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renrenlady · 3 years ago

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Do you do headcanons for the Papa Bruno AU? If so, can we have some of Bruno and Mirabel being the best father-daughter duo?

The Five Years Bruno Madrigal had with His Daughter

There isn’t a moment Mirabel isn’t held by someone and most of the time the culprit is Bruno

When she does manage to sleep in the nursery, she can only do it with Bruno’s ruana as a blanket

Because Pepa and Julieta already have their duties to fulfill in the village, the task of teaching Bruno how to be a father falls on Felix and Agustín and ultimately it makes the three so much closer than before

Mirabel is in no way a picky eater, but she can only eat if it’s dinner and a show. Bruno uses forks, napkins, hell even the salt and pepper shakers every meal to put on a short play or even a continuous series which Julieta secretly loves to hear when she’s in the kitchen

There was once a time Bruno was too tired to carry her full with his arms so he put her in a big tin bucket and just carried her around the village like a purse. Mirabel was delighted. Abuela…not so much

Speaking of Abuela, I think during this time she and Bruno actually get somewhat close. It’s been difficult (especially after his teens/early 20s where all three triplets got to be extremely rebellious) but she gave him an olive branch and he held onto it for dear life

Abuela is the one who teaches Mirabel the most about their culture and traditions and even helps Bruno do ‘the voices’ when reading her stories. It’s something only they share

When it’s just Bruno doing the story telling, he always tells her about how he and her mother met, but it’s always fantastical- like a fairytale

Bruno still has to perform his duties like the Madrigal he is but generally he takes his ‘daughter’ to work with him

She likes playing in the sand and when she’s able to walk, runs around when the visions happen, playing with the lights. When she was smaller though she would just sit in his lap and babble

“It seems you’re going to…receive some kind of bad news. Something about a boat- or maybe that’s a house?”

*babbling noises*

“No you’re right that’s definitely a boat.”

He talks to her a lot, about anything and everything

When she first learns to walk and talk it is by complete accident and at the same time

Bruno never got much sleep before, so post having a daughter was always going to be a struggle

He falls asleep while playing with her in the second floor hall (they were coloring) and Mirabel decides to try and wake him up

Bruno opens his eyes to the sound of “Pa…pa. Papa!” and the feeling of chubby hands on his cheeks

Needless to say there’s a huge party afterwards with Bruno constantly and excitedly asking Mirabel to say his name again and again. He can’t get enough.

When Mirabel is a full toddler, she gets hurt in the village while playing (scraped knee while falling into the fountain)

Bruno had been nearby speaking to one of the villagers about setting up a time for them to conduct a vision

When he heard her scream get cut off by a splash, Bruno thought he was dying. His chest became so tight and his stomach twisted so badly in fear and pain it would’ve been unbearable if not for the adrenaline

Later on Bruno finds out that she had been pushed by one of the kids while arguing and for the first time the family truly sees Bruno furious

After the little chat he has with the family of the child who hurt his daughter, no one in the village looks him in the eye for a week afterwards

Mirabel’s birthdays are always very special and Bruno takes great care in making the day absolutely perfect by waking her up with eggs being thrown at her head (a tradition in Colombia), being serenaded by the local vallenato musicians, and holding a looong asado (otherwise known as a barbecue party)

But the special tradition Bruno has created just for them involves Mirabel’s mother

After the guests leave and the Casita is quiet, they take a lantern and make their way to a large ceiba tree just outside of the Encanto

They quietly pray, as this is where Aelina Madrigal was buried (they never were able to get married but they honor her with the last name)

Mirabel speaks to her mother and tells her everything that’s happened in the past year. And when she’s done, somehow ‘magically’ a present appears in the crook of the tree

Inside is always a new dress and bow, lovingly hand sewn and embroidered with multicolored butterflies

Bruno always makes up excuses whenever she asks why his fingers are covered with bandaids

When Mirabel turns four, they begin to start theorizing

She constantly comes up with ideas which Bruno loves to indulge through games or playing pretend

Her favorites gifts she likes to pretend to have are flight, ‘being tall’ (Bruno doesn’t know what this means but he goes along with it anyway), or just copying one of her cousins powers cause she thinks they’re amazing

Bruno gets more anxious by the day as they get closer and closer to the big day

He doesn’t know what will happen, doesn’t know that his heart is going to break the second she looks at him when the door fades away, doesn’t know how much she’ll cry and cry and cry into his arms until falling asleep, doesn’t know how it’ll be the last time he’ll ever get to hold her

What he’s anxious about is the fact that once Mirabel has her gift, his mother will essentially take over

Helping her become ‘useful’ to the village

It makes him feel sick

Bruno sees Mirabel so carefree and happy and creative and smart and all of that is going to be pushed to the side for whatever tool she can be utilized as. He’s already seen it with his nieces and now shape-shifting nephew

He tries to spend every moment he can with her in the months leading up to her turning five and to Mirabel it’s some of the happiest days of her life

Bruno at the beginning of all of this didn’t know if he would be a good father. Hell he was barely a good person in his eyes, how was he going to look after one?

But he found over time, there was no greater joy than making her laugh, no greater joy then hearing her ramble and tell him everything and anything she knows

His real gift was being a father. A damn good one. And, at the very, very least, got to be one for five years

Bonus

Mirabel had always lost things, it had become a bad habit

Drawings, embroidered cloth, crafts, sometimes even her old clothes- always missing

She always chalked it up to being one of her many flaws

That is until she finds everything- literally everything in Tío Bruno’s space just behind the walls

It’s like a collage of just her for the past ten years. Everything she ever made was here, even the drawings of her and her imaginary friends Hernando and Jorge

And as she stares at the odd man at the center of it all, it just clicks

Mirabel approaches the terrified man, unable to meet her eyes

She reaches up her hands and gently presses them to his cheeks, he finally looks up at her and sees tears threatening to fall

And then Bruno hears a name he had almost forgotten

“…papa?”

#encanto #bruno madrigal #papa bruno au #papa bruno #mirabel madrigal #thank you so much for the ask!#and sorry it took so long I had to really think about it #feel free to ask more or for me to go into depth about any of these ideas #this was so much fun

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datfirstepisode · 2 years ago

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First Episode Review - 07 Ghost

Join me on my journey to watch the first episode of every anime on Crunchyroll in alphabetical order!

07 GHOST

He might have less painful thoughts if he pulled the spire out of his ass.

For the start of this adventure we could’ve done a lot worse than 07 Ghost.

07 Ghost has some of those post Code Geass vibes, but gayer. I’m not sure if this is the kind of show that would go full gay, or just tease us with an abundance of sexual tension between hot men for 25 episodes while never officially sealing the deal. Either way, there is barrels of hot men in this episode and only like, one woman who definitely isn’t going to show up again.

The front half was a bit exposition heavy, and yet I still only vaguely understand their world. Protagonist Teito and his best bud who likes to crawl into his bed and snuggle him (they’re just friends though, guys!) are in some military school to join some elite prestigious army. Who are they fighting? Why? Enh doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that Teito passes with flying colors because he’s the bestest, smartest, coolest student in school. In fact he doesn’t even need classes anymore because he’s surpassed all the teachers in awesomeness. Oh and he has amnesia because of course he does.

To pass the final exam you just have to beat the shit out of a criminal with five of your classmates. Sounds not too hard, except that the criminal is like, 40 feet tall for some unexplained reason. Are giants in this world? Or does evil build your muscles like steroids? Whatever. Regardless awesome Teito kicks his ass. (Right after the criminal is done rattling him like a salt shaker, which is kind of hilarious for what’s supposed to be a super tense fight scene.)

The second half of the episode is when the show decides to pour a literal bucket of hot dudes into your lap. Hot bad guys, hot good guys. Just so many hot guys. With the hottest being an evil guy who’s evil and also looking for someone who can use some super special relic. Of course it’s Teito. Teito is the chosen one. Unfortunately the relic makes a sound that awakens some tragic memories in Teito, and he attacks the hot bad guy. Hot bad guy is pretty dumb though. Even though he knows the relic user is nearby, and he literally has the relic in his hand, he doesn’t think to test the relic on Teito before attempting to murder his face. Like bro. You’re gonna have some serious egg on your face when you have to explain to your superiors that you killed the chosen one on a whim.

Anyways the episode wraps with Teito escaping and falls into the laps of even more hot guys. Just… hot guys falling from the sky, yo.

For a first episode I’d give 07 Ghost a 7/10. It’s fun, things happen, plot moves. The animation looks a little cheap but not awful. The hot guys are all tropey AF but they’re decently designed, albeit definitely radiate 2010 fujoshi vibes. In fact I’m surprised this show isn’t more well known, which makes me wonder if it horribly drops the ball down the line.

#anime review #anime #07 Ghost #fujoshi bait

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sketch-mer-6195 · 3 years ago

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A Fall From This Height Chapter 1: The Waitress (Frank Castle x Isabella Kahale {OFC})

Word Count: 1931 Warning(s): Frank Castle, A little cursing, Fluff. Frank deserves the fluff!

It hadn’t been all that exciting, nor that boring. Same shit, different day. Maybe a day or two of recuperating from injuries and wounds. Get some food, supplies, and laundry. God knows the man needed to do laundry with his night job. Frank, under the guise of his fake identity, Pete Castiglione, sat at the tiny diner that was basically a hole in the wall diner. At most, four booths, and the bar that had a grand total of eight stools. One of which Frank always occupied. Far right hand side right next to the grill and coffee machine. Best part, he had the whole diner to himself meaning he got to talk to the only waitress and cook at the buttcrack hour as she lovingly called it. Remind you, it was 4:30 in the morning when Frank arrived, hence the name of the hour, the buttcrack hour. Reaching over the counter, he grabbed the coffee pot that already had a hot pot of the caffeinated gold and poured himself a cup in one of the coffee mugs.

“Get your mitts off my pot!” The waitress called out with no anger in her voice.

“Morning, Bella.” Frank replied before drinking his coffee.

The waitress smiled and laid down a small napkin where Frank laid his coffee mug on. “The usual, Pete?”

Frank, better known as Pete in Bella’s eyes, looked up and leaned against the counter and gave her a questionable look. “What’s my usual?”

Bella shot him a look as she tied on her apron around her orange dress uniform and grabbed the eggs and bacon from the fridge. “Bacon and egg sandwich on white toast. Three bacon, crispy but not fairy dust.’ That earned a quiet snort from Frank. ‘Two eggs, fried. White toast with butter. And if you’re feeling a little peckish, a side of pancakes.”

“Right on the money, creamsicle.” Frank teased and earned an unamused look from Bella.

~~~

“Why in the hell did your boss choose orange as the uniform for you girls?” Frank asked, sitting at a booth with his plate of pancakes.

“Because Ben loves the color orange, for starters. And it’s a nod to his wife, Clementine, who passed away before he could open this place up.” Bella said behind her coffee mug that read ‘I am not liable to anything before my first cup of java.’

~~~

As Bella plated Frank’s food, she placed the plate and grabbed the salt and pepper shakers along with the ketchup bottle for him. With a soft ‘thanks’ from Frank, Bella smiled and went to clean off the grill. Scraping up the leftover egg splatter that left once white and now brown streaks on the grill, she began to touch tables and make sure that everything was set up for the morning rush at 7am and her usual crew of workers were scheduled accordingly. Frank watched in silence and slight admiration at how well she cared for the tiny diner. Something about her work ethic and how punctual she was getting to work at the same time, every time, and go about her day as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Finishing as quickly as she started, Bella grabbed her coffee mug and poured herself some liquid life, adding four sugars and a dash of half and half, she sipped some from her mug and let out a content hum.

“Oh man is that good…”

Frank merely shook his head as he had finished his breakfast and slightly pushed his plate away from himself. Rarely did they ever really talk, it was more in the lines of comfortable company. He kept to himself for the most part while Bella would keep to herself and ask from time to time if he needed a refill on his coffee. With the newspaper on the counter that she always gathered for the morning, Frank began looking at some of the articles and seeing if there was any leads to any recent crime, and maybe a job for the day time. He couldn’t live like a hermit forever, right? Bella, who was now serving a cab driver coffee and a scrambled egg glanced over to Frank and couldn’t help but get a good look at his profile.

Yeah, he’s probably been in a couple of good fights thanks to the shape of his nose. But it fitted him perfectly. His trimmed and neat haircut and how his broad shoulders fit perfectly in his dark gray button down. Bella jumped at the sound of the bell that was on the door ring which prompted her to get to work and see at least two of her coworkers walk in. One of them glanced at Frank and then looked over to Bella who was taking a couple orders and smiling brightly. Her coworker caught a glance at Frank watching Bella closely before hiding behind the paper and his coffee. Once Bella came back behind the counter and started cooking, her coworker leaned over to her and dropped her voice.

“Your not-boyfriend was staring at you.”

Bella narrowed her eyes slightly and shook her head. “First off, Stacey. He is not my boyfriend. Second of all, so what? Thirdly, aren’t you supposed to be making another pot of coffee and getting the eggs from the back?”

Stacey rolled her eyes and made a two finger salute. “Aye, cap. Oh and, you are so into Pete.”

Bella let out a laugh as she started cooking the orders that started to pile up. But still couldn’t help but glance over to Frank and catch him looking at her. He cleared his throat and hid behind the newspaper to try and hide the fact that he had been caught. But it couldn’t be helped. Frank had been watching her from a safe distance for almost two months since he moved. As the place began to become more lively, the cook had arrived and took over for Bella who filled him in with the orders and which were going out and what orders needed to be done next. Slipping past the cook and a couple other waitresses, Bella began her rounds of coffee. With two pots, one in each hand, she poured Frank another cup before continuing down the bar and to touch tables. Again, her routine stayed the same. Check on customers, pass out food and coffee, chat with a couple of the regulars, repeat. This routine was something Frank followed religiously and to watch for those wanting to cause trouble. But he also enjoyed watching Bella work and still have that pretty smile and hearing her laugh with and at her customers and coworkers.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he turned on the device to see the time. 8:30am. He over-welcomed his stay as he normally left at 6am. But today, he didn’t mind. And he was going to take the next step. Ask her out. Or at least try too. Taking a quick chug of his lukewarm coffee, Frank left his newspaper at his seat and waited until Bella was finished with her table and headed to the back to wash the dishes. Once she gathered the plates and drinkware, she turned to make a b-line to the back. Now was his chance. Frank rose from his seat and weaved in and out of people as he made his way to the back. The other waitresses didn’t seem bothered, nor the cook or the busboy. They were actually watching discreetly to see what was going to happen for their dear friend. Bella had been helping the bus boy with the dishes when Frank snuck in and made sure that he was out of the way of everyone else who were squeezing in and out.

“Hey uh, Bella?”

Bella turned around and smiled at Frank, a towel in her hands as she was drying them. God damn, Frank thought. Why does she have to be such a doll?

“What’s up, Pete? You do know you’re not supposed to be in here, hun.” Bella explained even though she showed no sign of ushering him out.

And the pet name. “Uh, yeah. I was wondering. You know, I know you’re busy and I dunno when your shift ends. But… yeah seeing to see if. Y’know… yeah.”

Bella smirked and easily understood where he was coming from. Crossing her arms, she raised her brow and shook her head. “You have got to be the worst to ask a girl out. Are you seriously that out of practice, Pete?”

Frank straightened himself and crossed his arms. He knew that he was gonna be a little rusty, but not so much that Bella would tease him like this. But, it was something that he liked about her, so he couldn’t be mad at her. Much. But it had been a while since he had properly asked a girl out for a date. Since his wife and children and him being the Punisher, he really didn’t have much time to feel normal of sorts.

“Yeah, whatever.” He scoffed with a dry chuckle. Frank looked over to her, with his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugged. “So, you wanna like… Grab some coffee after your shift? Maybe grab a bite to eat?”

Bella smirked and couldn’t help but shake her head and laugh lightly. “Shift ends at 1230 hours, soldier. Meet me in the back and you can accompany me to the grocery store in my ratty old truck that you keep picking at.”

“You mean that rust bucket of a Ford that keeps keeling over every Christmas?” Frank questioned in a teasing tone which earned a theatrical groan from Bella.

“Yes! My beloved 1960 Ford F250.”

Frank couldn’t help but scoff and smirk, dipping his head slightly before looking up at her. “So, it’s a date then?”

Bella hummed slightly in thought, tapping her cheek as if she was thinking about his statement. “If you consider grocery shopping as a date, then yes. It’s a date, Mr. Castiglione.”

With a stroke of bravery, Bella placed her hands on his shoulders to stabilize herself as she leaned up on her toes to press a small peck on his cheek before smiling and quickly slipping out of the tiny cleaning room to continue her job. Frank stood there, a bit surprised to be exact that she would just up and do that. But, smirking to himself Frank left the room as discreetly as possible only to make eye contact with Bella from where he was sitting earlier and feel the corner of his mouth twitch upwards with a ghost of a smirk. Bella returned a bashful smile and ducked her head down as she cleaned up his corner and continued with her work. Frank shook his head and soon left the diner, but not without talking to one of the other waitresses and handing her something. As he left and got into his truck, Frank ran a hand over his face and let out a sigh.

Was this the right thing? He hasn’t been with another woman in what felt like an eternity. Yet Bella. Something about her just gave him a feeling that he wanted to investigate, crack open and find the prize that makes Bella, Bella. Putting the key in the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot, Frank nodded to himself and was looking forward to seeing her later in the day. Even if it was grocery shopping, it was time with her and out of their safety zone of the diner.

(If anyone would like to be a part of this series or be tagged, please let me know in the comments please!)

Tag List: @ocfairygodmother

#frank castle #frank castle x oc #Isabella Kahale #the punisher

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nabi-anon · 2 years ago

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Here it is...

The updated list of

Nabi's Favorite Becca Quotes

“This isn’t about my titties, baby, it’s about yours.”

"pussy-drunk"

"What are you doing?"

"As little as I possibly can"

"On the floor?"

"They’re all just beans, aren’t they?"

Minnie. Everything Minnie says is iconic:

‘hello!!!!!!’

‘yo u have to wear’

‘princess dress!!!!!’

“Hi. I’m coloring.”

"Is she talking about…the sentient salt and pepper shakers? Do they have babies? Why do they have babies?!"

“Daddy! Is it a secret mission?!”

“Of all the places – what on EARTH are you doing?!”

"I'm eating."

“Bet you’re fuckin’ delicious, too. Am I gonna get to taste?”

“Can’t wait to feel this sweet pussy around my dick.”

“Baby wants me to give her a baby."

“You wound me. Shot to the heart. Only thing that can make it better is some sweet, sweet pussy."

"You’re such an idiot.”

“I love when you dirty-talk me,”

"Coaxing emotions out of a pouty and sullen Han Jisung is like whipping egg whites"

“Shut up, I’m being Dispatch.”

“I could never forget you, Hyuck, no matter how hard I try,” (the reader this whole fic has Fi energy)

“Kun-hyung thought I was his delivery. I was not.”

"You make a mental note to kill Donghyuck later. He’s had a good run, but it’s time."

“Because that would mean you’re the first person he’s actually been into besides Mark, and that doesn’t count since we all have a Mark phase.”

“If we fail, I’ll just, like, eat you out and call it a day.”

"He’s past his expiration date as it is, he’s just living on borrowed time."

"My apartment is tainted and my roommates are boning."

"You're the brains and I’m the tits"

"Also maybe the detail in which I have seen his penis without my consent"

"the neos gotta kiss more people on camera smh"

"#i remember when that came out

#it was hot then

#and it's hot now"

"dawn can be 2 people here okay"

"Who in txt gives ‘needs to be pegged’ energy?"

"if they're in txt, that's their energy"

"the HEELYS stay ON during SEX"

"i like a changbin who knows exactly how hot he is"

"I would get my ass sued off me I'm America"

"this English interview he was on his absolute best of understanding almost everything but also nothing at all"

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pretendingboyfriends · 4 years ago

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Warnings: smut babayyyy

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: A quiet evening in Italy with Harry.

On an Evening in Roma - Dean Martin

The coral hue of the setting sun seeps through the open doorway leading to the terrace, casting a similarly colored shadow onto the tile floor as the two of you move around the kitchen. A warm breeze drifts through the room causing the curtains framing the door to flutter daintily and the scent of the homemade bread to waft throughout the house, setting a soft and romantic mood for the evening.

You leisurely pour a second glass of wine for Harry and yourself before you begin crafting your meal, the warm buzz of impending intoxication lulling the both of you peacefully along with the soft jazz you have playing quietly in the background. You both have aprons tied around your waists to prevent your clothes from being splattered with flour or wine, aware of your tendencies for clumsiness.

“Can you crack the eggs into a bowl for me, darling?” You request, nudging the small carton of eggs towards Harry as you scoop the right amount of flour from the bag and onto the clean counter.

“Mhm,” He hums happily, “How many?”

“Two is fine.” You smile, shaping the flour into a decently large pile before pressing your fingers into the middle to make a well for the eggs and sprinkling a little bit of salt into it.

Harry quickly cracks the two eggs into a small bowl and sets the bowl on the counter besides you. “Okay, now what?”

“Now, we pour the eggs into the middle of the well I’ve created in the flour, like this,” You start, reaching for the bowl of eggs as Harry watches intently, pouring them carefully into the well. “And then we knead it with our hands, like this.” You finish, burying your fingers into the flour, kneading slowly and carefully as Harry rolls up the sleeves of his button up.

“Can I just-” He mutters, walking behind you slowly and wrapping his arms around you, placing his hands over yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder to watch what he’s doing. “That’s better.”

You snicker girlishly at him, shaking your head as you continue to knead with his hands over yours. “You’re an absolute idiot.”

“Mmm, yeah, but you love me.” He hums through a chuckle, nudging his hips against you playfully.

The two of you knead the flour and egg mixture into a malleable dough, making sure to add flour when needed. Harry’s playful attempts to flick flour into your face has a smile glued to both of your faces as you giggle and scold him for getting into your hair, though truthfully, you don’t mind.

Once the dough is thoroughly mixed, you form it into a ball and wrap it tightly with cling wrap to let it rest.

“Now, after we let the dough rest for 15 minutes, we flatten the dough out with a rolling pin,” You announce, slipping from your place between Harry and the countertop to find a rolling pin. “And then, after that, we cut it into the noodles.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows excitedly, taking his half empty wine glass from the counter and downing the rest of the liquid as he watches you. “What kind of sauce are we having?”

You pull a wooden rolling pin from a drawer, mumbling a small “aha!” before setting it on the counter. “I was thinking alfredo, if that’s alright with you. It’s simple and doesn’t take long at all.”

“Sounds amazing,” He hums, stepping towards you to curl an arm around your waist and press your body against his. He leans down for a moment to capture your lips between his and your hands come to rest on his chest. Your lips meld together languidly for a few passing moments as he presses you into the counter and trails his lips down your jaw to your neck. You can’t help but whimper from the plush warmth of his lips, sponging along your skin.

“Salad!” You exclaim suddenly.

Harry frowns, pulling his face from your neck, “That’s what you’re thinkin’ about right now? M’doing some of my best work over here and all you can think about is salad?”

“Well, we need something to go with the pasta and bread and we have that vinaigrette that we still haven’t tried.” You reply, patting his cheek with your hand before you wiggle from his grasp. Harry watches you with a pout on his lips, making you roll your eyes at him as you take a container of lettuce from the fridge.

Minutes later, the two of you are back working on the pasta, a pot filled with water is put aside as you slice the rolled dough into fettuccine pasta. Harry watches as you cut into the dough, creating almost perfectly measured strips, all dusted lightly with flour to prevent them from sticking to the counter.

“Can you turn the stove on to let the water boil? I’m almost done with the noodles.” You hum, glancing up at him. He quickly complies, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sliding over to the stove and turning the dial to high. “Oh and salt the water, too. Helps it boil faster.” You add, sliding the salt shaker towards him.

Once the noodles are boiling and the bread is cooling on the counter, you and Harry pour yourselves some more wine and begin swaying to the sound of Dean Martin crooning in Italian. His arms are loosely wound around your waist, one hand grasping his wine glass. You have one arm draped over his shoulders, the other grasps your own wine glass, allowing you to sip it at your leisure.

“Quite like this,” Harry purrs, eyes focused on yours. “Havin’ you all to myself for awhile. S’nice.”

You smile, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. “It is nice.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours gently, continuing to sway the two of you side to side. His lips taste strongly of red wine as he licks into your mouth, a low grunt vibrating from the back of his throat. Your fingers tug at the curled tendrils of his hair as you adjust your grip on the wine glass, careful not to spill or drop it.

Suddenly, the hissing of water overflowing onto the hot stove causes your face to separate from Harry’s with a quiet smack as you whip your head to the side to see the water from the noodles spilling over the side of the pot.

“Shit,” You mutter under your breath, unwrapping yourself from him quickly to turn the heat down and fan at the bubbles with an oven mit. The water and bubbles calm to a simmer and you sigh in relief, stirring the noodles slowly.

“Everything good?” Harry asks, leaning over your shoulder to watch you stir.

“Yeah,” You breathe through a sigh, “I think they’re done anyways.”

Eventually, you’re serving the noodles onto two plates as Harry tosses the salad and slices the bread. You slice a few small pieces of butter onto the steaming noodles before grating parmesan cheese over them generously and stepping back to admire your work.

“Looks delicious,” Harry smiles, slicing a few pieces of bread from the loaf.

Once everything is finished, you bring the food to the terrace, placing all of it on the small, round table to set up for the evening. Both of you discard your flour dusted aprons to reveal your cream, silk slip dress that reached to mid thigh and Harry’s white button up with a lavender sweater vest layered on top of it, paired with his brown, flared trousers. As always, he looks like a dream.

You sit across from each other and enjoy one another’s company as you eat, the sun slowly setting as you lounge. Harry endlessly moans over how delectable everything is and you giggle at him, nearly kicking them under the table every time he makes a sound.

After both of you clean your plates completely, you finish off the bottle of wine, splitting the remainder of the liquid between the two of you before migrating to the metal railing of the terrace. Harry’s arm is wrapped around your waist tightly, pressing you into his side as you gaze out into the quiet street.

“Lovely view,” He says from beside you and you nod, glancing at him to find him staring directly at you.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your wine glass and muttering “Wanker” under your breath before turning your attention back to the actual view in front of you. He chuckles to himself quietly, easily dragging you around to his front so that he can wrap both arms around you from behind. His lips drop to your shoulder, softly trailing along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can still hear the music playing in the house, Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind Of Love” drifting from the small speaker on the kitchen counter to the small terrace where the two of you sway.

You stay like that for awhile, drinking in the perfect weather and enjoying one another’s company until the sun goes down and the only sources of light are the street lights below and the soft light coming from the kitchen. By this time the tune of Yes’ “Yesterday and Today” is playing, the soft piano nearly lulling you to sleep in Harry’s arms.

“S’gotten dark,” He hums into your neck.

“So it has.” You reply, opening your eyes for the first time in what seems like hours.

“Think we should head in?”

You grunt quietly in response, allowing Harry to unwrap himself from you and lead you to the doorway. The sudden prospect of what’s about to come causes both of you to become giddy with excitement. The alcohol coursing through your veins heightening your emotions immensely.

The two of you stumble back into the house from the terrace, tripping over one another’s feet as you giggle drunkenly. Neither of you bother to shut the door behind you, leaving it wide open for anyone to hear or see into your house.

Harry falls back onto the couch, gazing longingly at you as you stand above him. His hands dropping to the backs over your bare thighs and tugging you forward to straddle him. You snort loudly and press your nose into his cheek as you wrap your arms wrap around his neck.

“Dinner was nice,” He mumbles, pressing hot kisses to your neck. You hum in agreement, clutching the curls at the base of his neck as his lips move. “Think I’m ready for dessert now.”

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips into his, “What kind of dessert were you thinking?”

He pulls his face from the crevice of your neck, his hands sliding to grip your waist and push you against his growing bulge as he gazes up at you with lust blown pupils. “The kind where you ride me right here on the couch.”

The delicious feeling of Harry’s bulge pressed directly against your clit mixed with the sexy rasp of his words causes a quiet whimper to pass through your lips. You lean forward, capturing his lips between yours fervently as you grind your hips against his slowly over and over.

“How’s that sound, baby?” He asks, pulling away for a moment to gaze up at you.

“Sounds good, s’good, just- please,” You slur, desperately pulling him back in for kisses. He chuckles drunkenly against your lips and slides his hands up your thighs beneath your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist so that he can easily grasp your ass and press you into him. You whimper a little louder this time, fingers tangled into your lover’s mop of curls as he works you up.

Harry’s fingers find the waistband of your thong and he helps you tug them down your legs before dropping them onto the couch cushion beside him. Your hands start to fumble with the button of his slacks, fingers working loosely due to your intoxicated brain.

Finally, his trousers are off and kicked to the side along with his briefs and you’re stroking him slowly as his lips brush against your clavicle. He’s discernibly hard already, rutting his hips up against your hand despairingly. You push yourself up onto your knees above him, holding him right against your entrance before slowly sliding down onto him. Once you’re fully seated in his lap, you gasp out a moan, pressing your forehead to his as he breathes out his own guttural moan.

“So fuckin’ tight,” He mutters under his breath, hips jutting up into you subconsciously.

The thin strap of your dress slides off your shoulder as you begin to move on top of him, the movement causing your braless breasts to nearly spill out of the fabric. Harry leans forward, pressing hot, wet kisses to the swell of your breasts as you move, both of you whining breathlessly.

“Mm, Harry,” You gasp after he thrusts up into you harshly, his tip brushing directly against your g spot and causing your legs to quiver violently.

“That’s the spot, hm?” He growls, wrapping his arms tighter around you to aid him in thrusting against the same spot over and over as you bounce against him. You nod weakly at his venereal question, hiding your face in his neck and pressing your chest flush against his.

Your tepid, clammy bodies slide against each other with every girate of your hips, fingers tangled between locks of hair, tugging and combing at the tendrils. Neither of you are fully undressed, Harry's vest and button up crumpled up over his belly button, both straps of your silk dress barely holding on to your shoulders, but you’re both so entrapped with each other that neither of you care.

“Fuck,” you whimper, biting into his shoulder. “You’re so big, H. Always feel so good.”

He grunts, pushing up into you harder and silently requesting a kiss from you by moving his head to nudge against yours. You move your head to kiss him, haphazardly taking his bottom lip between yours. His tongue slowly works its way into your mouth as you kiss, hands pressing into your ass cheeks to push you onto him deeper. You move back against him harder, chasing your imminent release no matter how much your thighs burn and ache with your constant movements.

“I’m gonna cum,” You breathe into his mouth, his arms immediately tightening around your waist to pull you into him and thrust upwards harshly.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb quickly gliding over your slippery clit. “Shit- c’mon, cum for me, baby.”

You toss your head back onto your shoulders, Harry’s lips immediately stamping into the column of your throat as you gasp and your thighs tighten around his waist. You cry out as the knot snaps and warmth spreads across your body from within, Harry continuing to fuck into you from beneath you.

“That’s it, good girl.” He mutters into your throat, perspiration building at his hairline as he chases his own orgasm and brings your body down into his.

Moments later he grunts into your skin, cum spilling into you thickly. Your hips roll into him slowly, coaxing everything out of him as his head falls against the back of the couch. Your fingers slip into his sweaty curls, gently and soothingly stroking his scalp whilst the two of you catch your breath. Leaning forward, you press gentle kisses to his face and he mumbles under his breath, “So fuckin’ good to me,”

The playlist you put on is finally repeating itself after sifting through nearly 2 hours of songs. The door to the terrace is still wide open, curtains quivering slightly from the steady breeze. Harry finally regains his strength and rolls the two of you over so that you’re lying back against the couch cushions, hips still pressed together as he hovers above you. He presses a few kisses to your neck and face before he pushes up onto his knees and pulls out of you.

He steps away for a moment to grab a damp washcloth for you to clean up with and returns with a clean pair of boxers on and a t-shirt for you to wear (along with the washcloth, of course). He helps wipe the stickiness from the inside of your thighs before waiting for you to change into his t-shirt.

Once you’re both (for the most part) cleaned up, you pitter into the kitchen to grab a small container of gelato from the freezer. “Up for some real dessert?”

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OK HEY!! i kinda just wrote this bc i saw a tik tok of a couple making pasta and wanted to write something similar so here ya go <3 don’t forget to reblog and send me asks!!!<33333

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

Note

"That's enough sugar for you."

Amy can't believe her own ears.

She wishes they had nanny cams in place, for once, something that could've caught what she'd just watched happening right in front of her eyes, and that no one outside of their little apartment would ever believe.

-*-

The kitchen was a battlefield, but that was nothing new or unexpected for the Santiago-Peralta household, especially when they decided to team up together in the rare event that Jake trusted Amy with some smaller tasks during their cooking. Flour, milk, sticky eggs and eggshell crumbs were covering the floor and most surfaces, mixing with powdered sugar, cocoa powder and colorful sprinkles on the counter.

She's already making a mental list on how to best tackle this mess once they got to the clean-up stage, but right now the giggles she could hear above the soft lull of christmas music in the background was far more important.

Mac, leaning against the kitchen counter from the stepladder they've pulled out of the hallway closet, is being held tight around his waist by Jake as he bends forward, pushing cookie cutters into the dough they've spread out with a precision you wouldn't expect from a four year old. There's an already full tray of finished cookies next to them, some perfectly decorated with icing lines and little beads by Amy, some covered in as many sprinkles as possible by Maya's little hands dropping them wherever she could (after stuffing most of them into her mouth, sitting on the counter in prime reaching spot for all the sweet things). There's some decidedly not-christmassy-looking turtles and ducks between the little santa hats, stars and sleighs, but at least Jake has drawn an icing Santa-outfit on some of them.

They've got a few others baking in the oven - checker-board cookies and vanilly-flavoured little crescents - but it's all about the sugar cookies for their two little ones, cutting them out and placing them on the sheets, covering them with decorations, playing out little scenes and snacking on half of them before they can even be boxed up to be given as workplace gifts the way Amy had planned. (There's a few little snowmen and gingerbread men shaped ones already set to the side, covered with blue icing and a tiny police badge sprinkle that Amy had found on some obscure online baking site, that will sit on top of each little gift box to greet their respective human counterpart. Jake has taken extra care to draw the perfect icing scowl on the Rosa and Holt ones.)

Mac laughs as he lifts up the cookie cutter and watches the dough he's just cut out drop onto the counter, the reindeer in turn losing most of his legs and antlers. He picks it up straight away, balls it together with his sugar-covered hands and stuffs it in his mouth.

"Broken ones have to be eaten", Jake had stated when they started and he himself had accidentally torn apart the first few duckies he'd stamped out, and smiled at her while chewing. She'd rolled her eyes - the dough could easily be remixed and rolled out again, but okay. Maybe she'd snuck a few of them away from his and Mac's fingers too, and Maya had gotten one to try as well.

But right now it seemed like every second cookie was doomed to 'break' as Mac wiggled and waved the cutters around while giggling louder and louder.

"How about we try and get one more sheet full of good ones, hm?" Jake says as he grabs another ball of dough from Mac's fingers and snarfs it up before the little guy can protest. "Mama needs at least another to get her gifts ready. Okay?"

Mac hesitates for a moment, nods - and drops another little snowman who becomes headless. Jake picks it out of his hands before he can eat it, though.

"Alright, that's enough sugar for you, bud."

And with that, Amy's world comes to a standstill. The christmas song in the background turns into silence, as she stares at Jake pushing the snowman-dough back into the rolled out pile, ignoring Mac with his little pout and pulling the shaker of sprinkles out of Maya's hands too before she can cover the whole counter surface with it.

It only starts moving again when Jake looks at her with a quizzing look and a soft "Ames?".

"Did you just-" She wants to ask, but can't stifle the surprised giggle that escapes her. Jake doesn't seem to follow.

"Did you just seriously tell someone else they've had enough sugar?!" She laughs now, and Maya joins in simply because she always does when Mama is laughing.

"Shuddup." Jake mumbles as he blushes, but he can't help but smile himself.

"No one will ever believe me." Amy continues to laugh as Jake prevents Mac from eating another one of the already finished cookies.

"I'm allowed to be an adult sometimes, okay? I have two kids." Jake scoffs, still with a grin to his face. "And I watch out for their health, so I know too much sugar is bad."

"Sure, Mr. Breakfast Burrito."

"Hey, I haven't had one of those for-" Jake pauses and then sheepishly stares down at the counter. "-months."

Amy laughs again as she picks up a giggling Maya, walks around the counter to her two boys to press a kiss to Jake's flour-covered cheek.

"Such a good grown-up." She teases with a wink, and knows Jake would jokingly bite her lips on that short kiss he gives her after, if it weren't for Maya in her arms already trying to hug him, and Mac in his that he's still holding onto while he continues to cut out perfect, non-broken cookies.

-*-

They end up with some very presentable gift boxes and a little bowl of cookies for their own dining table, in the end, and if Amy has to retell the story of how Jake scolded someone for eating too much sugar as she hands out the boxes to the squad, well, they all need a good laugh once in a while.

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta #amy santiago #peraltiago #headcanons #mac peralta #maya peralta #my writing #ficlet

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 4 years ago

Text

Trinkets, 42: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A talisman depicting a forgotten deity from a bygone era. If you held to the ear, the bearer can hear faint murmurings.

A rudimentary tripwire consisting of a length of thin string wrapped around two small sharpened, wooden stakes along with a length of tiny, ash-darkened, copper bells that can be wrapped around the tripwire. The trap can cover an area five feet in length.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Mudder's Milk” on its lid. The keg is filled with a batch of stout beer so dark, dense and filling that it could pass for a soup in bad lighting. The beverage has all the proteins, vitamins and carbs of a full course of your grandmother's best turkey dinner plus 15% alcohol. The keg contains enough beer to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A map of the local tavern, showing several levels of basement below it. The last three levels are crossed out and "don't go here" is written in pencil.

A single black envelop upon which is a single silver glyph, lightly afire. You do not recognize the language, nor even the alphabet of the burning symbol. Regardless, while touching the mysterious inscription you are instinctively aware of its meaning, as if the words were branded with eldritch fire directly on the grey matter of your soft humanoid brain; "VACATION APPROVED”. You know in your mind exactly what it says. You wish you did not know. If you are able to ken the ancient eldritch script of the elder primordial beings from before recorded time, you are able to understand that the note was written by an unknown number of entities known as “Station Management”.

A sheet of parchment with a black handprint and the words "We Know" written underneath it.

A lustrous black flask inlaid with a silver skull pattern. It is plugged with a skull-shaped stopper with reflective red eyes. To complete its menacing appearance, the eyes glow slightly in dim light. Knowledgeable PC's can determine that the viscous green fluid the flask contains is actually an antivenin for the treatment of giant spider bites.

A clean steel sap spigot that can be rammed into a tree in order to allow it to pour forth the sap inside.

A silver chain on which hangs a polished silver bell the size of a thimble. At one point in the bearer's life, the bell will ring three times, producing three bursts of silvery sound with a brief silence after each. The vibrations that shiver through the bearer's body will seem much too strong to have been produced by such a tiny clapper. This squared trio of ringing heralds that great danger will soon befall the bearer from which he is unlikely to survive.

A painting of gnolls gambling with playing cards.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A talisman depicting a forgotten deity from a bygone era. If you held to the ear, the bearer can hear faint murmurings.

A map of the local tavern, showing several levels of basement below it. The last three levels are crossed out and "don't go here" is written in pencil.

A sheet of parchment with a black handprint and the words "We Know" written underneath it.

A clean steel sap spigot that can be rammed into a tree in order to allow it to pour forth the sap inside.

A painting of gnolls gambling with playing cards.

A carved stone plate with horrifying pictographic symbols etched into it.

An unremarkable silver coin whose faces sport two expressions. One face is joyfully exuberant, and the other is depressingly dour.

A deck of playing cards that will always deal the worst possible hands to all players.

A simple silver key with “Guest Room” etched finely on the handle.

A pouch of very small bones that can be fitted together to form a strange, highly complex and obviously occult symbol.

A small hourglass holding enough sand to mark the passage of one minute. The bases are made from obsidian flecked with gold and carved to resemble a long-fingered hand holding the hourglass at each end. The glass itself is made from fine crystal and the sand inside is red.

A small dark rock (Two inches in diameter) that was naturally formed into the shape of a demonic creature with bat wings folded around its body. It is semi-translucent with a dark center that sometimes seems to move. Occasionally it seems to whisper. If one listens closely, the whisper can be understood, but it is a foul and evil entreaty to do some horrible act. A bearer who chooses to obey these instructions, never feel remorse or guilt during or after carrying out the horribly despicable and particularly sadistic actions. Should a bearer who performs evil deeds at the stone’s bequest lose the rock or stops carrying it on his person, the awareness, guilt and shame of his evil deeds comes back to him all at once and he is thrown into deep despair.

A silver hand mirror ornately engraved on both sides; one side bears a frowning mask, while the opposite bears a smiling one. There doesn't appear to be an actual mirrored surface, despite its shape.

A figurine made of twisted fragments of copper wire. It is in the shape of a bird-headed human and although it seems to be many hundreds of years old. Extremely knowledgeable PC’s are able to determine that it is in fact a fake that has been aged to appear antique. Nevertheless, it will still fool anybody who is not an expert on the art of the period. Its metal value is only a handful of copper but it can be sold for a good deal more to the right (i.e. uninformed) buyer.

A walking stick, shod with silver and with the head of an eagle as its handle. The eagle’s head once had two garnets for eyes but these have long since become mislaid. If the head is grasped firmly and unscrewed, it will reveal a long but thin container which can be used to store liquor.

A bulbous flask of opaque white glass filled with a slightly syrupy fluid that’s a deep, warm golden color, almost metallic looking.

A mask bearing a dread visage crafted of wrought iron and set, is perpetually set with a sneering saturnine face.

A pair of goggles with hexagonal mineral lenses of a sharp yellow hue, secured in bronze frames, with a black leather strap that feels slightly scaly and slimy. They give off a faint odor of rotten eggs if sniffed directly.

A dagger sized scabbard containing strips of natural sea sponges on its interior. By carefully pouring a dose of poison into the empty scabbard (An action equivalent to attacking), the bearer can saturate the sponges with the toxin, which keeps it viable and wet for up to four hours. When a dagger is drawn from the sheath, it is automatically envenomed as if the liquid was applied directly. The bearer can also pour holy water or flammable oil into the sheath but acids will destroy the sponges. This kind of item is usually illegal in areas that outlaw poison.

A large mummified paw of long dead beast. Dried blood stains the fur around the petrified claws which are still razor sharp.

A deep violet sash made of silk adorned with gold embroidery of imps and succubi dancing with each other.

A small metallic whistle with a single blowhole. The pipe is divided into a number of twisted and interlocking tubes, with many holes for the air to exit. This strange configuration produces a cacophonous mess of simultaneous sounds when blown.

A matching shaker set of celestial salt and abyssal pepper.

A hooded lantern that is painted rather intricately with a house cat motif depicting cats playing in different poses. It’s mostly painted in whites and pinks, and it has small scuff marks on one side.

A delicate bracelet, carved out of lapis lazuli, featuring the initials XER on the interior facing.

A dark leather and silk monstrous mask with jet eyes.

A jangling bracelet of tiny golden bells and fine-toothed cogs on crimson silk rope. It is suited to a small wrist interested in intricate mechanisms.

A glass jar containing a heart that continues to beat.

A plain-looking wooden bowl of water, which remains unnaturally still while inside it. Looking at one’s reflection in the water shows an idealized version of oneself, in accordance to the viewer’s ideals. Perhaps by lowering one’s head into the bowl for long enough, one can gain insight into how to become the self seen in the bowl.

A silver oak leaf cloak clasp, edged and highlighted with gold.

An ancient drinking horn crafted from some extinct beast. Those who drink from it have dreams of being a huge predator roaming unchallenged through a prehistoric landscape.

A detailed sketch of a cross section of a brain, with a long foreign object being inserted through the front. Labelled fig 2: proper extraction positioning.

A bunch of scrapped papers that, if unfolded, reveal badly written poems describing the writer's deep love for a womanly shaped rock existing in a nearby forest.

A heavy copper belt buckle resembling an axe head.

A wistful portrait of a singular dark mountain on a broad plain, trees covering the top third of it and nowhere else, far higher than trees ever normally grow on a mountain. The middle of the mountain sports two large overhangs of rock above deep depressions, not quite caves. A stream flows down the bottom third of the mountain, splitting its flow around an overhang that shelters a massive cavern entrance that goes who knows how deep.

An aged obsidian fruit knife with bronze handle.

A piece of exotic wood, carved to look like a quill, with a gold tip. Its purpose is obviously ceremonial and no doubt used for signing important decrees or documents, as it is awkward to write with.

A silver and brass mirror with lewd designs hidden around the frame.

A gilded oil lamp with ornate scrollwork cutouts of a warrior, and an evil sorcerer, meant to cast shadows on the wall in their shape.

A blood red mask made from carefully sculpted bone, shaped to look like the face of a grinning demon.

A fist sized piece of jagged garnet. The deep crimson and maroon gemstone pulses faintly and smells of blood.

A lyre crafted from wood from the vale of shadows that emits a slight ringing at all times and a subtle glow of green when it is played.

A leather pouch containing dozens of petrified raven's claws with the talons splayed outwards. If scattered across an area the stony claws function as caltrops in every respect.

An old copper door knocker fashioned to resemble the face of an eldritch creature. It is always cold to the touch.

A two-foot-long wooden rod bearing a silver wolf’s-head at the tip, and its length is inscribed with moon-sigils.

A small, masterfully crafted toy carriage made of stained black walnut complete with leather driver's seat and interior upholstered in crushed velvet. Anyone who stops to admire the detail of the model in detail has the urge to break one of the wheels, first starting as a fleeting thought but gradually grows to consume their thoughts causing insomnia the longer they resist the urge. The wheel is instantly repaired any time the toy goes unnoticed.

A crimson monkey skull weighing four pounds, carved entirely from blood garnet. An aura of feral sentience draws your gaze to its empty eye sockets.

A rolled scroll on which was hastily scribbled hymn, full of zeal. It says that it is only in rapturous frenzy that the spirit exhibits grace. At this moment, we are freed from doubt, acting only in accordance with the divine, immaculate will.

An ornate token from an opulent land. When held, one feels aided by forces paid for dearly. Surely, no cost is too high for triumph?

An inflamed gland that's little more than an engorged, muscular lump, radiating heat. The repellent hunk of flesh pulses with a warm, wet heat like an exhaled breath. The gland's presence consumes the senses. One's head begins to ache with a feverish intensity the longer it is held.

A scalpel with a wide blade, etched with a diagram of a human body on each side. One side features a chart of the circulatory system, and the other a layout of the muscles and tendons.

A glass disk that depict constellations.

A votive candle holder in the shape of a lighthouse.

A jawbone from a mammalian beast, a handspan in length with dozens of tiny needle-like teeth arranged like a pincushion

A surprisingly light, cobalt blue, metal cube the length of a hand. The many holes on its surface appear to resemble stars in the night sky.

A small sea chest, locked securely. The key is probably somewhere close by. Inside are a dozen glass bottles containing extremely rare and valuable spices. Unfortunately, they are so old as to be unfit for any purpose, and only identifiable by their labels.

A small, cork-stoppered crystal bottle with a disproportionately low and fat belly and slender neck containing a ruby colored liquid with an overwhelming odor of citrus. Tasting the liquid brings forth visions of standing atop a pyramid in a desert land, overlooking a sprawling city on a broad river flanked by irrigated farms.

A thumb-sized bronze horned owl. When the head is turned clockwise three full rotations, it flaps its wings and makes hooting noises as the head rotates back.

A soapstone dragon turtle paperweight with a tiny flag on its back that blows in whatever direction the wind is currently blowing in outdoors.

An unfinished, highly complex nautical knot made with a length of ship's line.

A horse-shaped bottle, made of iron, with eagles of gold and genuine lapis lazuli as inlays.

A clay piece with a drawing of a woman and baby standing next to a solider in uniform.

A pouch of small medicinal vials labelled with different names, with a handwritten note detailing dosages and urgency in delivery.

A letter addressed from an orphanage, informing the the recipient that they believe they've located their child, who was believed dead after a prolonged siege. They are asking the dead person to arrive as soon as possible, as dwindling budgets are forcing them to send their older children to work houses.

A pottery vase decorated with images of a foot race.

A glass eye with an azurite iris and obsidian pupil.

A one gallon cask of Seabeast Poison, an alcoholic beverage found mostly in coastal taverns. This mixture is almost black with a white, frothy foam on top. It's said the original recipe included venom from the poison sacs of a rare sea creature. The exact creature varies from tale to tale and the modern recipe surely doesn't include this venom.... Right?

An engraved geode that has been split apart into two equal halves. A labyrinth is carved into the rock's rough exterior and glows with a faint light.

A beautiful deck of cards resting in a strong leather pouch with an etching of a joker on the outside. The same etching is on the back of the cards.

A strange wand that is visually translucent, but when held closely, one can hear the sound of a light spring rain.

A glass figurine of a unicorn with a chalcedony horn.

A pair of pearl earrings held in eagle claw settings.

A humorous ensorcelled cartoon strip about Cernuous Cedric the slug-about-town, a languorous libertine known for his lechery, taste for strong drink, and allergy to any form of labor. The strip speaks and animates when read, telling the story of one of Cedric’s disastrous affairs with the husband of Mordiggia, the Charnel Goddess.

An amber belt buckle with knot pattern.

An ancient hieroglyphic tablet made out of some type of reflective metal that can float in water and makes a strange echoing hollow sound when struck.

A small glass bulb that gives off a bit of bluish light when touched. The light it shines counts as moonlight for the purpose of revealing things.

A cherry wood mandolin with strings of different colors. Each note played on this mandolin blends euphoniously with the notes played before it, forming a pleasing melody regardless of which strings are plucked.

A beaten copper death mask with garnet eyes.

A small statue of a great old one carved from an unknown type of greenish stone.

A copper serving pot edged and highlighted with silver depicting the labors of a famous hero.

A hardy wine bottle that is completely opaque and holds a strong, deep red, fruity alcohol.

A simple leather pouch that has several charred humanoid bones in it and a small dusting of ashes. There is no smell of smoke though, so they must be quite old.

A pure white face mask with pewter trim around its edges. It is sculpted into what could be called a bird head with an unusually short beak, also covered in pewter, but with delicate filigree.

A large blue banner decorated with a flaring yellow crest and mounted on the end of a ten foot brass pole. It is meant to be the standard used to keep the morale of the troops high as its valiantly held aloft.

A large ceramic jar covered in silver leaf.

A brass candelabra etched with filigree pattern.

A bar of rough soap made from ground pumice, and a little bit goes a long way. Light gray in color, it scrubs off trail dust, sweat, and blood with equal ease, leaving behind a clean, slightly dusty scent.

A tiny dead sparrow, wrapped delicately in giant green leaves.

A four inch long, plain, pocket pen carved from giant's tooth enamel, tipped with a gold-vanadium nib, and silver cap.

An item that appears at first glance to be no more than a simple burlap doll with no hair or clothes in the shape of humanoid. The doll's wicked grin and black sapphire eyes tell keen observers a different tale.

A heavy brass torc ending in clenched fists.

A copper door knocker of a celestial with twin amber eyes.

A tin bucket without a label, filled with what appears to be loose teeth. A closer look confirms the contents: dozens of molars, bicuspids, incisors, canines. Human teeth. Enough to fill at least five or six mouths. Resting on top of the pile is a rusted pair of iron pliers.

A swirly mahogany wand that changes to a different color every night at midnight.

Innocent Lockpicks: A set of nondescript masterwork thieves' tools coated in a matte black lacquer, that seems brittle enough to break. They are favored by spies and thieves that cannot afford to be caught with the tools of their trade. As an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, the bearer can break the brittle coating of the tools, causing them to dissolve into a puff of smoke, destroying the evidence of any wrongdoing. Because of their fragile nature these tools have a chance of breaking. If the bearer rolls a natural 1 while using the tools, there is a 25% chance that the tools snaps and dissolves in his hands. The item's properties are wholly mundane and do not register as magical.

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raineydaywrites · 4 years ago

Text

the drought was the very worst

Febuwhump day 26: recovery

Fic Summary: Time heals all wounds. But a little friendly competition can maybe help speed it up.

Or, the story of the first day that Taako and Lucretia spend alone together after the Day of Story and Song.

All three of the reapers were currently on an extended mission. They expected to be gone for a few days "four, at most" according to Krav. They'd blown open a whole network of necromancers, and hoped to eliminate them before they started whatever creepy ritual they were planning for the next week. Nothing too complicated, but apparently time consuming.

Taako was not worried about them. They could handle themselves. But he certainly was put out over the temporary displacement from three of his favorite people.

It didn't help that Magnus was super busy with his dog school and Merle was super busy with his earl duties and Davenport was off on another exploration, and meanwhile, Taako's school was on harvest break. It had been nice, for the first few weeks, and Taako was usually glad to get time to relax and chill, but he had to say that it would have been nice to have something else to do while most of his family were busy.

He probably ought to get dressed and get going for the day. He didn't feel like laying around all day, and moping around about this would eventually just make him miserable.

He picked over the offerings in the closet. They'd gotten so used to sharing/stealing each others' clothes over the century they'd spent together that they didn't even pretend to need separate closets when they'd built this place. And anyway, it was just easier to clean and hang everything in the same room.

Taako didn't feel like getting himself into anything too complicated, so he found a relatively simple sundress and slipped it on, before tying his hair up into a loose bun. Best way to look great without putting much effort into it.

He probably ought to make himself something to eat, but without anyone else to cook with or for, the biggest reward of cooking breakfast was gone. Maybe he'd be more into the idea by the time lunch or dinner came around.

Usually, Krav, Lup, and Barry would come home in the evenings when they could. Sure, they didn't actually need to sleep or eat to keep going, but they usually would choose to. It was uncomfortable to know that they wouldn't this week, to be so reminded to the fact that they were- not like him anymore. Taako would never say that out loud, but it was.

He left the closet, determined not to think about upsetting but irrelevant shit anymore, and made his way the main family room. Lucretia was there. She was settled on a couch, flipping through a book. Taako tilted his head in surprise to see her.

"I thought you would be at the Bureau today," he said. Lucretia jumped, as if she hadn't realized that anyone else was here either, which was ridiculous. Both he and Angus were on break, and he, at least, had nothing else to be doing. He was pretty sure Angus wasn't working on any cases right now anyway, so he should be knocking around here somewhere too.

"No. Avi and Killian have suggested that I'm 'overworking' myself, and arguing with them has started to be more trouble than it's worth," Lucretia said simply. Taako snorted.

"They're not wrong, Creesh," he said, flopping down on the other couch. "I'm more surprised that they convinced you to take a day off than I am surprised that you need one."

Lucretia scowled half-heartedly at him, but she was self-aware enough to know that he was right. There was silence for a moment.

"Huh. Is that my dress?" Lucretia asked, furrowing her brows as she took a closer look at Taako's outfit.

Taako glanced down at it, assessing. He really wasn't sure who had bought it originally, but yeah it easily could have been Lucretia. It was a cut and color that she liked, and it looked just about her size.

"Probably. Is that a problem?" Taako gave her a challenging look, daring her to say something.

"No, of course not," Lucretia scoffed. "I just didn't realize we were so close in size."

It was a fair point. They didn't use to be able to fit each others' clothes as well as this dress fit Taako. But it had been a while since he'd last stolen anything of Lucretia's or she'd stolen anyth- any of his clothes. They didn't have a huge overlap in style to begin with, and it had only been a few months since the whole group of them had moved into this place together.

Taako just shrugged. They'd never been too caught up in how well the stuff they took fit. The only times it was even mentioned were if someone ripped anything or when the size difference was particularly noticeable, like the times when Merle would show up to breakfast wearing Magnus' t-shirts as pajamas.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Lucretia asked, hesitant.

Taako firmly didn't think about any potential reasons that the clothing discussion could have prompted that question.

"Nah. Just woke up," he responded.

"So you're going to make something soon?" Lucretia pressed.

"Why do you ask? So you can steal some without asking?" Taako shot back. Lucretia tensed but didn't quite flinch the way she used to when he said stuff like that. Which meant it was nearing its end as a useful manipulation tactic, and he should probably find a new one.

"I- I'd appreciate having something, yes. I haven't eaten yet today either," Lucretia said. She was manipulating him right back, and Taako knew it, but he still heaved himself up off the couch, sighing.

"Gods, Lucretia, you'd think someone as responsible and in-control as you would remember that living people have to eat things," he said.

He took the book out of her hands and set it down with the pages still open, snickering when her expression twisted in distaste at the improper positioning. When she reached out a hand to correct it, he grabbed it and yanked her upright, startling a laugh out of her. He pulled her along behind him to the kitchen.

"If I'm going to make something for you, you're helping with the boring shit," Taako announced. He let go of her hands to start washing his own, and started thinking about what to make. Nothing sounded particularly appealing at the moment, so he'd probably just stick with something basic.

"Okay? Like what?" Lucretia asked, washing her hands as well. Taako nodded approvingly. It was great when he didn't have to remind idiots -cough, cough, Magnus and Merle, occasionally Barry- about basic shit like sanitizing your hands before shoving it into something you were cooking for other people.

Honestly, Taako wasn't sure. He mostly just wanted to keep her from wandering off and forgetting to eat for longer, or getting bored and giving up on it himself, and, as an added bonus, he knew it must be driving Lucretia crazy knowing that her book was, at this very moment, sustaining damage to the spine and pages. And yeah, there she went, tossing an assessing look back toward the family room, probably trying to figure out if she could hurry back and correct the book without him noticing.

He grabbed some fruit and a knife and set them on the cutting board nearest Lucretia.

"Just cut that shit up. I'm making eggs. Eggs and fruit is a breakfast, right? I'm not in the mood for anything complicated, especially not for just you and me." Taako hoped playing it off as laziness would stave off any concern. He used to want to cook all the time, and he'd used to take any opportunity to do so.

Lucretia just hummed agreement, but Taako got the feeling that she still saw through it. After all, she hadn't always fed herself properly back on the Starblaster either, and 'Lucretia forgot to eat' used to be an opportunity that he always took, because he liked cooking and it was a great way to not have to admit to worrying about her, way back in the beginning, and a nice way to spend some time with a friend later on.

They were quiet for several long moments, just letting the sounds of cooking fill the room. The silence made Taako anxious, but he wasn't quite sure how to break it. He glanced over at Lucretia, to check on her progress with the fruit, and saw her staring off into space blankly. He went back to cooking the eggs.

When the eggs were ready, he salted them with the No Sodium salt shaker, knowing that they were good, but knowing that there would be just the tiniest tendril of worry tugging at his mind throughout the meal if he didn't.

It was ridiculous, really, that he needed that. He had never made a fatal mistake in the kitchen, and it had been a long time even since he thought he had. And this meal didn't even involve transmutation. But the thoughts that maybe he'd mess up in some different way could get stuck in his mind for hours sometimes. It could take hours, after all, for some illnesses and poisons to even show their symptoms. At Glamour Springs, it had happened pretty quickly, but if he messed up here, made some mistake of a different sort than pissing somebody off, then who knew how long it would be before symptoms would show themselves?

He shook himself, forced his mind away from the thoughts, and set the plates next to Lucretia's fruit. She didn't respond to his nearness, and when the plates hit the counter, she moved her head to look at them only after several long seconds.

Taako snapped his fingers in front of Lucretia's face a couple times, eying the knife she was almost cradling. Probably shouldn't have left her to cut stuff up when he'd realized that she was so out of it. She could have hurt herself. But, whatever, the moment had passed, and it didn't look like she was bleeding, so it didn't matter.

The snapping got her moving at a quicker pace, but she still didn't seem like she was all there yet.

Taako started to hum under his breath, hoping the sensory input would wake her up a little. She'd always reacted well to that in the past.

Lucretia finished cutting the fruits in front of her, setting the knife down and swaying back and forth a little to the humming. She plated the fruit and set it next to Taako's eggs. She made a humming noise in the back of her throat, a thanks without words, and washed off the knife.

Taako still didn't really feel like eating, but the food was made, and it would do no good to waste it. Besides which, if he ducked out of eating, then Lucretia could too, and he didn't want that. She had a bad habit of not eating when she felt bad, which always ended up with her making herself feel worse.

If they had to play Fantasy Chicken with their meals to get her to eat right, then he could play Fantasy Chicken.

They were both stubborn people, and neither was willing to back down, so the food got eaten, and the dishes got washed, and Lucretia snuck back to her book when Taako wasn't looking, but she came back with the book and a board game that he hadn't realized they still had.

"Look what I found the other day," Lucretia said, brandishing the box proudly.

Taako grinned at the Fantasy Clue box- they'd all played a lot of games together on the Starblaster, but some games had been more embraced by some of them than others- like Merle and Davenport with their modified euchre rules once the rest of them tired of playing along.

For him and Lucretia, it had been Fantasy Clue, and yeah, they'd had to modify it pretty hard to make it work with two people, but they had made it work nonetheless.

"Do you want to play?" Lucretia asked, hesitant.

Taako refused to let himself hesitate in his response, "Hell yeah, let's break that bad boy out."

Lucretia smiled widely, a smile he'd missed, that told him that he'd made the right decision.

They set the board up on the floor in the living room, so that they could spread out as needed, and started to play.

The game was intense, both of them competitive and stubborn and smart as hell, but it was fun.

They lost track of time as they played, until Angus peeked in at them curiously.

"What are you playing?" Angus asked, eyeing the board curiously.

Taako met Lucretia's eyes, both of them thinking the same thing, not needed to say a word to get their point across.

Do we really want to try to take the World's Best Detective in Fantasy Clue?

The answer was 'no,' for sure, but they decided to do it anyway.

He trounced them, of course.

The rest of the family made sure to come home at the end of the week, as they each realized that they'd left Taako and Lucretia alone with just each other (and Angus, but he was a kid) for the first time since the Day of Story and Song, and they'd accidentally done it for an entire week.

Anything could have happened.

But when they got there, the only thing they found out of the ordinary were the many scoreboards that had popped up over the week, as Taako and Lucretia refused to be outdone by an eleven year old, no matter who he was.

While Lucretia and Taako discussed strategies to take down the new champion, Angus grinned smugly at the rest of them, and silently accepted his well earned money from the 'who can get them to get along again' betting pool.

#taz balance #the adventure zone #taz lucretia #taako adventurezone #taako taaco #lucretia adventurezone #febuwhump #febuwhumpday26 #angus mcdonald

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sunriserose1023 · 4 years ago

Text

One Last Job [Two]

WORD COUNT: 2957 WARNINGS: Angsty, emotional, talk of a stalker CHAPTER SUMMARY: You try to get used to having a bodyguard, and a seemingly innocent act proves why you need one.

Masterlist

PREVIOUS: CHAPTER ONE

You were up with the sun the next morning, foregoing the run/jog your trainer wanted you to do for a swim in the indoor heated pool. You waded into the water from the shallow end, taking a deep breath before ducking your head and swimming under the water.

You lost count of how many laps you swam, and when your lungs and limbs were burning, you rolled to your back and floated.

All you could think about, all that you’d thought about through your restless night was Bucky. Why, you didn’t have the slightest clue, but there was something about him you just couldn’t shake. He was attractive, that was for damn sure. But there was something else, something deeper … maybe even a little dark.

Something you wanted to know more about.

You ducked your head back under the water, swimming to the side of the pool. You got to the ladder and lifted your head, gasping as you gripped the ladder tightly.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

Bucky smiled from where he was sitting, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together.

“I was making a round and thought I heard some splashing.”

You nodded.

“I didn’t feel like running this morning.”

Bucky nodded, and for some reason, you kept talking, answering questions he didn’t verbally ask.

“Ollie knows how to swim. He’s pretty good, but he also knows not to come down here without me or Clint or Natasha.”

Bucky nodded again.

“That’s good.”

You went quiet, feeling suddenly self-conscious, despite the modest one-piece swimsuit you were wearing. Bucky cleared his throat and stood up, making you give a shaky breath when you saw the dark jeans encasing his thick thighs, the black t-shirt stretching around his muscular arms. He nodded back towards the bench he’d been sitting on.

“I’ll give you a minute to dry off.” “Thanks. I was thinking about cooking some breakfast, if you’re interested?”

Bucky gave you one of those quirky half-smiles.

“I never turn down food.”

You smiled and he walked away, and after getting a nice view of his backside, you ducked your head beneath the water again, sputtering as you came up, shaking your head and exhaling.

You scrambled eggs and grated cheese into them, turning slices of bacon as you worked. Toast was in the toaster, and there were fresh oranges ready to be squeezed in the basket on the counter, which Steve was currently working on. Clint was standing by the coffee pot, a frown on his face and a mug in his hand at the ready. Bucky walked in when you set some bacon onto a plate and moved it to the center island, managing to grab one slice before glaring at Clint and Steve. You smiled at Bucky as you turned back to the stove.

“You’ve got to be quick, or else you’ll lose a finger. But don’t worry. I’m planning on cooking at least a metric ton for Steve alone.”

Steve stepped over to you, a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice in his hands. He kissed your cheek, putting the pitcher beside the now-empty plate.

“Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

You smiled.

“Sorry, bud. My heart belongs to another, albeit smaller, man.”

Steve smiled, shaking his head as he crunched on a piece of bacon. Bucky swallowed as he watched the ease between you and Steve. Since he hadn’t had coffee, Clint wasn't coherent yet, and he purposefully wasn’t wearing his hearing aids so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.

You turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, a soft smile on your pretty face.

“Scrambled eggs okay?”

Bucky could only nod, and you carried a plate to him, setting it on a watermelon-shaped placemat in front of him.

“Salt and pepper’s in the shaker there. Pepper grinder on the bottom, turn it over for salt. Butter’s in the dish there.”

He met your eyes and you smiled, color rising high on your cheeks. You went back to the stove, bringing another plate to the pineapple placemat beside Bucky’s. Another plate was placed on a placemat shaped like an orange, and the smallest plate was set on a lime wedge.

Bucky watched as you set a protein bar and a bottle of water on the counter by the door, taking a carton of yogurt from the fridge and grabbing a spoon before you hopped up onto the counter. You crossed your legs and dipped the spoon into the yogurt, and Bucky ducked his head as he studied the breakfast in front of him.

A smile lit up your face when Ollie trudged into the kitchen, mouth open in a wide yawn. He walked over to you, putting his face at your stomach, and you smiled as you brushed your fingers through his hair.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

He grunted at you, and you gave a quiet laugh as you bent to kiss the top of his head.

“Your plate’s on the lime. Go eat before it gets cold.”

Ollie nodded, yawning again as he climbed up onto the barstool, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand. Clint shuffled over to sit beside him, second cup of coffee in one hand. Steve sat beside Bucky and started shoveling food into his mouth.

And when Bucky looked your way again, he found your eyes on him.

He watched your back straighten as the clicking of high heels could be heard coming down the hall. Ollie perked up, a smile coming to his lips. Bucky glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened.

Black stilettos, shapely legs, a tight black pencil skirt, a flowy white shirt, perfect crimson curls. Her lips were almost the same color as her hair, dark eyelashes hiding bright blue eyes that widened as she noticed the crowd in the kitchen. One perfectly manicured eyebrow raised.

“My invitation to this party must have gotten lost.” “Auntie Tasha, these are Uncle Clint's friends. You know Steve, but this is Bucky. He’s going to Bancougar with Mom.”

Natasha slowly nodded.

“It’s Vancouver, baby.”

Ollie nodded, whispering “Vancouver” under his breath. Natasha met your eyes, her eyebrow raising again.

“So Vancouver’s still a go?”

You nodded, setting the yogurt you had barely touched onto the counter. Natasha made a humming noise, sighing as she looked to the clock, then back to the kid.

“Eat your breakfast, buddy. We’ve got to go soon.”

Ollie nodded, digging into his breakfast. Natasha pulled her cell phone out of her bag and made her way to you, focusing on the screen, missing the way you pushed the yogurt behind you.

Bucky saw it, though.

Natasha shook her head, blowing out a breath.

“I’m so sick of these stupid magazines. How many times can I say ‘no comment’ before they listen?” “I got an email from Jesse at the—“ “No.”

You blinked.

“No?”

Natasha shook her head.

“We’re not giving any interviews since whoever at the police station let the news leak about …”

You and Natasha glanced to Ollie, who was giving Steve a run for his money with how quickly he was eating. Natasha nodded, speaking softly.

“You know. That’s all anyone will want to talk about, and the focus needs to be on the movie and your nominations.”

You nodded, looking down at your hands. Bucky glanced over at Steve when his foot was nudged, and Steve shook his head as he drank from his glass. Ollie wiped his mouth with a napkin and jumped down from his chair.

“Done!” “Go brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You and Natasha had spoken at the same time, and Ollie giggled as he ran off down the hall. Natasha blew out a breath and shook her head as she walked towards the bottle of water and protein bar on the end of the counter.

“Send him to the car when he’s ready. I don’t want to be late today.”

The clicking of her heels was all that could be heard, and you gave a shaky sigh as you slid off the countertop. You turned and put your hands on it, hanging your head. Clint slid off his chair and went to you, laying a hand on your back, murmuring softly. Steve tapped two fingers against Bucky’s wrist, and he stood up, following Steve out of the kitchen.

When they were down the hall in a sitting room or something—Bucky didn’t know half the terminology for the hotel-like house—Bucky shook his head.

“What the hell was that?”

Steve sighed.

“That was Natasha.” “Why’d she talk to Y/N like she was something stuck on the bottom of her shoe?” “She didn’t mean it like that. Nat’s practically her boss, so—“ “No, they’re sisters. Sisters don’t talk like that to each other.” “It’s a different dynamic here, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head.

“She shut her down like she was an annoying kid. Did you notice how Y/N hid her food when Natasha walked in?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed and he glanced towards the kitchen as Bucky shook his head again.

“That’s not okay, Steve.” “It’s not our business, Buck.” “But—“ “Save it. You’re just here to be her bodyguard, remember?”

Bucky grit his teeth.

“Don’t toss my words back at me, you son of a bitch.” “Hey! Don’t get mad at me.”

Bucky shook his head, turning and walking out of the room, back down the hall to the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and watched you, as you slid plates into soapy water and washed them by hand. After a few quiet moments, he spoke.

“All this money and no dishwasher?”

You glanced over your shoulder and gave him a tight smile.

“Keeps me grounded to wash the dishes myself.” “Need a hand?”

You shook your head, turning back around and scrubbing some more. Bucky pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, opening drawers until he found a dish towel. He took a plate from the drainer and dried it, moving to place it in the cabinet you’d gotten it from.

You watched him as he did the rest of the dishes that way, and you gave a shaky breath when you let the soapy water drain from the sink. You washed your hands and noticed Bucky’s raised eyebrow when he saw how pink your hands and forearms were. You swallowed and stepped around him, and he gently took hold of your upper arm.

“Is she always like that?”

You closed your eyes, but nodded. Your voice was barely a whisper.

“She’s just trying to do what’s best for us.” “And that’s treating her money maker like garbage?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his. He let go of you, stepping back just enough to cross his arms over his chest and lean against the counter. You swallowed, speaking softly.

“She’s good with numbers and schedules and things. When my career took off, Mom asked me to give her a place in my …” “Entourage?”

You nodded, and Bucky spoke, just as softly as you.

“That doesn’t give her the right to treat you like this.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you bit your bottom lip as you looked towards the window over the sink.

“Ollie loves her so much. And she’s so good to him. I can’t … She stood by me when I was pregnant and when he was a newborn. They have such a bond, and I can’t break that. No matter how she treats me.”

You sniffled, laying a hand against your stomach as you tried to step away. Bucky took hold of your arm again, his fingers gently brushing your elbow.

“You didn’t finish your breakfast.”

Your eyes widened as you met his eyes and he lifted a shoulder. You gave a shaky breath as he gave your elbow a gentle squeeze.

“Can you get me your flight information for next week? And a list of people you normally associate with in Vancouver?”

You nodded, and he held your eyes for a moment longer, then gave your elbow one more squeeze before he walked away.

You paced your office as you flipped through the script you’d been sent, reading the lines out loud. You stopped when there was a knock on your door, and you smiled when Steve poked his head in. You lifted a hand and waved, and Steve smiled as he stepped in the room.

“Am I interrupting?”

You shook your head, tossing the script on your desk.

“I can use a break.”

Steve shut the door behind him, leaning against it as you went to sit in your desk chair. You met his eyes and smiled at him, speaking softly.

“I like Bucky. He’s good.” “Told you.”

You laughed softly.

“He’s very observant.”

Steve sighed, pushing off from the door.

“Is she still riding you?”

You blew out a breath, leaning your head back.

“She’s just trying to do what’s best for us.” “Y/N. Come on. It’s me.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. You pushed up from your chair, shaking your head as you started pacing the office.

“I need to work. Now, more than ever. The nominations were nice, but I need to keep my face out there, keep the focus on me.” “Is that what she’s telling you?” “It’s what everyone is telling me.”

Steve just watched as you paced the floor, until you stopped and turned to face him.

“And if I keep busy, I won’t be able to focus on how truly terrified I really am.”

Tears suddenly filled your eyes and Steve stepped forward, taking you in his arms. You clung to him, putting your face in his thick shoulder as he gently stroked your hair.

“Easy. Take it easy, sweet girl.”

You shook your head, giving a shaky exhale.

“I can’t sleep. I keep having these horrible dreams about someone breaking in and—“

You swallowed and Steve leaned his head against yours.

“No one’s going to be breaking in, sweetheart. Not with all the reinforcements and bells and whistles Bucky’s added to this place.” “Really?” “Really. You and Ollie are just about the safest people on the planet right now.”

You put your face back in his shoulder and Steve smiled as he rubbed your back. You sighed as you stepped back from him, pushing a hand through your hair. You turned to look at the clock above your desk, then smiled at Steve.

“Ollie will be home soon.” “Does he have any after-school activities?”

You nodded.

“He does soccer and he wants to play baseball, he keeps telling me.”

You shook your head, and Steve smiled.

“I’ll see if I can find a couple gloves, see what the kid’s made of.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Go easy on my baby, Rogers.”

Steve laughed, the two of you turning as Ollie came running into your room.

“Hey, Mama! Look what I found!”

The smile slid from your face when he held out the bouquet of blood red roses. Steve must have seen the color fade from your face, because he stealthily grabbed a tissue from the box on your desk and took the vase from Ollie as he spoke.

“Where’d you find these, buddy?” “Outside by the gate. Did you know there’s a security guard out there now? He’s a big guy, told me his name was Dugan.”

Ollie shook his head as he walked to the chair you’d collapsed into.

“What kind of a name is Dugan, Mom?” “It’s his last name, bud. He was in the Army with me and Bucky and your uncle.”

Ollie looked back to Steve, hazel eyes going wide.

“You know him, Steve?” “I do. And he’s not as cool as he’s trying to make you think he is.”

Ollie giggled, and you lifted a shaking hand to brush over his head. He smiled at you, and Steve cleared his throat.

“O-man, did you see anybody around these flowers?”

Ollie shook his head.

“No, the flowers were just sitting by the gate. There wasn’t anybody around.”

Steve nodded, and you met his eyes. He smiled at you, motioning towards the door.

“Come on, bud. Let’s go see what Uncle Clint’s up to.”

Ollie nodded, waving a hand behind him as he ran to Steve.

“Bye, Mom!”

When the door clicked shut behind them, you leaned forward, putting your head in your hands. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door a second before Bucky walked in.

“Are you okay?” “They’re from him, aren’t they? The—the roses. He always sends roses.”

You stood up from your desk, walking around it and shaking your head. Bucky stepped in front of you, closing the door behind him, watching as you paced the room, wringing your hands.

“Was there a card? Sometimes he sends a card. Sometimes it comes a few days later, in the mail.” “Y/N.”

You stopped, turning to face him. He gently tilted his head, and you felt your bottom lip tremble before you burst into tears. Bucky was in front of you before you could take in a breath, wrapping you into his arms. You clung to him, digging your fingers into his back and crying into his shoulder, shaking your head as you choked out the words.

“I’m so scared. None of this matters, because he—“ “Shh, listen to me, listen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?” “You can’t promise—“ “I can. I am doing everything in my power to keep you safe, and I’m not going to let him touch you.”

You put your face in Bucky’s shoulder, and he tightened his grip around you, gently rubbing a hand down your back.

NEXT: CHAPTER THREE

TAGS: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @captain-rogers-beard, @i-have-no-life-charlie, @jillybeaner13, @notyourtypicalrose, @sea040561, @fallenoutofrose, @geeksareunique, @distractedgemini, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @isaxhorror, @scentedsongrebel, @paige-sais-rawr, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @absolukeyrh, @elatedmarvel, @shadowsof-thenight, @sarcasm-myfriend, @our-marvel-universe, @shinycupcakebaker

#one last job series #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel reader insert #marvel au #mcu au #mcu reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #bodyguard bucky barnes #celebrity reader

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rex101111 · 5 years ago

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🎬 with sorikai :3

(okay technically a high school romcom but close enough :P)

Riku was used to his friends catching him by surprise, it was simply in their nature to defy common sense and do something either utterly reckless, ridiculous, or just plain stupid.

Oh alright, that last one was mostly Sora, but Kairi was no stranger to doing something boneheaded and justifying it after the fact with the excuse of “I thought it was a good idea!” while the results of her blunder burned around her.

(Kairi isn’t allowed to use the Bunsen burner in chemistry class anymore and Riku will never let her live it down, but that is neither here nor there.)

Point is, he’s used to being on the back foot and having to pick up the pace when his two best friends in the whole world decide to do something utterly manic.

Thing was, they usually did so separately, which usually meant he had the other to act as a back up brain cell to hopefully negate the incoming damage.

The key word there would be, of course, “Usually.” Sometimes, all the stars would align in the sky, shake hands, and unanimously decree that it was “Fuck Riku Around O’clock” and both Sora and Kairi would have their own uniquely stupid idea pop in their head, leaving Riku to fight a two front war he was destined to lose.

(Riku will never look at a meat loaf the same way again. And he, to this day, has no earthly idea what Kairi did to make Professor Eraqus’s hair puke green for a week and not get expelled for it, he suspects puppy dog eyes were involved.)

But even those calamities did not compare to those thankfully rare moments where they would both have the same stupid idea at the same time. Riku still shuddered at the memory of them being teamed up into a trio in that “egg babysitting” assignment.

(The egg, named Chirithy, was, thank the lord, perfectly alright by the end of the week. Riku’s sanity, his room, his dignity, and most of his clothes, were not.)

Point was, Riku was well used to being the “reasonable one”, the one who actually had at least half a clue and keep his friends from going too far.

And last week, the stars decided it was high time for another rousing lighting round of “Fuck Riku Around O’clock and so it was that, a few days before Valentine’s day, both Sora and Kairi had the exact same idea pop into their heads, and they both wanted Riku’s help with it.

Secretly.

Privately.

Riku is beginning to wonder why he still bleaches his hair because it would probably turn grey on its own with friends like his.

The idea they both had, unknown to the other person, was to make homemade chocolate for Valentine’s to give to the other person. They did so because they both had the biggest crushes on each other, and they both had, through some convoluted happenings fit for a JRPG plot, no damn idea the other person liked them.

This lack of knowledge had been going on since they were all twelve, and Riku was absolutely sick of this high school romcom nonsense. He’s been watching these two bozos tap dance around each other for literal years and was making every effort to fix that since he figured it out before the both of them.

(Of course, he did that after having his own little crisis of identity when he figured out that he liked both of them, quite a bit actually, and was able to push his own feelings down in favor of making his friends happy. Their happiness was more important, their happiness was possible, and so they needed to figure their shit out so Riku could finish properly burying his own steaming pile and move on with his life.)

The problem, well, one of about a dozen problems, was that neither of them was exactly the best when it came to making any kind of food.

Sora had all the grace and consideration of a hungover elephant when it came to making food, if he intended to make use of an egg it was an inevitability that the fragile shell will implode almost as soon as he lays his fingers on it. The less said about the time he tried to juggle those damn pepper shakers the better.

And Kairi? Oh, Kairi was hopeless. Her head had a tendency to run ahead of her and pull her towards all sort of bizarre ingredients to add to the chocolate, melons and chilly peppers and celery being the least of her suggestions to worry Riku on a primal level.

It was a weary few days, Riku having to juggle with helping each of his friends without the other catching wise, running himself ragged in the process. It was a mercy that there wasn’t a pop quiz during those few days before Valentine’s, because Riku was sure he would have fallen asleep on the pencil.

It would be worth it though, he was sure of it, there was no way to misinterpret a homemade Valentine’s day chocolate, there was no way that the message would go over their thick heads.

They would get together, they would be in love, and Riku would be happy for them, happy to stand with them as they lived their lives together.

Finally, he could move on.

…or, at least, that’s what he thought would happen.

That was a mistake.

He thinking that he could predict what his friends would do…he should have known they were very, very good at surprising him.

This time, they did it by coming to him during lunch break, big, goofy grins on their faces, and giving him a big pile of chocolate, exclaiming as one, “Riku! Will you be our Valentine?”

Riku blinked.

He looked at the chocolate, messy and mismatched and lumpy but genuine, wrapped in a plastic bag with a sticky note on the front, the words “YOU’RE IN OUT HEART VALENTINE” made with two colors of glitter pens were very hard to miss.

He looked at his friends, smiling down at him with those same dopey, lovesick grins he saw them direct at each other more times than he can count. Kairi’s right hand and Sora’s left were intertwined between them, while their free hands were displaying the chocolate with a flourish.

He blinked again, his brain a spinning record on a player with a bouncing needle, the tune skipping and repeating because none of this made any sense.

“You…” He started, voice faint, pointing at the two, “you were supposed to give chocolate to each other…” He looked between his two friends, their bright grins beginning to get on his nerves (and not making him blush be quiet), ��so you would both know how you felt about each other.”

“We did give our chocolate to each other!” Sora chirped happily, pecking Kairi on the cheek and gaining himself a cute giggle from the girl in response, “though we actually confessed to each other a little while before we came to you for help,” he smiled wider, ignoring Riku’s jaw nearly dropping through the floor, “thanks again for the help with that Riku!”

“A little while…?” He mumbled, spine straightening at the implication, “what do you mean a while-”

“And now!” Kairi jumped in before he could finish, “we’re giving you chocolate! So you know how we feel about you!” They both blushed when she finished, Kairi twirling a lock of hair between her fingers and Sora scratching his chin with a peppy smile. “It’s been a long time coming honestly, right?”

“Yeah!” Sora chuckled quietly, grinning at him with all of his teeth, “we’ve both been trying to confess to you for a while and…well, what better time than today?”

(Why were they so cute. That wasn’t fair. Whoever decided that was fair deserved a write up.)

“About…me?” The gears in his head were beginning to shed a few flecks of rust and starting to move a half inch at a time, “how you two feel…about…me?”

The two looked at each other with soft smiles, and then turned those smiles at him again, and his heart was starting to pick up on the atmosphere and was pounding in his ears.

“You two…like…me?”

“Yeah!”

“A bunch.”

Riku blinked again, because he was sure if his eyes got any wider they would tumble out of his dumbfounded head.

“…Seriously?”

Kairi’s smile faltered for a moment, “oh come on Riku, me and Sora have been trying to clue you in all week!” She stopped and looked at Sora, “you were trying to drop some hints at him right?”

“All the time!” Sora defended, “but he was so focused on the baking he wasn’t paying attention.”

(A vague memory of Sora asking Riku to help him with cleaning his shirt after he spilled whipped cream over it popped into Riku’s head and he never felt more victimized by his goal oriented mindset.)

“How about you?”

“Licking spoons and commenting on how hot it was, no reaction at all!”

(Another memory came, this time of Riku snatching a spoon from Kairi as he saw her tongue leave her mouth, and he never felt more jealous of a piece of silverware in his entire life.)

Kairi sighed, “Who would’ve thought Riku would be so oblivious huh?”

Sora nodded, not noticing Riku snapping into a agitated stance, “Yeah! He’s usually so smart about most things, but I guess matters of the heart just kinda fly over his head-”

“Are you kidding?” The two stopped and looked at him, blinking owlishly, “I spend years, literal years, going along with your crazy schemes, cleaning up your messes, and still finding time to try and play matchmaker for you two so you could stop dancing around your feelings, and you’re telling me I’m the oblivious one!?”

Kairi and Sora blinked at him.

Then blinked at each other.

And then went back to looking at him. Sora first, “You…you did?”

Then Kairi, “you were trying to…get us together?”

Before he could yell that yes you morons and I’m pretty sure it had aged me two decades from the stress the two threw themselves at him in a lung crushing hug, kissing his cheeks and singing his praises.

He was in love with a couple of idiots.

And they were, miracles never cease, in love with him.

…ah, well, who said life and love were ever simple?

“…Happy Valentine’s day you two.”

#kingdom hearts #Sorikai #stuff rex wrote #first sorikai fic i ever wrote #nice #this was fun XD #imbeccablee #answers

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secretarendelle · 5 years ago

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Hansanna For the Holidays

I didn’t write these in advance as I originally planned, but I am hoping to do a 13-part fic with each of the prompts setting the stage for a new chapter. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to accomplish this, but I assume it will work itself out. Happy Holidays to everyone in the fandom. <3

Day 3 – Ye Olde Traditions

Anna shook the snowglobe again, watching the fake snow drift down over the dancing couple as the tinkling melody slowed. She hummed slowly along as the snow settled onto the snowglobe floor.

What a night it had been. After a lifetime being locked up, alone, she’d finally met the man of her dreams and been swept off her feet.

Only to be manipulated, lied to, and thrown away.

Looking at the snow globe brought up so many emotions. Thoughts she had done her best to put away. She had so many things to be thankful for now. A relationship with Elsa. Olaf. Kristoff. It was easier to just not think about Hans. About the way he’d made her feel when he walked away.

And the way he’d made her feel when he’d dropped to one knee.

She looked inside the box again. No note.

Why on earth had he sent this snowglobe to her?

“There you are,” said Kristoff, as he stepped into her new office. “I was calling your name! Didn’t you hear me?”

Anna almost dropped the delicate snow globe in her rush to shut it back in the box. “Sorry!”

Kristoff nodded at the box. “Whatcha got there?”

“This?” Anna jerked a desk drawer open and pressed the box inside. “It’s nothing.” She shoved the drawer closed.

“Looked like something,” he said. “Another coronation gift?”

She nodded, a little frantically. “Yes! That’s it! Just another coronation gift!”

“Um…okay.” Kristoff raised an eyebrow, but she just smiled in response. He shrugged. “I’m going to take Sven out to test my new sled runners. You wanna come?”

Anna grimaced. “Uh…I’m pretty busy.” She patted a thin stack of papers on her desk. “You know, gotta be the queen of Arendelle and all that.”

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe we can do something after.”

“You got it!”

But as soon as the door was closed behind him, Anna found herself opening the drawer again. She traced her fingers along the velvety ribbon.

What could it mean?

She meant to find out.

As soon she saw Kristoff and Sven leave the stable, she grabbed her cloak and headed into town.

Anna smiled as she breathed in a big lungful of crisp autumn air. She loved this time of year. So much color everywhere – from the beautiful leaves on the trees to the mysterious swirling of the Northern Lights. The people are Arendelle were dressed in the bright colors of autumn as well – dark reds and rich browns, navy blues and burnt orange. She couldn’t help but smile at everyone as she passed. All those years trapped in the palace, she could only see the colors from a distance. But now she saw all the hues – and her people – up close. She loved every minute.

She passed a bakery with the spicy smell of cloves and cinnamon drifting out the open windows, and a stall of shining red apples, and then came the inn.

She knew this was the place Hans was staying. She’d made it her business to know. She went inside and inquired of the owner, but was told Hans had been out for hours. Bother.

Well, she could at least make sure his horse had been delivered properly. She went behind the inn and peeked in the stable.

But it was empty. Nary a horse nor rider in sight.

Hmm. Well, maybe she really didn’t need to know why he sent the snow globe. It was probably a sign that she should just turn around and march back to the palace. Get back to work and focus on some sort of activity with Kristoff in the evening.

Even though the little tune from the snow globe kept running through her mind.

She turned to leave.

She was reaching for the door when it was pulled away from her. Bright sunlight came streaming in, along with a surprised prince.

“Anna!” he said.

Sitron whinnied a greeting from over Hans’ shoulder.

“I mean…your majesty.” Hans bowed deeply.

“You don’t have to do that,” Anna said. She nodded at Sitron. “I see your horse was delivered.”

“Yes!” Hans smiled broadly and patted Sitron’s back. “Thank you so much for sending him back to me. I missed him terribly. There’s no better horse than Sitron.”

“Well, I thought it only fitting to return him to you.” She smiled as Sitron rubbed his head against Hans’ shoulder. “And he seems to be glad to be back together.”

“He and I have been out celebrating.” Hans opened his rucksack, which was filled with the apples she’d seen earlier. “His favorite.”

“Celebrating?” she asked.

Hans’ cheeks turned light pink. “Well…it’s my birthday.”

“Really? Today?”

“It is. I thought I’d spend it all alone, but instead, I got to be with my best friend. So thank you for that. Really.”

“Well, happy birthday!”

“Thank you.”

Anna loved birthdays. Celebrating with those she cared about was one of her favorite joys. And although she didn’t really care for Hans - not anymore, at least - she at least felt like she could make his special day a little brighter.

“Did you get anything special? Did your family send gifts?”

Hans frowned. “Well, no…but I got Sitron. That’s really all the gift I need.”

Anna didn’t like hearing that. If she hadn’t decided on a whim to give him his horse back, he wouldn’t have gotten a gift at all. And the horse was barely a gift. She was merely returning what was his in the first place.

“Let’s go celebrate!” she blurted out.

Hans’ eyebrows raised. “You want to go celebrate my birthday?”

“Sure! We can at least get some cake or something. Blow out the candles and all that stuff. I know a great bakery.”

“A birthday boy?” Asked the plump woman in the bakery. She smiled at the couple. “I think I have just the thing. I actually baked it for my nephew, but his birthday’s not until tomorrow. I can make another.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a bizarre little cake shaped like a man, and covered with icing and chocolates.

Hans’ eyes lit up. “A kagemand? I haven’t had one of those since I was a boy.”

“What is it?” Anna asked.

She baker slid it toward them. “A traditional birthday cake of the Southern Isles. My homeland as well as his.” She nodded at Hans.

Hans laughed. “And don’t forget the best part!” He reached over and tore the head off of the man. And then he and baker screamed and shouted.

“Okay…” Anna said, but Hans was absolutely beaming.

“And how old are you, young man?” the baker asked, as Anna paid for the cake.

“Mmm, old enough,” Hans said.

Anna eyed him. “No, really, how old are you?”

He glanced down at her. “Twenty-five,” he murmured.

“Twenty-five!” the baker hooted. She reached under the counter again and pressed a tin of cinnamon into Anna’s hands. “Just take it out of my shop; I don’t want to be cleaning cinnamon off of everything!” With another joyful laugh, she handed the cake to Hans and sent them out of the shop.

On the sidewalk, Anna looked up at Hans. “Why’d she give me this cinnamon?”

Hans shrugged.

But as they walked back toward the inn, she noticed he wasn’t talking like he had before. And in the yard between the inn and the stable, she decided she’d had enough.

“Hans,” she began, “I think you know exactly what this cinnamon is for. And I want you to tell me. Right now!”

He cocked his head at her. “Is that a royal command?”

She crossed her arms. “If you don’t tell me, it will be!”

“All right.” He held his hands up in defense. “In my country, when a person turns twenty-five without being married, they’re pebersvend. So their friends and family cover them with cinnamon.”

Crickets.

Anna frowned. “Say what now?”

“It’s a tradition.”

“But…why?”

“I don’t know. Something to do with traveling spice salesmen years ago.” He chuckled. “Not many of my brothers made it to twenty-five without marrying, but when they did, the rest of us had such a good time spicing them up. My oldest brothers would even throw eggs on them first, to make the cinnamon stick really good. We’d talk about it for weeks beforehand, planning everything.” His face drooped. “Before I came to Arendelle last week, I kept listening, thinking maybe they were planning to do something to me, but no one said anything about it at all. I mean…I know I’m supposed to dread being a pebersvend, but I was sort of looking forward to it. Getting some kind of attention from my family.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” Anna said. “They were probably just keeping it secret.”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “Ever since I got sent home in disgrace, my family has basically shunned me. I don’t know the last time one of my brothers even spoke to me. It’s almost like I’m dead. Except I’m still breathing.”

He winced. “I thought I knew how you felt, getting shut out by Elsa all those years. But I had no idea how bad it could be.”

Anna’s heart hurt for him. No one deserved to go through what she went through after her parents died and Elsa refused to open her door. She wanted to hug him and at least give him the warmth of a human embrace.

Then again, this was Hans she was talking about. And as moved as she was by his story, she didn’t want to get sucked in again.

Instead, she opened the lid of the cinnamon and poured it into her hand. “Maybe this will help,” she said, and threw it at him.

“What the—” Hans laughed. Then he sneezed.”

Anna sneezed too. She kept shaking cinnamon into her hand and throwing it at him, leaving tiny spots of tan on his cream colored jacket. Another handful went into his hair, and as he sneezed, a dusting fell out onto his nose, creating a crop of new freckles.

“Feel better, Pebersvend?” she asked, and laughed so hard she dropped the shaker.

Hans had it in his hand within seconds. Anna’s eyes widened.

“Now you’re gonna get it!” Hans shook cinnamon into his hand.

Anna shrieked and ran. “It’s not my birthday! Cheater!” But Hans was on her tail, laughing right along with her. They ran around the inn—

And there, in the street, was Kristoff and Sven.

Kristoff grinned when he saw Anna, laughing and having a good time. And then he saw Hans.

“Kristoff!” Anna’s eyes grew wide as she skidded to a stop.

And then she sneezed.

To be continued

#hansannaholidays2019 #hansannafortheholidays2019 #frozen 2 #frozen 2 spoilers #hansanna #hanna #hans x anna #frozen #prince hans #princess anna #hans #anna

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bluesimba · 6 years ago

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Post Glory

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Reader, Ryuji/Reader

Warnings: Heavy spoilers, explicit depictions of depression, intense grieving, and trauma.

Notes: Can we talk about how much trauma the Phantom Thieves have been through in canon

Dedicated to @ao3-actually-android <3

[I]

November 1st.

The receptionist at the front desk glances at you from under her bangs for the fourth time. She adjusts the collar of her shirt and types something with a flutter of her hands. From the corner of the waiting room, a member of your security team stares at her.

You pick up one of the magazines on the table in front of you. The glossy pages pass between your fingers, and several diagrams of the brain pop up with its functions outlined. Terms like depression and anxiety and trauma stand out on almost every page. They cycle through your head again, but this time it’s not three hours after you swallowed sleeping pills.

Breathing on beat with the ebbing and flowing of the waiting room’s music makes your head less congested.

A door locks the waiting room off from the offices, and a woman in a light pink dress steps through. Her voice carries your name. When you stand up and gesture for your security team to stay put, she smiles at you.

“Hi,” she says as she leads you to her office. “My name is Kaede. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tells you her qualifications.

“Pleasure to meet you, too! I’m sorry I had to reschedule at the last minute. It’s been pretty hectic.”

By hectic do you mean being fused with the fibers of your bed? Or avoiding the growing mountains of clutter that sprung up in your room? How about how it’s taxing to grab your phone charger from the floor? Or worst of all, not being able to articulate why you can’t do anything, instead masking it with “busy” or “hectic” or “sorry, I can’t do that today.”

“That’s no problem. Our specialized program is very flexible with our clients’ schedules.” She opens her office door for you. You take the seat next to her desk, and while you marvel at the cohesion of colors in her office, she sits behind her desk, clicks her mouse, and brings up a tab on the computer. “Before we begin, everything we talk about here is strictly between us. Nothing will be shared unless you become a threat to yourself or others.”

“Okay.”

“So, I read over your personal statement, and you mentioned you made an appointment for therapy because you feel untethered. Can you elaborate on what lead to that feeling?”

“Sure, so I’ll start with the Phantom Thieves.”

[II]

August.

Café Leblanc’s red closed sign protects you from the swarming streets. Hives of reporters frenzy outside, lanyards around their necks and cameras in hand. Your hand knocks against the salt and pepper shakers as the others crowd in the booth, with Makoto next to you. Across from you, Ryuji inhales an appetizer.

Futaba glares at Yusuke, who sips tea from a white cup. She pushes her glasses up and scrunches her nose.

“Inari, acknowledge that your left leg is shorter than your right,” she says.

“Nonsense, my legs are symmetrical, that I can assure you.”

She pulls out her phone and ignores her cup of coffee, which is four sizes too big for her. You and Makoto exchange glances.

You lean over the table to come out from the corner. “And what’s the point of arguing over Yusuke’s leg difference, Futaba? You’ve both been squabbling more ever since. . .”

Futaba halts trying to pull up Yusuke’s medical records. Sojiro stops waxing the bar just for a minute, his pink shirt now too vibrant for the solemnity washing over his face. The legs of the Phantom Thieves sit around the table, but Akira’s absence comes with its own ghost. Two years and his ghost still follows.

Makoto seems like she’s on the other side of the world, now, from you.

Akira who solves everything. Akira who acts as the unifying pillar. He makes you ache. He makes you lonely, untethered. The thrills, the disguises, the abilities, they all have his name on them. Everything about him scrambles you.

“Anyway.” You cough. “I’ve been thinking we should do something together since we’re all off right now. You know, like the good ol’ days.”

Silence resounds in Leblanc, but Ryuji grins and it warms your heart. “That’s awesome! Whaddya say, guys?” He looks around at everyone, and his enthusiasm brings everyone back together.

“That would be nice, especially since it’s been so long,” Makoto says. She shuts her eyes for a second. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”

You hum. “How about the beach? I think the last time we all went together was when we went to Hawaii a few years ago. We could pick up a game of beach volleyball!”

“And it’d be a good chance to get some sun!” Ann says.

Everyone takes out their phone calendars, and Makoto, the master of organization herself, makes quick work of it. “How does the last Saturday this month sound for everyone?” she asks.”That way we can avoid Autumn from September to November.”

November.

It takes you away. It stuffs your heart in your throat. Everyone else continues planning, unfazed, but Ryuji notices. And his smile dims.

Makoto calls your name, but it doesn’t register. So does Ann.

“Wendy.” Futaba puts down her phone.

You blink. Wendy. Wendy. Your real name doesn’t bring you out of it. Wendy, your alias, with a fishing hook on it tugs you out of Neverland.

“Oh, sorry.” You blink again for good measure and to reassure everyone you aren’t a stone statue. “It’s just been a. . .” Hard? Debilitating? Exhaustive for reasons you can’t articulate? “Busy time. I guess it caught up with me all at once.” There it is. Busy.

“Happens to the best of us.” Makoto smiles. “Does that date work for you?”

“Absolutely,” you say without glancing at your calendar.

Over the next fifteen minutes the Phantom Thieves disperse—Ann with a modeling gig she’s got to make, Makoto for a lunch with Sae, Yusuke to read up on art theory, Haru for a meeting, and Futaba to make memes. Ryuji is the only one who stays.

Leblanc’s quietness disturbs Ryuji to his core. You see it by the way he fidgets and leans back to yawn. When he knows you’ve caught him, he looks away.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. What’s up?”

Sticking his elbow on the bar, he puts his hand on the side of his neck. “You can talk to me if you need to.”

Right. November. Robin Hood. Goro.

“Thank you, Ryuji.” You avert your eyes downward. “But this is something personal.”

He leans back against the booth, putting more distance between you two, and he looks. . .he looks something you can’t decipher. Wounded? No, small. After a second he brings back his smile to mend the air. “No problem. Just gotta look out for one of my best buds.”

“Hey, do you know if Morgana is stil. . .”

“Upstairs? Yeah, I think he sleeps up there sometimes, since, you know.”

“Let’s invite him to the beach with the rest of us.”

“The cat? And sand ? Now that’s something I gotta see.”

“Don’t be mean, Ryuji!”

When he laughs you have to choke down your own. The light in Leblanc hits him just right, and he looks untouched by the corruption, by the palaces, by Yaldabaoth. Hope lives in his eyes and dreams light up his cheeks.

November’s weight sits on your shoulders. Akechi Goro’s death lingers. The Robin Hood to your Wendy is sleeping. And to think, he was eighteen.

Your brother would have been twenty this year.

[III]

The beach concaves away from the rest of society. Stray beach towels spot the sand and the waves edge up to reach for their ends. Cliff edges meet the ocean under the inky new moon sky.

Tiny lights hang up on a string and frame the entrance of the restaurant you eat at. Morgana peers at Ann from the stool next to her with hearts in his eyes. Sometimes he tries to steal a glance at Futaba’s phone, only for her to yank it close to her chest. If the beach behind you disappeared, no one would blink twice.

Morgana wanders over to you and Ryuji and hops on one of the two empty stools that separate you both from everyone else. His lip curls and a smile sneaks out. You shield your bowl of ramen in case he decides to pounce on the bar. There’s not a chance in hell you’re letting him knock over this art; a prepared egg sliced clean in half with its golden yolk on display, a spread of colors blended together, and flavors that glide over your tongue and keep you coming back for more.

“Looks like you got burned, Ryuji.” He licks his paw and glances at Ryuji from the corners of his eyes.

Ryuji’s lips screw, and he tries to cross his arms but winces because of the sunburn spread over his body. “It’s not like I knew the sun was gonna be raging today.” He looks at you. “And you knew and didn’t tell me!”

You laugh. “Sorry, but you should’ve brought the sunscreen anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. At least I wasn’t afraid to get in the water.”

A smirk cuts your lips, and you cover Morgana’s ears. “Don’t make fun of him! Of course he wouldn’t get in the water!” Turning to Morgana, you coo at him in a voice you know makes his skin crawl. “That punk didn’t mean it, Morgana. Don’t listen to him. I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t get in, either! And who are you callin’ a punk?”

When you uncover Morgana’s ears, he takes the chance to slip away.

“Oh come on, Ryuji, you were being a little punk-y.”

“Was not!”

“Really? Then maybe we should get everyone else’s opinions.”

Before you can call out to everyone and make Ryuji’s skin even brighter, he hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder. He winces but starts walking to the shoreline.

“Did you forget you were sunburned?”

Two beats of silence echo between you two before he answers. “It’s no big deal. Besides, you’re getting wet at least once today.”

The fool. The absolute buffoon. The heat under your face erupts.

“You’re hopeless, Ryuji.”

He says something you don’t catch because blood detonates in your ears over and over again. Your heart chokes on an overload of sugar. It’s buried in a sugary grave. You protest by muttering into his shoulder.

Only a few inches of space are between you and the water by the time he stops walking. He’s a few inches shy of being chest-deep. If you flick your foot down, you’d skim the water for sure, but there’s no fun in tearing his dream of dunking you away.

“Hold on, gimme a sec.”

That doesn’t sound good.

It isn’t.

He shifts you around and you flail, then you wind up in his arms. Your heart, stuffed with sugar, is revived by the way he looks at you. Light rosy tinges whip over his cheeks, and he turns his head away from you for a second.

Once he collects himself, he counts off with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“One, two. . .”

“Just do it already!”

When he lets go, you see him mouth the number three. The water floods over your face and body, and you seal your eyes shut.

It’s quiet, here. You kick up some sand with your heel while trying to get your bearings straight, but the ocean swallows the noise. All you have is how the grainy the sand feels.

How did Goro feel on that sinking ship? Explosive? Confused? Destroyed?

Helpless?

Did you even know your brother well?

How can you even attempt to understand the pits of helplessness and wrath he drowned in when something like this—going for a swim—sets you off? How can you grieve for so long and know so little?

Someone’s calling your name, but the sounds are muffled by the water.

Ryuji plunges his hand in and brings you back. The ocean’s surface breaks with your head, and your resurfacing looks less “majestic mermaid with perfect hair” and more “air exists and it’s delicious.”

After a second he brings you close to him, wrapping you in a hug. You press against his collarbone.

“Ryuji, what’s wrong?”

“I just got worried, ‘s all.”

You pull back. “Well, I’m all right. You made sure of that when you pulled me out. See? Nothing bad would’ve happened.”

He avoids your gaze. “I tried calling your name.”

“I think I heard that. You might’ve had better luck if you called me Wendy. Seems like I can hear that from around the world.”

Wendy tells you what to say, how to smile, what to wear, what to think, and who to be. If you do everything she says, you can stand next to Robin Hood and Peter Pan and all the other fairytale characters who are bound to the pages of their own stories. Wendy makes you worthy.

She was always the press’ favorite.

“I ain’t gonna call you Wendy. ‘s not who you are.” He says your name under the moonless sky in such a way that it might break if the ocean got too close to it. “You ain’t Wendy.”

You aren’t Wendy.

“I—I appreciate that. A lot.”

He looks at the beach. “You don’t gotta thank me. Let’s get back before the others come lookin’ for us.”

Both of you tread in silence. After a minute the water slides off you, but the sand sticks to your wet feet as you climb out of the ocean. You both wander over to his beach towel; its colors were blasted dry by the sun earlier.

When you sit down, you sit close to him and your shoulders bump. Beads of water trail your neck, your arms, and your legs. You glimpse him staring out at the ocean.

“It’s nice being out here,” you say. You reel back the words “with you” when you think about Akira.

“Yeah? Can’t say I’ve ever had a sunburn this big before.”

You roll your eyes and bring your knees to your chest, but the smile sailing over your lips slips out. “Which is because you didn’t bring sunscreen.”

“Pffft, there’s no way a stupid sunburn’s gonna get a leg up on me.”

Along the beach there are sandcastles, some in perfect condition, some folded in on themselves, and some that exist only as lumps of sand. A tiny red and white store-bought flag pokes out of a collapsing one. The tide rolls in and out and chips away at the ones along the shoreline.

“It’s kind of nice to be away from the world for a bit,” you say. “You know? Sequestered away from the reporters and everything.”

He puts his arms behind and lies on his back. “You’re telling me. Been hounding us ever since our identities were released. I mean, who does that! We were seventeen!”

“We were seventeen and arguably the most powerful force in Japan.”

“C’mon, we were kids. You should know how all that affected us better than anyone. You’re majoring in psych and all that stuff.”

“By affected you mean the stress it’d have on a developing teenage brain?”

“That! Someone should tell all those reporters to read up on that shit.”

Streams of conversation come from the restaurant. The rest of the Phantom Thieves tell jokes and bicker and bask in the restaurant’s lighting. Judging from that spilling sound, Morgana jumped on the bar.

“They’ve been hanging around my favorite places. It got bad a few weeks ago,” you say.

“Whadda they want?”

You shift. “An interview with Wendy.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “Tell ‘em to screw off. You don’t know a Wendy.”

Leaning against him right now would be nice. You’d fit next to him well, and he’d sling his arm over your shoulders. Under the moonless sky, you’d both be two halves of a complete moon.

But you do know a Wendy. If you were stronger, you could evict her right now with his help. She reminds you of the abilities you had and the times where it was you and the Phantom Thieves versus the world. She reminds you of Goro.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Waves continue to crash. Tiny sounds from the ecosystem of the beach wade between you both. He chews the inside of his cheek. When he breathes, it smothers the tiny sounds and the conversations from the restaurant.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’,” he says.

“About?”

He sits up and rubs the back of his neck. “Everything we did, I guess. Changed a lot of stuff.”

You laugh. “It’d be kind of weird if nothing changed when we fought a god. Besides, I thought you’d enjoy the spotlight.”

“You kiddin’? I can’t even run in peace without someone on my ass.”

“Well.” A quick brush of your hands takes some of the sand off, and you get up and hold out your hand. “You can always try now. I’ll race you to fire up that competitive spirit!”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

He clasps his hand in yours. “Yeah? Don’t cry when you lose.”

[IV]

Doctor Kaede slides a box of tissues to the corner of her desk and you pluck one to have something to hold onto. “What you’re feeling is valid. Have you discussed your grief with anyone else?”

“Only one person, Akira.”

“What about him made you open up?”

Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, Futaba, Okumura, Sae, Shido. Hell, the collective social conscious of everyone wrapped up in the endless tracks of Mementos! How many times do you need to add Yaldabaoth to that list, too? Everyone talks about the humans the Phantom Thieves changed, but no one mentions the cosmic-defying entities you defied by daring to be your own people. Akira brought a rag-tag group of teenagers together to challenge the very fabric of the universe.

“I don’t know, really. I guess I thought if anyone could understand, it’d be him. He was the closest to Goro.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Were you close to your brother?”

You fidget and rub the side of your neck. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship in the traditional sense. He had a hard time opening up, refused to, most of the time. I didn’t know anything about him other than that Shido was somehow involved, but there was something different when Akira showed up.”

“And how did you cope with Goro’s. . .actions?”

She might as well stamp the word “murderer” on his forehead. Is she wrong?

Of course! He was tossed aside by Shido and manipulated as a kid!

No, she isn’t. Goro did that of his own free will.

Come on, you of all people know the toll abuse and manipulation takes on a child.

I know. I know he was in unimaginable pain.

Then why are you sitting here and betraying him?

I’m not betraying him. These are the facts of the situation. I wanted to help him!

You can’t even imagine what he went through. Stop trying. You even admitted some guy got closer to your brother in one year than you did in your whole life.

We’re still family .

“I probably could’ve coped better.”

[V]

October.

Leblanc’s lights give you a headache.

“You gonna be okay, kid?” Sojiro asks as he unfastens his apron.

Hunched over with your forehead against a table, you groan. The bags under your eyes drag your face down, but hey, who needs concealer when no one can see your face?

“Wake me up when people obsess over something else.”

He walks over and pats your shoulder. “You can stay if you lockup. Remember to turn off everything when you leave this time.”

The door opens before you answer. Light, airy, almost, the bell rings. You lift your head, blinking, and turn toward the door. Who comes into a café five minutes before closing? His slim silhouette stands in the doorway while rain splatters on the pavement. Great, you know he’s the type to order something extravagant, expect it in two minutes, and stall closing.

Sojiro whistles and puts one of his hands on his hips. He smiles. “Finally decided to show your face around here, huh, kid?”

In one second he goes from being a stranger to someone who causes the ache in your heart; a curly black head of hair and glasses. Now, though, he’s taller, and the blazer he wears looks like it was plucked from a high-end fashion designer’s wardrobe.

“Akira,” you say. The table wobbles under your hands when you jut up. His very presence reinforces the chronic loneliness, the hollowness everyone tried to patch up with promises to get together, and the messages you and Ryuji and Makoto and Futaba—and everyone sent that were left on read or met with a single word response.

Shock registers on Sojiro’s face when you storm up to Akira, and in some place deep, deep, deep down in your head, a twinge of, what is it—shame or fear?—rears its head. But fuck it. If you looked away, Akira could pull one of his disappearing stunts.

“You asshole!” You jab a finger at him, grind your teeth, seethe, and do all the things that say I hate you, I hate you, I hate you .

Wide-eyed, Sojiro steps in to break you apart. “Hey, hey, hey—”

Akira holds out his hand. “It’s fine.”

“Two years, Akira! You could have called or texted or something, but you didn’t.” You ball your fists. “You vanished.”

Him being here means you need to answer a question: how much can you matter to someone who up and leaves?

“Both of you sit down and cool off,” Sojiro says. “I’ll make you a drink.”

Being a foot and a half away from Akira who now sits across from you makes your jaw tight. The pot in the back brews coffee.

Akira looks you in the eyes. “You’re right to be angry.”

You cross your arms over your chest.

“I needed to make sure no one would cause you any issues,” he says.

“We’ve been followed for the last two years by reporters, Akira. Anyone we know has been hounded, too. Sae’s gotten so much more shit outside the courtroom. We scrubbed Mementos, but there will always be bad intentions.”

Sojiro walks over with your drinks in hand, sets them down in front of you both, and gives you each a glance.

“Thank you,” Akira says. He picks up the mug and brings it to his lips.

“I’ll be in the back. Don’t burn anything down, kid.”

When Sojiro disappears into the back, Akira sets the mug down.

“I wasn’t talking about the press,” he says.

Oh.

“You should’ve told us. We could’ve worked together so you didn’t have to do it on your own.” You look down. “We needed you, too. I needed you, Akira.”

He places his hand on yours. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Tears line the bottom of your eyes and spill over. “It’s hard when everyone asks about him, you know? And it’s been two years so I feel like I’m supposed to be over it, but I’m not . I keep feeling it again and again and again.” You place your other hand over his. “You have to know how it feels, Akira. No one else gets it. You have to know.”

He says your name, and if your sniffles were any louder, you would have missed it. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Yeah, you need this.

“Where?”

“Trust me.”

He offers you his arm when he gets up, and you cling to him with the skin on your arm and hand touching his blazer.

“Always.”

Quiet streets listen to your footsteps as you take the back alleys. When you're here with him, will the portals come back while you round the corners? Your grip on him tightens. Rain pelts the umbrella.

“You’re nervous,” he says.

“And whose fault is that?”

He smirks.

You pass the little red arcade nestled away from the world where you met Akira for the first time, the old bookstore with a joined café where you ran into him the second time, and a closed movie theater where he got your number the third time. Then, a park comes into view. The wet grass bends to your feet as you both walk to the bench with an overhang.

The wooden bench squeaks when you both sit down, and Akira folds up the umbrella, then leans it against the bench. Ducks waddle out from the pond hidden by bushes.

“I was starfished out on the grass here and screaming when you asked me to join the Phantom Thieves,” you say.

“Morgana thought you were in pain.”

“Oh, I was. I was cramming verb and adjective conjugations. That time feels close and far away at the same time, you know?”

Whenever he casts a glance at you, it’s distant. You could lean against his shoulder, intertwine your fingers, and have your skin on his, but the barrier between you holds. Your heart remains content in your chest instead of lurching in your throat.

He whispers your name. “You talked about Goro earlier.”

Wailed, more like it, but yeah.

“You’re grieving,” he says. “I think seeing a professional would help you.”

What? Your eyes open wide. Does he think you can’t handle it? Does he think you’re broken? Stop. You take a deep breath. You’re not broken. Seeking therapy doesn’t make you broken or fragile. It makes you strong.

“Why?”

“I’m concerned about you. I know an office. They helped me with my trauma.” He puts his hand on yours.

Trauma? Was it trauma? Okumura’s death. Goro’s insatiable craving for revenge. Your brother looking at you, red blood vessels popping in his eyes, like he’d kill you. He said he would. Sweeping away the terrifying sides of Goro let you file everything you don’t like away and lock them up.

When Akira touches you, why do you wish he was Ryuji?

Your nails leave imprints on your palms, little crescent moons. “Can you send me their phone number?”

“Sure.”

All of Akira’s attributes line up with what you want on paper: charismatic, intelligent, sociable. So, why, when he scoots closer to you, do you want him to be Ryuji? Why do you want Ryuji’s arm slung around you and for him to pull you close?

“Akira, what do I mean to you?”

You watch the ducks. He looks at you.

“Everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand. “I know.”

[VI]

You puncture holes in the tissue and avoid Doctor Kaede’s eyes.

“Before we end our first session, are you aware of the model the Five Stages of Grief?” She pulls out a piece of paper with the stages of them in one column—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

“Yes.”

“Are you practicing self-care strategies?” She runs her finger down the other column, and you hone in on one or two of the thirty or more strategies.

“Sometimes, but it’s hard to talk about when I don’t know how to put the words together.” You jam your hands together.

She nods. “Grief is especially difficult to navigate because we’re not taught how to cope and understand what we’re feeling. If you’re comfortable, talking about how you’re feeling with people you trust could also help. Sometimes we seek external understanding because we’re unsure of how we feel on the inside.”

Akira—you poured and projected on him. He became your only emotional outlet.

“Grief comes in stages and everyone processes it in different ways. No matter what, you’re not alone.”

“Thank you, Doctor Kaede.” You smile. “Can I make a follow-up appointment for next week?”

You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

[VII]

November 2nd.

You hole yourself up in your apartment, as per usual on the second of November. Glimmering stars peek through your closed curtains. All at once, numbness takes you and keeps you suspended from the rest of the world.

Rings from your phone don’t bring you down. Each minute passes on lethargic legs, and you don’t need anything or anyone to tell you it’s 12:34 a.m. As soon as it was 12:01, you knew. Packets of candy litter your nightstand. You sink into your bed.

Someone raps their knuckles against your door. You turn away from it.

Ryuji calls your name.

You slug one leg out from underneath the blankets, then the other leg. The cool doorknob sends a shiver up your spine.

“Hey,” Ryuji says. He takes a moment to catch his breath. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to run.”

One blink, then two, then three. He’s here for you. He remembered, and your throat constricts.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“Wanna sit outside?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You step out, closing the door behind you. Autopilot takes over when you lead him to a sitting area with two foldable chairs next to each other. Instead of sitting, you wander over to the gray railing and peer down to the busy street. He stands next to you, and you let the silence talk between you two.

Akira is everything you want on paper, but Ryuji—Ryuji is real and here. You touch his hand and trace the veins.

“Thanks for remembering, Ryuji.”

He catches every flutter of your eyes, and when you lean into him, he laces your fingers together. His hands, steady and warm, ground you.

“‘course, I’d do anything for you.”

You ask him a medley of questions: Why are you putting so much effort in? Why do I feel this again and again and again? Why can’t I let go?

Please, will you stay?

But they all roll themselves together when you look into his eyes, hands still intertwined, and breathe his name: “Ryuji.”

His name is air for your lungs. His touch is the sun walking on your skin. His closeness is a catharsis you’d only ever caught in Neverland before.

He brushes the side of your face with his free hand and kisses your forehead under the half moon. “Anything for you.”

Together, in time, you both could make a full moon.

#akira kusuru #ryuji sakamoto #persona 5 #akira/reader #ryuji/reader #akira/reader/ryuji #akira x reader #ryuji x reader #makoto niijima #goro akechi #futaba #yusuke kitagawa #haru okumura #sojiro sakura #morgana persona 5 #love triangle #here's a wall of text for y'all

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Paper Hearts Chapter Four (Branjie) - meggie

A/N: Whew. This one was difficult. That being said, I have so many people to thank for being cheerleaders, hand-holders, and all-around the best group of people I could have asked for to help bring this chapter to life because it. took. a. village. Thank you @theartificialdane who was the first person to read this and tell me it was too dramatic (you were right). Thank you @pink-grapefruit-cafe for dutifully adding that unnecessary ‘h’ to my (correct American) spelling of yogurt and calling me out when my sentences get too long. Thank you @formercongressman for providing the feedback that I needed to tighten and polish and really get the chapter where I wanted it by encouraging me to delve into Brooke’s psyche. And thank you @mia-ugly for giving me a final read through and assuring me that it wasn’t utter garbage and worth actually putting out there.

I’ve added a TW for perfectionism and anxiety because we’re going pretty deep into Brooke’s inner monologue here and I can get in my own head when reading about those things that I struggle with every day. Erring on the side of caution seemed prudent.

Please let me know your thoughts, here or on my personal blog @artificialmeggie. My ask box is always open and I love chatting with you guys!

So here’s chapter four: in which Vanessa calls it like she sees it, Nina gives Brooke some advice, and Brooke learns to relax (a little). I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

Brooke Lynn spends Friday night in and out of fitful sleep, dreams punctuated with hot, heavy kisses that taste like peppermint and broken promises pressed against secluded bathroom doors. It’s the same dream every time—they’re kissing, groping, grasping each other, and then Vanessa pulls away and looks up at her with hurt in her dark eyes, and Brooke wakes, drenched in sweat with a knot of guilt fully formed in her gut.

She rises early on Saturday morning and (after a cigarette on the balcony, alone, again) stumbles into the bathroom to peer at herself in the mirror, ultimately becoming dismayed at the dark circles etched under her eyes. If she cared, she’d smear on some concealer before venturing downstairs for breakfast, but try as she might, she can’t make herself put on makeup on a day when she doesn’t have to be in drag. So she settles for tugging on her favorite white hoodie and grey beanie and heads downstairs just after seven hoping to beat the rest of the girls to an early breakfast.

She gets her wish. She’s first to the conference room and could have her pick of yogurt, fresh fruit, or muffins; but Brooke needs comfort today, after that hollow look in Vanessa’s eyes had haunted her dreams last night and left her gutted. Instead, she waits a few moments until a steaming chafing dish of oatmeal is brought out by a hotel employee. She spoons a good amount into a bowl and dresses it with a scoop of raisins and far more brown sugar than is healthy. It reminds her of being seven years old and sitting at the kitchen table with her mother on a Saturday morning. It’s comfortable.

Brooke watches as the brown sugar melts and then she stirs her breakfast lazily, relaxing into her chair at the table farthest from the lone production assistant in the room. The PA avoids eye contact, and Brooke is glad—she’s more than happy to forego small talk with the poor intern who drew the short straw and was assigned Saturday queen babysitting duty.

And then, just as Brooke’s oatmeal cools to an edible temperature, the conference room door swings open and in walks Vanessa; terry cloth shorts slung low on her hips, Adidas slides scuffing on the carpet, and red zippered jacket undone to her bellybutton exposing that perfectly toned, perfectly tanned chest that’s the exact color of the molten brown sugar in Brooke’s oatmeal.

Brooke wants to run her tongue over the curves and dips and swoops of that chest more than almost anything. She settles for scooping up a bite of oatmeal shot through with a ribbon of brown sugar. She turns the spoon over in her mouth and sucks every molecule of sweetness from it. Absentmindedly, she wonders if Vanjie’s skin tastes as sweet.

Across the empty room, Vanessa’s eyes meet hers, and Brooke finds it difficult to swallow. Then Vanjie sets her jaw and quirks up her nose and maybe (just maybe, or maybe Brooke imagines it) swings her hips a little more than is entirely necessary as she moves to the buffet table to help herself to a bowl of yogurt.

She takes her time scooping in sliced strawberries, whole blueberries, and granola, and it feels like two geological ages of sheer unadulterated torture for Brooke, who watches every motion carefully.

At this point, she’s practically licked her oatmeal bowl clean, imagining the curves of the white porcelain to be the swerves of Vanjie’s smooth back, the spoon to be her own hands, exploring every inch of Vanessa as thoroughly and completely as possible. Like she wants to. Like she longs to.

She’s pretty much ruined any shot she had at that, she supposes.

Then Vanessa sits in the chair directly across from Brooke Lynn and spends another long moment stirring her yogurt together, and Brooke wonders if maybe she still has a chance.

Brooke watches her eat, but neither one of them speaks. She knows they’re both too stubborn for their own damn good.

Finally, Brooke grows too uncomfortable with the silence, so she sets her bowl on the table and clears her throat. “Sleep well?”

Vanessa shrugs. “All right. Coulda been better. I don’t like it when people get pissed off at me for no reason.” And she narrows her eyes pointedly and just stares.

“I’m not… Jesus.” Brooke sighs and squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Fuck, Vanj, I'm not mad at you.”

Vanjie tuts and takes a bite of yogurt. “Care to explain what last night in the van was then? Or do you got a habit of making out with people in bathrooms and then ghosting ‘em?”

“Granted, I did not handle that well,” Brooke says slowly. “I get in my head, okay? I’m… Look, I thought maybe A’keria saw something, and I kind of freaked.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “A’keria didn’t see shit.” Then she reaches across the table and takes Brooke’s hand in her own. “And even if she did, so what? You gotta relax, mami.”

“You don’t care if the girls know that we’re… What are we doing exactly?”

Vanjie shrugs. “We’re… getting to know each other.”

“Getting to know each other…” Brooke repeats it slowly and turns the phrase over in her head because she’s never done this before. She’s had one-night stands and friends-with-benefits, but there’s never been anyone to Get To Know. Never been anyone she’s wanted to get to know quite like she wants to know Vanjie.

It scares her. Not that she’s afraid of feelings, really, but she’s level-headed and goal-oriented and this was definitely not in The Plan when she started auditioning for drag race two years ago. So she’s afraid of feelings in this setting because how is she supposed to concentrate on presenting her perfect Drag Race package when Hurricane Vanessa is swirling around her?

But how do you brace for a category five storm?

“Yeah, okay,” Brooke says slowly. “We’re getting to know each other…”

Vanessa smiles at her. “Maybe we could start with boy names. I’m Jose, by the way.”

“Brock,” Brooke says softly, shaking the hand that Vanjie has offered. It feels different, more intimate now that she’s been formally introduced to the boy behind the drag.

“Brock…” Vanessa repeats quietly, almost testing the name, trying it out to see how it rolls off her tongue. Brooke heaves a sigh of relief when she smiles. “Yeah, it fits.”

And Brooke is blushing, the fire that ignited between them when their lips collided last night is back in full force, burning her from the inside out, so she smiles and ducks her head and hopes she doesn’t look like an idiot. She never wants to look stupid; she’s worked for years to curate this careful image of perfection, but she’s especially concerned with how Vanessa perceives her.

“Well. We have all day off today,” Vanessa says. Having finished her breakfast, she pushes herself up from the table and stretches her arms above her head, exposing another two inches of flat, taut stomach that peeks out over the waistband of her shorts.

Brooke’s mouth practically waters, yearns for that molten brown sugar skin beneath her fingers, lips, tongue.

“If you wanna come get to know me a little better in my room feel free to come by,” Vanjie continues. “But wait ‘til after lunch. I gotta take a nap.”

Brooke laughs. “Didn’t you just wake up?”

“I wanted to talk to you before the rest of the girls came down.”

“How did you know I’d be down here?”

“Our beds share a wall,” she says with a wink. “And you snore like a fucking moose.” Vanessa struts around behind her, wraps her arms around her neck, and presses a kiss into her temple. “See you later, mami.”

*****

Brooke’s working on her third cup of coffee when Nina finally makes it into the conference room for breakfast.

“Good morning!” she sing-songs as she slides into the chair two down from Brooke. “How are you?”

Brooke shrugs a little and flashes a tight-lipped grin before she takes another sip from her mug, but Nina’s eyes narrow.

“You have a secret.”

“What?”

“I know you, Hytes.” Nina reaches for the salt and pepper shaker and generously seasons her scrambled eggs. “I’ve known you for literally your entire drag career and your face right now? It screams ‘I’ve got a secret.’ So what’s the tea?”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Nina,” Brooke asserts, trying her best to keep her wits about her. Nina is awfully convincing when she wants something, and if Brooke is being honest with herself, she values her friend’s opinion.

“Okay. That’s fine.” Nina takes a bite of her eggs and watches Brooke Lynn with an amused expression. “But I’m going to find out. Because I always find out. So you might as well just tell me what it is.”

And Brooke crumbles because Nina is right—she has known her for her entire career and they’re friends. She trusts Nina implicitly and she needs reassurance. So Brooke sucks in a deep breath.

“I think I kind of have a crush on Jose.” She says it quickly because as soon as the words leave her lips, she knows how it sounds: so, so very junior high that she expects Nina to laugh in her face, and really, would she deserve anything less?

“Oh.” It’s almost worse that Nina’s eyes grow wide and her mouth falls open a little, specks of egg on her tongue, and she says, “Who’s Jose?”

And Brooke feels the blood rush even deeper into her cheeks. She must be a dark shade of purple because the room is suddenly extremely hot, boiling almost (why is she drinking hot coffee in June?), and she wants nothing more than for a hole to open right underneath her and swallow her completely. This is junior high school all over again, and she is being teased for being too feminine.

“Vanessa,” she says weakly, then clears her throat. “Vanjie?”

“Oh,” Nina says again. And then, “Ohh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Nina stabs at her eggs. “Umm. Does Jose feel the same way?”

“I mean…” Brooke shrugs and picks at a spot of superglue still stuck to her thumbnail. “We kissed in the bathroom after the runway last night.”

“So… Yes?” Nina smiles at her, but Brooke shrugs again. “Listen, Brooke, I think if someone’s swapping spit with you, they’re interested.”

“We’re getting to know each other.” When she says it to someone else, the phrase takes on a different feeling. It’s not as tangible or solid. She doesn’t know how to feel about it. Then she remembers Vanjie’s arms around her neck, her lips against her temple, the smell of her cologne that’s always a little too strong… And those are tangible things.

“Oh my god, Drag Race’s first romance,” Nina says, sighing dramatically and placing a hand over her heart. “Please tell me I get to be the flower gay when you guys get married.”

Brooke groans and drains her coffee mug.

*****

It’s a little after two when Vanessa comes looking for Brooke.

Three sharp raps on her door and Brooke answers, expecting Nina or Plastique or even Ra’jah, but instead it’s Vanjie, hip popped to the side, lips quirked up in a smirk.

“I said after lunch, ho.” She pushes past Brooke into the room without being invited in. Not that she needs an invitation. Brooke supposes she always has one.

“Yeah, I lost track of time,” Brooke lies. She hadn’t. She had one hundred percent chickened out of going over to Vanessa’s room because Nina’s comment about them being Drag Race’s first romance had, honestly, pushed her back into her head. Not that it’s difficult to do, but she had been counting on Nina for reassurance. “I was stoning and… You know how into stoning you can get… Time just flies…”

Vanessa grins knowingly, and Brooke knows she’s caught because her room smells nothing like the tell-tale fumes of E6000, and there aren’t any stray rhinestones anywhere. Her room is practically spotless (with the exception of a towel slung across the chair), but Vanjie says nothing about the obvious lie.

“So, I should tell you something…” Vanjie says, clasping her hands together and spinning around to face Brooke. “Promise you won’t get mad.”

Brooke narrows her eyes. “I hesitantly promise I won’t get mad. But I’m Canadian, so it would really be more like kind of annoyed and not so much mad.”

“Well, anyway.” Vanjie bites her lip. “I kind of told Silky that we maybe had a little something going on. Actually what I said was, ‘Brooke Lynn is trade. I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating cookies.’ If you know what I’m saying…”

Brooke is so relieved because she knows she should warn Vanjie that Nina is aware of their situation as well, and now she doesn’t have to broach the subject herself. Vanessa has provided her the perfect transition. She’s choosing to ignore the bed comment for now. For her own sanity.

She clears her throat. “That’s funny… Because I told Nina that I had a little bit of a crush on you.”

She might imagine it, but Brooke would swear that Vanjie blushes before she laughs uproariously and says, “A crush? Are you fourteen, Mary?”

Brooke just shrugs. “Look, I don’t know how this whole thing works—”

But suddenly she can’t speak anymore because Vanessa’s lips are on hers and her arms are around Brooke’s neck, and they’re kissing so softly that she forgets what she was even saying because the only thing that matters is the heat and static between them.

And it’s different this time because there’s only them, just her and Vanjie. No cameras, no other queens with prying eyes, no PAs waiting outside the bathroom to escort them back to the Werk Room where they’ll be watched and recorded and lorded over until they’re driven back to the hotel and locked in their rooms. So Brooke breathes and relaxes into Vanessa and the warm pressure of her mouth as it moves rhythmically against hers.

Then Vanessa pulls away and looks up at her with big sparkling eyes, and Brooke knows she’s done for. This isn’t just a junior high school crush. She could develop feelings for Vanessa.

Brooke loves her mom and her siblings and her cats deeply and unabashedly because she knows they’re stuck with her. She has spent years telling herself that she could get by on a life of hookups because feelings are messy and only led to heartbreak and disaster.

She’s always been so focused, there’s just never been time to make a connection.

And here she is, in the middle of the biggest competition of her life, and Vanessa dropped into her lap.

So how do you brace for a category five storm?

You hold on and hope for the best.

“Is this okay?” Vanjie asks her as she blinks rapid-fire. Nervous energy, she drips with it. “That I’m here? That I just really wanted to kiss you again so I did it?”

Hurricane Vanessa makes landfall and wipes out all of Brooke Lynn Hytes’s carefully constructed barriers.

“Okay. Of course it’s okay.” Brooke breathes and anchors her hands on Vanessa’s hips. It’s all they’ve wanted for the few days—no barriers, no restrictions. “I really wanted to kiss you again, too, but I thought maybe after the van last night that it would be weird.”

“You think too much,” Vanessa says softly, pulling gently on the string of Brooke’s hoodie. “You wanna kiss me again? Stop talking and do it. Step up, bitch.”

So Brooke Lynn obliges, and it’s all fire between them as their mouths meld together once again. She still tastes like mint and strawberries and the smallest hint of spice that Brooke was convinced is just Vanjie but now recognizes as brown sugar. She smiles against Vanessa’s mouth.

Brooke can’t stifle the moan when Vanjie rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and tugs gently, so Brooke dives deeper.

She could kiss Vanessa forever, Brooke thinks as they stumble backwards onto the unmade bed, because it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

It feels like breathing.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #canon compliant #paper hearts #tw anxiety #tw perfectionism #concrit welcome #submission #meggie #s11 #on set fic

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