#back to flats for the rest blegh

[disturbnot]

work is dead quiet. time to get paid for chiselling at a wip. when i tell you i want to lodge him into a trash compactor and turn him into a rubiks cube.

[blindmagdalena]

can i request homelander deciding on baby names with pregnant!reader? dadlander has my heart 🥺

"How about Lucas?" "Blegh, no." You give a fond, albeit exasperated sigh, looking from the hefty book of baby names in you lap to Homelander. "I've gone through at least thirty of these names. You don't like any of them?" "They just don't feel right. My son—" "Or daughter," you interject, not for the first time. "—needs to have the perfect name, you know? The whole world is going to know it. Something strong, something that will command the respect that he—" "Or she." "—deserves! Something powerful, something—" You press your finger to Homelander's lips, snapping his gaze to yours. He looks confused. "My darling. I care as much as you do about what we will be calling our future child for the rest of our lives, but... A name doesn't do all that."

Homelander falters, pursing his lips beneath your finger. He reaches up to grasp your wrist, and pulls your hand down into his lap, squeezing it in his own. His gaze drifts down to your belly, barely swollen with the beginnings of life. "It's the first thing I'm ever going to give him." "Or her." "I want it to be perfect," he says, barely above a whisper, reaching out to settle his hand flat on your stomach. You place yours overtop his. "It won't be the first thing you give them, you know," you tell him, rubbing your thumb back and forth over his hand. "The very first thing you give them... will be your touch," you say, interlacing your fingers with his. "Your voice. Your warmth. Those are the things that will shape them." While you had hoped Homelander might find comfort in your words, he looks stricken by them instead. "Hey, what's wrong?" You ask softly, brows furrowing. "I don't want to fuck this up," he admits finally, his grip on your hand flexing. "I don't know the first goddamn thing about what a childhood should be." "Love," you answer reflexively, squeezing his hand. "It's love, and god knows you have that in spades to give. The rest, we just... we figure it out as we go. I promise you, there's no parent in the entire world who goes into this thinking they know what they're doing. I certainly don't," you say, huffing out a nervous little laugh. It's enough to get a smile out of him, his eyes glassy and wholly focused on you. He brings your hand up to kiss your palm, nuzzling into it. "You're gonna be a great mom," he murmurs, breath warm on your skin. You stroke his cheek with your thumb. "I know," you say with a confidence you only half feel, wringing a laugh out of him. "And you're going to be a great dad. I can feel it." "...Read the names again?" He asks quietly, shifting to put his arm around you. Gladly, you rest your head under his chin, opening the book back up. "Kevin," you say, smiling mischievously.

"Ha. Ha," he gives mirthlessly, jolting a giggling yelp out of you when he tickles your side. "Funny."

"Ashley," you say next, your laughter climbing even louder as he grabs you more bodily. "That's it, give me the book, your privileges are revoked," he says through a grin, tickling you mercilessly. Ultimately, the two of you don't settle on a name that day, or the next, or even the next, but it doesn't matter. Whatever name your baby ends up with, you know without a shadow of a doubt that it will be given with the utmost love and care, and that they will be raised just the same.

[voiceless-terror]

And Many Happy Returns

a sequel (or companion piece) to Inseparable, my childhood friends AU. chapter 1 of 2.

“Next week?” Jon shrieks, slamming a hand down on his desk and startling the nearby students. “That’s not nearly enough time to prepare!”

Martin does that blinky-eye thing that means Jon’s being too loud, but he can’t help it! Martin’s turning eight in six days (less than a week!) and didn’t think to tell him. They’re best friends, he should know these things. He curses himself for not asking about this at the beginning of their relationship, when he was collecting Martin facts. Favorite color and book seemed more important at the time. 

And while Jon doesn’t think birthdays are that important, it’s still a fact he ought to have known. Well, his Nan doesn’t consider birthdays important. These past two birthdays he’s gotten one new (!) book and a dessert after dinner, but that’s about it. Nan doesn’t have money to spend on frivolous things, and Jon’s never needed much, but he wouldn’t mind a bit of fanfare. His mum always made sure he felt very loved- he got plenty of hugs, a fun cake, an outing where they would do his favorite things. But maybe that’s something only mums do. Nan, with her rare, stiff hugs and general stand-offishness was never one to put up much of a fuss.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Martin mutters, his pencil twitching in his hand as he refuses to meet Jon’s eyes. He doesn’t like it when Jon starts fretting about him. “We never do anything for it, anyway.”

Martin’s mum isn’t anything like Jon’s, that’s for sure. It’s not every day you turn eight. It’s a nice number, very even and divisible. Much better than boring old seven. When Jon turns eight, he’s going to get fifteen extra minutes added to his curfew, and he’ll be able to walk to the corner store all by himself. He’s already walked there several times, but it’ll be nice to have permission. That’s the real treat.

“So you’re not going to bring in cupcakes for the class?” he asks, remembering the last birthday they celebrated- it was Lydia’s, a quiet, unassuming girl that Jon doesn’t mind but also doesn’t think much about. As soon as Jon asks it, Martin gets that sad look in his eyes again, the kind that’s always followed by an “I’m sorry” or something equally nonsensical. Jon hates that he’s the cause of it, him and his stupid mouth. Think before you speak, that’s what Nan always says. She says that for most anything he talks about, though, so he takes her advice with a grain of salt.

He reaches out to pat Martin’s arm consolingly, giving him his best sympathetic head tilt. “It’s alright. I’ve never brought any in either. Just thought I’d check in case you needed help bringing them to school.” Jon’s not very good at carrying things, but for Martin he would make an attempt.

“That’s nice of you,” Martin replies, though it’s not really nice, it’s just a normal thing a friend would do. Jon’s read books about it, he ought to know. “But yeah. I don’t think Mum’s planning anything, much less making cupcakes. She’s really busy.” Martin’s always saying how busy his Mum is, but Jon’s pretty sure she doesn’t do half the things around the house that she’s supposed to. Martin already knows how to cook and make tea and do the laundry without hurting himself. It’s very admirable. The last time Jon attempted to do laundry, he flooded the cellar.

“Do you like cupcakes, though?” Jon asks, scooching closer to Martin’s desk. “Lydia’s mum brought some for her birthday, but they were all carrot cake. Blegh.” He makes an exaggerated face to get Martin to laugh. It works.

“Carrot cake’s not so bad,” Martin says, poking lightly at Jon’s hand with the eraser of his pencil. Jon flinches back dramatically, putting on his most wounded look. “You just don’t like it cause it has the word carrot in it.”

“I don’t like it cause it has actual carrots in it,” Jon sniffs, turning away from Martin to show his displeasure. He decides not to talk to him for the rest of the day, or at least until he has something else to say to him. He’s got a lot on his mind now, and he needs to be left alone with his thoughts. Besides, Martin will poke him again once he gets bored enough. 

Jon flips open the school planner that he’s never used for actual school work and starts to write. He’s got a birthday to plan, and he’s going to give Martin a Mrs. Sims birthday special.

______

It’s a Thursday, which means Martin can’t play on account of his many, many chores. Jon hates Thursdays.

But this time it works in his favor, as he’ll actually have time to plan without Martin thinking something’s up. Jon very rarely cancels on Martin; he’s his most important (and only) friend. But he does on occasion get a little mixed up. One time, he thought it was a Wednesday instead of Thursday, and wound up at Martin’s flat when he didn’t show up at the park. Martin was very nice about it, though, and gave him a cup of tea to ‘calm down’ to drink in the hallway, before he went home. Martin thinks a cup of tea is calming. It doesn’t really do much for Jon, but it is tasty, and Martin gives him extra sugar just the way he likes.

But today is most definitely a Thursday so he scurries on home, slamming the door open and screaming a greeting to Nan that goes unanswered.  She must be off at the shops, otherwise she’d be giving Jon an earful for being too loud. He kicks off his shoes and gazes at the picture of him and his mum on the wall. If his mum were here, she would know exactly what to do to make Martin’s birthday extra-special. But she’s not, and Martin’s mum seems like kind of a jerk, so it’s Jon’s responsibility. “I won’t let you down,” he solemnly tells her smiling face, and turns to take the steps two at a time.

After grabbing his planner and throwing his backpack into the corner,  he pulls out the chair to his messy homework desk, which is usually only used for doodling or writing stories or reading when he wants the activity to feel more official. He flips open his planner to next Wednesday, Martin’s birthday (!!!) and taps his pen impatiently against the page. 

What do birthdays need? Food. Presents. Happiness. The first two might be a bit difficult to pull off, considering his lack of money and cooking skills. Martin deserves a lot more than stale discount biscuits from the grocery. He can get those any day.

But a whole cake is going to be hard. If Nan won’t make one for Jon on his birthday, she most certainly won’t do it for ‘his little friend,’ even if she thinks he’s a good influence. Martin is always very quiet and polite when he sees her, and Nan always gives him a smile in return for his good manners. She doesn’t smile at Jon like that. He tamps down his jealousy and gets back to birthday thoughts.

He thinks he had a purple- or was it pink? - cake on his fifth. It saddens him that he can’t remember. He thinks he’d forget his own mother’s face if he didn’t look at it every morning and night. Memory’s fickle like that, as his Nan likes to say.

Maybe, if he’s very nice and good tonight, Nan will take him with her on the weekly shop and he can convince her to get Martin a cupcake, a good one. One that doesn’t have any carrots in it, even if Martin says they’re alright. He must like them so much because they’re orange, like his hair. Unsurprising. 

He stops wiggling in his chair and straightens his back, as if Nan can see him in his room right now. It’s good to practice, he thinks. If he can sit still all through dinner and not make a mess, she’ll come round. 

Next, an essential part of any birthday: a good present.

His mum never really showered him with gifts, but she always gave him something good, something from the heart. The last present he received - Augustus, an orange cat plushie- still sits on his bed. It’s kind of babyish to sleep with a stuffed animal at his age (or so Marcus declared during recess one day) but Jon doesn’t really care. It helps him sleep.

Unfortunately, Jon can’t buy Martin a stuffed cat. He doesn’t have much money except for what he’s found on the ground and in sofa cushions. And he’s supposed to give that to Nan if he finds it (which he does, mostly).

He could be creative. Make him something. Jon’s not very good at crafts, though. And he doesn’t have a lot of supplies. But he has almost a week to figure something out, minus the times he’s playing with Martin. Well, even then he can stare at him and hope it jogs a good idea.

Lastly, he’s got to make it the happiest, most special day he can. Martin should feel special all the time, but Jon knows how hard that is, especially when you go home and you’re lonely and it seems like you’re the least special person there is. But if Jon is very nice to him and makes the day as fun as possible, maybe he’ll be able to keep that happiness all night, even when Jon leaves. 

That’ll be the hardest part, Jon thinks. He’s not the type of person to make someone happy. Sigh in aggravation, maybe. Roll their eyes. But Martin does neither of those things, so Jon might have a chance. He’ll try and ‘tone it down,’ though. His Jon-ness can be too much at times, and he doesn’t want that to get in the way of what should be Martin’s day.

Everything’s going to be perfect. 

________

And then it’s Saturday, and Jon still doesn’t have a present for Martin. 

He somehow managed to get Nan to agree to the cupcake bit- he’d asked very politely, ate all of his dinner and didn’t spill a thing. Though he thinks it has more to do with her liking Martin. She always acts surprised when she sees him over, like she’s shocked Jon kept a friend for longer than a week. He’s not that bad. But Tuesday she promised to take him to the grocery with her, so it’s fine. One part of his plan is done.

But the present. 

Actually buying something is clearly out of the question- he already exhausted his Nan’s good will in that department. And Jon, for all his usual creativity, is plum out of ideas. He could give him one of his books, but he does that already without prompting. He doesn’t have any good toys, and Martin certainly isn’t getting his best pen, the one that glides real smoothly on the page.

“Are you alright?”

He’s been staring at Martin too long. “Of course,” Jon snaps. “I just like your shirt today, that’s all.”

Martin looks down at his worn t-shirt. It’s not Jon’s favorite, but it’s Martin’s, so he likes it. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

They’re out in the woods behind Mr. Fletchley’s house to investigate what Jon thought was an ancient ruin but just turned out to be a couple of crumbling cinder blocks. It was an incredibly disappointing find, but Martin wasn’t discouraged.

“We don’t know where they came from, or why someone dumped them here,” he reasoned, a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “What if they were stolen? What if they’re part of a...a crime, or something?”

Jon doesn’t know what crime would need a cinder block, but he intends to find out. They’ve been walking down the relatively short path (it’s not so much woods as it is a cluster of trees) and haven’t seen anything suspicious, besides a few empty wrappers and a particularly sharp stick that Jon’s been whacking against the ground. He thinks it could’ve been used as a weapon.

“What are you going to do when you’re eight?” he asks, nudging Martin in the side. He hasn’t mentioned his birthday since the first time, so he’ll be in for a real treat come Wednesday. Jon just hopes he can think of something good in time.

“Mm, I don’t know.” Martin slows down to a mosey, and Jon tries to match his strides no matter how much he wants to jump ahead. Martin’s a real ‘slow down and sniff the flowers’ type of guy. Jon’s more of a ‘run ahead and accidentally trample them’ type. “Probably the same as I’m doing now. It’s not like it’s an important age. I can’t drive or anything like that.”

“It’s a very important age!” Jon insists, though he doesn’t have much to back that up. He’s mostly just excited because it’s Martin’s very first birthday with him. “You should look forward to something.”

“I dunno, I don’t want anything to change,” Martin says, his face going a little red as he stares at the ground. “I’d just like to spend more time with you. Have fun. That kind of stuff.”

Jon blinks. “We do that now, though.”

“Yeah. It’s the best.” Martin gives him a toothy grin, the kind that Jon puts away and thinks about later when he’s at dinner with Nan or getting ready in the morning. People don’t smile at him like that, only Martin. He does it all the time when Jon tells him a good joke, or shares his food, or passes him a particularly funny doodle.

And now Jon’s got the perfect idea for a present.

part 2

[internalsealpanic]

What’s Wrong with Superman?

Summary: Flyman is a really stupid name.

a/n: I got a little excited so here’s my entry for @redhoodssweetheart​ ‘s writing challenge. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining.  This is for Quotes #1 This fic is based on the Superman Man of Tomorrow movie so it may not make sense otherwise.

Warnings: Reader is a bendy person so the physical descriptions will be weird and there will be some nsfw language but nothing happens.

masterlist

"What's wrong with superman?"  You ask, raising your feet up over your head and resting them against Clark's wall. The blood rushes to your head but you couldn't find the energy to care, not when the work day had you drained and aching. You're just happy to stretch your limbs and contort in angles that would loosen them. You need to convince your supervisor to transfer you to a different division.

"It's kinda..."  Clark waves his hand. "Yanno..."

Eloquent. You raise a brow at him telling him exactly what you thought about his solid argument.

"How about Flyman?" He says quickly.

"Ah yes, like the illustrious Batman but somehow worse." You say, turning onto your belly and nearly knocking over the things on Clark's bedside table. You shrug innocently. You shift, putting your feet over your shoulders as you think. "How about uuuuuh Captain Barbel?"

"Why?"

"Cus the guy could chuck them at people real easy." You answer simply. Clark really can't tell whether it was your excessive fidgeting or your monumental leap in logic that entertained him more.

He snorts, "That sounds like a dumb gimmick."

"So is being called Flyman." You huff.

"Careful, you're gonna hurt my feelings." Clark huffs in return, shaking his head as he grabs your favorite mug and one for himself. He has no idea how this specific mug was lucky but he's learned not to question a scientist's superstitions. Though he suspected it had less to do with actual superstition rather that you didn't want to admit that you just found the little cow-shaped mug adorable. He'll have time to tease you about it later. For now, he had to figure out this conundrum.

"If I was concerned about that, I would have pronounced Kansas properly by now." You say, sitting up to face him properly.

"What would you call him? Seriously." Clark says, resting against the kitchen counter. He's watching you with a hint of fond frustration. His leg bounces against the floor, fingers tapping on the linoleum countertop.

"Hmmmm," You purse your lips and lean forward- elbows on your lap, fingers laced together, and chin resting on your hands.  "Wonder Man?"

Clark's handsome face breaks into an incredulous smile. "Pfft, you’re joking right?"

"I have never made a joke in my life." You grin, taking the cup of coffee from Clark and scooting over to make room for him. You shrug. "There is a reason I'm not in advertising but seriously I think you should just go with superman."

"And give Lois the satisfaction?" Clark asks over the rim of his mug. He raises his brow.

"Think about it."

"Rather not."

You push on, ignoring him."If you popularize it, guess who gets the credit?"

"Are you telling me to steal?" Clark gapes at you and the mischievous glint and his blue eyes make laughter bubble in your chest.

You blow out a breath into the neck of your sweater. Well, his sweater up until 2 months ago. "Nope. You're the one interpreting it that way."

"Your boss is rubbing off on you."

"Oh, don't remind me."

"How about Captain Marvel?" He suggests, wrapping around his arm around your shoulder. You can smell the caramelized sugar in his coffee. You blanch.

"Oh. So you want a lawsuit."

"No..." A complicated expression takes over his face. His lips purse to one side as he thinks. You wait patiently for his answer, snuggling up to his side.   "How's it working at star labs by the way?" He says finally and you just had to love the clumsy way Clark tries to redirect conversations. He needs to get better at that if he wants to be a reporter. Then again, he's never failed to get an answer out of you with the earnest look in his eyes.

"I'm supposed to be in the engineering division, yeah?"

He nods before resting his face in your hair.

"Yeah, yeah. Him. Blegh." You wrinkle your nose and stick out your tongue, waving your hand in the air as if to shoo a thought away.

"But they stuck me with checking on that asshole biker wannabe..." You sigh.

"Lobo?" He asks, his voice rising a bit. Clark's grip in the mug tightens a bit but he has enough presence of mind not to break the mug.

"Well, did he say anything?" Clark asks, adjusting his glasses.

You squint. "My name isn't going on the paper."

"It won't." He says flat and steady. And you know you can trust him because, well, it's Clark.

You give him a crooked smile. "Nothing useful really. How much patience do you have for shitty pick up lines?"

Clark stiffens. "He was hitting on you?" He squares his shoulders. You see his jaw tighten and you think you can hear him grind his teeth. God, he's cute when he gets like this.

"He was hitting on anything with two legs."

And he was. Well, not really. You honestly couldn't really tell what his category for this thing was but you're pretty sure Clark doesn't care. He seems to care more about the fact that Lobo was hitting on you judging from the way he's borderline pulling you into his lap. You, frankly, were more concerned about what weird category you fit in to catch his eye.

"Maybe if I go with you next time..."

"You're cute Clark but I'm not sneaking you in there for a story." You pat his cheek.  Clark pouts at you. You try your best not to squeal at how cute he is. You fail.

"Let me come in with you." He presses.

"Honestly, it’s fiiiiiiiiiiine. Nothing I can’t handle."

He still looks unconvinced.

Clark buries his face deeper into your hair. "Hmmmmm, he sounds like an a- a jerk." He grumbles into your hair. You will get Clark to swear at some point.

You're extremely amused by Clark's behavior.  You wrap an arm around him. "Clark, he is quite literally contained in a cage I helped design. He is not getting out."

"Should I tell him I have a boyfriend and show him a picture of you?"

Clark's face goes ashen.  "Don't tell me you've done that before." That would explain so much.

"Then I won't." You laugh. That sound sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach no matter how many times he's heard it.

"I’d still feel better if I could come with you." He sigh. You would be lying if you said that you wouldn't feel better with Clark accompanying you. Sure, he wasn't Heracles but Clark was no pushover contrary to the shy demeanor. But... admitting that kind of thing was... not something you're comfortable with or used to so you let it settle like the cheap coffee in your mug.

"It’s really not necessary."  And Clark knows from the frequency of your heartbeat that you're lying. He knows you well enough to let it go. You kiss his cheek.  "But thank you, you’re disgustingly sweet."

You kiss him again. "Sides, I think he's just bored." Your eyes brighten, a memory resurfacing. Clark watches with interest, knowing there's a 50-50 chance that it's something like the material of Lobo's shoe. "Get this he says that superman guy is a kryptonian. Sadly, when I asked him the typical anthropology question he made farting noises." You tilt your head. "Well, he did say they were a good lay and... well the super guy was hung."

Red blooms on Clark's cheeks as he sputters out a response. You squish his face with your hands. You love messing with Clark way too much. You really should feel bad that look on Clark's face was priceless.

"Oh relax Clark, we both know my type is small town dork and not man from the moon." You giggle.

Clark kind of hates you sometimes.  He hates how easily you throw him off balance. Clark rights himself but he can't quite get rid of the blush dusting his cheeks. "Did he say anything else?" He asks, face still squished.

Unable to stop your giggling, you put your hands away. "Well, he called our mystery streaker a pretty boy."

"Very relevant."

"Yanno..." You drawl, taking Clark's glasses off. "yanno if you push that hair out of your face you'd look pretty good too."

Clark swats your hand away. You pout at him.

He looks at you wearily. "I like my hair how it is." He mumbles, fiddling with it.

"I'm not gonna cut it you dork. I just want proof that you have a forehead." You say, brushing some of his hair out of his face. Clark really does scream handsome when given the chance.

There's a flicker of recognition in the back of your mind that has your pulse quickening. Clark can already see the pieces falling into place, your mind whirring to get the answer.

His mind sprints to keep up and counteract the flow of your thoughts. Clark leans forward and kisses you softly. Without needing to open his eyes, he knows your mind is short-circuiting. Affection was a sure-fire way to get your mind to slow down. It was dumb but you really should be allowed to be dumb sometimes. Especially now when Clark isn't exactly sure how your feel about the mystery streaker.

You laugh your easy chirpy laugh sure but that didn't guarantee you were on board with an alien of all things. He wasn't even sure if you would think of him as any more than a test subject. No, he knew you too well to think that but there's still some part of him that isn't entirely sure and it scares him.

"Behave," he says, his face in a grin. The expression lights up his face. The smug satisfaction of finally catching you wrong-footed fills up Clark's features and shapes them into something borderline evil. "Tell me more about Lobo and his ramblings."

You shake your head. You mumble some version of “I always behave”.  You know Clark's hiding something from you. You can see it in the delicate way he's looking at you. You purse your lips deciding whether this is a good time to push but in the end, you decide to let him keep his secrets for now. If Clark of all people has a reason to keep a secret then it must be important. You brush your lips against his before laying your offer on the table. "A kiss per story."

Clark stares at you. "I can live with that." Clark huffs, adjusting his glasses.

[ahsokryze]

hi I’m back with another prompt bc the first prompt fill you did for me was so so good and I crave more!!!

Number 10 from the same prompts list please? I wanna know what the day before was like from the previous prompt I sent 🥺🥺🥺

thanks for the prompt! I kinda got carried away with this… // prompts now closed

10 - hair ruffles

(this is a prequel to this prompt fill)

~~~

"I'm cold, Master."

Obi-Wan lowered his binoculars, looking from the vast expanse of white in the distance over to the only figure amongst the vast expanse of white. Anakin, adorned in his light blue temple-issue winter parka, was standing several feet away, leaned slightly forward with his arms dangling in front of him, looking incredibly bored. Though he couldn't see Anakin's face through the buff he was wearing (the buff that Anakin had so far flat out refused to take off—even for eating and drinking—which, surprisingly, Anakin had somehow managed to do. Anakin. Ever so intuitive), Obi-Wan could tell that his former Padawan was dawning his oh so familiar "i'm bored" pouty expression. Obi-Wan didn't even have to look at Anakin to recognise that face.

"I know, Anakin. But we only have to keep surveying for a little while longer. It won't be too long until we can head back to the ship."

Anakin let out a disgruntled whine, turning around to kick at a mound of snow with his boot. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes with a sigh, lifting his binoculars. Oh Anakin...

"Ugghhh," Anakin grumbled. "We've been looking for hours, Obi-Wan, and there's clearly nothing here. No Separatists. No droids. No wildlife. Nothing. So can we please just go home now?"

"Anakin." Obi-Wan sighed. To be fair, Anakin wasn't wrong. They really had seen nothing all day. Not even any wildlife—though there could be creatures burrowed and living underground—but that wasn't why they were here. They were here to search for any indication of Separatist control on this planet.

"I admit that there is likely nothing here," he continued. "We will wait five more minutes. And if nothing changes, we can head back to the ship. Does that sound like a good deal, my impatient Padawan?"

"I'm not a Padawan anymore, Obi-Wan."

"Oh?” he said, lowering his binoculars. “Then why are you acting like one?"

Anakin crossed his arms with a defiant huff, turning away. Obi-Wan had to hold back a chuckle.

"Patience, young one."

"I have been patient," Anakin replied. "All day."

"Oh Anakin. I'm sure you can manage five more minutes?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Obi-Wan once again lifted his binoculars to scan the frozen, icy landscape ahead of them. After a few moments, he let out a sigh. There really wasn't anything here. Nothing but dunes of snow and ice, upon more dunes of snow and ice.

Obi-Wan lowered his binoculars to look at Anakin.

"Ugh,” Anakin muttered. “And I thought Orto Plutonia was cold..."

The younger man was repeatedly dragging his heel through a powdery section of snow on the ground. He was writing something, Obi-Wan realised. At a glance, it read: IM BORED. Obi-Wan let out a scoff, rolling his eyes.

"Having fun there?"

When Obi-Wan's playful question went unanswered, he put his hand on his hip.

"Anakin, watch your footing. That area looks quite icy."

"I am watching my footing."

"Now he speaks." Obi-Wan muttered. He received a glare in return.

Obi-Wan watched Anakin for a few more moments,  before turning round to scan the frozen wonderland another time. Snow. Snow. Snow. More snow.

"Master, look over here. I think I see something."

"What do you see?" Obi-Wan asked, turning back to see that Anakin was perched dangerously close to the edge of the ice river flowing close by, pointing at something Obi-Wan couldn't quite see amongst the rush of crystal blue water below.

"Look."

"Careful, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, watching how Anakin was crouched over a section of thinly veiled ice as he padded towards him. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure, I think it..."

"Anakin—"

"Ahh—"

There was a resounding thud. A sharp cry.

And Obi-Wan watched as Anakin slipped and slid down the side of the riverbank, submerging into the icy water below with a large splash.

"Anakin!"

—–—

"Come on, let's get you dried off."

Now safely back on the ship, Obi-Wan peeled the soaking-icy parka away from Anakin's shivering body, throwing it unceremoniously on the floor in a heap.

"Arms up."

Obi-Wan quickly stripped Anakin of his soaked layers, wrapping him up in a large blanket (they didn't have any towels so a blanket would have to suffice), and rubbing his arms and back in attempt to dry him off and warm him up.

Anakin shivered ceaselessly, even as Obi-Wan used the blanket to dry his dripping, icy hair, rubbing the sodden curls between the fabric in his hands, grimacing at the tiny ice crystals which had formed as a result of the cold. Once Anakin was mostly dry, Obi-Wan wrapped a new blanket around his former Padawan, handing him a spare set of tunics to change into—a beige set of tunics, to be precise.

"Sorry," Obi-Wan said. "They were the only ones I could find.”

"'s okay."

"Will you manage to get changed on your own?"

Anakin nodded, his teeth chattering.

"All right. I'm going to go start up the ship so we can leave this snowball, and then i'll come back to see about getting you warmed up."

Before he even gave Anakin the chance to reply, Obi-Wan swiftly rushed into the cockpit to start up the ship.

—–—

Watching the hypnotic swirl of hyperspace through the viewport ahead, Anakin sat in the co-pilot seat in the cockpit, bundled up in a cocoon made from all of the dry blankets on the ship. He was warmer now than he had been, yet he couldn't seem to stop shivering, feeling a deep chill lingering in his core.

With the sudden feeling of a hand ruffling through his hair, Anakin turned his head to find Obi-Wan kneeling by his side, a caring smile on his face.

"How are you feeling?"

Anakin let out a hum, shivering as he shrugged the best he could while wrapped in his blanket cocoon. Obi-Wan's brows drew in concern, placing his hand over Anakin's forehead.

“Are you still cold?” he asked. Anakin nodded.

“A little.”

“Come here.” Obi-Wan reached out and quickly rubbed Anakin’s shoulders and back, attempting to warm him up a little more. It seemed to work. Anakin’s shivering ceased. Even if it was just for a few minutes.

After that, Anakin slipped in and out of sleep as tiredness overcame him, soothed by the gentle thrum of hyperspace as their shuttle continued en-route to Coruscant. A few times, he woke up to the feeling of a warm hand on his forehead; his former Master intermittently checking his temperature, before he would drift off again, tranquillised by the endless blue and white swirl of hyperspace as they travelled across the stars.

“Anakin… Anakin, we’re home now.”

Anakin awoke to a soft voice willing him from sleep. A gentle hand stroking his hair.

“We just landed. We’re at the temple. Do you want to go inside now?”

Anakin slowly blinked, the image of his former Master coming into view. Obi-Wan was kneeling by his side, looking at him with a warm smile from outside the blanket cocoon he was still bundled up in. Anakin nodded sleepily.

“Come on then. I’ll take you back to your quarters.”

But, instead of heeding Obi-Wan’s words, Anakin didn’t so much as budge from where he sat, instead letting his eyes shut once again. His throat felt weird now, he noticed. It was all scratchy and yucky as he breathed in. And his nose was starting to run now too. He sniffed, but that only made everything feel worse.

“Anakin, are you going to move?” Obi-Wan whispered, lightly nudging his shoulder. “Or do you plan on staying in here all night.”

Anakin didn’t reply. Staying in here honestly sounded like a great idea. Yes, he was just going to stay here. He was comfortable right now. And the thought of having to leave his cosy little cocoon made him shiver.

Obi-Wan nudged him again. “Anakin.”

When Anakin still didn't reply, after a few moments, he heard Obi-Wan let out a quiet sigh. Then, he was being lifted up, and Anakin felt too tired to argue, already drifting back to sleep in his former Master’s arms.

—–—

Anakin awoke to find himself being tucked into his own bed. Obi-Wan was covering him with extra blankets, meticulously tucking the fabric in at his sides as if he were a youngling. Normally, Anakin would've complained, telling his former Master that he wasn't a youngling anymore—he didn't have to be tucked in.

But right now, Anakin couldn't bring himself to care. After all, it was making him feel all cosy and warm.

"Hey, Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered, seeming to notice his eyes were open. "We're back home now. I tried to wake you on the ship, but you didn't seem to want to move.”

Anakin blinked, slowly nodding. Obi-Wan gently smoothed back his hair, brushing away a few loose curls which had fallen into his eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” Obi-Wan asked with a whisper. “Still cold?”

Anakin shrugged. When Obi-Wan didn’t seem to take that for an answer, Anakin sighed.

“Feel like…blegh.”

““Blegh”?” Obi-Wan questioned. Anakin nodded. ‘Blegh’ really did feel like the best way to describe how he was feeling. He didn’t feel terrible, but he also didn’t feel okay either.

“Oh, well, i’m sorry you’re feeling this way, Anakin.” Obi-Wan replied. “Though, I must point out, maybe there is some merit to listening to your old Master when he says “watch your footing”, hmm?”

“Was watching my footing.”

“Oh, clearly.” Obi-Wan deadpanned. “So you were watching your footing when you slipped and slid all the way into that ice river? Before I had to come and rescue you?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. Obi-Wan ruffled his hair.

“Why don’t you get some more rest, Anakin.”

Anakin let out a big yawn, his body already seeming to succumb to Obi-Wan’s words. Obi-Wan gently tucked the edge of his blanket under his chin.

“Goodnight, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered softly, placing a hand lightly on his head. Anakin felt the becalming surge of a sleep suggestion being pushed into his mind. His eyes fluttered closed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

[curiousherbal]

In Hands We Trust(fund)

Mystic Messenger

In Hands We Trust(fund)

Han Jumin x Reader ; Han Jumin x MC

Fluff & Humor

3.7 k

Rated: T

Summary:  Jumin had large hands. He was a tall man, of course. And you know what they say about having large hands, right?

*read on ao3 for animated emojis :3*

Jumin had large hands. He was a tall man, of course.

And you know what they say about having large hands, right?

ZEN: come on jagiya, don’t make me ask again..

You quirked a small, side smile to yourself. The chat had been active all morning and afternoon. Everyone must be in a good mood. Your most recent RFA party had only been two nights ago, and it was arguably one of the most successful ones to date. It was exhausting, yet rewarding, and you hypothesized that everyone’s lighthearted temper was a direct effect of being relieved that all of the extensive preparations and tedious social engagements had come to fruition, and quite smoothly at that.

707: ooohhh eager are we? did someone get a new role>> B)

ZEN:

ZEN: how’d u know??

Always happy to seize the opportunity to play off Seven’s bouts of humor, your fingers scrambled to reply, rapidly flying over your phone’s keyboard:

You: Telekinesis!

707: Ah! My lady doth speak after all!

ZEN: Your lady?

707: But Zen

ZEN: Yes??? What??

707: You’re playing the part really well

707: I’m impressed!

707:

Yoosung✰: Huh? I thought Zen was just acting like himself?

ZEN: yeah Seven, are you on drugs or something?

707: Mis-ta Steal Yo Girl! You’re playing the role real well!

707: I’d be wary of the fearsome iceman though…

Yoosung✰:

Yoosung✰: I’m so confused…

Oh no. Panicking, you hurriedly went to turn down the speaker volume on your phone –

Yoosung✰:

Satisfied that you managed to avoid Yoosung’s … disturbingly bawdy bawling, you tucked your feet beneath your legs as you adjusted your position on Jumin’s bed.

Our bed.

It was still something that you had to get used to. Your relationship with Jumin was something that was intense; it accelerated at a rate which had everyone surprised. But you were happy. And Jumin was finally freed from the tendrils of loneliness that had haunted him all of his life.

You finally had someone that not only treated you like the princess that you were, but someone that was mature, responsible, and respected you as not just as a woman or lover – but as a human being.

He was your best friend. Your best friend that shared a mutual love for cats.

And if you were being completely honest, his handsome visage and comfortable living arrangements were nothing to complain about either.

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom

Your face flushed red. Your fiancé was currently at work. He must have just gotten on his lunch break to log into the chatroom. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t at least somewhat apprehensive of how Jumin would proceed. He has always been just a bit too protective…

707: AHHH! Yoosung run!!

Yoosung✰: WHAT WHY

Yoosung✰:

707: THE

707: I

707: C

707: E

707:  O          /|\          / \

Yoosung✰ has left the chatroom

Your head fell back with bellowing laughter that reached the high ceiling of the penthouse. Poor Yoosung.

Unphased, your fiancé made his presence known in chat:

Jumin: Ah, ma chérie. How lovely it is to see you here. I take it you’ve had lunch?

Jumin: …

Jumin: Zen, it is truly regrettable that I cannot say the same to you.

ZEN:

ZEN: DUDE

ZEN: What’s wrong with you??

707: Yeah!

707: No greeting for me?? What am I, chopped liver??

Jumin: My sincerest apologies, Luciel. How are you?

707: Doing just dandy, thx thx (♥ω♥ ) ~♪

ZEN: blegh, gross. Don’t flirt with that man, Seven.

707: whattttt

Like a well-oiled machine, you and Seven both responded at the same time:

You: but he flirts with everyone!

707: hey I flirt with everyone!

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help but shake with laughter. You and Seven were like two sides of the same coin, finishing each other’s sentences whilst copying each other’s mannerisms and phrases.

707: JINX!!!

You: OMG

Jumin: Love, I’m happy to see you enjoying yourself.

Feeling slightly guilty at having delayed answering Jumin’s question, you blushed and gave your lover a reply:

You: Darling! Yes – I am well. <3 I hope work has been going well. <<33

You: And no – I haven’t yet. Zen was just trying to convince me to go get lunch with him lol

707: lolol

707: gonna go get popcorn 4 this lololol

Jumin:

Jumin: Zen, is that true?

ZEN: So what if it is! You don’t own her! She can make her own decisions

Jumin: Of course she can. And of course I don’t. Are you, by chance, projecting?

ZEN: Are you being smart with me?

Jumin: Just curious. I find it interesting how you are defaulting to assuming the worst in me. Perhaps you are subconsciously ashamed of your own beastly tendencies, no?

ZEN:

ZEN: Jagiya, can you believe this guy??

Sensing the growing tension, you decided that it would be best to windmill the conversation. Usually Zen’s and Jumin’s bickering was fairly harmless, but you didn’t want to take any chances in ruining the positive atmosphere that graced the RFA recently.

You: Zen, I appreciate your concern for me.

You: But we are kind of engaged, lol

Jumin: Correct.

707: Affirmative.

You: Glad that’s settled then, boys!

ZEN: Hey I wasn’t done –

You: I’ll meet you at the Parisian café halfway between yours and mine Zen 😊 15 minutes?

707: Oh la la, French cuisine ? How romantic~

707:

You grimaced slightly. You hadn’t meant for it to be romantic. You were just really craving an egg and cheese croissant, that’s all!

ZEN: Sounds picture perfect, princess.

ZEN: And I should know, since I take the best selfies haha

ZEN:

ZEN: I’ll see you there.

ZEN has left the chatroom

You rolled your eyes at the 180° change in Zen’s mood. He’s too easily pleased when he gets what he wants. Despite his mercurial tendencies, you did genuinely like Zen. You just couldn’t imagine being in a relationship with him; your nose crinkled slightly at the thought. The actor was too much like an older brother to you. Which is why I have Jumin. Your heart fluttered at the mere thought of the dark businessman. Many and most regarded him as cold, aloof. But you knew better, and he knew you knew. And that was all you both needed to be happy.

Jumin: Please be safe on your way, sweets. I will call Driver Kim to assist you there.

You: Thank you my love! I will be waiting for you when you get home this evening~~

707: Awhh how cute

You: You’re welcome to come too, Sevs

707: unfortunately I got a lotta work to do

707:

707: I am but a hacking slave

You: haha okay. Well you’re welcome anytime. I’ll get going then

You: Love you, Ju xx

Jumin: Enjoy your afternoon. I expect to see you later.

You have left the chatroom

Not wanting to be the last one out, you left before Seven or Jumin did. You briefly wondered if they’d talk any to each other, but you supposed you could always log back in later and see for yourself.

As you started getting ready to leave the penthouse, you couldn’t help but worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about your fiancé’s parting wishes. No emoji. No kisses. No pet names.

You sighed.

Jumin had made leaps and bounds regarding his borderline obsessive nature over you, but he still could be quite moody. It was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with you having a lunch date with Zen, no matter how strictly platonic it was in your eyes. The tight-lipped business heir was making an effort to put on a cool, calm façade in the chatroom so as not to upset you. You appreciated his efforts, you truly did. It was all you could ask for – that he make an effort, that is.

You slipped on your sneakers and slung your crossbody bag over your shoulder. Giving the flat a onceover to ensure Elizabeth was comfortable and the windows locked, you exited the penthouse.

Surprisingly, Driver Kim was already waiting obediently in the hallway outside of the door.

He gave a polite bow. “Are you ready, Miss?”

With a smile and warm thanks, you exited the building and slid onto the cool, leather backseat of the car.

I’m on my way! 😊 You pocketed your phone after texting Zen, your stomach growling in anticipation.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

Jumin Han arrived home precisely at 5:15 PM. Less than ten seconds upon entering his penthouse, he could already tell from the dark hallways that you had yet to return from your afternoon rendezvous with a certain musical theatre actor.

Jumin’s lip curled in distaste.

Peeling off his suit jacket, Jumin made his way to his bedroom.

Our bedroom.

His heart gave a sudden pang in his chest, and Jumin sat gingerly on the bed. He undid the buttons to his waistcoat and exhaled. He laid back on the bed, his legs still bent at a right angle over the edge. He settled his large, slender hands atop his flat stomach.

He sensed the soft pitter-pat of Elizabeth stealthily slipping into the room. His senses were proved right when he felt her rub herself against his calves, her lithe body weaving in and out of the man’s lanky legs.

He sighed once more. One lethargic hand reached down, just barely nosing at the soft tips of Elizabeth’s dainty ears.

Jumin was annoyed. In truth, he was jealous, but he had been working hard to remedy that feeling specifically, especially when it concerned you.

Oh, how he hated to disappoint his love.

He turned his head, his left cheek now resting against the cool top of the comforter. His stomach growled hungrily.

He hated to disappoint you, but… I cannot control myself any longer… he suddenly thought hazily with a loose and smug smile: I am going to punish you when you get home.

The lonely man wove his fingers together, stretched them, and rested them against the back of his head.

Yes, he knew just the appropriate punishment for you.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

It was half past 5 when you finally unlocked the door to your shared penthouse. Zen had insisted that you watch part of his rehearsal right after lunch. Not having anything else to do, and not looking forward to returning to an empty nest, you agreed easily.

You hadn’t meant to extend your lunch date several hours; it just so happened that way.

And you hadn’t meant to spend essentially the entire day with your handsome, celebrity actor friend whom your fiancé didn’t entirely fancy – it just so happened that way. Or so, you told yourself.

To be honest, you were feeling apprehensive. Jumin had most likely already returned home, and you were unsure what state of mind or being he would be in when he discovered you not there.

The man was desperately concerned for your safety and whereabouts. More so than he needed to be.

The door swung open on its smooth hinges, you toed off your sneakers, and draped your jacket on the minimalistic coat rack that stood plainly by your front door. You took note of Jumin’s briefcase and loafers sitting idly by. I was right. Another sigh. He beat me home.

“Jumin?” You called for your lover softly into the open space. “I’m home. I’m sorry that I took so long – I just didn’t have anything else to do.”

You walked through the penthouse and into your bedroom; you surveyed the California King sized bed, only to find –

Nothing.

Well, nothing – excluding the spoiled white ball of fur that currently lay curled up in the center of the bed.

“Jumin?”

How could your 6 ft something Mr. CEO rich business heir fiancé disappear?

Did he go out again after dropping off his work stuff?

No – he always wears his loafers, and they’re still here…

Perplexed, you spun on your heel and began to walk back towards the hallway.

Maybe he was lounging on the couch –

CLICK

Bright light suddenly filled the bedroom.

A tall, dark figure dashed out from the space behind the open door and ensnared you with its long arms. Large hands spread their spindly fingers over your stomach, interlocking with one another. A pointed chin dug into your shoulder. An angular nose pressed against the right side of your face. Black, glossy hair tickled your neck.

“My love.”

The silky baritone rumbled from the large chest currently pressed up against your back. “You’re home.”

“Ju-Jumin…” You reached a hand up to cup your lover’s cheek, trying to pivot in his embrace so that you could properly greet him.

“I think not.”

Your eyes widened in bewilderment. “What?” You breathed out airily, not sure what was happening.

“You’re late.” Jumin pressed a single, deliberate kiss to the pulse point on your bare neck.

You shivered, not expecting this development, but not exactly displeased either. “In my defense,” you felt him press another delicate kiss to your skin, “I never said what time I’d be home.”

The large hands abruptly spun you around.

Suddenly, your back was to the wall. Jumin towered above you, his palms resting on either side of your head.

“You see, my love,” he leaned in closer, inhaling your gardenia perfume that you applied earlier; his stomach curdled at the thought of you putting it on for anyone other than himself, “That is where you are wrong.”

You were being kissed. Passionately. With lots of pressure.

“You said you’d be waiting for me at home, did you not?”

Fuck.

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck as you stumbled out a lame “Ah, yeah – you’re right.” You licked your bruised lips and made eye contact with his dark irises, only an inch or two away from your face. You gulped. “I’m sorry.”

Jumin let out a dark chuckle.

“You know, my dear… I’ve been working so hard to please you these past several months. I’ve been attempting to tame the beast as Zen so likes to call it. Exterminate my unhealthy feelings of obsession. Possession.” He slipped a knee between your legs. “Even… aggression.” He nipped at your neck. You closed your eyes. He leaned back. “But when you don’t make similar efforts to help me out,” He brought up a large hand to cup your face, you opened your eyes again at the touch, were his hands always so huge??, “it is rather difficult for me to not stray course.”

You blinked before voicing meekly, “is it?”

Jumin gave a curt nod, placing his other hand at the curve of your waist. He breathed your name softly, followed by an inquest: “…do you know what they say about having large hands?”

Your face went beet red. Is he really asking that? So much for maturity…

“Uh… um...”

“Hmmm?” He patiently waited for your answer.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“Would you prefer I show you in a more… direct manner, then?” Jumin arched a perfect eyebrow, studying your flustered expression, challenging it with his unbothered one.

Still not able to form words or sounds, you gave a single, timid nod.

And then: “Ahahahahah!” Your raucous laughter burst from your chest suddenly, your body reacting before your mind had even processed what had just happened.

That’s when you felt it – those large hands… on your body…

Tickling you. Hard. Frenzied. Up and down your sides.

“AHH hahaha, Jumin!” You shrank down trying to bat away his persistent palms. “Jum- hahaha! Oh my god hahahha,” you craftily pulled yourself from his embrace and ran from the room, still giggling, clutching your tickled sides.

“Oh, you think you can escape that easily ma chérie? This is your punishment!” Jumin shouted heartily at you, laughing himself as he gave chase to your retreating figure.

You rounded the couch, clutching at its backside, panting playfully, not entirely sure what your next plan of action should be to escape your fiancé-turned-tickle-monster.

“Oh? Have you gone into hiding my love?” Jumin loftily proposed to his living room, taking slow steps in a circle as he surveyed the room. “You know that for every second you delay your punishment, the reprimand gets extended twice as long.”

Oh fuck. There was nothing for it. You had to give in now. You weren’t sure how much longer you could endure his tickling once he inevitably trapped you.

“Gotcha!” Jumin appeared at your side suddenly, circling your wrist with his deft fingers. He crouched beside you behind the couch.

“Ah!”

“Oh, did I scare you?” He pouted petulantly, his eyes giving away the merit that he actually felt.

“Yes, how did you even sneak up on me like that?”

Jumin jerked his head to his left, pointing out a certain feline that was staring directly at you, her tail flicking to and fro. Leave it to the cat to give away your position.

“Elizabeth!” You brought a palm to your chest. “I am betrayed!”

The next thing you knew, strong arms had scooped you up bridal style, and you were cradled against an equally solid chest, clothed only in a thin, dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top.

“Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean that you can escape your fate so easily,” Jumin chastised with a gentle breath of your name.

You looked up at his dark eyes. They peered down at you. Despite his pedantic words, nothing could erase the genuine tenderness that his irises beheld when regarding you.

They narrowed. A smirk overtook his features. His eyes glinted with mischief.

Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted…

Jumin suddenly dropped you.

“Ah!” You landed gracefully onto your bed, bouncing a bit as the mattress dipped to accommodate your form.

Jumin straddled you, pinning your elbows by your sides with his knees.

“Oh, it looks like I’ve trapped my little songbird,” Jumin sighed in contrived melancholy, “There’s nothing for it – she looks so sad. I must give her what is due.”

Your eyes widened in alarm – “wait Jum—!”

He was upon you like a ravenous wolf. His large hands flew over your body once again, surrendering you to his ticklish torment. You let loose uncontrolled giggles, your own small hands desperately trying to prevent his large ones from continuing their delighted assault. Your body responded in involuntary spasms, your breath hitching and releasing peals of laughter. You pounded your fists weakly against his chest as he heightened his tickling by nuzzling his nose into your neck.

The overstimulation, the excess of sensation, it was all too much. Pain mixed with pleasure, your mind and body interpreting the experience in two completely different ways. It was pleasurable. It was torture. It was pure nonsense. It was stinging. It was true gaiety.

“Jumin—!” You wheezed, fighting to string together a coherent sentence despite the hellish delight he continued to inflict upon your vulnerable form, “ahah Jum—aha –in! St—op!”

Out of ideas, and incredibly overstimulated, you decided you had no choice but to play dirty:

“You’re hurting me!”

Immediately, he stopped.

Gone were the conniving eyebrows, replaced with ones knit in concern instead. His open-mouthed smile was instantly exchanged for a downturned frown. He eased his pressure on you, his hands stilling as they now hovered over your body in hesitation, as if afraid you would break at his slightest touch.

Oh no. No no no.

“Jumin, I didn’t actually mean – “

“Darling, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Oh Lord, he sounded miserable.

Your heart leapt in your throat at the anxious tone in his voice.

“It was just a lot, love. I enjoyed it; I really did. You didn’t do anything wrong, please don’t be sad.” You suddenly felt very guilty as you looked at the fretful expression on your lover’s face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me…” Jumin averted his eyes.

Oh no he doesn’t.

“Jumin,” you placed your hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at you, “I like this side of you. The playful side. The lighthearted side. The affectionate and silly side. I love every side of you. Never apologize for coming out of your shell. Especially to me. I’m your best friend before your lover.” You smiled invitingly. “I shouldn’t have said you were hurting me… I’m sorry. But, we should maybe establish a safe word next time, yeah?”

Jumin’s face morphed into one of gentle bliss, his mouth turning slightly to kiss your palm.

“Deal.” He acquiesced easily. “You know, you’d naturally make quite the good business negotiator with rhetoric like that.”

“Oh?” You liked the sudden vitality in his eyes.

“Would you like me to prove it in a more…” He swallowed thickly, his gaze now hooded by lust and love, “ahh… direct manner, then?”

“God yes.”

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

ZEN has entered the chatroom

ZEN: Hey Ms. Party Planner, did you get home safely??

You were lying on Jumin’s bare chest, both of you long exhausted from the sheer physicality of the day’s events.

You: Yup yup! Thx for asking 😊

Jumin was also on his phone, his arms long enough to wrap around your shoulders and text with both hands at the same time. He gave you a quick peck on the crown of your head. You looked up at him briefly and grinned lovingly.

Jumin: Thank you for entertaining my fiancé today, Zen. I would have hated for her to be lonely.

ZEN: Humph! Yeah yeah. I don’t hang out with her for your gratification.

ZEN: She’s my friend too.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly at the young man’s characteristic defensiveness. Even Jumin chuckled slightly above you. Ever the mediator, you sought to cool things down again for the evening.

You: you know, I can never tell when you two are actually arguing vs. just bantering

ZEN: I’d hate to distress you princess...

ZEN: We can’t have you developing worry lines in your precious skin!

ZEN: perhaps we should come up with a sign that let’s you know what’s up lol

Yoosung has entered the chatroom

Jumin: Oh, you mean like a safe word?

Jumin: Sounds easy enough. Her and I established our own just an hour or two ago.

Jumin:

ZEN: Safe word…….

ZEN:

Yoosung has left the chatroom

Notes:

Wooo! My second MysMe fic! I really loved how adorably fluffy and humorous this one turned out. I have a major soft spot for Jumin -- and I think he is most adorable when he allows himself to act silly. I also was growing tired of the ultimate-daddy-dom-jumin fics (which are great! but I thought, well what if he led MC on like that and then... ATTACKED HER WITH TICKLES AND CUDDLES) As always, you can find me on tumblr @curiousherbal And you may request prompt ideas either here or there :)) I hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent nonsense xxx

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 52

The further into forest they traveled, the older and larger the trees seemed to become. The naked branches of the deciduous slowly became less prevalent as coniferous took over and their path grew all the more dark. The forest floor was a mingled blanket of dried leaves, pine cones, and pine needles. As a result, the sound of the giants’ footsteps was accented by the crunching of the debris below.

It was far too easy to remember the fear,confusion, and hurt Nenani felt the last time she found herself in a forest, and those same feelings readily bubbled up to the surface. Though, there was no dead dragon floating in a river. Her mother was not there, but back in Vhasshal. Even with the solid presence of both Farris and Keral, she could not calm the worming anxiety in her brain. Though she did not expect a dragon to appear and attack them, there was still the deep fear that something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, lil’un?”

Farris’s question caught her off guard, having been too engrossed in her own thoughts to realize that her nervousness might have been perceptible. She had taken to watching the path behind them as Farris and Keral maneuvered through the trees, but when Farris broke the silence with his question, she gave a start.

“Nothing,” she answered, though the speed of her reply gave away the lie. “I’m fine.”

“Yer fidgetin’,” he pointed out, pinning her with a single expectant eye.

“…No I’m not,” Nenani protested, ducking down into the pack slightly. She did not want to try to explain her fears because she would first need to unravel them for herself, and in that moment she very much did not want to do that.

“Yes, ye are,” he pressed, and the same eye narrowed.

“This place is creepy,” she admitted, leaving all the rest unsaid. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

“Very well could be,” Keral commented. He was a pace or two ahead of Farris, having taken the lead, and pushed a branch out away from his face. The dry wood snapped in his hand and he tossed it away. “These woods are old. Older than the Blackwood certainly. Makes me think this might be Brennan’s estate. His family are big sportsmen. They love their hunting. Their ancestral home is supposed to be built on the last patch of ironwood left in all of Vhasshal. And I’d bet my left foot these are ironwoods.”

“What’s ironwood?” Haiyer asked, poking his head up from the folds of Keral’s pocket.

Keral looked down at the small face peeking up at him. “It’s a particular kind of tree. And since ye have a fairy friend, this might interest ye some. Thousands of years ago, all this land and most of the continent was ruled by elves.”

Jae rolled his eyes, propping his head in his hand and looking on in boredom. Keral either did not see or chose to ignore him and continued on with his story.

“Then there was some fightin’ between them and us big folk. Elves called us mountain men since we mostly lived up near the mountains in those days, but more and more we started moving into the valleys. The Elves didn’t like that and tried to drive us back. Skirmishes turned to battles and then to war.”

“There’s always a war in these old legends,” Jae muttered, picking at the bandage of his splinted arm that peeked out from his coat’s sleeve. “Why couldn’t they come up with something a little more original?”

Keral reached back over his shoulder, pressed his fingers onto the boy’s head and shoulders, and forced Jae back down into his pack. “Quiet. Yer interruptin’ my story.”

Jae popped back up, hair disheveled, and wore a fierce snarl, but was obediently silent as Keral continued.

“The elves allied themselves with the Fae,” Keral went on. “And the humans allied themselves with us. It weren’t just us that the Elves were pushin’ around. Humans got the short end of that particular stick too. So there was a war. Lasted a good hundred years they say. But somewhere along the line, someone got smart and began to plant ironwood saplings all across the land. Y’see, the Fae were the reason the Elves had the upper hand in the war. Without them, the Elves just didn’t have the numbers. But the thing with Fae creatures ye have to remember is that iron hurts ‘em.”

“Iron?” Nenani asked. “Why?”

“Just an old superstition,” Farris answered. “Though I suppose ye might be able to ask Ellis one day if it’s true.”

“And the Fae hate ironwood trees, because of the sap,” Keral said as he reached inside his coat and pulled a small knife from his belt. Stepping up to one of the larger trees, he sliced a long line across the bark. After only a few seconds, a thick dark red sap began to ooze from the wound. Keral wiped a finger across it, collecting the sap, and held his finger up with a grin. It was convincing enough that if Nenani had not seen him take the sap from the tree she would have believed it to be blood. He held the sap close so that Haiyer could get a good look. “Makes ‘em sick, ye see.”

The little boy reached out and poked his finger into the sticky glob. When he pulled it back out, a thin string of sap connected his finger and Keral’s. He waved his hand, trying to break the strand, but only managed to cover it in thin sticky tendrils. He stared at his hand in annoyance as though blaming it for the predicament.

“Well, ironwood trees take roughly a hundred years to mature,” Keral continued. “And suddenly the Fae weren’t as helpful in the war as before with so many of them all over the place. Couldn’t chop ‘em down fast enough. The tide turned in our favor and in the end we won. The elves sailed away across the sea to another continent and the land was divided between us and the humans.” He rapped his knuckles against the tree trunk. “Ironwood makes fer good for building lumber since it’s so sturdy. There ain’t a whole lot of ‘em around anymore, though. A good bit of the castle’s supports are ironwood.”

“All the wood in Warren’s office is made of it too,” Jae contributed, picking at his bandages again. He was playing with the idea of removing them completely. His arm didn’t hurt at all anymore, and between the weeks of healing and all the potions and tonics he had been forced to guzzle by both Maevis and Yaesha, he was more than confident his arm was finally mended. Enough to go without the splint, in any case.

From Keral’s pocket, Haiyer suddenly gagged and spat as he pulled a sap covered finger from his mouth. “Ugh–! Yuck!”

“Well don’t eat it!” the ranger exclaimed in exasperation. “Gods above, don’t go stickin’ weird shit in yer mouth ye lil’ git! Ye don’t know if it’s poisoned.”

Farris laughed and lightly slapped his brother’s shoulder. “It won’t hurt ‘em none. Ironwood sap ain’t poisonous. Just bitter as hell. Actually a useful antiseptic.”

“I know that, but I’m sure this one didn’t,” Keral shook his head as he regarded the little prince with a vexed eye. “Let that be a lesson to ye then. We keep our hands to ourselves and outta our mouths. Yeah?”

Haiyer nodded with a sullen expression, having been thoroughly rebuked. He stuck his tongue out and blew, as though it would help clear away the acrid taste. “Blegh.”

……………………………………….

Keral called for a rest and chose a clearing ringed by seven tall pine trees. Farris carefully slipped his pack off his shoulders, doing his best to not jostle Nenani too badly as he did so. Once she was on the ground, he placed the pack off to the side and sank down against the tree trunk, eyes closed. Though he had not complained at all during the day’s trek, Nenani could see the fatigue on his face. As though sensing her eyes on him, Farris opened one eye and quirked his eyebrow at her questioningly.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice soft.

He waved a hand at her. “S’just what happens when ye get older. Ye get tired.”

“You’re not old,” she assured him, which earned her a thin smile from the giant.

“Tell that to my feet,” he replied and closed his eye again.

“Told ye to take my spare boots,” Keral berated mildly from the other side of the clearing where he was helping Haiyer down from his pocket. “Yer kitchen slippers aren’t meant fer hikin’ cross the wilderness.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my boots,” Farris clapped back and then muttered under his breath in a salty grumble, “Hm. Kitchen slippers. Bah.”

A few steps away from Keral’s pack, Jae was stretching out his muscles. He bent himself in half to touch his naked toes and leaned one way and then the other to straighten out his back and sides. He pulled his leg up to stretch the calf, but when he placed it back onto the ground, he gave a sudden yelp when he stepped barefooted right onto a small pine cone.

Stifling a laugh, Keral began to rummage around in his pack, seeming to find whatever it was he was searching for. The ranger stood up, slipping something into his pocket, and then walked towards the edge of the clearing where he disappeared behind a cloister of trees. His voice called back at Jae jovially. “Careful there, lad. Lots ‘a pokey things out here.”

Jae glowered on after him. Keral was a far more convenient target for Jae’s irritation and all the more so for the fact that the ranger couldn’t see the rude gesture the boy threw in his direction.

Unlike Jae, Haiyer seemed perfectly fine with walking across the ground without any shoes, and the pine needles and leaves and cones did not seem to bother him one bit. Feeling just the slightest bit of jealousy, Jae went about clearing himself a spot on the ground. Once the debris had been carefully brushed away, Jae sat down with his blanket. He pulled his arms out from his coat and began to unravel the bandages of his splint. With his arm freed, he laid the messy ball of cloth and the two flat splints down beside him and slipped back into his coat. He wrapped himself back into his blanket and laid back onto the ground to stare up at the thick canopy above. The fading daylight was sparsely visible through the thicker branches of the evergreen’s needles and, if he squinted, he could almost believe he was looking up at the night’s sky full of stars.

Haiyer was ambling about and plucking up the stray pine cone or leaf, picking at it for a moment, and then discarding it once his interest had dissolved or been pulled on to the next object. Nenani followed Jae’s example and cleared herself a spot on the ground and took a seat. The day had maintained a steady chill, but as the light was beginning to fade she felt as though the warmth was beginning to fade in equal measure. Though, sitting nearer to Farris, she could feel the heat of his body, and with her wool dress and blanket, she was not cold save for face and nose. It was tolerable and did not bother her too much.

After a few minutes, Keral returned with several spindly branches tucked under his arm. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

“Thought we were just restin’,” Farris said, opening his eyes, and regarding his brother curiously. There was a slight edge to his tone, as though he suspected Keral might be pitying him and his sore feet.

“If it was just me, I’d be movin’ on,” he replied. “But with ye not being used to this and the little ones, I think it best we not push it. We’ll start a fire, have a bit of food and rest, then move on at first light.”

Having his suspicions confirmed, Farris snorted. “I ain’t a tenderfoot ye need to baby, Keral.”

“Be that as it may,” Keral replied, not rising to the taunt and in fact looking quite serious. “I don’t know these woods. Neither do ye. We have three children to keep alive and many more miles to cover before we’re anywhere familiar. So I’m playin’ it safe fer now.” His grim expression abruptly spun on its head and he grinned. “And besides, tenderfoot ye ain’t. But I’ll be bettin’ yer feet are tender enough.”

Farris grunted and rolled his shoulders. “Bah. Come off it.”

“I’ll get the fire goin’ and we’ll get some supper started,” Keral continued. Nenani perked up and, having spent most of the day trying to ignore her gnawing hunger, found the notion of food very appealing. Keral pulled out a sack from deep within his pack as well as a few parcels of waxed parchment. “Field rations ain’t anything like ye yer use to throwin’ together, but we’ll make do just fine.”

Mimicking his brother, Farris sat back up to rummage through his own pack. He pulled out a bundle of his own, wrapped in a dark blue tea towel, and sat it in his lap.

As he went about readying some kindling and wood for the fire, Keral eyed his brother curiously. 

“What’s that there?”

“Bread,” Farried answered. Nenani marveled at it, realizing she had been likely standing on it the entire day and had even slept on it, all the while never knowing it was just below her. Pulling a metal tin from his pack and giving it a once over with his eyes, Farris looked surprised but pleased. Setting it down beside him, he said, “Bit of pepper here.”

“Pepper,” Keral echoed in a flat, disbelieving voice. “Ye brought fuckin’ pepper?”

“And just what’s wrong with that?”

“Who the fuck packs pepper in an emergency?” Keral demanded.

“It was in my bag from a time before and I just grabbed it without emptyin’ it first,” Farris replied with only a slight hint of defensiveness. He realized perfectly how silly it may seem, but it was a welcome find for him as he knew the sort of field rations that rangers were provided with. They were condensed versions of the same ones doled out to soldiers on a march: salted meats, smoked fish, and a sack of potatoes. Simple and nutrient dense food to replenish the body after a day of physical exertion. Boring to Farris’s mind.

He worked with spices and bright bold flavors. The idea of eating plain potatoes without even a bit of salt or pepper was nearly insulting. Keral might find fault or humor in his supplies, but Farris was content with the happy accident and was pleased even further when he found another tin, bigger than the first.

“What other useless supplies have ye brought along? Come on, let’s have a look,” Keral said, his manner more jovial than incredulous now.

Farris popped the tin open. “Salt, rosemary, and…” he paused and held the tin closer to his nose. “Paprika.”

Keral rolled his eyes. “Yer lucky none of the lads are here. They’d have a good ol’ rouse with ye and yer damn spices.”

Farris sent his brother a challenging glare. “Yer lucky they ain’t here. I’d break each and everyone one ‘a their noses.”

Keral shrugged, relenting, and went about the task of getting a fire started.

Farris began to rise from his seat and said, “I’ll help ye get it goin’.”

“Don’t bother,” Keral replied. “I’ll handle the fire and then ye can handle makin’ the food. That way, if it’s shit, ye can’t blame me fer it.”

Farris glared at his brother, but relented the point with a shrug. “Suit yerself.”

Keral had not quite finished building the fire when Farris began to search the ground around  their clearing. At one point, he was lost from sight, but when he did return, he carried a wide flat rock that was slightly curved in the middle. Keral regarded his brother with a judgmental eye. “And just what do ye mean to do with that?”

“Cook on it, ye idiot,” Farris replied shortly. He placed the rock onto the ground near the fire pit, but took a few moments to clean it best he could with the hem of his coat. “I know how ye rangers cook yer food and ye might be fine with crunching on dirt and ash, but I ain’t.”

“Ye have yer spices,” Keral quipped with a grin. “And we have ours.”

Jae snorted a laugh. “Ranger’s famous dirt and ash potatoes. Yum.”

“Ah, a wee bit ‘a ash never hurt no one,” Keral replied, striking his flint and attempting to light the bundle of tinder.

“I can do that part,” Nenani offered, already rising to her feet. She stepped out from her blanket and walked closer to where Keral knelt. The ranger regarded her curiously for a moment before blinking in understanding.

“Ah,” he said. “Right. Yer a fire mage. Forgot about that fer a second.” He gestured to the firewood. “Have at it, lass.”

In moments, Nenani had the fire blazing, and Keral happily fed the rising flames more kindling until at last they had a proper campfire. Nenani returned to her blanket and nestled back down, basking in the additional light and warmth of the fire.

The flames crackled and moved within the stone ring. With the dying light, it cast elongated and strange shadows against the trees which Haiyer did not much care for. Jae had moved to sit closer to Nenani, but they were forced to make room when Haiyer pressed himself between them. They threw mildly irritated glances his way, but the boy was oblivious.. Now that he was suitably shielded from the scary shadows, he was content to watch the fire happily dancing.

As agreed, Keral released custody of the campfire to Farris as well as his field rations. The bag of potatoes was meant to last a single ranger a few days or up to a week if strict rationing was observed in addition to foraging or hunting. The addition of the salted pork and smoked fish meant that all together they could realistically make the supply last a few days. The children would not need nearly as much as their Vhasshalan guardians so their portions were not included into the calculations.

A fourth of the bread was cut from the loaf and the rest returned to Farris’s pack. Two handfuls of potatoes were placed onto the rock close to the fire where the flames would heat the rock and the potatoes, effectively roasting them. Once the food was cooked and adequately seasoned to Farris’s standards, each of the children had either one larger potato or two of the smaller ones, a sliver of salted pork or fish, and a piece of the bread. The giants shared the rest of the cooked potatoes and bread and a bit of smoked fish. The rest of the salted pork was returned to the pack.

The bread was a heartier dark rye and vastly different from the golden crusty loaves she was used to. It had a much stronger taste and rougher texture, but she was not going to complain. It went rather well with the smoked fish and she decided she rather liked it after all. The potatoes were speckled with salt and pepper and had a slight reddish tinge to them due to the addition of paprika. Haiyer’s mouth was stained red with it as the little boy munched happily on his food.

Nenani did feel a slight sting of guilt that she, Jae, and Haiyer were able to make a more bountiful dinner of the rations than either Farris or Keral, especially considering they were doing all of the walking. Jae seemed to have had a similar train of thought.

“You sure you guys shouldn’t have ours portions too?” he asked. “I mean, you are the ones carrying us around. You need it more then we do.”

“Lovely of ye to offer, lad,” Keral replied. “But it wouldn’t make any difference. Ye three don’t eat much at all. So eat up.”

“Besides,” Farris added. “There ain’t no chance in hell I’d let ye go hungry.”

Keral reached for the still hot rock and plucked up a few of the roasted and seasoned potatoes. He studied them with a critical eye, still seeming to find the addition of spices laughable. He popped them into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Alright,” Keral relented after a moment. He nodded to his brother. “Alright.”

Farris grinned at his brother knowingly. “Alright what?”

“Ye were right,” he said, reaching for more. “The spices help.”

Farris regarded his brother with a self-satisfied smirk.

Keral glared. “What? Ye waitin’ fer a medal?”

Farris shook his head, still grinning smugly, and took a bite from his bread. “Just enjoyin’ the moment is all.”

“Fer fuck sakes, Farris. It’s just some spiced potatoes, ye didn’t cure leprosy.”

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Reference stock by @null-entity

[feistypaants-archived]

Biscuit in the Basket

Rating: T Words: 2764 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: Anna doesn't know why she's been so sick, but when she finds out, she has a different problem to worry about. [Set in my Between the Pipes AU] [cw: pregnancy]

Notes: I was missing this AU hahaha. Written to satisfy an itch but I hope you all enjoy! :) YEAH THE TITLE IS ANOTHER HOCKEY JOKE. It's fine. I know who I am.

[AO3]

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Anna looked up from the toilet to see her husband’s worried features staring down at her. His brows were furrowed, lips twisted to one side as he leaned up against the sink, a glass of water in hand. She nodded only once before deciding it was too much movement and lowering her head back into the opening. 

“I’ll be fine,” she mumbled, pressing her forehead against the porcelain. “Just a bug.”

She felt his hand spread out over her back and rub in small, soothing circles as he knelt beside her. “I can see if they can put Nemo in for tonight, join up with them in Buffalo tomorrow…”

“No, no.” Anna sighed with relief as a cool cloth settled against the back of her neck. “It’s really…” She scooted back up onto her knees as she retched again, panting for air as the nausea shook her. “It’s okay.”

“Babe…”

Reaching blinding to pat at his knee, Anna did her best to look up at him for just a moment and reassure him. “Honestly. I promise. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

She could feel the hesitation radiating off of him, so she crossed her arms over the toilet and rested her cheek against them. “Kristoff. Seriously. I can handle a bug.” His hand stopped moving against her back. “I’ll call you tonight after the game and I’ll be good, I promise.”

Kristoff sighed and leaned forward to press a kiss against her sweaty forehead and nodded, giving up way quicker than she thought he would. “All right,” he said as he stood up. “But if you need anything, you just call and I’ll be on the first flight home, okay?”

“Okay, honey.”

“You’ll call?”

Anna nodded, and reached over for the glass of water he left beside her. “I promise I’ll call.” She shrugged once. “Also, don’t forget my sister is here. And Honeymaren. If I need something I can bother them, too.”

That seemed to ease his worries enough, and he started backing out of the bathroom. “Please call though.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

Anna smiled, and swallowed the bile she could feel rising in her throat. “I love you, too.”

—

“It keeps hitting in waves. Like, I’ll be totally fine and then out of nowhere, I’m curled around the toilet again.” Anna pouted as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. “And I can’t do anything, I’m so tired.” She heard Elsa humming on the other side of the line and frowned. “It’s been going on for a few days and I’m trying not to worry Kristoff, but I’m feeling all blegh.”

Her sister was too silent for her liking. “What are you thinking?”

Elsa sighed. “Mom used to get really awful periods like this, when we were little. Remember she had the hysterectomy?” 

Anna frowned. “... Yeah…”

“When are you supposed to get it?”

She… honestly didn’t know the answer to that. “Hang on,” she mumbled, pulling her phone down from her ear to pull up a tracker app she had started using.

Except that it said her current cycle was at 57 days.

“That’s… not right…”

“What’s wrong?”

Anna tapped it, trying to remember. “When did I have my last period?” 

Her sister let out a chuckle. “We’re plenty close, but I don’t track your cycle, Anna.”

“No, I…” Anna refreshed it as she thought. “I must have missed tracking it last month. It says fifty-seven days. That’s…” She was trying to wrack her brain, trying to remember what happened almost thirty days ago. Did she have it? Did they go somewhere?

Wait. It was Elsa and Honey’s wedding. 

She definitely didn’t have it then. 

The stress could have delayed it… But Anna honestly couldn’t remember having it at any point between then and now, either…

“Hey, Elsa?”

She made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Can you go to the store for me?”

—

Anna was pacing as she listened for the sound of her sisters’ car. As soon as she told her what she needed, Elsa practically ran out the door, promising to be there within the hour. 

This couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be. She was on birth control. Sure, it wasn’t one hundred percent effective, but she did her best to take it consistently.

But with everything going in the fall, it was very likely she had gotten lazy about it, or forgotten altogether once or twice. 

There was no sense panicking yet. Nothing was confirmed. She just couldn’t remember her last period. And it was possible she was four weeks late. And she was throwing up for three days. And she was sore. And tired. And shit shit shit shit shit.

Elsa let herself in, and power walked through the house to find Anna in the living room. “All right, I got five different tests.” She dug through the bag and produced them one at a time. “Some digital, some regular, this one is supposed to be very sensitive and can detect it earlier, this one is fast, and this one they said is the most accurate and --”

Anna grabbed the closest one and ran towards the bathroom, hollering “I will take all of them!” as she slammed the door shut, and ripped the box open. As she read the directions, her sister came in with all of the tests back in the bag, and a clean cup for her, offering that maybe dipping would be easier since Anna wanted to do all five.

So she did, box by box, test by test, marking which ones needed how much time, and set a timer before sitting back on the toilet and hugging her knees to her chest.

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t what they had decided. Before they took the step into marriage, they had a long and emotional discussion about everything to do with children and family. Kristoff had been working on things with a counselor, doing his best to unpack some of the trauma he had bottled up, but he was still hesitant - still so afraid of being like his father.

Anna had known from the beginning that this was a fear of his, and she had agreed from day one that they would wait until they were both one hundred percent ready to start the family. Together they decided that Kristoff would be the one to open the discussion, as it was mostly his worries that were holding them back.

But he had just signed another four year contract. 

The timer blared, snapping her out of her thoughts as Elsa looked at her, lip caught between her teeth. 

Anna pressed her forehead against her knees and sighed. “I can’t look.”

She heard Elsa gathering up the tests, taking a moment to look at them, and placing them back down. “They’re all the same.”

Okay, so whichever it was, it was probably right.

“What does it say?”

Elsa hesitated before tapping Anna’s hand, and placing one of the sticks into her now open palm. Anna covered the screen with her thumb, sat up, placed her feet flat on the ground and took a deep breath before removing her finger.

Two lines. 

Pregnant.

“They’re all the same?” Anna could hear the tightness in her throat as her free hand rose up to cover her mouth. 

Elsa nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, they’re all the same.”

When Anna fully looked up to her sister, with tears welling up her eyes, she saw the same joy she felt reflected in Elsa’s expression. 

“I’m pregnant?” This wasn’t real.

“You’re pregnant.”

Oh. Maybe it was.

Anna practically jumped off of the seat and threw her arms around her sisters’ neck, sobs pulling from deep in her chest as Elsa rubbed at her back. She knew Anna’s reasons for not actively trying before, and It was as if Elsa could sense the conflict burning through her veins. “It’s okay, you’re all right.”

“I…” Anna whimpered, letting her whole body slump. “I’m so happy. What if Kristoff isn’t?”

“He will be.”

“But --”

“He will be.”

Anna nodded, letting go and wiping at her face. “I guess I should make a doctor’s appointment.”

—

It was day seven of his roadie, and Anna had been ignoring his calls for three days.

“Hey baby, I hope you’re still feeling okay. I’m sorry I missed you. It’s late so you’re probably asleep. Sven wanted to go out and celebrate. I’ll call tomorrow?”

It’s all right! We’ll talk later!!

��Hi beautiful. I can’t believe I keep missing you. Should we set a time later? I miss you.”

Sorry! Elsa was over and I didn’t hear my phone. I miss you too.

“I’m starting to feel like you’re screening my calls. Is everything okay?”

I’m not! Just bad timing. I never want to just call you though because you’re way busier. I love you. Everything is okay!

“I texted Elsa. She said you’re still feeling kind of sick. Do you need me to come home? Just say the word.”

No babe, don’t worry.

Okay, just… let me know. I love you.

After that, it seemed like he had stopped trying. Anna felt guilty, she did, but this wasn’t over the phone news… and she didn’t think she’d be able to stop herself from telling him if she actually talked to him. Besides, he’d be home in two days and she could tell him then. And… well she wasn’t quite sure how that conversation would go.

She watched his remaining games and made sure to text him about how proud she was and how much she loved him and that she was going to bed before he would be out of the locker room.

He didn’t even bother to reply tonight.

Anna told herself it was because they were mourning the loss and probably on their way to the airport immediately after the game. It would be well past midnight when they landed, and even later when he would finally get home. She would definitely be asleep, and hoped that a night of rest would put him in a better mood for the discussion that they would be facing tomorrow. 

But anxiety kept her awake long into the night.

Long enough that she heard him come through the door, drop his keys, throw his gear into their laundry room, and head up the stairs as quietly as possible.

Anna had the lights out, but she pulled the blankets over her shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he would believe that she was asleep. Sometimes, if he came back late enough, he would just sleep in the spare room to not disturb her.

Maybe he would do that now.

He opened the door. She heard his steps stop, heard him sigh, and then noticed the light receding behind her eyes as he shut it again. It took a moment for her to decide if he had left or not, but just a few minutes later the door was opening again, and he was making his way quietly to his side of the bed. 

Kristoff climbed in, and immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling Anna flush to his chest.

Oh. She hadn’t realized how much she missed him.

Anna could feel the tears coming as he pressed two soft kisses against the back of her neck.

A small stir, to pretend she was just waking. “Kristoff?” she mumbled, doing her best to fake sleep-slurred speech.

“Hi baby,” he whispered, pressing another kiss behind her ear. “I missed you.”

She swallowed, her throat tight, as she pulled his arms tighter around her. “I missed you, too.”

Kristoff was silent, just breathing softly behind her as she cuddled into his embrace. How did she go five days without talking to him? How had she ever? But then his voice broke through the darkness again, strangled and upset. “Why were you ignoring me?”

“I… I wasn’t…”

“You were.”

Anna started to twist around to face him as he let go of her body. “I was not!”

“Okay.” 

He slid away from her and moved to get up, pausing only when her hands tangled into his shirt. “Wait, please, just…”

She could hear the tears in his breathing, could feel all of the agony radiating off of him. 

Would he understand?

Would he be angry?

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” She wanted one night of him holding her close before she had to deal with it.

He shook his head. “I’d rather talk about it now.”

“But we’re both tired, and I missed you and --”

“Okay. I’ll sleep in the guest room.” Kristoff was swinging his legs over the side of the bed, gripping at her hands. 

No, no no. She needed him here. “Wait, please, I…”

He froze, giving her a chance. Just one. She had to say something. She had to tell him. 

“I’m pregnant.”

This was the longest silence of her life.

“I just…” She sat up, and cupped his jaw with her palms. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if you’d be upset or… I just… I didn’t want to tell you over the phone and I knew I’d blurt it out if we talked and I…” she ran her fingers across the stubble on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just… I’m really happy but also really nervous and I just didn’t want to talk about it on the phone I… I shouldn’t have ignored you. I’m --”

“You’re pregnant?”

Anna held her breath. “Yes.”

The barely there moonlight was all that illuminated his face. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t see well enough to know what he was thinking. All she had was the silence that was dragging on and on. 

“I know this wasn’t the plan. I know that we’re not there yet. I… I know you’ve been working with Yelena, working on it but I…” She hesitated before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning into him, letting out a small sigh of relief when his arms circled around her waist in return. “Babe, please say something.”

His grip tightened around her, his cheek pressing against hers and his breathing erratic before he practically whimpered out an “I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah, honey, you are.” Anna felt him bury his nose into her neck, felt his whole body start to shake. “Is this good crying?” He nodded, and Anna felt her whole body relax, the whole last week of stress melting away as he sat back just enough to look at her, eyes still wet.

Kristoff lifted his hands to her jaw, stroking soft thumbs over her skin before he began peppering kisses across her face; her nose, lips, eyelids, forehead, and Anna felt herself start to cry, too. She couldn’t begin to put into words the immense relief she felt as he kissed her full on the mouth, a small laugh bubbling out of him.

“I…” he let out another breath and pressed his forehead against hers. “I was going to bring it up at the end of the season.” 

Anna felt her stomach swoop. “What?”

“I told you, right when we first… started…” another short chuckle. “That I wanted a really big family. I meant it. I could…” His palms slid down the length of her arms before taking her hands in his. “It’s been so hard to wait, Anna. But I knew it was for the best. For me…” He laid gentle kisses against her knuckles. “We’ve been married for three years now, and… I’ve already proven to myself that I can be a pretty good husband.” He paused and kissed her fingers again. “Right?”

“The best,” she agreed, nodding enthusiastically. 

“I didn’t think I could be that.” He swallowed and fiddled with her engagement ring. “But if I can be… I think I’ll be able to be a pretty good dad, too.” He shrugged. “Even when playing.”

Anna laughed and laid a palm against his cheek. “You definitely will be.”

A new silence, one filled with hope and love and excitement stretched between them, before Anna darted forward and threw herself into his arms, kissing him wherever her mouth landed. 

“I love you so much.”

Kristoff laughed, held her close, and returned her kisses with just as much fervor.

“If you don’t stop,” he mumbled against her, his hands roaming freely, “we’re going to get started on number two right now.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Anna laughed, pulling him closer. “But why don’t we give it a try?”

[caitybug]

(Also sorry you are working on sads and feel blegh) maybe Rain is too "mundain" as far as prompts. 5? 7? 8? Any of those sound fun? 😂

5. Typed kisses.

7. Kisses after decades apart.

8. Kisses after dark.

Birdy, bc I love you, I’m going to try to do all of these haha.

(Shoutout to @adamarks​ for looking this over to make sure I wasn’t going insane.)

(1:35): Good morning! 

(1:35): Snow, it’s 1 in the morning. 

(1:36): Why are you messaging me?

(1:36): It’s 7:30 here.

(1:36): It’s still morning, though. So my original text stands. 

(1:37): Good morning, Snow. 

(1:37):😘 😘 

(1:38): XO. 

Day 2:

(10:03): Let me know how your appointment goes. 

(10:03): XO.

(10:04): My what?

(10:04): Your check-up.

(11:05): You forgot about it, didn’t you?

(11:10): I’m here, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Baz. 

(11:12): You’re an idiot, Snow.

(11:12): 😘 😘 love you.

(11:13): I love you too, XO. 

Day 3:

(15:03): Do you think the milk is still good?

(15:04): When did it go bad?

(15:05): It says it went bad a few days ago.

(15:06): But the date says best by…

(15:06): So it just means it isn’t at its BEST right?

(15:07): How does it smell?

(15:07): Not good.

(15:08): Then don’t drink it.

(15:09): What if I just don’t know how milk is supposed to smell? How often do I really smell milk?

(15:10): Snow, just get more milk. I think we can spare the money it costs.

(15:10): But I’ve already started cooking. 

(15:12): I’m just going to try anyway. 

(15:12): It’ll be cooked anyway, right?

(15:13): I want it known I believe this to be a bad idea. 

(15:14): You also said that subscribing to three different butter services was “unnecessary and excessive”

(15:15): I stand by that, Snow. 

(15:15): How can one person eat that much butter each month?

(15:16): I can’t believe you would doubt my abilities like this. 

(15:16): I thought we were in a loving and supportive relationship. 

(15:17): I love you and support your health.

(15:17): Which means cutting back on butter sometimes, darling.

(15:20): I’m going to use the milk. 

(15:22): I wish you the best.

(15:22): 😘 😘

(15:23): XO. 

Day 5:

(7:40): How is your stomach?

(7:45): Better.

(7:45): I told you to buy new milk. 

(7:47): I think there is a stomach bug going around.

(7:47): Probably that.

(7:49): Sure, Snow.

(7:49): That’s why you spent yesterday regurgitating the entire contents of your stomach.

(7:50): Yes, it is.

(7:52): Have a good day.

(7:52): I miss you.

(7:52): 😘 😘

(7:55): I miss you too.

(7:55): XO.

Day 8:

(20:46): The people above us are pounding it out again.

(20:47): Earplugs are in my bedside drawer.

(20:47): If you were here I’d just try to compete.

(20:48): You certainly would not.

(20:50): I bet we could beat them.

(20:52): Come on, Baz, I know you’ve got a competitive streak. Don’t let Richard and Shelly show us up.

(20:53): You’ve got two hands, Snow. I’m sure you could manage something.

(20:54): Oh? Good idea.

(20:54): Talk later.

(20:55): 😘 😘

(20:57): I regret so much about this conversation.

(20:57): XO.

Day 13:

(14:05): YOU COME BACK TOMORROW!

(14:07): Please stop yelling at me.

(14:07): But yes, I do. 

(14:08): 😊 😊 😊

(14:09): I love you.

(14:14): I love you too.

(14:15): Can we facetime?

(14:15): In a couple of hours, Snow.

(14:15): I’ve got one more meeting.

(14:16): 😔

(14:16): Alright.

(14:17): XO.

(14:18): 😘 😘

Day 14

I get through security. It’s always a painful even, especially in America. Have to practically strip just to stand in a machine that tells everyone what I’ve already known. 

No gun here the machine says with a green light and a beep.

As if I’d need one. 

It’s been delayed several hours for a reason I’ve yet to figure out. The weather looks clear, planes are moving in and out. People on other flights are still departing on time. 

The only reasonable explanation I’ve come up with is the airline is incompetent. 

“Snow,” I say, putting a finger in my right ear, trying to ignore the man screaming at the poor help desk person. “I may not be back until tomorrow.”

I look at the clock. Even if we left now I wouldn’t get home until midnight.

“What? Why?” He asks. His voice sounds frantic.

I hate worrying him.

“This airline work flew me through is set upon ruining my life,” I growl under my breath. 

The service representatives have been berated enough, they don’t need me coming after them as well. (Even if I want to.)

(Crowley do I want to.)

“Right now it doesn’t have us leaving for another two hours, so at earliest I won’t be home until 3 in the morning. With the trend of how this has been going, I won’t be surprised if it gets canceled altogether.”

He huffs.

“I miss you.”

It comes out as a whisper, any quieter, and I would have missed it.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of saying it. We’ve said it a lot over the past two weeks.

He’s sad. I am too. I was supposed to be home by dinner. We were going to order takeaway and watch a movie, kiss and makeup for lost time.

Ignore all responsibilities of the world around us for the evening. 

“I miss you too.” I face the large windows, looking at planes that aren’t mine leaving the runway. 

The blasted airport is under construction too. Everyone said to fly in and out of La Guardia because it is easier, but I’m wondering if I should have taken JFK. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“You better. Preferably before I drink more spoiled milk.”

“Stay away from all dairy products until I return,” I chuckle into the phone. 

An announcement comes over the intercom.

“They’re announcing another delay, I’m sure,” I groan. “I’ll send you a text.”

“I love you,” he says from the other side.

“I love you too,” I respond, ending the call and slipping it into my pocket. 

(14:36): I hope you get home soon.

(14:36): Threaten to suck their blood, or something.

(14:36): I’m sure that would work.

(14:36): 😘 😘.

(14:37): You’re an idiot, Snow.

(14:37): XO.

Day 15, 4:16

I turn my key in the door, trying to quietly walk into the flat. My suitcase softly rolls against the wood behind me as I pull it in, letting it sit next to the door.

Unpacking can happen after I get at least fourteen hours of sleep. 

I place a brown paper sack of scones on the kitchen table.

I couldn’t resist. The shop next to us had just opened, and I knew it would make him smile. 

I continue down the hallway, stopping only to take a piss.

In our room, still blanketed in darkness apart from the street lights coming from the road beside us, Simon softly snores. 

He still sleeps on his side of the bed while I’m away. It makes my heart feel softer than I’d like to admit. 

One hand rests next to his head, his wings spread out across the bed.

I change clothes, relieving myself of all the feelings of travel before softly lifting a wing to get under the blanket and allow him to cover me again.

I don’t have long to process the fact that I’m with him again before I feel something wrap around my calf. 

I pause for a moment before I remember.

The tail.

He is, for all I can tell, still asleep. Meaning it’s recognized I’m here and is saying hello in its own way.

I rub it softly with my other foot.

It dislikes not getting attention, you see.

Simon’s mouth is open as he breathes deeply. I think his pillow is a little wet.

I’d call it disgusting (it is, truly), but I missed him so much that I can’t help but smile.

I risk moving closer and kiss his cheek softly, trying not to wake him up.

I know he hasn’t slept well without me.

(I haven’t either, without him.)

Side effect of sleeping for so many years in that tower. We both got dreadfully used to hearing the other breathe, the way we each navigated and slept.

At this point, I think even his snoring lulls me to sleep.

(I still complain about it, however.)

An arm wraps behind my back and pulls me close.

He takes a deep breath, and when I pull back I see one eye open.

“Hey there,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep. 

“Your breath smells.” I lean in, kissing his forehead. 

“Well your hair is greasy,” he replies, pulling me into a kiss, his hand moving to my hair. 

“You don’t seem to mind it.”

He hums in response.

I pull him tighter. I need to feel this. Everything. 

His lips.

His hands.

His chest against mine.

“And you don’t seem to mind the morning breath,” he states, smiling at me as we break for a moment.

I open my mouth to retort but he puts a finger to my lips, shushing me.

“No talking, only kissing,” he whispers. “I’ve not kissed my fiancé in decades.”

He leans in but I pull back for a moment.

“It’s been two weeks, Snow.”

“Decades,” he states matter of factly. “Each day was like five years passed. It’s been 70 years. I’ve gone grey and wrinkly, waiting for you to return.”

I laugh, being shut up briefly by another round of kisses.

I should sleep.

But this is so much better than sleeping. 

I feel something wet hit my cheek.

Backing up, worried there is a leak from the ceiling, I realize why. 

It’s Simon.

“Love,” I say.

What’s wrong?

“It’s fine; it’s fine,” he says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “I’m just tired, and I missed you.”

Another tear drops from one of his eyes, and I brush it away with my thumb.

I open my mouth to say a response, to comfort, but I feel a stinging in my own eyes.

(My eyes have been open for too long, you see. Couldn’t sleep on the plane. I’ve been up far too long to be able to control any tears that fall.)

I lean in to kiss him again.

We kiss, and kiss, and keep kissing. Hands roam, trying to remind our brains of what it feels like to have each other again. 

It was dark when we started, but soon an orange haze comes over the room as the sun rises.

The tears start, stop, start again.

Laughter rings out a few times.

“You did WHAT to our oven??” I shout at one point. 

He lays now with his head on my chest. My eyes are closed, fingers scratching his head lightly.

His hand is softly rubbing my stomach.

“Wait,” Simon says, jumping up and looking at me.

I blink a few times, trying to fight off the sleep that was about to overcome me.

“Did you get?” He asks, question incomplete.

I search his eyes for a moment, frowning, trying to comprehend before I realize what he is saying.

“Yes, they are on the table,” I laugh softly.

He jumps up and starts to go to the door. 

He pauses, looking back at me, clearly wracking his brain with a question. 

“We can eat them in bed,” I say, knowing where his mind is trying to go. 

He smiles and continues his run to the kitchen.

I look out the window and see the sun hit the windows of nearby buildings.

It’s good to be home.

[aranea-mechanica]

(( BREAKING NEWS: here’s the 4k unfinished rp log from after this post, in which tarantulas temporarily adopted @medicalmurdersaurus, @kingasaurusrex, @surly-saurus, @tomatofaceasaurus, @elite-tracker, and @slvdge​, and they wreaked absolute havoc on the Tor.

TAKE CHANCES, MAKE MISTAKES, GET MESSY!

Tarantulas

One thing led to another led to another led to another. Scooping Swoop up somehow got leaked to Grimlock, then Grimlock threatening him via comm inspired Tarantulas to adopt him too, which got leaked to Slag as well, who joined the party and essentially dragged Snarl and Sludge and Slash along for the ride. Tarantulas hopped through one portal after another herding them into the Tor, and mysteriously enough, they all seemed completely fine with the impromptu field trip. It was surreal how quickly and painlessly it came to pass - and all the more foreboding for what would probably follow.

The room the Dinobots were plopped into was mainly clear of equipment, although it had a decent serving of webbing slung around here and there. One might mistake it for a foyer of sorts, given the paths branching off toward more dim destinations. Strange sounds and smells emanated from far too many directions.

…In hindsight, Tarantulas would probably find that this hadn’t been the wisest of places to drop the Dinobots into the Tor for the first time. Popping back into the foyer at last, he’d just have to see the results of his poor decision for himself, now wouldn’t he?

Swoop

On the plus side, getting kidnapped gives Swoop a chance to look around while his siblings are herded up. On the down side, getting kidnapped gives Swoop a chance to look around while his siblings are herded up.

The high ceilings are far too tempting. He has to know what is up there. Up where? Up there.

Tarantulas

Swoop's first guess is probably right - webs. More webs, loosely spun. Probably a pretty fantastic jungle gym, a thought that's definitely occurred to Tarantulas as well.

Grimlock

Grimlock had only been outside his own verse a handful of times. Notably only to see the Prime that wasn't Prime, but regardless, this place is new. With new smells. And new sounds. And several new sights. He squints through his visor, deciding quickly he doesn't like it.

Which is only a half lie to himself.

He's curious as hell. Enough so that he reaches out to start poking at the various webbing strands littering the area-

And immediately decided it was interesting enough to start pulling at. Weird how it looked like string but felt nothing like it. Should probably take some home. It'd look cool in Kraken's cage.

Swoop

Swoop circles the room once, twice, a third time for good measure. In the last pass, he dips down past Grimlock and pulls up sharply so he can get enough momentum to fling himself up to the highest webs while transforming. He shrieks all the way up to his new perch.

Sludge

Swoop chose to go up, but Sludge? Sludge chose to go left, and investigate this entirely new place from the ground level. There's weird smells coming from that way, he has to know what they are, immediately. And possibly touch whatever's making those weird smells.

Absolutely touch whatever makes the weird smells.

Snarl

Snarl is just kinda staying put exactly where he ended up.

Tarantulas

The threads aren't really sticky - most of them, anyhow - but they do pull and pull and pull, and never seem to actually snap. The ones on the ceiling are thicker and have less give, which probably benefits Swoop (though if he chooses wisely he could certainly have a bungee-jumping adventure). Grimlock, however, probably won't be able to snag a sample of silk unless he slices instead of pulls.

If Sludge wanders far enough down the hall to the left, he'll reach a room with massive vats of various organic and inorganic fluids. Science lab or buffet? Who can tell.

What does it really matter what the original intent was, honestly.

Snarl

This wasn't part of his plan for the day. Not that he ever had much of a plan, but he definitely hadn't been ready for getting dragged along to be a part of the Tor.

Kinda looked like they just traded one dark rocky space, for another dark-ish space.

Swoop

There is some WWE off the ropes flinging going on towards the ceiling. This is a great time and Swoop is here for it, except... since when do his brothers come on his weird outings? That's new. Swoop springs towards the machinery nearest Snarl, landing with a CLANG.

Snarl

A lesser bot who DIDN'T LIVE WITH SWOOP 24-7 would probably be startled.

Grimlock

He's coming to that conclusion himself, though his considerable strength had managed to pull the elastic-like strands a decent way out of their original positioning. Now he wants this even more. Wheeljack could probably make some awesome weapon or maybe just something all around cool for the Dinocave.

He's thinking punching bags.

A hammock would be kinda cool too. He's seen those on tv and they at least look like a good time. It's never going to happen, however, unless he manages to get some of this stuff back home.

So without further ado, he reaches to his back to disconnect the base of his sword and activate it. When in doubt-slice it.

Swoop

"SNARL!" the pterosaur giggles. "You go a place. An INSIDE place!" It's difficult for someone as cartoonish as Swoop to come across over the top enough for the sarcasm to be clear. But, by god, he's trying.

Tarantulas

Thus begins the damage that Tarantulas will eventually have to repair and/or clean up later. Swoop's definitely leaving claw marks on that machinery.

Snarl

Snarl levels him with a look as flat as stale water. "What inside place?"

You have a chance to sell it, Swoop.

Swoop

Swoop throws his arms out Robert Downey Jr style to illustrate the Tor. "Dunno!"

Sludge

Vats! Full of stuff!

None of which he recognizes, but they're interesting colors and he's pretty sure that red flavor is the best flavor for anything. Spike had said that once. Sludge peered between the vats for a moment, trying to locate one that was red. And once he finds one, he carefully sets his cat down on the floor out of the way, and promptly shoves his face into said vat.

It's time... to lick the red flavor.

Snarl

Well. That meant his options were play statue exactly where he was which was tempting or go along with Swoop.... who might screech and pick at his armor until he does anyway.

Path of least resistance it is. Massive shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Kay. We go."

Tarantulas

Red flavor = probably synthetic blood, maybe, sort of. Does Sludge know what hemoglobin and plasma taste like? If so, it'll definitely be familiar, and nothing that'll affect his systems. His cat might find the vat strange, though.

And Grimlock can certainly have at, and with moderate success. Expect much chastising from Tarantulas once he does arrive and finds missing chunks of webbing, though.

Swoop

Nice. Another victory for Swoop.

"Us goooooooo-" He spun in a circle and then pointed in an arbitrary direction. "-thata way!"

Snarl

Good of a place as any. "Kay." Off they go then.

Tarantulas

Lots of static coming from "thata way." They'll have to open a few very-locked doors before they get to the source of it all.

Snarl

Hm. A door.

Fire time.

Sludge

Blegh. Spike was wrong, red flavor is worst flavor. Sludge is going to try the ominously glowing purple flavor instead. Maybe that one tastes better? Hopefully Tarantulas won't mind that he knocked over the blue vat on his way there.

Snarl

...This door is being very stubborn for fire time.  Clearly that means there needs to be MORE FIRE TIME.

Swoop

Swoop is pro fire. He is always pro fire. But he's also pro comedy...

.... so he's going to go over and poke buttons to see if he can get the door open despite his brother.

Tarantulas

Blue vat leaves a sticky mess on the floor that Sludge won't enjoy stepping in, mostly because he'd get, well, stuck. Glowing purple flavor is mysteriously void of scent and taste, but leaves a mild tingle wherever it touches.

Snarl

At least the door is a little more pliable than before. So while Swoop is off CLEARLY not helping, Snarl decides to take matters into his own hands.

Literally into his hands. He starts beating on the door with his fists.

Sludge

The tingle is kind of cool. Let's try some more of that and see if he can make his insides tingle.

Tarantulas

The door, meanwhile, holds against the fire, but the buttons nearby start to malfunction under the combo of radiant heat & ridiculous mashing. They're doing Tarantulas a favor by finding out the flaws in his security, right? In the end the fists are what does the door in first, and they're on to the next one.

And yes, Sludge, your insides are definitely tingling now. That might be an unfortunate distraction from the fact that the other parts that WERE tingling are no longer feeling ANYTHING now.

Snarl

One last hit, and the poor door finally gives, getting essentially blown off its frame.

Snarl

"Open."

Swoop

"You Snarl DID IT!" : >

Snarl

"You Swoop and Me Snarl go to 'that way' now."

Swoop

Swoop dashes through the door and immediately looks up to see if there's more stuff to play with.

Swoop

Snarl follows along at a more leisurely, lumbering pace.

Tarantulas

Nope, just another hallway leading six possible directions. The static's coming from behind another door. Suuuuuper tempting, right?

Sludge

Well, his insides feel really tingly and it's super cool. But he feels weirdly off balance with half his face no longer feeling anything. Maybe he should leave the rest of the vats alone now. He'll come check them out again later. Aaaaafter he's checked what other rooms are in this hallway.

Snarl

"...Me hear noise."

"Swoop, that you?"

"You Swoop weird noise allllll the time."

Swoop

Swoop runs a circle, going past each possible option before sliding Tom Cruise style into Snarl's side.

"Nope! It not Swoop."

Tarantulas

Meanwhile, guess who's busy conjuring another bridge back to the Tor, finally. Oh dear.

Snarl

Snarl, squints and scrutinizes Swoop. Not that staring at him suspiciously does much for figuring out SOUND.

Slash

Slash finally makes it to the party, she looks around at what is going on so far, seems all her brothers have wondered off to do their own thing. She probably should be a good dino and wait for her leader Slag, but all the new scent and surroundings where to tempting to stay still for too long!

Slash was soon sniffing around and collecting as many new scents as she can, it was time to explore!

Grimlock

Grimlock has a large, triumphant handful of the strange white stringy stuff. After much hacking has been had to get it that far. He's, for the moment, content and immediately wraps it around his arm for safe keeping. Besides, it makes his arm thicker by just that much that clotheslining Slag is going to be hilarious later.

That done, he notices his brothers have, as they're wont to do, wandered off. Well shit. Whose scent does he follow- or does he follow the odd chemical smell that burns at his ol factory sensors in a way that's not entirely unpleasant....

His brothers would be fine. Odd smells it is then.

Swoop

For a genuine moment, Swoop lets Snarl listen. That is his thinking face after all. But Swoop can only stand it so long before he just.... chirp!

Snarl

Oh, hey, the weird noise is getting louder. Kinda sounds like the TV when the channels don't feel like working. Or something like that.

Nope. Was probably Swoop.

Tarantulas

Sludge's exploration supplies him with various rewards - rooms full of more organic smells and sights, something that looks like an operating theater, then a dissection lab that definitely has specimens still displayed. Ick.

Swoop

"This Spiderbot, uh, house."

Sludge

The poor dinobot has no idea what an operating theater is, but it's got sharp pointy things and shiny things so that's where he's gonna play now. Some of these look like things Ratchet uses. Where's Swoop? He'd know what they were.

"SWOOP!"

Tarantulas

Sludge's yell makes things shake and clatter a little. Nothing's damaged.... yet.

Also, 'house' is a generous term.

Slash

Slash decided to follow the scent to the vats she can smell Sludge has been here also, she wondered over to the vats to get a closer look and sniff only to step into the blue sticky mess and tumble forward into it.

Tarantulas

Grimlock's sense of smell leads him in a similar direction to Sludge, but down a different hall. It'll take him a long time to get to the source of the smell, but there's a straight path, and a green glow far, far off at the end.

Snarl

"Spiderbot have loud house."

"...."

"Wait that sound like him Sludge."

Slash

Slash is stuck! The blue goop clings to her if she tries to pull away.

Snarl

Hmmm. Sludge or the door. Decisions.

He looks to Swoop. ????

Slash

Slash is pulling! SHE WANTS OUT!! "ME SLASH STUCK!"

Swoop

Swoop looks back where Sludge's bellowing came from, then up at Snarl.

"Him dead."

Snarl

Well that settles that.

"Kay. We open door thing now."

Grimlock

Ugh. The smell was no longer as pleasant the closer he got to it. It stung, actually. Grimlock's face was set in a grimace under his mask and for half a second he almost turns back around. Then his optics narrowed and he growled. Giving up was for LOSERS. And Grimlock was no loser.

The green glow was more of a pinprick in the distance at the moment and Grimlock took off at a run, lumbering steps echoing down the narrow space.

Swoop

Swoop bobbled his head in agreement. Later, losers.

Snarl

There are more doors to break down. Like this one. Fire Time part 2.

Swoop

Swoop transforms into pterosaur mode and joins in the melting.

Tarantulas

The fire changes color when it hits the door, but it's slowly successful in melting it.

Swoop

He gaaaaaaaaaaasssps! <3

Snarl

Snarl stops immediately because did you see that?

Swoop

"AWESOME!!"

Sludge

Hmm. Swoop isn't coming. Shame. Now he has to go looking for his little brother. He gets to his feet and makes his way back to where he'd started, to pick a new hallway. Is he down this way?

Snarl

He's looking between Swoop and the door in quick succession.

Slash

Slash struggles to pull herself free of the blue mess on the floor, her claws start to heat up for more SLICING MELTING ACTION! "GRRR! ME SLASH WANT OUT!"

Snarl

Then he levels his brother with the most serious look that's ever graced his face. "Us burn ALL things. Find more colors."

Slag

Slag, for his part, waited to see where all his various brothers were going... and then went in whatever direction they weren't, plodding along leisurely with his drone pet/toy jingling about beside and somewhat under him when he pauses to scoot Gong Fat back between his front legs.

Gotta keep his toy from getting squashed or burned or otherwise Dino'd.

Swoop

Swoop lets out a victory shriek and flaps hard enough to get himself a ways off the ground. "YAAAAHHH!"

Tarantulas

Heated claws are super effective on the blue goop - it seems to melt as Slash slices, although it does leave a lot of residue on her as well.

Slag's adventuring leads to a far less interesting path than the others - it's mostly consoles, servers, and computer hardware in the rooms down his route.

Grimlock

Aaaagh even RUNNING was taking too much time! Grimlock growled, getting quite irritated. It was time to find a shortcut. He eyes the wall next to him, tapping on it.

The rearing his fist back to slam it into the surface with as much power as he can.

Slash

Slash was finally free and quickly gained as much distance from the blue goop as she can, her movement a little slow due to the residue left on her. She was totally leaving claw marks in the floor as she ran in a random direction.

ALSO SLASH SAW YOU SLUDGE JUST IGNORE HER >:C

Tarantulas

Also, tip to Swoop and Snarl: although all the doors in THIS hallway burn the same color, OTHER hallways might not. Have at it.

Grimlock immediately succeeds in denting the wall next to him, and there's a groaning rumble a few seconds afterward.

Grimlock

.........

Well, it did SOMETHING.

Time to hit it again.

Snarl

Snarl proceeds to be flamethrower, and immediately forgets to actually go through the door they demolished

Slag

Oh. Buttons.

Slag doesn't really read much to know what the buttons do but, they're colorful. And some of them glow. And they have TVs on them. He supposes he can find something to watch.

Maybe spider has movies. Maybe spider has Netflix.

One stumpy triceratops foot plops gracelessly on the console, sort of pawing at the keyboard to try to make something happen.

Slash

Slash now wishes she can flamethrower breath to get all this blue goop off of her, it was slowing her down! She doesn't like this place anymore it's dumb!

Slash finally stopped running to look around, just where was she now? She'll sniff the air to see where her brothers had run off to.

Tarantulas

Grimlock manages to rend the metal of the wall a bit, but only enough to see through. It's inky black, wherever that is, and smells like... nothing?

......

Sludge

Swoop is decidedly not down this new hallway, Sludge decides eventually. But there's more places to see, so he'll keep walking. If the other hallway had interesting things, this one should too.

Snarl

Follow the burning, Sludge.

Sludge

Why follow the burning, when he can make his own burning?

Snarl

Follow the scent of scorched metal and mania.

Snarl

ALSO A GOOD OPTION.

Tarantulas

Spider does not have Netflix. Spider has a security system on his console that requires eight levels of clearance before anything actually happens. Want to give it a shot, Slag? It'll make tons of interesting colors and sounds.

Grimlock

How does something smell like nothing? Grimlock's vents huff as he tries to peer through the hole. His curiosity is torn now between this seemingly empty space that smells like nothing and the challenge that was the green glow in the distance.

Slag

Huh. Colors are happening. Maybe it's a game?

Slash

Slash will follow the burning.

Slag

He can probably figure out the button combo to make it do the thing. Keysmashing usually works back home. This is probably the same.

Sludge

He can sort of hear Swoop and Snarl burning things, though. Somewhere to the right. Does he want to backtrack? Not really. So he's going to go the Quicker Route and start spitting fire at the wall.

It'll have to give way eventually.

Snarl

Some of the doors are just opening and closing now. Weird.

Swoop

The problem with a hallway is that he can't full on circle and swoop in the air. He'll have to make do with brief strafing runs. Snarl gets well and truly covered in fire, which is probably a nice bonus to all the activity. Toasty!

Snarl

Snarl, wreathed in flames, and fueled by destructive impulses is a fearsome thing to behold.

Actually that's a lie. He's looks confused

Why are the doors just opening like that now? Are they trying to get away from the burning?

'Cause, Ha. Like that'll happen.

More fire.

Tarantulas

Definitely not the same, Slag. This one eventually blacks out completely after too much keysmashing, since the chances of one Dinofoot following the pattern of eight Spiderpaws is slim to none.

Grimlock

Curiosity has given way to frustration. Guess what?

That wall's coming down if he has to break his knuckles doing it.

Swoop

Swoop thoughtlessly clips his own wing on a wall and eats quite a bit of floor before sliding to a stop. "KEHEHE!"

Snarl

Hmmmm.

Slash

OK one the doors almost closed on Slash's tail! NOT COOL!

Slash will just... Well slash at the controls of the door, maybe that will stop it from acting weird!

Slag

Oh. Broke it.

............

WHELP. Time to leave the scene of the crime. Last time he broke a console full of buttons he got buried alive so maybe he'll just wander off and have no idea who broke the thing.

Snarl

Snarl is gonna pick Swoop up, and toss him through one of the doors when they open.

He's aerodynamic. He'll make it.

Probably.

Swoop

Wheee! Off he goes! "KAHAH!"

Slag

C'mon Gong Fat let's find something to chew on.

Tarantulas

Knuckles needn't be broken - the wall comes down eventually, and Grimlock gets the opportunity to venture into a space that's completely open, aside from long metal supports stretching seemingly-randomly through the darkness. He can certainly hop onto one or another from the hole he's ripped in the wall.

Slash gets a small explosion for her efforts, but the door doesn't reopen.

Sludge

This was is taking too long to melt for Sludge's liking. Time to bash it headfirst. Good thing he still can't feel his face.

Grimlock

He does just that, pulling his blade out again to set it on fire. So he can see, you understand.

Slash

Good that will teach the door one!

Slash will then continue to follow the burning scent until she spots Snarl, "You Snarl set me Slash on fire. Get dumb blue goop off."

Tarantulas

Sludge succeeds! This wall is REALLY thick though, so it might take quite a bit of headbashing to make it through.

Sludge

He has more than enough headbashing to go around for this wall.

Tarantulas

The first thing Slag and Gong Fat chew on shocks their respective mouths hard enough to (hopefully) be a deterrent to chewing more.

Swoop

Swoop is either meeting more floor or going for an impromptu flight. Either way, he is down.

Slash

Ok new plan, start scratching all the blue goop off!

Slag

Ouch. Well it's definitely not a cabbage for shredding which is deterrent enough for Gong Fat.

Slag, however, is a bit miffed at the shocky stingy ouch in his mouth, and retaliates with a bolt of laser from the tips of his horns. SCREW YOU, SHOCKY THING.

Grimlock

So Grimlock can only remember having to do so much jumping one other time in his life. Somewhere in the Rockies. It sucked. This isn't much better.

But hey, everything echoes here and everyone always accused him of loving to hear his own voice. It's gonna roar into that void right now.

Snarl

Did it work though?

"You Swoop see things?"

Sludge

Persistent headbashing has led to a lot of ringing in his head, but if it opened the wall, then he will consider it worth it.

Tarantulas

Finally - finally. Tarantulas is ready to round up the Dinokids and show them around their new home. He can't wait. It's going to be fantastic.

...But they're not here in the foyer. And there are at least three paths of destruction in different directions, all of which sound like no one is up to any good. What in the WORLD is he going to do with these dangerous toddlers?

He's never had much reason to use it before, but he's ridiculously glad he installed the PA system now. Tarantulas's voice is unbelievably cheery as it echoes in every room of the Tor.

"I trust you're making yourselves at home!"

Snarl

!!!!

Sludge

!!!! Voices from the ceiling!

Snarl

LOUD YELLING AND IT'S NOT THEM, WHAT?

Slag

Head voices.

Head voices everywhere.

It's echoing.

His head isn't that empty. Shit's not supposed to echo.

Slash

Ok the halls are talking!

Slag

Where is that coming from???

Swoop

Swoop pushes himself up from the floor and looks at the PA. "SPIDERBOT!"

He cackles. ::Hi, Spiderbot.::

Snarl

Snarl yells to the void, "This not Dinocave. You dumb?"

Grimlock

Now the place is echoing back at him ! And it sounded like Spiderbot! Grimlock isn't a fan of hide and seek on the best days.

"WHERE YOU SPIDERBOT HIDING! COME FACE ME GRIMLOCK!"

Slag

Slag is just gonna skeedaddle further away from the scene of his crime. He didn't do it. You can't prove shit, echoing head voice. "Me Slag not at home. Me Slag here "

Snarl

It's a complete accident how correct his sentence is "This is a TOR."

Sludge

Sludge looks up, trying to find the source of the new voice. Spiderbot?

Slash

"THIS PLACE DUMB!!" Slash snarls. Ok she’s going to do some Climbing now.

It’s time to find a way out of this dumb place.

---

(tl;dr - the Dinobots tear up the Tor and Tarantulas adores them during every second of it, until he’s somehow forced to give the destructive children back to their proper guardians.)

[pollylynn]

Title: Gauntlet WC: 1500

Every Nikki Heat book has had its own miseries. The first time she sent him away. We're done. The second time he left her with a juvenile Now she’ll see band-aid slapped on his wounded heart and bruised ego. The third time. Roy. Her eyes slipping closed under that scorching blue sky. The excruciating shrillness of the monitor going flat line in the ambulance. Nothing can touch that agony—nothing—but the fourth time certainly gave it a run for its money. I remember every second. How am I even supposed to trust anything that you say? 

But this year  is different. There's no misery here at all. Hell, after  living through last year’s misery—through estrangement, reunion, and her second solo near-death experience in less than a year—he had written like a fiend, right through the end of Frozen Heat and straight into Deadly Heat, deftly weaving serial killer into the fabric of the story where Nikki will finally, triumphantly, bring the people responsible for her mother’s murder to justice. 

Of course he's procrastinated. Of course he has stalled and rested on his laurels. He’s seduced her over and over again, slipping his hand beneath her prim work blouses, the tall waist of her running tights, the slouchy irregular hem of any one of the t-shirts she's commandeered from his baskets full of clean laundry. He’s laid her out on the bed and parted her thighs and stepped between them as she leans back with her palms planted flat on his desk. He has whispered brags about his word count—about how far ahead of the game he is this year—and convinced her to idle away the hours with him. 

Ultimately, of course, he's frittered away the jump he has on the book. So there's some misery now. There are nights away from her. There is sudden, absolute longing at 3 AM, and he can't call her. He can't head to her place and slip between the sheets, even though she does. She certainly does when she's working late, and there's occasional misery about the fact that it doesn't quite work both ways. 

But it’s manufactured misery. All of it, really. It's him playing for sympathy and her playing along to such an extent that it surprises her as much as it surprises him.

It’s manufactured misery when the cover art shows up. Black Pawn has messengered it over, and no matter how long he's been at this—no matter how many zeros there are when the papers publish an estimate of his net worth—he puffs up like a proud, important little boy when something arrives by messenger. 

It's a little after 7 AM when he sends the spandex-clad, helmet-wearing messenger on her way with a tip big enough to win him a genuine smile from someone who is obviously not a morning person. It’s 7:15 AM when he realizes he's in crisis. Magenta or green. The choice is impossible, and he's leaning toward rewriting the whole thing—serial killer out, New York–hating mutant lizard in. It’s a genuine crisis and it’s not too early to call her, so he does. 

Her voice mail picks up immediately. It’s a crushing blow in the moment, so he eats cold pizza straight out of the fridge. He gives it ten minutes and calls again. Voice mail, and the crisis expands. It fills the whole loft and where is she? He calls again. He walks around the office, trying to sneak up on one cover, then the other, one cover, then the other. 

He settles for Alexis and her crisis-management skills. It’s kind of a bust. She is not at all interested in his crisis, and there's some definite misery there. She wants to go. She is going and his dithering is silly. It’s utterly ineffectual, and now he really does have something he needs her for—Kate. He needs her level-headed, slightly snappish input, and he needs the way she'll put up with him. 

She does put up with him. She’ll pinch him in the most unexpected places and tell him he’s being ridiculous. But she'll kick off her shoes and prop her legs on the coffee table, too. She'll pat her thigh and let him rest his head there. She’ll listen to him and press her hand over his heart when it thuds with waking nightmares about Paris. 

She’d do all that if only she'd answer her phone. 

********************

He is on the verge of throwing the wood-mounted cover art right through the glass wall of his office. This isn't misery—it's rage, and it is not his native tongue. He slams the square blocks, one after the other, on to his desk. It’s hard enough to mar the surface, forceful enough that wood will bear the scar, and native tongue or not, that feels about right. 

His mother finds him as is her wont in these moments. She acts out the first few seconds of her scandalized routine before she catches up with the world as it is. She clutches her metaphorical pearls until she realizes this is serious, this is different, this is rage. 

He tells all. He scorches the air as he recounts each lie, repeats each ice cold justification she’d tried to spin. He makes his unassailable case as the injured party, and his mother turns the world on its head. 

She should be interviewing for that job, she says, and he wants to scream that he's not fucking saying otherwise. He’s not some Mad Men–style troglodyte trying to keep the little lady at home. He wants to scream, but this is his mother and she rolls on, ever forward. 

This isn’t about me, he does manage to shout, and she turns that on its head, too: Are you sure? 

And he is not. He listens to her recitation of the long road to this moment. He relives every misery along the way—his sins and hers. His pride and hers. His stupidity, cowardice, tragic lack of moxie in the moments that have really mattered. And hers. 

His hand goes to his phone in his pocket. He feels sore and kicked around now when he thinks about how she didn't answer all this morning. How she lied right to his face when he asked. How she lied. He feels sore and kicked around, but the rage is gone. 

He leaves his mother. 

He sits behind his desk, stiff-spined and well and truly miserable. He navigates, mechanically, the interaction with Alexis. He writes the check. He pastes on a smile she doesn't buy and tells her to go have fun. She leaves him, unnerved, and he is sorry. He’s sorry. 

He flips the cover art face up. He places the green at the far right edge of the desk, the magenta at the far left. He spends some quality time with the giant lizard that would happily chow down on New York and all its denizens, himself included. He spends a good long while on Team Giant Lizard. 

But he'd ache for her even then. Chewed up and swallowed down, in the belly of a giant lizard, he'd ache for her, just as he had that first summer, all the while with Gina, after Roy and watching her die, every time—every minute—he had ached for her, and the misery here and now seems so much of his own making. Their own making, he knows, but his actions—his choices—are the only thing he can control. 

He turns the giant green lizard face down. The gentle sound of wood meeting wood calls up something ultimately kind. It calls up her voice—strong as she could make it—and the pointed way she’d set the book on the table in front of him. 

Kate. You can make it out to Kate. 

There's courage, too. Every step of the way, all mixed up with anger and stubborn pride and sheer stupidity, there is courage between them. There is grace and forgiveness and monumental effort to work their way back to each other. There is the kind of love he has never had before. 

The phone rings just then. Exactly just then, and he is decided. He answers with his own name, clipped to sharp edges by fear, by misery, by determination. She says they need to talk. He says they do. 

"The swings,” he says and nothing more. 

“The swings,”  she echoes back, right away, and he can’t bear to hope it's an omen. 

He can’t bear to hope at all, but he unearths the ring he has had for longer than he can admit, even to himself. He plucks it from its silk-and-velvet depths and slips it, naked, into his pocket. This is his path out of this misery. He can't bear to hope she’ll join him on it. He can't bear to hope at all. 

But he is decided.  A/N: Stupid cover art. Another absolutely not-canon thing that breaks my heart. Blegh. Super extra terrible. Hmmm.

images via homeofthenutty

[itspileofgoodthings]

I can't believe I don't already know this---I probably do and just managed to forget---but Steroline or Klaroline?! And why? :)

It’s okay that you don’t remember! I’ve gone back and forth on this a lot haha.

Basically, both. And neither.

I think Klaus was meant to be the Love of Caroline’s life and in a sense WAS and I think the same about Stefan and Katherine. There’s something just right and equal and powerful about the two of them together in a way that can’t be replicated. If Klaus had chosen to change more fully and had really been more serious, I think they could have been amazing! And a perfect parallel/foil to delena. But I also don’t think that there is only one person in the world who can make you happy or be right for you so in the context of a story where neither Klaus nor Katherine are redeemed, Caroline and Stefan make sense. It would be a different kind of relationship, more grounded in friendship and support and less passionate or easily explosive, less of a challenging relationship essentially, but still potentially really soft and beautiful.

As things play out in canon I think both couples had potential and both end up being disappointing. I hated what they did with klaroline in season 5 (blegh) but I was even more disappointed by how Stefan and Caroline’s story ended up playing out. The will they/won’t they dragged on for too long and too much of the impetus was put on Caroline in an unfair and imbalanced way. Stefan never really seemed to respond even when he did. Even though there’s still a lot of beautiful moments, overall the effect is flat and forced.

Essentially I think the missing piece here in the case of both pairings is Katherine. If the show had understood her place in the narrative, and in relation to Stefan and romance especially, all the rest of the relationships would have fallen into place and Klaus/Caroline OR Stefan/Caroline would have made more sense and probably been better executed as either an exciting, redemptive, challenging dynamic or as a slow-burn friendship/romance that grew between two people who had both lost someone very important to them.

Or at least I think.

[skiecas]

fic: stream

pair: iwaizumi ღ oikawa notes: ch 285. nsfw (whoops). OIKAWA IS BACK AND IN LEGGINGS SO I HAD TO.

❦ 

Yeah, okay, so Tobio-chan had managed to save his team from a pinch. Big fucking deal. That was his goddamn job as a setter and as a member of a volleyball team; where was the applause when Oikawa managed to tip back on his desk chair just right and hold the position for longer than five seconds—an actual feat?

Seconds ticked as the tiny volleyball men on his screen resumed their play, and then he was yanking his earbuds and taking off running, blood boiling up inside of him. He screamed as he went, from the sheer frustration of it all. “Aaarngh!”

He passed another body on the trail, just bolted right past without even realizing until a lecture followed after him. “Settle down, idiot,” Iwaizumi said. “It’s not a race.”

Oikawa skidded to a halt from the surprise alone, frozen in mid-jog pose until Iwaizumi caught up and his body eased into movement again, matching his pace now. He was frowning petulantly and he wanted Iwaizumi to remark upon it, so of course he did not, and Oikawa had no choice but to bring it up himself.

“I see Tobio-chan is having fun at Nationals,” he sniffed. It came out sounding closer to a scoff when his mouth apparently decided he was more annoyed than he’d thought.

Iwaizumi’s answering tone was flat. “I told you not to check.”

“How could I not, when Kindaichi was blowing up the team chat with all his yelling? I can’t believe he of all people is cheering on that shrimpy from Karasuno. You wanted to look too, Iwa-chan, just admit it.”

“But I knew nothing good would come of it,” he retorted, “so I didn’t.”

“Yes, Iwa-chan, you’re sooo much better than me and everyone knows it, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Blegh.” He quickened his pace just a tad, just enough that he’d gain a bit of the upper hand so Iwaizumi would know he was annoyed and thinking of running ahead without him and then he’d feel sorry.

Iwaizumi was not sorry. He simply matched his pace without comment, too busy checking his pulse to notice that Oikawa was pulling ugly faces at him for trying to act all cool and mature, and did he think he was fooling anybody, trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered that it was Karasuno at Nationals and not them? He’d been especially quiet on the first day of the tournament, staring out windows and forgetting his wallet on the lunch counter and sighing, long and dragged out, like the world was out to get him just because his pencil had simply slipped to the floor during class.

Even just now, when Oikawa had dug his phone from his pocket and Google-searched the Nationals live-stream, he had rolled his eyes and run on ahead like he couldn’t be bothered—but he was bothered, Oikawa knew, so much, and that was the problem.

Oikawa let out another frustrated yell and strayed off the path to attempt a flying kick at a nearby tree, all the while screaming, “Tobio-chan can suck it!”

His foot collided. Pain erupted in his big toe and, oh god, he was pretty sure it was broken. Bad idea, very bad.

Iwaizumi made no move to check on him, the asshole. He could be heard muttering “idiot” as he continued with his steady jog and went on ahead, and Oikawa attempted to hobble after him, clutching his leg and hoping he sounded extra pathetic when he whimpered, “Iwa-chan, please, I’m injured.”

All right, so maybe he hadn’t really expected to be swept off his feet. But it would have been nice if Iwaizumi at least looked back.

Rude.

-

-

“Hold still, would you?”

“Just hurry up!”

Oikawa tutted. “I am trying, but I can’t when you keep wiggling like that.”

He managed to shimmy out of his shorts as he said this, teetering on a single foot while the only thing keeping him balanced and upright was his fist coiled into Iwaizumi’s jacket.

“This place isn’t big enough for two people,” Iwaizumi grumbled. He didn’t retract his hand from Oikawa’s waist, though, doing his part to hold him steady. “Why can’t you grab on to the wall?”

“Germs!” Oikawa cried, aghast. “Public bathrooms are a breeding ground for them, Iwa-chan, I could catch some flesh-eating virus and then what? Who’d bring that added sparkle into your life if I wasn’t around? Now, hold still,” he ordered, before Iwaizumi could say whatever he had opened his mouth just then to say—probably scathing words.

Oikawa tugged on the waistband of his tights, a line of his underwear and the ridge of his hipbone becoming visible. His foot still throbbed and that was why they were here, how he had convinced Iwaizumi to abandon his run and find some vacant coffee shop on the road instead. Please, Iwa-chan, it hurts so much. I’m dying, I think I’m really dying and I can’t die from a toe-related injury, I need to go out in a haze of flaming volleyballs or something equally cooler, not because my toe exploded. Iwaizumi had taken him round the neck and clamped a hand over his mouth as they asked a disgruntled and rather feral employee to point them towards the bathroom.

Oikawa performed some sort of one-footed acrobatics to untangle the one leg from his tights, then inspected himself. A little red, but otherwise, “It looks... okay.”

“Wow, I am so fucking honored to be sharing this disgusting bathroom stall with the king of melodramatics.”

“Well,” Oikawa argued, struggling to keep his dignity intact as he was now met with the challenge of adorning his leggings once more, “you should always check up on these things. Injuries only get worse if you ignore them.”

Iwaizumi did a full roll of his eyes, muttering “injury, my ass” under his breath, until they had done a complete three-sixty and landed back on Oikawa as he attempted to compact his thighs enough that they’d slip inside the fabric. He managed, but it didn’t look comfortable and he would have almost toppled over if Iwaizumi’s chest wasn’t harder and firmer than a diamond.

“Those are your sister’s leggings, aren’t they?”

He blurted out the observation as soon as it manifested, and was met with Oikawa’s rather stunned face before the poor boy basically could have made a living signaling ships out at sea, his ears were so pink they were practically glowing.

“Don’t laugh,” he hissed just as Iwaizumi barked out in laughter. Like, threw his head back and his whole chest shook and everything. Rude. “You know mine shrank in the wash—we can’t all be like you, you Sasquatch, just out in this weather in sweatpants—”

Iwaizumi wasn’t laughing anymore, but the smirk was palpable. It was one of his more attractive looks, that moment when he knew he was right and he was all set to be a total asshole who milked it for what it was worth and, goddammit, Oikawa was always on the fence about how to feel about being the receiving party.

“How did you know, anyway?” he demanded.

“They obviously don’t fit right.” The fabric had stretched almost to the point of bursting, not used to the girth of a proper athlete. But it was in the lines visible to him; the arches of his thighs, the dip of his hipbone, the curve that traced along his pelvis until it sank farther down and created just the faintest outlines of his— “Uhh. I mean, they’re, you know... they’re kinda tight... around your...”

Iwaizumi faltered, hand making a vague notion towards Oikawa’s crotch before he clamped his mouth shut. Shit. Was this cubicle the fucking tiniest space to ever exist or was it just him feeling like the walls were closing in?

Oikawa’s lips parted. Oh. Oh.

“Ohhh~” he trilled, leaning in closer, until all his weight entirely rested upon Iwaizumi’s chest and their noses touched, and then he fluttered his lashes very quickly and in his most obnoxious way. And he was smug, so smug, but a trail of fire was searing his stomach and forging a path in a messy descent down the rest of his body, a sticky and unbearable heat he wanted to share right now with Iwaizumi.

He thrust their hips together, rolling them until they were melded into one.

Iwaizumi squeezed his eyes shut, looking absolutely defeated, and uttered only a single syllable.

“Fuck.”

-

-

“Stupid, we’re in public!”

“All the more exciting, Iwa-chan, mmm...”

“I-Idiot, stop doing that. This is a public restroom, for fuck’s sake! What happened to all that crap about flesh-eating viruses?”

“I’ll let you suck aaaall over my flesh if that’s what you want, Iwa-chan~”

“...fuck.”

“Iwa—oof, you’re so rough.”

“God damn, I’m really gonna take you against this wall so good and—”

A knock sounded through the door. All their frantic rustling died away to nothingness when they froze, dread washing over the cubicle. Then, the same employee from the counter grunted across the barrier, “You two just about done in there? Get outta my shop.”

Angry footsteps slowly faded into silence.

The boys looked at each other.

“...your house or mine?”

-

-

Oikawa worried that the short distance from the coffee shop to Iwaizumi’s room would quell this sudden heat, but he shouldn’t have worried. The race home only heightened their senses, so aware of each other’s bodies and movements as they moved as one, and Oikawa’s blood was already pumping fierce and hot even before Iwaizumi all but threw him into his bedroom, thumbs coming up to press to the sides of his mouth when he took his lips.

Jammed them together, really, no thought for being gentle or kind. He was pressing himself to Oikawa’s thigh, just grinding the hell out of him like some rabid animal seeking relief, and where was all this sudden enthusiasm coming from when he’d had him in a headlock back in the bathroom stall?

“Iwa-chan, god,” Oikawa choked, then pushed back just as strong. If Iwaizumi was going to be this fucking hot without warning, he’d have to at least return it.

They stumbled like this towards the bed, making out and seeking friction. Hotter still was that they were both damp from their run, and Oikawa imagined Iwaizumi’s sheets smelling of sweat and sex intermingled when they were done, pictured them lying in it completely spent.

He was pushed onto the mattress. Iwaizumi climbed him, slinked up his body until his face was pressed between his legs, and Oikawa, he jutted his hips into the air and had to draw blood on his own lips to hold back a groan.

“Hnng.”

“Off,” Iwaizumi ordered, and he obeyed, scrambling for his shorts.

He reached for the hem of his leggings next, itching to tug them off and free himself for the taking, but firm hands closed around his. He stopped and looked up at Iwaizumi. He had this hard look on his face—dark, and really sexy.

“Not those,” he said.

Oikawa’s mouth fell open. “Iwa-chan?”

“I like them.” Well, shit. His voice was like gravel, throaty and low, as he whispered to him this filthy secret. “They make your legs look really twiggy and breakable, it kinda turns me on.”

Uhh? “What kind of weirdo kink—ung!”

Iwaizumi ripped off the leggings like he meant to tear them to shreds, his nails catching Oikawa’s skin and dragging against him to leave blaring red marks. He let them snap halfway down his thighs, and his hands were brutal and quick when he tossed him onto his stomach. Oikawa had enough time to grapple for a pillow, to bring it to his chest and bury his face in it, then he bit into the cotton fabric just as Iwaizumi sank his teeth into his flesh.

Squirming, he wailed, “I need to sit on that ass.”

“Huh. Cute. That you think you’ll be able to sit after today.”

Okay, fuck. Fuck.

Iwaizumi jerked up his shirt and roamed his hands all over his body, feeling him out and rubbing him where he was softest, making him squirm. Oikawa couldn’t see the room, he was so dizzy and so full of this need that was like a fever burning his skin, and his shirt was bunched around his chest and his body was half melted into the mattress when he heard Iwaizumi’s sweatpants being shucked to the side, and then a warm body was pressed to his, Iwaizumi’s mouth was on his ear and he was telling him, whispering, “You should see what you look like right now, Tooru.”

Then he was slick and warm upon his thighs, slathering him up with lotion before pushing himself into the hole he had created, into the little sliver of space above the band of his leggings.

He groaned as he sank in. “Goddd...”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathed, and his voice crackled. “Use me.”

Iwaizumi pushed his hips up once, and then thrust in, rutting hard against him, burning him with his heat and groaning into his ear and pressing kisses to the back of his neck or breathing on it, using the inside of Oikawa’s thighs the same filthy way Oikawa used his mattress. He looked over his shoulder and Iwaizumi’s lips were on his mouth, licking him and biting him and it was all saliva and really good, but all he thought of was thrusting and how amazing that felt, how hot this was, how hot his Hajime was touching him and using him as he pleased, groaning into his ear you’re incredible, Tooru, you’re, ahh, you feel incredible, ah—!

Iwaizumi came undone first; his hips came up with one final push, and Oikawa felt him spill hot and sticky over his legs. With what seemed to be all of his remaining energy, he wound a hand around and took hold of Oikawa, jerked him and rubbed him and helped him until the sounds he made were broken and pleading for more—Iwa-chan, please more, Iwa-chan ohmygod AH!—and then his hands also joined in, clumsy and fumbling as he gripped himself together with Iwaizumi and worked himself to climax.

Eventually, he also collapsed.

The sheets already felt dingy and wet, but he clung to them, to their softness and the distinct smell of Iwaizumi embedded into them.

“That was... hot,” he sighed into the pillow. His bangs were sticking to his forehead and it was annoying, but he didn’t have it in him to push them away.

He felt more than saw Iwaizumi snap his leggings off, freeing his legs and leaving him almost completely bare to the room. “Don’t get comfortable just yet,” he grunted, “because we’re not done.”

Oikawa tried to lift his head, managing a choked, “More?”

More than that fucking incredible experience?

A hand came down to smack his ass; the sound was sharp, and echoed into the room. Iwaizumi was smirking. “I seem to remember promising you wouldn’t be able to sit after today.”

Oikawa swallowed. Right. Right.

God, Iwaizumi was so sexy when he was like this, so dark and assured like he’d been put on this Earth just to fuck Oikawa to oblivion. Normally he avoided all his flirtations, all the needy rubbing and grinding and pleading, but when the flip was switched he was a new person altogether and that person was hot. Oikawa let that person pry open his legs and settle in between them, let him kiss and suck on his flesh and knead into him, soothe him and prepare him for more to come.

And the thought came to him, when they were joined, that his sister would definitely never see her leggings again.

[heytherejones]

The Perfect Gentleman

It confused her beyond belief, how he could be so different. In front of her parents, in front of their friends. He would kiss her cheek and hold his arm around her shoulder. He would peck her lips lovingly, never with tongue. He would tickle her just to watch her laugh. He would wrap his jacket around her shoulders when it was cold on the walk home with Archie and Ronnie close by. He was the perfect gentlemen. Until they got home. Until they were alone. Until they were behind the closed door of the trailer. And then her skirt was lifted up just slightly, her underwear barely down her legs before his pants are at his ankles and he's bending her over the desk, the kitchen counter, the dining room table. It's just like every other Thursday night. They're in a booth at Pops, his arm around her with Archie and Ronnie across from them. He's smiling at her, dough eyed, young and in love as she laughs at something stupid Archie said. He pulls her closer by her waist just slightly, watching as she leans into him comfortably and he sighs, happily. He's just being sweet, the gentlemen he always is she thinks, until under the table his hand is pushing apart her thighs, thumb pressed over the heart shaped bruise he left with his lips on her right thigh. The smile drops from her face, her movements stilled. He's not looking at her, still carrying on conversation with Ronnie about whatever classic movie they'd been talking about since they sat down. She swallows hard, milkshake at her fingertips, clutching the base of the glass as he caresses her thigh gently, slowly moving upward. And when he gets closer, his thumb presses into her right through the material of her pink cotton underwear. The sharp gasp goes unnoticed by Archie, but when he looks up from his milkshake he notices the pained look on her face. He pushes her underwear aside, finger dipping inside of her. "Betty, You good?" His face twists in confusion, eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah A-Arch." She manages to stutter out, hands moving from her glass to press flat on the table. His thumb moves torturously in circles, pressing harder. It's highly unfair. She looks to him eyes wide as she leans back against the booth. He's looking at Veronica, other hand propping his head up as he fucks her with his hand under the table. When it's unbearable her nails dig into the skin of his wrist, hard enough that there will be marks, but he doesn't flinch. "Let's go home, yeah?" He looks to her, grinning as he pulls his hand out from under her skirt, throwing his arm around her shoulder. She nods quickly, eying the hand he just had inside of her. "Walk us home guys?" He's all smiles, holding his hand out to his girlfriend to lead her out of the booth. He opens the door for her, shrugs his coat off, throwing it over her shoulders and pulls her into his side, arm around her waist. "You ready to go home, Betts?" He looks into her eyes, his own growing darker. She nods, her lips pressed into a firm line, excited and nervous altogether for what was to come. The walk home is silent, just the two of them a while off behind Archie and Ronnie, his hand firmly around her waist. "Alright Jug, see ya. Betty c'mon." Arch leans against the railing as Jughead pulls Betty up the stairs with him, still latched to her side. "I think Betty's gonna stay for awhile, right Betts?" He pulls her closer, looking up and down her face, blue eyes full of humor and confidence. "Yeah." She swallows hard, eyes looking from Archie to him and back. When he leads her inside the smile drops from his face. The door slams shut and she's against it, neck smothered with his lips. Her eyes close, and his lips are replaced with the cold air circulating through the opened living room window. "C'mere." He pulls her into the kitchen, turning her quickly around and pressing her back to his front. "You remember being right here don't you Elizabeth?" She's bent over the counter, her skirt lifted and underwear halfway down her thighs, his jeans and boxers at his ankles. Her cheek is pressed into the cold countertop. "Yeah-Yes..." "What did I do to you that night, tell me." He leans forward over her back, lips pressed to her neck. "You fucked me, right here Juggie." She gasps out, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. "How did I do it Elizabeth?" He pulls her hips backward as he pushes his forward. "Hard, Juggie." "You want me to do it again?" He fingertips push under her shirt, holding her hips tightly, nails digging into her soft porcelain skin. "Yes-Yes Juggie please." When he's inside of her she can't see straight, eyes rolling to the back of her head and her ears begin to ring. His hips push forcefully into her, her stomach pressing harshly into the counter, her head pressed to the table as she cries out. When she's close he pulls away, and then he continues, again and again he repeats till she can't hold her self up, his hands having to hold her by the waist and in place. "Tell me when you can't take it." His fingers curl through her hair, pulling back gently. It's all to much, causing sensory overload, she couldn't take it from the beginning. He pulls away and she almost falls, but he catches her, hoisting her up onto the countertop, yanking her underwear down the rest of the way. Then he's inside of her again and she can perfectly see the way he disappears into her and it's quite deliciously the most sinful thing she's ever seen in her life. Her head hits the cabinet, eyes closed tightly before she feels his hand at her jaw, thumb pressed into her cheek. He leans forward, his teeth catching her lip in between and he bites, hard. She cries out, hands around his neck as the blood draws from her bottom lip and he licks it away. "Watch me fuck you, sunshine." His thumb presses harder into her cheek, his eyes darting down to where hers are as she does what she's asked. Her legs begin to shake and her back begins to arch, pressing her closer to him. Leaning forward her teeth bite harshly into his shoulder, moaning against his sweaty skin. She shakes from her head to her toes, crying into his shoulder unapologetically loud. She collapses into him and he's completely overwhelmed by the scent of her, sweat, lilacs, and honey in all. When he pulls away from her she keeps her arms wrapped around him, forehead pressed to his. He leaned in, kissing her languidly and when she turned away for a moment, still breathless and dizzy, he continued, lips at her jaw. He pressed soft kisses down her throat making her burst into a fit of her sugar sweet giggles. "I wasn't too rough was I?" His eyes soften, his hand splayed out on the side of she neck. "You were the best, Juggie." "Yuck, Blegh-" His eyes shut and he shakes his head quickly. "Shut up. You're the best and you know it-" The door opens, Archie charging through. "Jug, I've got your phone, I think we-Oh, Oh my God!" "Holy shit! Archie!" Betty screamed, pulling her skirt down, Jughead quickly pulling his jeans up from around his ankles. "My God, Archie. Knock." Jughead holds his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. "So is it-" "If you ask if it's good I'm gonna kill you. Get out." Jughead groans, pointing to the door, Betty laughing behind him before he turns around and throws her a look. "Shut up." He growls.

[edwardsisland]

todorizuku replied to your post

“it pisses my best friend off everytime i say it (because he likes...”

yoo i get u (as much as i love xv it was always just... missing something) and like i'm so sad they retconned a lot of shit because it was just so interesting!!!!! it was more... connected, i guess? in XV gameplay it just feels kind of like a disconnection from the world but kingsglaive puts it together but still. VXIII had a solid looking story and XV has a lot of pretty graphics but the story is lacking. it has the foundations and the cores but no structure. u get vague answers for everything and nothing solid. why did bahamut stay out of everything? why is shiva acting as the bridge between the worlds? how IMPORTANT are the oracles really?  plus all the stuff with ardyn. why was he forsaken the way that he was? what was old lucis like back then? what about the empire that spanned the entire world??? we dont get ANYTHING about that and its really frustrating BECAUSE when you’re writing you dont have anything to base.. well.. anything on. its all vague and u have to subsitute your own stuff in and thats just blegh  kingsglaive gave us a new outlook on stuff and im just. i completely agree with u man

hostsamurai replied to your post

plus versus just seemed to have more world lore to it than ff15 does. i think versus' would have been more engaging and interesting

Yes to all of this haha also like the refugee situation from Galahd???? we got literally nothing from that in game, there could have been backstory stuff with gladio and maybe they would have to go to the city after it had been controlled by the empire. but yeah jaime you hit the nail on the head...the game just feels kind of hollow. i never really had a reason to care about anything or anyone in the game? it was missing a spark. at times it feels alive and you get some good character stuff but the rest of the time it feels flat af

[canaliculi]

The kind we dream of (1/?)

Welcome to Night Vale

Earl Harlan/Cecil Palmer

M: teens being teens, scouting, pining, adults being adults, time skips, grinding

There are certain things Earl remembers, that he knows Cecil doesn’t.

A series of loosely interconnected vignettes, that, arranged in a certain way, tell a story. A story about you. A story about me. A story about us.

You're always talking but you're not playing

There are certain things Earl remembers, that he knows Cecil doesn’t.

One of these is the way Cecil’s lips look after getting sucker punched. Split and swollen, a steady stream of blood and spit dribbling out. Red, cracked. It only accentuates their natural pout, and their owner’s natural inclination to use them to sulk. He’s doing so now, worrying the wound with his straight, white teeth and sniffling dramatically at precisely timed intervals. Earl shakes his head and wets the cream-colored terrycloth towel in his hand again. He presses it up against Cecil’s lips and savors the quiet hiss that whispers out, hot against his palm.

“I told-”

“Told ya so?” Cecil finishes for him, voice muffled around the washcloth still pressed against his mouth. It comes out slurred too, like Cecil is being careful, cognizant for the first time of how his tongue and teeth scrape along the inside of his mouth on every word.

“No- well, yeah, I did, but that wasn’t it,” Earl replies, and uses his free hand to pinch Cecil’s cheek. It causes him to wrinkle his face up in faux displeasure and leaves a smudge of red on his cool, pale skin. “I told you Steve was gonna punch you if you kept on like that.”

“Ugh,” Cecil says, as if that is explanation enough. It probably is, for Cecil. “He needs to learn when to keep his big trap shut.”

Earl snorts and pulls the cloth away. Cleaned up, it doesn’t look as bad, but bright red blood has trickled out from ragged gash in Cecil’s bottom lip, branched out like the roots of trees into the fine creases of his lip. Earl lifts up his free hand, the one not holding the increasingly stained rag, and takes hold of Cecil’s chin. He swipes his thumb along Cecil’s bloodied lip, presses down hard in the center, digs his blunt nail in, just a little. He does it again when Cecil sucks in a quick, shuddery breath around his thumb.

“You’re the one with the fat lip here, Cecil,” Earl says. Cecil is staring at him, and his tongue comes out to lick at the coppery, metallic liquid still oozing sullenly out of his lip. His tongue licks against Earl’s thumb before the other boy jerks his hand away like he’s been burned.

“Yeah, well…” Cecil says. His eyes are downcast now. “What badge do I get for that?”

Earl rolls his eyes, and is about to say that there isn’t a badge for getting rightfully bopped in the face, but he checks the Scouts’ Book of Accomplishments index just to be thorough – and because Cecil will make him look anyway, probably multiple times until they find a vague enough entry that Cecil can wriggle his way into saying applies – and there it is.

“Hey, there actually is one here!”

“Oh? What? Let me see!” Cecil crowds into his space, lanky limbs and cool skin that don’t ever show the barest hints of sunburn, and never the untamed spattering of freckles that Earl himself sports. Cecil, pale and excitable like a moon drenched lake, who never looks like he belongs smeared with dirt and blood.

Grinning, Earl can feel the tightness of his own sun kissed cheeks. He prods the intersection of a row and a column, a single, purposeful point. A fuzzy and nondescript black and white color badge, and a title printed neatly at its side. Cecil squints and leans forward, and Earl eyes the column of his neck. The drying line of thick blood over his chin.

“Just desserts from a just desert?” Cecil reads aloud, and then he straightens. Cranes his neck to gaze at Earl head on, chest canted towards him. They’re sitting on a wide, flat rock that’s been sopping up heat all afternoon, which is why Earl feels so warm and fuzzy. The rock is same matte brown as the rest of the desert, its only distinguishing feature being its relative height. “I thought that was one for, eating a bunch of ice cream? Or something.”

“Dutifully getting what’s coming to you,” Earl corrects, his lips twisting as he tries for a serious countenance. Cecil’s jaw drops and his eyes widen, the very picture of scandalized outrage. It’s enough to send Earl into fits of giggles, which Cecil seems to take as a personalized affront to his person, as after a huff the boy launches himself at Earl, and sends them both tumbling backwards into loose, coarse desert.

They wrestle, briefly, tossing each other back and forth with hurried, meaningless jeers. But Cecil’s good at subterfuge and subversion and, Earl guesses, probably anything that starts with a sub. And Earl’s good at being a scout. He lets them struggle for a while, racking up points towards the heat death of the universe, but Earl imagines that the stasis of the desert can make up for a little bit of racket every now and then. Their scuffle kicks up loose puffs of dust and sand that linger in the air.

When it’s over, Cecil’s on his back, chest heaving up and down and eyes all glittery with mirth. Earl’s got one hand cinched around both his slender wrists and he’s crouching over him, knees bracketing Cecil’s hips. Cecil smiles with his bloodied teeth, with dirt and grit sticking to the wet curve of his lip. Earl revises his earlier appraisal – Cecil looks as good as home, scuffed up and eager.

“Do you really think I got what was coming to me?” Cecil asks. He licks his lips then pulls a face, and turns to side to spit. “Blegh.”

“Nah,” Earl says, and he wants to lean, and he thinks Cecil wants him to, too, but he stands up instead, and brushes off his clothes. The plastic container he’d filled with water got spilled in their scuffle, and lies toppled next to the dark patch of its contents seeping into the sand. “You still got plenty coming, Cecil.”

He holds out his hand and Cecil grasps it. Earl yanks him to his feet. Cecil doesn’t let go, stays half a hand’s length too close.

“I think so too.”