#mini fic asks

[sephirthoughts]

If you dare, something I haven't seen much: vincent valentine & rufus shinra

I'm curious how you see them interacting. if you have a thought, go for it, otherwise providing options: 2, 5, 28, 34

OK! Vincent and Rufus! I got things you said (2)through your teeth, (5) didn't say at all (28)in the dark, and (34)whispered in my ear. I loved this prompt because it produced this absolutely ridiculous scene. Enjoy!

He sat in the dark, into the small hours of the morning. The office lights off, so the poisonous, green glow from the reactors could and must be appreciated to its fullest. So there was no glossing over the ugly reality. That Shinra was a machine that swallowed blood and spit out gold. That he was a petty autocrat, enthroned on a mountain of garbage. A dead man ruling an empire of bones. 

“You are not your father,” a man’s voice whispered, right into his ear.

His hand was instantly on his gun, but a cold, metal claw had already caught him by the throat, and was squeezing threateningly. His eyes flashed to Darkstar, whose monstrous bulk was coalescing amongst the inky shadows, fangs bared and crimson eyes ablaze. 

One look at the intruder, however, and the massive, demonic hound gave a high-pitched whine and cowered, like a whipped cur. Rufus glared disdainfully after the beast, as it slunk away, with both its tails between its legs. Some fucking guard dog.

“Are you reminding me, that I am not my father, or yourself?” he asked calmly, removing his hand from the stock of his gun, and placing it flat on his desk, with the other.

“You seem to need to be reminded,” the intruder answered.

Rufus sighed forbearingly. “If you were going to kill me, you would have, by now, so do you mind getting to what you want and sparing me the theatrics?”

“Said the man sitting alone, in the dark, at the top of a giant tower with his name written all over it.”

“It’s not money,” Rufus mused. “You’ve bypassed my security to get to me, which means you could easily have walked into a bank vault and taken what you wanted. No, you…you believe in your own righteousness. You have the stench of ideology, all over you. Let me guess, Avalanche? Is this an absolutely fantastic bit of irony?”

“Coffin wood.”

“I suppose y—what?” Rufus said, actually caught off-guard.

“It’s not ideology that you smell all over me, it’s coffin wood. And dry-rot.”

“Do you think convincing me that you’re deranged is going to further your goals, somehow?”

The man sounded offended. “I’m not deranged, I sleep in a coffin.”

“You’re not deranged…you sleep in a coffin. Can you hear yourself, when you speak?” Annoyed past the point of prudence, Rufus looked up at the man holding him by the neck and gave a start. “A Valentine?” he said aloud, before he could stop himself.

The man looked surprised. He also looked fucking magnificent. Rufus suppressed a scowl. These goddamned Valentines and their perfect genes. No wonder that lunatic Hojo was so obsessed with them. 

“How did you know?” asked the most obvious Valentine ever. 

“You look exactly like your father. And I’ve seen your personnel file. Employee profile: Valentine, Vincent,” he said, to no one in particular. 

A glowing holographic screen obediently materialized above the desk, displaying the HR file for Vincent Valentine, including a large, full-color photograph. Notably, the upper right corner of the file bore a stamp that read ‘DECEASED’ in red ink.

“Hm. I’m impressed you recognized me. I was so young in that photo.”

It took Rufus a full five seconds to comprehend that the man wasn’t joking. Then he was even more irritated. “Your hair is long now. That is literally the only difference. Are you absolutely certain you’re not deranged?”  

“Fairly certain.”

“Well then, Vincent Valentine, will you kindly tell me what the hell it is that you want, that has you in my office in the middle of the night, threatening my life, before I kill myself from exasperation?” 

The Valentine stepped back and pulled something out of the idiotic cloak that he was somehow making look amazing. Rufus stared at the object in blank disbelief. It was…it was one of those stupid robot cats, that Reeve was always playing with. 

“I came to return this,” the Valentine explained, which only raised more questions. “I wandered into the wrong office.”

Rufus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You wandered. Into. The wrong. Office.”

“Mn,” he nodded. “Sorry about that.”

“Then why, pray tell, did you grab me by the neck!”

“You would’ve shot me, if I hadn’t, and there would’ve been a big scene. I really don’t like noise.”

“And the creepy whispering, about me not being my father?”

“I already told you, you seemed like you needed to be reminded.”

“You were right about that, at least. Because if I were my father, you’d be dead already.”

“He didn’t have anything capable of killing me, any more than you do. If you knew of a way for me to die, I would welcome it. Not to be a bother, but could you direct me to Reeve Tuesti’s office, so I can return this thing? I’m getting sleepy and I’d really like to leave.”

“You have gone far off course,” Rufus informed him. “Director Tuesti’s office is three floors down on the—wait, no! I am not giving you directions! You are trespassing! And you just threatened my life! You may think you’re invinci—”

“Three floors down, got it,” the Valentine interrupted, with a solemn half-bow. “Thank you, Rudolph.”

“Fucking…Rudolph???” Rufus ground out, through clenched teeth.

He had officially had enough of this shit. He whipped out his gun and fired a shot, just in time to entirely miss the red-cloaked menace, as he vanished in a melodramatic, crimson whirl. God damn slippery vampire-ass Valentines!

He had his hand over the button to summon building security, when he thought the better of it, and drew it back. The last thing he needed was a gaggle of fools in here tromping around, tracking in dirt probably, failing to find anything, and publishing a description of a suspect that very much fit Count Dracula. People would say the new president was losing his mind, and hallucinating fairytale monsters. 

No, there was no use kicking up a fuss just to be humiliated. He’d send the Turks after the Valentine…in a little while. If he gave the man a head start, maybe he’d kill that annoyingly upright pain in the ass Reeve, while he was down there. Now, where was that stupid dog?

“Darkstar!” he shouted, into the cavernous blackness of his idiotically massive office. “You have five seconds to get over here and explain yourself!”

[NOTE: it's probably unclear, but (5) things you didn't say at all was Rufus' name. Vincent never said it because he called him the wrong one.]

[frownyalfred]

Green arrow, getting into a fight with batman because he insulted bruce

“No, I want to hear you say it again,” Ollie said, leaning over the conference table and past Dinah to jab a finger in Batman’s face. “Insult him again, I dare you.”

Batman, for his part, looked entirely unperturbed by Ollie’s chest puffing. “I said, Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly known for being intelligent. That’s common knowledge, Green—”

“Do you know what he’s been through?” Ollie exploded, “Do you know how fucked up his childhood was? It’s a miracle he’s functioning as an adult. I knew him in school — do you know what he was? Sad. And you have the nerve to sit in your stupid little angst suit and lecture me about Bruce Wayne?”

Dinah swallowed, giving up on holding Ollie back. She glanced at Batman out of the corner of her eye, prepared to size up an opponent, but the other man’s posture was still relaxed.

He seemed…taken aback, if such a thing was possible for the Batman.

“I…apologize,” Batman said quietly. “I hadn’t realized the extent of your feelings toward him.”

“Pick on someone your own size next time,” Ollie grumbled, as close to an apology as he would get. “Bruce does so much for Gotham. More than you’ll ever do. So yeah, if he’s a little air-headed sometimes — that’s fine with me.”

With that, Ollie turned on his heel, exiting the conference room with a huff. Batman stared after him for a long moment, steeped in stillness.

“He cares about his friends,” Dinah offered, breaking the awkward silence. Batman gave her an odd look, jaw tensing.

“I know.”

“Now you do,” Dinah said, putting enough emphasis on the first word for him to look up at her, acknowledging the hint. “I’d better go check on him.”

[ellecdc]

ELLE ELLE ELLE I COMETH TO THEE WITH DESIRE OF SALVATION

poly marauders x reader who's quiet at first but as the relationship progresses/as she spends more time around the boys she gets crazier and stuff and like has the sense of humor of a teenage boy or smth 😭

hi ash!!!! sorry for the wait. also, I couldn't really think of anything too long for this but here's a little baby blurb/scene on our reader with the sense of humour of a teenage boy <333

poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: mention of boners/dicks, insinuation of activities with said dicks idk it's not explicit

“Quick question, Moony; when did our sweet darling angel turn into such a gremlin?” Sirius asked as he watched you and James cackle to yourselves in the dark hallways of the Slytherin dungeons.

The boys had planned a prank on Slytherin tonight, and you had insisted on tagging along. If you had told Sirius a year ago that the shy, quiet girl who could barely hold eye contact and flushed furiously at any compliment would be actively participating in one of their pranks, he would have laughed in your face.

But alas, here you were.

Cackling so hard you were clutching at your stomach and nearly falling over.

All because James had given you the can of muggle spray paint and you used it to draw a dick on the wall.

“I think she’s been hanging out with us too much.” Remus commented with a smile, leaning some of his weight onto the shorter boy as they watched you skip down the hall to paint another.

“I mean, dicks, really?” Sirius harrumphed. “That’s not tasteful at all.”

Remus chuckled and pinched Sirius’ bum. “That’s not quite what you were saying last night.” He said with a wink as he started down the hall after you, leaving Sirius a blushing (and semi-hard) mess in the dark corridor. 

He could only bring himself to follow after the three of you when he heard the likes of Peeves moving through the dungeons and he was horrified at the idea of the poltergeist finding him with a hard on so close to the Slytherin common room. 

[nowimjustastranger]

Hello and welcome! I recently got back into the Gravity Falls fandom and so I created a blog to unleash the sheer amount of feelings that I have about this show!

My Inbox Is Closed For Fic Requests! Please read the rules before requesting!

I'll be posting a plethora of things on here, from fanart by other artists to my own AU fics. There won't be a masterlist, but click on the tag you're interested in to scroll through the corresponding posts on my blog.

Here are the AU's that I currently have in the works:

The Nexus

A connection or link between things, persons, or events. Or, a series where I connect my AU's with both canon and each other.

The Abyss Stares Back Series

Stan was hesitant to actually step across that threshold where light met dark, so he couched right on the cusp and reached in instead. He expected his hand to hit ground any moment now, then he could fumble for the stupid money clip and get the hell out of here. But his hand simply… didn't. Stan realized with a cold flash of fear and no small amount of confusion that he’d somehow overbalanced himself, his boots desperately scraping against the asphalt as he careened forward. He yelped as his other hand instinctively moved to catch himself, but there’s nothing to catch himself on. There was no ground for either of his palms to touch, just darkness, and it swallowed him whole. Or, Teenage Stan & Old Man Ford portal adventures.

Somebody to Call My Own Series

While exploring the multiverse, Ford 419"3 had come to the distressing realization that Stan suffers in every dimension. So 419"3 Ford made it his mission in life to travel through dimensions and help as many variations of Stan get the happy ending that he deserves by stepping in to correct the course of the timeline to produce the best outcome. The reason why Ford is so determined to alter Stan’s grim fate in so many dimensions is because Ford had lost his own Stan to suicide while he was still in college, which is what drove him to completely bury himself in his studies and invent dimension travel with Fiddleford. Or, Dimension Traveler Old Man Ford nabs Mullet Stan from his dimension and proceeds to aggressively take care of him.

We'll Be Better Tomorrow Mini-Series

Ford 419"3 from the STCMO series pays Stan Pines from Dimension 90V'1 a visit with two very familiar toddlers who need a home.

Or, the Dad Stan AU.

We Never Meant to Become Strangers Series

An AU in which Ford is changed after accidentally going through the portal, not quite as human coming out as he was going in. Or, Ford is a cosmic horror.

Infinity Falls Series

An AU where Stan tells Ford that he accidentally broke his machine and Ford is able to fix it, changing the course of history. Or, a story featuring a darker Pines family and co.

Break the Mold Series

In this universe, Bill Cipher goes by William. He’s still a dream demon who accidentally destroyed his dimension but, instead of embracing chaos and basically turning into a sadistic psycho, he simply wandered the universe in a grief-stricken daze until he came across Stanford. Stanford, who was also an anomaly among his peers just like William had been. William felt a kinship with the human child, appearing in Stanford’s dream that night. And, in true child-like fashion, Stanford quickly befriended the dream demon who complimented his birth defect. Or, the good Bill AU that no one asked for.

[beefcakekinard]

43 + 45 for bucktommy 💕💕💕

43. falling asleep with their head in your lap +

45. running hands through hair

In the unflattering fluorescent hospital lighting, in a hard plastic visitor's chair, Evan looks wan. The light hits his face at odd angles, dragging down the deep bags under his eyes, draining his skin of its colour, its rosy vital glow.

Tommy has never seen anyone look so beautiful.

"Hey, baby," he rasps. He tries to clear his throat and ends up in a coughing fit that sets pain lancing through his body. Evan's eyes widen and in his rush to get a straw between Tommy's lips, he spills water on Tommy's chest.

"Hey, hey, it's good to see you awake," Evan says as Tommy sips his water. "How are you feeling?"

Tommy lets the straw go and tries to take stock. He looks down at himself - his left leg is in a cast from his hip down, as is his left arm. They both hurt in a dull, vague way, same as his ribs and his head. There's an IV line running through the back of his right hand. His stomach turns a little at the sight so he looks away. He's not great with needles.

"It hurts," he says, frowning. He looks back up at Evan, who plasters a fake smile on his face. "What happened?"

Evan takes his hand, carefully, cups Tommy's fingers between both of his hands without jostling the IV. "You don't remember?"

Tommy shakes his head and decides never to do that again when it makes the room spin.

"You were- there was an accident," Evan says, stroking his thumb down the back of Tommy's index finger. "You, uh, you got hit by- by a car."

"Oh." Tommy looks into Evan's eyes. They're so pretty. "Really?"

Evan smiles a little - this one is real, Tommy can tell. "Yeah. What's the last thing you remember?"

Tommy thinks, tries to grasp the memory of what he was doing before he woke up. It's hard to hold onto any one thought - it's like chasing bubbles. The second he gets his hands on one, it pops, gone. Evan likes to blow bubbles for Jee. She runs through them, twirling until each and every one is gone, and asks again, again! It's so cute it makes Tommy giggle.

"What's so funny, huh?" Evan asks. He's smiling still, kind of, but he looks confused.

"You're so cute," Tommy explains. He knows Evan will get what he means. Evan always gets what he means. Case in point: he laughs, which makes Tommy smile even more because he loves that sound.

"You enjoying that morphine, babe?"

Tommy almost shakes his head - but then he remembers he shouldn't. "I don't like morphine. It makes me nauseous." He pulls his hand out of Evan's hold and presses his thumb to Evan's birthmark. It fits his thumb so perfectly. Like Cinderella's shoe. "I like you, Cinderella."

Evan laughs for real, then, big and loud, and Tommy feels proud of himself. It's his job to make Evan happy. His hand is dislodged, but he raises it again, landing it in Evan's hair. It doesn't feel like gel, like he's used to, all he feels are Evan's soft curls, and he could get addicted to how they glide under his fingers. He pulls Evan closer, then down, so he's resting his head on Tommy's hip, and Tommy doesn't have to lift his hand so high to touch his hair. Evan's still smiling up at him.

"You look tired," Tommy says. Evan proves his point by yawning.

"I'm fine. You're the one who needs his rest." Evan lays a hand on Tommy's knee. He likes it, he always likes when Evan touches him.

"You can sleep," Tommy says. He traces his thumb across Evan's dark under-eye, making his eyelashes flutter, and on his way back to burying his fingers in Evan's hair he presses his thumb into Evan's birthmark again. "I want you to."

"Will you sleep if I do?"

"Yeah," Tommy lies. He thinks Evan sees through him, because Evan knows him so well, but he still closes his eyes and nuzzles against Tommy's hip.

Tommy focuses on brushing his fingers through Evan's hair, letting his curls bounce back into shape before he reaches them again, following the soothing rhythm of Evan's breathing. He loses track of time; it drips, slow like the motion of his fingers, slow like his thoughts that remain out of reach, and before he has a chance to notice it, his own eyes have grown heavy.

He falls back asleep in pain, still - but with Evan's head a welcome weight on his hip, Evan's hand on his knee, his fingers tangled up in Evan's hair, it's easy to ignore.

[fanaticsnail]

"Acid, salt, fat, and heat" has me fighting for my life! I was just minding my business at my local laundromat & then bam! I see you've dropped a new story for me to read! Kid & Killer have me weak in the knees! I'm just trying to fold my laundry but it's hard with all these impure thoughts!

Oh nooooooo. Not a laundromat where anyone could just walk in! It would be such a shame if:

Laundromat

Masterlist Here

Warnings: Eustass Kid x afab!reader x Massacre Soldier Killer, MDNI, NSFW, 18+, smut, public sex, cream pie, praise.

In the middle of folding a large shirt you stole borrowed from Killer, Eustass Kid presses your shoulders down with his large metal hand to lie flat on your stomach over the cool benchtop. Face lying flush against that large blue shirt, your pants are pushed down to your knees by Kid's right flesh-hand.

"Kid-... Anyone could walk in-!" you attempt to relay, halting as his flesh hand cards between your glistening folds and gently rolls your clit in between his fingers. Letting out a soft whimper, you couldn't help but buck into his palm while he toys with your pussy.

"Relax, kitten," he whispers, removing his hand from your pussy and igniting the electric magnetism of his devil fruit abilities, "Lemme fuck you. I promise it'll feel good, 'kay?" His belt buckle flickered off and shot across the room, his pants pooling at his ankles. His cock slaps against his abdomen, already built up from the way your hands expertly creased and piled the assortment of clothes in front of you.

Drawing his hand to his shaft, he runs the blunt tip over your needy slit, coating his tip in your arousal. He released a clench-jawed moan, sinking the angry red tip into your cunt with one soft rock of his hips. Allowing time first for you to adjust to the stretch, he slowly begins bucking into you in a regulated rhythm.

Just as you felt the call of your body erupting alongside Kid, the door to the laundromat swung wide. The looming form of Massacre Soldier Killer entered the space with heavy foot falls of his military boots. Your body tensed up, your walls constricting around Kid's fat cock and causing him to let out a hiss-like groan.

"Starting without me, are you, Cap'n?" Killer asked, the arch in his brow tangibly felt in the deep baritone of his husky voice. Sauntering over to you both, he draws himself over to the opposite side of the benchtop and takes your chin in his hand. While trapped beneath Kid's metal arm, you try to move your head up, your throat pressing against the plush material of Killer's clean shirt.

"Go on then, little one," Killer coos at you, caressing your chin with his thumb, "Cum on my Captain's cock. I wanna watch you unravel and drool on that shirt you think I didn't notice you stole." Letting out a soft little squeak, you felt Eustass Kid pick up the pace and hit his blunt tip against your g-spot with expert precision.

"That's our good little Straw Hat," Kid praised you with a proud smirk plastered over his painted lips, "Do as your told and cum on my cock."

Your body rocked and ass rippled against every hard buck from the man behind you, your face now being cradled in Killer's large hands. Biting your lip to halt your more needy whines from falling from your lips, your walls began to flutter around Kid's girth and clench against his velvety cock.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck-!" Kid sobbed, dropping his head into your shoulders and slapping his balls against your puffy clit, "Fuck, I'm cumming!" The feral and unhinged clap of Kid's pelvis meeting your ass contrasted the soft tenderness of Killer's hands caressing your face. The gentle soothing on your skin mixed with Kid's cock massaging your pussy with each hard thrust had you seeing stars.

"A-Ahh f-fu-uck-!" you cry out, lighting flashing in your mind's eye and igniting the flames of ecstasy in your belly. Contracting around Kid's cock, you milked him of his release and had the pearlescent backsplash meet with your cervix. Pulling out his drooling cock, his cum trickled down your leg while attached to his twitching tip.

"That's our Straw Hat," Killer praised you, giving your nose a gentle tap, "Now be a good little thing, and put my shirt on and wear it out. I want to know who you belong to while my captain's cum leaks out of that pretty pussy."

I'm glad you enjoyed Acid, Salt, Fat and Heat! I love those two together and separately.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[kinardsevan]

I can't stop thinking about an alternative timeline where Buck and Tommy have an amazing first date (drinks, meal, movie etc), but it only goes so perfectly because Buck hasn't realised he'd asked Tommy out on a date!

As there's no pressure Buck's happily flirting and being himself, so excited as he's hanging out with this super cool guy, that he's had all of his attention so evening, right up until Tommy walks him to his front door and smooches him.

Then when he's alone, all dazed and giddy, he kind of traces back over the whole night and realises his much sense it all makes, and He Has A Boyfriend!

oh anon. I don't now if this was intended to be a prompt, but it became one 😂

It felt like the world had just dropped at his feet. The way Tommy’s lips brushed over his, tongue sliding along his bottom lip and then suddenly inside, with one hand curled under Evan’s chin and the other on his hip, pulling him in. And like… he hadn’t expected any of it. But the way everything inside his chest felt when Tommy’s lips were on his, so gentle and unexpecting, was as though all the water had been sucked out of the earth, leaving him standing on the ground floor of the ocean, entirely unaware of where he was, and yet so utterly fascinated by all that surrounded him. A world he’d never seen, let alone touched. 

But then Tommy pulls away and it almost feels like he’s lost something, which doesn’t really make sense because how can you lose something that doesn’t exist? Tommy steps back, his gaze moving from Evan’s to his lips and then back up, a small, warm smile on his own lips. 

“Goodnight, Evan,” he murmurs, and then he’s turning to walk away, and the blonde is just standing there, watching the other man retreat towards the elevator, enamored and a little breathless. 

He feels he’s trying to solve a crossword puzzle backward. Like someone gave him all the answers, but didn’t tell him any of the questions. He’d offered to buy Tommy a beer, and that had turned into dinner and a movie, both of which Tommy had paid for, and that…that was a date, he realizes. Which is kind of wild, because sure, he enjoys checking out a hot guy’s ass from time to time—he’s definitely noticed Tommy’s—but he’s never pieced two and two together, thought he could have something like this…

He whips his head over then, hears the familiar sound of the around the corner at the end of the hall, and takes off running, making it around the corner just as Tommy starts to step towards the open doors. 

“Wait,” he states, more breathless now. Tommy raises his eyebrows at him, curious. 

Evan stands there for a moment, questioning himself, the right next move. Is there a right next move? He’s not sure. 

Tommy lets out a knowing smile in his direction, and that flips the switch for him. He crosses the six feet between them and slides his hand across Tommy’s neck, pulling him back in, this time his tongue seeking the invitation. Tommy’s hand is on his back then, pressing their torsos together, leaning into the kiss. Evan moans softly into his mouth, feeling like someone just plugged him in like a Christmas tree because he’s suddenly lit up from head to toe. 

“Hmm,” Tommy hums softly, finally pulling away a beat later. He has that same smile on his face, and while one part of Evan just wants to inhale him whole in one fell swoop, he’s also not ready. 

“That was nice,” Tommy rasps, brushing a thumb over Evan’s bottom lip. Evan smiles back at him, lean back in and kisses him one more time, light and chaste. When he pulls away, he takes a moment before opening his eyes, relishing in it. 

“I really have to go now,” Tommy murmurs to him, taking a step towards the elevator. Evan’s hand slides off his neck, down his arm to his hand, squeezing gently before he lets it go. 

“Goodnight,” he says softly, just the slightest dusting of pink in his cheeks. 

Tommy smiles back at him. “Good night. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

[arttsuka]

have Jedidiah and Octavius watch brokeback mountain on Larry’s phone

Sorry anon, but my headcanon is that Jedediah watches it alone for some reason (maybe Octavius was busy that night with something else) and he starts questioning his whole existence.

Internalized homophobia am I right? (Also Jed is definitely the kind of person who thinks like 'this isn't all that bad except from when I'm doing it, then it's the worst thing ever). Anyway, I think it's way more difficult to actually think about your feelings than just have them. It can be scary too, putting a proper name on a situation.

Then he just kinda dissappears for a few weeks, no one knows where he is. He doesn't say anything to anyone but even when he gets back he kinda avoids everyone.

He vents to Larry without giving him any context.

Octavius just blames Larry. It was something on the phone that made Jedediah upset, so naturally it must be Larry's fault.

They make up in the end but I don't know if they talk about what actually happened. Maybe Octavius watches brokeback mountain too and he understands idk

A little sequel to this here

[corviiids]

ive never watched h2o just add water but im australian so close enough and i desperately want to know more about death note h2o au. how does light becoming a mermaid make him able to kill people does he just like start grabbing people and drowning them. does L keep coming up with convoluted ways to reveal that light is a mermaid (i would like to know if someone attempts to push him into a pool at some point because i think thats how h2o mermaids work like you. just add water™ and they turn into a mermaid right)

(this ask is referring to my tags on this post)

#i just looked in my notes and found a death note au of that australian mermaid show h2o just add water#in this au light becomes a mermaid and immediately uses his mermaid powers to fucking kill people#and also hes australian#and becuase he's australian hes not called kira#his murders were first noticed on nobby beach (queensland) (australia)#so hes called the ghost of nobby beach#or nobbo for short#because hes australian#does anyone want or need australian mermaid murder death note au called nobbo? why did i write this#when will i finish it

thank you for your interest and everyone else who has shown interest in death nobbo. this is a post about death nobbo, my death note h2o just add water au which takes place in queensland australia

they are Australian and live on the gold coast and light is a uni student who becomes a mermaid. because he is a normal person he realises this is his opportunity to kill people. he also has a pretty, shiny tail.

L is a detective whose attention is drawn to this weird string of drownings in Queensland, Australia. he comes down to investigate.

to answer your actual question:

light drowns people by waiting for them to go surfing or swimming or whatever and then flipping their boards etc and dragging them at top speed into a rip. he holds them down or tangles them up so they can't stick their arms up for lifeguards

L thinks it's sus that all these experienced beachgoers are making mistakes like this and that nobody's managed to call a lifeguard in time. a couple of lifeguards have reported seeing a bit of a commotion where victims are drowning, but get out there too late, and it seems like all of them are physically not able to hold their arms up

here are the rest of my notes in the planning doc and some excerpts:

L doesn't enrol in UQ (is light more of a QUT bitch) but does just like, show up? maybe he gives a talk? i think light is studying law because i want to be self fucking indulgent. so maybe L (via screen) gives a lecture for criminal justice students and starts asking people what they think about the nobbo murders. someone's like so you think it's definitely murder and not just people drowning? L is like you're a beach city. drownings aren't uncommon, but this many drownings from people who are all familiar with the ocean terrain and beach safety makes it very unlikely.

(translator's note: UQ is university of queensland, QUT is queensland university of technology)

He picks light out from the audience because he's already profiled him and they have a discussion

later on L shows up physically at the cafe where light works and asks if he'd like to go swimming. while light is working on how to get out of that one, L goes, oh no, I've forgotten my beach wear. let's go play tennis instead.

lights like internal monologue there's a surf shop next door. light yagami would probably just offer to lend L a rashie or say they can go next door to pick one up. if I take this out, will he thinks I'm suspicious? does he think I'm nobbo? but I can't go swimming or he'll realise the truth.

(translator's note: 'rashie' is aussie slang for 'rash guard' or 'rash shirt' and it's swimwear that is a shirt)

while light is freaking out, L is like, actually there's a mini golf place near mermaid beach I really want to try, so let's go swimming another time. light's like well okay

so they go have a gay game of mini golf. l asks light how mermaid beach got its name and if he thinks mermaids are real. they discuss nobbo.

why did i name him nobbo

misa is light's coworker btw. at some point she also becomes a mermaid and light has to stop her rom exposing them both because she is not very careful

light entered the pool alone so got all three powers - hydrokinesis, cryohydrokinesis and thermocryokinesis

and here's. fuckin, whatever

also the only important line in this au

[middlingmay]

Hello 😌 for the late night call prompt:

"i know you didn't just hang up on me without saying 'i love you'."

This could be so sweet (or not). Would love to see your take on it!

Hello! I'm feeling the fluff today, so I hope you like it. Thanks for the ask :) <3

John's mouth had served him both well and ill in his life.

He was funny and he was charming. He was able to spin a story and keep a table entertained. He could cheer someone up easy, diffuse arguments if he chose to. And because he could read people quick sharp, he could either make fast friends with a few choice words, or could provoke or end a fight depending on which of his more mercurial moods he was looking to feed that night.

But his favourite thing, he'd come to find over the years, was talking in a constant, rhythmic roll and lulling Gale, a notoriously poor sleeper, to a good night's sleep.

John wasn't even going to let state lines keep him from that privilege.

Work had sent him away for a couple of nights to deal with an issue and another officer. It's what he got with his reputation for being able to influence and mediate with the best of them. And of course, just two days before he was due to go, Gale fell sick. Not sick enough to warrant John calling it off; but just sick enough to worry and stress him all the way out because he wouldn't be here to take care of his Gale.

Gale who had no sympathy for his plight whatsoever.

"It's two days. I can take care of myself; I'm a big boy."

John leered without intent and moseyed into Gale's personal space. "Oh, I know."

Gale spluttered a dry cough into John's chest and struggled to get his breath back and John whined.

"Come on, Gale. Just say the word and I'll cancel. You won't have to lift a finger until you're better."

Gale pushed him off and tugged the cover he had draped around him like a cape in tighter. "No, thank you," he grimaced. "You'll hover, you'll get sick, then I'll be taking care of the two of us. Get to stepping, John. Quicker you get there, quicker you get back."

So they'd said goodbye, Gale tolerating John's too-many long looks back with barely a roll of his eyes (and John knew that was just because even his eyes were hurting). But he could kick him out the house and force him to go to work and make fun of him as much as he liked, but Gale couldn't stop John from calling him for their regular night time chatterbox sessions.

"I thought you were working," Gale drawled raspy into the phone.

"At nine pm? Not enough overtime pay in the world, sweets. How you feeling?"

Gale's answers were brief and perfunctory, but John could hear the ever-present affection even through the brevity. And John was always happy to pick up the slack. He murmured to Gale about the trip, the shit show at the office, and the gossip he entirely made up about his colleagues in another state just to keep himself entertained. He spoke about the town and the hotel, and what he had to eat. He told him every tiny detail he could think of, until he heard Gale's breaths even out and the soft snore of the congested drift across the line.

Chuckling low so as not to wake Gale, he finally hung up, proud of himself for being able to fulfil his duties even if he wasn't there in person.

But it only lasted a few seconds before his phone screen lit up, and Doll flashed across the screen. John swiped and lifted the phone to his ear to hear Gale's thick, sleepy reprimand.

"I know you didn't just hang up on me without saying I love you."

John grinned wide and dimpled and all teeth and gum at Gale's grumpy complaint. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. How rude."

"Mmph." Offended. Like a puffed up cat. John could practically see the displeased frown in the centre of Gale's brow.

"I love you. Now go to sleep."

"Mmph." Contented. Pleased. Maybe with that tiny little smile Gale had that pulled his apple cheeks up.

John stayed on the phone long past Gale's return to sleep. Just in case.

[sephirthoughts]

Hi I know this is a ship like no one has ever thought of but I figure it’s not too strange considering the last prompt was for Vincent and Rufus.

Sephiroth and Rufus with the prompts of: 14, 20, 16, or 19. Please I need food here I’m dying and your writing is delicious 🥲

PREPARE THYSELF, ANONNIE, BECAUSE THINE WISH HATH BEEN GRANTED.

I only did #14 things you said after you kissed me, and #20 things you said that i wasn't meant to hear, because it turned into a whole fucking thing. Actually #16 things you said with no space between us is technically in there too. ANYWAY it is a lil angsty and not a necessarily happy ending, which you tumblr masochists are into as i understand it. Enjoyeee

TAGS: rufus x sephiroth, rufiroth? sephirus?, implied mysophobia, implied autism, two stupid 15 year olds kissing, first kisses, first heartbreak (for one of them sry bby)

rating: teen and up

warnings: canon typical violence, blood, explosions, helicopters

When Rufus stepped out of the building, there was a tall, silver-haired young man, waiting by the door of the armored limousine he was to ride in, in the convoy. Rufus looked him up and down, with a critical eye.

So, this was the famous war hero, Sephiroth. He was taller than all the other security personnel, and obviously in top physical condition, but he was also very young. The same age as Rufus, in fact, which did not inspire confidence in the fifteen-year-old young master of the Shinra dynasty.

Sephiroth bowed, as Rufus approached, and waited respectfully, while he got in the car. Then, to Rufus’ astonished annoyance, the boy climbed into the back of the car, too, and sat down in the seat across from his own.

Rufus scowled. “What the hell are you doing? Bodyguards ride up front, with the driver.”

“I prefer to ride here, young master,” Sephiroth replied smoothly. 

“Well, I prefer you not talk back to me!” Rufus retorted, in indignant disbelief. “This is my personal space. Get out of it.”

The other boy didn’t move a muscle. “As long as I am assigned to your detail, I am responsible for your safety, and have scope to operate at my own discretion. I can do my job more efficiently from here, so I will stay where I am.” 

“My father owns you. That means you have to do what I say.”

Green cat-eyes blinked at him. “I’m a person. You can’t own people.”

Rufus snorted with laughter. “You sure are ignorant. My father owns tens of thousands of people. Including every single one of you SOLDIERs. Meaning you.”

“I’m not ignorant, we’re having a philosophical difference of opinion,” Sephiroth returned calmly. “You say your father owns me, and I say I am employed by him. You’ve been taught that everyone who disagrees with you is stupid or inferior. That might make you feel powerful, in the short term, but whoever taught you to think that way wasn’t doing you any favors. Underestimating an opponent is a serious weakness, and your enemies will exploit it.” 

Rufus’ pale cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment at being so flatly (and effectively) contradicted, by someone he considered to be little more than a servant. “You can’t underestimate your enemies if you don’t have any! I’ll crush them all, before they get a chance to come after me!”

The silver head gave an approving nod. “A valid strategy. But how do you identify potential enemies?”

Rufus crossed his arms. “By looking for conflicting interests, obviously.”

“Exactly,” Sephiroth agreed. “Good intel is the most important element of any battlefield operation.”

“Not the most important,” Rufus argued, so engrossed in the conversation, he wasn’t aware that the convoy had departed, and they were already turning onto the freeway. “The most important things are manpower and tech. Without those, you can’t win a war.”

“Mn. True. But let’s say you have an army of fifty-thousand, and they’re equipped with the latest in cybernetic armor. And I have an army of thirty-thousand, with good but standard armor. Who is going to win?”

“I will. I have manpower and tech on my side.”

“But then, suppose my intelligence sector has done the legwork ahead of time, and I have learned of a fatal flaw in your cybernetic armor, that not only disables it, but causes injury to the wearers, making it much easier for my soldiers to incapacitate yours. Now, every one soldier of mine can easily take out two of yours. Who will win, then?”

“That takes away my armor advantage and makes your army effectively sixty-thousand strong,” Rufus frowned. “But that’s not fair! You cheated!”

“There is no fairness in war. Any and all means of achieving victory are valid, including deception and treachery. Because if you don’t win—”

“You die.”

“That’s right.”

Rufus thought for a moment. “But, what if my army had the cybernetic armor, and we went around spreading information about its fatal defect, but the information was false and the armor was sound. Then your troops would waste their efforts trying to incapacitate mine, and they’d be caught off-guard and even easier to deal with. Then I’d win.”

The silver-haired boy nodded approvingly again. “Counterintelligence. Excellent. You’re already thinking like a warrior.”

“Since you are a warrior, by trade, may I ask your opinion on something?” Rufus asked, in a more respectful tone than he’d been using, heretofore. “Do you think that…having an escape route from a fortified location is cowardly?”

“Only if you consider strategic withdrawal cowardly, which it isn’t,” Sephiroth answered, without hesitation. “Dying because you refuse to acknowledge you’ve lost ground isn’t honorable or brave, it’s foolish.”

“That’s what I think,” Rufus said, leaning forward eagerly. “All the great generals in history have used strategic withdrawal as a battlefield tactic, and no one calls them cowards.”

Silver eyebrows went up. “You like history?” 

He looked down at his hands and shrugged. “It’s…useful. To know what people did before and whether it worked. Advancement is built on accumulated knowledge.”

“They say that is what sets humanity apart from the animals.”

“Mn,” Rufus nodded. “Look, I…I’m sorry I called you ignorant, before. My father always says that soldiers are nothing but illiterate grunts, only useful as fuel for the war machine. But that’s not the way you are, at all.”

Sephiroth crossed his arms on his broad chest. “I’m a different kind of soldier than he means, but there are plenty of intelligent and honorable men, who are regular troopers. No human being should be thought of as fuel for a machine. They are, after all, the men that make up your ever so vital manpower.”

Rufus opened his mouth to reply, but several things happened at once. There was a faint whistling sound, and the silver-haired boy’s green pupils contracted to slits. Then something hit Rufus like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of him. 

At the same moment, the car was struck by something metallic and heavy, and there was an explosion of crackling, blue electricity, that knocked the car’s systems offline, including its shield, and made the hair stand up all over Rufus’ body. With the electronics dead, the driver lost control, and the vehicle spun out and began to roll. 

All this happened in a split second, and Rufus had barely had time to realize the object on top of him was the silver-haired boy, when Sephiroth grabbed him around the waist, and with a blinding burst of momentum, rocketed them out the window, smashing right through the glass, just before the vehicle tumbled onto that side. 

A missile screamed through the air and slammed into the exposed undercarriage of the now unshielded vehicle, flipping it all the way upside-down. Rufus felt the heat on his face, as it exploded in a gigantic ball of flames, with a noise like a sonic boom, that made his ears ring.

Sephiroth landed on his feet, thirty meters away and set Rufus down. The EMP and the missile had come from attack choppers—two of them. The rest of the Shinra convoy had been struck, too, and was in chaos and flames all over the highway. A swarm of green-camo painted, armored vehicles came roaring up, cutting off any escape, from both sides. 

“Get behind me!” Sephiroth barked, as his long, silver blade flashed out.  

Rufus ducked obediently behind him, but he knew there was no point. There was a missile coming right at them. There was no way evade it. It would vaporize them both, whether he was behind his bodyguard or not. 

He clenched his teeth in anger and unwillingness. This was not how he’d imagined his last three seconds on this planet—gunned down like a dog by his father’s enemies, a fifteen-year-old virgin, who had never accomplished anything worthwhile in his short life.

Screw that, if he was going to die, he’d look what killed him in the face. He lifted his head, just in time to see a flash of silver, and the twin vapor trails of the missile, which appeared to have been split into two parts, as they went careening wildly into the concrete pylons behind them. 

What the hell had happened? Was the missile defective? I couldn’t have been what it looked like, because what it looked like, was that his bodyguard had sliced it in half with a sword. Which was not possible.

Apparently, that had been their last missile, having used them up attacking the convoy. The helicopter’s mini-gun engaged, instead, spraying the area with bullets, which the silver-haired boy was…well, he was deflecting them with his sword. 

There was no other way to describe it, because that’s what was happening. The blade was moving faster than sight, sparking where they hit, with a strange, staccato clinking, like hail on a glass window.

The other chopper quit harassing the surviving security personnel and barreled toward them, to join the first in pelting the targets with gunfire. 

Sephiroth growled with frustration. He could deal with them on his own, but not simultaneously, and if he left Rufus unguarded to take out one, the other would cut him down in an instant. There was only one way he got out of this with the President’s son alive, and it would require perfect timing.

That opportune moment occurred, when the first chopper’s minigun overheated, and had to cool for a few seconds. Right then, Sephiroth launched his sword, like a thin, silver javelin, at the other, directly puncturing its windscreen, frightening the pilot into veering away, for long enough to grab Rufus, and make a sprint for the overpass bridge. 

Both choppers recovered and a fusillade of hot lead chased his preternaturally swift steps, but it was too late. Bullets peppered the concrete barrier, throwing sprays of grey dust into the air, as the silver-haired boy leapt over the edge, with the President’s son in his arms. 

Partially obstructed by the overpass bridge, the two plummeted toward the undercity and certain death. They were falling too fast for the gunners to sight them, but it would’ve been perfunctory, anyway. There was no surviving a drop from one of the plates.

Wind battered Rufus in the face and tore at his hair as they approached terminal velocity, and kept falling. They fell for so long, he ran out of breath screaming and had to pause to inhale, before he started again. 

This fucking psycho bodyguard! Now, rather than getting shredded by bullets, he was going to be splattered all over some filthy, undercity junkyard. Perfect. His father probably wouldn’t even send people to collect his body!

He clung tightly to Sephiroth, from sheer reflex, as the ground rushed toward them, bracing himself for impact.

Impact that…never came. Instead, Rufus felt the bizarre sensation of weightlessness, as their fall suddenly slowed, in defiance of logic and reason and science. They look the last couple of meters at a gentle drift, and Sephiroth’s black boots touched lightly down in gravelly dirt. 

He set Rufus on his feet, steadying him as he wobbled. “Young master, are you alright? Are you injured?”

Rufus attempted to stop his voice shaking, but found he couldn’t. “I…I don’t think so. How are we…alive?”

“Well, I evaded the gunships by leaping off—ah, you mean the fall. I have a mastered slow-time materia.”

“O—oh,” was all Rufus could say. The other boy was obviously lying, but he didn’t have the bandwidth to care why. 

Sephiroth looked appropriately contrite. “I apologize for frightening you, young master, but it was the only option I had, at the moment. I would have dealt with the assailants, had it just been me, but protecting you is my primary objective.”

“I understand. You did well. So…where are we?” Rufus asked, looking around dazedly, at the mountains of piled debris, nearly as high as skyscrapers. And far, far above that, the titanic plates that made up the vast overcity of Midgar. He had never seen them from below, before.

“We didn’t drift much, so approximately…right below where we fell. Which puts us close to the Sector 7 slums. Those choppers will be along shortly, to sweep the area for our remains. We’d better get under cover quickly.”

It took less than a minute for Sephiroth to find a partially collapsed section of antediluvian aqueduct pipe, which was twice as tall as he was, and had room enough to park a vehicle, to say nothing of sheltering the two boys. 

Once inside, he cast some kind of gravity spell, and drew a pile of debris over the opening, to conceal it. Just then, the thrum of helicopter rotors became faintly audible in the distance. 

Rufus felt a shiver up his spine, and the irrational urge to crouch down, despite already being under cover. There was enough sunlight filtering in through the piled scrap and rust holes in the old pipe, so that he could see fairly well, which made him feel far too visible.

“What are we going to do if they find us?” he whispered to Sephiroth. 

“They won’t,” Sephiroth answered, at normal speaking volume. “They’re only going to do visual recon, for due diligence. They’re confident that we’re dead.”

Sure enough, the roar of the choppers grew louder and louder, till they could see the sun glinting off their black hulls, directly overhead. But just as Sephiroth said, they passed over the area a few times, and then flew away, their ominous thunder fading gradually into the distance.

“Here, take these.”

Rufus looked down to see that Sephiroth had produced a bottle of water and a dry-ration packet from a storage materia somewhere about his person, and was holding them out to him.

“No, thank you,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not—”

“Young master, I insist you take them,” Sephiroth interrupted firmly. “You may be in shock, and depriving your body of calories and hydration at this time could make you very ill.”

Rufus accepted the things, with a disconsolate huff. He was about to unscrew the lid of the bottle, when Sephiroth took him by the shoulders and looked gravely into his face.

“Listen carefully, because I only have time to say this once. My phone was destroyed by the EMP, as I can imagine yours was, as well. We are far from help, with no means of contacting anyone, for the moment. Do not leave this hiding place, and do not move that debris, no matter what. There are all kinds of monsters out here, in the scrap wastes. If I am not conscious by sunset, take my sidearm and run north, till you get to the dirt road. It’ll take you to the slums, due east of here. Do not tell anyone who you are. Just find someone with a phone and call for help. Whatever you do, you must get out of the waste before nightfall. Understood?”

“Wait, what the hell do you mean, if you’re not conscious?” Rufus demanded. “Are you planning to take a nap?”

It was only then that he observed the other boy’s face was deathly pale. Then he noticed the bullet holes in his black pullover and leather coat. And then the blood pooling at his feet. 

“Sephiroth! You—you’re hurt!” he exclaimed, in horror. “Why didn’t you tell me? What do I do? How do I help?”

“The primary objective is your safety. Do exactly as I’ve said. Do not worry about me, I’ll be…I’ll be fine…”

As he spoke those last words, Sephiroth’s voice dissolved into a slurred murmur. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he pitched over. Rufus grabbed for him to catch him, but the boy was over six feet tall and weighed at least two hundred pounds. Resultingly, smaller, slighter Rufus only wound up getting dragged down on top of him.

He scrambled off, in a panic, not wanting to make the injuries worse, and knelt beside his bodyguard. His own white blazer and sweater were splotched all over with crimson, which would have made his skin crawl at any other time, but he couldn’t bother about uncleanliness, at the moment.  

Frantically, he searched Sephiroth’s pockets for a healing materia, but only found that storage materia. There was nothing in it but more water and rations, and a field kit for dressing minor injuries, which he had no idea how to use, anyway. 

Ok, think! He’d heard somewhere that you put pressure on deep wounds, to stop them bleeding. Forcing himself past his bone-deep aversion to touching bodily fluids, he pressed down on the most central holes, as hard as he could, while blood sponged up through Sephiroth’s black pullover and soaked his hands. But it was in vain. Sephiroth had serious wounds in more places than Rufus had hands to press on them. 

Close to panicking, Rufus tried to check for a pulse, but had no idea how to do that, and couldn’t tell if his failure to find one meant he was incompetent, or that there wasn’t one to be found. Sephiroth’s face was paper-white, now, and his chest had stopped moving. He wasn’t breathing. 

“Sephiroth! Sephiroth! No, no, no!” Rufus sobbed, yanking on the lapels of the other boy’s bullet-torn leather coat, as if he could shake him back to life. “Th—that’s an order, SOLDIER! Do you hear me? You’re not allowed to die! You have to protect me, so you can’t die! Sephiroth!! Please, don’t die! Please…please.”

Weighed down by despair, he curled over, pressing his forehead to Sephiroth’s chest, sobbing like a baby, over the body of the boy his own age, who had saved him, at the cost of his own life. 

Men were killed in action all the time. It was just a collateral cost of warfare. He knew this, and had never felt anything one way or another, about it. But seeing it happen, before his eyes, especially to such an obviously special and worthwhile person, felt completely different. 

It was real. It was personal. It was wrong and horrible and tragic and sickening. And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! This one belonged to him! Fate had no right to take him away! 

Buoyed up by righteous anger, he forced himself to swallow the bottle of water, like Sephiroth told him, but couldn’t even make himself think about eating the dry ration. He was sick to his stomach and his hands were covered in sticky, drying blood. 

While he was using the rest of his water bottle to try to rinse his hands, he realized that there was less blood on the ground than he'd expected. Only his watery spatters, and the puddle that had been at Sephiroth’s feet when he fell. If he’d stopped bleeding that quickly…then it must be because his heart had stopped. Which meant he was really dead. 

Flatly refusing to accept this, Rufus sat cross-legged beside him, clinging to his gloved hand. Sometimes whispering prayers to the goddess to bring him back, but mostly in silent grief. He never believed the gods had any power to help people, and they were little comfort to him, now.

Only when the sun sank below the unseen horizon, far away, and it began to get really dark, in their tiny hideout, did he move. Heavily and reluctantly, he got up and strapped on Sephiroth’s sidearm, preparing himself to make a run for the dirt road, and hopefully the relative safety of the slums, where there were a lot of people keeping the monsters away.

There were no more excuses to linger. He was as ready as he was going to get, and it was now or never. Rufus knelt down beside his erstwhile bodyguard, to say goodbye. 

“I won’t leave you here,” he said, gently brushing his silver hair out of his face. “I’ll bring people back to get you, as soon as I find some kind of civilization. I—I’m sorry you died for me. I’m so sorry. I know I act like I think I’m royalty, but…it’s all a façade. I’m completely worthless, compared to you. You deserved to live. If I could trade places with you, I would. In a heartbeat.”

In the deep blue of twilight, the boy’s face was painfully beautiful. Overcome with emotion, Rufus leaned down and pressed his lips to Sephiroth’s. A single, soft kiss, to ease the ache of meeting once and parting forever. His tears splashed onto the waxen face. 

“I’ll never forget you, Sephiroth,” he whispered, against his cold, pale lips.

When he drew back, a pair of brilliant-green eyes with catlike slit pupils were looking directly into his. He gave a shout and jumped back, falling flat in the loose rubble, then immediately scrambling back up, to grab hold of the boy’s hand.

“Sephiroth! You’re alive!” His heart was pounding like a war drum, from the sudden jolt, but he couldn’t contain his elation. “You were dead! You bled so much and I couldn’t find your pulse and you weren’t breathing! But you’re alive now! You’re alive!!”

“I wasn’t dead,” Sephiroth said faintly. “I was only…regenerating. I tried to explain.” 

“You sound weak. No, no, let me help you sit up. Good, just lean on me. I’ll get you some water.”

Rufus retrieved another bottle of water from the storage materia and sat with his arm around Sephiroth, watching attentively while he slowly sipped it. 

“I heard your voice, in the dark, calling me back,” Sephiroth said, after he’d drained the contents of the bottle. “I thought I dreamed it. But then I woke up, and you were holding my hand. Talking to me. I was going to tell you that you’re not worthless, and it was both my duty and honor to die for you. But…you kissed me, and I didn’t have a chance.”

Rufus blushed like an apple, but the deep shade of twilight concealed it. “I…uh. I’m sorry. It was just that—” He frowned suddenly and touched his lips. “Did I…bring you back with a kiss? Like a prince in a fairy tale? No, of course not. That’s stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Sephiroth said, squeezing his hand. “The lifestream runs through all of us. Maybe you gave me some of yours, and it made me stronger. Helped me wake up faster.”

Rufus swallowed hard. “You’re still really weak, though. We could…we could try it again. Just to see if it helps.”

“Right. To…prove the hypothesis,” Sephiroth agreed.

“Hypothesis,” Rufus murmured, wide-eyed and suddenly trembling with nervousness, as they leaned in, so close that he could feel Sephiroth’s warm breath on his cheek. 

Their lips brushed together, timidly at first, then pressing more eagerly. Rufus let his eyes fall closed and his mouth open, tongue sliding forward to caress Sephiroth’s.

His heart pounded in his ears, and his stomach did flips like he was on a roller coaster. His first kiss! Er—well, his first real kiss! It was clumsy and faltering, and neither had any idea what they were doing, but it was also perfect and wonderful and everything he’d ever imagined. He finally understood what all the fuss was about. 

When they drew apart, they were both breathless and flushed with heat, lips wet and kiss-bruised. Rufus still had his arm around Sephiroth’s waist, and Sephiroth had wrapped one of his around Rufus, as well. 

“Sorry if that was weird. I…I never kissed anyone before,” Sephiroth said, shyly lowering his eyes. 

“Neither have I,” Rufus admitted. “It was a little weird, because I always thought my first kiss would be with a girl. But…I’m glad it was you.”

The green cat-eyes came up again, to look into his, slit pupils dilating slowly. “You are?”

Rufus nodded. “Mn. I like you, and you're really handsome. You also saved my life, so we have strong emotional context. Also, you work for my father, and we both know a relationship would never be possible, between us, so there’s no danger of getting too attached, and things becoming messy and complicated later. It can just be what it is.”  

The slit pupils contracted again and Sephiroth seemed to freeze for a millisecond, but he smiled, what appeared to be a soft, placid smile. “Yes. It can just be what it is. We should go, now. The sooner I get you home safe and sound, the better.”

So saying, he hopped up and pulled Rufus to his feet, accepting back his sidearm and materia. When they were ready, he waved his hand, and all the piled up junk covering the entrance to their pipe was blown off, like a pressurized lid. Then they stepped out of their shelter into the labyrinthine canyon of rust and dry-rot and assorted garbage. 

Sephiroth took Rufus by the hand and helped him navigate the small slope, upon which debris was loosely packed and especially treacherous in the dark. Rufus intended to keep holding hands, even after they’d got down, but Sephiroth firmly withdrew his from the other boy’s grasp. 

“No need to be afraid, young master,” he said, in a tone of calm reassurance. “I’m here to protect you. Nothing can harm you, while I’m with you.”

Rufus nodded and followed after him. 

As they picked their way through the debris, his blonde brows knit together, in thought. He should be happy, to have such a strong and valiant protector, who would suffer serious injury for him, and even let Rufus kiss him, all while remaining composed and professional, and taking such care in looking after him.

But…he couldn’t shake the vague feeling that he’d somehow lost something precious. And now that it was gone, it was gone forever.

[frownyalfred]

Love the idea of Clark turning up to Gotham just for a little catch up with Bruce, only to be immediately followed by an entourage, most of them guys with a similar build to Bruce and Jason. They let him know that no ones going to bother him and that if he needs anything to let them know and they'll get it for him.

One of them looks suspiciously similar to the guy in the GPD wanted poster they've just walked past but that's neither here nor there.

"You wanna fuck with the Bat's bird, you gotta go through me."

Clark pushed his glasses back up his nose, trying not to visibly react. With the man's back to him, it was easier to get away with an imperfect facial expression, but he still didn't want to tempt fate. "That's -- that's really kind of you, sir. But I'm not really a bird--"

"Oh, and you're gonna be a tough guy about it all of a sudden?" the other thug asked, directing the question at the large man standing in front of Clark. "What happened to fuck the Bat, he fucked up my cousin? Huh?"

The man protecting Clark shrugged with one meaty shoulder. "Don't mean I think his bird should get fucked up too."

"We're not gonna fuck him up," the other man said. He smiled at Clark, nicotine-stained teeth shown off in the low light. "We're just gonna scare him a little bit, yeah? Just so the Bat comes and says hey."

"That's an objectively terrible idea," Clark said. The words came before he could stop them, hanging on the edge of Superman's authoritative tone. "You're just going to get hurt."

"Maybe this time," the thug said, lifting the bat back up onto his shoulder. "Maybe this time, we change things. Throw him off his rhythm. Since we got his bird, and all."

Clark would've rolled his eyes if he wasn't distantly concerned on behalf of all of them. "I'm not sure Batman is worried about me, to be honest."

The man standing in front of Clark craned his head back. "What, you have a fallin' out or something?"

"No," Clark said quickly, shaking his head. "No, I'm just saying -- I can take care of myself. The Bat won't worry, so you won't throw him off his rhythm. So you'll just get beat up again. Probably worse than before. And then I have to make a police report, and you'll be in the hospital--"

"Cripes, cool it with the threats," the man blocking Clark from the others said under his breath. He turned back around to face the group. "Beating up the bird ain't gonna help, you heard it from him."

"Not a bird," Clark protested.

The man with the bat and stained teeth pointed at Clark. "You better watch yourself out here. There ain't gonna be someone to swoop in and save your ass every time."

"And there ain't gonna be a missing Bat every time you say stupid ass shit like that," the man protecting Clark said, shaking his head. "Get the fuck outta here, Leo. You're a fucking joke, you corncob."

Leo and his buddies retreated quickly, and, after a gruff, if oddly charming, exchange, so did Clark's would-be protector. Clark waited a few minutes, just to make sure they were out of earshot, before craning his head up at the shadowed ledge of the building above the alley.

"Bird?" Clark asked loudly.

Batman stared back, the only sign of his amusement a brief flash of white teeth between his lips. For Bruce, it was nearly the equivalent of a full-on belly laugh.

[coweye]

Hiiii i have a question, do you think Logan would be the type of person to help you if you have problems during sex? For example I have hypertension of the pelvic pavement so I need extra preparation and it still hurts when I start doing it :(

10000% - I have no doubts he’d take care of you the way you deserve. 💖

Logan would help you all the way, the second you told him he’d give you that lil dofp smile and he’d take your hand reassuringly, kissing along your wrist.

The man is a hard grump but he is all heart underneath it all and he fucking adores you.

So he has to make sure it’s as good for you as it is for him, so he’d spend ages between your legs, getting you ready before he’d even consider penetration.

You’d try and pull him up by his shoulders, feeling guilty for the amount of time he’s spending on you without reciprocation but he’d just shrug you off, adjusting his hands on your hips before kissing his way back down your belly.

“I like taking care of you sweetheart.” He’d groan against your warm skin as he nips the flesh before soothing it with his pink tongue.

When you’re finally ready for him, after what feels like hours of foreplay and no fewer than three orgasms he’d begin.

Logan is a paragon of self control, he’d take it so fucking slowly to make sure it feels good. A thick palm pressed to your belly as he pushes inside to ease some tension.

He would give you time to adjust, ignoring the feel of you clenching around him driving him crazy. He’d follow the queues of your body, his eyes won’t leave your face as he makes sure that he’s not causing you any pain.

He’ll talk you through the whole thing, constant communication and validation, he’ll tell you how good you feel around him. He’d still have that fucking filthy mouth, but his actions are almost reverent in his devotion.

He would take care of you completely.

[qprstobin]

Stobin Different First Meeting AU where they go to prom together. This was meant to be an au post and turned into a mini fic oops (written completely within a tumblr post so sorry for the poor quality)

(edit: realized I should link the fic I was inspired by for those who don't follow me and so didn't see me reblog it earlier)

Steve doesn't necessarily want to go to prom, right? Like yeah, he'd been imagining it for a while, but now that he was very, very single it just didn't have the same shine that it used to. And he really wasn't ready to start dating yet. However, he didn't want to just, not go to prom, and also knew it would seem really weird (and pretty fucking sad) if he didn't go.

Which leaves him in a conundrum.

He thought for a while that maybe he would go with one of the junior cheerleaders. While he didn't have any close friends anymore, he was still friendly with plenty of people. There were girls that wouldn't be going to prom unless they had a senior boyfriend - some he had even gone on dates with in the past who wouldn't think a single prom date meant that he wanted a new girlfriend.

However, he is pretty sure most of those girls would have... other expectations for the night. And honestly? He isn't quite sure that he was ready to get back on that horse either.

... Not that he thought women were horses.

He's pretty sure men are normally the ones called horses in riding metaphors.

Anyway.

That left him stuck. He couldn't just not go to prom, but also didn't want to wind up trapped on an actual date with someone. So who could he ask?

His solution ended up coming from an odd place.

Robin Buckley was... quite honestly, kind of a weirdo.

She was cute, in an alternative sort of way. She never took any of his shit (he wasn't completely sure she even liked him) but also reluctantly laughed at the snarky shit he said under his breath during their Film History class. And not in the fake giggly way girls did when they were flirting, but didn't actually care about what he was saying, just the way he said it. She actually seemed to think he was funny. Even if that revelation seemed to piss her off.

The only reason he was even in Film History that semester - and therefore, knew who she was - was for the easy A. He got to watch movies in class, and watch movies for homework. He was willing to plow through a couple of shitty essays in exchange for a class that he didn't feel like a complete idiot in.

(Well, he was pretty sure Robin thought he was an idiot about movies, but just because he had trouble remembering the names and shit of characters, didn't mean he couldn't analyze the themes, fuck you very much, Buckley.)

They had gotten assigned a project together early on, and it hadn't been completely terrible. She had quickly taken over doing most of the writing portions, but hadn't thought all of his ideas were terrible. By the end of the project he thought they were even sort of having fun together.

He'd always been one to try his luck, take a little more than he was given. So, after that assignment was over, he started sitting next to her in class, not wanting that easy, if sharp, camaraderie to end. Robin rolled her eyes at him and asked him what he thought he was doing the first time he did it, but she never sent him away.

They ended up chatting more and more during down times, passing notes to each other and sharing sly comments under their breaths during the movies. Steve often had trouble paying attention at school, his mind easily wandering away, and it was almost as bad during most movies, but Robin helped keep him on track.

The class turned into one that was done for the easy grade, a last ditch effort to improve his already hopeless GPA, and became one he actually enjoyed.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of going to prom with Robin. It made the night seem a little less unbearable.

He thought about making a big deal out of asking her, because he knows that's what girls (and even Nancy) had enjoyed for past dances. He quickly scrapped that idea, however, because not only did he not want to put pressure on her like that, but also she seemed to hate public spectacles like that.

Or at least when aimed at her, they both enjoyed watching drama unfold in the halls a bit too much to say she hated it completely.

So Steve waits until the end of the day, their film class being their last, to pull her into an empty classroom. She follows him without question in a show of trust he didn't realize she had in him. The notion warms him, and for some reason makes it more difficult to get the question out.

"Why do I feel like you're about to try to sell me drugs or something?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He squints at her in offense.

"Why is that your first assumption?!"

"I don't know! Why else are you pulling me out of the hallway all secretive like, making sure no one followed us, into an abandoned classroom," she asks, throwing her arms into the air.

"The classroom isn't abandoned, it's the end of the day! Also, who does drug deals on campus, that's just stupid?" He asks rhetorically, before waving one hand through the air, as if trying to erase the current thread of conversation. "That doesn't matter, you're distracting me."

"Well then, get on with it! Some of us have practice we need to get to."

"It's like talking to the kids," he mutters to himself, "Whatever. I wanted to ask - will you go to prom with me?"

That stops Robin up short. There's panic in her eyes now, though Steve isn't sure what exactly put it there. Was his reputation that bad that even band geeks are terrified of getting asked out by him?

"You want to go on a date? With me?" she asks slowly, disbelief coloring her voice, though it doesn't hide her unease.

"No, I want to go to prom with you," he scoffs, "Not go on a date with you."

"That is a date, dingus! The person you go to prom with is literally called your date!"

"Okay, sure, maybe, but I don't actually want to date you," he said, rolling his eyes at her.

Like, okay, he understood his reputation for being... what did she call him last week? A 'huge effing rake'? But that didn't mean that he was trying to date any girl that looked in his direction. A lot of girls looked in his direction. That was too many women, even for him.

Robin relaxes a little at that.

"Then why are you asking me to prom instead of someone you actually want to date?"

"Because!" he says, resisting the urge to flail his hands back at her. "I don't want to date anyone right now. Most people I ask are going to expect all these things from me - they're going to want dinner, and at the very least a kiss at the end of the night if not more, or another date the very next day. Because Steve Harrington is supposed to want those things!" He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair to calm himself. "But right now? I really don't."

"Well then, what does Steve the Hair Harrington actually want?" She had relaxed fully at this point, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want to go to prom with someone I consider a friend, someone who makes me laugh," he says after a moment of silence. "I want to dance badly to really corny pop music and drink just enough spiked punch that I don't remember how much I hate wearing any sort of tie. Then I want to go get milkshakes or go see a really trashy midnight horror flick, just because I'm having so much fun I don't want the night to end."

That small smile has grown into a reluctant grin on Robin's face. It makes her eyes shine and her freckles pop. Steve thought that if he was in a better place, if they had met at a different time, he could have fallen in love with her.

But they had met now instead, in some shitty public school elective course, and she was the closest thing he had to a friend that wasn't a snotty middle schooler.

"That sounds... like a lot of fun, actually," she says, mischief sparking on her face. "Who would've known the hidden depths hidden behind all that hair."

"Hey!" he protests half-heartedly, unable to keep a grin of his own off his face. "So what do you say? Wanna go to prom with me?"

"I guess," she sighs, acting like it was such a trial to go to prom with him. Him! But her next words make up for it. "Since we're friends, and all. However, I still expect you to buy me dinner, though you can keep the kiss goodnight to yourself."

Steve can't help the giddy laugh from spilling out of him. For the first time in weeks, he is actually looking forward to prom.

[drysaladandketchup]

for the "things you said" writing meme -- matthew/leon, 12 :)

Thank you for the request <3 I realised very quickly I have no idea what constitutes a 'mini' fic. I struggle to write 'mini' anything lol. Hopefully this still satisfies :)

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

It takes all of Matthew's willpower not to reach over and smash his phone just to shut off the alarm. All that saves his wallet and an awkward trip to the Apple store is the split-second realisation that the shrieking in his ear isn't his usual alarm.

It's a ringtone. Not his own, either.

He pries his eyes open to find the world through the window is still dark. One of the balcony doors is still ajar, letting in a cool night breeze. He's lying on his side in his own bed, the end of the all-star weekend memorialized by several aches and bruises.

His hips and ass are a little sore too, but that's unrelated. Technically.

The ringing stops. Someone huffs behind him.

Someone. Yeah, no, Matthew knows who it is. They may have met up at the bar once the media was done swarming, but Matthew was far from drunk. Painfully sober, in fact. If he's being honest with himself, he was hoping things would turn out this way.

One more time. One more moment. Because it's been a long time since they were them. Longer still since the sex was just sex, since hate became want. Matthew is strong in a lot of ways, but not against this.

"Davo." Leon's voice is low, and still gruff from sleep when he answers his phone. He sits up on his side of the bed, trying not to disturb Matthew, pulling the covers back up over Matthew's shoulder like he thinks he'll freeze to death in this balmy Florida winter.

Usually Matthew's a heavy sleeper. But never when Leon's around. He makes it impossible for Matthew to completely relax, to let time slip by. Leon's just too big of a presence, almost too much to bear. It was more important that everything linger, to bask in the strange comfort of their relationship, whatever it was. They had so little time. Even less, now.

"I know it's late. No, no, I'm not at the hotel. I'm... I'm with Tkachuk."

Leon says his last name like it's wrong, like it's rotting on his tongue.

When he corrects himself, says, "Matthew", it's better, lighter. Like it's ambrosia.

Matthew remembers when Leon Draisaitl saying his name wouldn't have meant a damn thing to him. When that simple act didn't fill him with fondness.

In the silence, Matthew can hear McDavid talking on the other end, but can't quite make out what he's saying. Matthew tucks up under the duvet, breathing quiet and even, trying to focus instead on the distant sound of waves and the ticking clock on his wall.

Ticking. Always ticking. Time bleeds out when they're together.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep last night, but he wishes he hadn't now. He wishes he'd stayed awake longer, just to... just to see him. To look Leon in the eye, to talk about everything and nothing until dawn, to feel big, too-warm hands on his body more and more and more. He wants to make sure he'll remember how Leon feels, sounds, tastes.

"Connor," Leon says, a warning, followed by a sigh. "I know. I know, okay? It was stupid, but..."

Maybe it was. Matthew has a good thing here in Florida. Better than ever. He was happy to leave Alberta behind and start over. So why did leaving make him feel like a coward?

Because leaving was about Calgary, and the Flames. About his career and his future. It wasn't about Leon. Leon was the wrench in the gears; the one thing he didn't expect to have to say goodbye to, the kind of hurt he never could have accounted for.

"I needed to see him." Leon sounds helpless. He's not the only one.

The only time he's heard Leon so lost was after his team was knocked out of the playoffs last season. The Oilers meant nothing--Matthew was pretty fucking glad considering they'd beat out the Flames--but he never wanted to hear Leon like that again.

He definitely never wanted to be the cause of it. Not like this.

Leon is still mumbling into his phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's... we're good. He's happy."

A hand settles on Matthew's head. Fingers play with his curls, nails scratch his scalp. A thumb presses just behind Matthew's ear, stroking the soft skin where only hours before Leon had put his lips, whispering sweetness and filth in equal measure.

It takes everything for Matthew not to groan, to whimper and surrender, roll over and climb on top of Leon and take all over again. Beg him to take something--everything--from Matthew.

"I don't know," Leon says then.

It's easy to guess what McDavid asked.

He's happy. But are you?

"I can't even tell him I still love him."

Still. Matthew didn't even know there was a before, let alone a still. Leon never said anything. Fuck, if Matthew wasn't busy trying to remember how to breathe, he'd roll over and punch him.

Then again, what did Matthew ever say? They never talked about it. Never let those closet hook-ups and slipping out back doors and little drinks and dinners and overnights excused as practical necessity be anything more than that. A bunch of chirps and half-truths and aborted discussions because it was all becoming too much. There was too much uncertainty. Too many ways it could go wrong.

It did go wrong. It became something. It became real.

Maybe that would have changed something. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything at all. It doesn't matter now. Matthew left, and neither of them said a word about things like love, because it was easier to hope it would shrivel and die with distance and time.

"I know I'm being stupid." Leon pauses when McDavid interrupts, then huffs. "No, I am. Fuck, I really thought I'd get over it. Maybe I will. Eventually."

Don't you fucking dare, you piece of shit, Matthew wants to scream.

"Not sure I can, though." Leon swallows so loud Matthew can hear it. Then quieter, like he's not sure he's even allowed to admit it, he says, "I don't really want to."

He's still playing with Matthew's hair, occasionally dragging a finger over his bare shoulder or down his back, tracing imaginary lines across Matthew's flesh. Like he's something to be memorized and cherished.

They're both so fucking stupid. Matthew bites his lip and tries not to choke on the lump in his throat. Could be his heart, climbing right up and out of his mouth. He clings to the sheets with shaking hands.

"I'm not going to fuck up what he's got here," Leon says tiredly, voice thick with tension and pathetic resignation.

Leon's not here to drag him back. He wouldn't do that. So why is he here? Just to torture them both? Being with him doesn't feel like torture. It feels like winning. It feels like defiance and decadence and too much and not enough. It feels like what could have been and what could still be.

He didn't find Leon at that bar and bring him home out of pity, or nostalgia, one last fuck for old times sake. It was... it just was. Not an ending. Not some final goodbye. Proof maybe there could still be something. Getting over it was never an option, Matthew knew that well before he stepped onto the ice as a Panther and found himself staring Leon down all over again.

Matthew's vision is blurring. His eyes sting, warm and wet. There's blood pounding in his ears, and a hand clutching his heart, a vice around his lungs. He hardly remembers how to breathe.

He doesn't catch the rest of Leon's conversation, except something about meeting Connor back at the hotel tomorrow. Meaning he's staying the night, at least. He's staying.

When Leon hangs up the phone, Matthew finally comes up for air. He relaxes his shoulders, listening to the soft thump as Leon taps his phone against his forehead over and over. Then it clatters on the side table. Leon sighs, sniffs, and sinks back under the covers. He tucks right up against Matthew's back, still burning like a furnace, soft muscle and skin brushing Matthew's spine in all the right ways.

He throws an arm around Matthew and finds one of his hands, worming his fingers through the gaps to hold it. His palm is sweaty, not that it matters at all to Matthew. He can't help squeezing Leon's hand a little, but if Leon notices, he doesn't say a word.

Not until he's wrapped tight around Matthew, near suffocating, like any part of them that isn't touching is a sin.

"Love you," Leon mumbles, barely more than a whisper, pressing his lips right to the base of Matthew's neck. Matthew's body can't seem to decide whether to shiver or melt under the heat.

Leon says it like it's inevitable. Painful. Pitiful.

What he's saying is, I'm sorry I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before. I'm sorry I don't know how to say it now. I'm sorry it's too late, it's the wrong place, the wrong time.

Like he doesn't think Matthew could ever understand. And that's the worst part of it all. They're still not on the same page. Tearing down what they never built.

If Leon's only brave enough to say it when Matthew's asleep, then Matthew will just have to be brave enough to say it in the light of day. He doesn't run, and he won't now that he knows he doesn't have to.

He stares into the night outside his window, listening to Leon breathe, feeling his heart beat through Matthew's chest like that's where it longs to be.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow maybe they can stop chasing time long enough to make the most of what they have. To make up for what they've wasted. And whatever happens after, well, maybe they can stop being afraid of that, too.

[fanaticsnail]

Hey! Hope you’re doing well this fine day~ I had a cute idea if u just wanna hear me rant about it.

So imagine teaching Killer a new pasta recipe whether that is a new sauce or new way to cook it and making it for him and watching him literally LIGHT UP with pure glee over how good it is. I say this as I’ve made my grandma’s spaghetti sauce which is STRAIGHT UP ADDICTING every time I make it and gobble it all up. Like the reader can be like a straw hat or kid pirate who is like hey I have this really yummy pasta recipe if you wanna try and afterwards she keeps on exchanging recipes with Killer and lowkey he in love with her mwahahaha (cause as they say in Princess and the Frog “the quickest way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach”). And she cooks it for him since he is always cooking ����🥹🥹

Also! I do have to add how much IM OBSESSED with the recent Hey Doc Drabble. Idk if you saw my tags but man I was GOING THROUGH IT. All the sweet nicknames and just the pure desperation for doc to be okay like 😭😭😭 and POOR HEAT AND BUBBLEGUM LIKE AWWWW I need a part 2 to that or SOMETHING just to see an aftermath if you will. Wire calling them “honey” had me WEAK.

Alright imma head out now, have a marvelous day/night 🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️

How did I miss this 😭. Thank you for your beautiful compliments on the 'Hey Doc' series. It's been an absolute joy to write. Reading through tags and reblogs are my favourite: especially when it's as enthusiastic as yours has been. You're so much fun, and I very much appreciate the time you take to read and go through my silly things. I can't write a full fic, but I hope this little drabble satiates the need of cooking with Killer 🖤.

Pasta

Masterlist Here

Word Count: mini-fic, just a little one.

Themes: Killer x reader, fluff, cooking, food, Killer is in awe, you are cooking, and I am hungry.

The one thing he hasn't managed to perfect is a pure, unadulterated Marinara. Anything to do with crushed tomato he finds too acidic, and over compensates with far too much salt to cut the tannins. He's tried everything: more onion, less herbs, malted brown sugar, refining his own salt by storing sea water on the oven, everything. He just can't seem to get it right.

Killer and pasta: his one weakness.

He would never admit it, but he has been attempting to perfect each recipe he comes upon. Pesto is all made from scratch: crushed fresh basil, the purest of virgin olive oils, a parmesan wheel with crispy salt crystals, oven toasted pine nuts, cloves of bulbed garlic, everything perfected by his skill in his kitchen. His pesto pasta is better than Sanji's, and the curly-browed chef is both impressed and intimidated by it.

Watching from a safe distance as you bounce gleefully within the dominion of the kitchen, he hunches his back and places his whiskered chin over his laced fingertips. He was unsure as to why you offered to cook for the crew, but your enthusiasm had him step aside to watch you work. It was the initial confession of homesickness that did it for him. Knowing food can aid in emotional regulation and comfort, he was more than happy to watch from his position sitting at the kitchen island.

And then the smell hit him.

The sweetness of roasting tomatoes, onion, garlic, and the herbal aromatics of thyme, rosemary and sage. The soft waft had his heart swell and beat in his chest and eyes twinkle in curiousity. Stirring the rotund vegetables in the pot and expertly crushing them with the blunt tip of the wooden spoon had him sit up attentively in his seat, watching you as you attend to the sauce from muscle memory alone.

He was in awe, perplexed, and intrigued.

Each time you would move on to another element of the dish, Killer would move a little closer. Each time your back was turned, he would perch himself just a little more towards the simmering pot. When you moved to the pantry to decide which shape of pasta to begin to boil, you could barely make out the shape of Killer's mask being partially elevated over his lips and nose by one large hand. Using a fresh spoon, he dips it into the sauce and puckers his purple-tinted lips and extends a breath of cool air to stifle the heat.

As soon as the first drops meet his tongue, he can't help the soft moan that escapes him at the flavor. Upon your return with a bag of penne in hand, you are immediately hoisted into the air with Killer's hands beneath your arms. Gently spinning you before placing you on the ground, he claps his arms over your shoulders and leans down closer. The purple hue of his lips is stretched up in a smile, his joy at your sauce immediately having him taken aback and fullfilled in the knowledge that he now has the answer he desperately seeks.

"Teach me. Please."

And who were you to deny him? It was a family recipe, and this crew aboard the Victoria Punk was your new family. Gently raising one of your hands to cup over his on your shoulder, you crinkle your nose at him and nod with a smile to match his own.

"Yes, chef."

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady