#british pie week

[murderousink23]

03/04/2024 is National Safety Day 🇮🇳, National Grammar Day 🇺🇸, National Hug a G.I. Day 🇺🇸, National Pound Cake Day 🇺🇸, Idaho Day 🇺🇸, British Pie Week 🥧🇬🇧

[theabigailthorn]

British producers be like: THEM: "We love this! Let us put our heads together and get back to you early next week!" SIX MONTHS LATER UNPAID INTERN FOR THAT COMPANY: "Everyone you spoke to has been sacked, we hate you fuck off."

American producers be like:

THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON YOU'VE EVER MET: Hey kiddo do you wanna meet The Rock? Do you wanna meet Margot Robbie? Do you want to fuck my wife? I can't give you a job but gosh darn it you've got moxxy, let me put you in touch with Doug Bigcheese, the biggest producer in Hollywood! DOUG BIGCHEESE, EMAILING YOU BACK WITHIN 20 MINUTES: Hey kiddo, that guy said you're awesome! Lemme ask round town and in the meantime you can live in my house borrow my car and by the way have you met my wife?!

[theimpalatales]

Happy British Pie Week!

[expederest]

Whoopsie, another late entry into my "It's All About Me!" weekly Bake-Off bakes. This week was pastry week, and there was a double elimination 😮 But enough on that, here's what I made - a caramelized honey pumpkin pie! Ooooooooh! I feel like every time I make my own pastry, it's never enough to make a cute edging with. Are my imperial -> metric unit conversions a little off? Do I have unusually tall pie tins? We'll never know... Besides, it gives it a rustic look, so you know it's handmade!

[fieriframes]

[LIKE FRESH ROAST TURKEY, EVEN THEIR OWN VERSION OF A BRITISH SHEPHERD'S PIE. IN THE WINDOW! AND EACH DAY OF THE WEEK, THERE'S A DIFFERENT BLUE PLATE SPECIAL. I THINK WE'RE PRETTY UNIQUE, BECAUSE WE DO ACTUALLY SERVE IT ON A BLUE PLATE. SWEET!]

[harrywavycurly]

Would lonely Harry ever want to help with wedding dress shopping? Would we want to ask him for opinions?

Hiii babes!! So I think you’d want to ask for his opinions, but you’d also want to make him wait until the wedding day to see you in your dress. Now Harry would totally love to help with finding your dress, but he wouldn’t ask to go shopping with you I feel like that would be something you’d have to do. But I’ll give you a little tiny something that shows how I think it would go after you find your dress! 💖

-find all things for the Lonely series here✨

A/N: You let Harry in on some wedding info while the two of you enjoy an evening at home, enjoy this short and sweet moment between you and Harry✨

“S’that supposed to be edible?” Harry asks with a raised brow as he gently tucks the fluffy throw blanket under your legs that are resting on his lap while you get comfortable leaning against the armrest of the couch in the living room. “He can’t give them that.” You can’t help but giggle at how concerned he sounds as his eyes stay glued to the television that is currently playing an episode of the Great British Bake Off while his hands start to mindlessly rub at your ankles.

“I don’t think he’s done yet.” You state in an attempt to try to help Harry relax as you watch the little wrinkle form between his brows as his focus on the show only intensifies all while he still just keeps rubbing mindlessly at your ankles and blanket covered feet as they lay in his lap.

“Baby he’s putting it on a serving-oh god I can’t.” You bite your bottom lip to hold back a laugh as you watch him close his eyes and shake his head as he looks down at his lap. “I can’t watch this.” He opens his eyes and turns to look at you with an almost pained expression on his face. “It’s actually making me upset.” You turn your attention to the television while Harry just keeps his focus on you, he can’t help but feel the corners of his mouth pull upwards as he lets his eyes roam over your profile.

This is the first time all week the two of you have gotten to just enjoy a night in and when you brought up having a cuddle on the couch after dinner he couldn’t say no. Not only because he just has trouble saying no to you but because he can’t remember the last time the two of you just sat on the couch and watched a show or a movie so he couldn’t pass up the opportunity and now he can’t help but think this is a little glimpse into what married life will be like for the two of you. You with your feet in his lap all relaxed while he gets too worked up over whatever it is the two of you are watching, tonight it being a set of amateur bakers serving underbaked pies that have really just set him off, just enjoying each other’s company.

“He’s put it back in the oven.” You reassure him as you look back at him just to catch him staring at you with a silly smile on his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask with a raised brow as you wiggle your toes at him making him realize he had momentarily stopped rubbing your feet.

“I just love you.” He answers casually as his hands go back to rubbing your feet, you roll your eyes but Harry catches the smile that takes over your face.

“You’re such a sap.” You tease as Harry turns his attention back to the television now that you’ve told him the man has in fact put the pie back in the oven. “But I love you too.” You add making Harry just smile as he gives your ankle a little squeeze. You look at the coffee table and see your phone light up and when you reach over to grab it you see it’s a text from Niall and his question makes your mood shift, feeling excited and sort of nervous as you place your phone back down on the table.

“How did he manage to still underbake it when he added an extra twenty minutes? I’m thinking his oven is just off at this point because how does-” Harry stops his rambling when he turns to look at you. You have your hands in your lap and your twirling your engagement ring around on your finger and rubbing your lips together while your eyes are looking down at your hands but Harry can tell you’re not really looking at anything and you’re more so just starting off into space more than likely lost inside that head of yours.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is soft as he gently runs his hands up your legs till they land on your knees so he can give them a little squeeze. You blink a few times and Harry just smiles when you finally meet his eyes with yours. “You okay?” You nod and he gives you a look that lets you know he’s not fully buying it making you let out a small sigh.

“I found my dress.” Harry feels an odd mixture of emotions overtake him as your words hit him from across the couch. Firstly he feels his heartbeat quicken at the thought of you finding the dress you’re going to marry him in but secondly he feels a twinge of something else, jealousy maybe? Begin to brew in the pit of his stomach because he didn’t get to be with you when you picked it out.

“Want to know the weird thing about finding it?” He just nods as he tries to get a hold of his emotions while you swallow back the lump that’s forming in your throat as the memory of the events that happened earlier today play through your head. “I instantly wanted to call you to see what you thought because I mean when’s the last time I bought any type of dress for an event without you there or on FaceTime? But when I went to grab my phone Niall took it-”

“That wonky kneed fuckin’ twa-”

“I’m glad he stopped me.” You interrupt his insult of your bestfriend as you lean over and place a hand over Harry’s that is still resting on your knee, he lets out a small huff as he looks at you with a much softer expression than a few moments ago. “Because as much as I love your opinion on what I wear and what looks good. I really want this to be a surprise and I really want to see your face in person the first time you see me in it.” Harry can’t argue with your reasonings for not calling him, he knows most couples don’t go wedding dress shopping together and while you two also aren’t like most couples he agrees that seeing you in your dress for the first time shouldn’t be over a phone screen, it should be in person on the day the two of you officially become husband and wife.

“You really found it then?” He asks with a warm smile as he notices your eyes go glassy, you just nod and try to return his smile as he moves a little closer to you. Before you know what’s happening Harry is pulling you to sit on his lap, having inched closer and closer to you without you noticing. One arm going around your shoulder pulling you into his chest while the other drapes across the tops of your thighs as they lay over his letting your legs rest on couch. “I can’t wait to see it on you love.” He whispers in your ear as he places a kiss to the side of your head.

“I feel really pretty in it.” You mumble as you sniffle and try to wipe away the few tears that managed to spill over and slide down your cheeks. Harry knows these tears aren’t a major cause for concern and that they are probably left over from the eventful afternoon you had, finding your wedding dress is a huge deal and he’s watched enough “say yes to the dress” with you to know it can be quite emotional.

“That’s because you are really pretty baby it has nothing to do with the dress.” He explains without missing a beat making your cheeks get warm at his compliment, Harry never has been one to shy away from telling you how beautiful you are and it always makes you blush.

“It was like I was an actual bride.” Harry just looks down at you as you mess with your engagement ring and let out a little laugh before you look up at him with a smile. “Like we can really get married now because I finally found my dress and it’s such-I don’t know how to describe it but it felt so weird but good? I just knew it was the one the moment I put it on.” He wishes he could’ve been there for the moment you had your first experience feeling like a real bride, he knows that planning the wedding hasn’t exactly been everything the two of you thought it would be and while you know you’re his fiancé and will in fact be marrying him in a few months you haven’t quite felt like an actual bride, until this afternoon.

“Did everyone cry?” You give him a playful look as his hand rubs soothing circles on the tops of your thighs. “What? I just need to know how badly you made everyone cry when they saw you in it so I can try to prepare myself for when I get to see you in it that’s all.” Harry knows he will be a watery eyed mess the moment he sees you making your way towards him on the actual day and honestly while the dress he’s sure will add to his emotions because he has no doubt you will look stunning, he knows most of his tears will be due to the fact his bestfriend in the whole world who he just so happens to be madly in love with is really about to become his wife.

“Niall was a mess.” You answer and Harry rolls his eyes because of course Niall was a mess he didn’t expect anything less from him, but you ignore it as you try to remember everyone’s reactions to seeing you in the dress. “Oh Emily almost cried but Paige full on squealed when she saw me and Gem cried-”

“Gemma cried? As in Gemma Styles? My sister cried? She-she never cries.” You just shrug and Harry lets out a sigh and leans his head to rest on the back of the couch and looks up at the ceiling. “I am so fucked.” You laugh and place a hand on his chest giving it a nice little pat.

“Yeah you’re not gonna last long at all.”

[toulousewayne]

Trinity Head canon

Clark is the tallest at 6’3, Bruce is not far behind at 6’2 and Diana is 6’1.5.

Clark has a southern drawl. He’s been in the city for years, but sometimes it comes out when he’s angry or certain words will bring it out. Diana and Lois find it adorable.

Speaking of which Bruce has a thick Jersey accent but does have some British vocabulary that he uses like lift or tap instead of elevator or faucet.

Diana can speak the most languages, with Bruce behind her. She secretly taught him many forgotten languages, he enjoyed this time they spent. It was mostly when the first met.

When the two come to the manor they each have a favorite tea that Alfred or really Bruce will make. Clark likes Chamomile tea and Diana likes Oolong. Bruce himself prefers green tea.

The amount of last minute saves Clark and Diana have had to do to get Bruce out of harms way is crazy. They have a tally system that Barbara keeps track of. Clark is ahead by five points.

Bruce has planned out his affairs in case he dies. Again. Damian would go into Clark and Lois’ care he figures Jon would help him a lot during this time. When he was younger if something happened to him or Alfred Dick was also supposed to go to Clark. And had Jason lived during his younger years he was originally going to Clark but he changed it to Diana a few weeks before he passed away.

Diana drops by every Sunday to feed and play with the animals. Damian has grown fond of his aunt Diana’s visits.

Aside from Bruce, Alfred and Barbara Clark is the only other person who knows how feral and intense Dick’s run as Robin was.

Diana is usually the one to lead the league or a mission. Bruce has always felt she was better at leading the charge, though she thinks the opposite and just feels she’s doing what’s needed in the moment.

We have established that Bruce is a terrible cook. Diana is far worse as when she first invited the two over to her apartment she was making a casserole she kept hearing about. Clark had to put out the fire and Bruce payed off the fire marshal. Clark can cook four dishes; Beef stew, a traditional country breakfast, apple pie and Chili. He’s trying to expend his recipes but the other two enjoy the options.

The trio get together twice a month for a night on the town. They’ve only had three successful nights out where they didn’t need to save the city.

Once a year Diana and Clark force Bruce to take a week long vacation. The Batkids watch over Gotham, and Kara watches Metropolis.

They usually go to an island off the coast of Greece that Diana discovered. She has to mother Bruce about sunscreen because he burns like paper.

Clark enjoys surfing and snorkeling. Bruce will broad for the first two days then he’ll loosen up.

Diana and Clark each have a favorite thing about the Batcave. Clark loves the giant penny and Diana is always found staring at the T-Rex.

Speaking of which, Diana is banned from driving the Batmobile nether Bruce or Diana will explain why, but Clark is chuckling about the situation.

Clark had filled in for Bruce five times. Three times as Batman and twice as Bruce Wayne using his voice.

Tim and Damian are the only Robins to work with Clark as Batman and they both enjoyed having rogues confused as to why their usual tricks didn’t affect Batman.

Clark sometimes had doubts about being a beacon of Hope when they first formed the League. It was Batman they gave him a word of advice, though Bruce still denies it till this day.

Diana once caught Bruce with her lasso, she questioned him about why he was so interested in it, he never told her why but she thinks it’s because it’s the only thing that has forced the truth out of him.

Clark can drive a stick shift, Diana can’t parallel park.

Diana is actually a good mechanic, she’s worked on a few of the aircraft at the Watchtower.

Each of the Trinity has a favorite duo to team up with. Clark likes to work with Martian Manhunter and Atom, Diana likes to work with Vixen and Black Canary, and Bruce once again won’t attempt it but he likes to work with Green Lantern (Hal) and the Flash (Barry).

Bruce doesn’t have perfect vision as he leads people to believe. He had glass since he was ten, and has had LASIK three times.

Diana will sometimes braid the Batkids hair. She loves Duke and Tim’s hair the most. She sometimes will scold Dick about his longer hair because she knows he’ll never tend to it properly.

[penwieldingdreamer]

Puppy Issues and Money Problems

Wow, oh my gosh. Thank you everyone for the likes, comments and reblogs. It's been a while since I had so much fun writing and gotten so many notes on a story. This is another one for the Austin thing.

Again, I tried to keep the appearance and description of the reader as vauge as possible, so you guys will be able to come up with your own picture for the reader, only thing I pictured it's a female reader, living in London with her british mother and american father, single mother of two girls Lottie (5) and Millie (3), and two years older than Austin.

Summary: Did Austin start to have feelings for you? Well, he's not too sure, but to you he's a great friend keeping your kids occupied - unfortunately with puppies - and your ex keeps messing up your plans.

Words: 1,9k

Warnings: fluff, some swear words, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know

Happy reading and enjoy. And please let me know what you think, if you want to be tagged or taken off the taglist for this.

Tagging: @sqrlgrl22 @buckysteveloki-me @rlinda6 @imusicaddict @fortheloveoffanfic @unicoreads

Aug. 2022

“You like her.”

It wasn't a question, more a statement. He was on a FaceTime call with Kaia, finally having wrapped his day filming when he saw the picture you posted. 

It was Lottie's birthday, so he called her while on his break. Austin was in his costume and feared that your eldest was going to scream when she saw him. He had told them that it was only for.the movie and they shouldn't be frightened but he wasn't too sure at first.

And scream she did, “Aus! Mummy look, it's Austin! He looks really cool and scary.”

His blackened teeth showed when he smiled at the screen, happy to see the girls and you again. It had been a few weeks, usually Lottie would take your phone and send pictures or videos of you cooking and dancing to Elvis or when Millie got a new toy dog and wanted to show him.

“Are you taking good care of yourself?” you asked him, seeing the tiredness reflect in his eyes. Even with his costume and great acting, you knew he wasn't completely okay.

Nodding his head, he was glad you were a friend he could talk to as well. “I do, Florence took me around Budapest yesterday.”

You hummed contentedly, your hands brushing Lottie's curls from your eyes and pulling Millie closer to you. “That's good, Aus, I'm glad to hear that. I'll leave you with the girls, I need to get back to work.”

“Don't work too much, I only ever see you working when Lottie's on the phone.”

“That's because usually those two are making sure my phone gets charged regularly.”

Chuckling, Austin shook his head at your joke. You walked out of the screen and he was left with your girls.

Florence, Zendaya and Timothée had found him amidst all the other actors and extras in the mess hall, laughing and talking on the phone.

“You know, it's kind of disturbing seeing him smile while in costume. He's such a cream pie and then he switches to being a psychotic murderer.” Florence told them, her eyebrows scrunched together as they made their way over to their co-star. 

“Yo, Aus, what's got you all smiling?” Timothée called his fellow actor as they sat down with him. They could see two little girls on the screen talking animatedly about something or other. He knew Austin didn't have kids so they must have been his sister's kids. “Those your nieces?”

Looking up, he grinned at the three and shook his head. “No, they're my friend's girls. Wanna say hello to my friends, girls?”

He saw them nod eagerly and turned his phone to Zendaya, Florence and Timo. The blonde actress crossed her hands over her heart. “Oh my, you guys are so sweet.”

Lottie and Millie were waving at them, broad grins on their faces. “It's my birthday today.”

A chorus of Happy Birthday sounded from his fellow actors and he couldn't help the warmth spreading in his belly. He knew he was friendzoned and he had a girlfriend back in Los Feliz, but he had to admit that whenever he talked to the girls he hoped to have a few minutes with you as well.

Now Austin was looking at Kaia's face and knew that she wasn't just talking about Lottie. "You know she's just a friend and I adore those girls to bits.”

“I know you do, they are cute and if I didn't have a lot on my plate right now I'd fly over and visit them. But Austin, babe, you got to be honest here.”

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Thank god that bald cap was off for today. “I am, Kaia. We're friends, nothing more.” His voice was low and raspy from tiredness. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” No. “Besides, she's made it clear that I'd have no chance with her, no way in hell. Said she was too old and had two kids.” 

Humming, the model leaned back on her couch, watching him closely. “I miss you, babe.”

“Miss you, too. I'll be in London with Baz and then back in LA for the Governor's. I'd love to see you either way. “How's prep for the series going?”

She smiled at him and he saw the giddiness in her eyes. This was why he fell in love with her, her friendly, eager and lovable persona. “It's good, everyone's super nice and giving me tips. I really love working on that show.”

“Great, I'm glad to hear that.” Thinking back on why they actually had that call he was going to stop thinking about you like that. As he had told Kaia, you really were adamant about just being his friend with the girls taking a liking to him. He had a girlfriend he was proud of and hella in love with.

“Mummy? Can we get a puppy?” 

So why did the image of your daughters and you send warmth cursing through his system?

It was a repeating cycle with Lottie and Millie constantly begging you for a puppy dog. Ever since they had seen Kaia and Austin with Milo they wanted one as well. You sat at your desk working on a new blog article about a new recipe you had tried not too long ago. 

Good thing about your job as a freelancer was, you could work from home. Your oldest was going to start school in a week and Millie was still in Kindergarten so you wanted to focus on them and not be off to work and load those two rascals onto your parents. 

You'd get asked to write a blog or articles for a smaller newspaper. The pay was good and you had the time to work on your own blog as well, which you supposed,  was more of a hobby blog instead of something super serious. You started out as a family friendly blog then turned it into a Mom blog and now it had everything from your day to day life, talking about food, travel and family.

“Baby, I talked to you about that. We can't have a puppy yet. You need to go to school and I need to work as well.”

Her eyebrows creased and her lips pushed together in a tight line as Lottie fixed you with an angry look. “But Austin said if I'm a good girl I'd get a puppy.”

“No baby, he said if you're a good girl and ask me you might get a puppy. There's a huge difference in that statement.” You breathed out a sigh, getting back to the text you were writing.

She stomped her little feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I've been a good girl for years. You always tell me later, later. I want a puppy now.” 

God, Butler. Next time I'll kill you.

“We don't have the time for a puppy, Charlotte. That's final.” You hated being the harsh, mean parent but it wasn't going to work out if you started with Well, not right now, after you finished first grade. She was going to keep asking for a puppy for another few weeks.

Wide eyes and a trembling chin were the answer before she ran to her room, feet stomping loudly on the hardwood. “I'm going to call granny and tell her everything!” Her call was followed by the slam of her door.

Great.

Next time you keep talking about a puppy with the girls, you'll be the one dealing with the aftermath. 🫠

You knew he wasn't going to answer, being all around the world and filming Dune: Part 2 but you felt satisfied to give back some of his medicine. The last time Austin had been in London there was no time to meet up, so he sent them both a mini version of Kaia’s dog and promised Lottie and Millie to have her there to show Milo to them. Told them, if they were listening to you and talking with you about it, they might get a real puppy dog. Obviously that one backfired and you got the brunt of it.

Of course Lottie’s tantrum wasn’t the only thing keeping you from writing your article. Just as you thought the day couldn’t get worse.

Had an emergency at work. Don't cash the check.

You've got to be kidding me.

Fuming you instantly dialed Trevor’s number, already feeling your stomach churning from the anger towards your ex partner.

He was making things too fucking difficult for you. The dial tone always had bile rising up at the prospect of talking to him, conditioned like Pavlov's dog.

“Trevor! What the actual hell. You promised this time.”

“I know, but there was something at work and I needed the money.”

Closing your eyes, a deep sigh left your lips. Honestly, it sounded more like a groan than pushing actual air from your mouth. “God damn it. You know it's Lottie's birthday. She wanted to go to football camp this weekend and I already made the payment with the check. How am I supposed to actually pay for that.”

“Well, you could have waited before you started giving out big presents like that.” He mocked, annoyance coloring his voice and you could literally feel the eye roll through the phone. 

Your thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to remain calm was pretty hard right now and you wondered why you ever gave him the time of the day let alone have two kids with him. “You know what? If you were actually decent at keeping to the schedules we set up and being a good father I wouldn't always have to tell the girls excuses why their dad can't come to any of their FUCKING parties or recitals! 

Especially when you're supposed to pay child support because you didn't want them after all and just up and left. It's the third time now in the last two months and I've had it with your excuses.”

“And I fucking told you all the time that those were emerg”

“Work emergencies my arse! Did you fuck your secretary and got her pregnant as well?”

Trevor growled but you could hear a soft gasp. Of course she was there. Alice, his secretary at his office and the reason he left when Millie was only six months. “That's none of your fucking business. You went on dates as well after we broke up, so don't go blaming me if you're frustrated right now. You're blowing this money problem out of fucking proportions. I always paid on time, but I have some financial problems at the moment so you should give me some credit.”

God damn this man.

“I'm not going to give you credit for something you're supposed to do. I'll have my lawyer reach out to you, so you better be able to pay every god damn penny.”

You gave him no chance to answer, hanging up the instant you heard Trevor take a deep breath. “What a fucking tool.”

Told them they needed to talk to you about it. 🙃 Never promised a puppy, but if you want, I can talk to them. A😜

You'd be a lifesaver. They've been little gremlins ever since. 

I'll be done before they're off to bed. Call me and I'll talk to them both about the puppy issue.

“MUMMY! Can we get pancakes for dinner?”

Leaning back in your chair, you groaned deeply. You loved your girls but sometimes you just wanted a break - and a dad for them who'd take them off your hands.

Divider: @cafekitsune

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (12)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments, daddy Dean

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (11)

“That’s delicious,” Dean tries to break the awkward silence during dinner. He compliments the dessert you ordered but doesn’t look very happy. “Now that I tried British food, I must say it ain’t as bad as I thought.”

You watch Dean poke the pie you ordered. He makes a face before taking another bite. Dean almost chokes. He scrunches up his nose when sniffing at the mince pie.

“I can see that,” you grin. If not for all the chaos Dean caused over the last hours, you’d laugh because he looks adorable while forcing the unloved food down his throat. “It’s mince pie.”

“Mince pie,” Dean retches. He can’t get the awful taste out of his mouth. Not even after he drank his beer and a glass of water. “It’s…”

“We eat it for Christmas,” Michael grins. “Mommy thought it would be nice to order it for you. She said you love pie.” You pat your son’s head. He enjoys the struggle on Dean’s face as much as you do.

“Your mother is very,” Dean narrows his eyes at you, “nice. How very kind of her to order the most delicious pie I ever ate.”

“You can have another slice,” you point at the pie to tease Dean. “We have more than enough. I’m not much of a fan of pie.”

“No, thanks,” Dean rubs his grumbling stomach. “I’m full. I can’t eat more.”

“You barely ate anything,” Sam points out. “Don’t wake me in the middle of the night because you want to sneak into the kitchen to get more food. I know your stomach.”

“Shut up…” Dean grumbles and whispers ‘bitch’ under his breath. “I’m not very hungry today.”

“Dean Winchester is not hungry?” You cock a brow, pretending to not know about his aversion to the pie you bought. “I see, wonders do happen.”

Dean pouts and looks away. He won’t fall for your trap. “I do not eat all the time, sweetheart. Sometimes a man gotta work or clean his car.”

You wince at the pet name you tried to forget about. Dean does the same. It was a slip of the tongue, not meant to hurt you. “Cleaning your car is not work for you, Winchester. You love that car more than anything.”

“Not more than you—” Dean’s eyes widen at his words. He suddenly gets up and leaves the room, cursing himself once again. How could he just say something like that? After all, he’s done within the last hours.

“That was…” Sam clears his throat. He awkwardly looks at you, wondering if you are ever madder at his brother now. “Sometimes Dean speaks before he thinks. You must excuse him. It was a rough week. From mother revealing her role in your breakup to meeting his son.”

“Sam,” your features soften. You know Sam tries to help his brother out. Of course, he does. Sam loves his brother and would do anything to make Dean happy. The problem is things aren’t so easy.

“I know,” he says and glances at Michael. “Maybe you should…” Sam shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’d love to help you, though.”

“Mommy, can I meet my cousins? I wanna talk about cars with them,” Michael pouts. “Please. They sound so cool.”

“Michael, we will talk about this another time. It’s bedtime, okay,” you try to avoid thinking about meeting Sam’s children. If you get involved with Dean’s family, things will get even more complicated.

“Your mom is right, Michael. We can talk about this another time. You should get ready for bed, bud.”

Sam’s dad skills are showing when he tries to distract your son from the chaos his brother caused by coming here.

“Okay,” Michael yawns. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Can you check on my pillow before I sleep, Mommy?”

“I’ll fluff your pillow, baby boy,” you smile at your son. He had a lot to stomach too. From the Winchesters invading your home, over Dean’s fight with Ketch and the revelation that Dean is his father.

You step inside the living room, taking a deep breath. While putting your son to sleep you had the time to think about a few things and came up with an idea.

“I had time to think about a few things,” you say. “Michael wants to get to know his cousins.” You lick your lips. “I need to talk to Bobby about a job offer he made some months ago. I need a new job so…”

“You want to go to the States?” Dean questions. “Do you want to move back for the job or…just visit?”

“Dean, I hate it when someone interrupts my speech,” you snap at Dean. “After I talked to Bobby, and Michael had the chance to meet his cousins, I have to take care of a few more things.”

“What else do you want to take care of?” Dean swallows thickly when you sit next to him. You look at your hands, sighing deeply. “Y/N?”

“We could’ve been happy, don’t you think?” You suddenly ask. Dean is taken aback and doesn’t know what to say. “At least that’s what I told myself years ago.”

“I think so,” he murmurs. “I mean…you know me. I’m a mess and fuck things up sometimes.”

You snort. “Sometimes, Winchester?”

“Hey, I had my moments too,” he grunts. “For a while, I made you happy.”

“You did,” you pat his thigh. “I’ll book a flight for me and Michael tomorrow. Before we go back to Kansas I need you to know that I’ll confront your mother. She manipulated our relationship.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t think for one moment that you are forgiven. It was still your decision to not look for me but,” you squeeze his thigh this time, “if your mother didn’t intervene, we could’ve talked things out.”

Part 13

Tags in reblog.

[sturniolotrip-samandcolby-lover]

Chris sturniolo -focus

Pairing -domChris x British reader fem

Summary -When you decide to show your boyfriend you favourite British show , he gets bored and decides to test how good you can focus .

Warnings - smut , swearing , fingering, unprotected sex, p x v intercourse , slightly Dom Chris ,Dirty talking ,bulge kink , cream pie , praising,multiple orgasms.mentions of spanking , mentions of rough sex , mentions of masturbation. Thats all I think let me know guys if I've missed anything.

Author note -use of y/n , first person and not proofread .

Word count -2k

"Chrisss it's starting" I shout to my boyfriend of 1 year , dragging out his name while he leaves his bathroom and makes his way over to the bed."I don't get why you love this show so much ain't it just about people baking" he replies to me as he lifts the thick blue quilt up so he can get into bed , allowing the cold air to hit my side I'm instantly overwhelmed by warmth as Chris lays beside me ."oh no it's so much more then just people baking , it's a competition , it's entertaining and most importantly it's funny when things go wrong" I say with overenthusiastic excitement describing my favourite show ' the great British bake off' ."sounds like it's even more sterotypically British then you are , what are they going to do in the breaks eat fish and chips with the queen" he says with a awful fake British accent laughing "babe the queen is dead" I say shocked by his choice of words "oh shit yeah" he says linking an arm around my waist as i roll onto my side facing the laptop , I feel Chris make himself comfortable behind me spooning me from behind with my back against his chest .I press play on the screen.

The theme song starts to play and I do my basic girl thing ofo doing a happy little dance eating a deep chuckle from Chris ."you and this show I'm starting to think you love it more then you love me" he whispers in my ear giving me a quick kiss onto my neck."hmmm possibly" I say with a smirk on my face winding him up .*wack* "oh really" Chris says smug as he smacks my ass i can almost hear the smirk in his voice.Resulting in a squeal and laugh from me .We watch the first quarter of the show in a comfortable silence as the adverts start I hear a sigh from Chris as his deep breath hits the back of my neck causing me have instant goosebumps.

He shuffles behind me so that his head is higher up then mine , bits of his hair tickling my cheek "you know what" he says with his voice in a deep whisper I can't help but feel butterflies in my stomach ."you look so beautiful right now" he says kissing my forehead .I feel my face get hot as I blush at his compliment " good job it's dark in here or you'd see me looking more red then a embarrassed lobster but thank you , you look beautiful too" I move my head so that I can reach his lips and I meet them with a light kiss , that both Chris and I smile into .We hear the show begin again so we both draw our attention back to it .

*5 minutes later*

We're still silent as we continue to watch the show when I feel Chris hand move under the waistband of the grey joggers of his that Im wearing, I try to focus on his laptop but the feeling of Chris's rough hands against the peachy flesh of my ass is slightly distracting."hmmm you're so warm mama" Chris talks into my ear more to himself then me.He rubs my ass cheek with his hand and I get deja vu from last time his hand rubbed my ass was last week when he caught me touching myself, Chris decided to teach me a lesson by spanking me and rubbing my ass to sooth me ."I must be that hot " I joke to him pretending to flick my hair , earning a laugh from him .I feel his hand start to move over my hip and close to my exposed core , causing me to let a small whimper of anticipation earning yet another laugh from chris."what are you doing y/n?" He whispers into my ear so innocently as if he doesn't know what he's doing .I keep my mouth shut knowing that the next noise that falls out of my mouth would be a moan ."answer me baby girl" chris says in a demanding tone ."trying to focus" i say through a breath to him ."shall we see how good you can focus mama" he says seductively "what do you me-" im cut off when his hand lands on my pussy with a quick smack."keep focusing on the laptop baby girl and you can cum and if you dont well take a wild guess who isn't coming tonight" He says to me finishing his sentence with another wack to my pussy , I nod my head signaling to chris that i understand."good girl" i hear him say as his fingers move up and down my slit getting coated in my juices ."so wet for me already and ive barely touched you" chris says causing a moan to fall out of my mouth .

"Please Chris , please" I say between breathless moans ."awe what is it baby" he says to me in a mocking tone "please just so something" I respond "well since you asked so nicely" he says in the same mocking tone as his fingers find my clit rubbing in quick circles I throw my head back against his shoulder as the instant ecstacy builds with every move of Chris's fingers "remember focus baby else you're not cumming tonight" he reminds me as my legs start to quiver around his hand."fuck..." I moan out closing my eyes thankfully that Chris was still behind me else he would of reminded me again to focus ."you're so good Chris" I squeal out "look at you already on the brink of cumming and I've not even went inside of you yet" I hear Chris say , sounding distant as I feel my release coming fast "please Chris please I need to cum I'm gonna cum" I say throw pants and moans ."go on baby be a good girl and cum" he says into my ear as his fingers move faster then they was previous as I feel my release overwhelm my body as I'm left a shaking , moaning mess while Chris continues rubbing my clit as he helps me ride through my orgasm ."so good mama , you look so pretty when you cum" he says as he pauses his movements "you're so pretty you're going to do it again " he continues all the attempt of focus has gone out the window as one of Chris's arms reach over me slamming the laptop shop his fingers that are still rest on my clit dives straight into my pussy as he pushes one into earning a instant moan " so tight baby even after I've already made you cum once you're tight" he says to himself more then me as he pushes a second finger in , plowing me he starts of deep and slow as his pace speeds up .The sound of my pussy wetness filling the room , Chris's fingers move so fast and so deep I can hear him talk to me but no words make sense I can't even place words myself I just have moans and whispers falling from my mouth as my second orgasm of the night builds up faster then the first one did ."so wet baby I can feel you clenching around me , do you wanna cum girl" he asks me hypothetically "yes god yes please Chris can I cum" the words leave my mouth in a embarrassing whining sound.Chris uses his spare hand to spread my shaking thighs as they try to close around his fingers , "gotta stretch you out ready to take my cock" I hear him says as he places a third finger into my wet pussy .He fingers go deeper and faster curling to touch my gspot as i throw my head back again as swear words, moans and Chris's name repeatedly falls out of my mouth as i cum for the second time tonight .Again he doesn't stop his actions until my body goes limp against his .He pulls his fingers out of me as i hear him sucking my juices off , i move around in his arm so i could face him when im greeted with his lust filled blue eyes staring into my dazed ones as he sucks his fingers clean of my juices .

"You good baby girl" he asks me I nod my head in agreement to him ."good cus you're gonna do it one more time " he says as he rolls me over already taking my jogging bottoms off."Chris I don't know if I can" I say tiredly to him "you can baby just one more time , cum around my cock let me fill you up mama " he whisper to me grabbing my chin so he can move my head so that I look at him ."okay" I say to him "I wanna watch you cum again" he says as he holds me legs up and open and rest the head of his dick at my entrance before he thrusts in stretching me perfectly, we both let out moans , with our mouths open and staring into each others eyes. He starts thrusting into , fucking me mercilessly .I feel his cock go deeper inside of me I move my hand over to my stomach when I feel a bulge it's Chris dick he's so deep inside of me that he's actually made a bulge in me ."feel this" I say to him between moans as I grab Chris's hand and move it over to where he dick is making itself well known in me."fuck im so deep in you" he said still holding my face so our mouths are touching as we speak were that close .

Chris never slack in his movement as he continues to thrust into me at a inhumane speed , I'm left almost screaming against his mouth showing the Chris that I'm near my release."you're shaking baby" Chris states with a smirk as his hand that is still holding my leg up reaches further up and rubs my already over sensitive clit fast and nearly coming " keep your eyes on me baby , I wanna see your pretty face when you cum on my cock" he says and that's all that it takes for me to release myself over him "good girl such a good girl" he says to me as he helps me ride out my final orgasm ."please Chris" I say to him as my body is exhausted after my orgasms Chris shows no mercy and continues to fuck me relentlessly "what baby" he says in the same mocking tone from earlier "cum Chris please fill me up I want to feel your load" those last few dirty words are all that is needed as its chris time to moan into my mouth as i feel his long hot strings of cum coat my walls .He stills and pulls out of me leaving us both a panting mess as he kisses my now sweaty forehead "im so proud baby , you took me so well".are the last words i hear chris say before i fall asleep with my head against his chest .

[thecousinsdangereux]

if i'm falling wrong [1/1]

notes: over on Twitter, moonyriot has been working on a multi-part journal from Ava's POV covering her time in Switzerland and beyond. She asked me if I wanted to join in on the fun and write a short one-shot to cover some of the events in part 6. (If you haven't seen any of her posts, here's the first one. They are incredible so definitely check them out.)

—

“The integrity of the upright guides them,” Ava reads, taking care to enunciate each word, “but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them. That’s Proverbs 11:3, Beatrice.” 

Beatrice definitely knows, which is — Ava thinks — what makes it so funny. Or. Funny to her, at least. Maybe not so much for Beatrice, whose lips have flattened into a thin line that hides almost all of their pretty pink hue (a color Ava has taken a liking to in a way that definitely relates to how often she finds herself staring at Beatrice’s mouth). 

“It is better to promise nothing than to promise something and not be able to do it,” Ava continues, because she’s never been any good at knowing when to stop. “That’s Ecclesiastes. And — ooh, this is a good one — A person who promises a gift but doesn’t give it is like clouds and wind that bring no rain. That’s — ”

“Proverbs again, yes, thank you, Bible.com.” 

“It’s actually Biblereasons.com.” She shows off the screen of her phone, the one that she’s definitely supposed to be using sparingly (and never does). “But sure, I can go to your bible website of choice. Whatever you want. Pretty sure I’m still going to find the same answer, though. Honestly, I would’ve thought a nun would know that lying is bad. Not to brag, or anything, but I learned that one when I was like five, or something.” 

For reasons unknown, this pries Beatrice’s lips wide, dragging them out into a full smile, pink mouth and small indent at the corner appearing just as quickly as Ava’s pulse picks up, heart slamming up against the poor, battered walls of her chest. 

“How odd,” Beatrice begins, in a low drawl that means Ava’s in trouble (in so many ways). “Because I seem to recall you telling Hans, just yesterday morning, that you were allergic to apples. As a result, he traded pastries with you, leaving you with the chocolate eclair you’d been all but salivating over since you first noticed it in the break room. Given that I know that you were perfectly able to consume a slice of apple pie that the neighbors brought up last week, I am forced to conclude that — ”

“Okay, okay! Jesus. Pump the brakes, Miss Marple. I’m allowed to lie; I’m a dirty sinner or whatever. But you hold yourself to a higher standard, right?” (Unfortunately, Ava adds, but only mentally, because yeah.) “So when you said ‘Ava, if you’re able to best me in a mighty trial of combat, I will bequeath to you a single portrait wherein my lips are upturned in joyous felicitations’ or whatever, I took that as an oath, Bea. A serious, serious oath.” 

“One, I don’t sound like that. Two, no English person alive sounds like that. Why do you default to the Regency era when you’re trying to mock my accent?” 

By now, Beatrice’s smile has really started to crack open, showing off the slightest sliver of white behind those lips. It’d be unfair to say that this (the moment where Beatrice’s eyes crinkle with a laughter she most likely won’t release) is always Ava’s goal in any conversation she has with Beatrice, but maybe it is always an intended stop along the way, whatever the actual destination might be. 

(Other pitstops of note include: the cute scrunch of her nose whenever she’s focused on Ava alone, the half-tilt of her head whenever she’s considering something Ava’s said, the almost absentminded brush of her fingers along Ava’s forearm whenever she wants her to pay especially close attention. There’s a common theme here, but Ava’s well-aware of her own preoccupation, so it’s fine. Probably.)  

“Uh, because I’m paying you a huge compliment? Ungrateful much? Mr. Darcy is like… the hottest the British have ever been. Not that that’s hard because otherwise they kind of really suck, but I’m trying here, Bea, and you’re giving me nothing but attitude. And lies.”

Beatrice sighs. It’s cute enough that Ava nearly sighs too, longing bubbling up behind her lips.

“I told you I would smile for one of your pictures if you pinned me during training. It was implied you would do so without cheating.” 

With a tsk that doesn’t sound anything like the one Beatrice sometimes uses (a low sound from the back of her throat that always did very little to help Ava concentrate), Ava takes a half-step closer so that she might properly waggle a finger in Beatrice’s face. 

“I’m only doing what you taught me, Bea I thought I was supposed to use all the resources at my disposal?” 

Beatrice promptly bats the finger away. But that’s sort of the point. (Sometimes, it’s a little pathetic, the lengths Ava will go to make sure Beatrice is touching her at literally every possible opportunity, but Ava’s never really minded being a little pathetic for a good cause. And Beatrice is honestly never hard to bait, at least in this particular way.) 

“Ava, you bit me.” 

“Which was using all the resources at my disposal! Come on! If I’d been in a real fight, you would’ve called that innovative!” 

“Perhaps if you hadn’t used your — ” Delightfully, Beatrice takes a small, steadying breath before her next word, which, to Ava (who’s spent months studying Beatrice with the rigor of a staunch academic) is as much of a giveaway as one of her cute little blushes. “ — tongue.”

“I think the element of surprise would still work just fine,” she insists, but then Beatrice gives her a look, one that she knows won’t allow for any debate over the merits of licking her enemies, and she gives in nearly instantly. (Ava’s really only interested in using any part of her mouth on one person alone, anyway.) “But fine. Okay. Good note, teach.”

Winter has begun to fade from the air and, as they walk back towards their apartment in the meandering pace that has become their custom, Ava is pleased by this for two reasons. One: their neighbors — who bake enough that Ava’s convinced they’re working up to competing on one of those bafflingly polite baking shows — now leave their windows open, filling the air with the most delicious smells, noticeable even a block away from their home. And Two: Beatrice has taken to wearing short-sleeves again, which means that when she nudges Ava now (with a charmed little roll of her eyes), it’s bare skin against bare skin. 

In training, this is both a pleasure and a problem, because then it’s Beatrice’s shorts and Ava’s shirt being pushed up as Ava gets pinned to the ground and it’s the skin of Beatrice’s inner thigh against the skin of Ava’s hip and that’s a lot more than the casual brushes she’s gotten used to. Ava had long ago realized that any and all logical thought flies out the fucking window when faced with a muscular thigh, so really, it hadn’t been all that much of a surprise when it’d resulted in Ava doing something completely insane. 

Like taking Beatrice’s thumb into her mouth. And biting it. And maybe sucking a little. Honestly, it’s all a bit of a haze, because Beatrice had then made a noise that would most certainly be featured in Ava’s dreams for the next week or month or year, in the most mortifying (and sexy) way possible. 

And to be fair, it had worked in getting Ava out of the chokehold she otherwise would’ve probably happily died in. 

So there’s that.

“Something with chocolate today,” Beatrice comments, and Ava short-circuits for a second, thinking about chocolate and fingers and skin and the really incredible potential combination of the three, before she remembers the neighbors and the smell and the baking and feels her cheeks burn.

“Uh — yeah. Maybe they’ll have extra to share.” The windows on the first floor apartment are (of course) open as they approach, and Ava raises her voice just enough for it to carry through. She catches the intertwined laughter of the neighbors that results, and shoots Beatrice a wink that dispels some of the heat building within her, an emergency vent that she’s learned to rely on. 

“You’re shameless,” Beatrice says, in the exact way she always does whenever she doesn’t mean it (lips quirking at the corners). 

“And you’re welcome, when we end up getting brownies, or whatever they’re making.” 

The door to their building never unlocks easily, but it’s gotten worse as the temperatures have started to rise; Beatrice shoulders it open, muscles bunching in her back, and Ava does absolutely nothing to help, watching the flex of her shoulder blades under the tight, gray fabric. 

“You know me,” Beatrice says lightly, knocking the side of her sneakers against the bottom of the stairs before heading up (and Ava does know her, enough to wait patiently for her to complete this small ritual). “I’m always craving sweets.” 

“You are sometimes! Whenever you come home from a night shift, you break into my stash! And since you have a lot of those coming up, on account of you losing our bet…” 

Beatrice laughs, a soft huff that turns into an adorable little squeak when Ava shoves past her on the staircase and snatches the keys from her fingers, bursting through their apartment door with far less effort than Beatrice had needed below. 

“You’re not letting this one go, are you?” 

It’s probably response enough when she snatches her camera off of the kitchen table and points it at Beatrice as soon as she steps across the threshold, but even this (pretty impressive!) sneak attack fails. Beatrice is quick enough to throw a hand up before the snap, lowering it only when Ava does the same with the camera. She continues to eye her warily as she bends down to untie her shoes, only abating to cast a significant look in Ava’s direction, which persists until Ava kicks hers off far less elegantly.

“It’s one photo, Bea!” she grumbles, watching as Beatrice arranges their sneakers in a perfect little line. “Just… one smile. Let’s just get it out of the way, you know? Look up and … ”

Beatrice does look up. 

Ava has to give her that.

It’s the only warning she gets before Beatrice is standing and her fingers are wrapping around Ava’s wrist and she’s pressed flush against Ava’s front and well. Sure. That’s one way to get Ava to shut up. Probably the only way. Ava knows this about herself, but really can’t find any regret when it’s led her right here. 

“You cheated,” Beatrice murmurs lowly. “Why would I reward that?” 

Ava has a lot of thoughts around the concept of Beatrice rewarding her, and absolutely none of them are good. (Or, rather, they’re all extremely good. Very good. Far too good for her to be able to say out loud, those curling, irreverent thoughts that stick her tongue to the roof of her mouth and keep her up at night.) So it’s really out of mercy that she phases then — slipping out of Beatrice’s grip the only way she knows how that doesn’t involve cheap tricks — stepping back and lifting her camera again. 

What follows transpires a bit too quickly for Ava to track. 

She’s seen Beatrice fight in all sorts of situations — at full speed in back alley brawls and at half-tempo when leading her through a new form — but Ava’s pretty sure she’ll never see enough to lose the surprise that comes from being on the end of one of Beatrice’s first strikes. She’s in front of Ava and then she’s not; it’s really as simple (and terrifying) (and hot) as that. One moment, Ava has her camera ready, and then she’s facing a different direction entirely, her hand twisted behind her back, her camera falling from her grasp. Beatrice is fast here too, swooping down to catch it before it hits the floor, but this allows Ava to throw an elbow backwards, a hit that surely would have broken something in Beatrice’s face had it landed (but which Ava knows by now never will). 

“Double or nothing?” Ava pants, stumbling forward and twisting back around to face Beatrice, who’s gently placed the camera on the floor, carefully out of the way. 

“Two photos if you win and you take my night shifts for two weeks when you lose?” 

“Wait, I don’t like the if/when placement in that senten — ”

She barely ducks out of Beatrice’s grapple, cutting herself off mid-word to manage it, a little breathless already. It occurs to her that she’s definitely made a mistake here, looking up and finding Beatrice serious and focused, strands of her hair slipping out of the low bun that’s already started to loosen. Even in the warm light filtering through their apartment windows, Beatrice’s eyes look dark, and Ava spends a second too long suppressing a shiver at the sight. Which means, of course, she’s unable to avoid the next hit: a full tackle to the floor. Either Beatrice really doesn’t want Ava to take this photo or she really wants to get out of her night shifts, because she’s not going about this in the calm, measured way Ava is used to. (There’s a third option and it’s one Ava likes best; maybe Beatrice just really wants to pin Ava to the floor, to feel Ava underneath her, to feel Ava squirm against her front, fighting to get out of the hold. This is the option Ava relates to best and maybe it’s the one driving her now, putting her at a disadvantage just as significant as all the other ones.) 

Ava hits the ground hard, enough to knock air out of her lungs, but she’s saved, partially, by starting on a twist mid-air, mindful of how dangerous it’ll be if Beatrice gets her flat on her back. Not that Ava is opposed to this idea. Not on a normal day. Not even today, if only Beatrice would — 

“Good,” Beatrice says, breaking through Ava’s thoughts, though not in a way that is helpful at all. Beatrice most certainly notices the jerk of Ava’s hips the single word causes, but almost equally as certainly dismisses it as part of Ava’s attempts to break free. “But you over-rotated. Just slightly. See how I can use that to put you on your stomach?”

Always the instructor, Beatrice explains precisely how she’s going to best Ava before she actually does it; if Ava were better at this (if Beatrice were worse) this might actually be of some help in countering Beatrice’s efforts. Sadly, she’s not, so it isn’t. 

“Fuck,” Ava grunts, face pressed directly into the carpet of their bedroom. It’s honestly painful, the way Beatrice’s knee presses into the center of her back, but it’s a sort of pain that Ava’s come to find — over their months together — that she doesn’t especially mind or maybe even likes and maybe gets a fair amount of pleasure from and maybe thinks about it from time to time whenever she gets a moment alone and — yeah. Fuck is really the only word for it. 

“What now, Ava?” Finally, there’s a hint of the breathlessness in Beatrice’s voice: when she locks one of Ava’s arms behind her back, and Ava attempts to land some kind of backwards headbutt, pushing herself up off the floor with her free hand. “What’s your best option?” 

Beg you to have your way with me, doesn’t really seem like the response Beatrice is looking for, but Christ a girl can only take so much. And right about then, Ava knows she’s going to cheat (because it’s either cheat or blurt out something that will inevitably be extremely horny) but is it really cheating if there hadn’t been any rules put forth in the first place? 

She’s gotten better about controlling the Halo, so it barely gives off any light before she lifts onto one knee and throws herself backwards, phasing neatly through Beatrice’s front. The effort Beatrice had been using to hold her down works against her now, effectively swapping their positions as she falls forward, and Ava’s quick to use that momentum, reaching around to grab the front of Beatrice’s shirt so she’s flipped with the motion. Another (gentle) Halo blast lands Beatrice on her back, Ava straddling her hips and pinning both of her hands on either side of her head. 

“You didn’t say no Halo,” Ava says in a rush, as though the victory will be taken away instantly, as though she cares at all about some stupid bet instead of being on top of Beatrice whose eyes are wide and lovely, whose lips are parted and pink, whose chest is — not something Ava is looking at, thank you very much. Because she’s respectful, she can be respectful, she has to try to be respectful. 

“I didn’t,” Beatrice says finally and then fucking licks her lips, like God Himself has decided that Ava needs to be punched directly in the face with attractiveness or whatever and holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

“Then I — that means — uh — ” She releases one of Beatrice’s wrists like it’s burning, very much aware of the intensity of the gaze resting on her, and blindly roots around on the floor behind her until she finds the camera, resting just where Beatrice had left it. “I get to do this.” 

Her fumbling with the camera is hardly graceful, but honestly, the fact that she’s able to produce words at all is nothing short of a miracle, so she’ll take it. Her right hand is still wrapped around Beatrice’s left, fingers circling her wrist as she pins it to the floor, and she takes a picture of this first, holding her breath all the while. 

“For — uh — proof?” she offers, a little weakly, and Beatrice’s stare finally breaks, intensity replaced by something much softer, something that seeps into the corner of her eyes and mouth in equal measure. Ava’s struck by the sight as much as she is by anything else, and her grip relaxes enough that Beatrice can slip out of the hold, both hands drifting down until they come to rest just alongside either one of Ava’s knees. 

“Proof for who?” 

“What do you — proof for literally everyone, Bea; Hans, Camila, Lilith, Mother Superion, Jillian, the regulars at the bar, our neighbors, the lady who runs the bakery down the street, any random person I walk past for the next month. Hell, I might take out an ad in The Guardian, or something, are you kidding?” 

Beatrice laughs and it’s like a crack in the universe, or something equally and unequivocally earth-shattering. Lungs empty, air knocked fully out, Ava lifts her camera almost instinctively, only to find her view devastatingly obstructed, Beatrice’s arms flung over her face (the grin, still wide with laughter, barely peeking out from underneath). 

“Beatrice,” she groans (or maybe pouts).

“I’m sorry!” And she sounds it too, even through the smile, the half-giggles now petering out. “Truly. I’m not used to being photographed. I can’t think of a time it happened before you took up this hobby, not outside of unpleasant family photoshoots and the like.”

Ava’s heart flips painfully in her chest, but Beatrice is quick to soothe, fingers falling back down to brush against the outside of Ava’s leg, as though Ava’s the one in need of comfort.

“I’m not protesting, Ava. Just tell me what to do.” 

Photographs are meant to reproduce moments, memories, emotions, but Ava’s not sure the best photographer in the world, with hundreds of thousands of euros in equipment, would ever be able to fully capture Beatrice as she is now, fondness bleeding from the tips of her fingers, affection lighting the brown of her eyes, and love — or something an awful lot like it — bending her mouth, a bow pulled taut with an arrow that might be Ava herself, as inconceivable as the notion is. 

“Pretend the camera isn’t here,” Ava rasps, her breath hot (heated by all the things boiling inside of her now). “Just look at me.” 

Beatrice looks at her. 

Ava stops breathing. 

She takes the picture. The camera lowers. And Ava forgets about it entirely, object permanence completely obliterated by a force far stronger than something as trivial as human development.

Underneath her, seemingly content to be straddled, Beatrice looks calm, which isn’t unusual, because she almost always looks calm, so maybe it’s that she feels calm too. Like all the things Ava can always sense running through her at speeds only known to light have slowed down or disappeared entirely. The mission, her duties, her vows, her expectations, these things have washed away (temporarily but completely) until it’s only Beatrice left, staring at her lips. And Ava had thought she’d experienced wanting Beatrice in every way, but this one is new.

(She wants Beatrice like this: exactly herself, without anything else getting in the way.)

“Beatrice,” she says, a hitch in her voice breaking the name into three, distinct syllables. “I’m — ”

Cursed. Saved. Ruined. Blessed. Fucked. 

Ava’s not sure which word applies when the smoke alarm goes off downstairs.

It is not especially loud, or piercing, but it goes off and all of the easy calm flees from Beatrice’s eyes as she jerks upwards, back lifting off the floor until she’s close, closer than before, so close and it’s too much, maybe, or maybe Ava’s instincts are working against her (or for her?) because she falls back as soon as Beatrice completes the motion, balance disastrously (helpfully?) disrupted. 

Oh well, Ava thinks, as she lets herself fall back. Maybe a bit of brain damage would do her some good. 

Except that, of course, Beatrice catches her, a simple slip of her hand around Ava’s back, palm pressing to the middle of the Halo, shocks spreading out from the point of impact. 

“You’re what?” Beatrice asks, terribly quiet, as though she feels the air rearranging around them, molecules shifting back and forth between possibilities and outcomes. 

And if Beatrice were still calm, if everything else were still pushed away, if Beatrice was just Beatrice in that moment — just as she’d been so briefly before — it would not be a choice, what Ava did next. And maybe it isn’t one now either, but it’s in the opposite direction: pulling away rather than pushing forward (creating space rather than closing it). 

“I’m — just — I’m done. With the photos.” Decision made, breath returning, she shrugs, a little bashful now, the steady beep of the alarm and the laughter of their neighbors drifting up from below. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Beatrice’s head tilts, a small crease forming in between her eyebrows. Some people want money or power or peace or the answers to the universe, but Ava thinks she would be content, if only she could know what Beatrice is thinking right now.

“No,” she murmurs. “Not so bad at all.”

[murderousink23]

National Day of Tolerance and Coexistence 🇮🇶, National Dentist Day 🦷🇺🇲, National Frozen Food Day 🇺🇲, National Oreo Cookie Day 🇺🇲, National White Chocolate Cheesecake Day 🇺🇲, Casimir Pulaski Day 🇺🇲, British Pie Week 🥧🇬🇧

[bluerosetarot]

Silly idea due to the fact I have the cilantro = soap gene. Expanding off this post I made yesterday. Gonna be a fluffy fun fic with a lil spice at the end.

Tags: fem!reader x Soap Mactavish, blowjobs, cunnilingus

Tagging: @tf141glory because they said they wanted a fic from that joke post

You noticed that Task Force 141 ordered a lot of takeout, though you chalked that up to the grueling work that you all did to keep the world safe. MREs were all fine and good and you noticed each of the men had their own particular food they could cook.

Soap would occasionally cook something called cock-a-leekie soup and the name of the dish never ceased to make you chuckle, much to his enjoyment. You noticed that when you laughed he would always give you a big smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling ever so slightly.

Price was a traditional British man through and through; the man loved bangers and mash and at one point cooked it every day for a week until you got sick of it and you never saw him without a scone at tea.

You'd asked Ghost what he knew to cook one time and he shrugged, giving you an answer that avoided talking about himself like he always did. But you noticed that next weekend he was in the kitchen making a cottage pie for everyone. You'd given him a little teasing about hidden culinary skills to which he told you the very vaguest parts of his history from when he was a child; the enjoyment he got from when his mum would make this exact recipe. There was a sadness to his eyes as he changed the subject so you dropped the subject.

Gaz was the odd man out in that he didn't really know how to cook, you chalked it up to him being the youngest of the team and lacking experience in that department. But the man was amazing with chips and other friend foods which led you to your current dinner, everyone sat around a table with a big plate of curry chips.

The masala curry was on par with what you'd tried from the local shops which made Gaz's smile bright when you complimented him on it.

"Thanks, mate! Made it myself because I had a wild craving for curry chips and figured I'd share. Never made a curry before that wasn't from a jar but I think it turned out alright, yeah?"

"Yeah, not too spicy either. Y' did good on this one!" Soap was already getting a second helping.

"What, got a weak tongue, Sergeant?" Ghost had been picking at his plate idly with a book in front of him.

"Nae wha' ye tryin' ta imply wit tha', LT?" The accent was getting thick as Soap got more excitable. "I'll have ye know ma tongue is quite strong..." You could've swore he gave you a wink at that. "Just cannae stand heat s'all."

"Hmm." A grunt was the lieutenant's only reply as he spooned some green paste onto the top of his chips before offering it to you. "Chutney? Gaz made some cilantro chutney to go with th' chips. Not bad with th' curry."

Your nose crinkled up at the offering, disgust plain on your face.

"No thanks. I'm one of those genetic weirdos where I got a gene that cilantro tastes like soap."

"Aye an' how d'ye know wha' I taste like, bonnie?" Soap hadn't skipped a beat, and his words brought a flush of red to your cheeks.

"You know that is NOT what I meant!"

Soap smirked at you from across the table and took a chip from his plate, putting some chutney on it and offering it to you.

"Ye keen to find out wha' I taste like, bonnie? Here, have a sample."

You'd finished most of your plate already and figured this was as good enough of a time to excuse yourself from dinner. As you washed your plate you could hear Gaz elbowing Soap in the side with a muffled "Oi now cut that out."

Once you got back to your quarters you just laid in bed staring up at the ceiling. You'd had a crush on each of the guys for different reasons, but you wondered if Soap had noticed. Granted, he was always a flirt when the team went out for some r&r at one of the local bars, but up until now you hadn't really thought of the man as interested in you.

A knock made you look up and you heard Soap's voice from the other side of the heavy door.

"I wanted to apologise, bonnie. Ye still awake?"

"Yeah. Door's unlocked, come in."

Soap stuck his head through the door with an expression you'd never seen on his face before. He looked sheepish and truly regretful as he walked in and shut the door behind him.

"I think I might've taken it a bit far tonight, bonnie. Ye seemed upset after dinner and I wanted ta make sure ye weren't mad at me an' all tha'."

That got a small chuckle out of you and you saw his lips quirk up in the slightest of smiles.

"Nah, we're good, Soap. I'm used to your jokes just, uh, caught me off guard a bit, yeah?"

"Oh? An' how's that?"

He had walked from the door to your bed and sat down at the edge, his hand resting on your thigh reassuringly, the gentle way he touched you made you think about what it would be like to have those hands on other parts of your body.

"Ah, well..." You weren't quite sure how to begin. But you knew the man responded well to blunt talk so you took your chances. "I might actually be interested in what you taste like..."

As your words trailed off you could swear Soap's grin couldn't get any bigger.

"Issat so, bonnie? Well perhaps I'm interested on seein' what ye taste like as well."

The fact that your feelings were reciprocated for him made your heart skip a beat even as you sat there in stunned silence. He had moved a bit closer, his larger frame looming over you.

"Jus' a lil taste, aye? Yer lips, my lips, see where this all goes?"

With a silent nod you leaned in to close the gap between your lips, locking together in a slow, sensual kiss as you felt his strong arms wrap around you. The world seemed to melt away as your tongues explored each other's mouths and truly tasted one another.

After what seemed like a blissful eternity he was the first one to pull away, that smirk on his lips once again as he lightly held your chin in his hand.

"Now tha' I ken what those lips a' yours taste like... how's about we go a little lower, aye?"

His free hand slid up the back of your shirt, unclasping your bra with a practiced ease while you nodded once again. God above you were going to get drunk off this man's treatment of you and you helped him help you to get out of your shirt and bra.

Once topless he pulled back and took a long look at you, letting out an impressed whistle.

"Did nae ken you had such a good body under that uniform, bonnie."

He didn't give you time to reply before his mouth found one of your nipples, teasing and sucking the sensitive nub while his hand gently rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. Each moan that he managed to work from your lips made the hunger inside him grow and he let out a soft grown when your hands went up to his mohawk and gave it a tug.

"S-soap... I want more... I want to taste you too..."

Pulling away from your breast with an audible smacking of his lips he pressed back on your shoulders.

"Nae yet, bonnie. Dinner was nice but I want some dessert first."

As you laid back he pulled your sweatpants down and off your legs, tossing them aside to some forgotten corner of the room alongside your panties. Strong hands grabbed your thighs and pulled them apart so he could see your already slick cunt, ready and waiting for him. Even as much as he wanted to taste you he wanted to relish in the moment which meant kisses along your inner thighs accompanied by the occasional soft bite to the skin there that would make you whimper in need.

Finally, after he felt you'd been teased enough, he dove in for his treat. Soft lips surrounded your clit as he sucked on it gently, alternating between that and flicking against it with his tongue. Thick fingers slid inside and curled up to rub against your g-spot in time with his tongue.

With his face buried between your legs your hands desperately grabbed onto anything to give yourself leverage as you bucked your hips up against his mouth, finally settling on gripping his short hair to earn yourself another growl from him.

It didn't take him long at all to get you to the edge of climax, you could tell this man not only had experience but enjoyed the act of getting his partner off. Just as you were teetering on the edge he pulled his mouth away to look up at you as his fingers kept pumping in and out of you.

"Aye, tha's it. Good girl. Gonna cum for me, aye?"

And with that his face was back down between your legs and your vision went white as your orgasm finally hit, your moans and whines music to his ears as you rode his face through your climax. Only when the final aftershocks and twitches had worked through your system did he stop and pull away once more, wiping his mouth on his forearm.

"Now tha' I ken wha' ye taste like, bonnie, time for ye to taste me."

You watched as he took off his belt and pulled down his pants just enough to let his cock spring free. He wasn't massive but you knew that taking him in your mouth was going to be a test of your gag reflex for sure, still you matched his cocky grin with your own and crawled over to him as he lay there, idly stroking his length.

A drop of pre rolled down the head and you lapped that up first, finding that this kind of Soap had a better taste than you expected. You wanted more and soon you had your lips wrapped around his head, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth.

"Christ, bonnie!" His hands rested on the back of your head, fingers clenching as you could tell he wanted you to go further down, to go faster, but you wanted to tease him just as he'd teased you. So you took it slow, tongue gliding along every inch of his throbbing shaft until you finally made it to the base. His hips rolled up to meet your mouth and you finally decided to give him what he wanted.

Your soft mouth was already getting him on edge, though he was fighting against his climax with all his strength. When you finally started to slide up and down his length he swore inwardly that you were going to suck the soul right out of him.

It wasn't just your mouth working him at this point; one hand worked his shaft to stroke it in time with your mouth while your other hand gently massaged his massive balls. They felt pent up and twitched with his growing orgasm until finally he managed to choke out.

"B-bonnie... I'm gonna..."

He couldn't finish his words as a low growl cut his sentence short as he filled your mouth with his warm seed. Rope after rope filled your mouth and you eagerly swallowed it all, paying him back in kind for the pleasure he'd given you.

You only pulled away when he'd started to go soft, both of you breathing heavy in the dim light of your room. Those strong arms of his grabbed you suddenly and brought you up to rest your head on his chest. Soap was an affectionate lover and showed it by peppering your head and face with gentle kisses between words of praise.

"Ye did great, bonnie. So good."

Finally he laid his head back with a sigh and a soft chuckle.

"You tasted amazing, bonnie, hope I managed t' taste even half as good as the heaven between yer legs."

With a satisfied lick of your lips you nodded against his chest.

"Yeah, could get used to having you as dessert more often, Soap."

[jomiddlemarch]

That it alone is high fantastical

“Oh, Mother, you’ll never guess! You’ll never guess in century of guessing!” Rilla cried out, sounding so much as she had as a little girl, for a moment, Anne could convince herself the War had never happened and that somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Walter sat writing a crown of sonnets in his leather-bound journal, his face dappled by the light, back braced against the bole of a birch tree, his grey eyes unfocused as he searched for his next word.

There was still a white stone in the graveyard. Shirley was in Toronto, having refused (albeit politely) to return to Glen St. Mary, much to Susan’s dismay, and Jem walked with a pronounced limp, his uneven gait announcing him as much as Mary’s voice.

There was a mystery there, Jem and Mary Vance, but Anne couldn’t see any way through it and Gilbert, lying beside her in bed, both of them tired but sleepless, told her not to try. Jem had seemed less removed, less falsely cheerful lately, and had begun talking about the medical course again, perhaps a specialty in obstetrics, a hospital practice. As far away from men dying in battle as he can get, Gilbert had observed and Anne had recalled Joyce’s little face, white as a mayflower blossom, and held her tongue.

Rilla, remarkably, given her exuberant entrance, had done the same in the absence of Anne’s response. Miss Oliver had left Ingleside some weeks ago, so there was no one to suggest Rilla either elaborate or calm herself, as her likeness to a whistling copper tea-kettle was increasingly pronounced.

“If I’ll never guess, dear, you must tell me,” Anne said. It was a relief that Rilla could still be the young girl she ought to be, for all that she wore Ken Ford’s diamond ring on her finger and was capable of a brisk, warm matronliness when it came to raising Jims, now reserved for the writing of letters to his new British stepmother and clucking over the missives she received.

“Faith Meredith has eloped!”

Anne did admit to herself she would never have guessed that, because for all her imagination, she wouldn’t have guessed something impossible.

“But, Rilla, Jem is with your father today, doing the Lowbridge rounds. Susan and I packed a lunch with plenty of pie for Dad and some of that flapjack Jem took to after being in England,” Anne said. He’d been in hospital in England, recovering from the injuries he’d sustained at the Front, in the prison camp, during his escape, none of which was spoken of. Only flapjack and stewed tea and how no cook in England was a patch on Susan and that you may tie to, uttered with some semblance of his old roguish humor.

“I didn’t say she married Jem, Mother!” Rilla exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. She had a look of Gilbert at his most delighted about him, an expression Anne remembered from their childhood. Anne opened her mouth to speak but Rilla interrupted.

“It’s Bertie Shakespeare Drew! Faith Meredith is Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare!” Rilla said.

If Anne hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have, suddenly and gracelessly. As it was, the shirt she’d been mending fell from her lap.

“That’s—why, Rilla, are you sure?”

“I heard it directly from Mary Vance,” Rilla said, lifting a hand to stop Anne from speaking. “And Miss Cornelia Bryant. You know Miss Cornelia has no taste for gossip. Miss Cornelia’d heard it from Mrs. Meredith—”

“Poor Rosemary,” Anne said, before she could stop herself.

“Why poor Rosemary? I suppose they thought Faith and Jem would make a go of it, at least, perhaps Reverend Meredith and Mrs. Meredith did, but the War’s done funny things to people and Faith and Jem, they just didn’t fit any longer,” Rilla said. Sometimes, Anne felt Rilla reminded her of someone she couldn’t name and realized her youngest daughter spoke with the wisdom Anne’s own mother might have had. Plenty of folks in the Glen would find such a thought eerie, but Anne was comforted, for all that she ought to be the one offering a thoughtful explanation rather than receiving it.

“I suppose I meant the surprise, an elopement—”

“They must not have wanted to wait. Or were afraid someone would try to talk them out of it. Bertie’s mother maybe,” Rilla said.

Rosemary or her father, Anne thought. Jem, if he’d been given the chance, perhaps. Perhaps not, if Rilla was correct.

“Bertie Shakespeare Drew,” Anne said. “I remember when he was born. He’s just Jem’s age.”

“He’s not much like you remember him, Mother. He’s all tall and stalwart now and they say he’s going in for engineering, that he learned quite a bit in France, found he had a talent for that sort of thing. And his ears don’t stick out quite so much anymore,” Rilla said.

“There’re more things on heav’n and earth,” Anne said, mangling the quote a bit, fairly certain Rilla would not correct her. “D’you suppose Faith calls him Bertie? Or his full name—it’s quite a mouthful.”

Queenly Faith Meredith, the undisputed beauty of Glen St. Mary, who had a sense of humor but also a sense of herself as beyond any teasing, now to be Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew. Anne smiled to herself and thought how Mary Vance would find a way to make Jem grin over it all. She’s lucky to get him, Mary would say, reversing the order the Glen would have assumed, and Mary, canny and unexpectedly kind, would have the right of it, perhaps.

Susan would be quite outraged and the pastry of her next pie might suffer for it, but Gilbert had always taken an unchristian glee in Susan’s outrage and wouldn’t mind the pastry being a bit heavier. It was still the best piecrust on Prince Edward Island, now that Mrs. Rachel Lynde was no longer living to give Susan a run for her money.

“Miss Cornelia said Faith was heard to call him Will, when she spoke to her parents. It’s after Shakespeare of course, and because he was so determined they marry,” Rilla said. 

“And because Faith wanted to,” Anne said. She wasn’t sure if she meant the elopement or the name, but it was all of a piece.

“Miss Cornelia said they’d gone to New York for their honeymoon and she hoped Faith didn’t come back with a bunch of silly Yankee airs but Mary and I didn’t think that was likely,” Rilla said, sitting down beside Anne, picking up the shirt and starting to sew.

“She didn’t come back from England any different, after all,” Rilla said.

“Except that she didn’t marry your brother,” Anne replied.

“D’you know, Mother, even without the War, I don’t think they’d ever have gone through with it, Faith and Jem,” Rilla said. “It was, how shall I put it, like a childhood fairy tale, the honorable knight and the maiden fair, all sorts of adventures they had in Rainbow Valley. They were always going to grow up. We all were.”

Not Walter, Anne’s heart said. Not Joyce.

“I’m glad of Ken’s name, anyway. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t elope for anything. I want our families around us, as many as we can get, even if we have to wait. We’re rather good at that,” Rilla said. She’d finished the one shirt and picked up another. She peered at it, frowned. “I can’t think what Dad does to his clothes—”

“I’ve made up a thousand stories to try to explain that and I still don’t think I’ve figured it out,” Anne said. “Some things, my darling girl, are beyond explanation.”

This one's for @freyafrida because I didn't manage to squeeze Faith/Bertie Shakespeare into my Jem/Mary fic...

[hetaologist]

World Meeting (pt. 1)

England: *Enters the meeting room* Right, I want to address a particular Tweet as today’s meeting topic…

*All Nations stop what they’re doing to look at England*

England: Just last week, I read a Tweet from a *specific* individual, talking shit about my food.

*All Nations groan, America snickers to himself*

England: *Narrows eyes at America*, I’ll have you know, my ‘Pie and Mash’ is a good, hardy meal and a British classic!

America: *Stands from his desk with a cheeky grin* Come on dude, don’t tell me you actually look forward to eating dry ass meat pies covered in nuclear green gravy and a side of wall paste~. *He laughs mischievously*

England: WHY YOU CHEEKY BAST-

France: *Clears his throat* Mon amie~, I’m forced to agree with America…unfortunately.”

England: *Snaps his head towards France* WHAT!? Says you, you snail sucker! Your food is overrated and overly complicated to make.

France: *Clutches pearls* Sacré bleu, you heathen! At least my food is desired for and doesn't make people fat, no~?!

*America and England both glare at France*

America: Excuse me bro...?

*Germany stands up and places hands on table*

Germany: Now's not the time to talk about frivolous topics as such. The three of you, sit down und shut up!

America: Hmph, says you. You think it's perfectly okay to eat boiled sausages with boiled potatoes and noodles with no seasonings.

*Germany gasps and gets taken a back*

Germany: DON'T TALK SCHEISSE ABOUT MY FOOD, YOU LARD COVERED ARSCHLOCH!

France: And no, covering everything in mustard or paprika doesn't count~.

*Germany is fuming like a hot baked potato*

England: Hehe~. Now you know how I feel in this situation, you bland Kraut!

America: HAHA! And your beer tastes terrible~.

*Everyone deadass looks at America*

America: What?

Russia: That's some bold words coming from you, Америка~. Germany's beer is pretty good, your beer tastes like man pissed into bottle before closing it.

America: HEY! At least my food is well seasoned and diverse...

China: Yeah right, your shit is just our stuff but with too much sugar and salt.

*All Nations nod their head in agreement*

America: No it isn't! I just like lots of flavor....

*England looks over at America's Stanley cup on his desk*

England: I bet that coffee cup is filled to the BRIM with pure sugar and syrups, you fat ass.

America: Nah dude, it's filled with my *:･ﾟ✧special sauce*:･ﾟ✧.

*America opens up his giant cup filled with sauce*

America: It's a combination of ranch, hot sauce, chicken tender sauce, tangy BBQ sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayo, bacon bits, chipotle, sour cream, sweet n' sour and chili sauce~.

*Everyone looks in horror at America's concoction*

England: What in the ACTUAL FUCK AMERICA ?! Why do you have a huge ass cup of JUST SAUCE?!

America: To quench my thirst, of course!

*Everyone's jaw drops in disgust, some start to gag*

Russia: I should have bombed you when I had chance...

America: Nah, I'm just playing! It's for my chicken tenders.

*America pulls out a box of fast food chicken tenders out of coat pocket*

Germany: WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT WITH YOU?!

America: It's my snackies :3c , this is the sauce I use for everything! Like tacos, burgers, pizza...

*North Italy faint after hearing 'pizza'. South Italy gasps and tends to his brother.*

South Italy: You sick fuck, you always fuck up our beloved pizza and pasta!

America: Wha- no I don't!

South Italy: You are the bastard that put pineapple on pizza and fucked it all-a up!

America: Actually, that's Canada's invention...

South Italy: WHAT?!

*Everyone looks at Canada*

Canada: ...damn it. It's really not that bad, honestly.

South Italy: You're just as bad as your brother!

Canada: Fair...

*America gets on the desk and stands on it*

America: How about we once and for all decide who has the best food in the world and that person can talk all the shit they want about other countries food!

*All Nations agrees to the motion, except for Germany*

Germany: Gott in Himmel... *facepalms*

(to be continued...)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 29/23

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