#it may seem weird or rushed but this was the bulk of it

[popculturebuffet]

May as well pop this, let's try the Adult Swim cartoons. Favorite character from their initial wave of shows: Space Ghost Coast to Coast (technically started on Cartoon Network first before Adult Swim began in 2001 but it gets lumped in as Adult Swim these days), Harvey Birdman Attorney at Law, Seelab 2021, The Brak Show, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and Home Movies (began on UPN but continued production under Adult Swim). Throwing in Baby Blues, Mission Hill, and The Oblongs as bonuses that began on The WB but also finished on Adult Swim when The WB didn't bother finishing airing them.

Thank you. I may gloss over some later stuff, and you don't seem as into adult animation, so I appricate this. (And correct me if i'm wrong on that). Plus I can see you like doing these. But I grew up on the shows in this block's early days and some of it's middle days, so let's cook.

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: Moltar. IT's a hard choice as the main trio as a whole are all uniquely great, but I love his awkwardness and hidden monstrosity. And his attempts at knife fights. Coast to Coast is excellent and well worth checking out if you haven't. It's funny, got only funnier with time, and a handful of it's best stuff lives rent free in my head, something common among a lot of adult swim shows. And while this did predate adult swim, Space Ghost feels like why the block happened at all and it's earliest shows that weren't taken from the WB or UPN all kinda ape the formula of taking a classic cartoon and bending it, and joined it as soon as the block formed. Without it we woudln't have all these other great shows... I mean we might but it's a razor thin margin. It had a perfect comedic trio of the egotistical stupid manchild spaceghost, the cooler but blantatly evil and self destructive zorak and the also evil but awkward as hell moltar. A true classic and I badly miss C Martin Croker who played Zorak and Moltar and wrote this classic.

Harvey BIrdman Attorney at Law: WHOSE THAT CAT WITH THE BEAKKKKKKKKKKK? This theme song is dope as hell and is the reason this got made. Okay so faviorite character is Phil. HA HA obvious choice. But Stephen Colbert owns every scene he's in as Phil and the show rolls with it as it goes, letting Phil just getting into weird fucking hyjinks, the highlight being blackwatch plad where he hallucinates several things that never existed being stolen, somehow reads harvey's thoughts and institutes code rush's seminal album moving pictures. This show was a lot of funa nd introduced me to the bulk of hannah barbera's catalogue, finding fun ways to deconstruct the classic libraries from Fred as Tony Soprano to leaning on the fact Shaggy isn't actually a stoner but really, REALLY comes off as one, while getting better as it went by expanding on it's own weird cast, with Peter Potamus in paticular being pretty great. Add in some great Stephen Colbert performances before he had to leave for his own show, a killer soundtrack and one of Gary Cole's best performances as our bumbling hero just kind of ping ponged around by his clients and zany boss, and you have a show I now really want to rewatch. Adult swim would have better and shows I rewatched more, but the power of attorney is still strong to this day.

The Brak Show: Dad. George Lowe is just allowed to go into incredibly weird places with this man and I support it. The show itself is an underated classic these days, and while I try not to be too old man yelling at those them kids, this is a show the younger set who didn't grow up with it shoudl check out as it's absurd goodness. Brak started on space ghost and cartoon planet, but was too big to contain resulting in this lovely bit of nonsense that defined what an adult swims how not riffing on a cartoon could be. I mean it still did a little as it kept brak and zorak from space ghost but recast them as a loveable teen dummy and an agent of chaos.. the same people but in a new scenario that let them go hog wild. The show even got experimental as it went with batshit weirdness like Braklet Prince of Spaceland that puts the cast in hamlet (And dad as hamle'ts dad sans pants) or all I desire is you where the cast is suddenly in a soap opera). It's good stuff with a psycho musical, an election where Dad claims his opponent is killing pets with pet bombs nad fails the instant he actually has to debate, and of course

Sealab 2021: Accidently put this one out of order but it might be my faviorite of this batch, with one other jockeying for the crown. Captain Murphy is my faviorite and while the show had a few classics after his actor Harry Goz's tragic passing, it never felt quite the same. Sealab 2021 is the first abriged series and a damn good one. While the show skidded at times, at it's peak this was just pure comedic chaos under the sea, and the cast bounced off each other amazingly. The show wasn't afraid to experiment either and out of the shows here, while brak dabbled later, seemed to do it the most and made it stand out: as early as the end of season 1 we got a waking life full episode take, an episode following the cast as actors on the show, my personal faviorite tinfins that takes this concept and applies it to the making of a movie, a backwards episode, and one repeating the same running gag with variations over and over. The show had a great ensemble, mostly anchored by goz and later his son, and cemented Adam Reed as a legend in adult comedy.

Home Movies: Coach McGurik. It was John Benjamins brekout: While Dr Katz had welcomed him tot he world, McGurik made him a star and would eventually lead him to bob and archer, and he's still one of his best roles, a sardonic drunk who bonds with kids, yet also should not be around them and once claimed BRENDON SMALL IS ON DRUGS and tried to get a bunch of children to do an intervention.

I could honestly quote McGuirk moments all day and he frankly stole the show half the time, to the point the bulk of later seasons has him in his own weird b-plot, from gambing on a boat with the host of his seminar, to buying a bunch of swords when drunk, to telling a bunch of kids to go upstairs in a hurricane because being in the same rooms mean they'll all bump into each other. The last one isn't a subplot, it's just comedy gold.

The show had an easy dry improved style: While they did put in scripts after the first season, it was still mostly "get to this point" and let Brendon Small, a voice acting and comedy legend in his own right, and co cook. The result is a funny show with detailed charcters: Narccisitc control freak at only the third grade brendon, entirely out of it jason, only sane woman till she isn't melissa and Brendon's mom Paula who alternates between voice of reason to her child and her life being a hurricane. It's one of the best shows Adult Swims ever made and they hit the jackpot pickign it up

Mission Hill: Gus. While the joke could easily be "GET IT THE GUY IS REALLY MANLY BUT HE'S GAYYYY" they let him go beyond that and while his queerness is integral to who he is, he's also funny> We also get that great subplot of a knife just.. jutting out of his shoulder for a whole episode. The show itself is pretty good and worth a revisit from me, a nice hipster's pardise. The odd couple coulld get boring but Andy and Kevin play off each other well: Andy does need to grow the hell up, and I like the reveal both of his friends, while also cooler than thou slackers.. do actually have stable jobs. not saying a 9 to 5 job is growing up, I don't have one, but more that andy needed to change as a person and the series lets him grow, while Kevin bursts out of his shella nd misconceptions. The show was too good to last and i'm sad the spinoff fell apart. It was fantastic.

Baby Blues: Carl. What could easily be just the more grumbly testorone guy to the goofy darryl is a pretty fun slob. The show itself was solid. Is it anything like the comic strip? Honestly not really, having read the strip both early and not: It does deal with the difficulties of having a baby (Something Zoey was for the early years of the strip), but it's more it's own thing and honestly finding baby blues mid, that's a good thing as the show baby blues is pretty solid. Nothing super standout, but still memorable enough to stick in the brain.

The Oblongs: Down in the Valley where the chemical spill. Pickles. it was, unbenownst to me my first experince with jean smart and it's a good one. This is a show i'll give another shot someday as I wasn't a huge fan as a kid but in hindsight. it's really good. not nearly as mean spirited as I thought.

[the-ravenmother]

After I went back to sleep this morning, I had a dream I was taking a field trip to France to learn about birds. I was put on the plane next to Owen Wilson, who seem to expect me to say something to him as soon as I sat down. I pulled out my drawing stuff, put up my carry on and sat next to him. (I never get the window seat :( ) So we're waiting to depart and after about thirty minutes he turns to me and finally says "So.... are you not gonna... ask for an autograph or..." I tell him this is my first international flight and that I would assume he wouldn't want to be bothered by me and my anxious prattling. He goes to say he's guilty of the same thing and I introduce myself and tell him about how much I loved Midnight in Paris and how ironic it feels to be going to France and he asks to go through my sketchbook. "I hope you don't mind if I draw you while we fly, I know it'll take some time to get to where we're going." "Just as long as you don't draw me as a sad Rhinoceros with his one sad tear." I remember the flight being really steady and I must have drawn two or three pictures of him. We even traded seats at one point so I could get better lighting and he asked if he could keep the drawing and my stipulation was if he could sign the other one. When we landed, he was escorted off the plane first and before he left he turned and thanked me for keeping his mind off of the flight and for the drawing and I thanked him for letting me sit by the window. When I made it to the hotel I discovered the inscription he left on the drawing which read something like "Hope you discover what you're looking for in France...." After that I attended a seminar with birds and got to hold a Golden Eagle and Jonathan fell asleep and it was just a really nice night for dreams QoQ

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 16

The Darkling x Reader

'It's work-related Baghra, I'm not here because I miss you'

'Then get to it.' She snapped and walked around you, settling in her seat by the fire.

'How is Alina getting along?'

'Like a wounded animal' You sighed. As much as you hated the woman, she had a knack for training Grisha and always succeeded so this wasn't good.

'How bad is it?'

'She can't light a doorway on her own without Aleksander clutching her wrist.'

'Surely she's not that weak. Maybe you're just losing your touch'

'Get out.' She snapped.

'The Fete is 2 weeks away, it would do you well to make sure she doesn't embarrass herself' You let a subtle threat slip into your words but in reality, you couldn't touch Baghra, Aleksander forbade it himself.

'Or else what? You'll wrap my own shadows around my neck and wring me to death?'

'Perhaps.'

'Foolish girl. You have a pretty face but deep down you are uglier than the Black Heretic himself.' Baghra always seemed to have a paramount of new insult ready to throw your way.

'Well isn't it lucky that I share a bed with him'

'You are absurd'

'Only the best of us are.' With that, you left the blistering heat and made your way back into the palace, your mind drifting back to your first ever encounter with Baghra.

----

'You'll train with Baghra' General Kirigan said as you awkwardly stood in your lavish suite, feeling the ill-fitting Tidemaker kefta weighing heavily on your shoulders.

'I can fight already there's no need' You didn't want to be here, you wanted to go back to your regiment in the First-Army and sleep on an uncomfortable cot surrounded by your friends. The Palace reminded you too much of your old family home to the point of it making you uneasy.

'Not that kind of training' As handsome as the General was, you didn't let yourself succumb to his looks or that faint smile, even if it did erupt small butterflies in your body. Don't trust him.

'Do I have to wear this coat?' It was the first time you'd put it on and although it was very well made, you didn't think it suited you.

'That's your uniform from now on I'm afraid.' He gestured to his own black kefta. It was magnificent.

At the time, you hadn't yet known you could possess more than one Grisha power, but that was about to change really soon as he led you down the narrow steps leading to a hut.

It was nestled deep in the Palace gardens, and you longed for the same privacy. It wasn't anything like the Little Palace with its dull exterior and homely interior. But the heat, oh the heat, it was scalding. You fiddled with the kefta belt and buttons, tugging the thick coat off of you as you looked around, awaiting the woman the General referred to as Baghra.

'Hello?' You folded the blue coat over the back of a chair, feeling too awkward to sit down.

'You must be the Elemental, child you stick out like a sore thumb' An old woman appeared in the doorway. Her hair was graying and her clothes looked worn.

'An- wha- elemental?' You tested the words on your tongue, were you not a Grisha?

'Sit.' You did as you were told as she sat opposite you, leaning forward and having a good look at you.

'I've only ever met one of you, you're very rare'

'What am I' The urgency in your voice was strong.

'You take powers from other Grisha. You don't have any of your own.'

'So I'm not a Grisha. Why am I here then?' You scoffed.

'Just because you can't conjure up on your own doesn't mean you are not Grisha'

'I don't want to be here.'

'You've made that quite obvious.'

The room stilled as you thought about which questions to ask next.

'Is it hereditary?'

'Most likely. One doesn't don't know they are an Elemental until they touch a Grisha who is conjuring, hence why you're so rare. There's no test for it.'

'I don't fit in'

'No. You don't.' At least the old woman agreed. 'But don't let that be the reason you flock to change. There are those out there that would kill to have you in their ranks.' She eyed you again, a hidden meaning in her words that you couldn't decipher.

'I can be more than just a Tidemaker?'

'You can be much more, but only if you know how to control it.' She gripped your wrist suddenly, and a weird feeling spread through you, much like the one when General Kirigan touched you. It was like a rush of calm and surety.

'You have potential, a lot of it.'

'How are you going to train me if you've only ever known one of me?' You didn't mean to sound as harsh as you did, but you were growing impatient.

'Grisha science is simple child, even for those who come from Merzost.'

'Merzost?'

'Maybe in due time, Y/N. Maybe then I'll explain.'

-----

She never explained it, never mentioned it to Aleksander, never taught you properly. She held you back constantly and consistently. It was only when you left and almost died did you learn the true reason behind your kind and it still made you apprehensive.

You had yet to dabble in Merzost yourself even though your whole being came from it. You had felt drawn to it sure, but you understood that there was always a price to pay. Like Aleksander with the Fold, or Ilya when he created the amplifiers. You weren't willing to satisfy that silent thirst just yet if it meant sacrificing something dear to you.

The Palace was swimming in life right now despite the brutally cold air. The children had just finished school for the day and were running around playing in the snow while the Summoners were practicing on their grounds. It was nice to hear their laughs and content conversations, a stark contrast to the life you led a mere month ago.

The Little Palace wasn't perfect, but it was the sanctuary Grisha needed and you took pride in the fact that you helped achieve that. Aleksander may have done the bulk of the work, but you put blood, sweat and tears into ensuring that all kinds of Grisha felt safe in Ravka.

You watched as the young Tidemakers used all their might to break through the thick layers of ice on the lake. They worked in unison and in silence as the water shot up and behaved as if it were their puppet and they controlled the strings.

'Reminiscing?' Aleksander appeared at your side in his dramatic black cape.

'When I first came to the Palace, I truly thought I would be stuck as a Tidemaker forever' You laughed at your childish insolence.

'What's so wrong with being a Tidemaker?'

'Hmmm, maybe the fact that East Ravka is land-locked?'

'We have a lake' He pointed out with an amused grin. 'How is Alina?' He changed the topic.

'Your mother is doubtful'

'Isn't she always' His eyebrow raised in a sign of annoyance.

'Claims Alina cannot do anything without an amplifier by her side.'

'She's holding back.'

'Alina or Baghra?'

'Both.' You turned away from him, returning your gaze to the Tidemakers.

'You think she's up to something?'

'When is she not up to something, I fear your return has made her antsy.' You couldn't help but let out a giggle.

'Baghra is unnerved by me, my life goal is complete.'

'She thinks you corrupt me.'

'Does she know it is the other way around?' You mused and took hold of his hand, the action hidden behind his cape.

'I'm offended Ms.Y/L/N. I was under the impression we are both as bad as the other.' He squeezed your hand back, the cool silver ring pressing against your skin. You shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a cape.

'I think I have to go back in' You said as you watched your breath leave in a cloud of fog.

'I think that's best.' He gave your hand one last tight squeeze and let go, leaving a brief kiss against your temple. You watched the elegant sway of the black material as he made his way to Baghra's hut.

You ran back to the warmth of the indoors and requested a food tray be brought back to your chambers while you dealt with stationing new Grisha around the camps. It was tedious and boring but once you got this done, the rest of the day was yours to do whatever you wished. The library was calling your name, but so was the banya. You had spent so much time in the Little Palace covered in mounds of work you completely forgot to enjoy yourself.

As you signed the last station order, you leaned back into your chair with a sigh and sipped the rest of the kvas in your glass. It wasn't even dinner time yet but you found yourself stifling a yawn. Your mind wandered to Aleksander for the umpteenth time that day. Why did he go to Baghra?

-------

His steps were loud as he descended the stairs into the main part of the hut. Baghra was still sitting in her chair from her previous talk with Y/N when she heard the door squeal open.

'Mother.' His voice echoed throughout the small building alongside the crackling of the fire.

'Have you come to ask about your Sun-Summoner? if so then the Witch has already beat you to it'

'Don't call her that, she's your Deputy now'

'I will call that brat whatever I please.'

'Baghra, I am warning you.' He didn't care for her petty games.

'Do you not see her for what she is Aleksander? She hasn't changed. You cannot go back from the atrocities she has committed.'

'Have you forgotten who I am, who we are?' He spat through his teeth.

'But you have a cause Aleksander, she craves power for the simple reason of it being addictive.'

Baghra had tried to reason with her son countless times about the girl. She pleaded with him when he'd first given himself to her, she's a monster, she will ruin you.

'I have shown you so much mercy Mother, am I not kind enough to you? Must you curse the woman I love?'

'Love is foolish my son and it never got you anywhere. She is trouble, let her go.'

'You would be an amazing court jester' He laughed and sat down beside her leaning in closer 'I am an arm's length away from finding the stag and when I do, the sun-summoner will be at our disposal and Ravka will be ours.'

'The stag is fictional. A myth. You are wasting your time.'

'If a Sun-Summoner walks amongst us, a magical stag isn't in the least a doubtful tale.'

'I'll believe it when I see it. Besides, your biggest worry right now is getting rid of the plague that haunts this Palace.'

'And what would that be, do enlighten me, mother.'

'The woman who came in here earlier bragging about sharing your bed.' Aleksander's heart leaped in his chest. She wasn't ashamed to admit it.

He leaned in closer to his mother, taking her worn hand into his.

'I suggest you find a way to get over your hatred for Y/N before it's too late. Nobody disrespects the Queen and gets away with it'

He got up and made his way to the door, ignoring the look of fury on his mother's face. He was too far away to hear her whisper;

'My boy, you will never get either of those things as long as I live.'

-----

Part 17

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @lifeisingrey @edithsvoice

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 36- The Recovery

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

You slowly wake up to a rhythmic beeping sound, feeling as if you’ve been run over by a truck and then it backed back up over you a few times. You blink your eyes open, taking in the white ceiling and fluorescent lighting above you for a moment before shifting to try and sit up. You wince and suck in a breath at the action, squeezing whatever’s in your left hand to help you grit through the pain. Once you’re comfortable the oddity of having something in your hand occurs to you and when you look to see what it is your heart immediately softens. Shoto is passed out asleep, head resting on his arm which sits on your hospital bed, his other hand holding yours. As you look past him you notice Kirishima and Bakugo passed out in chairs nearby. A nurse walks in and smiles when she sees you awake and notices your gaze. “They’ve been here since you were admitted. A couple of nurses tried to kick them out when visiting hours ended the first night but they barricaded themselves in. After that we just decided to let them stay,” she explains. “The first night? How long have I been here?” you ask. “About a week,” the nurse responds and you push out a shaky and disbelieving breath. You can’t remember the last time you had to go to the hospital instead of just healing yourself, let alone having to stay multiple nights. “You should get some rest, your body needs time to recover. Plus, it’s late,” the nurse assures you as she checks over your chart and vitals. “I’ll let the doctors know you woke up and in the morning we can talk you through everything ok?” “Ok.” “Good. Sleep well Eclipsa.” Something about hearing a civilian use your hero name affectionately lights something warm in your chest. With that feeling and the knowledge that Shoto and your friends are right by your side, you drift back to sleep content.

When you next wake up it’s to Kirishima and Todoroki watching you eagerly from the side of the bed while Bakugo hangs back, as if he’s any more subtle than the other two just because he’s slightly further away. “Damn, you guys are so obsessed with me,” you joke and immediately Shoto and Kirishima are launching themselves into your hospital bed to pull you into an embrace. Your still sore body protests a bit but you can’t bring yourself to complain. Bakugo continues to hover nearby until you notice he still hasn’t joined. “Are you getting in on this or what asshole?” you ask. He scoffs. “Well if you want me in there so bad then fine dumbass,” he quips before climbing into your hospital bed much more delicately than Shoto and Kirishima had, careful not to disturb your injuries. It isn’t long afterwards that the attending nurse walks in, a middle aged woman in her 40s most likely, and immediately she yells at the boys to get off the bed and begins scolding them for potentially aggravating your injuries. “I understand you missed your friend but she is still healing! For Christ sake get down!” she admonishes until all of the boys are somewhat sheepishly back in their own seats. You can’t help but laugh at Kiri’s kicked puppy look and it only gets worse when you see the disgruntled looks on Bakugo and Shoto’s faces as well. You laugh harder than you have in a long time, so hard your stomach and still healing ribs ache with it, but you relish in the feeling. By the time you stop you notice that you’re glowing again, which causes the nurse to give an amused huff. “Well I’m glad your healing factor is finally kicking in, that should speed up your recovery considerably,” she sighs before whirling back on the boys to say, “but so help me god if I come back in here to find you boys smothering her again I will kick all your asses, quirks be damned!” The boys all mumble “yes ma’am,” with Shoto and Bakugo’s sounding far more resentful than Kiri’s. It’s funny how alike the two of them can be.

The nurse leaves the room after doing a quick check of your vitals to go inform the doctor that your quirk has finally kicked in when yet another visitor arrives. Your mother is panting by the time she gets to your room, having sprinted from the other wing of the hospital where she’s been working her shift. “Oh my sweet baby,” she coos before rushing to your bed side to caress your cheeks in her hands. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, God I was so worried,” she admonishes lightly. “Sorry Mom,” you reply with a sheepish smile. She gives you a soft smile in return, relieved that you’re safe and sound again. “Well Shoto I know but are you going to finally introduce me to your other two watch dogs?” she asks teasingly and you can’t help but to laugh again as you introduce her to Bakugo and Kirishima properly. It’s nice, the four of you talking and laughing, and you can tell that she’s happy to see you finally have friends. As day turns to night and visiting hours end, your guests are shooed out, although your mom does pull some strings to ensure Shoto can spend the night again. “No funny business you two, (y/n)’s still healing,” your mom says with a wink. Shoto’s face goes bright red as you groan out a horrified “Mom!!!” before collapsing back against the hospital bed and covering your face with a pillow. When Shoto lifts the pillow from your face, cheeks still tinted slightly red, and peers down at you with earnest eyes as he asks if it’s ok to join you, you can’t help but melt and nod. He carefully climbs in alongside you and the moment he’s settled you curl into his arms, your head resting on his chest. A warm contentment fills you as you snuggle up against him, the scent of him filling your nose and the steady rise and fall of his chest instantly lulling you to sleep.

The next day the doctor explains that, while your quirk activating is certainly helping matters, the extreme overuse of your right side had done a number on your body and the bulk of your healing was likely going to undoing that damage so you’d need to stay in the hospital for a little bit longer so they could monitor you. You can tell there’s something he’s not saying but you don’t press the issue. If the doctor doesn’t think you need to know it then it’s probably for the best you don’t. At least for now while you’re still feeling decently tired. Your mother swings by again, it’s kind of funny seeing how enamored she is with Shoto and his dedication to staying in the hospital with you until your release. Her endless praise makes him blush and it occurs to you then that he may have assumed your mother would hate him as much as you used to. It’s a sad thought but it makes you all the more appreciative to be where you are now. Eventually she too has to leave to resume her shift, but your next guest is by far the most surprising.

Endeavor walks into the room looking the most awkward you’ve ever seen him. Immediately Shoto stands in front of your hospital bed protectively. “If you’re here to try to arrest her I swear-“ Shoto starts but you put a hand on his shoulder and cut him off. “I don’t think that’s what he’s here for,” you assure him. He clearly still doesn’t trust his father but he does sit back down on the bed, even as he continues to glare at Endeavor. Endeavor sighs at his son’s behavior but it doesn’t sound disapproving it just sounds resigned. You can’t help your budding curiosity as you watch the hero shift awkwardly as he tries to find where to begin. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen the man look and it’s still odd seeing him without flaming facial hair. Finally he clears his throat and then bows lowly to you. You and Shoto both seem stunned at the gesture. “I owe you an apology (y/n) not just for my recent conduct but my conduct in the past as well,” he states. You and Shoto exchange a look but he makes it clear he’s just as lost as you are. “Oook?” you reply hesitantly. “It was unfair of me to blame you for the sins of your father. I should know better than anyone how unfair that is, it’s the very concern I had for Shoto when my own misdeeds were exposed,” Enji elaborates. “You really don’t have to bow and I get why you were so hesitant even if it was unfair,” you shrug but he shakes his head, rejecting your dismissal. “No. You saved my life, in spite of the way I’ve treated you, and maybe had I been better to you you wouldn’t have felt you had to take on your father alone and we could’ve coordinated our efforts with you and saved a lot of lives and prevented a lot of damage,” Enji continues before finally standing back up. “I once promised Shoto I’d try to be a hero he could be proud of. I’ve failed in that recently. I hope now to be a hero you both can be proud of and to right the rest of my wrongs. If you need anything just let me know,” he finishes. You stare blinking at him for several moments as you process his words. You’ve no intention of just forgiving and forgetting immediately but there’s no doubt in your mind his apology is at the very least sincere. “I, uh, appreciate your apology I guess,” you reply. It’s not much but it seems to be more than he expected because he bows to you again. “By the way, when you’re finally released from the hospital, Rei and I, uhm, we were thinking you and your mother could come by for dinner,” he offers sheepishly. “We’d love that.” “Great. I’ll see you then.” With his mission apparently fulfilled, Enji nods to you and Shoto before making his leave. “That was weird,” you note once he’s gone. “Yea,” Shoto confirms. “Your dad is kinda super fucking awkward when he’s not trying to be intimidating,” you note, causing Shoto to snort. “You can say that again. Now you know what I’ve been dealing with the past two years,” Shoto scoffs. “He’s trying though,” you note and to that Shoto nods. “He’s trying,” he confirms.

You reach out and gently grasp hold of Shoto’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. He turns to look at you, eyes searching yours. You notice his gaze linger on your right eye for a moment but before you can ask him about it he leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips. It lasts only a second before he draws back a bit, still so wonderfully close as he asks, “Is this ok?” “It’s perfect,” you tell him before sealing your lips back together.

A/N: After last chapter was so intense (and that one angsty ask I got lmao) this is just allllll fluff

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @shot0stea @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly @immah0e4fictionalmen @cinnamonruts @koifishq

[snelbz]

The Ranch {11}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

Cassian awoke the next morning and snuck out of Nesta’s bed, careful not to wake her as he pulled on his jeans. He didn’t get far though, because as he took a step toward the door, his shirt tossed lazily over his shoulder, there was a sleepy, “Sneaking out without a goodbye?”

Cassian chuckled softly as he looked over his shoulder. “I wanted to let you sleep. Sun’s not up yet. I gotta get to workin’.”

The top sheet was the only cover left on the bed by the time they were through the night before. And it was currently draped low over Nesta’s back. She dropped her messy head back onto her pillow and mumbled what sounded like a goodbye.

He made his way back to the bed, pausing to brush her hair off her face, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“I’m not getting up until it’s a reasonable hour,” she murmured.

He chuckled softly and he said, “Sounds good. I lo-.” The words nearly tumbled from his mouth, without even meaning to. He covered it by stuttering. “I’ll, uh, go into town later and pick up the materials we ordered for the stables.”

Nesta only nodded, already half back to sleep,  not even noticing his near miss.

He watched her for another split second before hauling ass out of the little house and across the way into his own little cabin. Beau was instantly alert, staring at him with daggers in his little puppy eyes.

“Sorry, Beau,” he said, giving the pup a good rub. “I’ll come get you first next time.”

Beau quickly forgave him, jumping up to rest his paws on Cassian’s thighs.

“Let me change and let’s go check on the cattle, huh?” 

Beau hopped down and followed Cassian into the bedroom as he changed, slipped on his boots, and took Beau out into the pastures.

It was over five hours later when he noticed the front door of the main house was open, as were all the windows. It was a beautiful day and he wasn’t surprised to see that Nesta had decided to let some fresh air into the house. He made his way up to the house, going around back to rinse the mud and horse shit from his boots. The storms had made the back pasture a swampy mess and he and Beau had spent most of their morning moving half the herd into the pasture closest to the house.

He opened the back door and froze, taking in the delicious smell. Nesta was at the stove, a large pan atop one of the burners. He rested his hands on her hips and pressed a kiss to her neck. “What’s for lunch?”

She leaned into him and flipped the sandwich in the pan over. “Croque monsieur.”

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but I love the way you said it.” He kissed down her neck until he reached her bare shoulder.

She laughed and said, “It’s basically a fancy French grilled cheese, with ham.” She turned to kiss him and wrinkled her nose. She giggled and said, “You stink.”

He raised his brows before making a show of sniffing himself. “I smell fantastic.”

“You smell awful,” she countered.

“It’s called musk,” Cassian said. “The scent of a man.”

“It’s called shit,” Nesta laughed. “The smell of cow. And horses. Mixed with sweat.”

Cassian grinned. “Well, I’d shower but that would be a waste.” His work day was far from over.

“I suppose I’ll let it slide,” she said, sighing. “At least while I feed you.”

“I’m honored,” Cassian said, laughing as he sat down at the table while Beau laid by Nesta’s feet. “You painting?”

“Yes, I was hoping to get the living room, the dining room, and the downstairs bathroom done, but I’ve been working all morning on the living room and I’ve only finished half. So.”

“Want some help?” He asked, watching as she deposited the sandwich on a plate, then pulled two more out of the oven where they’d been warming.

She shook her head as she put the other two on the plate and set it in front of him. “No, thank you. You seem to have your hands full out there as it is.” She nodded her head in the direction of the back of the property and opened the fridge. She poured sweet tea into a glass and set it down in front of him.

He looked at the food in front of him. “You made me three sandwiches and you made sweet tea?”

 “Is three too many?” She bit her lip as he took a drink of the tea.

He set his glass down. “God damn it, that’s good. Marry me.”

Nesta blinked, stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh, uncomfortably. “Okay, it’s good, but it’s not that good.”

“Agree to disagree,” Cassian said, mouth full of food.

She rolled her eyes. “Brute. Mind your manners.”

Cassian just grinned as he took another bite. “Seriously, thank you. It’s delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, sitting across from him with a sandwich of her own. “Now stop talking with your mouth full.”

“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, still talking with his mouth full. 

She smiled and ate her own sandwich. Nesta filled Cassian in on the plans she had for the upstairs rooms. He listened quietly, eating his sandwiches and nodding in approval or made suggestions occasionally, but always swallowing his food before speaking.

After they were done eating, Cassian volunteered to do the dishes, while Nesta made her way back into the living room and continued painting. He heard her phone ring from the other room and heard a one-sided conversation between Nesta and one of her sisters.

The conversation began very normally, with Nesta answering with a simple, “Hey.”

He immediately heard an elevated voice from the other end of the phone. It sounded as if she was yelling and he quickly dried his hands off on the dish towel hanging from the cupboard before rushing into the living room.

He found Nesta leaning against the stairwell, with the phone against his ear, slowly rubbing her temples. He walked closer and could hear Feyre through the phone.

Nesta finally found a break in the conversation to say, “I was going to call you tonight, but-.”

Feyre began to speak again, and Nesta tried to speak a few times before he heard his name. Her eyes flicked up to him, just as his eyebrow rose. She hung up a moment later and Cassian asked, “Everything good?”

Nesta sighed and said, “I hope you didn’t have plans tonight, because we’re expected to be at Rita’s at seven.”

Cassian blinked. “And Feyre demanded that through yelling?”

“Apparently she had a conversation with Elain...who told her we slept together then went out on a date,” Nesta explained, looking pointedly at Cassian.

He cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah, uh, my bad.”

Nesta snorted. “Well, can you come tonight?”

“Depends,” he crooned. “Does this count as a second date?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, we’re all going out.”

“Then I’m busy,” he said.

She laughed, quietly. “Fine. It’s a date.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at six-forty-five.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Okay,” she smiled and turned to climb back up the ladder by the front door.

Cassian couldn’t resist the urge to smack her ass as he walked out.

Nesta was staring at her closet with a scowl on her face. Before moving back to the states, she’d sold most of her belongings. That included the bulk of her wardrobe. Now she was left with what would fit in two suitcases and a duffle bag, and after a month in town, she was starting to have to repeat clothes. She sighed and pulled out two potential outfits she hadn't worn.

One was a light pink dress with soft lace that framed her breasts. It was tight and short and honestly something Nesta never would have picked out for herself, had it not been given to her. The other was a black lace bodysuit, paired with jeans, but she wasn’t sure whether or not it was Velaris appropriate.

Who was she kidding, it was borderline obscene, but she looked damn good in it and she knew it.

She sent a short text to Cassian.

Don’t think, just answer. Black or pink.

The little dots appeared that showed he was typing back. Then they stopped. Then he sent Black.

Good answer, she thought, pulling it out of her closet and tossing it onto her bed. She curled her hair and did her makeup once she’d gotten out of the shower. It was weird to think she was more nervous for tonight than she was the night before, on their first date. This time, it wasn’t just the two of them. Now, they were going out with her sisters, with his friends. Tonight seemed more...official.

And it freaked her the fuck out.

She had just finished zipping her boot up when she heard a knock at her door. She checked her phone, noticing that six-forty-five had snuck up on her. She grabbed her clutch off the bed and hurried to the door, swinging it open to find Cassian, holding a dozen long stemmed roses.

Nesta stilled.

He held them out toward her, smiling upon seeing her surprised look. “For you.” Then he saw her and a curse fell from his lips. “You look...fuck. How much trouble will we be in if we just don’t show up to the bar?”

“A lot,” she chuckled, taking the flowers from him. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

She brought them inside and into the kitchen where she found a tall glass and filled it with water before setting the bouquet inside.

When she turned around, Cassian was right behind her, blatantly staring at her ass.

“May I help you?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest, which only made her breasts pop out more.

He slowly met her gaze as he said, “Yes, please.”

With a roll of her eyes, she was taking his hand and dragging him out the front door.

Twenty minutes later, they were walking into a packed Rita’s. Nesta’s eyebrows raised. This was much different than the last time they’d been here. This was more reminiscent of the clubs she’d avoided in the big cities.

“College night,” Cassian said, voice raised so she could hear him. “VU students get a free shot with every premium beer ordered until eight-thirty.”

“That sounds horrible.” She cringed, but was thankful that was only a little over an hour away.

Cassian shrugged. “She never has to worry about her well alcohol sitting. It’s smart, actually. Come on.”

They made their way through the crowd, bumping into bodies as they moved to the music.

“Your sisters are over at the corner table,” he said, putting his lips to her ear. “Why don’t you go deal with them and I’ll get us a drink.”

She nodded and as she turned to leave, he tugged on her hand. When she looked back at him, he gently cupped her cheek and pressed him lips to hers. Then he pulled back, winked and a smacked her ass.

She rolled her eyes and made her way over to the table.

As she scooted into the booth, Feyre and Elain paused the animated conversation they were having, both having taken advantage of Feyre’s VU ID card from the year before.

Nesta’s phone vibrated and she pulled it from her clutch, holding a finger up before one of them exploded.

I’m going to enjoy taking that off tonight.

It vibrated again.

Very, very, very slowly.

And once more.

With my teeth.

She texted back, watching him across the room as his phone was in his hand. He was leaning on the bar, casually talking to Azriel, but she saw the change on his face when he read her response.

My turn to surprise you with no panties.

She watched as he blinked and took a long, slow breath. Then he was typing away and a second later she received, Tease.

She snorted and shoved her phone into her pocket before meeting the interrogating gazed of her sisters.

Nesta waited, but when neither of them spoke, she asked, “What?”

Elain and Feyre both started talking at once.

“What the fuck?” Feyre asked, “Cassian? And you didn’t tell me?”

Just as Elain said, “He called me the other day and I got way too much info from him that I should’ve got from you.”

They stopped, and Nesta stared, and then Feyre said, “Bitch.”

“Are you two done?” Nesta asked, leaning back in the booth.

Elain nodded as Feyre grinned. “Details. Hurry. I give them less than two minutes before they’re coming this way.”

Nesta pursed her lips and gave them the condensed events, starting with their conversation in the morning, spending more time than was necessary on Emerie and limited detail on the sex itself.

Feyre groaned and said, “On the couch? Really?”

Elain looked at her, sipping her beer. “Says the one who let Rhys fuck her on the kitchen table.”

Feyre almost spit out her drink.

Nesta couldn’t help but laugh as Cassian plopped onto the booth next to her, sliding a cocktail in front of her.

Elain and Feyre’s eyes slid his direction.

He paused, bottle of beer halfway to his mouth.

“Why didn’t anyone make this big of a deal when you and I had sex for the first time?” Rhysand mumbled, practically falling on top of Feyre.

“Because you made it publicly known, starting the second after it happened,” Azriel added, pulling a chair up to the end of the table. “And it got really annoying, really fast.”

Feyre laughed, patting Rhysand on the knee, and Nesta said, “Can we please change the subject?”

The six of them all fell into conversations, flowing from one to another naturally, laughing and drinking and just enjoying spending time with each other.

“Baby,” Feyre slurred, laying her head on Rhys’ shoulder. “I wan’ dance.”

“Oooh!” Elain was already trying to pull Azriel out of the booth.

“Y’all go ahead,” Rhys said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Come on, Nesta,” Elain demanded, as Azriel stayed put.

Nesta hesitated, then gazed longing at her drink. “But I haven’t-“

She was pulled out of the booth, unable to stop her laughter from sputtering out of her mouth as she fell into the middle of the dance floor with her sisters.

It had been a long time since she allowed herself to let loose, to dance. When she was younger, it had never really been her thing, but as she grew older, especially being with her sisters, it was freeing. 

The live band playing on the little stage was playing so loudly that she could feel the music thrumming throughout her body. She looked back at Cassian every once in a while. 

He was watching her, intently, with a hungry gaze. She turned, holding onto Feyre’s hand. They laughed and Feyre spun her. Her long empty drink was raised in the air and when someone took it from her, wrapping their arms around her, she settled back into the warmth of his arms.

She moved to the music, the feeling of his arms around her intoxicating, fueling the warmth of the alcohol in her veins.

Azriel was pulling Elain towards the booth, while Rhysand dramatically dipped Feyre. Nesta couldn’t help but smile as she felt the calloused hands grip her hips and grind her into himself.

Her hair was dragged back from her neck and lips nibbled on her pulse point, smooth skin dragging along her own.

She ran her hand up the back of Cassian’s head, grabbing for his long hair that she’d known he left down for her.

Only to feel close cropped hair slide across her fingers.

She stilled, only for a second, before spinning around to meet Tomas’s humored gaze.

His hands reached for her waist, once more, as Nesta asked, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Come on,” he said, above the music as she swatted his hands away. “Don’t act like you didn’t feel it when we ran into each other the other day, Nes. Dance with me. It’s just a dance.”

“I don’t want to,” she hissed, and went to move around him, but he stepped into her path.

“One dance,” he crooned, his hand grabbing hers.

But a hand had reached up to grab Tomas on the shoulder from behind him. Nesta’s eyes connected with Cassian's hardened hazel eyes, which were watching the back of Tomas’ head.

“I’m pretty sure the lady said no.” The words were almost impossible to distinguish from the music, the growl nearly as deep as the bass

“Fuck off, Nazari.” He shrugged, pulling Nesta’s body into his. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

She pushed him off. “No, thank you,” she said, trying to distance herself from him, stumbling into a table.

Cassian caught her, steadying her. He got in Tomas’ face. “Don’t fucking touch her. You lost your chance.””

A light sparked in Tomas’s eyes: recognition. “Ah, she's warming your bed now, is she?”

Cassian's jaw locked but Nesta’s eyes had narrowed. “Fuck off, Tom.”

But Tomas was looking at Cassian. “Out of all the people in the world, she found the trashiest bastard in town.”

“Leave,” Cassian ordered. His voice was low, quiet, but his shoulders were tensed.

The little smile remained on Tomas’s lips as he looked to Nesta. “When you get bored of him, my number is still the same.”

He walked away, but even as Tomas reached the door, Cassian didn’t move.

Nesta turned. “You know Tomas.”

Cassian didn’t say anything, didn’t look away from his retreating form. He only nodded.

Nesta felt her walls rebuilding. She felt the cold chill shoot up her spine. “How.”

Cassian’s eye trailed him as he left, then he glanced down at her, the disdain clear. “He’s the reason my roping career ended.” The music continued playing around them and he said, “I hate him. I don’t want you around him.”

Nesta blinked once. She could barely think. Could barely put two words together, much less tell him that she had no interest in speaking to or seeing Tomas Mandray ever again.

Instead, the single word that left her mouth was, “What?”

“I don’t want you around him,” Cassian repeated.

Nesta nearly wanted to laugh, but there was no hint of laughter in her voice as she asked, “And who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Cassian stilled, but his lips were tight.

“Fuck you,” she spat, the anger inside of her growing until her hands began shaking at her sides. “I’m not your girlfriend. You can’t tell me what to do.”

She pushed through the crowd, reaching their table and retrieving her bag and phone, unwisely tossing back the rest of her drink. She turned and found him nearly to the table as well, but was darting down the back hall, towards that glowing red sign that would mean her escape from bodies that made her feel too hot, too close, too tight.

She burst out the door and turned, leaning her back against the brick wall across from the door, eyes closed as she swallowed as much air as she could. The alley was empty mercifully as she caught her breath, as she reminded herself that no one was forcing her to stay inside.

“What the fuck are we then.”

She hadn’t even heard him come out, wondered if he’d come out when she did. If he did, he’d let her have a moment until she didn’t look like she was going to fall apart.

“Leave me alone, Cassian,” she said, face in her hands.

“No, I want you to give me an answer,” he hissed.

She didn’t bother looking at him. “Take me home,” she whispered, exhausted.

“Well which is it?” He asked, his voice rising. “Leave you alone or take you home?”

Tears sprung in the corners of her eyes, and she hated herself for it. She didn’t take her hands away from her face.

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me-.”

“Just stop!” She yelled, her hands falling away as she turned to face him.

He froze, jaw locking.

The door opened and Elain and Azriel came out into the alley. She frantically caught Nesta’s hand and asked, “Are you okay?”

She held Cassian’s stare and blinked, looking at her sister and nodding. The silent tears that began to stream down her face rooted Cassian to where he was standing.

“Come on,” Elain said, voice soft. “Let’s go.” She began to pull Nesta away and Cassian reached out, brushing his fingers against hers.

She looked at him, and that softness he’d woken up to this morning, the light he’d gotten used to…

It was gone. And in its place was the raging storm she’d been when he’d met her.

He didn’t understand.

Wanted to, but didn’t. 

Nesta walked away with Elain and Azriel, the latter looking over his shoulder apologetically.

He stayed put for a moment, mind whirling, as he watched her walk out of the alley and disappear around the corner before tumbling back to his own truck.

He felt confused.

Pissed. Frustrated. Upset. Hurt. But mostly confused.

“Cass!”

He turned and caught Rhysand’s eyes from the door. He and Feyre hurried to his truck. She demanded, “What the fuck happened?” Cassian didn't even have time to reply before she forged on. “I looked over and found the three of you in each other’s faces. And then that fucker left and she stormed away from you?”

“He was being an ass. Then I told her I didn’t want her around Tomas and she lost her shit,” Cassian mumbled. “I don’t know. I’m going home.”

Feyre reached out and grabbed his arm as he was about to pull himself into his truck. He stopped, and when he met her eyes, he was surprised to find her eyes soft.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” she whispered, even though from the look on Rhysand’s face, he knew enough about why. “She and Tomas… He… Just don’t be too hard on her.”

He didn’t bother to mention that he wasn’t sure if she’d even speak to him.

When he got home, he found her on his porch. She still wore that damn skin tight lace, showing every delicious curve he wanted to run his tongue along.

Every curve he had run his tongue along.

He got out of the truck and made his way up the stairs, his boots thudding with each step.

She sat on the top step, a lit cigarette between her fingers.

He leaned on the railing, crossing his arms, and said, “Didn’t know you smoked.”

She put it to her lips and took a drag, the end glowing in the darkness. She blew out a stream of smoke and shrugged. “I don’t. Just a nervous habit.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. He hesitated, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I think we need to talk.”

She nodded, taking another pull and stood, dropping the cigarette into a beer can that had been left on the small patio table he had. It went out with a sizzle.

“If I’ve…” he began, then stopped. He blew out a long breath before starting over. “If I’ve jumped to conclusions about what we are, I’m sorry.”

Nesta didn’t say anything, didn’t move for a moment. She stared at a spot on the deck for a moment before saying, “Nothing about tonight was about you.”

Cassian wanted to press her, but didn’t. He didn’t need to, though, because she continued.

“I didn’t realize you knew Tomas, it threw me off,” she said. “We used to date. For a long time. He was an ass. Made me feel….small. And then he cheated on me. That was almost ten years ago, and I haven’t been in a real, healthy relationship with anyone since. I don’t even know if I’ve ever had a healthy time relationship.”

Cassian didn’t say anything, contemplating just how much he should say. But this woman… this gods damned breath of fresh air that had blown into town, into his life and actually made him enjoy what he did again…

The woman that he’d fallen in love with… she deserved to know everything.

“I know.” She looked up from the deck and waited for him to continue. He sighed and closed his eyes, taking a moment before he went on. “You may not have remembered me from school, but Cauldron, I remembered you. I had the biggest crush on you, but when I found out you were dating Tomas Mandray, the only other header in our state that gave me a run for my money? The one thorn in my fucking side who only won because daddy bought him the fastest horse he could find?” He shook his head. “I knew that we never had a chance, regardless of the fact that you didn’t even know I existed. I could have introduced myself, I could have put myself on your radar, but what good would that have done? You were still with him.” Nesta stared at him unable to say anything. “And then I saw you in Guthrie.” He looked at her, looked into her eyes, letting her see the sincerity in them. “And I saw him make you cry. I knew it was none of my business, so I didn’t say anything. Rhys told me if I did anything to fuck up our chances at a title, he’d personally cut my balls off. We roped the first night, took the average. Roped the second, came up short by point zero four seconds. Still won the average so far, but Tomas was right behind me. Then on the third, I caught him running his mouth and bragging about how he was able to keep that side piece from you for months.”

Nesta felt like she was going to be sick. She’d never been sure, but she’d always assumed he’d been cheating on her for longer than she knew.

“So I beat the shit out of him, had my membership in the USTRC revoked and was told that I’d never rope professionally again. And I haven’t. I was turned away from every rodeo I tried to enter. So I gave up.”

Nesta stared at him, completely speechless. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind but they all sounded ridiculous. All she managed was a breathless, “You…” but nothing followed.

He looked up at her then, at her wide, misty eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, then she said, “You really did beat the shit out of him.”

Nesta remembered hearing about it the next day, feeling grateful at whoever gave Tomas what he deserved.

But never in a million years would she have thought it had been Cassian.

“You didn’t deserve to be disrespected like that, whether you knew or not.” His voice was quiet, still, cold.

She breathed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He let his hands drop to his side and a frustrated chuckle left him. “What was I supposed to say? Oh, by the way, I assaulted your ex and had my dream ripped from me when it was within spitting distance?”

She didn’t say anything, knowing he was right. How would he have even brought it up, especially seeing her reaction to Tomas in the hardware store.

Her lips tightened but she said nothing. She should apologize, should try to tell him something comforting or reassuring, although that had never been a strength of hers.

Instead, she met him at the top of the stairs and laid her fingers against his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. And when he did, with eyes still half lit with anger, but dwelling with softness for her, she kissed him, softly, slowly.

He melted into the touch of her lips against his, his arms wrapping around her slender waist. 

She pulled back, and he was shaking his head. “I’m sorry I got pissed tonight,” he breathed, brows furrowed. “I acted like an ass.”

“You did,” she agreed, and the chuckle that left him slid across her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You were just trying to protect me, and I know that. You’ve apparently been doing that way longer than I’ve known.” She smiled softly and his lips turned up slightly in response, that anger diminishing with every second. “But… I can fight my own battles, Cassian. I’m a big girl and I promise I can handle myself on my own. Okay?”

He closed his eyes, sighed and nodded. “Okay. But only if you agree to let me step in if need be. I promise,” he began, his eyes sincere. “I won’t ever overstep my boundaries if I can help it, but if I feel like something is wrong, I’ll have to handle it.”

“You’ll have to?” She whispered, amusement lacing her tone.

He nodded, slowly, eyes bright as he cupped her face. “I care about you, Nesta.”

Words escaped her as she stared up at him, as his thumbs brushed across her cheeks. 

She knew he wasn’t lying, knew he wasn’t saying it just to say it. She could see the truth of his words in his eyes, could feel it in his touch.

The thought terrified her.

But it ignited her, too, set her soul on fire, woke her up.

“Kiss me,” she breathed, pleaded, needed to taste him to know this moment, these confessions, were real.

So he did. His hand curled into her hair, the other going to her lower back, holding her against him, and his lips devoured hers in a searing kiss. It took her breath away and made her feel alive. There was so much he couldn’t say that he poured into that kiss and Nesta could feel it, could feel herself falling.

This man, this impossibly frustrating, amazing, complicated man, he had thrown her world off its axis. Had made her second guess a lot of things about her life she’d never allowed herself to.

And he cared for her, for some ridiculous reason that she was trying so hard to understand but didn’t. They were polar opposites, two people worlds apart. She didn’t care, though, didn’t care that they didn’t make sense. 

Cassian lifted her up and her legs wrapped around his waist in silent acceptance. He carried her inside of the little cabin, where Beau looked up from his spot on the couch before snuggling back into the cushions. 

Neither of them said a word, their lips refusing to be parted, as they entered his bedroom.

Her back gently hit the mattress as he laid her down, his body covering hers. Her hands were in his hair, framing his face, pulling at his shirt, grabbing his ass through his jeans. He was all she could feel, all she could, taste, smell, see, hear. He completely overwhelmed her senses, but gods, she loved the disorienting haze his kisses dragged her into.

She bit his bottom lip, just like she had on the football field, and he growled quietly. Pulling back, his hazel eyes found hers and they were intense and she found herself wanting to push him, to see how far she could go before he lost control.

So she leaned up, brushing her lips along his jawline. His stubble was rough, scratching against her skin in an intoxicating way, and she trailed her kisses down his throat until she found that spot where his neck met his shoulder.

The hand bracing his weight that was next to her head balled into a fist, the sheets and blankets bunching up in it. The hand on her hip tightened.

Her gentle fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath. Those teasing kisses along the base of his throat continued, sucking softly, brushing her tongue against his skin.

His eyes closed, his lips parted.

Nesta wanted to capture that moment, paint him in that light for all eternity, hardly holding on, dwelling in her touch as she worshipped him, patiently.

Her hands slid up his back, just beneath his shoulder blades as her lips trailed down between the collar of his shirt.

A shuddering breath left him and he leaned back, pulling the shirt over his head and went to lie back atop of Nesta. Instead, she pressed a palm to his chest and took a moment to look at him.

He was a fucking Adonis in human form. Her hand trailed down between his pecs, across his abdomen, over the dusting of hair beneath his belly button, and finger followed the deep groove of muscle at his hip down into the jeans that were becoming impossibly tighter with every touch.

She looked up at him through her lashes, and dragged that finger along the waistband of his jeans, finding the button and playing with it before she popped it loose.

He watched, lips pressed together. Nesta swore he held his breath as she pulled down his zipper and pushed his jeans down past his hips. Cassian’s body finally shook with a deep breath as he pushed himself off the bed and onto the floor. Nesta rolled onto her side and silently watched as he kicked off his boots and pushed his jeans onto the wooden floorboards, but when he took a step back toward the bed she shook her head, eyes bright as they admired him.

She scooted herself to the side of the mattress before pulling herself up into sitting position, her long legs draped over the sides. She reached down to unzip one of her boots and toss it to the side, then the other, and she stood in front of him before trailing her fingers down his body, once more. 

He was beautiful.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” His voice was rough. His fingers found her chin and when he grazed his thumb across her lips, she pressed the softest of kisses to it. When she heard his breath hitch, she pulled it into her mouth and sucked lightly, letting her tongue swirl around it. She looked up at Cassian, into his eyes, and she swore she was going to combust from the look he was giving her.

He removed his thumb, and though there was a ferocity in his eyes, he gently took her face in both of his hands and kissed her softly.

He pulled back and whispered, “Nesta, I-. Fuck…” His words trailed off as he kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip. He pulled away abruptly, leaving Nesta breathless. He spoke in a rush, almost as if he knew that if he didn’t speak now, he wouldn’t speak at all. “Fuck, Nesta, I think I love you. And I know that’s insane, but you’re all that I think about. You’re the only thing I want, and I just-.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I had to tell you. I’m falling for you, harder and harder every day.”

Feeling breathless, her forehead fell against his chest. She closed her eyes, terrified of the next words to come out of her mouth. “I feel the same.” And she looked up at him, then, through her long lashes. “I love you, too.”

Four words, barely audible, even in the silence of the cabin. But the look in his eyes at those words was something so vulnerable and raw, with a hint of something almost like surprise, that Nesta could hardly breathe. 

She wanted to tell him not to hurt her, not to break her heart, not to make her regret those words. But as he took that little step closer to her, closing what was left of the distance between them, she knew he wouldn’t.

He didn’t need to tell her, because he would show her.

A hand reached around and found the small zipper at the back of her neck, and he slowly pulled it down. His finger skimmed along her skin as he dragged it along her spine and a chill ran through Nesta. He undid the button of her jeans and Nesta held her breath, unsure of why she felt so nervous. Cassian began to work her jeans down, but when they wouldn’t budge past her hips, he cleared his throat. “I imagined this being much more smooth, but, uhm, I can’t get your pants off.”

Nesta laughed, quietly, as she shimmied herself out of her tight jeans. He watched as she pulled herself out of her lace bodysuit, until she was bare before him. 

“Told you, no panties,” she whispered, and his answering grin had her toes curling.

“And I told you I wanted to take that off with my teeth…”

She smoothly replied, “Next time.” Cassian smirked.

With no warning, he picked her up and tossed her onto his bed, following suit and crawling up her body, pausing to taunt, tease and taste. He stopped at her breasts, unable to resist any longer as he took a peaked nipple between his lips, his fingers finding the other and rolling into slowly.

Nesta began to writhe, gripping his hair and tugging on the loose strands. The whimpers and moans falling from her lips were too much and he fisted his cock, stroking in time with the roll of his fingers. 

Her legs were wrapping up around his waist, and she pulled his body into hers. She had to be closer to him, the distance seemed too great, too far, after the words they’d spoken.

“Cassian.” She whispered his name, breathed it into the night. He looked up at her, his lips falling away from her nipple, and saw the desperate beckoning look in her eyes. He climbed up her body, covering hers with his. He moved the stray hairs from her face before taking her wrists gently into his hands and moving her arms above her head, his fingers slowly intertwining into hers.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his hardened cock pressed up between her folds. 

Her eyes remained locked with his as her fingers tightened in his own. “Make love to me, Cass,” she breathed.

His lips parted and a slow, shaky breath left his mouth, warming her own.

He slowly, torturously slowly, pushed into her, pausing when he was fully seated inside. The overwhelming fullness had Nesta breathing heavily, her chest heaving, and Cassian leaned down, pressing soft kisses to her lips. “Are you okay?” The question was no louder than a whisper, but Nesta nodded, eyes still closed.

She’d been with a few men since Tomas all those years ago. None more than a few times, as Nesta’s schedule was too busy for more than anything but a passing fling, but she’d never been dissatisfied with the sex she’d had, never been disappointed by the size of her partner.

She was ruined now, she realized as Cassian slowly pulled out and snapped his hips back into hers, for any other cock, because none could compare to the one currently inside of her. Or the man to whom it belonged.

He continued the slow, agonizing pace until Nesta began to squirm. He leaned down and kissed her, palming her breast, and asked, “What is it, sweetheart?” He never halted his thrusts, kept driving Nesta wild with each flex of his hips.

She was whimpering and groaning and writhing, and breathed, “Touch me, please.”

He picked up his pace, just barely, as his hand fell from her breast and slowly dragged down her side. Cassian pushed himself up on his knees, then, and pulled her ass onto his lap as that steady pace inside of her continued. His thumb found her clit and he circled it, slowly, as he thrust his cock in and out, his other hand gripping her ass as a guide.

Nesta threw her head back, her body flooding with that familiar warmth, and she didn’t try to quiet the moan that he pulled from her. One hand was fisted in the sheets by her head and the other replaced his, tweaking her nipple.

“God damn, baby,” he breathed, gazing down at her. Fuck, she was so beautiful, so perfect. Her full hips that he couldn’t get enough of grabbing onto. Those parted lips that drove him wild. But gods, those breasts.

Nesta reached out and ran a hand down his chest. He caught her fingers and sucked one into his mouth as she has before, biting down lightly. Her other hand had stilled on her stomach and she watched him with lust addled eyes. He gripped the other in his hand and pinned them above her head again, lifting his hips and roughly thrusting into her again and again.

She cried out, unable to form a sentence or even his name.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, fighting his growing orgasm. He wanted to bend her over his dresser, wanted to watch himself fuck her in the mirror, but she was so tight and he was so close.

A string of curses flooded his mind as his head fell back, his eyes closed, but only for a second. Nesta’s cries grew louder and he watched as her body tensed, her pussy clenching around him, squeezing his cock. He leaned back to get the perfect view as he grabbed her ass and pulled her into him as his pace quickened.

“I’m...close,” he grunted, voice straining. She was still riding out her orgasm, unable to speak, but acknowledging him with a nod. He kept pounding into her, watching the way her breasts bounced with her every thrust until his head fell back again and he grunted out, “I’m about to come.”

He expected her to scoot back so he could come on her stomach or her tits. He wouldn’t have even been surprised if she took him into her mouth to finish him off.

He didn’t expect her to tighten her legs around him and hold him in place. He didn’t expect the frantic nod she gave him when their eyes connected, question written clear across his face. He didn’t expect the quietly whimpered, “Please,” as he thrust into her one final time before his release barreled through him, vision going white as he came harder than he ever had before.

Cassian groaned as he came, filling her up, quick, hard thrusts continuing long after her pussy had milked him for his last drop.

He fell down against her, his cock still inside of her as his sweaty, hard body covered hers. She wrapped his arms around his neck as they tried to catch their breaths. Neither of them said a word in the silence as they clung to one another..

Cassian was about to get up when Nesta breathed, “No, just…stay here, please.”

He nodded, pressing his lips to her neck. He rolled them, so she was lying on top of him, rather than the other way around, and he dragged a lazy finger up and down her back.

“Shit,” he said, letting loose a deep breath. “That was the-.”

“Best orgasm you’ve ever had?” She finished.

He nodded, head sinking deeper into his pillow as he wrapped his arms around her tighter. “You took the words out of my mouth.”

One of his hands dipped lower, cupping her ass. They laid there in a careful silence, enjoying feeling each other’s body against the other, when Cass finally said, “Don’t you need to go…clean up?” He let his hand slip lower until he could feel their mixed essences dripping out of her.

He was still inside of her and she could have sworn that she felt him harden, just the slightest.

She shook her head, nestling into his chest. “In a minute. I can’t get pregnant.”

The hand on her back stilled. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

Nesta’s body tensed as his hand froze. She slowly leaned up to meet his gaze. “Can’t.”

She waited for Cassian to say something, anything, but he didn’t. Yet the hand on her back began to move up and down her skin once more.

She laid back on his chest and closed her eyes. “I was told years ago I won’t be able to have children.”

Her voice was quiet, and for once, she found herself afraid to say it. She hadn’t ever really wanted kids, hadn’t really ever thought about settling down and starting a family.

But when she said the words to Cassian, a little bit of a heavy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach.

Having a family hadn’t been in the cards for her before. If she was too busy to have a boyfriend, how was she supposed to figure out how to juggle a child and her restaurants? So when she found out at twenty-two that she would never be a mother, she didn’t even dwell on it, hadn’t given herself time to be sad about it, or think about what that really meant.

But for Cassian, the words were a blow. He’d grown up alone, in every sense of the word. Before his mother died, she was always working nights. She would be asleep when he left for school, and would have to be at work by five. He saw very little of her. Barely knew the woman who he’d laid in the ground before his thirteenth birthday.

He’d always dreamed of having a huge family, at least three kids, maybe even four. He’d even let himself imagine what their kids might look like, with his tanned complexion, and her striking eyes. But in a moment, that dream was gone.

“Please say something,” she whispered.

Cassian nodded, although she wasn’t looking at him. “Sorry. Just surprised.” He kept his voice quiet. “It’s okay.”

What else was he supposed to say? He loved her, still, and voicing his disappointment would just upset her, and what would erase all the progress that had just been made.

He turned her head to face him. She kept her eyes closed. “Look at me,” he whispered. She opened her eyes, and a tear slid down her cheek and landed on his chest. “I love you. Okay? It’s okay.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Why are you crying?”

She shrugged lightly and said, “I didn’t even think I wanted children. When I found out, I was in culinary school and I didn’t have time for kids, nor did I have a good relationship with my family, so I thought it was a blessing in disguise and…” She sniffled and closed her eyes again, as another tear fell. “Now, things are different and I feel...broken.”

Cassian let out a breath as he pulled her in closer, holding her tightly against him. “It’s okay,” he repeated.

She wiped at her eyes against his chest before burying her face into his skin. 

They laid like that for hours, clinging to one another, Cassian telling her that he loved her over and over again, as if he couldn’t say it enough, as if he was afraid that she didn’t believe her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him.

It’s that she didn’t think she deserved it.

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (6/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | AO3 | 2.5k

a/n: I didn’t realize it had been so long since I updated—apologies! Hopefully I haven’t lost you, and hopefully the next one will go up sooner. Dedicated as always to the amazing @sherlockianwhovian​ <3

“If you must know,” he started, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Emma stared at him for a moment, then scoffed. “Seriously? This is no time for jokes.”

A spark of anger quickly ignited within Killian; he wasn’t sure if that was his normal temper, or the hormones playing a part. “Why the bloody hell would I make something like that up?”

“I don’t know; some weird attempt to lighten the mood.”

“Am I lying?” he snapped back.

She opened her mouth a few times, trying to come up with an equal retort, but he saw the realization of his truth wash over her. She finally came up with, “That’s impossible.”

“Afraid not.” 

She blinked in disbelief and looked him up and down, her gaze eventually settling on his midsection. His bump was still mostly hidden by the bulk of his vest, but if one knew to look, they could see the way his stomach curved just above his belt. “Wait, for real?”

If it weren’t for the taste of bile on his tongue, he probably would have found humor in her reaction. As it was, he simply longed for a drag from the waterskin Snow was carrying and his temper was wearing thin. Impulsively, he reached out for her hand and placed the back of it against his stomach, against the spot where its inhabitant was currently moving about—not strongly discernible kicks, not from the outside, but definitely noticeable, especially (hopefully) to someone who had been through this before.

Emma’s eyes grew wide in shocked recognition and she snatched her hand back. “Holy shit; you’re pregnant.”

“Aye; and if you don’t mind, I’d like to wash my mouth out with something other than rum.” And without another word, stepped around Emma to join the rest of the group.

Emma only paused a moment before rushing to catch back up to him. “But...how?” she stammered.

“Well, when a man and woman love each other—”

“I know that,” she cut off. “But like...is that a normal thing in the Enchanted Forest?” She cast a worrying look in the direction of her father.

And as quick as the anger had come, it was replaced with sympathy just as fast; he couldn’t fault Emma’s confusion, when it evidently was an impossibility in her realm. “Not necessarily; it’s rare—only runs in certain families—but it does happen. Obviously.”

He hoped that might be the end of it, not quite wanting that revelation to drop on any unsuspecting ears just yet, but Emma had more questions. And honestly, it felt nice to talk to someone about it, however briefly, and equally nice to have someone take an interest.

“How far along are you?” she continued.

“About sixteen weeks, the doctor says.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just Regina.”

“Is she the...mother, or whatever?”

“Heavens no.” Though he could see why she’d think that.

She grew silent for a bit. “You should have told me,” she finally scolded.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I can’t afford to be worried about you, too.”

That honestly took him aback; it had been centuries since anyone had any concern for him. “I’m flattered, love, but you don’t have to; I can take care of myself,” he assured her. Her focus needed to be on Henry—not his sorry arse.

She was about to say something, but David’s voice interrupted. “Up here! We made it!”

They jogged ahead to join the rest of the group at the ridge, which gave an unparalleled view of the island, specifically the Dark Jungle—or at least, it had; it appeared to have grown over quite a bit in Killian’s absence. They heeded his warning on going through it, at least, and agreed to his recommendation to make camp with only minor protest.

He thought sleep would claim him quickly—while he wasn’t as fatigued as he had been weeks ago, he still found himself needing more than in the past; given the excitement of the last day, he knew he needed it. But the island wasn’t quite ready to let him. 

The crying—how had he forgotten it?

The sound of the Lost One’s wails echoed in his skull, and if he wasn’t careful, his own would likely join them; it certainly had in the past. Regardless of the number of decades that had passed since his father deserted him and his brother, the cries never failed to bring up the feelings of hurt and abandonment that lay buried within.

But now it wasn’t just for him—gods, what if that happened to his child? For not the first time (and likely not the last), he worried that one or more of his enemies, or even just his penchant for ending up in life-threatening situations, would leave his child parentless.

He rolled from his back to his side, away from the others, and curled in on himself, hoping the fetal position—and feeling of fetal movements under his palm—might calm his thoughts and mind, but it was to no avail. He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, but all that did was force out the tears that had been brimming at them. It had been many years since he’d silently cried, but as a lad, it had been a lifesaving skill; thank goodness he still remembered how.

Gods, how was no one else reacting to this? Even with the echoing sobs in the foliage, he could still hear the prince’s snores, and the general silence told him everyone else was equally still.

He let his crying jag run its course; he’d need the waterskin again soon, but hopefully he would at least cry himself to sleep. Alas, he did not, and the rhythmic sounds of the others in the camp did nothing to lull him, either.

Sighing, he returned to his back, hoping the stars might give some comfort—but they were invisible through the foliage. He quietly sighed again and let his head fall to the other side, glancing at the rest of the camp. The first thing he saw was a blanket lying in a heap and Emma’s jacket—but no Emma.

He sat bolt upright. He had no doubts she heard the voices, too. He’d known her for a lost girl from the moment he’d locked eyes with her. But why the bloody hell had she gone off alone?

His jacket was on and he was ready to search for her when she returned on her own, a blank sheet of parchment in hand that he could immediately tell was anything but harmless.

It was Pan; of course it was. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of the demon child being close and he not being aware of it.

After rousing the others, she explained: the map would lead them to Henry, but first, she had to stop denying who she really was. Regina scoffed at the idea and questioned its validity, but he set her straight: Pan loved his games, and this is just another they had to play.

(Surprisingly, he had the Charmings on his side. “I’m winning you over; I can feel it,” he teased David; he took the responding roll of eyes as progress.)

Of course, Emma coming to terms with her identity was much easier said than done. It took a certain kind of confidence—and many years—for most people to fully own their selves; for Killian, it had taken a handful of decades to achieve that kind of self-awareness. That was time they didn’t have for Emma. 

In her typical impatience, Regina decided a quicker plan: use a tracking spell on the parchment itself to lead to Pan. Again, he found himself in agreement with the Charmings, that using magic was a risk. But Her Majesty wouldn’t hear it, and off they went into the jungle…

...Right into an ambush. He should have known that would happen; alas, the only warning he could give was of the danger hidden in the Lost Boys’ poisoned arrow tips. He said a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that he and his child would manage to avoid that fate; and, to his surprise, a warm wash of magic ran over him—shielding him, it felt like. He caught Regina’s eye from across their circle and she nodded at him. Well, at least she’d done that.

They somehow made it through the altercation relatively unscathed, though David seemed to have had a too-close encounter with an arrow, and Killian really did not want to deal with Felix ever again. Pan repeated his smug instructions to Emma, and then their foes retreated...leaving them no closer to finding Henry.

He took small comfort in the gentle movements he felt within while he subtly rested his hand on his belt on their trek back to camp. They may not have come out ahead, but at least they weren’t behind (he hoped).

He and Regina hung back at the campsite while Emma and her parents continued at the map. His adrenaline from the fight was starting to fade and his interrupted sleep was calling for him—but at the same time, he was too spooked to sleep. Regina’s pacing seemed to suggest the same thing.

“Thank you for the protection,” he said quietly; his voice seemed to startle her from her thoughts, but she recovered quickly.

“No problem. I wasn’t about to risk anything happening to...you know.”

“I appreciate it. But I’d also rather we not find ourselves in that sort of situation again.”

She nodded. “I know; I was hasty. I just...I hate not knowing where he is.”

He stepped closer. “I know I’m not as familiar with your boy, but we’ve all got our motivations to get him back. You need to trust the rest of us.”

She scoffed. “Afraid I’ve never been much of a team player.”

“Well you best figure out how, because not only does your son’s life depend on it, but all of ours—including my child’s, as well.” He turned and stalked away, letting Regina brood while he did much the same. 

The sooner they worked together, the sooner they saved the lad and got out of this bloody realm, and his child would be safe again.

It seemed like the Charmings were having a moment, so he stepped aside briefly to deal with another stirring of nausea, then rinsed his mouth out with rum after. He was rather annoyed that he’d likely be dealing with that for the duration of their stay here; all the more reason to find any way to hasten it.

He’d barely returned to the clearing and pocketed his flask when Emma was running towards him. “The map is working! We know where Henry is,” she practically shouted, shoving it in his face.

Sure enough, a map of the island had appeared on the parchment—a deceptively simple one.

Emma stood at his side as he studied it, and Regina was quick to jump on the other. “Where?”

It took him aback, for a moment, that they were both willing to listen to him. “Uh...We're here at the southern tip of the isle, in the middle of the Dark Jungle,” he explained, gesturing with his hook, “and Pan's camp lies due north.” A bright red X marked the spot; but it didn’t detail the dangers that lay between here and there.

“That's where he's keeping Henry,” Emma stated matter-of-factly.

Regina clearly hadn’t taken his previous lecture to heart. “What are we waiting for?”

“Well, the terrain’s not easy,” he warned. “There will undoubtedly be some nasty impediments along the way.” He shot her an annoyed look.

“We should prepare,” David stepped in. “We only made it out of our last encounter because Pan let us. We need a new plan.”

“Agreed. It's time we stop playing his game and he starts playing ours,” Emma concurred.

Regina bristled. “And if I disagree?”

Emma wasn’t having it. “Go ahead, but I think you know our best chance is together.” Again, Killian sent a knowing look in Regina’s direction.

She swallowed bitterly. “You better be right.”

Everyone dispersed to either sulk or plan, but Emma lingered in his space. He hadn’t missed her reddened eyes, or the general sense of emotional exhaustion.

“Excellent show of patience, luv,” he encouraged her. “And that's what defeats a nasty little boy.”

“I hope so,” she confessed. He wished he knew of a better way to comfort her, but he was still on the outside looking in when it came to her walls, and had little more than a crack to peer through. That said, he knew where he usually turned in moments like that, and pulled his flask back out. She rolled her eyes as he did. “Is rum your solution to everything? You shouldn’t even be drinking that.”

“It certainly doesn't hurt. And it’s not for me; it’s for you.” She eyed it briefly in his extended hand, then took it from him and drank a very long swig. It seemed to help; she relaxed a bit—as much as she could, given the situation. Which was good, because his curiosity got the best of him and pregnancy brain meant he had little to no filter. ���So just how did you unlock the map?” he asked.

“I did what Pan asked,” she shrugged.

“And just who are you, Swan?”

She smirked and handed the flask back. “Wouldn't you like to know?” 

“Perhaps I would,” he confessed solemnly. She’d clearly been expecting flirtation and not blunt honesty, if the way she was taken aback was any indication. 

But it was quickly followed by a small smile. “Ask me that again when we get home and I might have an answer for you.”

She then wandered back to her parents, leaving him in an almost stunned silence. The fact that she hadn’t shot him down was not something he had prepared for—but he was far from complaining.

Logically, he knew there were far more important matters at hand than flirting with his crush. But who said he couldn’t do both? (Especially if she was going to be receptive to the idea?)

Intense fluttering started behind his navel again; he rested his palm against it while he was still out of everyone’s sight. “All the more reason for us to fight to get home, eh, little one?” he murmured.

They still had a fight ahead—gods only knew what they’d face—but for the first time, he was feeling optimistic. 

(And hopefully, it wasn’t just the hormones talking.

(Emma, meanwhile, was starting to plan and prep with her parents, but was running over that conversation in her mind. He’d been genuine with her—as much as when he confessed his condition to her earlier. Despite his past proclamations, he really knew her about as well as she knew him: not as much as she’d like. That realization was throwing her for a loop; she was in the middle of a cursed jungle trying to rescue her son—why in the hell was she flirting with a pirate? A pregnant one at that?

And why didn’t she regret it one bit?)

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

thanks for reading! tagging  @cocohook38​​​​​ @wyntereyez​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @superadam54​​​​​ @ashley-knightingale​​​​​ @justsomewhump​​ (let me know if you want a tag!)

[dearchikkie]

Truth or Dare

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 5: Dare

A/N: I.LOVE.TENSE.TRUTH.OR.DARE. The drama, the divide, just everything!! jskhdakjhd I had fun writing this one, you can probably tell by now but I really love when Chat and Mari are just chilling together as friends and being dorks. You'll probably see them geeking out on my day 7 fic, so watch out for that ;) Anyway: hope you enjoy this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Marinette was bad- no, scratch that- terrible at sleepovers. From the age of nine, she could barely sleep in her own room without crying out for her mother or father in the night. Tom and Sabine had tried everything ranging from nightlights to singing toys, but none comforted her fears. When she finally made a friend at school to have sleepovers with, she ended up vomiting in their sink after drinking too much soda and begging her mom to come pick her up.

She had been apprehensive to try again, but after being begged to attend a classmates slumber party, she dedicated herself to getting over her fears and having a fun time. Unfortunately, she hadn't trained hard enough. A few hours into when she should have been sleeping, she thought she had heard a ghost. Young Marinette had tiptoed down the stairs to investigate, and saw standing in the kitchen a deathly zombie.

In her defence, she didn't know the birthday girl had an older brother, so seeing a mysterious boy lit only by the fluorescent lights of their fridge, it seemed perfectly acceptable to scream as loud as she could.

In the end, her father came and picked her up. Marinette would have preferred to stay, but after awaking the entire house at 3am, she decided it was best if she just went home.

After that, there wasn't really a strong desire to embarrass herself anymore, so she avoided sleepovers entirely. She didn't go camping with Mylene, she didn't jam out with Juleka, she couldn't even braid her hair with Rose! By the time Alya transferred, everyone knew Marinette just didn't do sleepovers, so when Alya invited her to one it came as a shock to the young teen. Although anxious, Marinette gave sleepovers one last chance.

She didn't cry. She didn't vomit. She had fun.

Alya introduced her to all the iconic sleepover traditions: gossip, movies, snacks, skincare, more gossip and [most importantly] sleepover games. Marinette fell in love with them instantly. Of course, she had played these before, but never in her pajamas at 1 AM loaded on sugar.

So with her parents out of town and Alya stuck at a convention in the states, it seemed only fair she throw a slumber party with her second best friend.

✧✬✧

"What brand did you buy? This is taking forever!" Marinette glared at the sizzling pan. She had trusted Chat to bring the popcorn since bulk-buying packets would have been suspicious to her parents [the same parents she promised could rest easy knowing she wouldn't have people over] but he had shown up wielding a fancy looking packet of kernels. Marinette frowned at the pan's foil; it should be rising, but instead stayed pathetically flat no matter how high she raised the heat.

Chat snatched the packet off Marinette's kitchen counter, "Some brand called 'Papa's Organic Snacks', the store clerk said it was the best!"

"Let me see that," the noirette left the stove, the popcorn wasn't going to pop any time soon so she felt safe leaving it unsupervised, "Chat! This was 70 euros! You shouldn't waste money just on some popcorn,"

"It's not wasting money, this is our first super fun sleepover and I didn't want to just get some cheap popcorn!"

"You sound spoiled."

"Maybe I am." not maybe. He was. He didn't want to admit it, but Adrien knew he was spoilt. He had all the video games he wanted, all the clothing he tried, all the books he read, he got them no questions asked. Hell, look at his room! Flatscreen TV's, a rock-climbing wall and a personal library, no one even cared when he suddenly required masses of expensive cheese.

As Adrien, he was spoilt with material objects. Unlimited amounts of money and recognition, celebrities knowing him by name and fangirls flocking him as he walked down the street.

"Yes! It's popping! After I butter these up we'll finally get this sleepover started!"

As Chat Noir, he was spoiled like this.

✧✬✧

"Chat, truth or dare?" the leather-clad hero pondered for a moment, before replying,

"Truth!"

"What? Boring," Marinette threw a handful of popcorn at Chat. She laughed as he tried swatting it away, "aren't you supposed to be brave or something?"

"Who says I'm not being brave? Who knows what dastardly questions you'll ask," the cat feigned a horrified gasp and fell back onto Marinette's chaise.

The noirette grinned at him, tugging back on his tail, "I'm sure you can handle an innocent teen girls question. Sit back down, I'm gonna get serious."

Slowly, Chat slid off the chaise and regained his place besides Marinette, munching on another large chunk of caramel popcorn. The teenage girl slowly gestured for Chat to lean in closer. Then closer. The closer, eventually, he was so close he could feel her warm breath on his ear, the hairs on his neck sticking on end.

"Chat Noir..." she whispered, Who's your civilian identity?"

"WHAT?" in a rush, Chat fell back. Popcorn spilt all over the ground as Chat stared wide-eyed at the giggling girl in front of him. "P-Princess, I c-care about you and you a-are one of my closest f-friends, b-but I- I can't just- my i-identity has t-to be, Ladybug would kill me!" Chat stumbled over his words, eyes sporadically moving back and forth. 

His rambling stopped when he heard a quiet laugh. When he looked up, he saw Marinette barely able to contain her amusement, but a single look at Chat's flustered face broke her control as she burst out laughing.

"Oh, Chaton- I'm kidding! There's no way you'd just be able to reveal yourself to a civilian," before Chat could object Marinette spoke again, "My REAL question is this: Why do you keep coming over?"

Chat frowned, "And here I thought you enjoyed my company." he huffed. Marinette set a hand tentatively on his shoulder,

"Silly cat. I do now! But even back when we barely knew each other, you still showed up to chat; why?"

"Nice pun,"

"Not the point." Marinette scoffed, but Chat now grinned eagerly as he sidled up beside her.

"Well, It's kinda complicated," Chat shoved another handful on popcorn down his throat, causing Marinette to have to wait another minute before he could start speaking again. After taking a long sip of soda, Chat continued,

"I don't really know why I kept visiting you. I just, I didn't feel like being my civilian self and talking to people as myself. But the only person I could talk to as Chat Noir was Ladybug, and you know she's never out late unless there's an akuma. Then I remembered the Evillustrator and Wereded akuma's."

"When we first met,"

Chat nodded, "You didn't put me on a pedestal and suck up to me, nor did you completely ignore me and just ask about Ladybug. You were just... yourself. Now that I look back at it all, I have no idea why I chose you. I just saw you gardening, munching on a cinnamon roll and decided to talk to you. While I severely regret being so weird at first, that was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made."

The room became eerily silent. Chat could feel his face redden, desperately avoiding eye contact with the girl beside him. "...And, I'm probably the biggest sweet tooth in Paris; befriending the Bakers daughter was bound to happen at some point!" he chuckled nervously. When Chat finally got the nerve to look Marinette in the eye, he saw just how badly her flushed face matched his.

"Ah! I forgot! Papa made some snacks earlier and I snuck some away- let me go get them!" Marinette bundled down the stairs, slamming her hatch behind her. Chat exhaled after he heard Marinette's footsteps fade into the background. Good job Chat! Go ahead and gush all about how 'amazing' she is and make things awkward! He gulped down a full glass of soda, chugging it all in one go.

After a few minutes, the bedroom hatch burst open, startling Chat. Marinette reappeared at the top holding a tray filled with sugary macarons. Chat drooled at the sight of them, pupils dilating as he gazed over the pink and green desserts, "They're raspberry and green tea, I hope you like them,"

"They're incredible, Mari! Thank you so much, thank your père for me." Marinette smiled as Chat grabbed a pink macaron.

"You haven't even tried them yet,"

"I have trust in your father." hesitantly, Chat took a small bite. After chewing for only a few seconds he shoved the rest of it into his mouth, eyes shut with pleasure. "These are incredible, Princess," Chat moaned.

Marinette's cheeks glowed a similar colour to the macaron Chat was so affectionate of. She pulled him back to their seating arrangements, "C'mon, It's my turn to be asked,"

After licking the tips of his fingers, Chat turned his attention back to Marinette, "Fine, follow up question then, mademoiselle. Why did you keep letting me in?"

Marinette froze, "What?"

"Back then, I know why I kept showing up, but you also kept letting me into your room. Sharing sweets, showing me designs..."

"I, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe I just felt bad for the stray cat that kept appearing on my rooftop."

"What's wrong Marinette, afraid to tell me just how enamored you truly were by me?"

Chat laid his head down on Marinette's lap, ignoring the evil gaze that followed him down, "I wasn't 'enamored' by you. I just," she set a hand on Chat's hair, slowly petting it as if a blonde cat laid in her lap. Technically, one did.

"I don't know why I let you in those first few times, I guess it just seemed polite? But then after a few times of you visiting me, I got to know you. I liked hanging out with you, and I still do. You're one of my closest friends, Chaton. Truly."

Marinette stared back down at Chat. His eyes were trained solely on her, his cheeks tinged red. "You really think that?"

Marinette laughed, "Of course I do, Kitty. Why do you think you're here right now?"

Slowly, Chat sat up. He angled his face just in front of Marinettes, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly, "Truth or Dare?"

"Well, we've already had two truths in a row so I kinda have to choose dare," laughed Marinette. Her laughter ceased when she noticed how serious Chat's face had turned.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Marinette could hear her heart beating louder and louder as Chat inched closer to her face. His hot breath spread over her face as her skin tingled at the feel of it.

Suddenly, Chat's eyes widened and pushed himself away from her. His face now more red than ever, he stood up and turned around, "Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I probably just ruined everything- I should go." Chat ran to the rooftop, but Marinette grabbed his tail and pulled him back. Gradually rising to stand in front of him.

Wordlessly, Marinette forced herself forward, embracing Chat as she closed the distance between them. Their hearts burned. Chat wrapped his arms around Marinettes waist and pulled her closer, heat staining both their faces.

They never started the next round.

[nate-santos]

Friend or Dough || Nate & Orion

TIMING: Early January LOCATION: Fondante’s Inferno PARTIES: @3starsquinn @nate-santos​ SUMMARY: Rio comes to get some late night sweets CONTENT WARNINGS: Just sweet fun!

It was long past dark by the time that Orion finally left the Scribrary. A glance at his phone as he hiked through the woods to get to the closest parking lot where he could pull the car up told him that it was just past two in the morning. He weighed his options. He could drive back to the house and try to scrounge up some food. This late in the night, that wasn’t exactly ideal. But the late hour didn’t leave many options either. He was more than familiar with the Fondante’s Inferno than any normal, sane person probably should be. One perk of living with his nightmare of a family came with a seemingly endless allowance that allowed him to divulge in any sweet tooth craving he had. Now, he didn’t even want to know how much money he had dropped at the bakery since he had moved out on his own. He had a bad habit of dropping in at late hours and ordering in bulk to keep at the Scribrary as his own personal self serve buffet.

By the time he got to the bakery, it was inching closer and closer to that three in the morning deadline, and Orion rushed into the shop in a hurry, out of breath and already offering apologies. “Hey! I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t mean to keep you any later than you’re already here. I was hoping to get here before you closed.” He tried perusing the leftover goods as he rested his palms on his knees and tried to catch his breath. There wasn’t much that wasn’t good at this bakery, ran by a guy around the same age and wildly more successful than himself clearly. Luckily, the guy seemed incredibly nice. “How’s it going tonight? Busy day?” At almost three in the morning, it wasn’t any surprise that Rio found himself as the only remaining customer in the place. But he always recommended the place to others and hoped that during normal hours the place stayed busy.

Late nights didn’t bother Nate. Sure, it was his shop and he could set the hours, but late at night, the town seemed to become a more peaceful place. Plus he never wanted to alienate the previous owners’ regulars, even if he never seemed to have what they were looking for. The usual “after bar” crowd had just finished filtering out and Nate looked at the clock. Three was coming on quick and he hadn’t seen his most regular regular yet. His brow furrowed and he set about sweeping up and cashing out the register, happy to be alone for a bit. Easing his way back into the storefront had been harder than anticipated. More than one of his usual customers had apparently shifted in his subconscious to be more monstrous than friendly and it was difficult to focus when the old woman you’ve known your whole life was staring at you with glowing red eyes.

Like a tornado, someone rushed into the shop, breathlessly looking over the day’s last fresh pastries. Nate spun on his heel at the sound of the door, nearly tripping over the dustpan he’d just dropped, only to feel relief wash over him like a tidal wave. “Orion! Hey!” He propped the broom against the counter as the rush of adrenaline eased its way through his body. “You know you never have to apologize for keeping me late, you’re my best customer,” he laughed, prepping a few boxes for whatever the guy picked out tonight. “Not so busy, mostly just pick ups and stuff. But not too shabby.” It was more than a relief to say that Orion looked entirely and perfectly normal. Regular human, no scary teeth or hands or scales to be seen. “What’s keeping you out so late?” He asked, already putting a few of the older pastries in a box.

Nate was always a friendly face, and someone that Orion was especially happy to give business too. It was only a plus, or to go too far into a pun, the cherry on top, that the food was incredible. The two had found a sort of easy groove with each other. Rio showed up at odd hours and bought way too many baked goods at once and Nate was incredibly friendly about it and even seemed to specifically make things that he knew Rio liked. The latter of which had not gone unnoticed by Rio, who was especially thankful. “Oh I’m sure that’s not true. I’m sure there are plenty of other good customers that show up during like… normal people hours.” Rio laughed nervously, never quite sure how to properly accept compliments. “Besides, you make it very easy to want to come back.” Deflecting with his own compliments was usually the best line of defense that Rio had. “Oh you know. The usual.” Rio shrugged, trying to think of exactly what the usual was. He hated lying, even to people he didn’t necessarily know very well. “I get caught up in an assignment or studying and end up staying too late.” That was about as truthful as he could be to someone that didn’t know about the Scribrary. “Wanted to make sure I stopped by before you closed though. Wouldn’t want to miss out on whatever you came up with today.”

Nate chuckled as Rio perused the goods. “Sure, but boring people come at normal hours and what fun is that?” It was a joke, but Nate wished it was true. What he wouldn’t give for all his customers to actually be normal again. His smile flickered for only a moment before he was back to his jovial self. Something about Rio always brought this side of him back to the forefront. It was like the accident never happened and he could joke and have small talk without the fear that now always lingered in the back of his mind. “Speaking of,” Nate said with a glimmer in his eye before racing to the back mid sentence. “I’ve got something for you to try!” He called, rummaging through boxes to find the new recipe he’d been playing with. Carrying it gingerly back out to the front as if it were some precious heirloom, Nate presented the tarts to his patron. “Chocolate blueberry tarts with a hint of lime. I know it sounds weird, but seriously.” Nate made the chef kiss motion with his hands. “Maybe these will help get you through the late night study sessions.” He could tell there was probably more to it than just studying late, but Nate didn’t like to pry. If people wanted to let him into their lives, they would. It never did any good to try to force your way in, especially when it’s really none of your business.

Unwrapping one of the tarts, Nate held it up for a little cheers. It was customary at this point for them to try some of his new creations together and while they weren��t all winners, they were usually still pretty darn good if he said so himself. Nate was a little apprehensive about this batch, given that he’d been low on yeast and had to dip into his bread delivery box to make the crust, but it couldn’t actually be sentient, right? That was just a marketing gimmick. “Cheers! To late nights and delicious sweets!”

Orion laughed with Nate, ignoring that there probably wasn’t anyone in town more boring than Rio himself. Sure, terrifying and arguably exciting things seemed to happen around him. But those all seemed adjacent to the hermit that Rio actually was. At least that’s how he wanted to be. Between the hunter heritage, the supernatural library and the part where he may or may not have murdered his parents he felt like he should be a lot more interesting than he actually was. “Well I can’t say that I’m not super boring. My book bag is filled with like twenty pounds of random history books and autobiographies. But I appreciate the compliment anyways.” Nate got sidetracked quickly, rushing into the back. Through the doors, Rio could hear him search until he pushed back out into the main area holding a tray of what looked to be some kind of tart or pastry. Rio’s face brightened, but he didn’t react until Nate actually named the sweets. “Oh my god. Did you say blueberry? You’re a god send.” Rio clapped excitedly, swinging the book bag off of his back and dropping it onto the floor with a heavy thud. Nate had always been open to asking Rio’s feedback on some of the new creations. When it came to sweets, Rio was practically a raccoon. He would eat just about anything Nate offered, and he usually ended up liking it. Though Nate must have picked up on how much Rio loved pairing blueberry in his pastries. “My two favorite things!” Rio raised a tart in the air before biting into it. The odd trio of flavors may have sounded strange, but the combination blended perfectly and Rio released a happy sigh after two more bites to finish the thing off. “Holy crap that’s so good. Thank you for sharing this!” Rio licked his lips of any leftover chocolate before speaking again, “The bread tasted a little different this time. Good, just different. Is it something new?”

Nate had always felt like Rio was a kindred spirit, and tonight was no different. “I don’t think that’s so boring,” he replied before taking a bite of his own tart. Nate loved his historical books, even if it seemed a bit lame at times. Biographies were some of the most interesting stories out there. “You know the saying, Stranger than Fiction?” He smiled, taking another bite. Man, he hit it out of the park with these. Nate closed his eyes for a moment, letting the flavors sink in. Baking was one of the few things that brought him complete and utter peace and this flipping tart was no different. He’d really have to make more of an effort to find his secret bread admirer, ‘cause this batch of yeast had done wonders for the recipe. “You really like it?” He asked through a mouthful of blueberries. He could always trust Rio to give him an honest review, but it seemed more and more likely that the kid was gonna enjoy anything he gave him. “I tried a new type of yeast,” he answered, his face falling a bit. “Can you really tell?” Sudden insecurity gripped him, pausing his glut fest mid bite. No...something else was gripping him...Nate’s eyes traveled down to the half eaten tart in his hand that seemed to now be grabbing his hand back. “U-uh...O-Orion?”

“I think you’re one of the few then.” Orion laughed, thinking on how many people would find something like reading biographies incredibly boring. Even if they knew the subject was supernatural. Luckily, Rio had found quite a few friends that appreciated his lackluster hobbies. Even if they themselves didn’t find it super interesting, they never held that against Rio. In fact, it came in handy sometimes. “Real life is definitely a lot weird than anything a fictional book could sell me.” Rio agreed, unsure how much Nate actually knew about how weird real life actually was. But now wasn’t the time to fall too deeply into that. Right now, he wanted to focus exclusively on enjoying these ridiculously good sweets that Nate had brought out to try. “Of course. It’s hard not to like something you make.” Rio admitted, savoring another bite before he tried to answer Nate’s question. Admittedly, Rio didn’t know if the enhanced senses included taste. But he knew that he had always been pretty good at picking out individual flavors. Plus, he actually tasted the flavoring in la croix. Apparently that wasn’t normal. “Oh uh- yeah it’s nothing bad. I’m just sensitive to-” Rio’s bad excuse for an explanation was cut off when Nate said his name again. Rio met his confused look and glanced down at his hand, the tart that was on it seemed to be… moving. And sticking onto the man’s arm. On instinct, Rio flung his own tart onto the ground and slid away from it. “Um. What is that?! Nate drop the tart!”

Talk about stranger than fiction. Nate’s eyes went wide as dinner plates as he begun trying to flick the tart off his hand, his heart racing. “I can’t! I can’t get it off?!” All thoughts of how pleased he’d been to hear how much Rio had enjoyed his baking had dissipated, thrown out the window by tiny dough hands. “Get it off me!!” Nate flung his hand as hard as he could and the little tart thankfully flew off, landing with a dull smoosh on the counter. Apparently this act had betrayed their very existence as the half eaten tart was joined by the four untouched pastries. Gracelessly, they each sprouted a foot or a hand or an arm, limping around the counter with surprising speed. “What the heck- I’ve made a monster!!” Nate grabbed for a weapon, coming up with only a flour covered rolling pin. Better than nothing. He slammed it at the tiny monsters, wondering if Rio even saw these things too or if it was another of his hallucinations.

Orion was hopping back and forth from what foot to another, frantically waving his arms as he tried to figure out what the heck was going on. Nothing about monster bread had ever shown up in any of the Scribe books that he had read. Why hadn’t monster bread shown up? The passing thought that Rio would need to write his own entry only vaguely crossed his mind before he pushed it to the side to move beside Nate after he got the tart detached from his skin. The other tarts were starting to move now too, pieces of the bread morphing and extending into shapes resembling limbs. “What the-” Rio mumbled, trying to think of what could have possibly caused something like that. Nate grabbed a rolling pin and was smacking at the counter now while Rio stood back and stared at the man in a daze. “Be careful!” Rio finally yelled when he broke from the daydream. “How the heck is this happening right now?"

Judging by Rio’s reaction, Nate wasn’t the only one who could see the little creatures. At least that was a small relief, though the moment quickly faded as a tart-monster leapt off the counter, launching itself directly at Orion’s face. “Look out!!” Nate jumped back, slamming his rolling pin down on another tart, catching its little, deformed leg and flattening it. “I don’t know!! I- what are these things??” Panic swelled up inside him and Nate wondered if this is what people meant when they always said “oh yeah, anything can happen here in White Crest,” as if crazy nonsense like this occurred all the time. “I used- a new- yeast!” It was the only variable. When the delivery message said it was sentient, Nate didn’t take that literally. “Ah!” He yelped, jumping back from a one armed little tart that was eliciting what would arguably be an adorable sound as it attempted to tie Nate’s shoelaces together. “How do we make it stop??”

A piece of evil baked bread launched itself at Orion, but before he could move to swat it away a rolling pin swung down and smacked it midair. “Uh- Thanks” Rio stared at the splattered bakery item on the ground, still managing to slowly move as it slowly puffed itself up. “Great question. I wish I had a better answer.” He couldn’t help but think back to the watermelons that had tried to kill him and Skylar. Why was food so hell bent on murdering people in this town? Regardless, he made a mental note that he needed to try to look into an explanation after this. Not that now was the time to be scheduling study sessions. “New yeast. Right.” This was literally monster bread. Jesus Christ. “We uh-” He paused to consider their options. Hitting the things didn’t kill them. If they could piece themselves back together he wasn’t sure cutting them up would either. “Bake them? Like uh- for a long time?” Rio suggested, sliding forward and using his heel to stomp on a piece of bread trying to… trip Nate to death? Rio still wasn’t clear on their motives.

Nate had once been an athletic guy, never on the baseball team but he’d play in the yard with his brother all the time growing up. Never in a million years did he think any of those skills would come in handy regarding keeping him and his friend safe from literal murder bread. Every gremlin they smacked down or flattened seemed to immediately rise again and Nate cursed the gifted yeast. What a sick joke! “Burn them?” Nate’s face fell. Sure, it was probably their best option at stopping the things once and for all, but it hurt his baking heart to think of intentionally burning his newest recipe, especially when it had originally gotten such a glowing review from Rio. He wanted to cry, but was instantly derailed as he tripped over his shoelaces. “Ok - but let it be known I hate that I have to do this,” he whined, kicking his shoes off as quickly as possible. “Preheat that oven and turn it all the way up!” He pointed at the small convection oven behind the counter and began to try and pile all the little monsters up on a baking sheet.

“Noted!” Orion yelled, darting forward and vaulting over the bakery counter. He chalked it up to mostly dumb luck plus a decent amount of his own training that he had jumped and slid across the counter so easily instead of tripping and falling over it instead. Growing up, his body had always been quick to remind him that strength and agility didn’t fix clumsiness. Then again, adrenaline seemed to help his body work without relying too much on the anxiety frying his brain. He made his way to the oven, swatting away a piece of tart, an actual thing he actually had to do right now. This town was exhausting. Rio spun the dial of the oven, turning it as high as it could go. Another tart launching itself at Rio, grabbing onto his clothes and crawling up his shirt. “Ew, ew, ew” Rio repeated to himself as he slapped aimlessly around his body until he finally got hold of the baked good. He pulled it off and tossed it into the oven. It had only just begun heating, but Rio shut the door and made his way back to the counter. Couldn’t a two in the morning bakery run just be normal?

Trying to keep all the struggling tarts on one single surface was proving more difficult than Nate had imagined. Luckily Rio seemed to have gotten to the oven and though it wouldn’t be nearly hot enough just yet, they could at least start chucking some of these monsters in. “Here! Catch!” Nate flung the baking sheet up, attempting to toss the little beasts through the air and towards the oven, his eyes moving from his target only momentarily when he stomped down on a spare piece of dough that had fallen off. Abandoning the sheet, Nate started grabbing the few tarts that were left and started throwing them like it was the bottom of the ninth and his life depended on it. “Ok, last one then slam that door shut and pray this works!!”

As far as life dangers went, Orion didn’t think that creepy living bread made the list. Still, the idea of something he had just taken a bite out of was alive and moving was beyond unsettling. Rio heard Nate call out and he looked over in time to see a pan being flung in his direction. He darted forward, grabbing onto the pan and moving back over to crack the oven open enough for him to dump them inside. Before long, Nate had started chucking the bread in Rio’s direction. Rio grabbed what he could, dropping them in and bending down to scoop up any that he missed. Finally, Nate was done. A quick glance around told them that they had grabbed all of the remaining pieces that could be seen. Rio left the oven closed, resting against it to make sure that it stayed closed. The little monsters didn’t seem particularly strong, but he wasn’t ready to take any chances. He didn’t look at the window into the oven. He didn’t want to see them against the glass, trying to get out. Bread or not, he had no interest in watching something that moved get burnt to a crisp. “So uh… this was pretty weird, right?”

Nate deflated against the counter, wiping off a few crumbs from his face. “Weird is an understatement, I think…” He dropped his head onto the wood, his cheek squishing against the cool surface. “I don’t- I’ve never...have you??” He couldn’t even begin to describe what he’d seen. It didn’t make any rational sense. As the adrenaline poured out of his body, no longer needed to keep him in defense mode, Nate felt himself sink to the floor like a puddle. To say this was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him might be a lie, but this wasn’t like when he looked at some people around town and they looked like horrific monsters. That was a hallucination, something wrong with his actual brain. These...Rio had seen these too. Nate looked up at his friend. “What would do something like that?? How is that r-real?”

Orion refused to take any pressure off of the oven door. He didn’t think the now crisping pieces of living bread had the strength to open the door, but they were also all stuffed in there together. He had seen enough gross horror movies to know that weird things like that could combine together and grow in size or something else equally awful. His plan was to keep this door closed until the things in there looked like charcoal. Only problem was that he didn’t actually want to look to see what they looked like. “No. Definitely never seen anything like that. That was a first.” He really thought that he had reached some sort of imaginary wall in terms of being surprised by supernatural creatures. Good to know the bar could always be set higher. “So judging by your reaction I’m going to guess that your bread does not do that on the regular?” Surprisingly, Rio found himself almost amused by the situation. For someone who was constantly freaking out about everything, Rio was a bit confused by his own reaction. Though he supposed in the grand scheme of things, the bread wasn’t nearly as deadly as most of the other things that Rio got attacked by. “That honestly makes me feel so much better about how often I eat here. I was about to be a bit worried.”

Nate almost laughed, running his hands through his hard. “No...no randomly coming to life is usually not on my menu.” He scooted up to his knees, peering over the counter at the oven. From here, it didn’t look like there was any movement within, but Nate was glad that Orion seemed to have the same thought about not leaving the oven door unattended. He cracked an exhausted, waning adrenaline smile. “Why, you think I should add it? I think they’ll be a crowd pleaser!” It was impossible not to make light of what had just happened. It was just...entirely ludicrous. Nate half expected himself to be dreaming. “I don’t normally make a habit out of using random ingredients...but…” Nate shoved himself to his feet and started rustling through a drawer, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper and handing it to Rio.

“CONGRATULATIONS. We heard you like to BAKE. A friend has subscribed you to WEEKLY DELIVERIES of SENTIENT BREAD. Please ENJOY this PAINED SOURDOUGH BREAD STARTER. We look forward to sending you more SENTIENT BREAD. We CONGRATULATE you.”

“I got this about a month ago and...well this is the yeast I used to make those tarts...this is just a joke, right?”

Orion laughed sarcastically, emitting a sigh as he still struggled to capture his breath. This hadn’t been particularly exhausting physically, but the whole ordeal had drained him. It didn’t help that it was the middle of the night. “Yeah I uh- think it’ll get a real rise out of customers.” Rio cringed at his own joke and made a mental note that puns probably weren’t for him. He grabbed onto the piece of paper that Nate offered and read it over multiple times. What the heck was this? And who would send it? And why were there so many capital letters? “So someone sent this to you? I guess… as a joke?” Rio didn’t find it particularly funny personally, but to each their own. Admittedly, the bread hadn’t exactly been dangerous. At least, not that they had seen. Maybe this was all some sort of weird prank? Fae could be particularly mischievous, maybe this was all some elaborate ruse? “I mean, if it is a joke I don’t really get their sense of humor.” Rio laughed nervously and scratched at the back of his head, “But I guess it could be? Maybe you shouldn’t use anymore of it though?” Rio tossed the note onto the countertop and sighed again. What a night.

Nate couldn’t help but snort at the pun. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe he was just losing his mind, but making jokes right now felt like the right thing to do. He slumped against the counter, his head resting on his hands. “I don’t think it was so funny either...but also I didn’t think sentient bread was a real flipping thing.” His brows furrowed as he glanced behind Rio to see how crispy the critters were getting. “I’m definitely not gonna use any more of it.” He looked up at Rio sadly. “Please promise me you’ll keep eating my desserts...I promise they’re not all animated and trying to kill you.”

By some miracle, the box that Nate had packed for Orion had survived the chaos and was left mostly untouched by the creepy bread. He could see it on the counter  Looking through the box, Rio laughs slightly and closes it again, leaving it on the counter. After what felt like an acceptable amount of time, he finally took a step away from the oven, slowly pulling his arm away and ready to press up against it at any moment. But he didn’t have to. There was no resistance against the oven door. Whatever those things had been, Rio didn’t think they were going to be moving anymore. “Don’t worry. It’s going to take a lot more than some living bread for me to give this place up. Your food is too good.” He grinned, but there was a sigh behind it. The late hour was finally catching up to him, the adrenaline finally wearing off. “But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go ahead and pay for my stuff and head out. It’s pretty late. And I wasn’t expecting… that.”

Nate ran a hand down his face and looked at the oven apprehensively. Rio stepped away and nothing came crashing out, thankfully, but the baker wasn’t ready to turn off the heat just yet. “Oh good,” he breathed with a sigh of relief. “Of course! Of course, actually y’know this one’s on the house. I uh...consider it a promotion for trying my last new delicacy ever.” Nate slid the box closer to Rio and grabbed a broom, setting about clearing up what he could before he left for the night. There was no way he was doing his full closing checklist, not after the attempted murder via baked goods, but he could at least get some crumbs up while he waited for those things to get even a little more crispier. “Seriously,” he led his friend out, flipping his open sign to closed. “Thanks for being here...I can’t imagine dealing with those things by myself. And I swear to never use mysterious baking supplies ever again.” Now he just had to figure out where he put the rest of that tearful pumpkin...

[stevenbasic]

I had just started to feel a little better. Takeoff was a success and we weren’t going to die. Melissa’s right hand was still on mine, now on my left thigh, holding it there to comfort me through liftoff. But she had since turned to look out the window - and had given me the chance to ogle her huge tits in profile...an opportunity I surreptitiously took. Lord god they seemed bigger every time I saw her. This fine morning, en route down south to our conference, she looked absolutely ready to burst out of her tight white top. I’d been outright staring at her chest for nearly a minute. 

"Everything looks so small from up here!" she marveled, gazing down at the disappearing cityscape as we climbed into the clouds.  Christ, her breasts were enormous. “I like small things, don’t you?” she asked as she casually arched her back, completely unaware that I was still absolutely goggling in wonderment at the bulge and projection of her giant breasts. 

Small? I mused, lost in the reverie of this private, furtive moment I was sharing with her knockers. There is -nothing- small about this overgrown girl…

Wait. Had she asked me a question?

“Uhhh…” I began. If she was expecting a reply, it didn’t seem to trouble her. 

“Everything is cuter when it’s smaller, right?” she quipped, still distracted by the view out the window as I continued to be captured by the view of her mind-blowing torso, “Like, kittens. Cats are cuter when they’re smaller, right? Just like little cars...super cute. Little tiny purses, carrots, brilliant little doctors...cute, cute, cute when they’re smaller.”

Wait what?

I tore my eyes off her chest just in time to avoid being caught as she quickly turned back to me, smiling with mischief. Jesus! Obviously she saw a reaction on my face that gave her pause. 

 “Oh, I’m sorry…!” she said with sudden concern, eyes going wide, “We really haven’t been able to talk, since Friday...are you okay?”

“Wh-what...what do you mean?”

“The...the ‘little doctor’ comment,” she began to explain with chagrin, “I was just trying to be funny…”

“Yeah thanks for reminding me,” I said, chuckling, recovering. It may sound weird but over the past couple days, since the ignominious measurement fiasco at the department store, I’d actually come to a certain peace about my height,or new lack thereof. I was not the (almost) 5’11” I thought I was. Somehow, since I last remember my height having been measured, I’d lost two inches...at least.

If I knew then, sitting in the plane, what I know now I would be mourning much more than a lost couple inches. Any sane person - especially a medical professional like myself - wouldn’t be going to a conference with their busty co-worker: they’d be rushing to get investigative testing. But the idea, the fact that I was 5’8” was beginning to bother me less. I was actually a little proud of myself, being so relaxed about it….what’s the big deal, right? I now realize, though, that my psyche had already been deeply changed, an early part of this whole process that’s brought me..here, to where I’m speaking to you today. I was just none the wiser.

“Really, everything’s fine, it’s normal,” I assured Melissa, fiddling with my seat belt and convincing myself I sounded brave and unperturbed, “these things happen when one gets older.”

“Omigod you are not old,” she howled, slapping my shoulder with her free hand, “you’re only…” Her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Uh…”

“...more than ten years older than you,” I said wryly. 

Is there a reason she’s still holding my hand?

She smiled, eyes glittering, inspecting me. “Yes, but…” she said, “Three inches though?? That’s...weird, right?”

”Well, sure. But the last time I measured my own height was probably, like, many years ago,” I said, hoping I was sounding calm, “so it’s happened slowly, over like five or ten y-“

“I dunno,” she interrupted, “I feel like you've definitely shr...gotten shorter just since I’ve known you.” She looked me over, up and down. “But maybe it’s more...me.”

”What do you mean?” I asked, as I noticed her adjust her bra over her left shoulder and then turn to look again, wistfully, out the window. 

“Oh, nothing…” she replied, “It’s just that with this new little growth spurt I’m having, maybe my perspective is…”

Just then, the tall, blond flight attendant showed up aside me. “You two look like you need some champagne,” she offered, lowering a tray of well-filled flutes down between us. 

“Oooo yes!” Melissa squealed as she turned back, smiling, to take a drink, releasing my hand. I took a glass as well.

After the stewardess had moved on, we clinked. 

“Cheers,” Melissa giggled.

After a brief pause, and a sip, she continued. “But, really, what about you, Dr. J?” Melissa asked, as she pivoted a bit more at the waist towards me, “You seemed scared the other day, when she told you that you were 5'8”. How are you feeling?”

She really wanted to talk about this, huh? ”Oh, u-uh...heheh..” I began, “I don’t know about “scared…” My mouth suddenly dry, I took another swig. “I mean, nobody liked to be told they’re sh-shorter than they think they are…”

“Especially a guy, right?” she added earnestly, ”it must be sort of...emasculating.” She bit her lower lip, as if eager for my answer. 

“Well, I was never a big macho guy so…” My voice trailed off, as I looked at Melissa. I was able to keep eye contact, for a bit, but I was slowly being struck by, well, her size. The physicality of it. She was taller than me, probably stronger than me, just all-around bigger than me. And suddenly, in that moment, I was becoming overwhelmed by the feeling of being...lesser. 

I glanced down, at my drink, into my lap. 

"Hey, c’mon, you never know,” she said, easily reading my reaction, “there may be some positives! Even if you do get even smaller.” She leaned into me, playfully bumping me with her right shoulder, giggling. 

“Positives?” I asked.

"Yes!” she continued, eagerly, “You heard the sales lady the other day. Girls all want shorter boys. It’s true, totally. It’s fashionable to be with a smaller guy, to be seen as a couple like that. People love size in women these days…” Almost imperceptibly, Melissa straightened in her seat. “That’s why you see so many women in the gym, getting big, bulking up,” she explained, “They want their big butts, big backs and shoulders and arms. It’s all to make their man look small.” 

It’s funny. I had heard this, other places. Read about it. “a-and...you?” I asked, hating immediately the prurient interest in my voice, “y-you go to the gym a lot?”

At that she laughed, and turned to look out the window again. I watched as, through her tight, long sleeve tee, her back muscles bulged, swelling against her top. I took the second to appreciate her muscularity, the dramatic “V” of her torso, fit shoulders tapering down to tiny waist. As I watched, her lats flexed, bulging further. It was subtle but also dramatic, this display of their obvious strength, more bulk than you might immediately think, looking at her. She was by no means “thick”; the musculature looked absolutely feminine and alluring. But was she doing it on purpose? Showing off a little?

“I do go to the gym a lot,” she mused, turning back towards me, “I’m lucky, I get big quick.”

“Y-you do, huh?” I answered dumbly.

“Yeah, I do,” she continued, “It’s all genetics. My father was some sort of athlete, I guess. When I was modelling I had to be careful. I was told I could be a bodybuilder. But...” At that, for some reason, she stopped herself. Almost like she was about to say too much. “But now I don’t have to worry.”

Ashamed at myself, I wanted to hear more...even at the risk of sounding too engrossed. “Y-you like that look?” I asked, “Getting...bigger?”

“I dunno,” she replied with a disarming smile, casually shrugging, “But like I said, It’s totally in, that look, big girls. My gym is almost all women now, most are the same. You don’t see guys as much.”

“R-really?”

“MMhm,” she answered, sipping her champagne, “Know why? It’s the thing, little skinny guys. No one wants a meathead these days. So, look on the bright side:  if you’re smaller, three inches, you’re just getting cuter. More attractive.”

“Oh stop it I’m married,” I reminded her, feeling myself both blush and recoil. My skin crawled, thinking of Sheryl, of where things had gotten between us.

“Well, she may not say it but I’m sure Sheryl likes it,” Melissa countered, “When they go out with their guy every girl wants to look fashionable.”

What was she doing? Painting a picture for me where my wife and I strolled into a restaurant, Sheryl towering over me by six inches with a huge smile on her face? Melissa knew how chilly things were in my marriage. What was she saying?

“And, anyway…” she continued, “maybe you’d like it, too, if you were a little smaller. If it just means everything else, everyone else looks bigger...”

“Wh-what?”

“C’mon...” she said, as a subtle waft of her perfume found its way up into me. Her voice had dropped. I noticed now that we had leaned in already, closer to one another like conspirators, and this just drew me in closer. “I mean, there are more and more guys on the internet every day who are really into that sorta thing. Guys being smaller....smaller than their girlfriend, smaller than their wife. Smaller than women in general.” She took another sip of her drink, waited for me to follow and take a sip of mine. “Some guys want to be a lot smaller than women,” she continued, cryptically, “It’s crazy..."

She looked at me. Raised her eyebrows. Regarded me.

“R-really..?”

"Yeah…” she replied, “I get messages you wouldn't believe..."

================================

Agh, okay. Finally. Thanks again everyone for your patience. This one was hard fought, and I’m afraid through all this they’ll still be slow to come. But hope you all enjoy-

[everlock101]

Invisible

I recently received some compliments on this story so I decided to post here as well as fanfiction.net. This is just a fun little story I had in my head one day. Hope you like it.

I do not own any Flash characters.  

.........

Summary: Allie Allen has always felt invisible as Barry Allen’s sister. But two thieves may just alter her life in a big way. 

Being able to become invisible is perfectly fitting, I thought to myself as I watched Cisco, Caitlyn, and Wells fuss over Barry. He’d just fought against a metahuman that could control mechanical bees and Caitlin was worrying over him. 

Not me. Because I could create force fields and I hadn’t been stung so obviously I hadn’t been hurt. 

Except for my dislocated shoulder from where I’d been dropped from about fifteen feet up.   

It shouldn’t have surprised me that nothing had changed. Barry was the one who had seen our mother die. Barry was the one who was so smart. Barry was the one who had gotten the scholarships, who had always excelled, who had always been a go-getter. 

I just wasn’t like that. I’d been a straight C student, had gone to local community college and worked as a custodian for the university. I hadn’t been the one to have nightmares about our mother’s dead body.   

I trudged through the streets, cradling my injured arm, thinking that invisibility seemed moot since no one really noticed me anyway.  

Sure, I knew most people felt that way at some point in their lives and sure, I knew I would be missed if I ever did act on the dark thoughts that crept into my mind sometimes at night. 

But sometimes, the simple idea of nonexistence was really appealing to me.

Laughter broke me from my rather morbid thoughts. I glanced up to see Saints and Sinners and, seized with a reckless impulse, I walked inside. 

This definitely wasn't my scene. Everything was gritty and dark and a cloud of smoke seemed to hang over everything. I coughed and wound my way to the bar.

I wasn't dressed for bar-hopping either. I still wore the loose pants and wrinkled shirt I wore under my super suit. I ordered a drink and downed it, welcoming the numbing sensation in my arm. 

And then I heard their voices.

“Well well well, if it isn't Miss Allen,” I groaned quietly before I turned to see Snart and Rory plopping down on either side of me. Despite their criminal nature and the multiple attempts on my life and my brother’s, I actually felt surprisingly safe with Rory's bulk on one side and Snart's icy gaze on the other. 

“What do you want?” I asked tiredly as I downed my second shot. I waved for more. 

“To know what a pretty thing like you is doing in a place like this,” Snart continued, sipping his beer and gazing at me curiously.

“This ain't your scene, doll,” Rory added in a grumble. 

“How do you know?” I shot back. I finished three more shots in rapid succession and felt pleasantly buzzed. The alcohol made me feel warm and fuzzy and the pain in my arm was a distant memory. Fortunately, my powers hadn’t stripped away my ability to be drunk.

“Because you're a goody-two-shoes like your brother,” Rory grunted. I let out a derisive laugh. 

“Let's not bring up my brother,” I said darkly, polishing off another shot. 

“Touchy subject?” I didn't respond as I downed another drink. 

“What happened to your shoulder, kid?” Snart asked. I shrugged without thinking and let out a hiss as the pain flared back briefly. Suddenly, Rory’s hand landed on my dislocated shoulder. I winced. 

“Dislocated,” Rory grunted. Snart’s brow furrowed and he leaned in behind me to examine it. 

“I’m fine. I can take care of it,” I replied. 

“Take a deep breath,” Rory ordered. 

“Wha-” A second later, there was a crunch and pain flooded through my arm, shoulder, and chest. Snart’s hand clapped over my mouth and I screamed into it. 

I dropped my head on the bar as Rory let go of my arm. I breathed deeply for a few moments until the pain subsided to a dull throb.

“You’re a dick,” I groaned. 

“You’re welcome,” Rory shot back. Snart waved for some more shots and I eagerly downed another.   

…

An hour later, I hung off of Rory as Snart picked the lock on my door. I giggled.

“I'm so glad you know how to do that,” I slurred. “Finding my key sounds like a headache.” The door opened and Rory hauled me inside. I giggled again as my feet left the floor.

“Wheee!!” I laughed as Rory carried me through my small apartment to my bedroom. He sat me on my bed where I flopped back and blew hair from my face. 

Snart pulled off my shoes and Rory undid my braid, his hands surprisingly gentle for their size. Carefully, they maneuvered me out of my jacket and overshirt so I was left in my jeans and a tank top. 

I tried to think of the last time anyone had treated me so gently but couldn’t. Tears pricked my eyes as I thought of waking up to a cold, empty apartment and a cold empty life. 

My loneliness came swiftly, sweeping over me like a dark, heavy blanket. Tears dripped down my temples. 

“Kid?” Snart had asked me something. I just turned away from him. I didn't want them to see me cry. 

“Kid?” Snart’s voice softened and I felt a hand touch my hair. 

Rory came to my other side and touched my hand lightly. 

I blamed the alcohol.

All of it came out in a rush of choked tears. All the dreadful feelings of being perfectly completely invisible, even without my powers in the mix. I cried and cried until I felt empty but clean. 

“Please don't leave.” The words slipped from my tongue before I drifted off. 

…

I woke with a dull headache but I was warm and comfortable. I cracked open an eye. The room was dim which I was grateful for. Someone shifted in the bed beside me and I blushed, remembering what I had asked Mick Rory and Leonard Snart of all people. 

What was even stranger was that they had listened.

I looked over my shoulder to see the broad, bulky outline of Rory. He was still asleep, his warm breath fanning over my neck and shoulders. Snart was nowhere to be seen. 

I carefully got out of bed and left my room, stopping only to hit the bathroom quickly. 

Something smelled wonderful, coaxing me through the apartment. I stepped into the kitchen to see fresh croissants and double chocolate chunk muffins steaming on the counter.

Snart stood at the coffee maker, one of my Flash mugs held to his lips. He quirked an eyebrow at me over the cup and held out another steaming mug to me. I eagerly accepted the coffee and the aspirin he pushed my way. I took two pills, grabbed a chocolate muffin and leaned against the counter beside him.

It seemed terribly domestic; the two of us standing here in soft silence, drinking coffee and waiting for the morning to fully rise. It felt nice. Snart’s presence filled the little kitchen making the usual lonely room feel a bit brighter. I suddenly snorted. 

Snart, who seemed perfectly content to communicate nonverbally, quirked his eyebrow at me again. 

“I'm just imagining Barry or Joe's reaction if they walked in right now.” I laughed again but it was a bit bitter this time (they hadn't visited my apartment since I'd moved in) and Leonard snorted as well. 

Rory stumbled in, eyes still closed. He banged his hip against the counter but still managed to fumble his way to the third mug of coffee. He gave us a grunt of greeting before bumping his lips against Snart's in a short good morning kiss. I stared in amazement as Rory, a convicted arsonist/murderer/thief curled up on Snart's shoulder and Snart, convicted master thief and murderer let him, and drank his coffee.

“This is so weird.” 

…

When I returned home from work, I wasn’t expecting to step into the smell of chicken and rice. I sniffed curiously as I hung up my jacket and purse. 

I paused and just took in the scene that greeted me from my kitchen. Rory was crouched in front of my oven in flannel pajama bottoms and no shirt. Snart sat on my counter next to a rice cooker that definitely hadn’t come from my kitchen and sipped a Coke. 

“Aw, welcome home,” he greeted. Mick glanced over his burned shoulder at me. 

“Um, hi?” I dropped my keys into the little mason jar on the counter. 

“Mick’s making baked chicken with rice and we’ve got some mixed veggies in the microwave,” he explained. “Hope you like it.” 

“Sounds...great…” I blinked a few times as if expecting the scene to suddenly vanish. Snart just raised an eyebrow. 

“What? You asked us to stay.” I stared at him and felt my lips turn upward. 

The food was delicious. My powers, like Barry’s, required a lot of upkeep. I burned a lot more calories than before the accident even when I didn’t use my powers. 

I polished off my plate and eyed the last bit of rice and veggies. 

“You can have the rest,” Rory told me. I eagerly scooped them onto my plate and devoured them. I was still hungry and tried to think about what else might be in my fridge. 

“Are you still hungry?” Snart asked. I flushed. 

“I have to eat a lot to keep up my powers. Barry has to eat more though.” My jaw clicked shut. I was letting myself get too comfortable with criminals who had it out for my brother.

“How much a day?” Rory asked, sounding curious. I shrugged. 

“Well, I usually don’t eat enough so I can’t be sure.” Rory sat back tapping his fingers on the table, looking thoughtful. 

“Looks like you just gave Mick a challenge,” Snart chuckled. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Mick loves cooking. He’ll enjoy figuring out how much you need to eat.” I glanced between them hesitantly. 

“So...you two are...I mean...you’re gonna stick around.” I pushed the carrot around my plate. 

“What better way to learn about our enemy?’ My head jerked up but Rory and Snart both had amused glints in their eyes. I threw my napkin at them. 

....

We quickly settled into an routine. Rory and Snart slept over most nights, letting me know whenever they couldn’t make it over. It was easy to feel comfortable with them and I often worried that I was going to hell. 

But Rory’s cooking was probably worth it. He prepared huge meals, figuring out how much I needed to eat on a regular basis and what I liked to eat. They made me laugh and I felt more comfortable with them then I’d felt with Barry in years. 

...

The fight had been bad. A new meta-human had nearly killed Barry and me. 

“Barry?! Barry?! Are you alright!” Caitlin’s voice was the loudest but everyone was asking about Barry. I shut my comms off and walked away, not even having to turn invisible to avoid being noticed. 

I slumped into my apartment and sagged against the door. Everything just hurt: my three broken fingers, my fractured cheekbone, my dislocated knee, and every scrape, bump, and bruise.

“Doll?” I jerked upright then hissed in pain as my broken ribs twinged. Mick stood in the doorway to the kitchen holding a mixing bowl. He stared at me for a moment. 

“Len,” he called. Instantly, Len appeared from the living room. Worry filled his face as his eyes landed on me. He started forward and gently wrapped an arm around my waist. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” I almost wanted to cry as we started toward the living room. When Len saw how bad my limp was he simply scooped me up into a bridal hold. 

Len carried me into my bathroom and settled me on the closed toilet. Mick appeared a moment later with a first aid kit. 

“Ok, we’re going to get you out of this suit, sweetheart.” I nodded and let them maneuver me out of my ripped and blood stained clothes. My fractured wrist gave a particularly nasty twinge. 

“Who did this to you?” Mick demanded roughly. I looked up at him and realized that my left eye was beginning to swell shut. 

“Meta,” I mumbled. “Jeremy Briggs. He had super strength.” Mick nodded and exchanged an unreadable look with Len. 

I sat there in my undergarments as they worked in tandem to get my cleaned and patched up. Thankfully, they gave me some pain pills that worked quickly. 

“Alright, come here sweetheart.” Len scooped me back up after he had finished. Mick led us back into my bedroom and pulled some sleep clothes from my dresser. Carefully, gently, they got me into them and settled me into bed. They smoothed the blankets up over my chin. 

“Get some rest, doll,” Mick rumbled. I fumbled for their hands. 

“Please…” I swallowed the rest of my plea down nervously. They both just smiled. 

“I gotta clean up the kitchen,” Mick told me. 

“And then we’ll be back, alright sweetheart?” I nodded and Mick gave my uninjured hand a gentle squeeze. 

I dozed for a while, listening to them working in the kitchen. Finally, they returned wearing their own pajamas. I stirred as I felt them slipping into bed on either side of me. Their arms crossed over my waist. Len nuzzled his nose into my neck and I felt Mick press a warm kiss to my forehead. I sighed in contentment and easily slipped into sleep.

…

The next morning, I woke abruptly. I sat up, instantly looking for danger. My injuries all protested and I gasped, bending over. 

My bedroom door opened and Mick rushed to my side, helping me ease back into the pillows. My bed was empty. That’s what had woken me up. 

“Easy, doll. Easy.” 

“Where’d-where’d you go?” I gasped through my aching ribs. Mick brushed his fingers through my hair until I finally relaxed. 

“Len went out. I was just working on some food for ya.” My stomach clenched painfully. I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Mick chuckled lightly. 

“I’ll be right back.” He kissed my forehead and slipped from my room. 

I adjusted myself up against the pillows. He returned a few moments later with a tray full of food and several cups of water and orange juice. 

He set the food on my nightstand before sitting beside me. 

“Open up,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. I smiled weakly as he bgean feeding me. Mick had planned well; preparing only soft foods like eggs and oatmeal and fresh toast. 

Eating helped me feel a lot better and I started getting out of bed. 

“Hey, what’re ya doin’?” Mick tried to push me back down but I batted his hands away and got to my feet. 

“I’m ok. I need to go to the bathroom.” Mick huffed as I started toward the toilet. 

When I returned from the bathroom, Len was talking with Mick. My brow furrowed as they quickly stopped when I walked into the room. 

“What evil plan are you two concocting?” I asked, with a small laugh. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” Len drawled. 

“I had to pee,” I huffed. Len pointed and I sighed, sliding back under the covers. Len sat beside me while Mick cleaned up my empty plates and took them to the kitchen. 

“How are you feeling?” Len asked quietly. I shrugged. My powers helped me heal faster than normal, but not quite as fast as Barry. 

“Not terrible. Really sore but I’m healing up, especially after eating.” Len nodded.

“Good.” Len reached out to touch my chin, his icy eyes carefully examining the healing bruises on my face. “Gave us a good scare there.” I chewed on my lip as his hand fell back to the bed. 

“Why?” I asked quietly. 

“In case you missed the past few months, we’ve invested a lot into keeping you alive.” He gave me a smirk and a wink. “We’d hate to see that go to waste.” I snorted.

…

Two days later, I heard Jeremy’s name on the news. Curious, I turned up the volume on my TV. 

“Jeremy Briggs, a recently captured meta-human, was found dead in his cell last night.” I turned it off and looked toward the kitchen where Mick and Len peeked out. I arched an eyebrow at them. They just looked back innocently and I rolled my eyes. 

...        

I wasn’t sure when I fell in love with them. But I knew when I realized it. 

It was just another day, seven months into this new routine. I woke and shuffled my way into the kitchen. It was Saturday and I’d slept in past even Mick and yet there was coffee and breakfast still waiting for me. I eagerly gulped the hot drink and started munching a doughnut before following the noise of the TV to the living room. 

Mick was lounging on my couch, his bare feet propped up on my coffee table, snoring lightly. Len lay across him, focused on the news playing on the TV. 

Suddenly, the doughnut stuck in my throat. They looked perfect here in my apartment. The idea of crawling under Len’s legs and curling up against Mick’s side with my coffee sounded so normal and amazing. 

My heart dropped to the floor and so did my coffee mug. The shattering sound startled Mick and Len and they both shot up, eyes roving wildly over the scene, always ready for danger. I inhaled sharply as my eyes began to burn. I pressed my now empty hands to my mouth (my doughnut had fallen as well) and clamped my jaw shut to seal in any sob that might escape me. 

Because it would be just my luck to fall for two people already in a committed relationship. With each other. 

“Kid?” Len asked. 

I bolted before he could say anything else. I yanked my purse and keys off their hook and ran outside, my bare feet skidding on the damp metal stairs. 

“Allie!” Len and Mick had apparently given chase. I nearly tripped as I hit the pavement and I felt something cut my foot. 

“Allie, stop!” They’d gotten closer. They were faster. I’d never make it to my car. 

I threw myself off anything that would make my footprints stand out and felt energy rush over me as I became invisible. I quickly stepped out of reach as Len and Mick came to a halt, their heads whipping from side to side. 

“Allie!?” They both began to call. I stuffed my wrist to my mouth to muffle my cries and hurried away. 

…

I ended up at the police station. I avoided Joe or Barry and managed to get into Singh’s office without being noticed. He was on the phone but his eyebrows furrowed when he saw me. I was sure I looked a mess with my red cheeks, bleeding feet, swollen eyes, and pajamas which included one of Mick’s shirts and some sleep shorts. 

“What happened to you kid?” Singh asked after hanging up. I trembled as I sank into a chair. He grabbed the first aid kit from his desk then came to patch up my feet. 

“It’s-it’s complicated,” I rasped. I shuddered with another sob and buried my face in my hands. Singh, thankfully, didn't ask any more questions, just finished patching me up, then patted my shoulder, and let me cry. 

…

Avoiding my own apartment was a nightmare. I’d never given them a key but Mick and Len didn’t need one, even if I changed the locks. So I pretended that my apartment’s laundry was broken and stayed at Joe’s. 

No one seemed to notice my misery. Something was up with the Reverse-Flash and no one had time for my pathetic little problems. I’d never spent much time doing the hero stuff so no one really noticed my absence. 

Apparently Len and Mick did though. There was evidence of them looking for me all over. They blew up my phone with calls and texts and when I’d asked Joe to take me to my apartment, I’d glimpsed them watching from down the block. 

But I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t bear it. It would be better this way. Eventually, they’d forget about me and I’d go back to being invisible to everyone. 

…

Two weeks passed in utter misery. Joe and Iris were gone all the time now to help Bear. I missed my brother. It hadn't been so bad when we were kids. He had helped me with my homework, gone on imaginary adventures with me. We'd had fun.

I missed him sometimes. 

….

The night was quiet except for the creaking of the house. I stared up at my ceiling too lethargic to do anything else. 

And then I heard something. A click that was out of place. I sat up and strained my ears. Nothing. I was about to go back to staring into the void when I heard a stair creak under the weight of a foot.

Instantly, I turned invisible and crept from my room. I knew the places to avoid so I was completely silent as I went to the top of the stairs.

A man in a ski mask was creeping up. I could see his gun glinting in the moonlight.

I tiptoed back to my room and dialed Joe's number.

"Joe, there's someone-" 

"I'm sorry, Allie. I'll call you back." The phone went dead and my heart seized. 

Ok. Ok. It's fine. You're invisible and you can create force fields. You're fine. 

I went back to my door and peeked out. The man was stuffing a silver figurine into his shoulder bag. I slipped out behind him, focusing on keeping myself invisible. 

Too focused.

My foot hit a loose board. The man whirled and I startled out of my invisibility. Before I could throw up any kind of defense, he raised the gun and fired. 

Being shot wasn't like the movies. The gun was much louder, making my ears ring. I didn't fly backward. Instead, it felt like the bullet just tore through me. There was a brief moment where everything seemed to slow and I just stared at the robber in shock. 

I toppled backward and everything sped up again. Footsteps pounded back down the stairs. I heard a commotion, what sounded like a fight, but the shock was settling in, cold and hard. 

A voice swam over me. I looked up into familiar eyes. 

"M-Mick?" 

"Stay still." Pain suddenly exploded through me as he pressed down on my wound. I screamed. Bright spots flashed over my vision. 

“Leonard!” Mick sounded...afraid. But that couldn’t be. Mick wasn’t afraid of anything. I heard footsteps, heavy breathing, voices, and then I just…

Faded.

…

I woke to a rather annoying beeping sound. I fumbled for my alarm, desperate for a few more minutes of sleep. 

Blazing pain shot down my arm. I sucked in a sharp breath. My eyes flew open as a warm hand caught mine. 

"Easy, easy doll," Mick rumbled. I blinked at him, slowly relaxing into the pillows, the pain fading away to a dull ache. Len appeared by his side, worry gleaming in his eyes. 

"Hey kid, you're gonna be ok," he told me. 

Tears filled my eyes. I was so tired of hurting, of being in danger, of fear. 

“Hey, hey,” Mick rumbled. His thumb swept over my cheeks. I continued to cry. I was wrung out, miserable from my revelation about loving the two men, and in pain again. My heart was too heavy. 

“We’ve got ya,” Mick grunted. “We’ve got ya.”

…

I was able to return home after a few days. None of my family members or friends, had returned my calls. None of them knew I was in the hospital. When Mick and Len finally drove me home, I felt numb and miserable. 

“Kid-” Len started but I just walked past them and into my bedroom. I shut the door and locked it. I knew they could pick the lock but I hoped they would give me my space. I buried myself under my blankets and cried some more. 

…

I finally shuffled out a few hours later, expecting Mick and Len to have cleared out. I wasn't expecting to see them asleep on my couch. I stared at them and couldn’t help but smile as Mick snored loudly. My smile dropped and I shuffled into the kitchen. There were Tupperware containers sitting on the counter with food. I plucked one open and began eating dully. 

“Kid?” I sighed and put my fork down. I turned around to see Leonard. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” I groused. Len’s brow furrowed and Mick walked up to me. I tensed as he reached for me. He let his hand drop. 

“What’s wrong, dollface? Other than the injured wing?” I sighed and pressed my palms to the cool countertop. 

“I love you.” The words slipped from my mouth quietly. “Both of you and I’m tired. I’m tired of hurting and I’m tired of being afraid and I’m tired of hiding how I feel from you both. I’m in love with you both and I know that you two are together and that we can’t be-” 

Mick kissed me. I sucked in a sharp breath as his large, warm hand came to cup my neck. My eyes fluttered shut. Leonard’s cool fingers brushed hair from my neck and then his lips brushed over my pulse. I trembled as they pulled away. I blinked rapidly and looked at them. Both of them smirked at me. 

“What were you saying?” Len asked. I could only stare at them. Mick leaned in and began kissing my throat, giving Len a chance to kiss me properly. 

“Wait,” I mumbled, pushing away from them only barely. “Does this mean…” Len rolled his eyes and Mick grunted. 

“Yeah, dollface.” Sparkles of warmth flooded my blood. I let out a watery yet happy giggle before kissing them again. 

[firelxdykatara]

Thank you for your whole take on redemption and Catra. I love Catra and am glad that Catradora happened but the way the whole thing happened was rushed and ultimately messy. I think they tried to sow seeds for Catrademption in Season 4 but it never quite manifested in a way that would make her actions and forgiveness in Season 5 make sense. Also just love this - can i make their choice to redeem themselves make sense and still seem in character, despite their past choices? Exactly.

You’re welcome!

And yeah, I’ve honestly struggled a lot with the way I feel about SPoP season 5, especially Catra and Catradora. I have a lot of complicated feelings about her, and I’ve talked a bit before about how I ultimately see a lot of the symptoms of my mental illness in her--I’ve seen people saying she has borderline personality disorder before, and as someone with bpd I’m inclined to agree--which is why it’s hard for me to like or appreciate her, because there’s this weird thing that happens when you see all the worst parts of yourself in a fictional character and it’s not exactly projection but it’s like..... ‘I could be that bad, except I fight so hard not to be, and it feels like she didn’t have to work at all to just... get the girl and get the friends and not bother to reflect or atone for the harm she caused by her actions, and why do I have to work so hard when, at the end of the day, it didn’t seem like she had to work at all’, you know?

And the thing is, Catra’s arc could have been really good, if it was more seeded into season 4, rather than ‘Catra makes things even worse, sees Glimmer make a similar choice and doesn’t seem to learn from it, and never seems to reflect on what she did and why and how her actions affected the world’. And I’m not saying she needed to be wracked with guilt, but there were a lot of people she should have apologized to beyond Adora--and like I mentioned in that post, the fact that Glimmer had to work much harder to earn Bow’s forgiveness (and I’m not saying i disliked that arc--I think it’s very important to show that if you hurt someone you love they don’t have to immediately accept your apology, and if they choose to forgive you it needs to be on their schedule and not yours) than Catra had to work to be accepted by the entire group (but especially forgiven by Adora, with whom she had just as close a bond and to whom she was consistently more harmful, not just after Adora turned from the Horde but during their childhood) bothers me, and I think it’s ultimately one of the biggest sticking points I have when it comes to considering Catra’s a good redemption arc.

And of course all of that is tied up in ‘yes it’s amazing that we got multiple openly same-sex couples in a children’s cartoon, including the main titular character’, but I think that has come to overshadow the fact that Catra’s redemption hinged solely on her feelings for Adora, and that put an unfair burden on Adora within the narrative to forgive her and accept her and to love her, which I think wouldn’t have been as overpowering if Catra’s redemption arc had more room to breathe.

At the end of the day, I love Adora and want her to be happy, but I’m not so sure she can have consistent happiness without fear of something happening to make Catra turn on a dime again if there isn’t that kind of long process involved--especially since there’s no real indication that Catra ever came to view the Horde as wrong or evil for what they did on Etheria. It’s a little bit like Mai from AtLA telling Azula ‘I love Zuko more than I fear you’ without doing much to show that, and it being counted as a redemption despite the fact that she never seemed to have a problem with how the Fire Nation was running things in the first place, nor any understanding of why Zuko made the choices he did when he left.

While Catra has a leg up on Mai in terms of character development and an actual story arc, I just feel her redemption left a lot to be desired, and I wish it had been more smoothely woven into s4 rather than the bulk of it left to compete for screentime with a whole war in the final act.

[kawaii-kozume]

Hi!! Write-tober week 1 done and posted early!!! My estimated posting times at Saturdays so don't get used to this but enjoy this one!!

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood

Rating: G

Title: Sticky Notes and Spilled Boba

Word Count: 2,886

The sun was starting to set behind the mountains in the west and James Ironwood was driving right into it. Even though he wore sunglasses, he found himself squinting against the harsh rays. It had been a long day at work and he wanted nothing more than to just get home so he could relax. His phone lit up with a text message.

New Text Message

From: Glynda

His roommate didn’t usually text him unless it was important. He frowned and glanced up at the traffic that moved slowly along the freeway.

From: Glynda

Image Attached

James sighed and opened the phone. He pulled up his conversation with Glynda. Before he could read the text, the car in front of his came to a stop. He pressed on his brakes and glanced back down to read the message.

Glynda: i dont know how i did it, but i killed dinner. pick something up?

The picture that came with it was of one of their baking dishes with what looked like lasagna blackened and charred. James stared up at the roof of his car and heaved a deep sigh. He loved Glynda, really he did. She was the sister he never had. They’d seen each other through the hardest times of their lives so far and when he was ready to move out at 22, she was the only one who supported him. They’d had a good arrangement. James worked days, she worked nights. They saw each other for breakfast and dinner usually and to the outsider, they functioned like a married couple. James had no problems with his life, although he knew that he and Glynda had their moments. Like now for example. All James wanted to do was get home and relax.

The car in front of him began to move forward.

“Siri, text Glynda.” James said. The car’s mic picked it up and Siri opened a new message.

“Sure, what do you want to say?” Siri asked.

“What do you want picked up? I’m stuck in traffic so I may be cutting it close to get to you in time.” James spoke clearly, knowing Siri tended to misinterpret his speech.

“Got it. Would you like to send it?” Siri asked.

“Yes.” James said. He continued to work his way down the highway, needing to slam on his brakes a couple times due to other drivers.

New Text Message

From: Glynda

James tapped the notification and glanced down as he crawled along.

Glynda: i don't care. popeyes?

James: Okay. I’m stopping for gas too. About 20 minutes.

Glynda: k. i'm getting into shower. doors unlocked.

James set his phone down as he passed the bulk of the traffic and merged over to his exit. Once he was off the highway, he coasted down surface streets to the Popeyes closest to his apartment and spent 13 minutes there. After securing the bag of chicken strips and mac ‘n cheese, he sped down the road to the gas station. 5 minutes until when he told Glynda he’d get home. He jumped out of his car and went through the process of pumping gas. After setting it to auto pump, he ran into the little minimart to grab a Java Monster. It wasn’t too busy at 5:45pm, but there were two people ahead of him to check out. When he got to the counter the teenager made small talk as she rang him up.

“Hey, you again! Kinda a warm fall we’re having, yeah?” She asked. She had long, wild, golden hair that was pinned back away from her face. Her purple eyes were bright for someone close to finishing their shift.

“Uh, yeah. I heard we’re supposed to get a heatwave this weekend.” James replied. He pulled his card from the chip reader.

“Yuck, well stay cool.” She smiled at him as he took his canned drink and walked to the door. He was patting his pockets making sure he didn’t accidentally leave anything and nudge the door open with his shoulder. He was unprepared to feel resistance and then none as he pushed it open. He looked up from the ground and saw a man sprawled on the concrete on the other side of the door. James came to the realization that he hit the man with the gas station door.

“Oh my gods.” James reached out a hand to help the man up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you through the glass.”

The man accepted James’ hand and pulled against James as he stood up. His hand was warm and surprisingly soft. He met James’ eyes and James’ breath was stolen from his chest. The man was gorgeous. His eyes were a deep rose red and he had a small amount of stubble across his jawline. Needless to say, James was smitten.

“It’s okay. You seemed lost in thought and I wasn’t paying attention to the door.” The man said with a chuckle. Then his nose started bleeding.

“Oh, your nose.” James said. The man brought a hand to his nose and pulled it away seeing the blood.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll be okay.” He insisted. James shook his head.

“No, let me get tissues. I’ll be right back.” James jogged across to his car, threw the can in his cup holder and grabbed napkins he kept in the center console. He ran back to the man who was now tilting his head back.

“Oh no, tilt your head forward. Otherwise the blood drains down your throat.” James said. He held up a tissue to the man’s nose and pinched as the man tilted his head forward. He watched James through his long lashes and James felt his cheeks heat up slightly. He prayed he wasn’t actually blushing.

“Thanks…” The stranger started.

“James, uh, Ironwood.” James stammered out. The stranger smirked.

“Ironwood, huh?” With his eyebrow raised and the smirk still on his face, James knew his cheeks were at least pink. “I’m Qrow.”

“Like the bird?”

“Exactly.”

James pulled the napkin away and saw Qrow’s nose was still bleeding. He held up another napkin and Qrow took over pinching his nose. As their fingers brushed again, James’ heart stuttered. Why was this man having such an effect on him?

“I’ll be okay from here.” Qrow said.

“Are you sure? Do you need anything?” James asked.

“Your number if you’re willing.” Qrow replied so smoothly, James nearly choked on his breath.

“Uhh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” James reached into his pocket, searching for something to write on and pulled out a purple sticky note and pen from his desk at work. He scribbled his number and held it out to the other man who watched him with wide eyes, as if he wasn’t expecting the pick up line to work.

“Oh, uh, okay. Thanks. I’ll be going now.” Qrow accepted the note and shuffled away inside the little store. James walked back to his car, ears pink, questioning whether it was smart or not to give his number to a stranger, albeit a pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. He was pulled out of his thinking when he saw the Popeyes bag and realized it was 5 minutes past when he told Glynda he’d be home. He tore out of the gas station parking lot and if he sped a little on the way home, nobody would be wiser.

***

“I can’t believe you actually got his phone number. Run me by what happened again?” Summer asked from her perch on the back of the couch. Qrow had gotten home about an hour ago and immediately told Summer what happened. He was laying across the recliner now, holding the purple sticky note up from his face.

“He hit me with the door, my nose started bleeding and he helped stop it. I joked and asked for his number, he handed me this, and left.” Qrow said. His head was still trying to process the event and he wondered briefly if he had a concussion.

“Well, are you going to message him?” Summer asked.

“I don’t know. Would it be weird?”

“Depends, was he cute?”

“Extremely.”

“Then do it.”

“What if he’s a murderer or something? You’re supposed to talk me out of this, not encourage it.” Qrow sat up and looked at Summer.

“If he’s a murderer then at least you’ll die after going out with someone. Someone attractive at that.”

Qrow scowled at her. She had a point though. It had been too long since he went out.

“Go somewhere in public. The new poke place down the road for example.” Summer stood on the couch cushion and stepped off the couch. “Until then though, help me in the kitchen.”

Qrow pulled out his phone and plugged the number in the To: line. He took a breath and started typing his message.

To: 348XXXXXXX

It’s Qrow, from the gas station. Would you like to get dinner Friday?

Qrow hit sent and dropped his phone in the chair, hoping to forget about the message but 15 minutes later as he rinsed seeds out of a bell pepper, he wondered if James responded.

***

“Glynda!” James shouted into the phone. Glynda had taken a break and called after seeing a string of frantic messages from her friend.

“James, please. There’s no need to shout.”

“Apologies. It’s just, the gas station man texted me.” James clutched the phone. “He-he asked me out.”

“And you don’t want to go?” Glynda’s voice took on her I’m reasoning with a 2 year old tone.

“No, that’s not it. I just-I don’t know if it’s safe?” As soon as James said the excuse he knew it was a lie.

“Honestly, James. Just reply yes. This could be really good for you.” Glynda scolded him and James knew she was right. He wasn’t going to admit it yet though.

“Fine.”

“Tell me about it tomorrow morning. I’m hanging up now. Try not to freak out.” The call ended and James pulled up the new conversation with a number. He added it as Qrow(Gas Station).

To: Qrow(Gas Station)

Sure. Did you have somewhere in mind?

James was surprised that a response came 20 minutes later.

From: Qrow(Gas Station)

Ever had poke?

No, but I’m down.

Koibito Poke, 6pm?

Sure, sounds good.

James stared down at the phone screen and reread the conversation a couple of times before setting his phone down, deciding to distract himself for the rest of the night.

***

Friday came too quickly for James’ liking. He was growing nervous as he changed. He’d gotten off work later than he’d liked and rushed through a quick shower and was now deciding on gelling his hair to the side or not. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror and decided to go natural.

“I’ll be back sometime. If I’m not back by midnight though and you haven’t heard from me, send out a search party.” James told Glynda. She was sitting on their couch, holding a mug and watching the news.

“I’ll try to keep an eye on the time. May get distracted.” Glynda said casually. James made a mental note to text her before he came home. He’d only made the mistake of not doing that once.

“Have fun!” She said cheerily. He walked outside and started down the sidewalk to the poke shop. It was a cool night and he’d rather save gas so he walked. He continued to wonder about the situation he got himself in. On one hand, he was very interested in the idea of dating the man he ran into. On the other, he was terrified. The last man he’d dated was, not a great person and in all honesty, James was afraid to do this again. But something about Qrow was so inviting. He was lost in his head so much he didn’t realize he’d gotten to his destination or that there was somebody in front of him. He knocked into the same man he’d been daydreaming about, nearly sending him to the ground again. James had reached out and grabbed Qrow’s shirt, stopping him from falling.

“Oh!” Qrow yelped and stepped forward to regain his balance. He turned around to see James, cheeks red in embarrassment.

“You have a knack for daydreaming, huh?” He asked. James’ blush just got darker and he glanced away.

“I’m very sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He muttered. Qrow tilted his head.

“It’s kind of endearing.” James looked at him.

“It is? I’ve hit you twice now, and you say it’s endearing. You’re different, aren’t you?” James asked, opening the door of the little shop.

“Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad.” Qrow winked and walked up to the counter where a man was waiting for their orders. Qrow's order rolled off his tongue effortlessly. James noted he must come here regularly. He stepped up to the counter and ordered a medium bowl with salmon and spring mix base. There were so many options to choose from but James knew going into this, he’d only be able to have a few. Much to his surprise, as he approached the end of the line and the man checked them out, Qrow paid.

“I invited you out, I pay.” He said, picking up his bowl. “Want to eat inside or out?”

“It may get a little cold outside.” James gestured to the table to their side. He set down his bowl and pulled a chair out, offering it to Qrow.

“Oh, a gentleman!” Qrow joked as James pushed his chair in. James blushed and sat down across the man.

“So, um.” James tried, searching for a topic to talk about while they ate, “What do you do?”

Qrow tilted his head and smiled softly at him. James grew more uncomfortable and looked down to his bowl.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Qrow said. They ate in awkward silence for a couple minutes until Qrow cleared his throat.

“What about 20 questions? Basic things to try and get to know each other.” He offered. James thought about it and decided it couldn’t hurt.

“Sure, you can go first.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red, but like a soft, pinkish-red. Yours?”

“Blue, like azure blue.”

They went back and forth like that, trading questions and answers. James learned Qrow lived with his sister’s family and he was a bartender. In return, Qrow learned James was an assistant at an engineering firm and really loved astronomy. Soon, they’d run out of food to eat and their 20 questions came to an end. James didn’t really want the night to end though and he remembered a boba shop down the way.

“How do you feel about boba?” He asked as he and Qrow left the shop. Qrow flashed him a smile.

“I love boba.” And so along they went. As they walked along, James was extremely aware of Qrow’s proximity and nearly jumped out of his skin when their hands brushed against each other. After picking up their drinks, they continued walking down the street, towards the neighborhood, making conversation about a show they both watched. James was partially paying attention to what Qrow was saying about the character arc of one of the side characters and didn’t realize Qrow stopped in front of a house. So naturally, as their relationship pattern was, James ran into him, knocking the boba from Qrow’s hand. The both watched as the cup hit the pavement and splattered everywhere. James groaned internally.

“Your mind must be huge to always be in it. What were you thinking about?” Qrow asked, shaking his hand of the milk tea. He didn’t look upset and glanced at James, awaiting an answer. James shook his head.

“Nothing, its dumb. Here, you can finish mine if you want.” James offered his cup to Qrow who accepted it with another wide smile.

“It’s not dumb. I won’t judge, promise.” He took a sip of the drink and James took a breath.

“I was just thinking about how this is probably the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” James spoke quietly, not sure if he wanted Qrow to hear it or not. But Qrow did.

“Good, I’m glad. I’d kinda like to do this again, if you’re interested.” Qrow looked up from under his eyelashes and James smiled.

“Really? Even if I keep running into you?”

“Especially if you keep running into me.”

They both stood there, regarding the other for a moment, then it grew into an awkward silence.

“Um, cool, yeah, I’d like to continue seeing you.” James stammered out. Qrow nodded.

“Well, um, I had a great time. This one’s mine, um, you be good to walk home?” Qrow asked.

“Yeah, I’m not too far from here actually.”

“Oh, cool.”

Another awkward silence. James so badly wanted to just lean forward and kiss Qrow but before he could ask, Qrow leaned up and kissed his left cheek then scurried off into the house. James stood there a moment, bringing a hand up to his face to touch the spot Qrow kissed. As he turned to walk away, he caught a glimpse of long, golden hair in the front window. Interesting, perhaps fate wasn’t to blame but nonetheless, James was happy he hit Qrow with that door days ago.

[itsagutthing]

Places Carrie Mathison Has Lived: Berlin Edition

this is actually the apartment that inspired this series, but i had to go in chronological order for my own sake. see washington DC here if you missed it! again, please enjoy as i make random observations without any actual design knowledge. 

i was rewatching 5.12 recently and was struck with so much jealousy watching carrie walk through this gorgeous airy apartment. my headcanon is that this was carrie’s apartment first, and jonas moved into it — it would be easier for him to move, and carrie would like that jonas was willing to uproot his life for her.

her DC apartment was mostly shades of blue, and i like the stark white contrast of this place in berlin. a blank canvas to start a new life, if you will. overall it feels a little more like a “grown-up” apartment, where the colors and design are more consistent. 

starting with the front entryway, i picked this shot because i love seeing carrie’s bike with the seat for franny. it’s classic european mom. i would never have guessed after watching 4.12 that we’d see carrie biking around the city joyfully with franny, but sometimes the universe is kind to me! i like to think that carrie eventually has a bike like that in brooklyn too.

from the entryway, it looks like you can walk immediately into the living room, with the dining room to the right out of frame. carrie’s love for patterned home decor (but not patterned clothing) lives on with this cross-hatched rug, which is a giant improvement from the ugly striped one she had in her living room in DC. i don’t really know what’s going on with those brown stools to the left of the door. i guess they’re decorative, and they look like they’re nice quality, but they seem so unnecessary. did carrie buy them? did jonas buy them? why?

the door handles in this apartment are all really high. can franny reach them? why are they at least six inches higher than a normal doorknob?

it’s nice to see the little beanbag chair in the shape of an elephant for franny because overall, there’s a weird lack of kid stuff in this living room. carrie and jonas look at a box of books at one point in 5.12, which is the episode this screenshot is from, but i would expect to see more toys, even if they’re just stacked against a wall or something. it’s possible carrie sent a bunch of franny’s toys on otto’s private plane when she flew to maggie’s house. that’s what i’m going with for now, since no one else cares!

here are more angles of the living room during franny’s birthday party. i’m obviously legally required to include these shots of carrie wearing a balloon hat, because they’re adorable. in the second shot, you can see that basically the entire wall — both the living room and the dining room on the far left — is made up of windows, which make everything look so open and warm. i would kill for that much sunlight in my apartment. 

i also like the curtains, with a sheer under-layer and heavier solid navy to actually block the light. the same curtains are also in the kitchen and master bedroom, which makes the whole apartment feel cohesive. i can rationalize this great design choice as carrie not wanting to pick out multiple colors/patterns, and figuring the navy will work well throughout the house, which it does.

here’s a full shot of their dining room. the chairs don’t look particularly comfortable (and don’t match for some reason? this fits with the carrie i know and love) so i’m going to assume they usually eat in the kitchen, and only use the dining room for special occasions/if they have company over. the table looks like expensive solid wood, and i want it.

here’s a shot of the navy curtains in the kitchen, with a little table in front of the windows. you can also see the island stove, which really stresses me out. there are too many angles from which you could possibly burn yourself. and franny might not be tall enough to be able to reach the burners but that still seems like a bad idea with a toddler. we know carrie doesn’t really cook, but my headcanon is that jonas likes to, with a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder because i think that’s hot.

on this counter it looks like there’s a butcher block cutting board (two?) in the corner, which is much fancier than i’d give carrie credit for. jonas probably bought it. there’s also a bread box behind the cake, which i only recognize because my british friend had one in her kitchen when we were growing up. is this a uk/european thing, or are they just not popular in the northeast US? 

also, those cabinets look really high, even if they’re just for long-term storage. i would be too short to use literally any of them, but i like the sliding doors.

now for franny’s room:

i love that carrie put up the flag banner thing from franny’s party. that seems like the kind of thing she would put up and forget to take down for months. i see a stuffed elephant on the shelf above franny’s head, which is consistent with her elephant beanbag chair in the living room.

i included the bottom shot just to show that carrie’s love for patterned comforters lives on. and the little cloud-shaped pillow is a nice touch.

i just think this shot of carrie and franny and jonas all sleeping in the same bed is cute! so i put it in because i can do whatever i want. their bed looks really comfy.

here we can see the navy curtains that are also in the living room and kitchen, which again i think really tie the whole apartment together. i’m taking mental notes. the comforter is plain gray and seems more masculine than carrie typically leans, so i wonder if she bought a new one when jonas moved in. part of me is tempted to try to make the color meaningful — the gray mirroring carrie’s ambivalence towards all the memories of her old CIA life rushing back in both 5.01 and 5.12 — but also men on tv basically only have gray or navy comforters, so it might not have been a Statement.

this woodsy print hanging on carrie’s bedroom wall opposite her bed made me think of all the stark desert photography she had up in her DC apartment, specifically one picture she had in the kitchen. is that a purposeful contrast? or just a suggestion about new life/possibilities?

off of carrie and jonas’ bedroom is an office/study, which makes me very confused about the shape of this apartment. if this office exists, is there also a secret third bedroom where jonas’ son sleeps when he comes over? let’s say yes but not think too hard about where it would be.

here, jonas is drinking whiskey out of a decanter, like a douchebag. must you, jonas? i think the bookshelves mostly hold legal books, since the yellow spines look like editions in a set. it’s a little hard to tell but i think this room has the same navy curtains too. carrie must’ve gotten a bulk discount or something because at this point it’s comical. i included this shot because i love this particular conversation — it moves so quickly from jokes about laura to emotional reassurance. also i love that instead of sitting on jonas’ lap when he pulls her towards him, carrie full-on straddles him. 

people probably criticize him for saying she doesn’t need to vet secret documents etc and say he doesn’t understand the pull the CIA has on carrie, but i would argue that he’s exactly what she needs at this point in her life: he shows her that she’s capable of living a happy fulfilled life without the crushing weight of war zones and mortal peril. they were never going to last forever, but carrie’s relationship with jonas shows important emotional growth and i’m as proud of her for it as i would be if she were a real person!

in summary: navy curtains, so many windows, weirdly high door handles, a very stressful stove situation, and a celebration of jonas. we never see a bathroom so i don’t have to sit and think about access to it like i did for carrie’s DC apartment! 

overall this may be my favorite place carrie lives — i originally thought that about her DC townhouse but after a closer look, berlin is my final answer. i think living in nyc has broken my brain and i would sell my soul for natural light.

[arecomicsevengood]

I’ve been trying to slow down the pace of my anxious brain, to move it away from the obsessive unsatisfying masturbatory procrastinating of clicking refresh. I want the presence of mind that comes from focused reading, I want to heal the destroyed reward mechanism of my brain. Absent the structure to days that comes with leaving the house, quarantine conditions have exacerbated these problems. I sought out older newspaper strips, because they have a leisurely pace. While no one would actually read a book-length collection a day at a time, in recreation of how they were originally read, the guiding principle that they be taken in as a diversion while doing other things is worth keeping in mind, as it runs opposite to current directives to binge-watch TV shows. Theoretically, having these narratives exist in parallel to the procession of days would be a nice respite from quarantine’s time-warp effect. However, when reading older newspaper strips, especially if you’re paying attention to the news at all, one is frequently jarred by the presence of racial caricatures.

I really try to avoid being someone offended by work that comes from a completely different cultural context. I’m a white dude, and while I don’t want to be quick to forgive anyone’s racism, I also don’t want to be one of those people that rush to condemn things as a way to posit myself as some sort of enlightened authority. Trying to “cancel” someone who’s long dead really only makes you into someone dismissive of history, which only works to one’s detriment.

Still, when the protests against police violence turned to easily-communicated gestures of symbolic speech, and iconoclastic energy was directed against statues of historical colonialists rather than the more immediate threats presented by police cruisers, conservatives defended such statues arguing their historical importance. This argument is extremely disingenuous. We can choose the historical narrative we want to present to ourselves. While the majority of opinions enshrined in law throughout the course of American political history were those slave-owners and genocide-justifiers, there’s nonetheless a vast cultural history it would serve as well to look to and posit as who we are. Every decision made was the result of argument, the losers of the arguments unaccountably brave. Ever since reading Nicholson Baker’s Human Smoke, I’ve been convinced that if any woman should be preserved on our money, it’s Jeanette Rankin, if only so her story would then be taught in schools. The work of a historian is to make an argument by collecting threads of a narrative out of the collective chaos of ongoing time before it’s all lost to entropy and rot.

Much credit is due to comics historian Bill Blackbeard, who edited the Smithsonian Collection Of Newspaper Comics, for what it is now clear is the considerable effort he must’ve made to avoid including too many depictions of racial stereotypes in his survey. He did so because he was arguing for comic strips being an art form, and avoiding the laziness of racial caricature helps that argument be made. He doesn’t bypass them completely: They’re in a Herriman strip, Baron Bean, albeit only for a few panels. They’re also on prominent display in the McKay Little Nemo strips. Maybe they’re somewhere else I didn’t look at too closely, it’s a large book.

But imagine my surprise and mortification when I bought a big collection of Polly And Her Pals Sunday strips and encountered these “mammy” caricatures in the depiction of servants. And then, when I bought a collection of Walt And Skeezix dailies, there it was again. These strips are well-regarded, considered the best of their day, and the comic strip as a whole was regarded as intellectually superior to the comic books that followed. When Gary Groth wrote his introduction to the first issue of Love And Rockets, these strips were the works he cited as the historical apex of the form.

(Apologies may be in order for my not wanting to actually include the relevant imagery of racial caricature here, and this post being all text. I would definitely need to apologize if I did include them though.)

The thing about the racial caricatures is they demonstrate the limitations of their artist’s ambition. The most charitable reading I can afford to give is that the caricatures exist within a larger context where all of the characterizations are burlesques, intended strictly for laughs, and somewhat thin. Gasoline Alley, currently being reprinted as Walt And Skeezix, is meant to evoke some sense of feeling, and while there are some melodramatic plotlines, the bulk of the work it does to accomplish that end is by being low-key and gentle. If you view the strip not as a light comedy historical piece, and admit you are meant to project your feelings onto the white main characters, you kind of have to concede that maybe Frank King didn’t really see black people as human. You know black people read these strips! It ran in a Chicago newspaper. If you lived in Chicago at this time, you would see black people living their lives, which would surely include the buying and reading of newspapers. It seems really weird to then depict black people as dumb and superstitious, even if the depiction of them as working as servants was primarily how the cartoonist would have encountered them in the middle-class milieu he lived in and depicted.

Herriman is a fascinating complicating factor. Because he’s black, and he’s arguably one of the best strip cartoonists of this era, and was respected by his peers. But he was also white-passing, in all likelihood because he knew his racial background would create problems, including with his peers. I think there’s a strong case to be made for the case Ishmael Reed basically implicitly makes with his Mumbo Jumbo dedication: That Herriman is one of the great artists of the twentieth century, and his art is informed by his blackness in the same way that blackness informs the great American art form of jazz. That his identity was denied to his peers doesn’t make his own art any less great, it simply complicates the ways that art works. But if you think of Cliff Sterrett being one of the guys who called Herriman “the Greek” and then drew this comic strip that features these horrible stereotypes, it just hurts your soul.

Sterrett is even I think someone whose work gets called “jazzy,” because there’s a certain modernist verve to it, a visual inventiveness. While the limit to King’s work is in how well-written you can really view it as being when you’re considering the racism, the limit to Sterrett’s is in how well-drawn and actually wild it is, considering that every strip  has the same gridded layout, when contrasted against the more inventive architectures of a Feininger page, or Charles Forbell’s Naughty Pete, or a Garrett Price White Boy strip. (I haven’t actually read the White Boy collection. The people who have read it and like it cite how it’s beautifully drawn, and how not-racist it is in the depiction of Native Americans, as being the things that credit it.)

Here’s something: I’m not even reading the strips drawn by conservatives! I’m not reading Chester Gould, or Harold Gray, or Al Capp. Each of these cartoonist is their own weird thing, with effectively different forms of conservatism, who I don’t wish to dismiss. I can get down with some Dick Tracy strips, whatever. To a certain extent, being an adult in dealing with history means seeing the virtues in people you probably disagree with in many ways. But it’s seeing the weird unconscious attitudes of people you would like to genuinely admire that makes you want to throw the whole project in the trash and start anew, because it displays evidence of such a deep taint.

Racism is basically America’s original sin. Comic strips are, along with jazz, the great American art form. It basically follows that you can’t talk about comics in any sort of accurate historic light without talking about racism. (There’s also racial caricature in Winsor McKay’s Little Nemo strips, obviously.) Reading the supplemental essays in these books of reprints, or critical reviews of them, you realize the desire to distance oneself from talking about the racism in the work is similar to how the conservative view of “American exceptionalism” goes hand-in-hand with a refusal to acknowledge the racist premises at the heart of its founding: People arguing for the exceptional quality of these strips are not addressing the elephant in the room, or only address it in the most cursory and hand-waving way imaginable. They are trying to paint a portrait without blemishes, without flaws, and in so doing depict a platonic ideal that does not actually exist.

These strips are not the work of Robert Crumb, where the racist imagery being employed has ostensibly an satirical end. It’s not Huckleberry Finn either, where the use of racial slurs is commonplace to set up a default mindset that then becomes undercut as a common humanity is realized. I’m actually unclear on if you could print such racial slurs in the newspaper at this time, or if it would be avoided as strenuously as any other profanity that couldn’t run in a “family newspaper.” What you see in these strips is the soft racism of paternalistic attitudes in the twentieth century American North laid bare for what it is. The volume I have of Walt And Skeezix collects the strips from 1923 and 1294, the Polly And Her Pals collection collects work from 1928 to 1930. This was an an era where black people could be reliably counted on as Republican voters, in the era before the realignment in politics that came with the Great Depression and the New Deal.

The current ahistorical posturing of Trump’s Republican party has them occasionally downplaying their overt anti-black racism to claim the “party of Lincoln” banner. So these strips are relevant, essentially, for depicting the sort of status quo the Republican party seek a return to, prior to FDR-instituted social programs, where black people exist primarily as servants and their concerns or agency, beyond how they exist in service to liberal white people, who address them from a place of charity, while conservatives would theoretically exist in all-white enclaves, are dismissed. The racism in the world depicted in these strips is inarguable, but the hope exists, in the eyes of conservatives, that liberals will see the way it flatters them, and wave it away as basically acceptable.

The alternative, as ever, would be in Herriman’s Krazy Kat, “the future liberals want,” where race and gender are forever up for debate in an shifting desert landscape. The issue there, of course, is the basically true argument that the strip doesn’t make any sense, and the more-up-for-debate point that the unique language of the strip is the result of repression of identity and internalized self-loathing. It’s also notable that the strip lacked popular appeal but was allowed to continue existing because it won the support of a wealthy benefactor. Maybe one day we’ll all learn to vibe with it, but I don’t really see that happening.

[hazelandglasz]

this ot3 promps with bitty/jack/kent? Person A always sleeps in the middle because they are the smallest but that also means that sometimes they end up like a whole half of the way down the bed by morning and more than once now we’ve both been terrified we accidentally suffocated them in the night (i don't even know if you write them tho... feel free to ignore the promt if you don't like them!! )

On AO3

Kent didn’t plan any of this.

Two years into their marriage, Jack and Bitty invited him to stay with them when the Aces were in town, and one bottle of Caribou lead to another and before he knew it, Jack’s lips were pressed against his while Bitty looked at them with his hand down his pants.

Though there is a veil of alcohol blurring the finest details of the night, Kent is not about to forget about it.

(Nor the kiss, nor the hungry look in Bitty’s eyes, nor the itch to be the cause for it until the end of the world.)

And that’s how Kent found himself in a relationship with both Jack and Bitty. 

The long distance wasn’t really much of a problem, especially once he got swooped over by the Falconers (Jack swore he had nothing to do with it, but with that shy smile of his that tells Kent he had everything to do with it, the sly dog).

Having a proper, adult, safe relationship with Jack is everything Kent dreamt about when he was a horny teenager out of touch with his own feelings. It’s soft cuddles and shared showers, hanging out in front of the TV set, lazily making out while the movie plays out, foot massages and drawn out blowjobs.

It’s lazy and soft and domestic and tender, that’s what it is, and Kent couldn’t ask for more.

Except he does get more.

Because having a relationship with Bitty is everything Kent wanted out of a relationship once he realized he was definitely not straight, proper label still to be determined.

See, Jack is a very romantic asexual, who likes to just be with those he loves.

Bitty? Just as much of a romantic, but very much not asexual, which suits Kent just fine.

(Not that being with Jack doesn’t suit him, too. It’s just… different kinds of love that are bordering on overwhelming, but in a good way.)

Being in a relationship with Bitty is teasing touches during dinner, in or out. It’s being pressed against the door the moment they’re back home. It’s blacking out during sex and coming back to soft pets to his soaked hair.

It’s sexy and confidence and trust and, yes, just a hint of battling for dominance, and Kent doesn’t know what he did in his past lives or in this one to deserve it all.

Being in a relationship with Jack and Bitty? It gives his life direction.

Not meaning, because Kent always knew that he had to keep on going and that he had a part to play, but the two men help him in getting there.

Luckily for them all, Jack bought a very, very ridiculously large bed so their three frames fit in it.

At the beginning, Jack assumed that it was best, in order to smooth things over, to be in the middle of the bed, a sort of buffer between his two blonds. But between his early wake-ups and his bulk, the trio admitted fairly early on that it couldn’t work.

Hence, their present sleeping arrangement, with Bitty sandwiched between Kent and Jack.

It feels good, as far as Kent is concerned, to have Bitty’s compact body behind him keeping him warm, lulling him to sleep or waking him up with his touches.

(It’s even better when Jack’s larger hands follow the path lightened up by Bitty’s.)

But.

(Of course there is a but, and no, no pun intended.)

Sometimes, when he wakes up, Kent doesn’t feel Bitty behind him.

Okay, sometimes, it’s because Bitty is otherwise occupied on the other side of the bed, with a freshly showered Jack, and Kent wastes no time joining them.

But sometimes, Bitty is lying on the foot of the bed, wrapped up in Jack’s light duvet.

“What the hell, Bits,” he asked the first time it happened, and both Jack and him turned to Bitty for an explanation.

Bitty turned splotchy red, before explaining that he had to move because, “y’all are being far too hot—Jack, stop laughing!”

“That we are,” Kent added, while Jack turned away from them, shoulders still shaking with his silent laughter.

“Kent Jeremiah Parson, don’t you dare.”

“Oh shit.”

Bitty crosses his arms over his chest, as if holding himself together. “Anyway, I got too warm last night, and as much as I like your couch, Jack, I didn’t want to sleep there because—”

“We get it, Bits,” Kent says to keep their man from rambling.

“So I just grabbed the blanket and moved out of the way.”

Jack had sobered up, and wrapped himself around Bitty’s back. “We get it. Next time, just give us a little kick to make us move.”

“I would never kick you guys.”

“Not even me?” Kent asked, adding himself to the hug.

“Not even you, you jerk.”

The “out of the way” remark stayed with Kent, though, and every now and then, when he’s zoning out in the shower, he wonders if that was a passive aggressive comment or not to tell them that they are taking too much space in the bed, what with them being larger than Bitty.

It’s entirely possible, isn’t it, that the two of them pressing against him make it hard to sleep peacefully, or even worse, to breathe.

Kent freezes under the water.

What if they smother Bitty in their sleep?

“Kent, there are other people in need of a shower over here!”

Zoning back in, Kent rushes to rinse his hair and exits the bathroom precipitately. “S-sorry, Bits.”

Bitty was waiting, leaning against the wall facing the bathroom, but he frowns the moment Kent opens the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing, nothing, I’m having weird shower thoughts.”

“Just shower thoughts.”

Kent rolls his eyes and kisses Bitty’s temple. “Yes, Doctor Bittle, just shower thoughts, not intrusive ones.”

Bitty doesn’t seem entirely convinced but he lets it go. “Fine. But I will get in your head, Parse.”

But after that sort of showepiphany, Kent is very cautious to leave Bitty enough room in the bed.

“Kent.”

You know, just being a considerate significant other.

“Kent?”

Especially since he’s the third wheel of a perfectly functioning bicycle.

“Kent!”

Kent looks over his shoulder at Bitty’s voice shouting behind him. “What? What did I do? Did I hurt you?”

Both Bitty and Jack are looking at him, concern etched all over their faces.

“Kent,” Bitty says softly, kneeling on the bed and one hand stretched out toward him. “I called your name, like, three times, to tell you that you’re too close to the edge of the bed and to get your ass back here.” He pauses, hand reaching its destination on Kent’s shoulder and forcing him to lay on his back. “What do you mean, did you hurt me?”

Kent does all he can to keep on looking at the ceiling, but Bitty’s hand caressing his arm is too much of a siren call to resist. He turns to look at them, and finds nothing but love and worry.

“We’re so massive,” he says in one breath, “and you’re, ya know, compact and small, compared to us, so I worried that I may, um…”

“Squish me?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh, Kent.” Bitty scoots closer, while Jack tilts his head to the side. Bitty throws one leg over Kent’s torso. “Did you really think that I couldn’t push you off of me, should you come close to squishing me?”

Kent starts protesting but Bitty has his hands on Kent’s wrists and lifts them over his head. “Try to make me move,” he says, a challenge in his eyes.

Kent does try to move his arms away from Bitty’s grip, or to dislodge him from his torso, but he finds out that he can’t (and that it turns him on like few things do).

“Well?”

“You’re stronger. All hail the great beast that is Eric Bittle.”

“Here, here,” Jack says, lying on his side closer to the wrestling match taking place.

“Now, are you done being a silly goof?” Bitty asks, letting go of Kent’s wrists but holding his hands instead.

“I am. Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Bitty says, rolling his body down until he’s practically sitting on Kent’s very interested cock. “I’ll have to remind you of the benefits of communication.”

For one, that’s a lesson Kent won’t mind having repeated over and over and over and...

[raendown]

What a way to celebrate Tobirama’s birthday. xD 

Pairing: None Word count: 4022 Chapter: 3/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don’t get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama’s obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 3

As a child Izuna can remember his mother teaching him a method of meditating on his own breathing pattern in an attempt to rein in his temper. It had worked to some extent then. At the moment he finds himself having much more limited success. It wouldn’t be so bad if his unwanted mission partner would only travel beside him but no matter what speed they move at somehow Tobirama always ends up just a step or two behind and it’s driving him absolutely wild.

“Have you tried some sort of rewards system?”

“Different ones, yes.”

Even worse still is that they have managed to keep up a semblance of amicable conversation for nearly the entire journey as if there is nothing more between them but the fact that their brothers are friends. Tobirama’s voice carries no hint of aggression, no undue curiosity, and there are certainly no hints of any romantic endeavors. At some point they find themselves on the topic of a child in the Uchiha clan who doesn’t pay even half the attention he should to his lessons and Izuna is vaguely surprised that his companion’s interest seems to be more for the boy than for him.

“Behavioral based or progression based?”

“What’s the difference?”

“If the child feels he is unable to obtain whatever goals have been set for him then he may not feel motivated even by the promise of a reward.”

Listening to him speak in such a bland tone leaves Izuna confused. He isn’t sure whether the man is trying to pretend his weird stalking isn’t happening or if he is merely striving for a bit of normalcy while they are forced to travel together but either way the efforts are pointless. It‘s impossible to pretend that everything is normal while Tobirama refuses to actually walk beside him.

“Huh, I never thought of it like that,” he murmurs, willing to keep the conversation up if only so he isn’t traveling in silence with an old enemy standing just behind his unprotected back. “We’ve tried to do it like that and we’ve tried to bribe him with sweets for even just showing up every day – I swear every tooth in his head is a sweet one. Nothing works.”

While his companion hums thoughtfully Izuna tries to remember if there are any other methods they have used to try and convince little Kagami to take his training more seriously. The little tyke has so much potential. Such a shame that he insists on wasting it all. If he had some other interest or passion that he were trying to pursue instead Izuna might understand, not all of their clan members are fighters after all, but at times it feels as though Kagami seems determined to simply never grow up.

A pause in the steps behind him catches his attention and Izuna turns to see that Tobirama has gone stiff, his head turned away, eyes narrowed where they stare in to the middle distance off east. Instinctively Izuna turns to look that way as well only to realize that Tobirama probably isn’t actually looking with his eyes.

“Three inbound at high speeds. Feels like Kaminari no Kuni shinobi.”

“Gods, how powerful is your sensing?” Izuna grumbles, loosening his sword in its sheath.

“More than I ever allowed the Uchiha to discover.” Tobirama’s gaze flicks over towards him and there is something dark hidden there before he looks away. “An oversight, perhaps, that I have not seen fit to share my true abilities with our new allies.”

“Right. Let’s take care of this and then we’re having a nice long conversation on exactly what you’re capable of.”

Before there is time for any sort of reply their new company arrives, flitting in to the treetops above them and pausing to assess the situation. Izuna takes a good grip on the handle of his favorite sword, tightening his fingers one by one, counting breaths just as his mother taught him.

In, out, one. Three opponents, one male and two female.

In, out, two. A sword glimmers in the hand of one female, something heavy and club like in the hands of the male, close combat fighters.

In, out, three. Large chakra stores burn almost tangibly in the air around the third, clearly a distance fighter, he will need to keep an eye out for whatever jutsu she has up her sleeve.

He never gets to four breaths. From behind him Tobirama explodes in to motion, charging the woman nearly bursting at the seams with her own chakra. A low hiss cuts the air just before the man leaps in to defend his companion. Izuna rolls his shoulders and acknowledges that he has been left to face the woman bearing a sword to match his own, the perfect opponent. Out of all the spars he has enjoyed with many and varied people since moving to Konoha very few of them have been able to match his skill with a blade enough to offer a proper challenge. In a strange way he almost misses his battles with the man he is currently fighting alongside if only because he worries that without Tobirama to face he might lose his edge.

Sparks leap between their weapons and Izuna realizes that he has moved out of habit without even consciously deciding to, sword leaping to hand and meeting the one aiming for his neck. For a single heartbeat they struggle, brute strength against brute strength, then the woman twists and dodges back once she realizes that his bulk outweighs her own. Rather than allow her the time to think up another angle of attack Izuna hefts his sword and watches her respond with a snarl of frustration. Good. That means she is off balance and an opponent who has no time to think is an opponent he can easily beat.

Only sharp reflexes stop his blade from cutting through the wrong flesh, pulling up a mere instant before he would have pierced Tobirama through the side as his mission partner suddenly appears between them to deflect his opponent’s blade. Then he is skipping away again with a snarl of his own. Izuna floods his eyes with chakra just to take in the expression of something almost like desperation on the man’s face. His reputation being what it is, revealing his greatest battle advantage has the added benefit of causing his opponent to hesitate. Not many people who know what it can do are stupid enough to attack an active Sharingan straight on and Izuna is oddly glad to see that his opponent is not stupid. Easy kills are no fun.

As Tobirama is pressed back by his own two assailants Izuna rushes in to keep this one busy. He can’t afford to let her find her bearings; he learned the hard way when he was younger to never underestimate how many tricks your opponent might have up their sleeve. She might seem like her skills barely match his own but he has no way of knowing what tricks or seals or the like she might pull out at a moment’s notice.

Neither does he have a chance to find out, as it happens. Each time their clash looks as though it might be about to get interesting Tobirama appears between them. At first Izuna accepts that he simply needs to dodge quite a lot while trying to face a long range and a short range fighter at the same time; keeping up with two different styles means keeping on your toes. It isn’t until his Sharingan focuses in on the pair chasing his partner around the field that he realizes both of them are downright ragged looking. One bleeds from several places and the other looks just on the verge of an asthmatic attack so out of breath are they. In contrast Tobirama looks tense yet still in good condition.

So if it’s Tobirama that is leading them around by the nose rather than the one getting chased why on earth does he keep dashing in between Izuna and his own kill? There’s a whole forest here to move around in.

Annoying as it is, the trained shinobi in his soul can’t help but admire how quickly Tobirama moves from place to place, how seamlessly he manages to insert himself just in time to deflect whatever attack Izuna is about to meet and then dance away again as though he’d never been there. Whatever else he is there can be no denying that he’s a skilled fighter. The problem is trying to figure out what the hell he is up to.

It simply doesn’t make sense, Izuna thinks as he takes his opportunity to bull in close and drive the woman back with a rapid flurry of attacks. Weeks and months of stalking that Izuna has been interpreting as some lingering form of aggression. Now suddenly the man is jumping in front of him in battle. Has he been making observations leading him to the conclusion that Izuna’s skills have diminished somehow? That certainly makes more sense than the ridiculous rumors of forbidden love, although it’s also wildly more insulting. Yet even that theory includes enough gaping holes that he can’t quite believe it either.

By the time Izuna finds an opening to drive his blade through his opponent’s neck and watch her gurgle out her last curses on the forest floor he is equal parts curious and livid. Tobirama dispatches of his own two assailants only a moment later as though he has merely been playing with them as some morbid excuse to remain occupied. He waits just long enough to clean his sword and slide it back in to the scabbard across his back, then Izuna is marching across the torn clearing to take the collar of his old rival’s armor and drag them face to face, oddly unsurprised that he is allowed to do so with no resistance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he growls. “I’m not so softened by this stupid dream of our brothers’ that I’ve forgotten how to defend myself! I had that covered!”

“Your skill was never in question,” Tobirama murmurs. He looks entirely calm, unruffled, and that only irritates Izuna further.

“It sure as hell feels questioned with you babying me like some genin out on their first run! If you think I need to polish a few things then say it to my face, damn it, quit treating me with kid gloves! I didn’t need it back home and I don’t need it here!”

Composed as he ever is, Tobirama fails to react in any satisfying sort of way. He fails to so much as blink while Izuna screams in his face but there is one thing to be gained from overreacting. From this close – perhaps the first time they have ever been so close outside of battle – it is plain to see the well of something dark and deep in those red eyes so like the Sharingan, something that brings ice crawling up Izuna’s spine though he can’t yet define what it is. It’s enough to snap his jaw shut and make him step away to watch quietly as Tobirama turns, murmuring again that they should press on to their destination.

An uncomfortable mixture of anger and confusion with shades of worry twists itself into knots inside Izuna’s belly, keeping his mouth shut for the rest of their mission, speaking only when it is absolutely necessary. On the journey home he can feel the back of his neck itching with Tobirama’s eyes almost every step of the way but he holds his tongue for fear of what else he might see in that unwavering gaze.

When they make it back to the village the first thing they do is make their report to Hashirama, of course. Madara joins them and together they remain sequestered for over an hour discussing the results of their goodwill efforts. Despite his attempts to appear nonchalant Izuna is fairly sure the clan they were visiting with had noticed some tensions between himself and Tobirama but in a strange way it had actually worked out in their favor as their hosts seemed to be impressed with how well they function together anyway. Talking about that without making a big deal of why exactly there had been some friction in their unity is difficult. Izuna is more than glad when finally they have said all there is to say for now and he is able to drag his brother off towards home.

Madara puts up a good act of wanting to stay and finish his work. He fools no one. Not even his workaholic tendencies are enough to keep him from spending a bit of quality time with his favorite sibling – although Izuna does notice the man tucking a few scrolls in to his sleeve before they depart. It gets him out the door, however, so no comments are made until finally they are making their way through the gate leading in to the Uchiha district.

“I can’t figure out his angle,” he blurts, too eager for another’s opinion to bother with context.

“Who, Hashirama?”

“No! Don’t be an idiot, that tree is as transparent as glass with his intentions. I mean his gods damned brother!”

Humming contemplatively, Madara pulls a bit of hair forward to fiddle with. “Wouldn’t having him forced to travel with you sort of negate the stalking? I know you didn’t want him along but I thought it would be nice for you to at least drag him out of the shadows.”

Rather tempted to pull at his own hair, Izuna takes several breaths and counts them before he is able to form a reply through the flash of temper.

Thankfully his brother has the good grace not to interrupt as he recounts everything that’s happened while he was away. His description of the way Tobirama seemed to constantly find his way between Izuna and his opponent during their battle brings a crease to Madara's brow that only deepens as the story goes on. Slowly making their way up one of the side streets, a shortcut towards their home, he tosses the chunk of hair he is playing with back over his shoulder only to grab another and start again.

“Strange,” he rumbles. “Very strange. I honestly have no idea what the hell this is all about.”

“I know that it’s ridiculous but I just need to hear someone else say this out loud: please tell me it��s not plausible that he’s actually fallen in love with me somehow.”

“Plausible, technically yes. Probable, a very strong no.”

“Oh thank the gods.” Izuna slumps with relief to finally have another confirm his thoughts.

After rolling his eyes Madara slips right back in to thoughtfulness. “There’s something about this that just doesn’t quite sit with me the right way. I know it would make the most sense to say that he still doesn’t trust you, that he’s been following you to keep a close watch or whatever, but for some reason I just can’t make myself believe that. There’s no other evidence of that in any other behavior.”

“Yes, thanks, I didn’t quite notice that for myself.”

“If that’s how you’re going to behave then I don’t see why you started talking about it! Go jabber at someone else if you’re just going to be all snooty about whatever I have to say!” With a sniff Madara turns up his nose and quickens his steps.

While Izuna isn’t entirely sure how he ends up being left alone outside he isn’t all that surprised either. The two of them share like tempers after all. Madara is as given to hissy fits as he himself can freely admit to being. He follows behind at a slower pace and lets himself in to the home they share, nodding at the shoes kicked off haphazardly at just the right spot where they might trip him up if he weren’t already expecting to see them there.

Madara is angrily plugging in their fancy new electric kettle when he enters the kitchen and slumps down in to the closest chair, blowing out his fringe with exasperation.

“Done being a baby?” he asks bluntly. Madara crinkles his nose.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re still thinking about it. I can practically see the gears turning in your head.”

His brother pauses in the act of pulling down two cups with the continuing thoughts he doesn’t bother to deny spilling out over his face. “Obviously I am. I keep trying to think of some other reason he might be doing this but nothing comes to mind. If it’s not that he doesn’t trust you and it’s not that he has some sort of romantic whatever–”

“Kami please no,” Izuna interrupts with a shudder.

“–then he clearly has some other special interest in you but I am honestly stumped. If it were almost anyone else I might go so far as jealousy except the two of you have always been so closely matched that I can’t see either being jealous of the other.” Madara jolts himself in to movement again, reaching for the tea leaves, but continues speaking even as he measures them out. “I would have considered that he was trying to learn something specific about you too but for the fact that he hasn’t been shy about asking for any other information he’s wanted on our clan.”

“Which is a lot of information, actually.”

“Hm. I guess. No more than we’ve asked from the others, though, and nothing that he’s asked for has been any more suspicious or invasive than the things we’ve asked about the Senju in turn.”

Izuna rattles his nails against the hardwood table. “Do you think that could be it? Maybe there’s something he wants to find out but it’s inappropriate or he knows we won’t want to share whatever information he’s after.”

He waits with as much patience as he can muster while the other tosses that idea around but even as he speaks the words Izuna himself realizes that probably isn’t it either. Tobirama might be a sneaky bastard on the battlefield and more than capable of subterfuge when it’s necessary during a mission but in daily life he has shown himself to prefer as direct a route as possible to whatever goal he has in his sights. Finally Madara pushes both teacups towards the kettle and leaves it to boil as he comes over to sit at the table.

“No,” his brother says. “That just doesn’t sound right either. And the worst part is that I can’t say why it doesn’t sound right. It feels like there’s something nagging at the back of my brain, something important that I’ve forgotten. Like a missing piece of the puzzle.”

“Would your friend know anything do you think?”

Madara blinks. “Hashirama? He might. It would be worth asking if he’s got any idea what crawled up his brother’s ass.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be going over to their house for dinner tomorrow night?” Izuna rattles his fingers again but this time it is less with frustration and more to express the satisfaction of the stars aligning just for him. He is further pleased to see his sibling lean back with widening eyes.

“I am going to dinner, yes. He asked me over because both Tobirama and Mito are supposed to be busy and he wanted company. We’ll be all alone.”

“You couldn’t wish for a better opportunity to ask a few questions,” Izuna purrs with satisfaction.

When the kettle begins to whistle they turn the conversation towards other things. Spending time together after being apart – even if for so short a time – is only one of the ways they maintain such a tight bond between them. Even here in another home the shadows of the siblings they have lost echo around every corner, chased away only by the warmth of knowing that Madara will always stand beside him against whatever the world might choose to throw at them.

After a while, however, he finds other thoughts wriggling in, thoughts that Izuna knows he is above and yet he can’t seem to push them away without addressing them. Tracing the rim of his nearly empty cup gives him something else to look at as he fills the lull that has fallen naturally in their conversation.

“Can I ask you something?” He waits for the curious grunt before going on. “Why don’t you seem more worried about this whole Tobirama situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there was someone following you around all the time I think I’d be a lot more freaked out about it than you seem to be. Not that I’m angry or making any accusations! It’s just…odd. You’re usually so overprotective it’s hard for me to even flirt with anyone.”

“Hn.” Madara bunches his brows together as though mildly offended by the insinuation that he might not care. “I guess I just don’t feel any ill intentions from him. Something in my gut tells me that he hasn’t got anything bad up his sleeve. The way he interacts with you – hell, the way he interacts with all the rest of our clan – I just can’t bring myself to believe that he’s after anything terrible. I guess I was just unconsciously acknowledging that I don’t believe you’re in any sort of danger.”

Somehow that only increases the dread pooling in Izuna’s gut.

“If he doesn’t have any bad intentions then the kami only know what else he could have in that twisted brain of his. Ancestors watch over me.”

While his brother snorts and gently teases him for being so dramatic Izuna lets the words drift by him without actually listening. The entire reason he’s been wanting to go out on a mission is to get away from this situation with his old rival and just clear his mind a bit. Now that he’s been denied that opportunity and come home only more confused in the aftermath he realizes more than ever that he needs a night to just relax, to let everything else fade away until his mind is empty of all worries. And what better way to achieve that then a night on the town with someone he can trust to be entirely disinterested in whatever drama he’s gotten himself embroiled in this time?

“You gonna be okay on your own tonight?” he cuts in through whatever the other is saying. “I think I’ll go see if I can drag Hikaku down to one of the taverns for a few hours.”

“Don’t you have work to catch up on tomorrow?” Madara asks.

“I’m not going to get drunk or anything, don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. Just thought it would be nice to unwind for a while.”

Even as he nods understandingly Madara puts one hand to his chest and exclaims in dramatic fashion, “Because you’re just so stressed with all the work you do, of course. Helping to run a village, keeping both eyes on a walking tree, achieving your lifelong dreams. Oh no wait, that’s me.”

“Fuck off,” Izuna calls cheerfully over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the room, deliberately leaving the teacup behind for the other to clean up after him. Pettiness is just another family trait.

With any luck Hikaku will be as willing to indulge him as his aniki is. Izuna reaches back to pull the tie from his hair and run his fingers through it. Perhaps a bath is in order first to wash the dirt of the road away, he probably still smells like the rivers they’ve been trudging through. Unpacking can wait for tomorrow. If his cousin doesn’t want to come out then he fully intends to bully his way in to the other man’s home and find something there to help him get his mind off of things. Tobirama can remain a problem for another day just once more.

Tomorrow his brother will speak with Hashirama and ask their questions. Tomorrow, he hopes, they will have answers.