealous easily? I’m like low level jealous sometimes, but not like seething with it.

How good is your eyesight? I can see perfectly for about 14 inches. 

Would you ever want to swim with the sharks? Sure. I did this snorkel/scuba thing in St. Kitts and there were wild Manta Rays swimming around/below us and it was amazing.

What time did you wake up this morning? I was up pretty much all night and then went to sleep at like 9am and got up around 1pm. 

What are you doing Saturday? Same thing I do everyday. Being pregnant/having a newborn in quarantine is even more isolating than I thought it would be. We can’t have any one over to even give us a half hour to be human again.  

What is in your back pocket? I am wearing fuzzy penguin pj pants and they have no pockets unfortunately. 

What were you doing at 3am this morning? Reading. I’m on my 4th book this week. I finished two and got halfway through the third and just decided it was awful and to call it.  

If people see this- book recommendations please! I’ve been reading a lot of non-fiction, but like most everything but smutty romance and fantasy. I’m also not reading scary stuff right now because I’m doing all my reading at like 4am and I don’t need to spook myself, ha.

What do you usually do first in the morning? Hope for more time to sleep.

What color is your room? Darkish green.

Are you any good at math? I am. I don’t particularaly like it but I can do a really good amount of math in my head easily.  

Any plans for Friday night? Pretending that weekends have any meaning to me whatsoever any more.

What did you do last weekend? Fed the baby. Ate some food. Didn’t really sleep. I think last weekend is when I finished putting most of the nursery together.  

Do you have a little crush on someone? Nope.  

How old is the last person you kissed? 35. 

Why did you last cry? Exhaustion. Change. Feeling like my body isn’t my own. 

Why did you kiss the person you last kissed? Unsure, other than like, we love each other and stuff.  

What's his name? Steven.  

How has this week been? Tiring.

[stoopsbookstore]

Study Me (One-Shot Smut)

Synopsis - Yuta always tried his best to fluster and tease Y/N for years, that's what two close friends do, right? He seizes his opportunity to test the waters with how far he can go with the teasing when Johnny has to call out of a study session.

Warnings - Sexual Content, Fingering, Public teasing, Clothed sex, Unprotected sex, fucking on a desk, Porn with some plot

Yuta threw a piece of candy at his friend, Y/N, sitting at the table next to him and his other friends, attempting to get her nose out of the book she found more interesting.

"Hey, Y/N. Come over here and talk to me for a bit," Yuta bit his lip as the girl spared him a single glance, "all you do is study, study, study all day long."

"Because some of us are actually here to study and not to fuck around with friends."

"We can do both," Yuta flashed his signature smile as Johnny, Jaemin and Taeil snickered at his failure at flirting."

"I'm not interested right now. Maybe someday," Y/N shurged as she begun to pack up her computer.

Yuta's eyebrows lifted when she said right now, but his facial expression dropped when he heard the next sentence.

"Johnny, you're still up for the study session tomorrow, right?"

"Actually, I meant to tell you, I have to work on my engine and I made an appointment to talk to my consouler about my class-"

"I can do it," Yuta's gummy smille was back, seeing the chance to get Y/N alone as she gathered her materials, "I am the smartest one after Johnny. What subject is it?"

Y/N sighed, realizing that her grade is more important than her distaste for flirting and she can handle it for a few hours, "World History 221. I'll be in study room 602 upstairs at 3, please don't be late."

As Y/N left, Yuta put his arms up in triumph.

"You act as if you're getting laid," Jaemin threw a ball of paper at Yuta, swatting it away from his face.

"For all you know, I could," Yuta flipped off the younger male as he slammed his book shut, smiling at the study "date" he has.

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

"Columbus sailed the ocean blue in year 1492. Okay?" Yuta highlighted Y/N's notes, "little things like that can help you."

"Yeah, Johnny taught me that," Y/N placed her arm on the desk, laying as she yawned, throwing her pen at the wall of the small room, "he also slaughtered a bunch of people, brought over a bunch of diseases and called native Americans 'Indians.' He wasn't even the first one to discovered America."

Yuta chuckled as he tried to resist the urge to stare at Y/N's chest, the school tie being the perfect accessory, falling right behind her breasts. Yuta licked his lip as he shook his head, going back to the lesson.

"So, if Johnny taught you that, what has he taught you so I don't go over it again?"

"He stopped there, we don't really study, we just goof off and fool around," Y/N flipped through the pages of her textbook, "he only tutors me for the money."

"What do you mean by fool around," Yuta was highlighting important information for Y/N to study later, hiding the curious jealously in his face well.

"Not fool around as in 'fool around,' we just don't study. My parents offered him 50 dollars every tutor session. He's trying to save up for a new engine in his shitmobile."

"Oohhh," Yuta leaned forward, pretending to be more interested in the textbook, putting his arm around Y/N as he pointed to a paragraph, "you were right. He called the native Americans 'Indians' because he felt that he landed in India."

"He really was a dumbass," Y/N noticed the arm around her, leaning more into him as she begun to sense a flirty tone in his actions.

"Let's do a little quiz," Yuta used his free hand, locking the door to the small area as the hand that was on Y/N's shoulder moved to her thighs, "you get it wrong, I move my hand further away."

Y/N scoffed, the tension in the tint study room getting higher and higher as she handed her note cards over, "okay."

"Who helped John Smith navigate throughout his journey in America?"

"Pocahontas, and it wasn't the cutesy love story Disney made it out to be."

Yuta's hands moved closer to Y/N's center, "Good. Who lost at the battle of Waterloo?"

"Napoleon?"

"Perfect," An inch further up, Yuta's hand was now under Y/N's skirt, "What is France's Independence Day called?"

"July fourteenth," Y/N subtly moaned out, mentally hitting herself as she repeated the question to Yuta.

Yuta withdrew his hand a bit, "I asked what it is called, not when it is."

Y/N touched his wrist, lightly dragging her fingers up his arms as he saw her start to get frustrated. Yuta wanted to see how long it would take her to snap, but it didn't take much longer.

"One more question, what is the name o-"

Y/N leaned into Yuta's ear, moaning "please finger me. Knowing there's a chance we might get caught is making me so wet."

Yuta had the green light, he moved Y/N's underwear aside, inserting two fingers. A tight fit, but a very welcomed one based on Y/N's reaction. Y/N begun to move herself against his fingers as he moved his hand over his pants, a poor attempt at some relief. Yuta leaned over to kiss Y/N, the small space not allowing for much movement. Yuta inserted another finger, Y/N leaning down to put her face in his neck, covering her moans as she begun to feel her high coming.

"Such a good girl, but so naughty as to let me finger her. What if a teacher came in and saw me licking my fingers clean, your skirt messed up and your fucked out expression? Jaemin and Taeil would flip, cream their pants on the spot if they saw you like this. They talk and stare at you so much," The dirty talk in Y/N's ear ringing out from Yuta encouraging her orgasm more, "so gorgeous, so hot, I'll take you on an actual date soon."

Y/N placed her hand on top of Yuta's, pushing it gently as he begun to use his thumb to rub her clit. Y/N still leaning on Yuta's shoulder humped his hand as she started to shiver from her high, her eyes focused on her messy skirt as Yuta's fingers worked his magic. Y/N placed her free hand on Yuta's thigh, gripping it with her nails as she finished, his fingers soaked and her breathing attempting to go back to normal.

"Good girl," Yuta bought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean as Y/N fixed her skirt, slipping her underwear off and sliding them into his pocket, "For me?"

"If Jaemin and Taeil were looking at me the way you said they were, might as well give them a show," Y/N fixed her hair as the boy chuckled, "but they can only look, not touch."

Yuta got into a comfortable position, placing his hand on the back of Y/N's head as he brought her closer for a hungry kiss.

"What about you?" Y/N rubbed Yuta's thigh.

"I'll be fine. A bit in pain, but I'll be fine," the boy winked as he rubbed his crotch, "I plan on taking a shower when I get home anyway. Let's finish this lesson, shall we?"

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

As he was walking through the library, Yuta saw Y/N talking to Johnny in the library, hidden between two bookcases, running to put his hand around her waist. Her expression when he did so was a look of subtle terror as she moved his arm off, Johnny sensing the awkwardness between the two.

"Uh, Should I ask?" Johnny raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"No, but I should," Yuta looked at Y/N as she stared at the floor.

"Uhmm, I'll see you two later, thanks for the money, Y/N."

After Johnny escaped the awkward field of tension, Yuta spun Y/N around to face him and question why she is acting like he had the plague.

"What was that about?"

"Nothi-"

"That wasn't nothing."

"I just figured we're not actually together and maybe yestersay was a mista-"

"What the fuck do you mean by a mistake?"

"I didn't mean a mistake like th-"

"How the hell else do you mean what we did was a mistake?" Yuta tried to keep his voice hushed, they don't need any attention drawn to them.

"I meant like we've known each other for years and I'm fine with being friends and the whole teasing each other and honestly, yes I want to fuck you senseless, but maybe not in a 4 by 4 study room with barely enough space for me to suck your dick."

Yuta was stunned at the confession that blurted out of the prim and proper Y/N as she pulled him in by his tie for a kiss. Yuta pushed her a little bit forcibly against a bookcase as he reached under her skirt, cupping her ass.

"That's a study room that no one uses because the wifi is shit, let's go," Y/N pulled away from the kiss, fixing her skirt and yanking Yuta as inconspicuously as she could out of the library.

They ran down the stairs to the basement study room. Yuta stopped Y/N to push her against the wall, grabbing her breasts as she rolled her head back, reaching for his bulge. Yuta dropped to his knees and kissed Y/N's clothed center over her skirt, trying to pull it down. Y/N placed her hands in his hair, pulling it up softly as she guided him up for a gentle kiss.

"It's one more flight of stairs, you can wait, right?"

Yuta groaned as he rubbed his crotch to relieve some of the pain, "I think I can."

They flew down the stairs and up the hallway as they saw the lonely study room, it's well kept, but the wifi issue makes class nearly impossible.

As soon as the two barged into the room, Yuta slammed the door, locking it behind him, as Y/N took her lace blue boy shorts from under her skirt, throwing them in Yuta's direction. Yuta lunged towards the girl, biting her neck as he started to unbutton his shirt.

"Seeing you in that plaid skirt with that white shirt, watching Taeil and Jaemin stare at you the way they were. Give me your tie," Yuta led Y/N to a desk, the girl sitting on top of it as she undid her school tie, handing it to Yuta, "you deserve the best, but right now, I'm going to give you the worst."

Y/N unbuttoned her shirt, sliding it down her arms, but before she could take it off, Yuta repositioned it back on her shoulders and tying her hands together.

"Oh no, if I'm fucking you, I'm fucking you in that outfit. So everyday you wear it, you think of me and only me."

Yuta leaned down, pushing Y/N's skirt up, ravaging her as he gathered her essence with his tongue. His hands reached for her breasts as she placed her tied hands in his hair, yanking at the dirty blonde strands.

"Not right now. Please fuck me!" Y/N almost shouted as she tugged on his hair even more, signaling Yuta to come up and bring her in for a messy kiss.

Yuta removed his belt as Y/N threw her tied hands over his head and around his neck. Yuta pulled his pants, rolling his clothed erection into Y/N as she threw her head back.

"Probably should've asked this before we got all hot and bothered," Yuta pulled out his cock, placing it near Y/N's entrance, "but do you have any pr-"

Y/N placed her legs on Yuta's hips, encouraging him to ravish her, "I have the arm implant, I'm fine. Just please give me your cock."

Yuta pushed into Y/N as she wrapped her legs around his body. His thrusts were sharp, not really following any rhythm, the desk under the couple was moving in time with the boy's thrust. Y/N's moans and the sound of skin slapping together was the only sound echoing in the room. Yuta used one of his hands to move Y/N's bra off her chest, revealing her harden nipples as Yuta cupped one of her breasts, marking up the other one with his love bites.

The pleasure started to erupt in Y/N, her moans getting more high-pitched. Yuta kept his head in Y/N's breasts, motorboating them as he used his free hand to reach between the two, stimulating Y/N's clit.

"Jump down, turn around," Yuta pulled out as Y/N bent over the desk, "all mine. So perfect."

Before Yuta continued his thrusts, he leaned down, flipping up Y/N skirt and biting her asscheek, a yelp emerging from her lips. His cock invaded her as he begun his thrusts again. Y/N leaned up on her elbows as Yuta reached for her breasts, tugging on her nipples as she started to shudder. Yuta's thrust started to become more messy as he started to cum. Freeing one of his hands, Yuta reached for Y/N's clit as she continued to fuck herself on his cock.

Her orgasm came, her body shaking from the pleasure as Yuta held her close to her, his chest coming in contact with her back. He pulled out, reaching into her bag for a wipe, only finding some makeup remover.

"It's a makeup wipe, but it's better than nothing," Yuta gently wiped away the cum that dripped on Y/N's thighs, throwing it away in the closest trash can.

Yuta sat down on the seat as Y/N turned around, sitting on his lap, legs hanging off the side, as he lingered his fingers on her arm. Y/N and Yuta sat together in silence, enjoying each other's company.

"What are we now? Still friends?" Yuta asked Y/N, who was about to fall asleep in his arms.

"I wouldn't be mad if we were toget-"

"Do you think they're in here?" A voice that sounded like Taeil could be heard through the door.

Yuta smirked at Y/N as she calmed down in his arms, her hands resting on his waist, "Yes, now go fuck off!"

The only thing they heard was 3 pairs of feet running down the hallway.

"So," Yuta continued to stroke Y/N's arm as her eyes were fluttering close, her head on his chest.

"How about that date?"

[jazzviewswithcjshearn]

Ralph Peterson Next-Gen Big Band: Listen Up! (Onyx Productions, 2019)

The Gen- Next Big Band: Ralph Peterson: conductor, drums, cornet; Kuumba Frank Lacy: trombone, special guest soloist; Robert Vega- Dowda, Milena Casado Faquet ,Will Mallard, John Michael Bradford: trumpets; Brandon Lin, Stephen Tenney, Dean Scarlett, Ethan Santos, Eric Nakanishi, Craig Jackson, Solomon Alber, Tim Murphy, Gabe Nekrutman, Morgan Faw: saxophones; Joe Melnicove: flute; Chloe Brisson: vocals;  Christian Napoleon, Samuel Bolduc, Youngchae Jeong, Nikos Chatzitsakos, Ido Hammovitch, Manfredi Caputo: rhythm section

Drummer and trumpeter Ralph Peterson's dedication to preserving the legacy of Art Blakey has been well documented.  His Gen- Next big band recorded Messenger Legacy, Vol. 4: I Remember Bu: Live at Scullers and last year's excellent Messenger Legacy, Volume 6: Live at The Side Door with an all star sextet of Messenger alumni.  Peterson, along with Jeff “Tain” Watts, was one of the major figures of the Young Lions movement where mainly African American musicians re investigated and added their own spin on acoustic jazz.  This occurred after a decade of jazz-rock and jazz-funk had dominated the cultural landscape of BAM or Black American Music, termed by Nicholas Payton fifteen years ago.  Whether one terms the music BAM or jazz, the undeniable fact is Listen Up! the new album from  the Gen-Next Big Band is hard swinging, well played music by a band Peterson has devoted his heart and soul to.

The ensemble is made up of Berklee students whom the drummer taught, and they fire on all cylinders.  They demonstrate a stylistic depth and historical knowledge spinning consistently inspired solos powered by a  twin drum engine of the leader with either Samuel Bolduc or Christian Napoleon.  The usage of two drummers is apropos because Peterson, a direct disciple of Blakey was featured in that format with the big band version of the Jazz Messengers. Blakey had relished the configuration, that at another time featured George Kawaguchi as well. Curtis Fuller's “Arabia” which initially appeared on the Jazz Messengers timeless Mosaic (Blue Note, 1961) announces the band in style.  Will Mallard's trumpet solo really complements the locked in rhythm section of the two drummers, where Nikos Chatzitsakos' walking bass here, as on other tracks throughout the album is an asset with clear harmonic guideposts. After an interlude, Peterson's penchant for churning Latin rhythms comes to the fore with a smoking cascara for flutist Joe Meinicove to flex on.  Peterson's “Acceptance” also continues with the Latin tinge, as Ethan Iverson remarked in his Do the Math blog on important albums featuring Tain and Peterson's contributions to 80's and 90's jazz:

Tain had the advanced math, but Ralph had the Latino undulation and one of the most swinging ride cymbal beats.

On “Acceptance” all of that is on prime display.  Bassist Youngchae Jeong excels in her ability on vamp playing, keeping a heated undercurrent for Peterson's drum trades with Christian Napoleon.  On Freddie Hubbard's “Down Under”, once again from Mosaic, Ethan Santos really works the low register of the bass trombone as he glides over the pocket shuffle rhythm.  Trumpeter John Michael Bradford brings echoes of Hubbard in his resourceful solo, and Kuumba Frank Lacy makes his first of three guest appearances, weaving his humorous and idiosyncratic trombone into the proceedings.  

Vocalist Chloe Brisson's warm alto vocals embrace the stalwart “Skylark”, punctuated by Morgan Few's Miguel Zenon-esque alto and liquid trombone from Stephan Tenney.  Bobby Watson's classic “In Case You Missed It” formerly titled “Fuller Love”  a cheeky take on Ronnie Laws' jazz-funk hit “Always There” finds Jeong's propulsive vamping the backbone for searing solos.  The vocal alto of Eric Nakanishi sets a fevered pitch and Ralph Peterson's cornet hilariously quoting “Hub-tones”, tossing some Dizzy Gillespie for good measure, and another choice Hubbard signature lick.  “The Art of War” closes a fine program of music.

Sound:

This is where the album gets docked some serious points.  Though recorded at Power Station Berklee, in New York City, the album suffers from some post production and mastering flaws that frankly for a big band album, much less an album of high quality jazz, should not happen. On “Arabia”, the first 19 seconds are in mono, with the right channel suddenly coming in as if a shorted headphone wire has been jostled in a receiver.  On “Acceptance”, the tune seems to be a bit “hot” with some distortion in the horns and reeds.  A big band recording, especially one that has a strong focus on Art Blakey and The Jazz Messengers' legendary book as a focal point, needs to have dynamics that punch you in the gut, especially from the drums. Sound stage wise, the recording has a quick, decaying reverb that trails off into the opposite channel, somewhat reminiscent of the classic Van Gelder ceiling reverb.  On “The Art Of War” quite early into the track there is horrible distortion for a few seconds that sounds like a badly encoded MP3.  The defects present on the album are on both the MP3 AND physical CD version.  Also, the track list is wrong: “This One's For Albert” and “In Case You Missed It”.  Essentially the album needs to be remastered and re pressed, so that the great music can be heard how it was intended. The botched physical copies, could serve as a strange collector's item but in the declining CD market, this is doubtful.

Closing Thoughts:

Despite the sonic and mastering issues, Listen Up! Is a wonderful album. Peterson's dedication to this band, and passing on the lessons learned from one of what Lenny White terms the Magnificent Seven of jazz drumming is a labor of love.  The passion is heard in the arrangements, the vitality of the solos, and the high level of soloing.  Many of the individual soloists show so much promise, and this could definitely be a long running institution with a rotating cast.

Music: 8.5/10

Sound: 4/10