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thereweresunflowers · 11 months ago

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🌿 rosemary and time 🕰️

thasmin - 2,345 words - rating: G - beach scene and boundaries - read on ao3!

What you said, Doctor, about living in the present while we still have it,” Yaz starts. “Last time we were on a beach. Well—we’re time travellers, everything is the present to us."

The TARDIS brings Yaz and the Doctor to ye olde seaside Scarborough Fair, and Yaz takes another chance on a beach to tell the Doctor just how much she means to her.

written for the @thasminsecretsanta run by the ever brilliant lina, as a gift for @thirteensfavoritetoy! thank you for such a thoughtful prompt, i had wonderful fun with it. have the happiest of holidays and merry christmas!!

read the whole fic below the cut!

“Scarborough fair!” the Doctor announces, whirling her way across the control room. It’s just her and Yaz in the TARDIS, Dan having popped home for a sleep in his own bed, and Yaz is glad the Doctor has taken this as a chance for the two of them to adventure together. They could’ve gone straight to the next morning and picked Dan right back up again, but he shut the doors behind him and the Doctor turned to her and asked, “fancy a trip just us?”

And how can Yaz ever resist a question like that? How can anyone?

So, Scarborough fair. “But not like the Simon and Garfunkel song, though that is very good. No, I’m talking about the actual fair itself that the song was based on—held in Scarborough every August and September from 1253 until over a century later. Merchants, entertainment, good food, good people.” The Doctor glances up from where she’s fiddling busily with the controls. For a second, there’s the slightest hint of bashfulness in her as she looks up through her eyelashes. “That sound alright?”

Yaz beams, the Doctor leaving her a little helpless as she always does. “Sounds perfect.”

The Doctor looks at Yaz and Yaz looks at the Doctor and even as the TARDIS engine thrums into life and jolts them across space and time, the connection between them remains unbroken.

“I don’t think it’s August,” Yaz says, blisteringly cold wind whipping about her face as she stands a few tender steps outside of the TARDIS. “And I can’t see a fair.”

The Doctor pouts as she rambles to a stop beside her, hands on her hips in dismay. “Well, at least it’s still Scarborough,” she salvages.

“How can you tell?”

“Slight tinge of rosemary and thyme alongside the sea salt in the air.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Am not! Seems we’re just a few months out of where we wanted to be. It’s 1303 like I’d hoped, fiftieth anniversary of the fair. It’s just we’re a few months late.” The Doctor squints, taking in the view around them which is lit with dazzling winter sun.

The sky is a crystal blue, pure and clear, boundlessly spanning the horizons and unbroken by clouds. They’ve arrived midway up a sloping cliff, the land around them climbing upwards and lush with coastal bracken. On one side, the hill rises to meet a large stone wall, behind which must stand a busting castle judging by the great tower above them and the chatter being carried down to them on the sea breeze. On the other, the grass drops and rolls down to a large sandy beach. Waves beat frostily upon the shore. Huddled behind the sandbanks, the town of Scarborough stands, all twisty streets and wood framed houses latched up to beat the winter cold.

“You know, I don’t think the TARDIS ever lands exactly where you tell it to,” Yaz laughs, pulling her jacket closer around her.

“Ah, more fun that way,” the Doctor grins. She pats the weathered side of the blue box with a fond hand. “She takes us where we need to go. Maybe Scarborough only needs us in December.”

The TARDIS gave us a beach, Yaz thinks. Maybe she knows. Maybe she’s telling us to try again.

She nods, tries to let her next words sound nonchalant.“Or maybe we need Scarborough.”

Nonchalance is hard with the Doctor, though. Truthfully, Yaz has never cared so much before, about anything. Anyone. But if her earnestness slips through, the Doctor doesn’t show that she notices it.

“You look a bit chilly, d’ya want my coat?” the Doctor blathers, “if I’d have known it was gonna be so cold I would’ve brought me scarf out, found you a hat or something.”

Yaz goes to protest but the Doctor is already shrugging her coat off, bundling the soft fabric into Yaz’s hands with a certain determination. The cloth is warm with the Doctor’s body heat, the material made all the more welcome against Yaz’s cold palms.

“But you’ll get cold,” Yaz attempts.

“Well you’re cold already, and I’m an alien, I’m built weird. Temperature works differently for me.”

Yaz isn’t sure about the accuracy of that statement, but she can tell by the insistence in the Doctor’s voice that she isn’t about to take no for an answer.

“Alright, alright,” she says, giving in. She slips her arms through the slightly-too-big coat, laughing as the hood falls over her head in the movements of putting it on.

A gentle hand pulls the hood back from Yaz’s eyes and the world blossoms back into colour. “There you are,” the Doctor chuckles. She looks Yaz up and down, just once, an approving smile growing on her face. “Nice,” she murmurs. For the slightest second, Yaz catches that hint of bashfulness again. Can’t quite work out if her newfound warmth is coming from the coat or the way the Doctor is looking at her. But then the Doctor is back to her usual brashness and is taking her hand and tugging her along the cliff.

They could’ve gone up to Scarborough Castle, seen it brimming with Plantagenet life in the festive season. They could’ve headed for the town, found a pub or some grub and walked among the common folk living their wonderfully ordinary lives. That’s Yaz’s favourite part of visiting the past—seeing the everyday. The Doctor can get them in anywhere, they can always meet a monarch or find the seedling moments of a legacy. But stumbling across someone incredible who will undoubtedly, eventually, be forgotten, that is special. 21st century Yaz can remember 14th century friends and travel to the year 3000, and her memories coming with her too means there is a little piece of the 14th century common folk out among the future stars.

But today they do neither of those things, although Yaz can tell the Doctor desperately wants to. The Doctor asked Yaz where she wanted to go and with all the history between them, with the TARDIS bringing them here, Yaz had to say the beach. Yaz thinks the Doctor knew all this and let her choose anyway, and adores her even more for it.

They’re walking the length of the shore. This beach isn’t shingle like last time but sand, vast expanses of it washed glassy with water and worn smooth with the winter wind. There are, as there always have been and will be on beaches, some wild youngins dashing about in the shallows, shrieking as the white horses break on them with freezing fervour. Apart from that, the beach is quiet. The Doctor is quiet too.

Yaz looks over to her, seeing the soft curves of the Doctor’s shoulder blades usually hidden by her coat. Her collar bone pokes out of her t-shirt, her hair flapping idly by it in the wind, starting to go wavy in the salt air. Yaz can do best friends. She’s almost perfected it. The air between them is clear and they both know where they stand, bouncing out to sea with the stone the Doctor wished on and sent skimming. Always waiting for the final splash. And still, and still, Yaz is left remembering the words the Doctor said all those years ago: like hope, love abides.

“What you said, Doctor, about living in the present while we still have it,” Yaz starts. “Last time we were on a beach.”

The Doctor stiffens almost imperceptibly; if it were anyone else Yaz could’ve put it down to a gust of wind or the growing chill. But this is the Doctor, Yaz’s one constant in all of time and space, and she’s learned by now how to translate the single alien language the TARDIS can’t. The Doctor’s smallest movements have a tendency to betray her.

Yaz braves on. “Well—we’re time travellers, everything is the present to us.”

The Doctor looks at her. “You think?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve just never thought of it like that before,” the Doctor says, slowly, like Yaz’s words are still seeping into her brain and she needs the time to make sense of them.

“How do you see it, then?”

The Doctor looks at Yaz as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Like everything is ending all of the time.”

Yaz’s breath leaves her. All the adventure, all the discovery, every sunrise they’ve watched together, and the Doctor sees every moment like it’s their last. No wonder she thinks their time together is always running out. No wonder she wished this could go on forever.

Yaz fixes a smile back on her face. Over the years, she’s found the Doctor is a lot more receptive to advice when it’s given with an innocent grin. She’s not sure why that is, if the Doctor doesn’t realise it’s advice if she gives it that way, or even if Yaz’s smiles make the Doctor feel as helpless as the Doctor’s smiles make Yaz. But it works. “Maybe that’s why the TARDIS always takes you somewhere unexpected. She’s trying to tell you you’re wrong. Every time you step out of those blue doors, something new begins.”

“Yasmin Khan, the great philosopher,” the Doctor grins. “You’re wise beyond your years, you are.”

“That’s why we get on, we meet in the middle,” Yaz chuckles.

“Are you calling me immature?”

“No, I’m fondly teasing you about your childlike wonder at the world.”

The Doctor narrows her eyes pointedly at Yaz, the smile dancing on her lips the giveaway to her faux suspicion. “I’ll let you get away with that,” she says eventually, earning a laugh.

They’ve made it all the way down to the sea now. It’s a good job Yaz wore her Docs, as every few waves a gust brings the water right in over their feet. The Doctor’s coat flaps unfamiliarly around Yaz’s calves and she wraps it around herself a little tighter. Its scent brings her as much comfort as her childhood bedroom.

Beside her, the Doctor seems unbothered by the cold. Maybe she wasn’t lying when she said temperature works differently for her. The wind is running breezy fingers through her wavy hair; through the strands, the Doctor catches Yaz staring and Yaz glances back down to the sand. When the Doctor shifts her feet, sea water pools in the prints her boots leaves behind, just briefly, before the sand shifts in the current’s flow and it’s like she was never stood there.

“I waited for you,” Yaz says, staring at the ephemeral shifting of the tide. “For three years.”

The Doctor clears her throat a little awkwardly. “You never gave up hope?”

“Course I did. Three years is a long time, especially without you,” Yaz states bluntly. It’s not a confession, it’s a fact. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, she’s going about it wrong. “I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty, I’m just saying. I lived in the present then, having lost you, and being with you again… Maybe some things are worth it. Stars, maybe some things aren’t worth it and we should do them anyway,” she tries, slightly breathlessly.

The Doctor does what she does best and looks out to sea, the unfathomable emotions of an immortal alien locked behind her brow. Her body language, Yaz has learned to translate, but her thoughts she never can quite get a grip on.

Even when it’s quiet between them, it’s rarely silent. The rhythms of the wave on the shore, the humming of the TARDIS engines, the triple beating of their hearts. The three years that Yaz spent without the Doctor, those were silent. But they were full of longing.

“Even when the hope was gone, I never stopped loving you,” she says, and that is a confession. Or the closest thing you can get to one when the woman you’re confessing to already knows it all. But she’s not asking for anything, just saying it because it needs to be said.

“Yaz…” The Doctor turns to her and looks back away, swallows, words still in her throat. “I never was any good at saying the important things. Just know—” the Doctor finally turns to face her properly, their bodies parallel to the shore. She’s found a smile, the kind which Yaz can hear deep in her voice and sounds like contentment. “Being with you makes me love being me. I’ve been so many people, but I’m the luckiest of all of them. I’m so glad it was me who met you.”

Yaz feels her cheeks dimple. “Me too. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Even if—”

“Even if.” Yaz finishes it for her. “I’ll take what you can give me. And maybe steal a little more,” she says with a smile. She presses a kiss, soft and chaste, to the Doctor’s warm cheek; feels the downy hairs of her skin and the wrinkles of her crow’s feet against her lips. It’s a quick and flighty thing, an innocent toe over the line the Doctor drew in the sand on that beach in 1807.

“Thieves take,” the Doctor murmurs. “That felt more like a gift.”

“A present,” Yaz says. Then, a little more shyly, “I’m giving you my present.”

The Doctor’s eyes are wide and brown and almost doubting as she stares at Yaz.

Trust in me, Yaz wants to say, but can’t quite get the words out.

In the end, it seems she doesn’t need to. The doubt in the Doctor’s eyes thaws, resolving itself into something sweeter, more steadfast. Her hand finds Yaz’s under the too-long sleeves of her own coat. The Time Lord’s skin is warm and soft as her fingers slip between Yaz’s own, the double heat of their palms glowing amid the cold of the beach the TARDIS brought them to. Scarborough Fair and 1303 can wait; they’re time travellers. The Doctor smiles at Yaz, and Yaz smiles at the Doctor, and even as the waves of the beach break frostily on, the connection between them is remade anew.

#merry christmas all !! enjoy this mostly fluffy wintery reading #thasmin #thasmin fic #doctor who fic #doctor who #yasmin khan #thirteen #ola writes

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firstdegreefangirl · 2 years ago

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Gotta Leave Us Where We Left It

Tim drops a jar of pasta sauce – meat and cheese – in the shopping cart and reaches forward to put the garlic and herb variety back on the shelf, having made his decision. He’s looking at the shopping list in the front of the basket, Lucy’s neat handwriting outlining everything they’ll need for the dinner party she’s finally convinced him to host for all of their friends next weekend.

He’s lost to his own thoughts, trying to decide if Lucy will notice that he grabbed fresh thyme instead of the oregano that she asked for, in an effort to avoid stopping at a third grocery store on his way home. She probably will, but it won’t stop him from trying. Maybe he’ll be able to talk her into going with him for the next grocery run; it’s always more fun to do his shopping with a sidekick.

He recoils when his knuckles brush up against someone’s hand, narrowly manages to avoid dropping the jar and splattering pasta sauce all over his feet.

“Sorry, go ahead,” he mutters, at the same time as the other person speaks.

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t mean to – Tim?”

He looks up when she calls him by his name, and his heart skips a beat, then starts pounding in his chest.

“Isabel?”

They blink at each other for a long moment, both seemingly stunned into silence. He hasn’t seen her in close to three years, since the day they finalized the divorce paperwork and parted ways on the steps of the LA County courthouse. So much has changed since then; somedays it feels like he’s an entirely different person than he was when he knew her.

“You look … good,” she hedges, when neither of them say anything else.

“So do you,” Tim echoes automatically, before he actually looks at her. But then he does, looks her up and down, and he realizes that he means it. She’s radiant again, like she used to be before …

Before.

The light is back in her eyes, and her face is filled out again, not sallow and sunken in like it was during the worst days of her addiction. Her hands are steady, and her smile reaches her eyes. Her clothes fit nicely, and she fills them out well.

She looks like the woman he fell in love with, all those years ago.

He can still see her now, almost two decades younger, locking eyes with him for the first time across the classroom in academy. They'd both felt the spark, like the jolt from a Taser, and within the month, she’d created a space for herself in the living room of his tiny apartment. Every day they’d spent together felt like the best of his life, natural and easy and comfortable, with fireworks in all the right places.

And then it had all fallen apart. His wife had stopped coming home, first for a couple nights at a time, then at all, until he hadn’t seen her in close to a year. He’d slept alone, in their bed most nights, save for a few he spent on the couch when the hurt and worry were too much for him to bear.

He tries not to begrudge her those last years, knows that addiction isn’t the addict’s fault, that she was sick, she wasn’t trying to hurt him. Some days, that’s easier to do than others, but at the very least, he doesn’t want the ending of his marriage to spoil the good years they had together.

And there were good years, many more of them than the bad ones. Back then, even when things were hard, they worked through them together. He remembers nights sitting up together on the couch, hashing through which in-laws they were visiting for Thanksgiving, negotiating and bickering and compromising until they’d reached a solution, how even their fights had been almost as much fun as making up after.

He’s thinking about the good times, now, looking at her smile, how it still quirks up further on one side than the other. There’s a stack of albums at home, boxed away in the basement, not meant to be on display, but still welcome in his new life. He thumbs through them every so often, but nothing about their past could have prepared him for this onslaught of memories, bittersweet images of the good years layered with flashes of the insurmountable pain that drove them apart.

He looks at her now, standing across the aisle from him, and a decade and a half melts away.

Read the rest on ao3 here!

#tim bradford #isabel bradford #the rookie #lucy chen #katie writes #kw23 #I actually wrote this like two years ago #but it sat in my drafts over one fucking sentence that wouldn't cooperate #so here it is now #uncooperative sentence and all

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tracingpatternswrites · 2 years ago

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WIP Word Search

Thank you for the tag @r33sespieces 💛 This was fun both and challenging at the same time. Also I don’t have a lot of WIPs at the moment...but still!

Drink

Something from the next chapter of Wilder than Mountain Thyme

“D’you need any help?”

She gave him a little nudge, huffing out a breath, “Dinnae be daft. Your Da left you that to drink,” she nodded towards a small vial on the table. “For the pain.”

Remus didn’t argue with her, he knew there was no point, and he sank down on one of the chairs by the small table in the kitchen, much preferring it to the slightly more formal dining room on the other side of the narrow hallway. He stretched his legs carefully underneath the table, careful not to wince at the pain when his joints stretched, not wanting his mother to worry.

Wide

Another one from the next chapter of Wilder than Mountain Thyme

“Have you heard the story about Leo the lion?”

Leo looked up sharply, eyes wide, “That’s my name!”

Remus pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t smile, his eyes widening in pretend-surprise.

“Oh it is! Isn’t that odd? Good name for a lion, I think.”

Scale

A short one because it’s for a fest.

She had given him everything that he could possible want. New robes, new books, the latest broom, potion scales in the purest of silver.

Hold

I had honestly forgot about this WIP but, er, this seems like something I should get back to.

Remus holds his hand out for James to take, guiding him towards the end of the bed and urging James up on it, so he’s kneeling between Sirius’ spread legs. He settles behind him, Remus chest against James’ back, before reaching around.

Cough

And one more snippet from a future chapter of Wilder than Mountain Thyme

There was a snorting sort of sound coming from Remus, and even though the other man disguised it as cough Sirius was fairly sure it was really a laugh. Regulus glared at him, clearly not amused, and Sirius easily pulled his brother’s attention back onto himself.

“Fear not, little brother, we’ve got this.”

“We?” Regulus scoffed, sending Remus a sideway glare and Sirius could practically see the other man draw himself back, the walls sliding back into place and he resisted the urge to hit Reg over the back of his head.

I’m tagging @soloorganaas, @fonkeloog, @narcissa-black-supermacy and your words are:

Beautiful | Leather | Spark | Further | Hope

#wip word search #tag game #r33se tag

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javid-shamash · 2 years ago

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69 for stras and aeon :-)

man. thisll be a long one. Stras first cause itll be a little shorter

aelwyd cannot be trusted. she's self serving and will sell out anyone if it gives her any sort of edge, no matter how small. he's pretty sure she can be trusted to hate bela but he does not trust her with literally anything else. everytime he's given her a chance to prove herself trustworthy she's immediately betrayed it

blank is so fucking naive and so easily manipulated its embarrassing. theyll listen to literally anything anyone says and that makes them so easy to use as a tool for ulterior purposes, and as such, cannot be trusted. also theyre obviously getting used like a goddamn puppet by probably vecna. whatevers going on, theyre not in total control, and as such is even MORE of a threat

chini is a threat fullstop. bela's in her fuckign BRAIN. absolutely cannot be trusted. he'll try to help kairii break her out of it but. man. whatever happens happens. if that means working with her, if that means getting rid of her. stras knows things will most likely break bad

kairii is... interesting. stras did not really think much of them except as a good fighter, but now that he's getting to know them, hes realizng theyre WAY more similar than he thought, and is kind of vibing?? they both know what theyre about. stras is beginning to think. there might be someone here who actually understands him

ira is. as she's always been. a nice, comfortable enigma. she's nice and helpful and he has no fucking clue what's up with her. he doesn't know where she will fall when the chips are down, but knows she helped him get the truth from that shadow thing in the last battle. he's hoping they can reach a consensus but. she's a mystery to him

Aeon time.

Thyme is... odd. theres really no other way to put it. aeon just categorically does not understand thyme at all. they dont understand thyme's priorities, thyme's motivations, why thyme cares so much about making things fancy, about being the one to win people over... thyme is. weird. theyre also not helpful with literally anything

sylvas!!!! bugboy. uhm. whats happening with you <3. aeon is confused by sylvas but in a different way than thyme because aeon does not know or understand what academics are and why sylvas cares about it. aeon wants to be supportive but is. confused. and also maybe theyre a teeny tiny bit a little jealous that they can get along with uo so well when aeon feels like they barely know how to interact with uo on a good day despite caring about them so much. the social anxiety swag

ymira is fun! she's really interesting and cool to talk and hang out with and is a nice cook. but also. aeon doesnt really. know how to talk to her. they feel like everytime theyve tried, its petered out and theyve just. completely failed to talk to her. plus when aeon asked her advice and she couldnt help at all they just. felt so dissappointed and they dont want to blame ymira for that. its not her fault. but there's a bit of bitterness that the one person he thought would understand. didnt

aine is some kind of creature of some sort. another one that aeon. doesnt really know how to interact with. but also aeon feels some solace in that. aine the most feels like someone aeon could sit in a room in silence with for hours and not feel like the silence is awkward or uncomfortable. which aeon just. really appreciates? aeon sort of likes not knowing much about aine because it means he can maintain this sort of. communal silence without worrying about personal shit interrupting

uo is aeon's first friend, and as i alluded earlier, aeon has no idea how to interact with them and feels very very embarrassed by it. they should know! they were in a similar environment, they have similar builds and fighting styles, theyve got similar interests... but aeon just. does not know how to talk to uo and it feels like uo says things that are important and necessary but aeon doesnt understand them at all. so. aeon feels. awkward. they care about uo a lot and appreciate them greatly. but it sucks not knowing how to talk to them. also there's some lingering issues with getting such a stark reminder of Woods Time but he's. mostly over it

echo goldaline. man. what a card. aeon has such a myriad of feelings about echo that he has no fucking clue what to do about. theyve been trying to like. sort and dissect their thoughts but everything keeps happening always and forever. so they never get a chance to just. think. and put their feelings into words. so its just a mess of confusion and bitterness and affection that cannot build into something concrete. they think theyre friends with echo. they dont want anything else. but beyond that. they dont know

#aeon #stras

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theodoradevlin · 1 year ago

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Meech,

First and foremost...since you know what I will say on the Shrub Club leader matter, I shall keep my lips sealed on that topic for now and can happily agree for us all to take lead where our strengths present themselves! Like you, with your hands. But don’t think I will stop my encourage-mint of you! You are right in that we may rely on magic too much sometimes.

*Theo smiles to herself, very pleased he picked up on her plant puns. Were they really even Herbologists if they didn’t use corny jests? As she ponders this…she does still ‘accio’ a nearby apple to her…quite proving her point that she will use magic for anything and everything.*

Also, while I’m certainly intrigued on your heavy use of Protego, I think in the instance of this greenhouse we may try a mix of the two! Practicality and Practical Magic. In my mind, simplicity is best in this case so we can let nature provide all the beauty! I wonder if I can somehow alter Glacius to freeze window panes out of the water in the nearby stream in a more permanent fixture. Then our plants will be very covered, happy, and safe without having to spend galleons we don’t have..I also may have some tomes I obtained that can help us build some fun parts of the structure too! Like a statue of a niffler seems important somehow....?

Thank you for sending an owl to Professor Weasley! I’m sure she’ll just be happy to hear her students are interested in doing something other than spending so much time in the forbidden forrest. Though…that does remind me I am out of Horklump juice….so it seems that nothing is going to keep me out of there for too long! I suppose Weasley doesn’t need to know everything.

*Theo looks at the hasty scrawl of her fellow Hufflepuff’s name, brows arching at the change of Meech's handwriting. Interesting.*

Olivier? Of course he’s always welcome! I’ve seen him in the common room a few times and had no idea he was also a plant lover. That sounds lovely. The more the merrier. I’ll pen the girls shortly!

Until next thyme,

Theo

Demetrius,

Thank you again for inquiring as to the state of my plants after the terrible storm that rolled through. It seemed to come out of nowhere! Almost had me wondering if a Thunderbird was at fault...though I could have SWORN Professor Howin said they were native to North America...suspicious.

Anyhow...I had to write you for two reasons:

To implore you to please teach me more of those protective charms you are currently using for your garden... a good amount of my dittany plants were taken out by the storm, and I'm still crying about it like a mandrake looking for ways to hopefully avoid that for the next time around, and need your help!

@ask-wren-zhang mentioned something about a 'Shrub Club'? What do you know of this....and more importantly where can I sign up?

Your Fellow Herbology Nerd,

Theo

Theodora,

I was so sorry to hear that some of your plant friends did get damaged in that storm! It is sadly what nature does. Back home when our crops get damaged we just accept that those events come unexpectedly and that we should be happy for what is still left intact. I feel bad for thinking that way but sometimes it also means less work for me later in the season since it's not like my gramps is going to walk around collecting vegetables, it always ends up being me >:(

Regarding your reasons, I wish I had answers for the first one but you've seen me in most of the classes that we share: I am kinda rubbish as magic. The only protective spells I am great at are the ones we learn in DADA and mostly because I happened to use them a lot. But who said magic is the only answer? Well, sure, we you we can do some research into proper spells but I think you will do a much better job at those than I. I can, however, do a lot of regular stuff, building some supports, maybe protective covers, some sort of a makeshift greenhouse even, for some of your more precious babies? Mandrakes do need to be protected! My hands were made for crafting and building while you can do some research into the protective charms at the same time! Maybe you can even teach me a thing or two. But only if it's not too much studying...

Now. The Shrub Club? I cannot believe this title actually spread, I've only mentioned it to Magnolia (@justmagnoliaellistor) in passing once, and then Wren (@ask-wren-zhang) knows about it somehow, and now you! I, er, didn't think that far ahead when I got this idea… Perhaps somebody else should do the organizing… But the idea is simple: we just love plants. We talk about plants. We talk with plants. We plant the plants. Everything is plants! We can try and organize our meetings a few times a week in one of the smaller greenhouses? I do not think we really need any papers to sign, I certainly do not have that much parchment left to last me until the end of the month to make people sign things. I'm not really comfortable organizing anything on my own anyway... Just a word from you is enough so that I know who is curious.

Your proud (but unsure?) Shrub Club leader,

Meech

#RP #demetrius haggerty #shrub club

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gyllenhaalstories · 4 years ago

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me, gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #marvel imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #tfatws #one shot: champagne problems

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sitp-recs · 3 years ago

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Hii, I hope you're doing well

I've been feeling blue lately and I was hoping you could rec some comfort fic with late summer vibes ??? Or just one that are soothing or sweet

Thanks youuu <3333

Hi darling! I feel you on those blues 💙 I highly recommend checking @peachpety’s Autumn Drabbles collection, it never never fails to cheer me up! All her short stories are a delicious mix of fun, tender and sweet that I personally find very soothing! See more recs below. I decided to do a different format this time and included a few summer quotes instead of the summary :)

Light Years Away by @lettersbyelise (2019, M, 2.5k)

“Draco rides him slow and deep, the pale column of his long body rising above Harry, shining with a sheen of sweat. Harry fists the sheets, pants for breath, takes in the smell of the night wafting through the open window, thyme and old stones and Draco's soft skin under the pads of his fingers, against the coarse hair of his thighs.”

Secretly, between the shadow and the soul by @teacup-tai (2021, T, 3k)

”It shouldn’t feel like this to watch Malfoy exercise his profession on paediatric healing. Feelings so tempestuous inside his chest, like a summer storm in a tropical rainforest. It feels all-encompassing and way too much to hear the way Draco reassures Andromeda gently that it’s really just a fever, nothing to worry about.”

Between the Power Lines by @tackytigerfic (2020, M, 3.2k)

“They swam every afternoon, Harry mostly floating, blinking up at the flat blue sky, Malfoy with his shoulders pink and peeling and his wet hair bleached like bone from the sun. His Mark had faded over the years, though it was still ugly, and he had a ropey, reddened scar curling around the bracket of his left ribcage right up to the hollow below his Adam’s apple. Harry determinedly didn’t think about how odd it was that he suddenly knew Malfoy’s body like this, so casually and easily.”

Sun Stroke by @peachpety (2020, E, 3.8k)

“Draco blinks, his mind clouded with endorphins. He hugs the jumper to his chest. It smells sweet like summer fruit, sharp like a smoky bonfire, woodsy like tanned skin. Like everything he’s ever wanted.”

A Midsummer Affair by @lazywonderlvnd (2020, E, 5k)

“They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.”

Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 9k)

“Harry had taken a week off that September to give Draco a tour of Seville, his home for the last five years. He had kissed him under trees heavy with orange blossom, and watched his face transform with curiosity and pleasure as they wandered the palace of the Real Alcazar. He’d basked in the sight of sunlight filtering through the filigree of carved white stone, falling across fair skin, and high cheekbones, and eyes like smoke.”

Take My Hand by daisymondays (2018, E, 13k)

“Draco strips off his shirt before following Harry down to one of the lower rock ledges and diving in after him. Jumping off rocks isn’t really his style, but there’s something about Harry cheering him on from below that makes him feel like he can do anything, also the intoxicating smile Harry gives him when he emerges from the sea makes it all worth it.”

Nice Things by aideomai (2020, M, 22k)

“The next day Harry woke slow. They’d slept in his bed last night, and the room was filled with the clear, golden light of a summer morning, dust drifting slow through the beams, Draco’s hair flopping over his eyes, his dick soft against Harry’s leg, all the long, lovely lines of him. Harry loved this room. He loved this house. He pressed his face against Draco’s neck and drowsed, easy.”

Follow the Water by @xanthippe74 (2020, T, 38k)

“The stream is already shrinking to its more slender, summer proportions, while the forest floor is growing lush with ferns and other low-growing plants. Overhead, the new leaves have created a canopy of pale green. It’s a feast for Harry’s eyes, and he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to bear spending any length of time in his colourless, cramped flat anymore.”

Against All Odds by momatu (2015, E, 53k)

“What you eat and drink whilst visiting France is every bit as important as what you see. It’s most popular in the south of France, but you cannot leave France without sipping a pastis on a summer afternoon.”

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (2019, M, 66k)

“Looking around, Harry realised that this was what the school had given him: new life, and hope for the future. Summer was on its way, and with it the chance for the life he never thought he’d have.”

#asks #anon #summer vibes

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babsvibes · 2 years ago

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BTS + once more with peeling!

Once More With Peeling

Behind the scenes under the cut!

Was really proud of this title. We’ve got the food pun, we’ve got this time element with “once more” that ties it to Maybe In Thyme, and my favorite bit is that “once more with feeling” is usually said in a theatrical sense, right? “Read the line again but this time give it a little more oomph, hm?” And in the beginning Zeke is trying to stick to a schedule, a script, rehearsing things in his head. What finally works for him is when he lets go of the lines, tries again, and speaks from the heart with feeling. But genuine feeling. Idk, it’s fun lol

Sliding a barber's comb through tangle-free hair, Zeke brushed at the stray curl that refused to tame. He tsk-d and tapped at its reflection on the mirror in front of him.

This intro with cousin Laurie was actually written probably, mmmm, a year and half before it was posted? This was supposed to be a prequel to Maybe In Thyme with Tina and Zeke still in high school called Achey Bakey Heart. I ended up scrapping the idea (obviously) but reused a lot of scenes from it in this piece.

“If you’re done doin’ a Help in there, I need the shitter real-real bad.”

If this sounds like natural US Southern dialect to you, it’s because it is lol. If it doesn’t, we’re from different parts of the South. My favorite part of this fic was writing how I actually talk in the bar after a few too many shots.

Zeke turned, almost shy knowing his secret spot had been found out, and saw his dad at the edge of the room.

Originally, I was going to include a piece in here about how him and his dad had a rocky relationship because of the canon hints that Zeke’s not had an easy or “conventional” childhood. I thought it ended up distracting too much from the piece. Still don’t know if I actually think Zeke and his dad would get along at this stage in his life, but eh that’s a thinker for another day.

“Heyyy listeners, thanks again for tuning in on this lovely Spring-a-ding-ding day!” Zeke groaned at the cheery host’s terrible pun. “That’s right, it’s spring. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and love is in the air!”

It was also supposed to be Valentine’s Day, so it was extra annoying that the radio DJ would play “When a Man Loves a Woman.” Not sure why I shied away from Valentine’s Day? Probably I couldn’t logically piece together in my head how Bob and Linda’s vacation timeline would correlate with Tina and Zeke’s date.

“What?” Tina asked, peering down at her clothes. “Does it not look good on me?”

“No no, I like it! A lot! Seriously, it accentuates your-” Zeke abruptly stopped digging his own grave when he noticed the slight tug at the corners of her mouth. His shoulders fell and, with a matching but much bigger grin, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Aw hell, you’re just yanking my chain.”

I don’t think enough people utilize how sneaky savage Tina can be lol. She’s monotone, but she likes to tease too, man.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your hugs?” Tina snuggled impossibly deeper. “They’re so… comfy.”

The main ideas I try to think about while writing zekina are comfort, soft romance, and easy smiles. Plus, the best part of a big guy is the hugs, and I think Tina would really dig that.

“Once More, With Peeling Burger. Comes with apple peel chips,” Zeke read aloud.

I still don’t know if the chips were supposed to be on the burger or on the side.

“Zeke, no, we’re supposed to be on a date.”

“You act like that’s going to stop me from coming around and putting on an apron.”

This is the most romantic line in the whole piece. Nope. Don’t care about my heavy-handed sappy dialogue towards the end. THIS is what romance is. A confident, joyous, and supportive team taking on the world together.

The one time he tried having a conversation with the kitchen equipment, Bob had been swift to correct him on their accents. Zeke just didn’t have the pitch.

People seemed to really like this part, which is awesome. I kinda get it? But also… I liked other jokes better lol

“It won’t be hard.” Tina shrugged. “They’re all lesbians.”

Unless specified otherwise, every side character I write is some flavor of queer

“JEEsus!” Zeke yelped and both the peeler and apple flew from his hands. “You got a permit for those sneaky feet?”

“It’s the shoes, remember? I switched from my stompers.”

This was a line that was supposed to tie this universe to Ketchup and Fries. Idk if the timelines aaaactually work out, but yeah this, K&F, and Maybe in Thyme (obviously) are supposed to be the same universe.

Her fingers unfurled slowly but with purpose as she held her palm against his. For as light as the touch was, Zeke felt every shock of movement. The nerves came alive with the gentle graze of her skin against his calloused hands, the same hands he was so sure would never be able to feel anything this soft again. Hard labor had a way of stealing simple joys, but Tina was always something of a miracle worker—at least to him. As though a bubble settled around them, the rest of the world melted away from focus. Only Tina, his hand, and the growing tension remained. His thumb twitched under the pressure, and she stilled her exploration, waiting. He took the opportunity to feel for himself, letting his fingers curl around hers.

Getting me to write anything that isn’t dialogue is like pulling teeth, but I thought “what could possibly be more soft, more classic, more romantic than some intimate handholding” and thus I put on my big girl panties and tried a bit of prose.

They learned to cherish the quiet moments of the in between, and Zeke peeked out of the corner of his eye to catch Tina cleaning the prep station. He smiled to himself. Thanks to their easy back and forth, interrupted only by chiming from the patrons requesting service or loudly retelling an adventure about their dearly departed, time flew with the orders.

I reread this and can tell that I thought this was too fast of a transition but was too tired of looking at it to slow down lmao

“Don’t be cranky, Martha,” another woman next to her said. “Just because you can’t unlock your computer without calling your granddaughter doesn’t mean it's the devil.”

I am Martha. Martha is me. We are Martha.

“Sometimes… sometimes, I think you’re thinking about someone who would be… less difficult.”

Mmmm I don’t feel like I got into this idea enough on WHY Tina would feel like this. On one hand, most everyone has an innate insecurity that loving them is hard and not worth it (thus it’s super sexy to be told uhhh nope that is not the case). On the other hand, Tina’s a confident young woman that isn’t afraid of going after what she wants. The behind the scenes part is that Tina wanted to wait until they were both settled to start a romance. In my universes, she had the full college experience and knows that what she wants from Zeke is much more serious than a fling. She wants it to be real. There needs to be a sense of security from both parties before that dream can be realized.

With a mouthful of cinnamon sugar and apple, they let the day’s mess that still surrounded them wait as she regaled him with tales about their customers and all the little mishaps in between.

I liked this line. I think I need to get more into the sense of taste when I write.

The CD, with its nearly faded sharpie scribbling on full display, didn’t mock him. If he had to guess, maybe it was also just waiting for this years-long mission to come to a close.

Mix tapes. Again, classic romance and, again, tying us to Maybe in Thyme. More about this in a sec lol

Zeke cut her off by tossing her keys to her. She “ahh-d” and ducked, letting the keys hit the glass in an unfortunate clanking but nothing was broken, so it counted as a win. Tina swiped her keys from the ground and said her thanks before taking off once again. What a woman, he thought.

This is so funny in my head. Have y’all seen Letterkenny? There’s one Wayne line that goes “I thought it was pretty funny when I said Florida State seminal vesicles and nobody laughed.”

“You got me all types of twitterpated, you know that?”

I feel like Louise here, wanting to gag at the sappy scene, BUT this line was pretty fun to write I’ll admit lol. My sister nearly cried I think when she hit that, so success!

And finally, the CD playlist! Ever since the Mono episode, I associate Tina romance with like 80s music. The playlist itself changed a couple hundred times because, even though they inspired ME while writing, they weren’t exactly the most romantic songs. The only one I refused to budge on was She’s a Beauty, despite it literally being about sex work. So I did a little finagling and called it out in universe so I could keep it. That’s my secret if I want to do something even though it doesn’t actually work. Just get a little meta with it, let your character make a mistake, and go for it.

Wow I had more to say about this than I thought! Hope you enjoyed this long ass behind the scenes on Once More with Peeling!

#babsbles #asks #zekina #I really should have gone and looked at how other people answer this one lol but hopefully this meets the criteria!#thank you this really was a fun way to talk about all that little background stuff that never quite makes it anywhere #you’re too kind!!!

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uzumaki-rebellion · 3 years ago

Text

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: [Volume 3, Chp. 5]

youtube

"Smells good and feels nice Warm to touch and mostly good to mention Like sunny days it's warm and light Now it's time to release the tension…"

Omar – "Best By Far"

"Salud!"

Erik clinked his wineglass with the Korean woman next to him then glanced down at the delicious meal that sat before him. The beef bourguignon had diced carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon. It sat on a sliced toasted and buttered baguette right next to roasted red potatoes and sauteed broccolini dusted with red pepper flakes and a grated French Gruyère cheese topping. He sliced into the tender beef and took his first bite. He immediately tasted the thyme, bay leaves, sage, and sea salt. His mouth watered and he closed his eyes while chewing. The savory flavors made him think of the meals his father prepared with his mother. Food was family to him, and exquisite meals humbled him. What could Disa not do?

Erik sipped the glass of water next to his plate to cleanse his pallet before he tucked into the broccolini and potatoes. Around him, he heard the loud clanks of silverware going to work and the moans of satisfied dinner guests.

"Exceptional dinner tonight, a toast to Disa!"

Hollis held up his wineglass and all the others followed suit. There were twelve people around the enormous mahogany dining table. Disa sat in the middle of the table with Hollis on the end seat and Yamilet on the other end. There was so much food and wine and the guests took their time with the meal with great conversation. Erik felt uncomfortable being seated next to Alexis. Her man flanked her other side, and she kept bumping her warm thigh against Erik's.

The rapid-fire conversations made Erik feel in his element. He stayed quiet as he felt people out around the table. Disa drew him out when she asked him about the transition to MIT from the Naval Academy, and the others listened respectfully as he gave a short comparison. She brought up his studies with bioacoustics and the others chatted him up before they moved on to other topics with Disa's lead. She picked up on his discomfort at being the center of attention a little longer than he wanted and she saved him.

He ate, drank, listened, and kept his eye on Disa when she commanded the table. Yamilet went to the kitchen and brought back another bottle of wine, and the table grew loose with laughter and loud talking. The woman next to him asked him for a platter of toasted bread and thanked him in Korean. He responded back in Korean and that started an easy conversation.

"You speak, Korean?" Alexis asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"That's like, three—"

"I speak five languages," he said scooping more stew onto his plate.

"Five?" Disa asked.

His eyes went to hers.

"English, Spanish, Korean, French, Portuguese," he said.

Disa's lips quirked.

"A polyglot. I should teach you Arabic," she said.

Erik didn't respond because he felt the heated glare from Hollis. The conversation came back on him on how he learned so many languages fluently. He mentioned his mother, Aunts, and his Korean childhood friend Walter. He left out his Wakandan heritage. He could still speak his father's mother tongue, but without his Baba around, he lost a lot of words as time went on. There weren't very many Wakandan language books available in print or online.

"Everyone ready for dessert?" Disa asked.

Nods went all about and Disa stood with Yamilet. Erik jumped up and followed them.

"We got this, Erik," Disa said.

"I want to help. I was the extra unplanned guest. I should at least assist a little bit."

She handed him a tray of apple crumbles. Yamilet carried another tray and Disa picked up a silver sauce boat filled with warm caramel sauce.

The guests clapped hands and oohed and ahhed when they saw the sweet treat and Erik walked around the table until all of his dessert bowls were taken. He followed Yamilet back into the kitchen to return the trays and washed his hands at the sink. He gave a hearty exhale that he had gotten through the meal without incident. Alexis's boyfriend was not a talker and spent most of his time stuffing his face and keeping a low profile.

Erik returned to his seat and ate his treat without joining any more talks. When people were almost done, Disa left the room. They all heard music being switched in the living room from soft jazz to more upbeat instrumentals. She returned with a beaming smile.

"Espresso and whiskey in the living room. Give me a moment to hook up the hookahs and we can all migrate," she said.

Erik followed the routine of the others as they cleared their own plates and returned things to the kitchen where Hollis and Yamilet stacked dishes in a dishwasher and the sink. Folks cut up once they began smoking from three hookah pipes and vibing to the music. Those who wanted espresso and a hard liquor helped themselves in the kitchen and the real conversations began to take place. The room grew smokey, loud, and fun. Erik stuck close to a bookshelf and watched others as he cradled an espresso. Alexis bounced up in his face. The liquor had her tilted.

"Small world," she said touching on his arm.

"Yo, Alexis, just chill, a'ight. Your man is right over there."

"It's cool. We're cool."

"I don't like being in situations like this, so let's just stay away from each other," he said walking away from her.

The last thing he needed was a scene in Disa's house. He saw Yamilet grab onto Disa's arm and another woman's and the three of them slipped out of the living room. They giggled, and it made Erik curious. He followed them into a hallway that led to a master bedroom.

Disa and the women sat on a gigantic bed. She lit up a joint and puffed on it before passing it to her friends. She tossed back her hair and noticed Erik in the doorway.

"I was looking for the bathroom," he said.

"Oh, it's the next room over… you smoke?" she asked handing the joint to him when it came back to her.

He stepped into the room and took the weed from her fingers and toked. He blew the smoke out and her eyes looked tight to him. She was faded from the wine. The weed just hemmed her up.

"You are one entertaining young man," her white female friend said eying him up and down.

Svetlana was a tall, lithe Ukrainian woman with a strong accent.

"Yeah," he said pulling in the strong smoke into his lungs and letting the weed twist him up.

Disa tapped the space next to her and Erik sat down. She smelled like sandalwood and cloves. Her fingernails were polished in rose gold color and her off-shoulder top revealed moisturized skin that needed his lips on them. She was barefoot now and her toenails matched her fingernail polish. All she had to do was ask and he would rub her feet or suck her toes. He was so gone over her that it was hard to look her in her face. Could she tell that he was smitten? Nah, more than smitten.

When Erik was a boy, he sat at a dinner table with his parents and asked his Baba how he knew that his mother was the one. His father made his mother cry. The words stuck with Erik. Baba's dark perfect skin flared nose, and supple lips gazed at his mother with such a piercing stare.

"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas...just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable...I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."

N'Jobu's voice echoed into the void and Erik closed his eyes and inhaled the weed smoke. His body grew relaxed and his mind floated. When he opened his eyes and looked at Disa, he recognized his Baba's truth. Erik knew. Disa was the one. He knew her mind for over nine months listening to her talk on the radio. Her physical appearance was a gift, but her mind was where it was at. She made him feel…open. To ideas. To people. To his studies.

"Erik?"

Disa handed him the last of the weed. He polished it off, and she took it from his fingers to throw it away.

Yamilet and Svetlana left the room to get more wine, and Erik stayed on the bed.

They were alone.

"I'm glad you stayed," she said.

"Food was bomb as fuck. Conversation good too."

"Told you. You are cordially invited to the next one. I'm thinking of making a rack of lamb."

"I'll be here."

She raised her hand and rubbed his arm.

"You are a gifted young man. Use what you can while you're at MIT."

Her hand stayed on him, and her eyes were shiny and beautiful. Erik leaned in and kissed her. She drew back sharply and held her hand up.

"Hold on now, I'm not part of that equation," she giggled.

Erik couldn't get a fix on her signals. The weed and wine probably had her mixed up like him.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all good, Erik."

She touched her bottom lip with a polished fingernail, then glanced at his lips.

"Soft," she whispered tracing a finger over his mouth.

Disa pressed her lips over his and he felt his scalp tingle. He reached for her waist and pulled her against him, her soft breasts feeling perfect against him. She moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into hers. His hand snaked past her waist and squeezed her backside. Disa pulled his hand away.

"Okay, you got it out of your system," she said with a soft giggle.

"Wait… what?"

"C'mon, let's get back to the others before Hollis comes looking for me."

Disa stood and waited for him to leave with her. Erik stood, but he grabbed a hold of her hand.

"I'm not out of your league," he said.

"Erik, your crush is really sweet. I enjoy your company and would like for us to be friends."

"Just friends?"

"Friends… oh, don't pout."

She pinched his arm when he screwed his face up.

"You give a taste of heaven and deny me access? You a cold woman, Disa."

She chuckled.

"I'm high, and will probably forget I kissed you in a few hours."

"I won't forget."

She walked away and he trailed behind her back into the mix. No one even noticed their absence they were so caught up in a topic. Alexis's mouth was twisted up, and it matched the grim visage of her boyfriend who was listening to Yamilet hold the floor.

"… we all know it's true. Even Disa will tell you," Yamilet said waving for Disa to sit next to her on a loveseat.

Some guests sipped liquor and only three of them smoked the hookah, their eyes glazed over and mouths puckered around pipes. Hollis stood near a bookcase nursing some cognac next to an Arab engineer that had known Disa from their undergrad days. His name was Samir, and he once dated Disa before she ran off with Hollis. Samir nodded to Disa, and she grabbed a hookah pipe and partook. Yamilet waved her hand around.

"For years Black women have been brought up to adore Black men. We fight for their survival, march for them, speak their praises and all I'm saying is that it's not reciprocated. They run around talking about being Black Kangz, but they shit on us all the time. No other race of men do this to their women, and I'm done catering to losers—"

"Losers?" Kwame said with bass in his voice.

"Losers. Am I right Disa? Out of all the men in this country, Black men have had four hundred years to prove their worth, and all they do is simp. You build nothing, you support nothing but your own agenda, and you trash the very women who have been your doormats for too long. Divest ladies. They are not the prize."

Erik felt the blowback and the other Black men in the room grumbled and protested.

"Yeah whatever," Yamilet said dismissing every one of them.

"Then who is the prize?" Hollis asked.

"Black women," Disa said.

Alexis and the other Black women snapped their fingers. Disa removed the pipe from her lips and wiped a strand of hair from her face.

"The sooner Black women accept that they are the only prize in this world, the better off we'll be."

"Prizes my ass," Kwame said.

Alexis slapped his arm.

"Black women should be happy any man wants to be with them. All that foul attitude and neck rolling, acting all masculine—"

"Hold up, hold up… neck rolling and acting masculine?" Alexis said.

"See, neck already bobbing and weaving!" Kwame said making the other men laugh as he pointed to Alexis.

"Let's unpack that," Disa said leaning forward. There was a glint in her eye and her lips grew tight.

"Black women assert their humanity, their opinions, their intelligence, and it's viewed as masculine?"

"You're emotional too. Can't have a conversation without Black women getting loud—"

"Like you are right now? I'm talking calm and your voice has gone up three octaves since I challenged your words," Disa said.

Kwame rolled his eyes at her. Erik stepped closer to the man. He was ready to smack the taste out of Kwame's mouth.

"Black men do belittle their women every chance they get," Samir added.

"I don't believe Black men have a monopoly on being sexist," Hollis interjected.

"The rise of bashing culture online comes for Black women more," Svetlana said, "I can speak the same topics online with Black women, as I have done, and I get less attacked than my Black women friends. I'm a white woman telling you this. Sexism is terrible to all women, but it is ferocious for Disa, Yamilet, all the Black women in this room."

"Black men are punks," Disa said puffing and blowing a stream of smoke toward Kwame.

"You must be one of those 'Men are Trash', women," Kwame said.

"Men are the scum of the earth. I really don't like them at all. But alas, I suffer from an affliction called 'I like dick' so I have to pick and choose wisely."

Erik burst out laughing with a few others.

"Black men built the pyramids, raised kingdoms, ruled in Africa…"

"Here we go. I swear. Why do Black men always want to bring up being Kings? There ain't no royalty over here. We were regular folks who got stolen, traded, and exported. Some Kings more than likely sold their own people, so please don't cape for slave traders and race traitors. Royalty…," she snorted.

Erik grinned. If only she knew who she had in her house. A real-life African Prince. If only she knew he came from a people who turned their backs on the entire African continent.

"Black man, where is your army? Where are your institutions? Corporations? Industries? Where is your backbone? I gave up on Black men being anything other than conquered weaklings when that little boy got shot by cops and nothing happened. Black women rang the alarm—"

"As always," Alexis added.

"—and that cop is not in jail. And more hashtags cropped up. Again, where is your army Black Kangz? They slaughtered a child in the street and you did nothing. They shot a woman in her bed. You did nothing."

Where was their Black army? Erik thought. Posted up in luxury, high tech, and protection in Wakanda.

"We built our own universities, we started the Civil Rights Movement…," Kwame's voice was higher-pitched and angry-sounding.

"Why are you yelling?" Erik asked.

Kwame's chest puffed out. Disa blew out more smoke and glared at Kwame.

"Powerful men do not let their women and children march in the streets against white supremacy and the police. They take care of their women and children. Protect them at home while they go out and face the enemy. The people who built those universities long ago, who stood up for Civil Rights? Black men and Black women together. But guess what? They don't make those types of Black men anymore. The Black women are still here who do that type of fighting with little kids! Little kids fighting your grown man battles, but what do you Black men do today? Nothing. You act buck online hidden behind dusty avatars waiting to become the next hashtag because you're scared to fight. You have all the smoke for Black women every day of the week, will kill your own at the drop of a hat over some bullshit, but don't have any backbone for systemic racism and anti-Blackness? No energy for that? You don't deserve Black women. Any Black man still getting pussy from Black women should feel blessed and lucky. The world doesn't deserve Black women. At all."

Disa sat back and the air in the room was electric. Yamilet smirked and folded her arms, and the other Black women rested in their own secret thoughts.

"You hate us that much?" Hollis asked.

His eyes looked spooked. Clearly, he never knew this about Disa.

"I don't hate you, I'm just tired of you. All of you. I love us as a people, but I recognize who the weak link is."

"Damn," Samir said.

"That's harsh, Disa," Svetlana said.

"No, it's not, and it's not your business," Disa snapped.

Svetlana's husband jumped in.

"Hold up, it is her business. She's married to me and we'll have Black children one day."

"Oh please, Matthew, you've never dated a Black woman in your life and we know your self-hating ass don't want any of your children to look like you! Svetlana was your get out of Blackness pass," Yamilet barked.

"Time for a musical interlude," Hollis said trying to cut the tension by changing the music.

"What the hell, Yamilet?" Matthew said.

Svetlana stood up with her cheeks reddening.

"That's not true. Matthew is a proud Black man—"

"Who doesn't want Black children and spends more time traveling to Ukraine and embracing your culture while negating his own. Black kids? Where? Connected to Blackness in Donestk? Girl, stop. Please," Disa said.

"Matthew?" Svetlana said.

"Your husband has made numerous comments in your absence about hoping his kids have your hair and your color. He wants them to have your green eyes and features. Tell her Matthew," Yamilet pushed.

"I want healthy children with my wife. I don't care what they look like. Honey, what I meant was that if our kids looked like me, then they would have a harder life and I don't want them to suffer."

"Being Black is just suffering?" Erik asked.

All eyes turned to him.

"It's… difficult," Matthew said reaching for his wife's hand.

Svetlana looked shell-shocked.

"Then build a world where it won't be difficult. We're more than our pain, bruh, but sometimes a few of us have to die to make this country better. If not, we're just passive sheep waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Just another hashtag on deck like Disa said," Erik pressed.

"They won't fight or build up anything, because they're scared—"

"That's not true, Disa. I'm doing what I can to make sure my children have all the advantages I didn't have," Matthew said.

"And skin color is one of those things," Erik said.

"He's right," Yamilet said.

"You should be the last to talk, Yamilet. You're light-skinned and benefit from it," Matthew said.

"Yeah, I'm light, with two Black on Black parents, but I have full African features and hair that can't go through a fine-toothed comb. Any privileges I have, I understand why, and I use them to benefit my people. You can see my Blackness the minute you see my face or hear me talk. But I would never see it as a blessing to get away from my tribe, man. That's all you."

"I love my wife," Matthew said.

"You love whiteness more," another Black woman said.

The room grew quiet. Disa played with her fingers and rested the hookah pipe on her lap.

"Matthew, we know you love Svetlana. You've just been conditioned to be anti-Black. We all were."

"Disa, come on now. You've dated non-Black men—"

"And you've never dated a Black woman ever. That's a problem for me."

"If that's the man's preference then leave him alone," Kwame said.

"That's not a preference," Disa said.

"You women are tripping up in here," Kwame said.

Alexis stepped away from him and Disa stood up.

"The fact that Erik, who isn't even a legal adult yet, can see what needs to be done, then I don't know what you grown negroes are going to do. You sacrifice nothing anymore. You gave up."

"Um, Disa..."

Karen, a cute TA in the Science department stared down at her cell phone. She looked up wide-eyed.

"Turn on your TV," Karen said.

Disa turned down the music and tapped the TV controller for the flat-screen embedded in the wall across from the couch.

"There!" Karen said.

On the screen, a female newscaster with a trepid face filled the room.

"… right now, the Pentagon has stated that the U.S. Navy is sending the battleship U.S.S. Steiner to the area. If you're just joining us, breaking news. They have reported that two coast guard ships were attacked off the coast of Florida. We're not sure if the vessel that attacked them is a submarine… hold on, we're getting some live footage from our affiliate station in Miami…"

"Wow!" Hollis blurted when they all saw the TV screen fill up with images of a submersible that skimmed just under the surface of the dark ocean with bright yellowish lights that glowed. A military helicopter hovered above it. The submersible breached the surface slick and curved like the back of an orca, but metallic and bigger.

"Holy shit," Hollis gasped.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's arm as a powerful bright green laser beam struck the helicopter. The entire aircraft glowed neon green for a second and exploded mid-air. The cameraman shooting the footage cursed on live TV and the picture grew jumpy before cutting back to the newscaster who now had a pallid face. Seconds later, the news studio image was replaced with an emergency broadcast static picture.

"Are we under fucking attack?" Yamilet yelped.

Disa flipped through more channels and more emergency broadcast pictures were up. Everyone went to their cell phones, except for Disa.

"That submarine, that wasn't… what was that?" she asked.

Erik escorted her to a loveseat, and he took the TV controls from her and flipped to more stations. He found a cable news network that discussed the attack and replayed the destroyed helicopter while warning viewers of disturbing images.

"Who could it be?" Svetlana asked, "the Russians?"

"The Saudis?" Kwame suggested.

"The machine looked weird. Like a… like a… whale," Hollis said.

Erik's professor moved in and sat next to Disa.

"It didn't take much for that thing to wipe out that helicopter. Will a destroyer be able to take it?" Yamilet asked.

Frightened eyes watched the TV.

Erik sat on a side chair next to Disa's loveseat. Flashes of his past rushed him and he latched on to a memory that had been one of the happiest times of his life although it was a dangerous time too. Police in Brazil tried to kill and jail his mother in Sao Paulo. But his Baba called on Wakandan rebels to fly a ship that rescued them from the top of an apartment building's roof during a daring escape in the middle of the night. A Wakandan battle cruiser that could turn invisible and take out an American city like it was nothing floated down from a midnight sky. His family spent a glorious week onboard hiding out over the Atlantic Ocean, and under it, when a similar threat came for them. The Atlanteans.

That was an Atlantean warcraft. Erik was sure of that.

He remembered the talk onboard the battle cruiser about the Atlanteans flexing against the Wakandans. He remembered the red alert and the escape from the battlecruiser in a smaller craft that his Baba piloted to get them back home. Now it seemed, the Atlanteans were ready to come for the Americans.

Erik's future was coming for him hard and on live television.

Disa reached for his hand and not Hollis's. He squeezed it tight.

"It'll be alright," he whispered to her.

She squeezed his hand back.

Chapter 6 HERE.

###

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#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Volume 3 #Killmonger Fanfiction #Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #N'Jadaka #MIT #Black Panther #Uzumaki Rebellion

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mortimer-writes-sometimes · 4 years ago

Note

Sorry if this is indecent but, do you only write fluffy or do you also write spice stuff? Because I have a Sansby request of "making dinner becames a fun night"

I have mixed feelings about this, actually, but not for the reasons you may think!

See, I am asexual. I’m not sex-repulsed, but I don’t understand the appeal of being with another person in that way. However! When it comes to writing, I appreciate its potential as a plot device and I know it is something people like to read for a variety of reasons. I have read sex scenes before just so I don’t miss anything reading through interesting fanfiction and I know how to build up to and imply arousal. However, I have a feeling that I would be really bad at writing the actual sex part, because again... I don’t get it. I pride myself on my ability to portray emotion, but I don’t think I have that level of skill.

Also, just in case I can do it, I don’t want to accidentally end up known for smut fics. I like stories better. So, y’know. Not gonna attempt it, just in case.

That being said, I would loath to leave a reader entirely disappointed, so I have elected to write another take on the prompt you’ve given me! I know you were looking for spice and not fluff, but I hope you enjoy this anyway.

Cooking 101

Word count: 1109

“Cut the stalk into strips, but don’t cut all the way down to the joint. That will help keep the celery stable as you cut.”

Grillby smiled gently as he stood behind Sans, reaching around him to guide his hands. He’d been surprised when the skeleton insisted on helping him cook dinner. As far as he was aware, Sans wasn’t much of a cook. The fire monster had a sneaking suspicion that the sudden desire to learn had something to do with that morning’s little accident. Grillby wore gloves when working with wet ingredients, but while he’d been making breakfast he dropped the bottle of vanilla into the pancake batter. It splattered everywhere, and seeing as it had yet to be infused with magic, it left several dark marks on Grillby’s arms where the flames were partially put out. Sans had been quick to heal him, but it left the skeleton ‘rattled’. When the fire monster had suggested chicken and dumplings for dinner Sans had been quick to suggest that he handle the wet ingredients until they’d been properly treated with magic that would protect Grillby from any ill effects.

That’s how Grillby found himself leaning gently against Sans, wrapping his arms around the skeleton’s waist as he let him finish the dicing on his own. “That’s perfect. We can set that aside for now.”

Sans grinned at the praise, leaning back into Grillby’s arms. Between the warmth at his back and the warmth in his soul, he was once again reminded that marrying this man was the best decision he’d ever made. “Hey, firefly? This is really nice,” he mumbled.

“I agree,” Grillby chuckled, kissing Sans’s cheekbone, “But I’m afraid I can’t hold you up and get a bowl from the cabinet at the same time. Sit up for just a moment.”

Sans whined, but complied, shifting his weight back on his own two feet. “So, what’s next?”

“Dry ingredients.” Grillby set a bowl and an assortment of measuring cups in front of Sans as he moved things around with organized ease. “That’s strange… I could have sworn I laid out the thyme.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.” Sans glanced at the microwave display. “Clock says it’s six thirty-eight. Lemme guess, we gotta wait until the moon is high to start our witch’s brew?”

Grillby rolled his eyes, setting a container of flour in front of Sans. “Haha, very funny. Go ahead and measure out two cups of flour while I find it.”

Simple enough task, right? At least, if you’re familiar with cooking. Sans wasn’t working with a very large bowl, so it would make sense to add a leveled half-cup of flour to the bowl at a time. Unfortunately, Sans was not familiar with cooking.

Poof!

Grillby turned around to find both Sans and his workstation dusted in a light coating of flour. The skeleton had taken a heaping cup of flour and dumped it all in the bowl at once, sending a cloud of white powder everywhere. He coughed and shook his head, trying to get the flour out of his eye sockets. When he looked up at Grillby, his expression was so bemused that the fire monster couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh my god, Sans,” Grillby managed through his laughter, “You’re an absolute mess.”

Sans gave him a mischievous grin. “Oh yeah?” He picked up the measuring cup again with clear intent.

Grillby realized what was happening a moment too late. He barely had time to shield his face with his arms before Sans had thrown a cup of flour at him, the nutty scent of lightly cooked flour filling the kitchen as it covered him. “Sans-!” He gave his husband a playful smile. “Oh, you’re going to regret that.”

Sans knew that look. He took off running, getting a few seconds head start while Grillby grabbed the flour container. The fire monster gave chase, jumping over the couch in his pursuit. He managed to nearly catch up, throwing a handful of flour at Sans. Sans changed direction and caught him off guard, grabbing a handful of flour from the container in Grillby’s hand and throwing it over the fire monster’s head before taking off again.

Sans made a mistake when he let Grillby chase him up the stairs. Grillby intentionally let Sans run past him into the living room. When he was in just the right spot, the fire monster dumped the entire container of flour over the banister, engulfing half the room in a white cloud. Sans took the brunt of the impact, playfully crying out as he was practically drowned in flour. Grillby laughed, leaning over the banister. “I believe I win.”

“Yeah, yeah, I surrender,” Sans conceded, taking off his hoodie and trying to shake out some of the flour that had accumulated there. “So, pizza tonight?”

“That sounds perfect.” Grillby came down the stairs, giving Sans a fond smile. “Perhaps we should clean up a bit, first.”

“I’ll sweep, you vacuum?” Sans proposed. “And of course, the first shower goes to the victor.”

Grillby arched an eyebrow at him. “Sans, we use separate showers. Unless you’re implying that you want to try bathing in fire, in which case I must strongly discourage it.”

Sans chuckled. “Nah, I’m just looking for an excuse to be the one to order the pizza so I can annoy the delivery guy.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Grillby mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sans looked up at him with a cheeky grin. “Aww, you know you love me.”

Grillby’s smile softened at that. If someone had told him three years ago that he would be chasing his favorite customer around the house with a container of flour, laughing and leaping over furniture, he would have just rolled his eyes. It had seemed like an impossible, silly fantasy. Yet, there he was, clothing white with powder as he gazed lovingly into his husband’s eyes. The fire monster leaned down and kissed the top of Sans’s skull, unable to wipe the smile from his face even if he tried. “I do love you, Sans,” he said softly. “I really do. I wouldn’t trade evenings like this for anything.”

Sans flustered a bit. “Yeah. I know how you feel.” A warmth settled in Sans’s chest as the mirth faded. He smiled up at his husband, putting his hands on his shoulders. “By the way, Grillbz?”

“Yes?”

“I cannot take you seriously with that much flour on your glasses.”

The monsters’ combined laughter filled the house as Grillby wrapped his arms around Sans, letting the skeleton lean against him once more.

Yeah. Neither of them would trade that moment for the world.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little bit of domestic fluff. If you liked it, consider reblogging and/or leaving me a comment telling me your favorite part! Also, if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know!

#undertale #undertale fic #sans #grillby #undertale sans #undertale grillby #sans x grillby #sansby #dustyfic #ask answered

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kirishwima · 4 years ago

Note

Your prompts are amazing, may I have a MC, who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale-like cottage surrounded by nature, they are even saving money, however they are willing to give up this dream if it means they can be with RFA+V?

awe, sure! though not my style, i find the cottage-core aesthetic so sweet, and can really see the appeal of this kind of lifestyle ^^

RFA + MC who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale like cottage:

Yoosung:

* Let's be real, when MC describes their dream to him he...doesn't see the appeal

* He loves the city, the amenities that come with living here-most of all the wi-fi, lol, but also the comforts of walking down the street to a convenience store, everything he needs within reach

* Yet...when he sees the way MC's eyes light up at the thought of living this way, how they keep bringing leafy plants and vibrant flowers into their shared apartment, making it into their own little magical place, he can't help but indulge. Would it really be so bad, to live a little further away from the city?

* He's cuddling with MC one day on the couch, when he brings up the topic

* "I was thinking...if we start saving up now, get a fixer-upper cottage for cheap and work on it, I can get a car to drive to and from work-I think we can make it work. Your-your dream, I mean."

* And the smile MC gives him? Makes all the effort they put into this plan worth it.

Zen:

* Oof, Zen..he'd be so split when thinking of MC's cottage dream.

* He wants to give them the world, and for him, these aren't just empty words. If MC asked him for the moon he'd find a way to bring it to them.

* Besides, he sees the appeal of this kind of a life. Being able to wake up every morning, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, no more sounds of motorcycles outside waking him up in the middle of the night, the view of a beautiful garden, grown and tended to by MC greeting him each morning...yeah, he sees the appeal.

* On the other hand, it's not so easy to just pack up their life and move into a cottage. He still has to be in the city every day for filming and practice, has to attend meetings and meet + greets...he could use the motorcycle to travel, but that'd hardly be convenient for them both.

* So he makes a decision.

* One day he comes home, twirling a set of keys between his fingers.

* He'd sold his motorcycle, bought a car-big enough to be able to fit a bunch of their belongings in the back, since a lot they'd be selling, buying new ones together to furnish their new home.

* It's not that he ever felt forced to do this-he just...knew it was time to take the next step.

* And lo and behold, only a year later, he wakes up every morning, the view outside the bedroom window-his and MC's bedroom, being the sight of the garden MC has been tending, MC sleeping quietly besides him. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

* ((Also I can definitely see him having a dog?? It'd be so cute, him coming back home from work to be greeted by his beloved MC and a big fluffy doggo jumping on him with joy ;u;))

Jaehee:

* YES YES YES

* At first she's hesitant-living in the city's all she's ever known, and what MC dreams of sounds...well, just like a dream. Too good to be true.

* Where would they find a cottage? How far from the city would it be? What's even the price range for one?!

* Yet she's so open to the idea-they've already pretty much made Jaehee's balcony a mini-garden, and she loves tending to it as much as MC so...if they were to have a garden, perhaps a vegetable patch in the back, MC's favorite flowers at the front of the house...being able to cuddle in front of a fireplace, living in nature, away from the hectic life in the city...would it be so bad?

* It doesn't take long for her to start looking up houses they could move into, imagining how the shared space between her and MC would be like, smiling at the thought of it-their space, not 'Jaehee's aparmtent that MC now lives in too'-she loves the sound of it much better than this.

* Soon they find the perfect space-a cozy home, further away from the city-in fact they move besides a smaller city, something between a city and a village, really, just far away enough to feel secluded, yet close enough to be able to walk to town each morning.

* They're quick to open up a coffee shop in town, a small cozy space usually frequented by locals, and the occasional passer-by who's travelling through the town. Oftentimes the rest of the RFA will visit them, and well-it's everything both MC and Jaehee could've dreamt of.

Jumin:

* Jumin...he's a little confused, but he's got the spirit

* When MC opens up to him, describes their dream home, he hums. "We can buy a cottage, visit it whenever you want-have someone tending the garden when we're not there so it doesn't wither"

* MC appreciates the sentiment but...it's not what they want. They explain to him that it's not the home that matters, so much as the lifestyle. They want to tend to the garden, want to grow their own vegetables and produce, want to be able to live off the land, keep the busy city lifestyle at bay-not to bar it completely, obviously, just...distance themselves from it.

* Jumin tries to understand, he really does, but for someone who only occasionally goes to a grape farm to relax and then come back to his usual routine it's not easy. It sounds far too idealistic...and in Jumin's case, it is. He would love nothing more than to live in a cottage with MC, but they both know with his work, that's far from feasible.

* He hates how easily MC agrees, how they seem so okay with letting go of their dream-all for Jumin, he...he certaintly doesn't feel like he deserves it. They reassure him that he does, that they love him and just want to be with him, regardless of the where, but still, he can't help but feel bad, wanting to offer to MC everything they could ever ask for.

* Eventually they come to a compromise; they buy a cottage together, with plenty of garden space for MC to work their magic on, where they'll spend all of their free time together. MC refuses to go there when Jumin won't be able to join them, and it warms his heart, to know they want to share this dream, this joy with him...so he does his best to get as much free time as possible (even when poor Jaehee begs him not to lmao)

Seven:

* Um??? Y'all I think that'd be his dream too???

* I know we talk about Saeran a lot and obviously, with Saeran there's no question that he'd be 100% down for this, but Seven...he wants a place to call home, a cozy place for him and MC where he can lay down roots, and I feel like, after getting away from his line of work, he'll want less to do with technology, probably will want to keep his home a little 'smart-less'. No need for talking doors and fancy security systems, not anymore.

* Not to say he'd go completely off the grid-I'm sure that even if the two move into a secluded cottage, he'll still find a way to secure the perimeter, still wary from his past, still afraid of what might come to catch up to him. Plus...he'd definitely have an office/gaming room in there lol, definitely would find a way to get the fastest Wi-fi available even in the countryside.

* But he'd love to learn about gardening, would create fun gadgets to help MC with watering and caring for their plants. I can absolutely picture it, him crouched down over a small growing bud in the dirt, pure joy on his face as he turns to face MC with a proud grin saying 'Look! I planted this one and it's growing!'

* Just. A homey life with Seven. AAAAA :')

V/Jihyun:

* Listen. Listen I know I'm biased towards him, BUT picture this:

* MC and V buy a fixer-upper of a cottage; it's in a state of disrepair, the wood moulded in places, no electricity nor running water connected to it, what was once a garden is now a dry mess of twigs and dirt-

* But they both look at each other, smile, and know-this is the one for them.

* Each venture into the cottage is like a date, laughing as they pull out planks of wood, replacing them with new ones, trying their hand at working out the electric panel themselves-poor Jihyun tries his best but eventually gives up, sighs, and with slumped shoulders calls Seven-who needs an electrical company when you got a tech genius of a friend?

* It's a slow run, but soon the fundamentals are fixed, the walls are painted, the wood is clean and solid-MC takes care of the most work concerning the garden, reviving it back to life. While at first they just clean the mess and lay new dirt, they soon see the fruit of their labor grow as buds spring to life, as flowers they planted bud, a climbing rose latching onto the side of the house.

* Eventually it's not a house, but a home, the way the sunrays hit through the window-panes, how little dust particles dance in the sunlight; it's the exact opossite of a minimalistic house, there's trinkets in every available surface, the top of the fireplace is littered with things the two of them have collected during trips and travels-ranging from weird-looking sea shells to gorgeously crafted souveneirs, photos of them and their loved ones adorning the walls. There's always a messy blanket or two draped over the couch, from the late nights they spend cuddling and reading or just chatting with one another. The kitchenette has a whole rack full of spices, a myriad of plants on the windowsill-most are herbs used for cooking, ones that Jihyun still has a hard time differentiating between-it's not uncommon that he'll put mint instead of thyme into his cooking, still...it tastes good, because it's cooked with love, and care.

*It's everything they both could ever dream of.

-masterpost-

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itsmoonphobic · 3 years ago

Text

Dream SMP characters and my interpretation of them:

-Techno: The smell of Dirt and soil,blood,wine and old books. Silk pillowcases,golden jewelry,mosaics,stained fingertips, grand staircases,scented candles,storyteller,lazy smiles, secretive,slow dancing,sad resting face,elegant language,cold weather,confident,doubts himself,philosophy, messy braids,glowdust flakes, poetry,graceful movements,neat and cursive handwriting, greek mythology, oriental music,pale skin,libraries,sarcasm, long-lasting friendships,quotes,frosted windows,layering clothes, know-it-all,rude but endearing,pile of papers,cherry blossoms,muted colors,overthinks everything,devotion,logical thinking,insomniac,scattered mind,castle walls,laid back,tired eyes,long debates,show over tell,lingering touches,rulebreaker, dirty palms,old movies freezing feet,old habits,late nights studying,early riser,skips meals,eye bags,tea with milk,velvet jackets,dimly lit by streetlights,ancient wood floors,flowy curtains,art museums, gravely morning voice,echos in the middle of nowhere,sleepy whispers,nostalgia everywhere,red lipstick stains,loves animal more than people,calm and quiet, healing stones,parked car conversations,sharp jaw,obsessed with memes,violins,doves, doves,floats instead of walks,unbroken promises,twisting and winding hair around fingers,nail biting, repeating phrases,mist secret scars,rumors,always wearing earphones,metaphorical, emotions fragile as a flower, speaks with his eyes,fluttery eyelashes,dog lover,forehead kisses,calligraphy,pretty knives,cares too much,lopsided grins,messy desks,talks for hours no,rolling his eyes all the time,powerful strides,wants to conquer the world,slender hands,good grades, dusty book covers,wax stamped envelopes,vintage mirrors

-Phil: The smell of cold air,pine trees and sandalwood.Dead birds and mothballs,stops on the sidewalk to make sure nobody is left behind,morning person,herbal teas,crows,eats breakfast outside,constellations,family portraits on walls, chirping and whistling,crime documentaries,cool father figure, graveyards,weeping angels,meteor shower,many friends but only a single close one,contagious laugh,fragile teacups,fog, early mornings,fuzzy blankets,springs of thyme,bare feet, empty streets,rosemary stems,flickering lanterns,burnt wood bowls,feather collector,antique silverware,a sky full of stars, skylights,torn pages,overstuffed bookshelves,makes you feel comfortable whenever you talk to him,organized,full of ideas, believes in magic,gives the best advice,lost in his own way, warm hugs,scrapbooks and bullet journals,old cars,soft features,daydreaming,bright eyes,getting lost in the woods,moonlight,self knitted sweaters, stargazing on tailgates,the universe,hand in hand with wandering hearts, garage sales,questioning life but feeling at peace,attic bedrooms and haylofts,pursuing science and desiring art, photo albums,hopeless romantic,dark chocolate,open windows and quirky morning rituals,actually knows what brunch is, succulents,a kind-hearted loner,free-spirit,plaid button-ups, always ready to let you rant,abandons projects quickly, complicated past,bold moves,goes with the flow,aims for things that seem unachievable,lives in extremes,knowing smiles,constantly busy with something new,soft touches,love at first sight,naps alot,subsequent tea stains,sparkly eyes, abandoned barns,handwritten notes,feather quills,fascination with the sky,whispering secrets to the wind,great with kids, takes a backpack everywhere,hugs trees,big winter coats,road trips,knows tons of medical info,bites his nails,comforting presence,lost souls,city lights from a high rise

-Wilbur: The smell of fire,smoke,caramel and coffee. Stands up for people who can't for themselves,emotional wreck,loves his family too much but still yells at them,soft turtlenecks,sits in different spots every time he eats dinner,chipped nailpolish, songwriter,probably depressed,wakes up in the middle of the night to write down random thoughts,heartbroken teenager songs,dark psychology and deep meanings,globes and maps, wants to travel and make lots of memories,curls of steam, earbuds in,spattered ink,good singer,keeps to himself,old music and dusty vinyl,the type of person that you could stare at for hours,loud laugh,ride or die,dreams about his future, believes in fresh starts and new beginnings, messy and tangled hair,summer nights,soft features,deep thinker and dimples, having crushes,musicals and theater, half finished diaries and laptop stickers,mixtapes,quirky love notes, secretly kinda insane,always ready for coffee,thrift shops, beachy waves, bonfires,probably drives too fast,cutoff jeans, cream and sugar,nude colors,always creating new problems for himself, fights for equality,long debates and tired eyes, tapping a rhythm and humming quietly,spends all his time on social media,beanie galore,trench coats,foggy glasses,cozy sweaters, dancing around his room to the Beatles,looking out the window when the sun is setting,birkenstocks,guitar strumming on a warm summer evening,bells and chimes,subtle sadness, the feeling of diving into a deep pool,perfect proportions,too many playlists,holding hands,pretty boy,sew on patches and bomber jackets,candid photos,warm sun on bare skin,dancing silhouettes on the sunsets,beach walks at midnight,messy but cozy room,different mood every minute,singing his favorite song at the top of his lungs,sharp grins,haunted houses, paranormal stuff,late night snack runs with friends,explores creeks and lakes,double checks everything he does,walking through hot sand,backyard campfires,acoustic songs,photo booths,train platforms at night,s'mores,sun bleached arbors

-Tommy: The smell of plastic,fresh cut grass and musk. Does the bare minimum at School,unless genuinely interested in a topic,doodles on the side of his paper,movie marathons,empty coca cola bottles everywhere,rope swings,glossy nailpolish,lots of energy,life of the party, kidcore ,can always make you laugh,loves photography,eyestrain and bright colors,bruised knees and untied shoelaces,paperballs in class,brand new red converse,denim jackets,pins and clips,chalk drawings in the middle of the road,every text contains emojis, garden sprinklers,graffiti,wreck this journal,vibrant dyed hair, scribbles and highlighter pens,carnivals,involed in many things, watermelon flavored anything,loves to climb trees,screaming on playgrounds,oversized t-shirts,stained glass windows, anklets,skateboards and hula hoops,milkshakes on the front porch,social butterfly,always in a hurry,pinkie promises,tangled headphones,melted crayons and gummy bears,bean bags and hummingbirds,spinning around till he gets dizzy,chaotic and crazy yet so fun to be around,rushing into things too quickly, roller coasters and derbies,doesn't get knocked back by criticism,cans of fizzy drinks and neon lights,skips school,tye dye shirts and nitendo games,impulse and class clown,sticks stickers on stranger's things,pickpockets his close friends,has to carry a walkie-talkie around with him at all times,sleepovers and sneaking out through windows,pockets full of change and random buttons,stands out in crowds and makes friends easily, pretends to be fearless but is scared of the littlest things,trips and rips his jeans daily,uno cards,social butterfly,music discs, fights with his family but would actually kill for them,broken handwriting,flannels and jerseys around his waist

-Tubbo: The smell of honey,fresh bread and citrus. Lowkey soft, hugging a teddy bear,pressed flowers,eats alot of bread,big hoodies,fairy lights and blanket forts,prank calls while holding in your laughter,beeswax candles,sidewalk dandelions,gentle cuddles on the couch,pastel yellow and cute doodles,flower crowns and diasy chains,plays the ukulele,fascinated by bees and supports local coffee shops,outdoorsy sunshine addict, sparklers and iced lemonade,festivals with fireworks and fireflies in mason jars,homework done as soon as its assigned, watercolor paintings,giggling uncontrollably,long hugs and lazy cartoon afternoons,park dates and forehead kisses,cutting pants into shorts,messy wild hair and pear lollipops,has tiny random braids decorated with golden yarn,hearing the crinkle of leaves underfoot,suprise piggy back rides,adult swim shows and lip gloss stains,being goofy without meaning to,bounces in his step and stops to pet stray animals,baked bread and washi tape bracelets,bike rides and summer picnics,rolling down a hill in the spring and bringing home grass stains on his jeans, waving at someone across a crowded room,spontaneous hang outs and self made clay rings,sitting in the warm sunlit grass on early spring mornings,rock painting and hiding them for other people to find,picking apples from trees but needing to be held up in order to reach one

-Ranboo: The smell of peppermint tea,denim and rain. Is there for everyone but never themselves,regrets things they said but can never find the nerves to apologize,clumps of mascara and winged eyeliner,writes down every tiny thing in notebooks, loves children and their friends,forgetting that they already grabbed a waterbottle,drawing on condensation windows,rainy days and puddles,always on the edge of a breakdown,elevator music and long limbs,old tape recordings and cassettes,moss covered ruins and greenhouses,wanting to be in multiple places at the same time,different colored socks,long hugs and head pats,reading under the covers,collages and spray paint,record players and walks alone through the woods,loves playing by creeks and collecting stones,always wondering and worrying about things they shouldn't,vivid dreams and leather jackets, silver necklaces and piercings,snoozing their alarm clock, seeing the moon in the early morning,blurry photographs and windswept hair,downpours and comfortable silence,wrapping gifts and handing them over with shaking hands,sitting on a rooftop and spontaneous plans,lofi sounds and long train roads,deja vu moments,randomly dissapears and sipping tea, cold concrete and city parks,tickets and brochures from places they visited,dusty parchment and desperately trying to be a good person,wikipedia articles and lace-up boots,often loses track of time while talking to people they love,sings to the radio and avoids conflict if possible,can't sit still for five minutes, perpetually in an emo phase and knows more than they let on, hawaiian shirts,henna tattoos and sparkling water,sleeping in complete darkness and the relief of falling into bed,midnight thunderstorms and anticipation for the coming day,lucky charms and the sound of rain hitting the windows

-Dream: The smell of apples,eucalyptus,vanilla and green tea. Freckles and smiley faces,glow sticks and wrinkled linen, probably a really good singer,wild laughter and jellyfish, popular,tanned skin and cruising with the top down,doesn't take shit from anyone,analytical and self assured,beachy waves and dreamy sunsets,running barefoot,likes being active and on the go at all times,sassy and dramatic as fuck,dream catchers and hammocks,glow in the dark stickers on his phonecase, feisty and a sense of danger,brought home stray cats when he was a child,falling in love with strangers,waking up early and continue laying on the bed,golden hours and 4pm naps,soft aching hands burried in messy hair,center of attention,static and heavy breathing,old percy jackson books under the bed, throwing pebbles at the closed windows of his friends' room, retro diners at 2am,adrenaline junkie and nighttime thriver,will go insane if cooped up indoors for too long,deadlines till last minute,oversleeping and coming home past midnight,naturally a really good surfer,hugs from behind and neck kisses,checking the fridge at 1am,ice cream in bed and cat cuddles,always picks up over facetime

Might make more parts for some of the other guys :)

#mcyt #minecraft youtubers #minecraft #tommyinnit #dreamsmp #wilbursoot #philza #mcytblr #sbi #technoblade #dream #dreamwastaken #ranboo #tubbo #moon is back with all of his awesomeness losers #long post

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