#please ignore how crunchy the pictures look

[aster-aspera]

I'm really late with this but here's my boy who is so, so doomed by the narrative

[spiderfunkz]

✧.* FLOUR N COOKIES.

— summary : when baking cookies with natasha turns into a flour fight.

— word count : 0,6k

— warnings : fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, nat & reader live together, flour fights, pet names, nat being a tease.

a/n : it's october so the autumn-y fics r here !! also i am a firm believer that nat struggles to do basic cooking.

baking was something you've always loved to do, since ever. you loved the process of buying the ingredients, picking the flavours, toppings, decorations, everything.

you especially loved baking for other people. it's your way of showing that you love and care for them, a love language sort of.

and it's always been a tradition for you to bake fall cookies for your friends. today, you were baking them for clint.

it was the perfect time to bake. the weather was perfect, it was foggy but not too foggy since you could still see the reflection of sunlight. the music was playing in the background, and nothing could possibly ruin this you thought.

tying your apron, natasha walks in to help.

"you look good in that apron." she smirks.

you ignore the comment as you grab the eggs from the fridge. "stay focused, we need to finish these cookies."

"well, i'm more or so thinking that you should wear that apron more often." she teases. "these cookies are for clint. realistically, you should be taking the lead." you reply.

"i've never baked before."

"ever? in your entire life? not even once?"

"i'm pretty sure that's what the word never means." — "do you at least know how to crack open an egg?"

you were met with silence. is she serious?

"just crack these eggs to that bowl, please." you point. "like this?" she asks.

you stare at her in disbelief. she seems confused, possibly wondering what she did wrong.

"you know, maybe, without, the eggshells."

she looks down at the bowl, "i think we should leave it. crunchy cookies, you know? it adds more protein, so it's healthy." she awkwardly smiles.

"whatever, i'll just pick the eggshells out." you carefully grab the slippery shells.

"soooo.. what's next?" she wipes the egg residue on her pants. "i'll whisk the wet ingredients, you can help me by grabbing the flour and baking soda."

natasha nods, as she grabs the ingredients you asked for from the cabinets above. "you know i've always wanted to do this with someone." she says, toying with the bag of flour.

"yeah well, this feels more like a me effort instead of a team effort." you state. "there's no me in team." natasha replies.

"yes there is. there's an 'e' and an 'm'." you stated.

"you're so smart, detka. keep blabbering. see what happens."

was that a threat? you look up from the bowl to see her grab a handful of flour. "put that down. don't get closer." you commanded.

"or what?" — "or the cookies won't get done, and clint will have over-floured cookies."

natasha shuffles forward.

"nat. i swear. i just cleaned the floor this morning."

"i'm not even moving."

"i can see you shuffling towards me."

"i'm standing very still. actually, here, catch!" she throws the flour to you. your clean apron was now covered in flour.

"oh you are so gonna regret that, natasha."

you swiftly grab a handful of flour from the bag, throwing it right on her black top.

natasha gasps, before throwing another handful to your direction.

this went on for a good minute before natasha finally stopped it by grabbing the bag from you.

"okay, okay! time out. i've got to take a picture of you, you look like a ghost!"

"really? because you should really look in the mirror, natasha. i can barely make out the red in your hair right now."

she glances at the reflection of the fridge. "that's. rude."

"who looks like a ghost now?"

"you still do. if i poured the mixture on you with chocolate chips and put you in the oven, would you become a cookie?" she jokes.

"don't you dare mess with the mixture."

"don't worry, love. i'd still love you if you were a cookie." natasha smiles.

[rustboxstarr]

Grocery Store

Pairings: Eddie Munson X Plus size Girlfriend Reader,

Warnings: Fluff, slightly suggestive (if you squint)

Summary: Getting back at your ex when you run into him in the grocery store

A/N: For all my dumpees who just picture getting back at your ex w/ someone new, this is for u!

Wordcount: 1 k

Masterlist

You stood in the aisle skimming the breakfast serials in front of you, one hand on the rolling cart as the other held onto your handbag. Crunchy nut? Coco pops? Cinnamon crunch? It was hard to decide, you were easy to please when it came to most food but Eddie was particularly fussy with his serial. Yet he’s left you to pick a box while he ran off to pick up condoms, remembering quickly you’d used the last one this morning and scuttling off. 

“Ohh front loops! Please!” You heard a girly voice beg, you ignored the people in the aisle as you continued looking for the perfect cereal. 

“God no, pick something not completely made of chemicals” you heard a deeper voice react. That voice sounded familiar… you pulled your gaze away from the feral and glanced at the couple down the aisle. 

Fuck

It was your ex boyfriend, ugh he just had to be here right now. You quickly looked back but unfortunately before you could escape the scene a voice was heard “y/n?” You closed your eyes and clenched your fists, before turning around on your heels. 

“Heyyy Carl” you groaned in your mind. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” 

You frowned, wasn’t that obvious. “I’m shopping?” You gestured towards your cart. “No yeah obviously, I just mean, you don’t live here?” 

Before you had time to answer a short blond chewing gum stuck her hand out “hey I’m Amanda, Carl’s girlfriend” 

You looked down at her hand and reluctantly shook it slightly “Y/n” you told her. “I know” 

Great so he had talked about you, you weren’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I uh I would invite you to have lunch with us.. but I know how you don’t like third wheeling” he averted his gaze. 

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I don’t like third wheeling, ugh bite me. 

Just as you were about to answer a hand slunk around your waist “hey babe, uh who’s this?” Eddie asked as he tightened his grip, pulling you to his side. 

Carl frowned slightly at the sight, he was clearly under the impression that you hadn’t been able to find a replacement for him. 

“Eddie this is Carl” 

“Carl?” Eddie asked, pretending not to know who he was when in reality he knew every little detail. 

“He’s the guy I dated before you” you couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend. 

“Ahh that Carl” he leaned down obviously intending to whisper to you but failing completely “now I see what you meant by upgrade” you froze as your eyes widened, shoving him slightly.

You cleared your throat “Carl this is uh this is my boyfriend” you told him. Carl frowned slightly. 

Eddie freed his hand by throwing the box of condoms into the cart and sticking his hand out “Hi, Eddie” he introduced himself. 

Carl leaned over and shook his hand, clearly taken aback when his eyes scanned over the cart and read the words on the box Eddie had just thrown in. 

Magnum Condoms, pack of 50. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh uh, yeah this is Amanda” he gestured towards his girlfriend who he was now holding hands with. 

Eddie greeted her with a simple hi. He wasn’t keen on staying long, it was slightly uncomfortable and he wasn’t one for chit chats with girlfriends ex boyfriends and opted for the wing to you “find any good cereal?” He asked. 

You felt just a smidge cocky and looked up at him “how about froot loops?” You asked, a slight grin creeping onto your face. 

“Sounds good” he smiled “where are they?” 

“I’ll go get them” you would have taken any chance to leave that conversation and quickly walked down the aisle to pick up a box of front loops. 

You tossed them in the cart and was immediately under Eddie's hold again. “Good girl” he smirked, kissing you on the lips. You blushed slightly. 

“Alrighty” he clapped his hands together “lovely meeting you, Carl was it?” 

“Uh yeah” 

“Yes, well lovely meeting you, and your lovely girlfriend, but we best be going, we have plans, promised this one I’d take her shopping” he grinned “gotta take any chance to spoil your girl right?” 

Carl laughed nervously, he barely ever spent money on himself and he sure as hell didn’t spend it on someone else. “Course” he chuckled nervously. 

You raised your eyebrows at him as if to say “yeah sure big guy” a look that he was quick to look away from. 

“Well have a nice day” Eddie pulled at the cart, turning it around and slipped his hand back around your waist, walking away from the couple. Just as you turned the corner you heard Amanda’s squeaky voice “why don’t you ever take me shopping?” 

Eddie snorted slightly. “So” you nudged his side with your elbow “do this a lot Munson?” You chuckled. “Do what?” He pretended to be innocent. “Oh you know, lie to help your girlfriend get back at her ex?” 

“Hey, I didn’t lie, I’m a man of my word, which is why I’m taking u shopping after this” he grinned. You smiled brightly at him as he pointed a finger down at you “on one condition” 

“Hit me” 

“We’re going to twilfit, and I’m picking the outfit” you rolled your eyes at him, grasping onto his bicep and giving him a kiss.

---

Obvi he aint taking u to fkn victoria secret, he loves his big girl, he treatin her to twilfit!

[deafeningmoontragedy]

Grocery Store

Pairings: Eddie Munson X Plus size Girlfriend Reader,

Warnings: Fluff, slightly suggestive (if you squint)

Summary: Getting back at your ex when you run into him in the grocery store

A/N: For all my dumpees who just picture getting back at your ex w/ someone new, this is for u!

Wordcount: 1 k

You stood in the aisle skimming the breakfast serials in front of you, one hand on the rolling cart as the other held onto your handbag. Crunchy nut? Coco pops? Cinnamon crunch? It was hard to decide, you were easy to please when it came to most food but Eddie was particularly fussy with his serial. Yet he’s left you to pick a box while he ran off to pick up condoms, remembering quickly you’d used the last one this morning and scuttling off. 

“Ohh front loops! Please!” You heard a girly voice beg, you ignored the people in the aisle as you continued looking for the perfect cereal. 

“God no, pick something not completely made of chemicals” you heard a deeper voice react. That voice sounded familiar… you pulled your gaze away from the feral and glanced at the couple down the aisle. 

Fuck

It was your ex boyfriend, ugh he just had to be here right now. You quickly looked back but unfortunately before you could escape the scene a voice was heard “y/n?” You closed your eyes and clenched your fists, before turning around on your heels. 

“Heyyy Carl” you groaned in your mind. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” 

You frowned, wasn’t that obvious. “I’m shopping?” You gestured towards your cart. “No yeah obviously, I just mean, you don’t live here?” 

Before you had time to answer a short blond chewing gum stuck her hand out “hey I’m Amanda, Carl’s girlfriend” 

You looked down at her hand and reluctantly shook it slightly “Y/n” you told her. “I know” 

Great so he had talked about you, you weren’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I uh I would invite you to have lunch with us.. but I know how you don’t like third wheeling” he averted his gaze. 

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I don’t like third wheeling, ugh bite me. 

Just as you were about to answer a hand slunk around your waist “hey babe, uh who’s this?” Eddie asked as he tightened his grip, pulling you to his side. 

Carl frowned slightly at the sight, he was clearly under the impression that you hadn’t been able to find a replacement for him. 

“Eddie this is Carl” 

“Carl?” Eddie asked, pretending not to know who he was when in reality he knew every little detail. 

“He’s the guy I dated before you” you couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend. 

“Ahh that Carl” he leaned down obviously intending to whisper to you but failing completely “now I see what you meant by upgrade” you froze as your eyes widened, shoving him slightly.

You cleared your throat “Carl this is uh this is my boyfriend” you told him. Carl frowned slightly. 

Eddie freed his hand by throwing the box of condoms into the cart and sticking his hand out “Hi, Eddie” he introduced himself. 

Carl leaned over and shook his hand, clearly taken aback when his eyes scanned over the cart and read the words on the box Eddie had just thrown in. 

Magnum Condoms, pack of 50. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh uh, yeah this is Amanda” he gestured towards his girlfriend who he was now holding hands with. 

Eddie greeted her with a simple hi. He wasn’t keen on staying long, it was slightly uncomfortable and he wasn’t one for chit chats with girlfriends ex boyfriends and opted for the wing to you “find any good cereal?” He asked. 

You felt just a smidge cocky and looked up at him “how about froot loops?” You asked, a slight grin creeping onto your face. 

“Sounds good” he smiled “where are they?” 

“I’ll go get them” you would have taken any chance to leave that conversation and quickly walked down the aisle to pick up a box of front loops. 

You tossed them in the cart and was immediately under Eddie's hold again. “Good girl” he smirked, kissing you on the lips. You blushed slightly. 

“Alrighty” he clapped his hands together “lovely meeting you, Carl was it?” 

“Uh yeah” 

“Yes, well lovely meeting you, and your lovely girlfriend, but we best be going, we have plans, promised this one I’d take her shopping” he grinned “gotta take any chance to spoil your girl right?” 

Carl laughed nervously, he barely ever spent money on himself and he sure as hell didn’t spend it on someone else. “Course” he chuckled nervously. 

You raised your eyebrows at him as if to say “yeah sure big guy” a look that he was quick to look away from. 

“Well have a nice day” Eddie pulled at the cart, turning it around and slipped his hand back around your waist, walking away from the couple. Just as you turned the corner you heard Amanda’s squeaky voice “why don’t you ever take me shopping?” 

Eddie snorted slightly. “So” you nudged his side with your elbow “do this a lot Munson?” You chuckled. “Do what?” He pretended to be innocent. “Oh you know, lie to help your girlfriend get back at her ex?” 

“Hey, I didn’t lie, I’m a man of my word, which is why I’m taking u shopping after this” he grinned. You smiled brightly at him as he pointed a finger down at you “on one condition” 

“Hit me” 

“We’re going to twilfit, and I’m picking the outfit” you rolled your eyes at him, grasping onto his bicep and giving him a kiss.

---

Obvi he aint taking u to fkn victoria secret, he loves his big girl, he treatin her to twilfit!

[bangtansmauyeondan]

Midnight’s Minuet | Part 12 - Not Tony Montana (Text Between Images)

Pairing: Yoongi x Fem Reader

Genre: Strangers to Enemies to Friends to ???, social media au, chef au, musician au, slow burn, fluff, implied smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Summary: While gallivanting around the world pursuing his love for music and architecture, Yoongi was forced to come back home when Seokjin, his older brother, asked him for help to run the family business. Having been born with a silver spoon, Yoongi longed for a bit of normalcy and independence; hence, agreeing with Seokjin’s request didn’t come without any of his own conditions— first, he’s going to oversee the hotel’s kitchen; second, he’s gonna let him live a normal life— no luxury cars, no high-rise building apartment, no special treatment. Yoongi was pleased that everything seemed to be going well with his return… until he met you, the roadblock to everything his brother has agreed to.

TAGLIST: @persphonesorchid @jayhope88 @thatbangtanjagiya @halesandy @sugakookies0613 @pinkseokchim @superrmins @belladaises @ygbubs @potatoandfries @cherrybubblesandvodka @pinkseokchim @sope-and-shine @pamzn

•••••••••

“Hey Jeon…” you entered the kitchen before placing a brown paper bag on the counter. “Tested some tangerine and blood orange galette last night. You’ll love it.”

“Ohh smells good already and I haven’t even opened the bag!” Jungkook grinned as he continued chopping the vegetables across Yoongi who’s been portioning slabs of pork belly.

“Smells good indeed,” Yoongi quipped without looking at you. “It tasted gre— uh, I mean I’m pretty sure it tastes great too.” You shrugged, ignoring his comment before making your way to the other side of the kitchen where Taehyung was already busy laminating the dough for the croissant. “How many slices do you need for the suyuk?”

“I could do with three for now, chef.”

“Aish. Stop being formal with me. Call me Yoongi hyung, yeah?” Jungkook flashed Yoongi his bunny smile. “You got everything you need?”

"Right on! We need apples. We need apples to make it tasty.” Jungkook turned on his heel and made a beeline to the industrial walk-in fridge to retrieve some apples for his suyuk. He wasted no time in slicing the apples and deseeding them against his bare hands.

“Ooh nice! Look at those knife skills!” Yoongi praised his sous chef. Jungkook quartered the apples, not being able to resist taking a bite of the crunchy fruit. “Is the apple good?”

“Do you want a slice?”

“No,” Yoongi shook his head. “I was just wondering if it was good. You seem like you're enjoying it.” Yoongi cleared his throat before asking Jungkook the thing that has been swirling inside his head. “So… are you and Chef Park a thing?”

Jungkook’s already big doe eyes widened like saucers at Yoongi’s question. “Yn? Oh no no. We’re not dating.”

“Huh…” Yoongi nodded, unconvinced.

“We really are not dating, hyung.”

“Taehyung?”

“Not either. They’re good friends. Their friendship goes all the way back in college, built this business together and you know, it’s working.” Jungkook put down his knife, crossed his arm and leaned back against the counter, grinning smugly at Yoongi. “Why do you ask?” He wiggled his eyebrows at him too. “Are you interested?”

A/N - Get it?? NOT Tony Montana? 🤣 Also, if you’re able to picture the exact Yoongi/Jungkook scenario in the written part… you probably miss In the Soop too. 🥹 What do you think is the “consultation” about?

[xamassed]

Because I got bored and these are perfect.

Leviathan: Slash gamemode creative. Satan: Dude, this isn't Min- Leviathan: *starts levitating*

Mammon: I think this might be a bad idea... Lucifer: Don't start thinking on me now!

Belphegor: It's called cauliflower, not ghost broccoli. Mammon, eyes wide: I know what I saw.

Beelzebub: How did none of you hear what I just said?! Leviathan: I've been zoned out for the past two and a half hours. Asmodeus: I got distracted halfway through. Satan: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

Mammon: *shatters a window and climbs through it* Mammon: *turns around and helps Belphegor through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Belphegor. Belphegor: Okay.

Asmodeus: It's locked. You got a lock pick? Leviathan: Yeah- Beelzebub: *kicks in the door*

Satan: Can you name a single city in Oklahoma? Mammon: Oklahoma City, bitch!

Lucifer: Forgive me Father, for I have sinny-sin-sinned.

Beelzebub: Do you have a self-care routine? Asmodeus: "Keep going bitch" said to myself in different accents.

Beelzebub: You know what I learned from my friendship with Satan? Mammon: There’s no such thing as too mean? Belphegor: Never let your friends know for sure if you like them? Leviathan: Always hold a grudge?

Satan: Thanks for opening my message and not responding. Beelzebub: All good bro, any time. Satan: Fuck you.

Lucifer: Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm? Belphegor: If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.

Satan: I think it's time to start fucking some shit up. Lucifer: Oh no. Satan: More like "oh yes!"

Asmodeus: You're alive. Leviathan: There's no need to sound so disappointed.

Beelzebub: *raises eyebrows* Mammon: Put those back down!

Lucifer: I hate you. Mammon: Well, according to this picture I drew of us holding hands, that is untrue.

Mammon: Ah shit, I forgot. Lucifer: Forgot what? Mammon: How do you expect me to answer that?

Belphegor: When's the last time you slept? Lucifer: Uh... a few days ago, I think. Belphegor: A few- how many?! Lucifer: Uh... *starts counting on fingers* I need more fingers... Belphegor: What you need is sleep!

Leviathan: What’s your biggest fear? Satan: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone. Asmodeus: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back. Mammon: Zombies. Satan: ... Asmodeus: ... Mammon: BUT they can open doors.

Lucifer: Adulting is hard. Lucifer: How do I quit? Satan: Time travel. Belphegor: Die.

Leviathan: How does one turn their emotions off? Beelzebub: Okay, so first go to settings. Beelzebub: I'm a fucking idiot, I thought that said emojis at first. Leviathan: No, I'm still willing to try this, go ahead. I'm at settings, what do I do next?

Mammon: The last time I went to an urgent care clinic, I checked off 'excessive crying' on the symptom list, and then the nurse got really confused and said that was meant for babies.

Satan, to Lucifer: If you can ever manage to get over yourself, I would highly recommend being me.

Leviathan: I still don’t have a New Year’s resolution. Asmodeus: You could lose a few. Satan: You could be less lazy. Beelzebub: Don’t be such a bitch. Leviathan: Okay DAMN, SHIT.

Mammon: Why is Beelzebub crying? Satan: They saw a leaf on the sidewalk and- Beelzebub: IT LOOKED SO CRUNCHY! Mammon: Please don’t say what I think you’re gonna say- Beelzebub: AND WHEN I STEPPED ON IT THERE WAS NO CRUNCH! Mammon: NO, NOT THAT!

Mammon: Is it just me or is instant ramen even better uncooked? Satan: It’s just you.

Asmodeus: We’re kind of missing something guys. Leviathan: Cohesion? Lucifer: Teamwork? Belphegor: A general sense of what we’re doing? Beelzebub: And Mammon is not here. Leviathan: Oh, and that, yeah.

Belphegor: Where have you been all day? Mammon: Oh, just dealing with things way beyond my maturity level.

Belphegor: *points at Beelzebub* A human turtleneck, *points at Lucifer* a narcissistic monster, *points at Mammon* and literally the dumbest person I’ve ever met. Mammon: And who am I? Describe me now.

Mammon: I’ve invited you here because I crave the deadliest game... Satan, nodding: Knife Monopoly. Mammon: I was actually going to play Russian roulette, but now I'm really interested in whatever knife Monopoly is.

Lucifer: Why would I flip my shit about that? Beelzebub: Because you flip your shit about everything. Lucifer: Well, will you look at this. Here is my shit, and yet it remains unflipped. Just sitting there on the skillet, getting burned on one side. It’s a miracle.

Cop: You ran a red light. Mammon: So did you, hypocrite. Cop: I was following you. Mammon: That was dumb, I'm a terrible driver. Cop: Get out.

Leviathan: If I fall down these stairs, I'm just going to lay down and accept my fate.

Lucifer: How long do you think it'll take? Leviathan: I don’t know, three or four. Lucifer: Three or four what? Days? Weeks? Months? Leviathan: Yeah, maybe five. Lucifer: Five what?!

Asmodeus: Are you drinking enough water? Leviathan: Sometimes my tears get in my mouth.

Mammon: I’m the sexiest bitch in this therapy waiting room.

Mammon: Am I right, Lucifer? Lucifer: I’m almost certain you’re not, but to be fair, I wasn’t listening.

Satan: Is this a good idea? Satan: Probably not. Satan: Do I care? Satan: No.

Mammon: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

Mammon: Do you ever feel bugs on you when really there’s nothing there? Leviathan: Those are the ghosts of the bugs you killed before. Mammon: Mammon: *sobs* Lucifer: You fucking scared them, you idiot.

Lucifer: I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t gotten arrested, let alone gotten a felony yet. Belphegor: Nat 20 Charisma. Lucifer: That is NOT how that works-

Beelzebub: I’m so excited! Leviathan: We’re gonna have the best costumes, get the most candy... Beelzebub: And have the biggest stomach aches ever! Leviathan: Yeah!

Lucifer: Dammit, Mammon, you ruined everything! Mammon: You’re welcome.

Leviathan: Hey Mammon, do you wanna help us? Mammon: Oh, I would... but I don’t want to.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Don’t-  Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: I TRIED SOMETHING NEW, SO I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!

WARNING- SMUT, 18+ MATERIAL. DO NOT READ UNDER THE AGE OF 18

This mission was different than most, only four of you had been chosen to dive into the world of Hydra and attempt to extract valuable information to take Hydra down. Steve and Buck were on the other side of the compound while Sam and yourself were on the other side attempting to breach the communication center to take over their eyes and ears.

Bullets whizzed past your head as you turned down a darkened hallway, the gasp that escaped your lips seemed deadly as you reloaded you weapon. You could hear the assailants getting closer to your corner as you continued to reload as fast as your human body could move. You may be assassin but you could only move so quickly.

As you went to make your move, aiming for their heads. Sam went to pull you back, in his eyes back to safety, in yours to be a pain in the ass.

“Let me go, now.” You gritted through your teeth as his grip loosened, you went to turn the corner again but only came face to face with Bucky and Steve. They had taken down every assailant before turning to you, taking in your annoyed expression.

The glare you were sending their way was fatal, they did this every single time. Every time they thought you wouldn’t be able to handle the heat on your own. So of course, this is nothing different, but this time you weren’t biting your tongue about it.

“I had it; you should have let me finish this damn mission.” You grunted, pushing past them before making your way to the Quinjet.

You sat in your seat, running your battered hands through your long hair. You could feel blood running down your cheeks, most likely from a cut on your forehead, as your hair kept sticking to it.

“Dammit” You said, throwing your gear across the Quinjet, the anger still radiating off of you as you heard the guys loading their stuff back onto the jet before heading back to Stark Tower.

“You good?” Sam asked as he took a seat next to you before Bucky and Steve loaded up.

You were holding back tears as you looked at him, “Honestly- no. I am so over feeling un-helpful when I know I’m good at my job. I know I can do this. But he thinks I can’t- The fucking Winter Solider, my own damn boyfriend thinks I can’t do my own job. And now I am too the point I want to leave.” You said, a single tear running down your cheek as you made eye contact with Sam.

He just gave you this look of sadness, “Don’t do that, you can’t leave.”

“Can’t leave what?” Bucky said trying to catch your eyes and you looked to the floorboards. He was trying to read your face, but you weren’t going to give anything away- not to him.

“None of your business, Barnes” You hissed at him as he sulked into his seat next to Steve as the Quinjet was being fired up.

You just closed your eyes trying not to focus on the events of today, you just wanted to be back at the tower and in your room away from everyone else.

Before you knew it the Quinjet was touching down again, the rough landing drew you from your slumber. You looked around checking your surroundings before gathering your things.

You quickly stepped out of the jet, making your way to your room. You were halfway off the helipad before someone grabbed your arm, spinning you towards them.

Of course, it was no other than Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, the man who you love when he doesn’t turn into a complete ass.

“What is the problem? I saved you ass back there” He said, glaring down at me.

“You- you are my fucking problem” You said, tearing your arm away from him and made your way back to your room in the tower.

You could not make it to your room faster, the door sliding behind you brought the blissful silence that you so deeply needed. A loud sigh escaped past your lips as you laid down your gear, carefully stripping off your uniform. Gasping as it slipped past a large bruise forming on your upper shoulder.

You made your way to your large bathroom, turning the shower on the steam quickly filling the large space. Looking in the mirror, you took in your appearance. An expansive cut was your forehead, dried blood stuck to your forehead and cheeks, even the evidence of a black eye forming.

A sigh escaped your lips as you stepped under the steaming water, the hot feeling good on your bruised and battered body. The water slowly turning a reddish-brown color due to the blood streaming off your body.

Closing your eyes, you just thought about the mission and how you wish it had gone differently. You knew you could handle the mission, but of course Buck thought you can’t do anything without breaking a nail or accidentally shooting yourself in the foot.

You just shook your head trying to focus on anything else but the mission and how you were being treated. The bubbles from your shampoo mixed with the steamy water, as you just tried to relax.

Could you really step away from the Avengers? Could you really just leave this new world? Could you step away from Bucky forever?

You left out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in as you turned the water off, your stomach growled as you dried yourself off. Trying to think about what tomorrow could bring, you threw on your pajamas, also meaning shorts and a large hoodie with fuzzy socks.

You tossed your wet hair over your shoulder as you made your way to the kitchen, just praying that everyone was still in their rooms or even better asleep. You could hear the peanut butter calling your name as you rounded the corner, only to come face to face with the one person you were trying to avoid.

“Hey Baby” He said, looking up from his files that were spread around the kitchen island, multiple pictures of former Hydra members scattered around with their own individual files.

You barely looked at him as you opened the kitchen cabinet, pulling out the crunchy peanut butter and a spoon. Leaning against the counter you just kept sparing him looks as his brow was scrunched together as he read more of his files.

“You want to stop looking at me or are you going to talk to me?” He grumbled at you, looking up from his files. The bruising on his face was noticeable, and so was the split lip he was sporting. Clearly you weren’t the only one who had some reminders of today’s mission.

You just smirked at him, you were annoyed with him and you weren’t going to engage in whatever he thought he was going to get away with saying to you.

Placing your spoon in the sink, you started to stroll back out of the kitchen just barely passing Bucky. You felt his metal hand wrap around your wrist, making you stop in place.

“I don’t want to talk to you” You said bluntly, trying to pull your already bruised wrist out of his cold hand.

“Well too bad- we need to talk about today. Cause you clearly have some kind of problem with me and how I do my job on missions” He said, turning towards you before standing to his feet causing you to step back as his height overtook your small frame.

“I don’t want to talk about this with you. I have absolutely nothing to say about today. I don’t want to talk to you, okay? Get that through your head please. I am so tired of people trying to protect me and keep me from doing my job. So please- leave me the hell alone Buck.” You said, standing your ground. It was a clear a fight was coming, and you didn’t have the energy to even try to defend yourself or your actions.

“I was trying to protect you! And everyone else on that mission, that is something we need to talk about. Not you ignore me because you’re mad at me cause I stepped in your way. You know I couldn’t live with myself if something was to happen to you.” He said, trying to step towards you more but you kept stepping back away from him.

“Are you kidding me? You think you are so high and mighty, and you aren’t Bucky. You aren’t as special as you think you are! I was perfectly fine until you stepped in my way! I know how to do my job, but I cannot do it when you are all over me.” You finally screamed at him, clearly frustrated by the man you had come to care and love.

“Maybe next time don’t try and get yourself killed! Then maybe I wouldn’t be so obligated to come save your stupid ass” He screamed back, watching the tears stream down your face.

You let out a deep breath, tears continuing to dampen your flustered cheeks, you turned towards the door attempting to walk away from this toxic situation.

You wanted nothing more than to escape this tower, escape from him and his ego. You were just so done.

Before you could pass through the doorway- his metal hand wrapped around your bruised wrist, spinning you close into his chest.

“Let me go Bucky” The anger evident in your voice and you attempted to pull your wrist away from him.

His eyes darkened as he looked at you, analyzing every feature of your face before speaking.

“That’s Sargent to you.” A smirk appearing on his face as he closed the distant between you, his lips on yours as the metallic taste of blood danced on your tongue from his split lip.

A slight moan escaped from your lips as the kiss continued to intensify, you gently pulled at his matted hair causing a guttural sound to escape his lips. His lips pulled away slowly looking for the sweet spot under your jaw that makes you go crazy.

“Oh Buck…” You moaned loudly, your voice bouncing off the kitchen walls. It would like your moan was in utter surround sound.

He pulled away, darkened eyes looking deep into your eyes before speaking in a low tone, “That’s not my name angel.”

You leaned in close, your hot breath hitting his ear, “Oh I’m sorry…. Sargent Barnes”

A shutter rippled through his body as he threw you over his shoulder, making his way over to Tony’s new and very expensive couch. Tossing you down, the armrest digging into your bruised back, only causing a moan to escape from you.

“Tony is going to kill us…” You moaned as he rutted his hips against yours, slowly grinding against your clothed heat. But that only added to the pleasure as you were already dripping wet.

“I don’t care” He silently moaned against your ear, as he found his way to your sweet spot under your jaw once again. Leaving a liter of hickey’s as he made his way down your body, slowly stripping you of your hoodie. Your nipples becoming hard as the cold air rushed onto your exposed skin.

A low moan escaped from you as he made his way down your neck before working his way to your breasts. He shot you a small glance as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, the contact sending your eyes to roll back into your head. The pleasure taking over your body, you were ready to give everything to this man.

You grinded your hips against his, your juices continuing to leak from you as you were a moaning mess under him. He made his way back up to your lips, kissing them so gently as he stripped off his shirt, and began to remove your shorts which barely covered anything.

You let out a shaky breath as he grazed your clit with his metal fingers, which only caused a ripple of pleasure to travel through you. He couldn’t help but smirk at the bucking of your hips.

“You’re leaking baby” He said, rubbing his thumb across your clit almost too slow for your liking. He knew exactly what he was doing as he continued to press his thumb into your clit, as he slowly enters two fingers into your leaking cunt. You couldn’t help yourself as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pleasure building inside of you.

Your legs began to tremble as your orgasm was quickly approaching, you could hear the wet sounds of your cunt as he continued to press his fingers deep inside of you, hitting your most sensitive spot.

“Please- I’m gonna…Sargent…” You began to pant out as your legs continue to tremble even more.

“Go.” Was all he had to say before you came undone under him, you became a mess of moans as you felt your cunt pulse around his fingers as he continued to pump in and out of you.

“I need you…” You said as you grinded your leaking cunt against his hand even more, he couldn’t help but groan as he fished his thick length out of his sweats. His tip was swollen, and red with precum started to leak.

He stroked himself a few times before guiding himself to your opening, stretching your cunt to accommodate his size. He gave you no time to adjust before he began thrusting into you at a fast speed.

The frantic pace was too much for your pleasure riddled body as you could feel your cunt started to pulse again, your orgasm was only seconds away. You arched your back as the orgasm began to overwhelm your body, sending your eyes straight back into your head.

He threw his head back as he felt his high approaching, he just took in the glorious appearance under him as you continued to fall apart under him.

“I’m close” He moaned as he continued to hit your sensitive spot with such force, only causing the pleasure to increase even more.  

“Fill me up....” Was all you worked out in-between your panting. He smiled down at you before snapping his hips one more time, spilling hit warm seed deep inside of you. Only causing you to pulse even more around his throbbing dick.

He collapsed on top of you, just taking in this moment and taking in you.

“I love you… only you” You said as you pushed his matted, sweaty hair out of his face. A smile appeared on his face, as he pressed his lips to yours, hard.

“I love you so much” He said, brushing your wet hair out of your face, taking in every feature as he continued to study you.

You opened your mouth to say something when a voice came over the loudspeaker, “Mr. Stark would like to inform you that you owe him a new couch And also to say that was more than disturbing”

You both couldn’t help but laugh as the loudspeaker cut out again. In a world where the Winter Solider used to be nothing but a killer. Here he is now, in all his glory as the one man who would do anything to keep your safe.

TAGLIST FOR MARVEL:

@ghostofreggie @imsydneywalker @thee-ava-mariee​ @dancethroughthethunder

[chiliiscereal]

Here’s your GIF for the writing challenge!

Prompt: “I thought I’d find you out here.”

Good luck and thanks for participating!💛

Thanks for responding @crossbowking !!

I’ll do my best :D

Setting: right after The bridge is exploded by Rick

Pairing: Daryl x Grimes! reader because... fun lol idk he’s supposed to be helping Ricks kid by stepping up as a sort of parental guardian figure cause I’m a sucker for it. I just love family bonding haha. Also adding in when Henry and Carol visit Daryl for funsies

Summary: reader notices Daryl trying to close himself off and ends up following him into the woods before he takes off on his own.

Type: angst but also fluff

—————————

Your dad was gone.

Just like that.

He was gone, Carl was gone, and so was the bridge that he thought would bring the Alexandrians and Saviors together.

That day was the first time you’d seen your dads best friend cry. Unfortunately, Daryl was gone before you could even talk to him. He’d walked into the woods. Alone.

You thought you’d give him some time. Everyone needed to grieve after all, and you knew Daryl did that best by himself. That’s what he did when Merle died.

But you weren’t that kind of person. You needed to be with people. You needed to feel less alone or else you’d crumble. Michonne was nowhere to be found. She’d been a good mother figure, but right now you had no idea which direction she even went in.

So you went out into the woods after Daryl when he didn’t come back two days later.

If Michonne were there she’d have stopped you and said you were too young to go out alone.

But your dad was dead and his brother was missing. So you went ahead anyway.

You walked quietly along the crunchy forest floor to where your dad had that work site set up. Maybe he’d be there. Wasn’t that where he last saw your father before things went south?

You were answered when you saw the light of a small fire illuminating the small bit of forest.

There sat the man himself, smoking a cigarette.

He scared you when you first met him. He’d been sitting at the fire with his brother much like how he was doing it now. Being only seven at the time, you thought he would be terrifying.

But he was the one who brought you home to your dad when you and Sophia got lost in the woods. He was there when you and Beth had lost the prison. He always made sure you returned safely to your family, taking on the role of almost an uncle.

He’d seemed so strong then.

Now he just looked... broken.

Lost.

“I knew I’d find you here.” You said quietly, catching his attention.

He drifted his gaze back to the fire quietly. “Ya ‘sposed ta be our here alone?”

You shrugged and sat down next to him. “Beats being alone back home. I can’t find Michonne, and Rosita’s taking care of Judith.”

You had no idea what else you should say. Should you just bring up your dad right away? Ease into the tough conversation? Ignore it completely?

Daryl said nothing.

“I guess Judith and I are the last of the Grimes family.” You pulled your knees to your chest, waiting to see if the man would respond.

Nothing.

“What do we do now?” You tried again. Maybe he’d react to a question.

Absolutely nothing again.

You turned to watch him, noticing the tears he was trying to hide by swiping them away quickly.

“It’s okay to miss him.” You told him softly. “He was your brother. You don’t need to hide your sadness.”

He glanced at you but still stayed quiet.

“Are you gonna close yourself off again?” You couldn’t help but blurt it out. “Because we can’t lose anymore family, okay? You have to be here with us or I don’t know how we’re gonna survive.”

He nodded softly. “I know.” He said, voice coming out raspy.

“Then why won’t you say anything? Or look at me?” Tears rolled down your face.

Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the fire. “Cause ya look so damn much like your father. Every time I see ya I see him blowin’ up that damn bridge.” He looked up at the sky, trying to blink away his tears.

“So you’re just gonna pretend I’m not even here?” You crossed your arms. “Everyone in Alexandria needs you. Judith needs you! Michonne needs you! I need you! I lost almost all of my family already! Don’t make me lose you as well!” Tears fell faster and faster down your face.

He pulled you into a hug quickly. “m’sorry, kid.”

You wrapped your arms around him as well. “Please don’t leave us! I don’t think I can take losing any more people!”

“Shit, kid, I ain’t even made sure yer alright. Even after yer old man...” he tightened his grip. “And yer brother... and mom...”

“We’re a broken family. I know. Just... don’t break it anymore than it already is?” You pleaded.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back, kid.”

“Then let me come with you!” You released him. “I know you’re trying to find my dad and see if he’s not actually dead! Or at least to find his body!”

“I can’t-.”

“Please. I need this just as much as you do.”

“Michonne would kill me.”

“Michonne left me alone in Alexandria. I think this would be fine by her.”

He glanced back at the fire, stuck in thought. “Fine.” He leaned back and draped his arm over your small shoulders, bringing you in for a side hug. “As long as ya do as I say, and listen ta me... you can come help me look for ya old man.”

You gave him a small grin. “Okay, deal.”

——-

One day turned into a week.

One week turned into a month.

One month turned into a year.

One year turned into five.

In that time neither of you found your dads body. You travelled all over, occasionally returning to keep in touch with the rest of your family.

You found a dog while you’d been out, and Daryl had taken to just calling it ‘dog’. You tried giving it a proper name but the older man even caught YOU calling it ‘dog’.

Michonne had been fine when you returned to gather more supplies. She thought it’d be good that Daryl would take care of someone else. After all, making sure you ate well and were safe meant that he had to eat well and stay safe.

Your little sister got bigger and bigger every day. Every time you saw her she knew more and more words.

You and Daryl has both fallen into a rhythm.

Wake up.

Eat.

Look for Rick.

Set new camp.

Hunt.

Visit Alexandria when given the chance.

Soon enough someone came along and messed up that rhythm.

Carol and some blonde boy.

A cute blonde boy.

Although, from what you could tell, he was a bit of an idiot.

“Would you mind if we stayed here before heading out to Woodbury again?” Carol asked, hand on the boys shoulder.

“‘Course.” Daryl nodded, wrapping the woman up in a hug. “Ain’t ever gonna tell you ya can’t stay.”

You watched the younger boys face carefully. He seemed... confused. Did Carol not tell him who Daryl was? Or who you were?

You walked over to Carol and pushed Daryl out of the way. “Stop hogging Carol! It’s my turn.” The man scoffed as you pulled the grey haired woman into your arms. “It’s good to see you again.”

She chuckled. “It’s good to see you again as well!” She pulled away and examined you. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“And your hairs gotten so long!” You laughed, holding it in your fingers. “I like it. It’s better than when you had buzzed hair.”

“Mom, you had buzzed hair?” The blond boy asked, eyes wide.

Your eyes went wide to. “‘Mom’? Did he just call you ‘mom’?”

She nodded. “This is Henry.” She waved him closer. “He’s going to Woodbury to train in becoming a blacksmith!”

Your heart panged a bit, almost feeling as if Carol had forgotten Sophia. “That’s... that’s great for you.” You nodded and tried to convince yourself it WAS great for her. “I’m glad.”

Needless to say, that night was incredibly awkward.

Carol was cutting Daryl’s hair so you were stuck with the new kid.

Did he even have any experience living outside the walls of the Kingdom?

Did he even know who Sophia was?

Who was he to come Into their camp and disrupt their new normal?

“So... how long you been staying in this camp?” He asked nervously.

You shrugged and tried not to look at him. “A while.” Maybe he’d go away if you didn’t talk to him.

“Very cool.” He nodded, hands fidgeting. “So why is it you and your dad aren’t staying in Alexandria? Or the Kingdom?”

Your heart felt as if it stopped. “My dad is DEAD, Henry.” You practically growled. “The reason I’m out here is to find his body.”

He held up his hands as if he were surrendering. “No need to bite my head off! How was I supposed to know you lost someone? I’m not a mind reader and you’re acting like a psychopath.”

Something inside you snapped. “I didn’t just lose SomeONE. I watched my mother die giving birth to my little sister! I watched my best friend walk out into the world as a walker after we spent DAYS looking for her! I lost my brother and had to watch him die after he was BITTEN!” By now you were standing, spitting at him your full fury. “I watched my dad get BLOWN TO PIECES when he exploded a bridge trying to keep walkers from attack out settlement! Everyone’s lost something! The only reason you didn’t know is cause you’ve spent your whole life sheltered in the kingdom playing the false role of a PRINCE!”

With that you stood up and walked off.

You knew you shouldn’t have snapped like that. You should have given him a chance. Maybe he was nice.

But he brought up her dad and called her crazy. He was so incredibly sheltered that he just expected to walk out into the world and NOT find it shattered!

You hadn’t ’t thought about your dad in a while.

Not really, anyway.

Sure, you looked for your dad every day, but you never really pictured him in your head while you did it.

Eventually, after a while of walking, you plopped down against a tree.

You stayed there as long as you dared.

Daryl has traps out in the woods that would catch walkers. You’d be fine.

After about fifteen minutes your racing thoughts were interrupted by the barking of a dog.

The brown haired animal walked up to you, tail wagging and tongue hanging from his mouth.

“Hey, dog.” You scratched behind his ear and buried your face in his fur.

Right now, you just needed some source of comfort.

“I knew I’d find ya here.” Daryl’s voice startled you. “Dog lead me right to ya.”

You didn’t even bother looking away from Dog. “Yeah, he’s a snitch.”

Daryl plopped down beside you in the grass. “Gonna tell me why ya yelled at Henry?”

You shook your head. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Well yer gonna tell me anyway.”

“He’s just... so incredibly sheltered! He was acting like nobody in this world has lost anybody! And when I got mad he called my a psychopath!” You held Dog closer. “I didn’t mean to snap at him. I couldn’t help it.”

Dog licked your cheek quietly.

“Kid, is this really about yer dad?” He placed a hand on your shoulder softly.

You nodded, still unable to break away from the furry animal cuddled against you.

“I know ya miss him an’ the rest ‘a yer family like hell.” He consoled. “I miss ‘em to. But ya can’t just snap at people like that. Ya still got family left.”

“That’s what you thought when you tried to leave me alone.” You grumbled.

“I thought I said no more snappin’ at people.”

“What are you, my dad?”

“Might as well be.” He stated. “Like it or not, yer my family now.” He squeezes your shoulder gently. “So ya gonna get yer face outta Dogs fur or ya just gonna stay there forever?”

You sniffed and reluctantly released Dog. “Ideally, is like to stay there forever.”

He chuckled dryly. “Ya can’t though. Ya got a life to live.”

“I know.”

“Come on then,” he stood up and helped you to your feet. “Let’s go get dinner then.”

You nodded and let him pull you into a hug. “Okay.”

You just wanted to stay like that forever.

But Daryl was right.

You had a life to live.

——

Requests are open! Just send me an ask :)

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #17

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Play of Color

Shaved ice.

A summer that everyone, from kids to adults, knew about. But how to say this in English? I’d never been taught that. Could I even say it to begin with?

The beautiful man responded clearly to my offhand doubts, “‘Shaved ice’. Other options such as ‘ice frost’ and ‘snow cone’ also go into the category, but if you are to to regard the context of ‘ice that was shaved’ as important, then I believe ‘shaved ice’ is appropriate.”

“I see, so it’s a direct translation for ‘ice that’s been shaved’. Got it... A-Aaah! Didn’t you put too much syrup? Ah—”

“I will add more ice.”

A rattling sound echoed through the jewelry shop, where there was nobody but the shopkeeper and his employee. Sitting on the tabletop was an ice shaving machine. As one would expect, we couldn’t commit the barbarianism of placing it directly on a glass table, so three cloths were stacked under the machine’s legs. It wasn’t the manual and nostalgic type but an electric one.

A customer had come over with a paper bag from a famous home appliances mass retailer and bought a glittering yellow diamond that they had reserved, but on this occasion, they ended up forgetting the bag from the electronics retail store. The shopkeeper immediately noticed it and contacted them by phone, but they were in the Narita Express, going straight to Bali for vacation. Apparently, they would only be coming back in the beginning of autumn. What luxury.

The customer who was heading to the southern island had casually said, “You can use it if you’d like—actually, please use it and tell me how it went”, then bid goodbye to Richard with a lighthearted voice and hung up. Inside the paper bag was a brand-new ice shaving machine. It also came with small syrup bags. Seven types of them. The mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones were a shock to me, as lived in a world of strawberry, melon and lemon ones. So people could enjoy even things like the pleasure of actually visiting stalls at home nowadays?

That was how we decided to choose at our own discretion a time on the following day when there were no reservations, and began holding a shaved ice party for just the two of us. However, when I said in a joking tone that I honestly never thought we’d really get to be the first ones to use something that a customer had forgotten, Mr. Richard Ranashinghe de Vulpian sighed grievously.

“After what happened yesterday, he contacted me to inform that he had arrived in Bali. He posted on social media, ‘I forgot my ice shaving machine, so I asked an acquaintance to try it out. I’m looking forward to it’, so it seems we need to take a video of the shaved ice as fast as possible. Think of this as also a kind of service.”

“There’s all sorts of jobs out there these days.”

Marketing that introduced new products on social media wasn’t something uncommon these days. But I heard that this sort of business was strict about many things, such as obligations and deadlines, so it might be serious stuff in its own way. I thought up until this point, but then my head whispered, “No, hold on” to me. If this was really the case, then bringing along an ice shaving machine immediately before going to Bali didn’t make any sense. Could it be...?

“Did that person leave this here on purpose? It’s clearly something that you can’t bring into an airplane and would get in the way during the trip.”

“That is possible. But it is not something for a single jeweler to judge. There is a possibility that they thought they would be able to enjoy shaved ice at a beach resort but were mistaken, and are now feeling down. Oh... oh, mgh...”

“Ah, the ice turned into water. Didn’t you put a tad too much syrup?”

“Nonsense. From the market price, it is obvious that the more syrup, the merrier.”

“You told that wholesaler who came to buy a ring with lots of decorative diamonds the other day that ‘more doesn’t equal better’, though.”

“Those are two different things,” he said in an eloquent, beautiful Japanese that sounded like it had been cut and trimmed, at which I prostrated myself with a “hahaa”.

Despite the force in his eyes being certain, he seemed to be having trouble putting an appropriate amount of syrup. When he put an abundant amount of the mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones all together, the ski slope-like white canvas turned into a color that looked like that of Shinjuku’s gutters during a downpour. Richard would surely call this shade of gray “smoky quartz” or something like that. The fluffy pile of ice was gone, leaving a sleet – or just plain water – in the glass bowl. It would’ve been fine if he had added them little by little, but on second thought, I was thinking this way because I was Japanese, so I was used to the way we added shaved ice syrup to some extent.

As the jeweler, not discouraged, put his bowl under the ice shaving machine, pressed the button and added more ice with crunchy noises, I called out to him, “Hey. Can you lend me that for a bit?”

“I do not mind.”

I took the bowl of water in my hands, adding the syrups of each type little by little. I felt like the jeweler was staring fixedly at me, like, “You’ll only use that tiny little bit of them? Seriously?” but I ignored him. As they said, the last drop makes the cup run over.

The result was...

“Tadaaah.”

A snowy mountain had changed its form into a richly colored shaved ice. I thought it was pretty good, if I could say so myself.

His eyelashes fluttering as he blinked for a moment, the gorgeous jeweler whispered, “Hoo. Excellent. Beautiful.”

“Well, being told that by someone who’s like an incarnation of the concept of beauty is flattering.”

“Ahem. Anyway, this color is extremely tasteful. It bears a close remembrance to ammolite.”

“‘Ammo... nite’?”

“Not ‘ni’, ‘li’. ‘Ammolite’. Ammolite is a gemstone that derivates from living creatures, of which the components obtain an iridescent effect during the many years of fossilization.” Saying this, Richard opened a video on his phone and handed it over to me. I exchanged it for the bowl of shaved ice as if it were an assembly-line system.

What appeared on-screen was a cross-section view of the ammonite. It was split vertically like a CT image taken at a hospital. The contents were a rainbow-colored stone that sparkled brightly. A gradation of red, green and yellow. It changed depending on what angle you looked at it. A while ago, when I heard about the opal, it was revealed to me that this kind of effect was called “play of color”. Still, to think that the inside of a shell could go through such a transition. There was too much depth to the things that happened in nature, and they were immeasurable.

“So can this be called... a stone too...?”

“This would be something that happened about forty years ago, but it was classified as a ‘gemstone’ by the Gemological Society of America. Of course, I do not think it should be pushed through, even if the costumer themselves happen to say that ‘this is a fossil’.”

It apparently depended on how you thought of it. Thinking back, this applied even to the general idea of gemstones.

I flicked the phone’s screen, head-over-heels for the prism-like shells that showed up one after another. Some people used them as pendants or brooches by processing the glittering part with gold.

“How pretty. Hey, do we also have ammolites here in Etrang... eh?”

“There is a possibility that we will one day. Something the matter?”

The beautiful jeweler had been scooping the shaved ice with a tiny spoon and eating it. He wasn’t eating it in a rushed way at all, but half of the iceberg was already gone. With perfect moderation, so that the proportion of the colors of the syrups that I had added one by one wouldn’t crumble.

“D-Did you like it that much?”

“I have never eaten shaved ice at Japanese stalls. Having a frozen desert in a refreshing place like this has a nostalgic air to it.”

He had never waged shaved ice at a stall. Did that mean he had eaten shaved ice at some fashionable shop? Probably not, I thought. A normal Japanese person wouldn’t eat shaved ice at that pace. The reason went without saying. This pace was – how should I put it? – dangerous.

“Richard, hey, listen well. Shaved ice is—”

“Why are you coming close?”

“I’m telling you something important. You have to eat shaved ice at a high pace.”

“But why are you shortening the distance between us? You are too close.”

“Don’t get hung up on minor stuff. More importantly, you already ate a lot of this shaved ice, right? Aren’t you tired of it? I can eat the rest.”

“It is terribly disconcerting to hear this from the father of this work of art, but I do not see any reason for that whatsoever, thus I humbly decline.”

“Aah! Don’t gulp it down! I said don’t gulp it down!”

“I am not. I do not eat that way.”

“Like I said, that’s not what I’m talking about...”

“It is impolite for me to eat by myself. Hurry and make yours to eat as well.”

“Whatever happens got nothing to do with me...”

Glancing backwards at the jeweler as he gave me an aloof nod, I began making my own shaved ice.

Later on, after Richard pleased the customer by sending them pictures of the shaved ice, he reported back to me. He probably reported because the pictures he had sent to the customer was of the shaved ice that I had made for myself, on which the colors were scattered in the form of a whirlwind. I smiled back, replying that I was glad, and not saying anything else. I also didn’t tell him that, by the time he remembered we had to do a photo shoot of it, the beautiful jeweler was making a face that looked like a boy having a worrisome migraine due to some anguish towards the meaning of life and death.

Summer was not yet over. We also didn’t know yet whether or not the customer in Bali would come to retrieve the ice shaving machine. Etranger wasn’t that big, so Richard was probably troubled that it was left there. But if they didn’t come to get it, I might be able to enjoy eating shaved ice with Richard in the summer every year for a while, I thought. And each of these times, I’d be sure to make a shiny mountain of ice in the colors of a rainbow, just like an ammolite. Just like the sparkly smile that Richard showed, I thought that it’d be great if such a summer came around and was looking forward to it.

[feferipeixes]

Grapefruit Juice

For @skia-oura. You know what you did.

(on AO3)

It was a quiet morning when Bentley awoke, nestled in between Dipper and Torako. Dipper was curled up in the fetal position, forehead resting on Bentley’s shoulder, a clawed hand caressing his other shoulder, little Z’s floating above the demon’s head. Torako, on the other hand, was practically lying on top of him, spread-eagled and snoring loudly. A small smile spread across Bentley’s sleepy face. It felt so nice, in a weird way he didn’t know how to express. He loved waking up next to those two dorks. It felt safe to be with them.

Also, the fact that they were sleeping meant they weren’t wreaking havoc, which was always a plus.

A glance at the alarm clock -- it was early. Too early to really start the day, but too late to get back to sleep. He carefully extracted himself from the bed, making sure not to wake either of his roommates up. Tiptoeing out of the room like a cartoon character, he eased the door shut and then proceeded to the kitchen.

He opened the cupboard to look for something to eat for breakfast. The box of Moffios immediately stuck out to him -- he noticed that the sigil preventing it from being touched was almost worn away. Either Torako had been scratching it out or she’d made some sort of deal with Dipper. He quickly re-inscribed the symbol, and the box took on a glittery sheen indicating that it’d sting any fingers who tried to take it. That should keep her away from it for a few more days.

He grabbed his favorite almond-based caffeinated cereal and closed the cupboard. Setting the box of Nutty Tweaks down on the table, he fetched a bowl and looked through the fridge for something to drink. His usual box of orange juice was nowhere to be found. Bentley rolled his eyes -- no doubt his doofus brother finished it off and forgot to put it on the shopping list. Looked like he was eating dry tweaks that morning.

Except...

In the back of the fridge, he glimpsed a bottle of pink juice. He pulled it out and looked it over for a label. Nothing. It was probably the weird old-timey juice that Dipper would import from Australia, which was apparently the only remaining place where it was made. With a glint in his eye, Bentley poured himself a glass. If Dipper was going to drink all of his juice, he’d just have to return the favor.

His revenge at hand, Bentley sat at the table and started spooning crunchy almonds into his mouth. He considered the box’s promise to get anyone who eats the cereal “absolutely shredded” with “ham wild muscles” and “disgustingly feral abs”. He wondered if people really fell for that kind of marketing. At any rate, it didn’t affect him. He just liked almonds. And caffeine.

...although if he Did happen to get stronger from eating cereal, he wouldn’t complain. He’d be able to draw longer-lasting sigils if he could cut deeper into a surface.

Cereal consumed, Bentley raised the glass of juice to his lips. He briefly wondered whether it really was such a good idea to drink a demon’s juice -- for all he knew, it wasn’t actually juice but rather distilled insanity with blood mixed in (for taste). The promise of vengeance was too much to pass up, though, and he took a small sip.

And then downed the entire glass.

Whatever that stuff was, it was delicious. Weirdly tart with a sweet aftertaste. He’d never tasted anything like it -- no wonder Dipper went to such great lengths to obtain it. Before he knew it, Bentley had drunk the entire bottle. Surveying the casualties of his breakfast, he felt a small seed of guilt sprout within him, but he quickly brushed it away. It’s only what Dipper deserved for drinking all the orange juice.

Out of nowhere, the bedroom door slammed open with enough force to shake the room. Salt and pepper shakers spilled onto the counter. A clock fell off the wall and shattered on the floor. Bentley felt the chair he was sitting on jump a foot off the ground, and his arms shot out instinctively to grab the table so he wouldn’t fall over. Disoriented, it took him a moment to parse what was happening. Then he saw Torako standing in the doorway with a crazed look on her face, and immediately knew his peaceful morning was over.

“Bentley!” she yelled, gesticulating wildly. “You’re eating breakfast? Without meeeee?”

“You were asleep!” he countered. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

He shrank into his chair as she stomped over to him, hands on hips, hair matted and messy. She picked up the cereal box and broke into a mischievous grin. “Bentley’s Getting Buff, I see.” She cackled and tossed the box aside, sprinkling almonds across the kitchen.

“Stop! I just cleaned the apartment yesterday!”

Ignoring him, she picked up the empty juice bottle on the table and examined it while Bentley eyed her suspiciously. It was very likely she’d pick Dipper’s side if a revenge battle broke out because the two of them combined were an unstoppable chaos machine. He had to get her off the topic of breakfast, quick.

“Hey, Tora,” he said carefully. “I was thinking about re-dyeing my hair. Did you wanna...”

Torako cut him off by screaming at the top of her lungs. Bentley winced and clapped his hands to his ears. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “You’re going to wake up the entire building!”

“Did you drink Dipper’s grapefruit juice????” she screeched.

Bentley shrank into his chair again. “Maybe. But he deserved it.” He glanced at the open bedroom door, curious about the fact that Dipper hadn’t come out yet to see what was going on. Maybe he’d been summoned.

“Oh NO Ben, this is BAD,” Torako continued to yell. “Holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT!”

Bentley started edging away from her. “Is something happening right now? Am I missing something?”

She tore her gaze away from the bottle and stared him directly in the eyes, radiating such delirium that it was almost nauseating to look at. She hurled the bottle into the ground as hard as she could, and it broke through the floor into the next apartment down. Before he could object to this, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and shrieked, “BENTLEY you’re gonna DIE, that was GRAPEFRUIT JUICE, don’t you KNOW, it’s gonna make your ANTIDEPRESSANTS EXPLODE IN YOUR BRAIN!”

He gaped at her. “What are you talking abouuuu- !” He yelped as Torako effortlessly lifted him up and wrapped him over her shoulders. He tried in vain to wriggle free of her grip, but she was much stronger than him. “Let go of me!”

“Hello? Hospital?” Bentley stopped flailing to see Torako talking into a phone wedged between her head and her shoulder that couldn’t possibly have been there more than a second ago. “Yes, hospital! Please come quick! We have a serious case of genius boy brain burst! Oh stars, I can’t do this!” She dropped the phone and started sobbing, prompting Bentley’s anxiety to shoot through the roof.

“Tora? Are you okay? I’m really worried.” Not about himself, because he was pretty sure his brain was not about to explode from drinking juice, but even in her most trickster of moments Torako had never acted like this before and it was freaking him out. “Is this part of a prank or are you... really having some kind of breakdown right now? If this is real then I need to know so I can help.”

“You’re the one who needs help, you poor thing.” She laid him down on a stretcher and patted him on the head. “It’s gonna be okay! The hospital people will save you! They’ll take you to the juicer from Willy Wonka and everything will be okay!”

“What’s Willy Wonka?” Bentley yelled as he was pulled away on the stretcher. He watched Torako get smaller and smaller before finally fading away into the distance. Exhausted, he put his head down and stared up at the inky black ceiling of the ambulance. “This is so annoying. I don’t need to go to the hospital. I need to bust out of here.”

“Please don’t,” Philip said. Bentley’s eyes boggled at the sight of his father steering the ambulance. He gave his son a wink before turning back to face the road. “I’d have to chase you down or I’ll get fired, and I can’t do that. You’re so much faster than me now.”

“Dad?” Bentley breathed. “Why are you driving an ambulance? When did you -- you’re not supposed to -- isn’t it late?”

There was a sigh from the front seat. “Sorry, Bentley, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, when you’re about to die from grapefruit overdose, but it’s true. I wasn’t making enough money doodling little hearts on pictures of your very handsome roommate. I had to pick up some odd jobs to make ends meet.”

“You what now?”

“It’s shameful, I know.” Philip’s head smacked down onto the steering wheel, and the ambulance started swerving wildly around on the road. “In a perfect world, we’d all be able to sit around and talk about demons all day without worrying about rent or food, but we don’t live in a perfect world and it’s my job as a father to break that to you. I’m so sorry.”

Bentley opened his mouth to respond, but faltered when he heard a hiccup. He flipped over onto his stomach to see his father weeping softly onto the steering wheel. Alarm bells rang in his head. “Dad, please don’t cry. It’s alright.” He attempted to undo the straps holding him on the stretcher, but they only seemed to get tighter. “We can talk about this. Please don’t cry.”

He reached out to him, his fingers gently brushing up against the driver’s seat, hoping that his father would sense his presence and take his hand. But it never came. There was a jerking sensation from beneath him as the conveyor belt activated, and the stretcher started moving away from the ambulance.

“Dad?” Bentley called, his voice heavy with reverberation. “Dad, don’t leave!”

No response. The sound of weeping faded away, and Bentley felt a pit settle in his stomach. He looked around and saw that he was rolling slowly on a track that ran through a landscape of stars. A row of doctors stared at him with blurry faces from behind a glass partition. Half of them gasped as he went by. The other half just looked disappointed, shaking their heads or crossing their arms.

“It’s… the Grapefruit Juice Boy,” one of them choked out.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” he yelled, scowling. “This -- okay, I’m getting suspicious now! Am I dreaming? Is this what a dream that isn’t a nightmare is like? It sucks!”

The conveyor stuttered to a halt and the doctors all vanished. Bentley blinked, and realized he was in a dentist’s office. A pair of hands pulled a paper bib around his neck, and his scowl deepened. “Now what’s going on? I thought this dream was about medication interactions! Why am I at the dentist now?”

“Grapefruit juice is really sugary,” came a voice from behind him. “Your teeth are gonna fall out.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Bentley raged. “My roommates constantly pour sugar into every orifice on their faces, but I have a stress dream about the dentist because I drank a bottle of juice. I’d like to see Torako and Dip- hey wait a minute!” He cut off as the familiarity of the dentist’s voice hit him. The hands appeared again, putting a second bib on him, and Bentley noticed the fingers were tipped with claws. He struggled to tilt his head back, and caught a glint of light off the razor sharp teeth in the dentist’s grin.

“Hi Bentley,” Dipper said.

“Dipper? Why are you the dentist?” He collapsed back into the dentist’s chair and let his limbs fall limp over the sides. “Why are dreams like this? Is there some deep meaning behind all of this? I’d almost prefer the nightmares to Dipper cleaning my teeth.”

“Hey now,” Dipper pouted, putting a third bib around Bentley’s neck. “Maybe I’m really good at dental work. You know how hard flossing is with teeth like this?”

Bentley scratched his head. “Um, I guess not. But then why would I dream- hey wait a minute. Are you a dream Dipper or the real one?”

Dipper dropped the fourth bib he was holding and stepped back, bumping into a table of dental equipment. “Uhhhhh. Dream Dipper, definitely. Your brain just loves thinking about me. That’s it.”

The scowl returned to Bentley’s face in full-force. Sitting up, he tore the bibs off his neck and stared his roommate right in his dumb evil eyes. “It is the real you! What are you doing in my dream? This is all your fault, isn’t it?”

The demon smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Haha, well, uh, yeah sort of. Technically it’s Torako’s fault. This was all her idea, but I’m the one with the dream magic, so it just made sense, like oh who’s gonna keep Bentley in a weird dream so that he sleeps in today, Dipper obviously, and -”

Swinging his legs off the table, Bentley stood up for the first time in what felt like ages, and marched over shakily as Dipper backed away. “You trapped me in a crazy dream world??”

“No! Not really!” Dipper raised his arms, looking panicked. “I mean, okay, I made parts of it, but mostly all I did was stop you from waking up earlier! Sometimes people just have weird dreams, Ben! It’s a natural part of life for your species!”

“I’m putting wards all over the bedroom when I wake up. Why did you do this??”

Dipper shrank down to his 12-year old form and tried his best to look innocent. “No reason at all! You just looked like you needed some sleep! It definitely wasn’t that Torako needed time to break the sigil you made to prevent her from touching the box of Moffios!”

“Oh my stars Torako. This is ridiculous.” Bentley stared at his hands, picturing them each grasping one of his roommates’ hands, thinking about how that was definitely not going to be happening again for two weeks at minimum. “Does this at least mean you didn’t actually finish off my orange juice?”

Dipper giggled nervously. “Yeah, about that...”

Bentley facepalmed. “Wake me up. Right now.”

“Well, uh, you see,” Dipper replied, squirming, “it’s like, there’s a time limit on the deal I made with Torako, and yknow how it is...”

“If you don’t wake me up this instant, you’re gonna have a lot more to worry about than whether or not you’re getting cuddles ever again. I’ll have my dad over for dinner every single night and he’ll ask you every uncomfortable question under the sun! Do you hear me?”

Dipper blanched. “Yes sir, right away sir!” he babbled, standing up straight and saluting. He snapped his fingers, and the world fell away.

Bentley shot upright in bed, the sounds of squealing floating in from the kitchen. He jumped out from the covers, sprinting past the ashamed-looking demon at the door, to see Torako kneeling on the kitchen counter, jabbing at the box of Moffios with a dinner knife.

“Torako! No!” he hollered, racing after her. “I’m never buying Moffios again!”

Her eyes grew big as dinner plates and she took off with the box, running around the table to get away from him. “Bentley! You’re awake! Uh… this isn’t what it looks like!”

“It looks like I’m changing the locks is what it looks like!”

“Dipper!” she cried as she passed the demon, who was watching the scene looking half-concerned and half-amused. “You said you’d keep him busy! We had a deal!”

“He figured it out!” Dipper cried back. “I knew he’d be too smart to fall for this!”

“I’m coming for you next, jerkface!” Bentley roared.

The sounds of screaming and furniture toppling over filled the apartment. The people in the apartment immediately below them hesitated before calling the landlord to complain about the noise. It was, after all, not much worse than Saturdays usually were in the Pines-Lam-Farkas household.

----

A bright ray of sunlight beamed through a crack in the curtains and directly onto Torako’s face, waking her up. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position amidst the lumpy couch cushions, but eventually resigned to her fate and opened her eyes. She was in the living room, of course, because Bentley hadn’t let her sleep in his room for a week now, which was just a little bit of an excessive punishment if you asked her! All of this and she didn’t even get any Moffios. The sheer injustice of it all.

Sitting up, she yawned and surveyed the room. She scratched her head as she looked for Dipper. He’d been sleeping on the floor next to her since they’d both been exiled from Bentley’s room, but the demon was presently nowhere to be seen, which was strange. He must’ve had an early morning summons. Oh well.

She headed over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. If she wasn’t allowed to have Moffios, she’d at least have something sweet to drink for breakfast. She grabbed the box of orange juice, flipped off the lid, and started chugging it directly from the carton. When it was all done, she collapsed into a chair with a large grin. Just what she needed to start the day.

“TORAKO!” Dipper yelled out of nowhere, blipping into reality directly beside her. “Did you drink my grapefruit juice?”

She yelped and fell out of her chair. “What? No, this is Bentley’s oran-” She lifted her hand, still holding the empty box of juice, but trailed off when she realized she was actually holding a clear bottle with a small amount of pink liquid left inside. She stared at it in shock, then at Dipper who looked equally as horrified. “What? But, I -”

“Torako, you’re gonna DIE!” Dipper screamed, suddenly wearing a nurse’s outfit and pushing her down the hall on a hospital bed. “Your MEDS are gonna EXPLODE in your BRAIN!”

“Noooooo!” she shrieked, flailing around as her parents jogged up beside the bed and waved at her while sobbing. “Bentley was right! This is awful!”

In the real world, Bentley was in the kitchen, applying the finishing touches on a new Moffios-protecting sigil that would last eight times as long. He heard Torako yelling in her sleep from across the room and smiled. “Yeah, it is,” he muttered, walking over. “Next time you’ll think twice before you try something like that on me.”

“Um… do you think she’s had enough?” Dipper asked from his position on the floor. He had his hand on Torako’s head, and when he looked up Bentley could see Torako’s dream reflected in the demon’s eyes. She’d somehow managed to wriggle free of the straps on the bed and was running down a highway in only a hospital gown, being pursued by a fleet of ambulances. “She admitted defeat.”

Bentley sat on the edge of the couch and seemed to consider it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “You can wake her up.”

Dipper nodded, and removed his hand from Torako’s head. She gasped and her eyes flew open, looking in all directions before making eye contact with Bentley. She leapt off the sofa and backed against the wall.

“Sorry, Ben! I’ll never Dip into your dreams ever again!”

Bentley sniffed. “Sounds about right. And you?” He turned to Dipper, who looked similarly panicked under Bentley’s purview.

“And I promise I’ll only side with Torako sometimes instead of all the time!” he offered, backing up beside Torako. “Also not to go into your dreams ever unless I really need to, which I totally won’t take advantage of ever!”

“Good. I’m glad we had this talk.” Bentley stood up. “Do either of you want breakfast?”

“NO!” Dipper and Torako both screamed, scampering away at full speed. They ran into the bedroom, dove under the covers, and clutched each other tight. “Never again!”

“Suit yourself,” Bentley said, trying out the shoulder up-and-down thing that Dipper always did to express indifference. He pulled the bedroom door shut and just stood there for a bit, reflecting on the day’s events. Then he walked over to the kitchen, poured himself a bowl of Nutty Tweaks, and took a seat by the window so he could watch the snow fall as he ate.

It really was a very peaceful morning.

(AO3 link)

[vincent-frankenstein]

Sugared Strawberries

inspired by this prompt by the amazing, talented, wonderful @aliferous-ly !!! thanks for letting me write this bro i had a BLAST

Summary: Before — before there was a divide between the light and dark sides, before the mindscape split in two, before Virgil was alone — Patton made sugared strawberries. Virgil loved them, not for the taste but for the memories they made, his family gathered in the kitchen around him, love and light and warmth.

Then he became Anxiety, and everything changed. Patton stopped making sugared strawberries.

But redemption brings a lot of things — some new and some old and some so familiar he can barely stand it. When he walks into the kitchen one morning to find Patton covered in sugar, a tray of strawberries in his hands, he finally realizes:

He has a family again.

Pairings: platonic LAMP, platonic moxiety, just fambly feels

Warnings: deceit, remus/the duke, angst and self-hatred

Gen Taglist: @joygaytrash @ruh-roh-emer-has-an-account @aliferous-ly @im-crunchie @triton-bear @emiisanidiot @jemthebookworm

Virgil didn’t remember much about his childhood.

That whole thing about childhood mental illnesses causing memory problems? He was a childhood mental illness. That held doubly true for him. He remembered parts, bits and pieces, and knew of others, a patchwork mess of information given to him by the others that he couldn’t even trust, fully, because more than half had been stitched together by Deceit himself.

He knew that there hadn’t been such a divide between the light sides and the Others, once. He knew that there had been sleepovers and movie nights and birthday parties, that they’d all been a family, each of them, light and dark and everything in between. Patton still had pictures hanging in his room; Deceit in a snake onesie, wrapped in blankets, and Remus with a tiny, drawn-on mustache, and himself, open and smiling and unafraid, surrounded by love.

He knew that, the moment Thomas hit middle school, everything changed forever. The Great Schism, Roman called it, ignoring Logan’s lectures on the historical and religious significance of the title. A divide, a split, cleaving one world into two.

He knew that everything changed the moment Caution became Anxiety.

Because that was when the world went from scary to bad wrong terrifying — and that was when he decided he had to keep Thomas from it all, keep Thomas safe, no matter what. That was when Thomas realized some parts of his personality weren’t “good,” and they woke up to find the mindscape split in two. 

He didn’t remember much from before that moment, that split — but there was one memory he refused to forget, one that you couldn’t pry from his cold, dead fingers: sugared strawberries.

They had been Patton’s favorite, way back when. He used to gather all the sides in the kitchen and present them like they were the greatest treasure on earth, crystalline berries as valuable as gold. Roman — just Imagination back then, a tiny spitfire in a Disney prince Halloween costume — even made up a song for them; he’d dance around the kitchen, twirling any sides unlucky enough to be within reach.

Virgil would stand in the doorway, shoving as many strawberries as he could into his mouth at once. Patton would laugh, handing him more and more. “They’re not going anywhere, kiddo, no need to rush!” he’d say.

Then the Schism happened.

Patton stopped making sugared strawberries.

Virgil remembered what came after with all the clarity he wished he had for the memories before. The cold, the quiet, the emptiness that came with being banished to the dark side of the mindscape. Deceit grew distant, furious, and blamed Patton with all his might. “He’s right and wrong, Anxiety!” he used to rant, every opportunity he got, and he’d lie and say the tears pooling in his eyes were from fury, not sorrow. “Sure, he’s definitely not the cause of Thomas thinking we’re wrong.”

And Virgil — Anxiety couldn’t, couldn’t believe that Patton would do such a thing. He’d always been so… so nice. Even when Anxiety’s warnings turned from cautious to borderline cruel, he’d always been patient and loving and kind. Unless he was faking it — maybe he was, maybe he’d been faking it the whole time, sunshine and sugared strawberries to hide hatred for a side that he didn’t need anymore, didn’t want anymore — and suddenly Anxiety believed, believed with all his heart that he was wrong and Patton had done it on purpose.

The worst part was that Anxiety couldn’t even blame him.

The Others tried, for a while, to maintain the same level of warmth they’d had before — but they just weren’t built for that sort of thing. After all, how could something so wrong pretend to be right? Even Deceit couldn’t manage that for long. It was too hard to stave off the cold and the dark, and the creeping feeling of wrong that never quite left them alone; eventually they just gave up.

Anxiety retreated into himself. He ignored Deceit’s futile attempts at keeping them together, and avoided Remus like the plague — without his brother there to reign him in, the Duke became unhinged, distant, terrifying in the worst kind of way — and pretended like he didn’t care. Like he didn’t miss the warmth, the happiness, that he knew he’d once had. 

But he did. It was like a part of him had been torn away, and he ached with every memory that faded, every bit of warmth he lost. He missed watching movies with Imagination and listening to Curiosity read aloud, and he missed missed missed Patton’s hugs, and his smile, and —

He missed sugared strawberries.

Years passed. Curiosity became Logic and then became Logan; Imagination became Creativity and then Roman. The world became bigger, scarier, as Thomas was thrust into adulthood, and Anxiety forwent any and all chances of being loved in favor of being feared. He had to protect the one thing that still mattered to him. And if that meant he had to be too scary to ignore, then… so be it.

Sometimes he snuck down into the common room, late at night, and tried to recreate the sugared strawberries. He never could. Patton had made them with love — and Anxiety, he didn’t have any of that left to give. They never tasted the same. He always got it wrong.

Eventually, he stopped trying.

He just didn’t see the point. Even if he got the recipe right — which he never, never would — he’d still be alone. They’d never taste exactly as he remembered if they didn’t come with a bright grin from Patton, or a one-armed hug from Roman as he danced around the kitchen, or the warmth and light and happiness he knew he’d never get again. 

That was just the way things were. He was Anxiety — a villain, a dark side, an Other, hated by every person he’d once loved, hated by the one person he was supposed to protect. There was nothing he could do to fix that. There was nothing he could do to change that.

The one thing he could do was leave.

And then — to his great, great surprise — he was proven wrong. Things changed. Anxiety became Virgil and Virgil became wanted, needed, loved in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He woke one morning to find that his room was back in the light side; that instead of the silence he’d grown so used to, he could hear Roman and Logan playfully arguing downstairs, and Patton singing to himself as he bustled around the kitchen. 

He made sure to wipe the stupid smile off his face before he went downstairs. He couldn’t let them see how happy they made him. That would ruin his Aesthetic™.

“Virgil!” Roman cried when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Virgil, would you please tell nerdmione over here to turn off his nerd show so I can watch Lilo and Stitch?”

“Roman, you have a television in your room,” Logan interrupted before Virgil could speak, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am not turning off my documentary so you can watch your nonsensical Disney movie for the hundredth time.”

“‘Nonsensical?’ How dare you! Lilo and Stitch is a cinematic masterpiece! And I’ll have you know, I’ve seen it at least three-hundred times!” Roman scoffed, offended. “Besides, you’re all down here and my room is up there! I want to watch it here.”

“Then you will have to wait.” Logan shot Virgil a look — can you believe this guy? he said with a quirk of his brow — and Virgil rolled his eyes, a fond smirk slipping into place. “Why don’t you try watching this with me? Maybe you’ll learn something. Newton knows you need it.”

“B-to-the-oring!” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes and throwing his whole body into the action, hip jutting out to the side. Then he blinked. “Wait, what was that last bit?”

Virgil snickered into the back of his hand and moved on into the kitchen, where he leaned against the doorway, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Patton stood at the counter, bouncing in place to the happy tune he hummed as he made… something. Virgil couldn’t see past him. “Morning, Pat,” he said, and Patton whirled around, his bright smile lighting up the whole room.

“Virgil!” he said happily, beaming. “G’morning, kiddo! How’re ya doin’?” His hands were covered in something white and powdery; it fluttered to the floor around him like snow as he flapped while he talked. Virgil shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m alive,” he said. “You?”

“I’m doin’ great!” he said. “Making a certain sweet surprise for someone I love berry much.” He winked, giggled, and turned back to whatever it was he was making. Virgil blinked, pushing away from the wall to go look over Patton’s shoulder, but before he could Patton turned around, holding a tray laden with small berries.

Virgil forgot how to breathe.

“I haven’t made these in forever,” Patton said, his grin warm and welcoming, “but I remembered how much you used to love ‘em, and I figured I’d whip a couple up to celebrate your growth! To let you seed how berry proud I am of you.”

“Oh,” Virgil managed, and he knew he should have said more, he knew he should do something, but he’d forgotten how to exist in the face of something he’d wanted, needed, for so so long. Sugared strawberries. Patton had made sugared strawberries — for him, Patton made sugared strawberries for him, and he knew he’d been accepted but it hadn’t hit him, really, until that moment. 

He had a family again.

“Kiddo?” Patton’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m — I’m good,” he said, and meant so much by it that he almost choked. “I mean — I’m —”

Shit shit shit — he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and looked away, face burning. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes faster than he could wipe them away. Patton made a small noise of understanding and put the tray back on the counter, rushing forward to scoop Virgil into a hug.

And that was too much. The dam broke, and suddenly he was sobbing into Patton’s shoulder, even as every instinct in him screamed at him to stop, stop showing them how much it means to you, stop giving them power. Patton rubbed soft circles across his back and whispered comfort into his ear. “I’ve gotcha,” he said, softer than Virgil had ever heard him. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

Virgil heard Logan and Roman come into the kitchen and he clutched the back of Patton’s shirt harder, burying his face in his shoulder. He couldn’t — couldn’t face them, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t push away the burning hope eating through his lungs, try as he might. He had a family again. He had a family again. The thought refused to stop running through his mind, a mantra, neverending. He had a family again.

Eventually, finally, the tears slowed. He could breathe again. He pushed out of Patton’s embrace and swiped his sleeve across his face, cheeks burning bright red. “Sorry,” he managed, his voice gruff. “I’ll just — I’ll just go —”

“Oh no you don’t, Green Gay,” Roman said, blocking the doorway. “We’re having an emotional moment here!”

“Ew,” Logan and Virgil said in unison. 

“Kiddo, it’s okay,” Patton said gently, setting a sugary hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe here.”

“Right — yeah.” Virgil cleared his throat, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. He searched the room for something, anything to say to break the tension building in his chest. “You… you got sugar on my hoodie.”

Patton giggled. “Now it matches your sweet personality!”

“Lies and slander,” Virgil said. “I’m not sweet.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re covered in sugar.”

“That’s —” Virgil cut himself off, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from smiling. “Yep.”

Roman slung an arm over his shoulder, squeezing him in a one-armed hug, and Patton grabbed the tray. “You want some?” he asked with a warm smile, as Roman reached over and grabbed a handful.

And Virgil took a breath and reached forward, gathering a pile of strawberries in his hand. He shoved them into his mouth and nearly burst into tears again at the taste — or, rather, at the memories it invoked, at the warmth that once again surrounded him, enveloped him, filled him. 

“No need to rush, kiddo!” Patton said with a laugh, as Virgil shoved more strawberries into his mouth. “They’re not going anywhere.”

And this time, Virgil knew they weren’t.

[kiruuuuu]

Maestro/Jackal oneshot in which Jackal feels left out even though he really isn’t. (Rating G, hurt/comfort, ~1.3k words) - written for @thedragonsarealive again! :) 💛

.

“You know your sister loves this bread, I can’t believe I was so clumsy, shame on me, look what I’ve done!”

It’s the night before Berenice’s wedding and, as expected, Maestro has both hands full with putting out fires left and right. Ottaviano has grown out of his suit, Giovanni and his wife had a heated fight over something or other and Romina was forced to make some last minute adjustments to the seating, to name only a few – as the eldest, Maestro is consulted frequently and his opinions valued highly, which would be flattering if it didn’t mean that he has to continuously babysit some of his younger siblings and/or their offspring. He’s starting to feel like his mother with how often he gets names wrong in the cramped Martello residence, and now even she has added to the pile of near-catastrophes.

She’s agonising over a yeast dough meant to slow rise for 48 hours, developing lots of beautiful air bubbles which render the bread fluffy and soft on the inside, whereas olive oil makes the outside deliciously crunchy. And she dropped it. After deflating, there’s only a sad-looking mixture left which would probably bake into a rock hard slab more akin to crispbread.

“Mamma, it’s okay, don’t worry about it”, Maestro hastens to assure her and takes the bowl out of her hands to erase the evidence. “I’ve done this before. You can just make a new dough and let it rise until we bake it tomorrow, out in the open. The warmth speeds up the process, believe me – and Berenice will be much too distracted to notice. I promise. It’s fine.” Ignoring her dejected frown, he quickly jots down detailed instructions and hands them over. “Here, do this and it’ll come out perfect.”

“I’m not convinced”, his mother states, unsurprisingly, “but I will try. I’m just angry at myself.”

“Don’t be, it happens.” He presses a kiss to her temple which gets him a smile in return. “Have you seen Ryad? He hasn’t come to see me in a while, I’m worried Raffaele is trying to argue with him about sports again.”

“He’s in the garden”, Lucia replies just as she enters the kitchen. “Out by the pavilion – probably looking for some peace and quiet. Not like I can blame him.”

“What is that supposed to mean, young lady?”, Maestro’s mother booms jokingly and threatens her granddaughter with a spoon, earning good-natured giggling which follows Maestro all the way outside.

It’s late summer and the nights are his favourite time of day: the oppressive heat is no more than a mild cocoon and the sheer volume of the cicadas makes for a proper concert carried to and fro by the gentle breeze. It even smells of summer, even more so in the flower-lined garden which stretches over a soft hill. In the wooden construction meant as a shelter from direct sunlight, there’s a lone figure leaning against the railing and overlooking the landscape surrounding the garden.

“Needed a moment?”, Maestro addresses the Spaniard quietly before joining him. He covers one of Jackal’s hands with his own, smiles when it twists so their fingers can weave together.

“Yes. I just – I needed to get away.” For once, he doesn’t sound tired. He’s been sleeping well, for his standards, and Maestro almost burst with joy when his lover admitted to him that he enjoys the atmosphere in the family home.

“They can be a handful, I know. I can be a handful.”

Even in the pale moonlight, he can make out Jackal’s smile. “It’s not that. They’re all wonderful.”

“What, even old Leandra?”

“Is she the hag from next door who called you fat, lazy and spoilt?”

Maestro just nods and they share a chuckle. He can tell something is on his lover’s mind though, and so he shifts his weight to move a little closer. “Amore, tell me. What’s wrong?”

The Spaniard sighs but, instead of distancing himself or refusing to open up, he leans into Maestro. They’ve come a long way. “I’m an intruder”, he mutters. “I shouldn’t be here. You all – you’ve made so many memories together, you’ve known each other forever. This is an intimate wedding. I shouldn’t have come.”

So this is what’s bothering him. He should’ve figured. There was a moment of hesitation when he asked Jackal to accompany him, he won’t lie, born from the fear of upsetting him, of strengthening his depression with this unadulterated display of what he’s been missing all his life. What he’s been chasing all his life. He kisses the back of Jackal’s hand and then wraps his arm around the slim frame, pulls the other man against his side in a half-hug to pepper his shoulder with kisses as well.

“Don’t tell me it’s silly, because I know it is. Your mother is nothing but hospitable and everyone has been lovely, but…”

“When she was seventeen, Teresa brought home a young lad called Adolfo. He had a driver’s license and a fast motorcycle, his parents were wealthy enough and he was handsome, I’m talking utterly gorgeous.” Maestro is aware of Jackal’s dubious expression but continues his anecdote nonetheless. “I would’ve fallen for him on the spot, hadn’t it been for the fact that he was an asshole. Treated those he thought beneath him like dirt, wanted only one thing from Teresa, all bark, no bite. He had this stupid little moustache of which he was so proud that he’d actually fill it in with his mother’s eyeliner. Do you know how my family reacted when Teresa brought him home?”

“I can’t picture them being anything but nice.”

“Oh, we were positively amicable whenever he was over. But whenever he wasn’t, mamma started asking some other boys from the neighbourhood to help her with her groceries – you know, polite boys who’d actually show up whenever Teresa was home. And Giovanni mentioned that he heard Adolfo brag about having run over a bunny. And Giuliana excitedly asked Teresa about all the gifts he must be getting her, about how well he’s treating her, how often he takes her out for dinner, basically unreachable ideals. And Teresa had to say no, he’s not doing any of that. They didn’t last for more than a few months, and Teresa believed it was her decision to break up. We left it at that.”

Jackal is still looking at him expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Maestro doesn’t disappoint.

With an even voice, he continues: “When you were talking to Ottaviano yesterday, Giovanni wanted to know whether you liked fishing so he could take you on a trip. Mamma asked about your favourite dishes so she can make them next week. Giuliana wanted to know how we met, how we came to be, and all the while she smiled at me, that smile she does – growing wider every time I could answer to her satisfaction. And Romina mentioned in passing that there aren’t any weddings scheduled for next year. Yet.”

At this point, Jackel’s eyes are glistening, lips pressed together. Maestro doesn’t want to witness wet trails appear on his cheeks, so he embraces him fully, squeezes him tight and reassuringly.

“If you allow them, they will be your family”, he whispers against warm skin. “Please, Ryad. Let them be your family.” He leaves so much unsaid – he knows nothing can replace Faisal, knows nothing can ever make up for decades of feeling unwanted, outcast, but he trusts that Jackal understands this isn’t meant to be a substitute. This is meant to be something on its own, an addition to his life rather than an attempt to stitch up all these tears.

He runs his hand through Jackal’s short hair, kisses his cheek, feels his rapid heartbeat against his own chest. And adds: “Let me be your family.”

And Jackal’s hesitant nod tells him that he’s beginning to accept the idea of belonging.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Family Style

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU 

summary:  The Avengers are preparing a Thanksgiving dinner for all their friends and family and the captains of the team decide to sneak out for some alone time.

length: 1 293 words

a/n: Happy Thanksgiving! I am European, so we don’t celebrate it, but this prompt was so perfect to turn into an Autumn-Thanksgiving fic I had to write it like this. and we need more happy time for Avengers, so yeah. hope you will like it!

——————–

Family Style

Pling.

"Ready!" Natasha turned the oven off. "Thor! Can you take it out?"

"Ay," sporting the biggest and brightest smile on his face, the god of thunder walked to Natasha in bold steps, his hands proudly clad in oven mitts with an image of a turkey with a colorful feathery tail embroidered into the material. He opened the oven and the small kitchen filled up quickly with an amazing scent of roasted vegetables and meat. "Ah, a feast fit for the kings," Thor beamed holding a tray with a massive, golden turkey, big enough to feed at least ten people. In reality, it was supposed to feed more, but there was so much food, no one would leave Clint's farmhouse hungry.

"Just don't cut it yet, it needs to rest," Bruce called, straining the gravy, making sure it would be lump free and velvety smooth. All Avengers were helping in the preparation of Thanksgiving dinner. Wanda and Vision were setting up the table, putting the food out, Clint went to his cellar, looking for some homemade apple cider and cherry liquor for dessert, while Bruce was putting finishing touches on every dish.

"Hey, how many plates do we need?" Wanda popped her head into the kitchen.

"Uhm, let's see - Scott is coming with his family, May and Peter, Peter's friends, T'Challa and Shuri, Strange, Wong, Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Sam, Bucky, our eight… Just give everyone a plate and put like twenty nearby," Natasha advised. In addition to all the food the Avengers prepared, including Steve's apple pie, various braised meats in Asgardian spices prepared by Thor, roasted brussels sprouts according to Bruce's secret recipe that didn't make them taste awful, but sweet and crunchy, three types of stuffing the recipes for Vision found online, and, of course, the main star of the event, the turkey, all guests offered to bring some homemade dishes. Shuri promised something special, (although Thanksgiving was not celebrated in Wakanda, the royal siblings still got an invitation which they gladly accepted) and everyone was curious what it could be, most of them never tasting Wakandan cuisine, while Peter personally warned everyone about May's famous walnut and date meatloaf - just give it a taste, hum in delight and spit it out when she won't be looking.

"Nat, are the potatoes done?" Bruce asked, helping Wanda gather the utensils and plates and bowls. Luckily, Tony was on top of that and made sure to order everything needed.

"I thought Steve wanted to make potatoes," Natasha pointed out, looking at the stove and a massive pot where whole potatoes were gently simmering. Somehow, Steve was very demanding when it came to mashed potatoes - they had to be fluffy, properly salted and have the perfect balance of milk and butter. They were perfect each year and Steve never allowed anyone else to prepare the side dish. Maybe because mashed potatoes with gravy were unofficially one of Tony's favorite Thanksgiving dishes, one he couldn't get enough of and always filled up his plate to the brim and Steve wanted to treat his boyfriend, serving him the finest mashed potatoes in the USA.

"Don't count on it," Clint said, walking in heavy footsteps out of the cellar, holding a crate with bottles of apple cider, "I saw him and Tony escaping into the field, laughing and skipping. They better not mess up with my crops."

Natasha smiled to the words, and maybe she should dart outside and drag her teammates back, but she had enough help as it was. The captains of the Avengers team deserved a break. "Okay, people!" Natasha clasped in her hands, disciplining the team. "We have an hour left to make this perfect, all hands on board!"

There was a collective call of agreement (and an 'ay' from Thor) and the Avengers resumed their preparations of a family style Thanksgiving for a very unusual family.

The farmhouse was located out of the city, among trees and endless green fields stretching for miles. Autumn was already present and there was some cold wind blowing the colorful leaves around and hinting on upcoming winter, and carrying laughter. The source of laughter was Tony, wrapped in a faux leather coat and waving a blue scarf like a trophy, chased by Steve in a warm blue sports jacket and a black beanie, clearly missing a scarf. Tony was running, his eyes shining and cheeks colored from the cold, hiding behind the trees with the biggest smile on his face and Steve was following, play growling and searching for his boyfriend. It was a classic game of cat and mouse, something both of them wouldn't do back in New York, but here, in the opened field, alone, and surrounded by nature they felt playful as never before.

"AAH!" Tony screamed when out of nowhere, he was hoisted up and tossed into a crisp pile of leaves, Steve diving right after him. There was more laughter, more screaming and their voices were echoing in the empty field.

"Give it back!"

"Why?! You are already all wintered up as it is! You possibly can't be cold!"

"Tony, come on!"

"No, enjoy the wind on your neck!"

Laughing and wrestling, Steve managed to get his scarf back. He trapped Tony more in the leaves and wrapped the scarf around Tony's exposed neck and to complete the picture, he took off his beanie, pulling it on his boyfriend's head, ignoring the protests that he was ruining the carefully planned hairstyle.

"And now you won't get sick," Steve said, sounding pleased and leaned in to place a delicate peck on the dark and cold lips, warming them up.

"Spoilsport," Tony complained in a whiny voice, that didn't reflect in his bright smile.

"I am just looking after you! Your nose is really cold," Steve justified himself, pinching Tony's button nose and squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger.

"AH! Stop it!" Tony protested, laughing more, the hold on his nose making his voice sound funny, almost duck-like. With a laugh on his own, Steve let go and looked at his boyfriend with a loving smile, as the silence was stretching between them, filled with little puffs of breath coming out as white swirls and soft, mutual looks.

"Autumn colors suit you," Steve said with love, brushing both hands at Tony's cold cheeks and kissing him over and over again. Tony's olive complexion seemed to be glowing and the warm colors of the leaves were bringing out golden reflexes in the brown eyes.

Tony smiled, laid down on a canvas of red, yellow and orange. "And you look good in blue," Tony said back, meaning not the jacket, but the clear sky above them, acting as a background from Tony's point of view. The sky never was so flawlessly clear and bright in the middle of busy New York and Steve presented himself especially beautiful, his hair appearing almost gold in the sunlight and the pink of his lips becoming a lovely rosy color from the cold and kisses.

They just wanted to stay here. Under the trees, in the leaves, kissing and warming each other up until the sunset and watch the sky turn dark so they could look at the stars together. The team would understand.

Steve gasped, drawing himself away suddenly. "POTATOES!" he bellowed, dreading what would happen if he won't be the one preparing them. Thanksgiving would be ruined, for sure.

"Just come here," Tony laughed and urged Steve, pulling him back into the leaves and on himself, demanding more affection. Eventually, they would have to go back and celebrate with their team and friends in cheerful chaos, but before that, some things needed to be celebrated slowly and in peace and in private.

[lunabeaner]

:oo May I have an oc matchup? Romantic please uwu I’m 17. Some things I like (which are also hobbies) are drawing, writing, and stargazing (I also dabble in programming). I have a strong distaste to extremely hot weather. I’m a bit stubborn, very clumsy, overly optimistic, and oblivious. My music taste is pretty much anything but country ^^. I’d prefer a male matchup but I’m not picky uwu. I also don’t have a preference for the oc type c: thank you!

YOU GOT JEREMY!!

He’s a super cheerful guy who loves teasing and is always there for people he finds tease worthy. Jeremy’s always misinterpreted because of being of wolf kind and although in his world it’s taboo to hang around smaller animal kind (like bunnies for example) he’s always found hanging around them. Mostly because he’s not as rough and tough as most of his kind because he’s really just a big softy. Or, at least, that’s what he’s childhood bullies always told him.

Jeremy is 17, and pretty tall compared to others his type (6′4″), and he enjoys going around exploring the world rather than doing anything else he should be doing :/ … But he’s always looking for someone to become friends with because of how wolf kind usually go in packs… and he’s kind of a reject compared to them.

Because he always hangs around smaller animals, they’re always skittery and avoid him, thus lowering his self esteem, which results in his endless teasing to take it off his mind.

He also enjoys autumn because of how beautiful everything around him gets, and he prefers cooler weather over he latter. Plus, it’s way more fun to go around the woods that time, isn’t it? Crunchy leaves >:3!!

Jeremy’s a very lovey-dovey boy and he loves to show pda, even if you tell him no. He wants to show everyone that he’s the one in charge. He’s also very protective and wants the best for his said s/o. He’d die for them, tbh. He doesn’t really have very good life standards because of the constant judgment against him. Wolves are bad, he’s unwanted, he’s not really what he should be, he should be better than how he acts.

Despite it all, he does his best to ignore it and tries to remain calm and collected, but maybe.. Just maybe he does have a violent, hot headed intentions bubbling in the back of his head just waiting to come out.

Boi has claws, he could hurt :’0!! 

I hope you like him ;w;/!!! I love him lots, and I had originally made him for someone’s contest in 2016 but I didn’t win so I’ve been slowly developing him :’0 Like, there’s only 3 pictures I’ve drawn of him including this jnfhnfdsjh Sorry I took so long, I JUST drew this //y e l l s

and uh uh- I was gonna add shading, but I messed up at one point by coloring the wrong layer which resulted in me not noticing till it was way too late :’D

[sonderrow-moved]

CONFESSION OF JUST ONE MAN. 07/??.

There was a small *schlick*. An incomparable sound which could only be made when a good, kind of heavy blade met a porous, thick fabric, breaking it yet still showing some resistance by how healthily dense it was. It was the part which made this sound a bit of a teeth gritter. The other, smoother part was because of the liquid which broke out under every layer of meat. You are so used to see a human body in science classes, it is a bit unreal, but also familiar when you open one up in real life.

It wasn’t the first time I opened one, I did it a lot. At times. Mind you I am not one of those sickos who gets too much into their own fantasy, have some sick compulsion. My line of cleaning showed me enough red flags so I could avoid my own.

She was one woman, just like all the other ones I hated. There is this whole shenanigan about men having mommy issues, I am not arrogant enough to think I am any different. Whatever the source, I just enjoyed cutting women. Hypocritical ones, ones who had an attitude. I didn’t like to touch kind ones, brave ones. I liked to touch those who were constantly rude for no reasons, bitches who would talk behind people’s back, ignorant ones who were not smart enough to see the grand scheme of things, stupid whores who were just good at spreading their legs and bearing children as garbage as them.

I like silence, I learned that soon enough. And since this is my comfort zone, I sometimes take the luxury to cut the vocal cords before or paralyze them like in this case, or I can always wear a very powerful noise cancelling headset. When I feel like a fighter, I do it with them bound by the extremities, and feel every twist of their body to escape. When I feel lazy, I just paralyze them and do as I please, like living, breathing doll. This is the only release all the hate inside me can afford, and nobody, nothing can waste it.

Listening to her breathy whisper of pain is like music to my ears, a sound I allow while I finish opening up her clothes. It feels more personal, when people are clothed. Clothes are part of your personality, of their life, if you remove them, they just look like nameless animals. This is not what I want. I like to feel the weight of their existence, and how I can tear it apart. The best part is when their attitude give in. For the strongest warriors, it is the split second when their wall break because of one sharp pain, and then they come back to having this sort of mental wrestling with me. It is only one-sided though; their eyes widening as I cut is enough for me to know that I won.

I like to lacerate the torso first, open it up and play with the wound as I cut deeper, like eating some steak tartare. I wear gloves to take care of my hands, but I still wear my everyday clothes; like I said, it feels more personal. When maybe it is not; in reality, she doesn’t know me, and I don’t know her. She is (maybe) more than the whore she was being so nasty to her coworkers and I am (I know it) more than a man holding a scalpel and having fun like a child with some food. I dig my nail through my gloves inside her wounds, a glop kind of sound echoing through the cold, dark room as her flesh tear, compared to how it was sliced so neatly earlier. I can make up the bits of meat stretching, like a bit of chewed gum, I should find a better comparison. And before I know it, by my curiosity and thoughts of finding a good food metaphor to this, I didn’t realize how wide I just made this one. Her body trembling gave it away and I let it be; the paralysis must be wearing off, but when it does entirely, she’d be unable to fight anyway.

Sex is always a subject which fascinated me. How desire makes us civilized beings back again to our bestial roots, and how with our wide intellect, we just made more sordid ways to satisfy our lowly lust. I don’t know where this comes from for me. Maybe I have my own inclinations and an underlying lust under my balls who just need a once per two months of emptying. Maybe it just comes in my tendency to observe thoroughly. Or maybe it is because my big sister raped me when I was a child. Who knows, whatever source doesn’t change the outcome, like I say.

Her body is one society would consider very nice, although it is not personally my type. Her stomach is flat. She is slender, with a bit of an hourglass shape. She has no big curve, her legs are slender and her breasts are just disappointingly pointy. Seeing how disgusting the masses are to adore such a weak appearance, I have no regrets when I cut off one of her nipple, almost deaf to her gagging. I dump more ice cold water on her face to keep her awake. It feels satisfying, like I am being efficient at what I do. It is the same feeling of a job well done. The second one, I tear off. And I roll them under by fingers as she bleeds out, feeling their unique texture, it is like they just became a stress ball in the palm of my hand. I squish them, trying to make them flat like pancakes. Obviously it doesn’t work. Still entertaining to do. Liberating. To think of something and act upon it. I sew the holes. And the little balls of threads give me some cathartic, trypophobia kind of feeling. A come back with my sterilized needle again and again. Too much. Too many times. Like I’m trying to replace her breasts, which are supposed to be attractive, with some sort of monstrous, obsidian black and spiky extremities.

I go upwards and meet her eyes. She hates me, so, so much. Sometimes, their eyes have such a bullying feeling to them I feel a bit of fear, like it digs right into my self-esteem, maybe I am masochistic to let those linger through me and not hide their sockets after such encounters. My knife goes to the side of her mouth, slicing it so her cheeks  open, and I can see her whole, perfect and crimson with blood denture. I find it so much more appealing than her skin with way too much foundations. Even all the rubbing I did didn’t take off her makeup; it just make women less beautiful I say. Of bad taste those bold colours were. I thought her eyelashes were fake, turned out when I plucked them they were real. Though the crayon to the eyebrows was so thick, tearing off all the hair didn’t get the lines off.

But then I waited too much. Too much preparation, when in the thick of it I cannot wait anymore. Murderers can take their sweet time of torture, but there is so much I can do; I just want to get what I was looking for. And it is to undo her to her deepest parts, have them rupture for me and against her will.

The tip of my blade is tickling her clitoris, and as she moves her legs, her bottom clothes just slide on the floor, like a woman being prepared to be made love to. She screams, and I smile without realizing actually. It is only the tip, which I roll around, the cold steel molesting her most sensitive spot. Our face grow closer, and she is too paralyzed, already thinking about the pain to even think about spitting in my face. But I maintain the eye contact, so strongly she cannot look elsewhere but at me.

Like I was giving a good, quick and rough fisting, my arm gives a sharp hit, only my hand is holding a scalpel, and I tug it deep inside her damn vagina, until you almost cannot see the hilt, in one damn go, without even getting my hand dirty by touching her. I let go as she spasms on the table. I dump more ice water on her before she passes out. Her intimate parts twitch, like she was just pleasured. And I go grab another scalpel. I make a move I could even call cool, and a slice in the air as if I was fighting, back and forth, precise and strong. And I watch so closely as blood spurts from her mutilated, shaved crotch, and her clitoris just slices open, too much of a mess for me to make up if I can see some sort of nerves, or anything more interesting than that little clump of skin. I shove two tips of index fingers in, spreading it like a doctor checking his patient’s genital health. And then I push directly inside the wounded button, like a lover who wants to feel the very nerve of his woman. I am satisfied with the sensation I find, but disappointed at the spectacle. I shake my hands, remove the gloves, and put a new pair on, just after stabbing that lovebud, deep enough so my scalpel stays up; I need to keep my tool readily available. Soon enough, the first blade is moving upwards, slicing everything open while my mind probably hallucinates juices flowing all over the place; it is impossible there was this much, yet this how I remember and will remember. And I prefer it like this. It makes a very fond memory.

That is what I think about most. Not their face, their name. I make this pitiful attempt to get close to them, because I am sure it will work every single time. But what I only remember is how deformed they were, how sick they make me, how angry I feel when I think about how this body can be liked by people.

I do everything so clean, although it is a body being open. And soon enough does she loses enough blood to die. I still have my fun exploring some parts when I am satisfied martyrizing her womb and co. The organs and stuff. This type of things everyone has heard or seen in any gory story, why would I bother? It wouldn’t faze anybody, and it didn’t faze me. Gave me a kind feeling, but nothing so notable as what I play in my head. Whatever if one day I stop doing it, I did it at least once. Who else can say the same? I got the best. Even after her death, my hands keep digging inside her thighs, and every piece of torture I realize source by starting from there. It makes something of some morbid star, dark and bloody. A beautiful masterpiece. Maybe I should refine my aesthetic, make more pleasing pictures for me to wonder about in my spare time. My mind even became amused if I could maybe, find a baby in there, and squash it like a crunchy cricket inside a cooked egg. Yet I found nothing. Too bad women too far in pregnancy do not interest me.

And when the full silence finally falls, I am alone. Because there were two before, and now I am on my own, with an object beside me. And since I am so cozy in, I don’t mind getting a little bit crazy. I like to cut her in pieces, because she’d be too heavy. I don’t care what I use, though I like the dirty and messy gashes of flesh rusty saws make, like you cannot tell if it was cut or tore. And the gore looks like it just exploded on its own, the unclean extremities making some sort of bouquet if I may say so myself. I like to take those parts, and smash them as hard as I can against the wall. I am never satisfied, even as they open up under me and blood stains bits of my cheeks. I don’t care about my appearance anymore, and there is only this loud THUD repeating over and over again, quicker and quicker. I can grab her severed head, smash her face against the concrete wall, and drag it as it leaves a gruesome trace, painting the material like I’m the new Francis Bacon.

I cannot see my face when I do that. It feels great. Violence. It is so stupid, stereotypically male… and I just let myself fall to it like an ignoramus. For one moment. At times, I will stop, my mind telling me it is enough. I’d look at the gash of her flesh, her limp body all mushed by my whole dominant strength beating her, playing around like a kid with too much anger playing baseball… and then I start again. Because it is not enough. I take momentary breaks when my muscles strain, and then I do it again. I cannot see her. I cannot take the thought that she still looks like herself when I stop. I want the magic to happen, to have all of this shit unrecognizable. I want the overwhelming feeling of a job well done. And just like how I plunged in her fuck, I’d satisfy my satiety until I see how she looks like if I were to take out all my energy… and even more, if the result doesn’t look good.

And I never end up satisfied. Her broken skull still looks like a skull. The finger that flew out of the room still look like a finger. And nothing can help me. Nothing can satisfy me. Those women have no souls, they cannot fill anything except give me the climax my anger needs. In the end, besides that mush of meat, I can perfectly make up her and it doesn’t go away. Yet I feel just as alone, with nothing besides me. A weakness this curse of being a human able of thoughts and feelings gave me. I won’t be one of those jackasses who says they are of marble. Self control and composure don’t mean you do not have emotions, and mine bangs my organs every living moment. I remove my gloves and my fingers trace on all that shit on the wall. So roughly I actually hurt myself and opens up my skin. It burns, like I just fell on concrete and was grated like some piece of cheese.

I was born like this. I don’t care about the how or why. Might as well just go with it. I don’t care.

… I have another, if you want.

[nevermindthewind]

decathlon of wonder

It’s the tenth Jimmy Jab Games and no one is gonna get in Jake’s way on his quest for glory and the Box of Mystery.

And that’s just the way Amy wants it.

It’s a Jimmy Jabs pregnancy reveal y’all!!!!!

(read on AO3 or under the cut)

“Alright squad,” Terry says from the podium. “I just received word that the United Nations summit will be beginning any minute. You all are to remain here -- ready to go -- for the duration of the meeting in case of protestors.”

“Yes sir,” says Rosa with a slight nod.

“The Captain and I are leaving for One Police Plaza for our meeting with Commissioner Holt.  We will be back in four hours.” Terry’s eyes narrow. “You all better not do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

“Don’t worry, Sarge. When have we ever done anything stupid?” Jake asks playfully. Terry gives him a menacing look, causing him to backtrack. “Okay, okay, we won’t do anything while you’re gone.”

Terry gives him one more glare before exiting the briefing room.  

As soon as the door closes Jake turns to the rest of the squad.

“Of course we’re going to do something while they’re gone,” he whispers, his eyes lighting up. “And not just anything. Friends, it’s time for--” The door handle turns, causing him to completely change the subject.

“No Charles, I do NOT want to wax each other’s le --”

In walk Amy and Gina, both in civilian clothing.

“Oh thank god,” Jake sighs. “What are you two doing here? You’re off today,” Jake nods at Amy before turning to Gina. “And you’re supposed to be with Holt.”

“Holt agrees that my job is optional,” Gina shrugs. “And when I heard you all were stuck here, I figured you could use some entertainment a la me.”

“He definitely did not say that, but okay,” says Amy, rolling her eyes before looking back at Jake. “I needed to drop off some paperwork downstairs, but I thought I’d come up and say hi before I left. Hi!”

“Hi,” Jake grins. Six months as a married couple and he still gets butterflies whenever he sees her.

She crosses the room to where Jake is sitting and leans down to give him a peck on the lips. “There’s a bagel and coffee on your desk.”

“Aw, thanks babe.” He looks up at the squad. “How great is my wife? Seriously, name a better wife than Amy Santiago Peralta.”

“Jake, we’re losing time…” Rosa warns. Jake jumps, his attention brought back to the situation at hand.

“Right. Ames, Gina, take a seat. For today is the day you’ve all been waiting for. THE JIMMY JAB GAMES.”

Amy and Gina slide into empty chairs as the entire squad breaks into cheers.

“But this is no ordinary Jimmy Jabs,” Jake says as he pops out of his chair and begins pacing the aisle. “No, for not only has it been ten years since the inaugural competition, but it is also the tenth Jimmy Jab Games to be held in this very precinct. Which is why today’s Jimmy Jabs will henceforth be known as...drumroll, please…”

The squad obliges, hitting their hands against the table. Jake brings his fingertips together and wiggles his eyebrows in an attempt to create suspense.

“...Jimmy Jabs Ten: Decathalon of Wonder.”

Everyone oohs and ahhs at the name, their excitement evident. Everyone, that is, except for Amy, whose eyes are filled with disappointment.

“I wish I could stay,” she mutters.

Jake’s face falls. He’d forgotten Amy wasn’t on duty. As much as he loves the games and loves competing with the entire squad, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without Amy there. Plus, this was supposed to be their first Jimmy Jabs as a married couple. According to that marriage book he’s been reading — That’s right, he reads on the reg now — they were supposed to celebrate important milestones together.  What’s more important than the Jimmy Jabs?!

He’s just about to suggest she stay when Gina, of all people, beats him to it.

“Come on Amy, live a little and stay for the games. The pantsuit shopping can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

“But I have errands to run,” Amy insists, although Jake can tell she’s thinking it over.

“Come on Ames. It’s only a few hours, and we can finish all our errands tomorrow or something,” Jake suggests as he approaches her chair. As he gets closer he can tell she’s tired, and maybe a little stressed by the slight furrow in her brow. Half her squad had been out with a stomach bug last week and Amy’d been forced to work overtime to make up for the lack of manpower.  He takes her hand in his. “It’d be way more fun if you stayed. But if you need to go, I totally get it.”

Amy gives him a tiny smile as she runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re sweet,” she says. “I’ll stay --”

“Yay!”

“-- But only so I can kick your ass,” she adds with a smirk, turning to face the others. “JIMMY JABS! JIMMY JABS!”

The rest of the squad joins in the chanting, and in that moment Jake’s never been more proud of his wife.

--

After the ceremonial lighting of the bagel, the detectives file into the kitchen where six items sit under various fast food napkins. Once everyone has taken their seats across from their respective object Gina begins the explanation of the rules.

“Despite the name of the games we don’t have time for an actual decathlon.”

“I stand by it,” Jake interjects.

“So we will be continuing with the traditional four game event. The loser of each game will be eliminated, while the winner will get a bonus in the final round. The overall winner will receive, along with all of the glory and pride that comes with being a Jimmy Jab champion, this magical box of mystery.”

She holds up a beat up lunch box that had to be at least thirty years old. It was metal, with a picture of…

“Wait a second,” says Jake, confused. “Is that my Superman lunch box from the fourth grade?”

“Yeah girl, I stole it from your old apartment before you moved out. Anyway,” Gina continues, “The real prize inside this box, but in order to win it you must survive all four competitions.”

“I don’t know, that box seems like a good prize to me,” Jake murmurs to Amy, who rolls her eyes.

“Sure it is, babe.”

“The first game is ‘Smoothie Move, Exlax,’” announces Gina.  “Under your napkins you will find a smoothie containing a variety of foods I found in the lunchroom refrigerator.  These foods include but are not limited to Charles’ latest desk yogurt, expired salami, and, as a tribute to Double J 7, month old chinese food. Whoever drinks the most of their smoothie wins.”

The squad gingerly removes the napkins to reveal a smoothie that was probably the grossest, most unnatural color Jake had ever seen.

“It looks like melted silly putty,” he says, holding the cup in the air to get a better look.

“Or one of Holt’s flavor free nutrition shakes,” Amy adds, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Charles eyes his cup with utter terror. “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this…” he murmurs to himself.

“Ugh, it smells like ass,” says Rosa. Her nostrils flare as she sets the glass down. Amy looks at her in horror.

“Why would you smell it?”

“Enough,” snaps Gina. “Contestants, place your straws in your cups. On your mark, get Seth, MEYERS!”

Jake plunges his straw into his smoothie and begins to drink as much of it as he can. He decides to take small sips, not wanting to overwhelm his stomach with...is that a pickle?!

“Why is mine crunchy?” Rosa cries in between sips.

“This tastes how cat poop smells,” gags Amy. She’s already turned a frightening shade of green.

“I don’t know why you guys are complaining, these are delicious,” says Hitchcock, who’s currently licking the edge of his cup.

It’s only three seconds later that Charles pushes his cup away.

“Nope, I can’t. Sylvia is too important to me.”

“Who’s Sylvia?” asks Gina.

“My mouth, duh. After everything she’s done for me she needed a name.”

Amy’s next to fold, setting her smoothie down with a shudder. Rosa and Scully bow out shortly after, until it’s just Jake and Hitchcock. Hitchcock’s looking close to bursting after a minute of slurping, and honestly Jake’s pretty sure his belly is filled with more air than smoothie. Jake’s actually beginning to wonder if he has a chance. But just as the thought enters his mind Amy jumps up and runs to the bathroom, her hand covering her mouth.  

A couple years ago Jake would have kept going, his drive to win outweighing any form of compassion. But this is his wife and she’s clearly about to hurl, so he sets his cup down with a clatter and rushes after her.

“Ames!”

Amy ignores him, reaching the ladies room in record time and letting the door slam in Jake’s face.

He knocks on the door to the bathroom before opening. As soon as the doors open he hears a violent cough come from the stall closest to him.

“Babe? What can I do?”

A pause.

“Can you go get Gina?” she asks weakly.

Of all her possible answers, this one catches him completely by surprise.

“Gina? Our Gina?”

“Yeah, babe our Gi --.” She’s cut off by another wave of...well, you know.

“You’re sure? Gina Linetti?”

“JAKE.”

“Right, okay.” He shuts the door and turns only to run directly into Gina herself. “Aghh!”

“Lemme guess,” Gina says with a knowing smirk. “She’s asking for me?”

“Yes,” says Jake, bewildered. Gina and Amy are friends, sure. But of all the people Amy would ask for as she’s vomiting fridge smoothie, Gina’s pretty much the last person he’d have expected. Gina, on the other hand, looks completely unsurprised. She merely pats him on the shoulder as she walks past him and barges into the bathroom.

“Don’t worry Amy dearest, your favorite human has arrived.”

Jake did a double take. “Huh?”

Today is weird.

--

Fifteen minutes later both women emerge from the bathroom, Amy looking a little pale but otherwise okay.  Jake grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze, pulling her to a stop as Gina keeps walking.

“You good?” he asks. She smiles as she squeezes back.

“I’m fine. Just couldn’t handle the salami-egg roll-pizza smoothie, I guess. Wonder why?” she adds with a touch of sarcasm.

“Okay,” he nods. He’s just about to ask about Gina when Rosa calls over to them.

“Come on dummies, we’re about to start round two.”

“Yeah come on, dummy,” says Amy. There’s a playful glint in her eye as she pulls him to the center of the bullpen where the rest of the squad is waiting.

Gina has already taken her perch at the whiteboard, where each of their six photos are lined up.

“Charles has been eliminated,” she announces, crossing his photo out with a red sharpie. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Sorry buddy,” Jake says, giving Charles a pat on the back.

“Thanks, Jakey.”

“Moving on,” says Gina with a dismissing wave. “The next event is called ‘Dude Where’s My Bomb?’. One at a time you will each put on a pair of drunk goggles and search for the fake bomb I have hidden somewhere in the bullpen. Whoever takes the longest loses.”

“Oh you’re going down, Santiago,” Amy says, a smug smirk flickering across her face. “Drunk goggles are my shit.”

“You sure, Peralta?” Jake asks with mock concern. “Because I seem to recall you falling down a flight of stairs in drunk goggles mere months ago.”

“That was Charles,” Amy retorts.

“Yeah Jake that was me. How dare you confuse me, your best friend in the entire world --”

“-- Amy’s my best friend.”

“-- YOUR BEST FRIEND IN THE ENTIRE WORLD,” Charles repeats, “With this flooze.”

“Hey that’s my wife!”

“Yeah not cool man,” Amy adds.

“SILENCE!” Gina bellows. Everyone shuts up at once. “You savages.”

Rosa gives Gina a silent nod of approval, causing Gina to wink back before continuing.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we will go in the order of the last game’s winners.  Which means -- and I can’t believe I’m saying this -- Hitchcock will be going first. Hashtag shudder.”

“Yeah baby!” Hitchcock says smugly.

Hitchcock’s winning the Jimmy Jab games.  Amy’s suddenly besties with Gina. And he just confused Amy for Charles.

If Jake didn’t know better, he’d think he was in the Upside Down.

--

It turns out the day’s more normal than he thought, because both Hitchcock and Scully get eliminated within the span of twenty minutes. Hitchcock straight up left the precinct during his turn because he heard someone mention an ice cream truck outside and Scully fell down the stairs in his drunk goggles less than thirty seconds after his turn started.

“We are now down to the final three,” says Gina as she crosses out both Scully and Hitchcock on the leaderboard.  “Which leads us to the acting portion of the competition.”

“Oh no,” murmurs Amy.

“Ha HA!” Jake cries. “You might as well throw in the towel now, Ames. We both know that I, Jacob Peralta Santiago, am the KING of --”

“Not that, Jake.”

The shakiness in her voice causes Jake to look over to where his wife is sitting, once again a ghastly shade of green. She has one hand on her stomach and her gaze is trained on the floor, on the one blue tile she always focuses on when she’s feeling panicky. Or nauseous, apparently.

“Ames?” he asks timidly. “Babe, you good?”

Amy gives one shake of the head before jumping out of her old desk chair and racing to the bathroom.  

Jake follows suit, fully planning on barging in this time because she’s his wife and she’s sick goddamn it, but before he can take even a step in that direction he sees someone walk past him.

Gina.

“I got it, Jakester,” she says as she continues past him.

“What? No,” Jake sputters. “Gina, I love you but I can go, you don’t have to --”

“Let her go,” says Rosa, grabbing his arm to stop him from going after Gina. “She’s got this.”

“Got WHAT? Rosa what the hell is going on?!” His voice is higher than he’d care to admit, but there’s clearly something going on that he doesn’t know about and it is stressing him the fuck out. “Rosa, if she’s sick or something I feel like as her husband I should be in the know. Right now I could not feel more outside the know.”

Rosa rolls her eyes. “Nothing, dude. Relax.  Gina has some mystical salve that she insists cures nausea. Amy wanted to try it. Just let her be.”

“Mystical salve?” Jake asks, raising his eyebrows. Amy would never buy into that.

“Ugh I know,” says Rosa with a slight look of disgust. “I’m pretty sure it’s just Vicks with raw ginger in it, but whatever. When she was...well, when she was sick she said it was the only thing that helped.”

Jake has approximately five million more questions. How did Rosa and Gina know that Amy was sick and not him? When did Amy start taking advice from Gina? And when did Gina start offering it?

But just as he’s about to ask, Gina and Amy are walking out of the bathroom.  

“Alright losers, listen up!” Gina calls from the front of the hallway.

Jake gives Amy a look, raising his eyebrows with concern.

“You okay?” he mouths.

She nods and gives him a slight, almost shy smile.

“In the interest of time we will be cancelling event three and moving straight into the final event,” Gina continues.  “Rosa, as you came in third in ‘Dude Where’s My Bomb?’, I am sorry but you have been eliminated.”

Oh crap. There is no way Rosa will take this without a fight. Rosa’s come in second the past two Jimmy Jabs, and they all knew how badly she wanted a win.  

So imagine his surprise when Rosa merely plops down into her chair, rests her feet on her desk and says, “Fine by me.”

“WHAT?!” Jake exclaims, unable to mask his confusion any longer. “How are you okay with this?”

Rosa just rolls her eyes. “Because, unlike you, I don’t need to win a stupid game to know that I’m a badass.”

“That stings, but okay. I guess,” Jake says, giving her one final confused look before turning to Amy. “What about you? You sure you can do this, babe?”

Amy walks over to him and places a hand on his chest. His heart instantly slows at her touch, allowing him to actually relax for the first time since this crazy-ass day began. She glances up at him with a sweet smile, pecking his lips before pulling back and looking him right in the eye.

“I promise I am more than able to kick your ass.”

“Alright then!” Gina exclaims. “She seems fine to me.”

Jake lets out a relieved laugh as he removes Amy’s hand from his chest and interlaces their fingers together. The entire precinct gathers around the couple, who are now standing right in the center of the bullpen. The scene is not unlike Jimmy Jabs of years past, except now instead of trying not to flirt with her, Jake is openly holding Amy’s hand and fiddling with her rings, wondering how in the world he got the hottest and smartest girl in the world to actually fall in love with him.

“The final event of the Decathlon of Wonder will be, as per tradition, an obstacle course,” Gina announces. “If the contestants could please keep their hands off each other, I will explain the rules,” she adds with a pointed look at both of them.

Jake gives Amy’s hand one final squeeze before letting go.

‘Thank you,” says Gina with a swift nod. “First, contestants must enter the break room, where they will eat an entire donut without using their hands.  Then you will race to complete Pin the Tack on the Terry, in which you will have to successfully place a thumbtack on a picture of Terry, specifically Terry’s nose, while wearing a blindfold. Once Terry has been successfully tacked you must race to the bulletin board on the second floor, where you will tear off a phone number from a roommate advertisement. And finally, you will return to the bullpen, where you must solve a riddle in order to be granted the key to the box of mystery.”

“Oh Amy,” says Jake with a smirk. “Amy, Amy, Amy. Are you ready to be owned by your loving, incredibly talented husband?”

Amy rolls her eyes.

“Weird take on a very strong and wonderful marriage, but okay.”

“Contestants, to your starting positions,” says Gina, cutting them off. Amy and Jake lineup facing the breakroom.  “On your mark, get set, HARMON!”

All the worry, all the weirdness of the day flies out the window as Jake and Amy sprint towards the break room, where two donuts sit on the worn wooden table. The crowd files in after them, cheering both detectives on as they hold their hands behind their backs and attempt to eat their respective donut. Jake finishes a hair ahead of Amy, jumping out of his chair mere seconds before Amy takes her final bite.

“Eat my dust, Peralta!” he calls over his shoulder as he flies across the bullpen to the briefing room.  

Unfortunately for him Amy’s lighting fast, so she reaches her station before Jake’s even finishing putting on his blindfold, an old bandana Gina found in the lost in found.

“Why can’t I get this stupid blindfold on?” he practically growls as he fumbles over the ends.

“Why can’t I get this stupid blindfold on -- title of your sex tape.” Amy briefly turns her head to smile at him, her eyes already covered by her own makeshift blindfold. It’s simultaneously the most sexy and most frustrating thing in the entire world.

“You wish,” Jake retorts. Amy’s grin widens before she feels around for her first tack.

“Yeah I do.”

“God, I love you.”

Finally after what had to be his fiftieth try Gina announces “Jake has tacked Terry’s schnoz!”, eliciting a groan from Amy and a full on “WOOP WOOP” from Jake.

He races down over to the elevator and this time he doesn’t even think about holding the door open for Amy. This year he’s winning all on his own, no matter what the cost. (Within reason, he’s not an animal.)

It takes forever for the elevator to come to a stop and for the doors to slide open. He scours the room for a bulletin board that might have a roommate flier on it, but just as he spots it he hears the familiar ping of the elevator door. Sure enough Amy’s flying straight towards him as soon as the doors open wide enough for her to squeeze through.

“NO!” he cries, lunging towards the board and ripping off the first phone number he sees. Amy’s right behind him as he slams his palm into the up button, hitting it repeatedly until the doors slide open. This time he actually hits the door-close button, but it’s too late. Amy runs into the elevator with at least five seconds to spare. Her cheeks are tinted pink, all evidence of her earlier sickness gone as they wait for the elevator to take them to their final challenge.

“You know Ames, you might as well just call it quits now while you can,” Jake says with a careless grin. Might as well take the time to slip in a little trash talk, just for kicks. “I’m clearly gonna win.”

“We’ll just see about that, babe,” Amy says with a smirk. There’s a twinkle in her eye, one that makes his heart physically ache, and for a second Jake is taken aback by just how beautiful his wife is. She’s in her favorite pair of jeans and his favorite sweater of hers, the pink one that makes her skin look like caramel. It’s almost, almost enough for him to want to give up entirely, to let her win and let his prize be seeing her happy, but then the elevator comes to a halt and the doors open and forget that, he has a Jimmy Jabs to win!

The two of them fly to Gina’s desk where a sealed envelope waits for each of them.  Jake tears his apart and reads the question:

As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives. Each wife had seven sacks, every sack had seven cats, every cat had seven kittens. Kittens, cats, sacks, wives. How many were going to St. Ives?

At first Jake freezes, the presh of trivia and riddles almost costing him the competition right then and there. But he reads the question again, and again, swearing he’s heard this particular puzzle before. In a movie, maybe? That’s when it hits him--

“It’s the Die Hard puzzle,” he gasps. Without thinking he calls out the answer. “One. The answer is one!”

“Ding ding ding,” announces Gina. “We have a winner!”

“YES!” Jake cries. The crowd around them erupts into cheers as Jake slaps the paper with the riddle on the desk before lifting both his fists in celebration. “I AM THE KING OF JIMMY JABS!”

“Congratulations Jake,” says Gina as she removes a tiny silver key from her front pocket. “Now I believe this belongs to you.”

“You hear that, babe?” Jake says as he snatches the key out of Gina’s outstretched hand. “I believe we now know who is the most glorious member of this couple?”

Amy, God love her, doesn’t look the least bit put out by the fact that she lost the games.  In fact, she is downright beaming. Why is she so happy?

“Care to congratulate me?” he asks as he dramatically waves the key in front of her face. “Me, the winner of five out of ten Jimmy Jab Games?”

Amy rolls her eyes as she gives him a playful shove.

“Just open your prize, weirdo.”

Jake grins as he takes the key over to the box, which had been left on Amy’s old desk.  

“You know, I really shouldn’t be that surprised anymore,” Jake continues as he slides the key into the lock.  “I think I’m just gonna have to accept that I am the ultimate --”

He pauses as the box clicks open, revealing a plain white box with his name written in Amy’s careful cursive.

“What’s this?” he asks, his heart racing as he looks up to see Amy’s smile has grown even wider. “Why’s my name on the box?”

“Just open it,” she says, prodding him along.  He gives her one final look of bewilderment before removing the lid. His jaw drops, his stomach filling with the most wonderful mix of joy, confusion, and excitement he could have ever imagined.

Because laying in the box are five positive pregnancy tests.

“Ames…” he whispers, looking up to see tears running down his wife’s face. “What the...Is this for real?”

“Mhmm,” she nods, bringing her hand up to her mouth in the way that makes him melt. “I took them two days ago on my lunch break. I was going to tell you right away, I swear! But then Rosa found me asleep in Babylon clutching the test and she got Gina to help me with the nausea and we kind of came up with this...”

She’s cut off by Jake lifting her off the ground in an (almost) bone crushing hug. He spins her around before gently bringing her back to earth. His arms stay around her waist as he touches his forehead to hers.

“We’re having a baby?” he whispers. He bites his lower lip in an attempt to contain his excitement but it’s no use. His grin is so wide it almost hurts.

“We’re having a baby,” she repeats, joy saturating her voice.

“Oh my god...” He lets out a laugh as he kisses her, rubbing the tears away from her cheeks as he brings a hand to her face. The crowd around them whoops and hollers, but they could care less. Because Amy is pregnant and they’re gonna be parents and he loves her so damn much.

After they break apart Amy leans into his chest as Jake wraps his arms around her waist.

“You’re really happy about this?” she murmurs, her voice vibrating against his heart.

“Oh Ames,” he all but whispers as he plants a kiss on the top of her head. “I am so, so happy about this.”

“Me too.”

“I do have one question though,” he says, causing her to take a step back so she can actually see his face.

“Yeah?”

He brushes a small piece of hair out of her face as gently as he can.

“Are you...are you saying I knocked you up?!”

Amy bursts into giggles as she runs her hands down his arms. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Yeah babe, you sure did.”