#spice mas press trip

[ringsbeforebabies]

Spicemas in Grenada: A Celebration of Culture, Freedom, and Natural Beauty

Grenada, often referred to as the “Spice Isle,” is a jewel in the Caribbean known for its vibrant culture, exquisite cuisine, and breathtaking natural landscapes. One of the most anticipated events on the island’s calendar is Spicemas, a lively carnival celebration that encapsulates Grenada’s rich heritage and traditions. This annual festival brings together locals and visitors alike in a…

[mamawasatesttube]

number 81 for the writing prompts: "It's cold, you should take my jacket."

(mostly cause I wanna see Tim wear Kon's leather jacket and Neither of them being normal about it but do what you want with it it's your fic <3)

“Here.”

Tim looks up as Kon waltzes back into the living room, two enticingly-steaming mugs in his hands. Hot spiced apple cider sounds absolutely divine right now—the blustery Kansas day outside is reaching its icy fingers into the farmhouse despite the fire blazing merrily in the hearth, and Tim has to admit, he maybe should’ve packed warmer for this trip.

Kon presses one of the mugs into his hands—the nicer one, Tim notes, without the chip in the rim—and Tim accepts it with a grateful hum. The warmth seeps into his palms immediately. “Thanks.”

“No problemo, Rob-lemo.” Kon plops down next to him on the couch, his TTK keeping his cider perfectly still in his mug as he makes himself comfortable. “It’s pretty chilly out today. Gonna be a good night to go skating—the pond down by the McAllister’s place is frozen over, and this time of year, they string up lights ‘n’ invite all the neighbors to come by in the evenings. Wanna go?”

Tim hums in consideration. “Could be fun, but just warning you, it’s been a hot minute since I did any skating, so I’m kinda rusty. And I didn’t bring any skates.” Mmm, the steam rising up from his cider smells amazing. “Did you make this?”

Kon’s eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. Then he puffs out his cheeks in mock offense, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to sound so surprised! I’m good in the kitchen.”

Yeah, Bart keeps calling him malewife material about it. Tim grins into his mug; it’s not his fault it’s so easy to ruffle Kon’s feathers, or that it’s so funny to do so. “I guess it is Ma’s recipe, so it’d be hard to make it bad.”

Kon politely waits for him to lower the mug from his mouth and then swats him on the back of the head. Tim does appreciate the pause, even as he ducks away, laughing. The cider tastes like apples and cinnamon and honey; warmth spreads through Tim’s chest.

“You’re rude,” Kon tells him. “Just for that, if you fall on your face when we go skating, I’m not helping you up. I’m just gonna laugh.”

“Oh, it’s a when we go skating now?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at him in turn. “I just said I didn’t bring any skates.”

“We can get you some, that’s no trouble,” Kon says, flapping a dismissive hand. Tim opens his mouth to ask where, exactly, in Smallville, can they get a pair of new ice skates in a matter of a couple of hours, but then closes it again when it hits him that even if there isn’t a big sporting goods shop in Smallville, geography isn’t really a concern to someone who can crisscross the entire globe in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Tim lightly elbows him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually good at skating. I bet you just TTK your way through it.”

Kon elbows him back. “Yeah, right! I’m pretty decent, no powers required, actually. Been going plenty with Jon. He particularly loves this one roller dome in Metropolis that always has Super merch in the arcade claw games.”

Okay, Tim has to admit, he’s melting a little about that. Kon loves his little brother. The image of him taking Jon skating is really cute—he can just picture Jon wobbling along, holding Kon’s hand, and rambling about his day like he loves to do. He bites back a truly sappy smile; his toes curl instead, where they’re tucked under a cushion to stay warm.

“Lemme guess. The claw games are where you TTK it up.”

Kon snickers. “They’re rigged as hell, but the kid wants his misshapen Superman plushies, so obviously I gotta win ‘em for him.”

“Obviously,” Tim agrees. He curls his fingers around his mug a little tighter, soaking up its warmth; he’s got an actual winter coat for when they go out, but he really wishes he’d brought some thicker sweaters or hoodies for hanging around in the house itself. He’s used to the damp, creeping cold of Gotham; the blustery Kansas winters might be about the same temperature, but the wind out here blows right through him.

Kon shifts next to him, setting his cider down on a coaster on the coffee table. Tim glances up just in time to see him unzip and shrug out of his hoodie—it’s fleece-lined and light pink with a strawberry cow printed on the front breast pocket, very cute.

And then Kon leans over and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders. Tim’s face heats.

“It’s cold,” Kon explains. “Take my jacket. I don’t really need it that bad, anyway, so you may as well get some use out of it.”

It’s still warm from his body, and Tim lifts one hand from his mug to pull it more tightly around himself like a blanket. His nose brushes the collar when he turns his head a little. The jacket smells like Kon’s cologne.

…It’s the citrus-and-spice one Tim bought him last Christmas. He’s wearing the cologne Tim picked out for him last year, the one Tim definitely didn’t spend almost an hour agonizing over as he imagined tucking his face into Kon’s shoulder and inhaling this specific scent from his collarbone. He’s…

Tim’s face gets even hotter. Abruptly, he takes a gulp of hot cider, hiding in his mug. Kon’s jacket smells like him, and it’s warm, and it’s big and cozy and soft, and…

Kon is staring at him, Tim realizes belatedly. He didn’t notice because he was busy, uh, processing, but Kon’s looking at him like he’s…

Like he’s the last morsel of dessert on the table, and Kon has a ravenous craving for some sugar?

Tim swallows hard. Deliberately counts to eight on his next inhale and exhale. If he lets his heart rate pick up, Kon will definitely notice.

“Thanks,” he manages, finally. “That’s, uh. Yeah. That’s nice.”

“I’ll say,” Kon mutters. He drops his gaze, his cheeks a little pink, and then reaches over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Bring warmer lounge clothes next time, dumbass. The farmhouse is kinda old. Gets drafty in here.”

“Yeah,” Tim says wryly. He shifts his weight, rearranging his legs so that instead of leaning on the armrest, he flops himself against Kon’s side, dropping his head to his shoulder for a moment. “I noticed.”

Kon leans his cheek against Tim’s hair. “At least you got me to keep you warm,” he sighs, slipping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “What would you do without me, huh?”

Tim bites back the first response on the tip of his tongue (“Go into a huge depressive spiral?”) and goes for something a little less insane. “Freeze to death before you even get to laugh about me falling on my face at the McAllisters’ pond?”

Kon snorts. He’s comfortably warm against Tim’s side, and Tim snuggles a little closer, relishing his warmth. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Kon agrees. “I hope I can get it on video.”

Tim just smiles to himself and raises his mug for another sip of cider. The honey and spices are heavenly on his tongue, but if he’s being entirely honest, he can think of something sweeter.

[aquagirl1978]

Auld Lang Syne - Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Ny last fic of 2023 - Happy New Year's Eve! Day 6 of my 12 Days of Christmas. Also part of my New Year, New Celebration follower celebration.

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader

Prompt: kiss on the hand

Word Count: 353

Tags: fluff with the tiniest hint of spice at the end

“You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

Comte was standing next to the carriage, his hand extended to you as he waited for you to make your way down the mansion steps.

You were alight with excitement as you held the hem of your new ball gown, careful not to trip in your new shoes. You paused as you slipped your gloved hand into his; his dazzling smile hid the hedonist lurking underneath the elegant black tuxedo.

“After you, ma chérie,” he said. Lifting your hand to his lips, he brushed a chaste kiss across your knuckles. Your cheeks flushed with warmth as he flicked his eyes up, his golden gaze burning with unbridled desire. 

It was cozy in the carriage when Comte slid into the seat next to you. With your bodies pressed together, the heat from his body quickly radiated to yours. When he placed his hand on your knee, flames of passion ignited in your core.

“I thought we'd start the celebrations early.” Comte reached for the bottle of champagne that was chilling in a bucket of ice on the seats across you. He opened the bottle with a loud pop, causing you to giggle as the champagne bubbled from the top of the bottle. Comte quickly filled two glasses, and handed one to you.

“Bonne année, ma chérie,” he whispered. 

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back as you clicked glasses. The champagne was light and sweet on your tongue. However, the cool liquid trickling down your throat did nothing to cool off your body.

By the time your glasses were drained, you had arrived at your destination.

“We're a bit early,” Comte commented as he took a peek outside. After shutting the curtains closed, he leaned his face dangerously close to yours, his large hand slowly sliding up your thigh.

He dipped his face a little closer, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss. He pulled away, only a millimeter or two away – just enough to tempt you to lean in and kiss him. 

“I think we have a few minutes to kill before we have to go in.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381

[emb-bbg445]

Homecoming

Summary: you and an old friend of yours (miles) reconnect at your last  highschool homecoming after being split.

(You guys are seniors)

Blackfem!reader x Miles 

Warning:fluff, make out 

"Cmon Mom! I have to go" You complained standing outside in the parking lot of your neighborhood. "Girl cmon and pose for the picture" your mom said smacking her lips. You then pose for your picture with your hands on your hips smiling widely as your mom held up her phone. "Alright  les go." Your mother says as she then puts her phone away walking to the car.

You were excited to go to homecoming, and since it was your last, you went all out for it. A beautiful silk light blue yet slightly grayish dress with shell earrings and a gorgeous shell necklace. Your look was inspired by Halle Baileys look with her dress for the premiere of the little Mermaid. 

You then look out your mirror and see the huge campus outside as your mom stops the car. You then pull your phone out of your purse and look one more time at yourself to make sure your makeup is still intact. "Bye mom, I'll see you in a few hours." You say stepping out the car and waving goodbye outside the window. 

You then walk in and hand in your ticket and walk over to the gym where everything was being held, you then get flashed with a bunch of colorful lights reflecting all around the floor. Multiple kids in different suits and dresses standing out with one another all around with some kids being in their own groups. 

"HEY Y/N!" You then turn over and see your life long best friend jogging over to you in a way that she wouldn't trip and fall in her black heels. You then smile as you give her a full hug. "It's so good to see you again. Cmon, let's go on the dance floor."

You two and a few of y'all's  other friends meet up and go on the dance floor.you guys were dancing, rapping some songs such as ice spice, nicki Minaj, Justin Bieber, etc. the next song that then started to play was 'Love' by Keyshia Cole. You all then start screaming your hearts out, singing loudly as you all swayed from side to side funny-like.

Because of your heels, you misplace your foot while swaying and trip while singing causing you to bump into someone. You then lift yourself up and look behind you only to realize who you bumped into. It was your old guy friend Miles. "Miles?? Oh my god I'm so sorry I bumped into you are you alright?" You say surprised. He then slightly giggled. "It's fine. But I did slightly spill my drink on myself because of you" He says showing the stain. 

Your eyes widen in empathy. "I'll help you clean up" you say as you take his hand and heading to the family restroom. "Ma, it's okay I'll just wash it when I get home-"No it's not, I ruined your shirt for you." You cut him off grabbing a bunch of paper towels. He then leans on the sink watching you. You then go up close onto him, pressing your body against his as you wipe off the stain.

He then looks at you slightly up and down as you could feel his breath on you. You then felt a tension forming between you both. "How does it look Ma?" He asks faintly still maintaining eye contact with you. His dark eyes striking at you. "It looks great. It doesn't look like something anybody would notice" you say breathily. 

There was silence between you two. A silence that felt like an eternity. "So.. what happened, I thought you said you were gonna move after 9th grade?" You asked. He then looked down. "My mom didn't wanna leave our home behind. She felt like moving out would be... missing a piece of my dad." He says upset. You then go up to him and hug him in empathy. "I'm so sorry that happened to you Miles."

"It's okay y/n" He says pulling away from the hug smiling. Silence then fills the room once more. 

"You don't know how much I've missed you Mami" he says still holding your hand as he starts rubbing the top of your hand in circles with his thumb.

 Your heart begins to speed in pace becoming flustered. "I've missed you too Miles. But how come you stopped speaking to me after May of freshman year?? You just acted like I wasn't there." You ask. He then stops circling your hand. "Because of the incident with my father. I couldn't get you involved." He says faintly.

You slightly pout and hug him again. "Oh miles, don't ever shut me out like that. If you ever have something going on, you can talk to me, okay?" 

He smiles and takes his hand on your cheek. "Promise." 

There was the a silence between you two. His other hand was still around your waist after y'all's hug and your hands were around his neck. He then looks at your lips as he moved his face and inch closer to yours, causing you to be able to feel his breathing.

You then press your lips against his. Him making a slightly tighter grip on your waist. He then lifts off the sink and lets go of your face to hold the other side of your waist. You both then back into a stall closing and locking the door. He then pulls away and looks at you as he then slowly sits on the toilet seat and you going on top straddling onto his lap. 

He then continues to kiss you again. The kisses being more stronger as time progressed. You then bit his bottom lip and him letting out a slight groan. "You don't know what you're doing to me" he whispers in your ear slightly panting. He then starts trailing kisses on you. Your face, jawline, and neck. 

He then holds on hand on the back of your neck bringing it closer to him. He then lets off your neck and starts kissing you again until a familiar voice calls your name. You then pull away from Miles leaving a string of saliva falling from your mouths. "Y/n! Are you in here?" Your  best friend knocks on the stall. 

You Miles then stay quiet as she then goes on her knees to look under. "Oh shit! Miles what do we do?" You whisper yell to him" he slightly grips his hold onto your hips. "Mami it's gonna be alright just tell her it's you." He whispers in your ear. 

"Uhh yea it's me!" You call out to your friend. "Girl your song is on! Come back to the dance floor!" You then look back at Miles. "Let's go back. Your friends are probably worried too." You whisper. He then nods his head and lightly kisses you. You then jump off his lap and go out the bathroom together. 

                                              ...

Homecoming was now over. People were now walking out with friends, taking a few more pictures and some people just going into their rides. You then hug your best friend good bye as she walks off into the parking lot as you stand against the wall waiting for your mom. "Y/n" a faint voice says. You turn and see Miles again and smile. "Hey.." you say faintly hugging him. "I was just wondering, since we haven't hung out in a minute, we could go out together next week? Just us two." He said nervously as he takes your hand and rubbing circles with his thumb like before 

You smile and slightly giggle. "Of course." You two then smile at each other until a car honk is heard out next to you guys. "That's my mom. I'll see you later okay?" You say quickly giving him one last hug.

"Text me when you get home okay darling?" He says kissing your hand lightly. You nod your head and hop in your moms car as she then pulls off back home as you then prepare for your next week hangout with Miles.

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/720876247660560384/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

“Oh, it was fine,” he grinned, pausing to stretch a little (he might be a little sore from hauling around all those huge rolls of fabric for a bit, but he’d recover, he was sure) before moving to press a loving kiss to her lips: He loved having her to look forward to seeing when he got home, especially on a big night like tonight-it had been all he could think about all day!

Offering her a hand to help her out of the tub, he asked eagerly, grinning from ear to ear, “Did Ma tell you? She’s making oysters tonight! She had some tucked away in the icebox, and she thought it’d make it’d make a great dinner, something she hopes you’ll really like!”

It’d been a long time since the Paces had had oysters, honestly: Randall and Wilhelm seldom got their hands on them during their fishing trips, and they more often than not found them to be much too expensive to purchase at the market-it was very much a specialty item in the house, only for certain occasions. 

“My ma’s family used to buy them for small dinner parties and family get-togethers!” Randall was explaining brightly, as he led her downstairs, where the savory, spiced scent was already wafting enticing from the kitchen. “Ma’s got an old recipe from her ma, my grandma’s, side of the family, she likes to put it to good use around holidays-sometimes if we get really lucky, we have them for New Years!” It seldom happened, but when it did, it was wonderful.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Easy Peasy

-- Trigger warning for depression, mentions of suicide and physical abuse.

Sorry folks, this one is a bummer --

Jake Hangman Seresin. 33, tall, good looking, graduated top of his class at Top Gun. 

Who wouldn't want to be him?

Jake would have rather been anyone else. I mean, life was fine before The Incident. It was okay, even. There was work, then home, then work again. 

A perfectly ordinary life with a little extra spice in the form of the F/A-18E Super Hornet he got to fly on the daily.

And then, The Incident happened. Regular day, regular mission until 1.15 pm when they were attacked. They trained them for this. They trained him to press a button and shoot a thing. You know, Hangman though, no biggie.

Yes biggie. The second the button was pressed and the thing was shot, Hangman realised what he had done. The enemy plane exploded and Hangman realised he had killed someone.

Sure, they weren't on their side, but had it really been deserved?

What if they had had a girlfriend? Or a wife? A family? Kids? Who was going to feed their dog or water the plants? Did they even have anyone home to mourn them at all?

Life had been hell since. 

There were nightly nightmares, daily flashbacks. When he looked in the mirror, he saw nothing but a monster staring back at him. He was paranoid someone would know, like they could smell the rotting stench of murder right off of him.

Then, he'd been called back to Top Gun. He never thought he'd dread it, but the growing pit of panic in his chest showed him that maybe he was. Still, he went through the motions.

He dry cleaned the uniform, shined his shoes, slicked his hair and pinned the medals. He ate cereal for breakfast and washed it away with coffee. 

Easy fucking peasy.

The only reason he was still alive really, is because there would be no one to take care of the cat. Or they wouldn't do it correctly. 

They wouldn't fluff her pillow and send her to bed with a little milk. They wouldn't give her the good cat food that she liked, and they might not even make sure her water was the right temperature.

That cat was keeping him alive. The second it died he would too. It should have been a scary thought since the cat was nearing 16 years old but Jake felt oddly good about it. The end was near and it was comforting.

It almost felt inevitable.

Although sometimes he still caught himself praying for a sign or something to save him. It hadn't come yet and Jake was losing hope.

Maybe God hadn't even listened.

Maybe God didn't care.

Maybe he was all alone on a big spinning rock in space. Maybe there was no one to listen at all.

His ma would have beaten him if she'd known he'd thought that. She'd have beaten him and dragged him bleeding to church to apologise. She wasn't there now though. He hadn't spoken to her in years.

And then, there was the mission. He'd wanted to fly but they'd put him on reserve. He guessed they knew. Cyclone had recommended him to the therapy group he attended, after all. Fucker.

Maverick and Rooster went down and Jake fought to keep the burning jealousy he felt bottled up.

Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't fly. Planes were expensive, no need to damage them unnecessarily. But what a way to go. 

Everyone made it out alive. They laughed, they hugged and drank all night and it didn't make him feel any better. He felt nothing at all. 

God, he really was lost. 

He'd wandered to the edge of the boat. If he wanted, he could trip and fall. He'd had a lot to drink. No one would know.

"Now's a really good time for a signal" Jake prayed.

And, apparently, it was. 

"You need to step back. You could fall"

I sure could, he thought

"You need to step back" She touched his arm and he turned towards her. He knew her. Gone to school with her. "Okay, sorry, didn't realise" 

She smiled.

"Reckless as ever, huh, Jake"

Yeah. Reckless.

"Y/n, right?"

[tteokdoroki]

Gojo spice incoming

Fuck how you want it- how you want him now in the dead of night. You've been at it for nearly 35 minutes now, waking up with this wet underwear clinging to your pussy and your thoughts clouded with his face and voice, the dream of his movements waking a greedy urge within your chest, you wanted to fuck him- you needed to fuck him, you had to fuck him.

But some higher force hated you this night and he's been absent on an oversea trip, leaving your slippery pussy to your clammy fingers trying to satisfy you so you can go back to sleep peacefully and await his morning text like the lovesick little dove you were.

You snuggled your head into the pillow like a cradle, like it was his lap you were placed on. His lap was the best place, the safest place, your head nuzzled into his hip to hide your needy expression when you laid splayed across his thighs and he played you like his favorite toy. The way your mouth fell agape and the drool collecting on your plush lips rubbed off on the soft skin of his abs never went past him though and only motivated him to apply more pressure on your throbbing clit. "Watch my hand" he'd instruct, cradling your head on his lap and moving it with his free hand to direct your gaze to his glistening wet fingers, moving up and down those puffy lips and drawing patterns into your folds, making your thighs twitch to his liking and close around his wrist as if it'd stop him from overstimulating you and flicking you into your next orgasm, having you cry against his tummy while the throbbing bulge of his cock pressed into the back of your neck.

You sighed into the crook of your arm when you dug further in your mind for the dirtiest fantasies you could muster, your middlefinger pumping into your tight dripping hole produced squelching sounds. You manhandled yourself onto your tummy when you thought of him doing the same across his lap.

Slap-slap-slap- a few more slaps and spanks across the burning apples asscheeks, jiggling the fat twice before digging his finger back into you again making you cry out for him.

Satoru chucked sadistically when he spanked you again, pumping his two fingers back in you again over and over before hooking at your G-Spot and the hithering motion of his rough fingertips only caused your body to shake in his hold "Satoru- more please just give me more-!" He bounced his legs a bit against your tummy and you whined "Satoru please give me more just please-!" You couldn't see the way he shook his head over you "C'mon lemme have some fun with your sloppy cunny, yeah? she's been humoring me so well." His fingers dancing over your spine were gentle in contrary to his knuckles pushing against your outer lips when he bullied his two slender fingers even deeper into you and abusing that spongy little pleasure button within your tight walls. "I'm having the best show now. Oh- we should install a mirror in front of this bed" You whined again, rolling your hips against your his fingers when Satoru pulled them out of your cunt with a wet "pop" before he spanked you again, elicting a cry from you and the force rocked you forward. Your soft tummy grazed his angry cock and Satoru moaned unwillingly, blood rushing to his pale cheeks and painting them a rose pink. His wet fingers and hand digging deeper into your flesh to ground himself when you shifted again into your previous position before the force of his hand send you flying a few centimeters forward. How sweet and well trained you were, making him pat his own shoulder in praise of his talent of disciplining you.

"Y'ready for some cock now? You want it? Yeah? 'ma give you cock now sit up-"

He pulled you up by your shoulder, aiding you in throwing a leg over his lap and straddling him. You instinctively threw your arms around his neck when he adjusted your position on top of him, making your back arch and your boobs press against his pecs by the way he moved your hips to his liking.

"Fucking christ- you're soiling my fucking underwear- but I'll take your dripping cunt as a compliment, love" You squeaked his name when he spanked your cunt, the slap loud and clear in your ears and he even had it in him to roughly rub over your pussy with his hand, papping it a few more times.

" 's fine 's fine shhh- calm now- you crying now? Imma fuck you now okay? Don't cry sweetie" he sighed haughtily when he rubbed his red tip against your puffy folds, not waiting long until he guided your hips down on him, sliding himself up into you until your clit brushed against his trimmed pubes. You both moaned in a way that'd put pornstars to shame at the feeling of each other's heat so suffocatingly close.

"Always so big- so big- yes-!" He allowed you to move your hips and adjust a bit, each movement and pulsing of your wet heat coaxing a hum or a moan from him. But his honey-sweet noises only made you want him more and more.

You began rolling your hips over his lap, his hard cock slipping in and out of you with each of your rythmical movements. You moaned almost in sync, sometimes a small hiccup escaping your plump lips when your clit ground against him. Satoru's mouth was open the entire time, placing open mouth kisses to your hair, cheek, temple and biting and suckling at your earlobe, making the filthiest slurping noise when he chased the line of spit connecting him to your earrlobe. His hands that had been holding your hips had now wrapped around your waist, snaking his arms around it to hold you even closer and bounce his long cock up into you.

"Little pussy won't let me go- shit she's greedy- making my cock all flustered and me too, you getting off to how addicted I'm to you?"

You shuddered at his filthy nothings, he was all up in your heart, your head and your guts. His thrusts into you throwing the scent of sex into the air, the musty flavors of each other made your head spin especially when he pulled his head back to search your lips, biting down on them as soon as the connection was made and you could swear you could feel the twitch on his dick.

"You close? Dove? You need some rubbing? Little clit is neglected? She needs my fingers again? Awww~" his palm pressed against your tummy when his calloused thumb rubbed your clit messily, the patterns disturbed by the pleasure shaking his body.

"Satoru- Satoru- S'toru- you're so good to me, please- make me cum please I'll do anything you want!! 'M so close! 'M so closeee!" You sobbed into his mouth, licking off the string of saliva similiar to how he did before.

The smirk he pulled could have belonged to the devil himself, and it was the most erotic sight to see his flushed cheeks with sweat pearling down his hairline, dampening his snowwhite hair. His eyes glazed with lust and pure, utter adoration for you and glancing down now and then to make sure his thumb was still working his thumb the way his dick worked your insides.

"You're the best fuck I can imagine, wanna fill all your holes with me-me-me, my little wifey full of my cum and my fucking children" he whispered.

You came with a strained moan into your pillow, biting the cover of it lightly and your hips collapsed on the matress below you. Your drenched fingers not leaving your cunt before you shook your head a little to calm down from that self-made orgasm. The little movie in your head abruptly stopping.

3:26 it read.

You closed your teary eyes after a hearty yawn- usually his good morning texts arrived at 7. Until then you could catch some sleep, hoping you'd dream of your sweet little Satoru again.

-glasses anon

heaving dragging my clit across gojo’s carpet IM IM

[auspicethebeginningoftheend]

1847, Lucknow, India

“Please Mama? I’ll be a good girl I promise, pakka, pakka, pakka!” Asha begged one august night, as her mother shook her head.

“Let her go cara, she needs to experience the world she needs to grow up in, sooner or later.” Her father spoke up. 

“And let a six-year old go by herself into a bustling city full of strangers doing bhagwan jaane kya? Not a chance.” Her mother replied firmly.

“But I wouldn’t be alone, I’ll be with Papa! Please, Ma?” Asha reasoned. She could see the gears turning in her mother, and saw the exact moment her resolve crumbled.

“Fine, but I want you to finish your school work on the trip. I will not be wasting time at home. You are one of the only girls who get to school, and I better not see you wasting that privilege.” 

Her mother had been opposed to her going to school in the beginning, but once her father persuaded her, she would accept nothing but the best from Asha. Asha often thought how it would be like to be Shyamala, their neighbor who didn’t go the school and spent the entire day running wild. 

Asha huffed, but nodded, and in five minutes was in front of the horse cart with her bag slung over her shoulder, her father helping her climb it. She grinned as she made herself comfortable on the cotton bags, she was finally going to Delhi.

***

Delhi was all she expected, and everything more. It was a bustling busy marketplace, and she sunk deeper into her father’s side as people stared; a white man with a brown daughter wasn’t a usual sight there. 

Asha smelled the scent of the sweet perfumes wafting from the shops, the sharp tang of spices in the air, the clop of hooves heard dimly blending with squawks and the bleats. Her father stopped the cart near a shop as a man came out, smiling good naturedly.

“Salaam Anthony ji! Phir wahi saaman?” the man with the strange cap on his head greeted.

“Ji.” Her father replied back in Hindi, having seasoned it over the years.

 “Bas aur lauki add kar dijiye ga.” Asha scrunched her nose at that. She did not like bottle gourd. The man started, having just seen her pressed into her father’s side.

“Wah! Aaj to gudiya bhi aa nikli!” The man smiled at her.

“Hanji. Bahut jyada ki demand karti hai madam.” Her father poked fun at her, as he reached for the vegetables and fruits they needed to get them for the next month, giving the man some coins.

“Alvida gudiya.” The man waved at her, and she waved back.

As they walked back to the cart, her eyes caught onto something. She pulled her father’s sleeve, and motioned to that stall, pulling him along as she ran there, scared that someone else would take her treasure. Asha crouched down, and pulled out a book. It was a black book with gold engravings, and little dots which traced out a pattern. She was just beginning to learn English, and stumbled over the title.

“T-th-the S-sky At-atlas.” She read aloud and looked to her father, silently asking if she could have it. Her father laughed, and proceeded to buy it for her. 

“Do you know what these are tesoro?” He asked later, when they sat comfortable in the cart, the beginnings of sleep lulling over them. Asha shook her head.

“These,” he traced over the dots, “are stars. Do you want to learn about them?” She nodded excitedly. 

“Well, then I suppose, we’ll have to continue teaching you English through this. But this will be our little secret, okay candessa?” But as he looked to her, he saw that she had already fallen asleep, her head bent toward his arm, hers clutching her beloved treasure close to her self.

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

hello! slight note here + translations

Anthony is English, but has Italian lineage, so he speaks both Italian and English, and so does Asha. Also, Asha’s arc (for the time being) is centered on her being in India, so a lot of Hindi will be used, but rest assured, I will be attaching the translations for both the Italian and Hindi parts.

I don’t speak Italian, so the pet names are all from a fic I liked and the meanings are from there as well. If a native speaker wishes to correct me, and would like to help, I would be ever so grateful. 

I will try to update daily, with Asha’s and the Mysterious Boy’s POVs on alternating days. The Boy’s name will not be revealed yet for plot reasons, but I’d love to hear you thoughts! :)

This book is also majorly based on ‘The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue’ by V. E. Schwab, and is largely inspired by it, with a twist of my own.

TRANSLATIONS:

pakka- absolutely/promise (informal)

cara- dear

bhagwan jaane kya- god knows what

Salaam Anthony ji! Phir wahi saaman - Hello Anthony sir (not sir exactly, more like respectfully, used for elders or important people)! The same things again?

Bas aur lauki add kar dijiye ga - Just add more bottle gourd please.

Wah! Aaj to gudiya bhi aa nikli! - Wow! The doll came out today!

Hanji. Bahut jyada ki demand karti hai madam - Yes. The madam demands a lot. (said teasingly, and not the exact translation, same for any other sentence/phrase and there is a language disparity)

Alvida gudiya - Bye doll

tesoro - darling

candessa - candle

[voidoutbt]

Merry [hic]mas Death Stranding

A sweet scene I wrote for Xmas featuring mostly Higgs x Sam, with a cameo from Deadman and Heartman (there's a hint of Deadsam and HeartSam shipping too if you look very closely!)

Set in an alternative universe where Higgs is a Bridges employee, hence being at the staff party!

No smut warnings, only some very cheesy bad chat up lines from drunk Higgs and mild M/M.

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

(Photo of Norman not mine! Posted by @goddamnparticle with thanks!)

The music was loud, the atmosphere merry, and the food and drink were free. Sam was swigging Time Fall Porter beer, a fluffy red Xmas hat slouched upon his head, and a pair of glittery festive glasses on his face. Higgs was in a corner alone eating pizza, he had on a black 'Bah Humbug' hat, with gold tinsel wrapped around himself like a boa. Deadman was playing the part of Santa Claus, all dressed up in costume, complete with fake beard and jolly demeanor.

"Ho Ho Ho!" santa Deadman bellowed as he went round the hall giving out hugs and little gifts. Higgs scowled under his hat, "Who are you calling a Hoe?" Deadman handed him a small gold wrapped box, explaining "No one! It's a representation of laughter and mirth." Higgs looked at the small box confused, "This... This is for.. Me?!" turning it and inspecting it in his hand. Deadman inclined his head, "Looks like you've got a secret admirer! There's no label." Higgs carefully opened the lid. Inside was a bejeweled scarab beetle, some kind of Egyptian style brooch. Higgs' blue eyes lit up and sparkled, entranced by the gold, blue, green and red colours. He'd never been given a gift like this before, and wasn't sure what to say. "How did you.."

Higgs tore his eyes away from it for a second, to see Deadman was now across the room forcing Sam into an awkward hug and cuddle. Higgs caught Sam's eye, and hollered across to him "Sam! Come sit on my lap, and we can talk about what's coming UP for Christmas." followed by a cheeky wink. Sam's eyes narrowed and he shook his head at the quip. Higgs tucked his gift away safe, and took a long swig of mulled wine straight from the bottle. "Suit yourself Sammy, I'll get you later..." he mumbled to himself, grabbing another slice of pizza and lowering it into his wide mouth.

"Hey Sam." a hand gently touched Sam's shoulder, he looked round to see Heartman peering at him through his glasses, pushing them up his nose. "Merry Christmas." his eyes dipped slightly, "I presume this lovely 'secret santa' present was from you Sam?" holding up a vibrant blue glass ornament in shape of a heart. Sam scratched the back of his neck, looking down. Deadman jumped in to the conversation, "Secret Santa is meant to be kept secret Heartman, you know that!" Heartman looked at them both in turn, and winked, making a thumbs up sign to an invisible camera (+20 likes). 👍💙

Higgs was quaffing the festive spiced wine by the glugful as he watched Sam with the other men, getting more and more drunk by the second. "Fuck it..." he grumbled, attempting to get up. He wobbled slightly, partially tripping over his own large foot. But he had honed in on his target and was not going to let a slightly fuzzy head stop him. "Oh Saaaamm..." He sauntered over with the grace of a very tall newborn deer. Sam clocked him approaching and groaned. Higgs flung his arms around him, pulling him in close. "That's not a candy [hic]cane in my pocket Sam..." He 'whispered', rather loudly in Sam's ear, "...I'm just glad to see you!" pulling back slightly to grin at Sam, pleased with his own joke. Sam looked a bit embarrassed to know him. Heartman eyed them both with a kindly smirk, before he disappeared into a back room, his heart sensor bleeping.

"Higgs-" Sam hissed, but he was cut off before he could say anything. Higgs pressed his lips sloppily to his. Sam froze. His cheeks flushed red, he was sure everyone was looking at them. Higgs didn't seem to care, or rather he seemed to revel in the attention. Higgs' long tongue snaked into his mouth, his hand grabbing his ass, but Sam gently and begrudgingly pushed him away, making eye contact. "Higgs, you have had too much to drink." Higgs pouted, "Awww!". Sam looked around mumbling, "I think it's time we left." Higgs swayed on the spot, the half empty mulled wine bottle still in his hand "Are you going to walk me home Sammy [hic]boy?" Sam hooked an arm around him to support him, and quietly said "No, you're staying here..."

Sam lead the inebriated Higgs out of the hall. Once they were away from the loud music and people, Sam scoped him up fully in a fireman's lift, over his shoulder. Higgs giggled, "Weeee!" as he was carried back to the BRIDGES private room. Sam went to lay him down on the bed, but Higgs was clinging on tightly like a Limpet. "Higgs, let go!" Black tears of eyeliner ran down Higgs' high cheeks. He sobbed, "Don't leave me Sam!" Sam touched his shoulder gently and murmered, "I won't. I'm here...Get some sleep Higgs."

Higgs sniffled and settled down, looking up at him with big blue eyes, his eyelids drooping, his long eyelashes fluttering "All I want for Christmas Sam, is you.... Your package is the first present I want to open on Christmas day..." said with a cheeky smile, before the pull of dark slumber was too much for him. Sam studied his peaceful face for a moment, he sighed and wiped away a black inky tear mark with his thumb. He climbed carefully over higgs' sleeping form and curled up behind him, pulling a Blanket over them both.

----------

For @samfrancis94 @astrandofgold @pandora-writes-stuff and all my other followers who enjoy my writing! (if you would like to be tagged in my posts, please say!)

❤️❤️❤️

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Three: Beneath the Oak Tree

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Strained parent relationship, death of a parent, grief, anxiety, it’s gonna get a little fluffy in this one!

W/C: 3.9k

A/N: So I'm honestly really proud of myself for this chapter, there's a little something that I wrote while I was in Ezra's mind & I still can't get over it. I hope you all enjoy! As always, thank you all so much for the love & support!

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Chapter Two || Chapter Four

~APRIL NINETEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN – AFTERNOON~

At the day’s end, you begin your trek back to the house, the heels and balls of your feet aching in a bruising way with each step. The sun creeps lower and lower behind you as you walk and you can feel the warmth of its rays hugging your back. There was a time you would enjoy watching the sunset, when you would stay in town the few extra moments to revel in its beauty and its promise to you that, although darkness will soon creep in, the sun will rise again and bring with it a fresh beginning.

Now, though, your newly appointed duties force you to neglect your favorite time of day. Right after closing the shop, you headed over to the butchers shop for the cheapest pound of beef, cut up into chunks as requested by Pa, and began walking. Not looking back at the town or the sunset, but not able to look forward either. Muscle memory takes over your legs, the map in your mind leading you straight home and all other directions you may have anticipated moving towards are erased completely now.

As you walk up to the farm, you see Mr. Prospect far into the fields, digging weeds from the Earth diligently with the hoe in his hands. You gander upon him for a moment, slowing down your pace just to glance a little longer than might be considered appropriate. He’s discarded his jacket and his white shirt looks dirtier now, the sleeves rolled up to his biceps to reveal his tan arms. They’re not overly muscular, but you know they must be strong with how hard he’s working the fields.

You misstep while your head is turned to Mr. Prospect, the toe of your boot catching a fairly large rock in the dirt and it causes you to trip. You stumble, but regain your balance quickly and feel the flush of embarrassment flow through you, your head now facing forward with the front door to the house in your sights. You take another peek at Mr. Prospect, his attention still focused on the dirt, obviously not having seen you fumble and you thank whoever above that he had not been looking your way.

Once inside, the aroma of vegetable broth is swirling through the air; Pa had already begun the stew, thankfully, relieving some of the responsibility from you. You walk into the kitchenette and set the wrapped beef down onto the only free counter, then you remove your bonnet and bag, hanging it on the wooden hook and turning to place the lockbox back inside the safe.

You turn back to the kitchenette, unwrapping the paper to reveal the raw meat within and you dump it into the boiling broth with the vegetables. A simple stew; you’ve no spices besides pepper and fresh rosemary from the garden and the meat was already salted by the butcher, but it was always a favorite that Ma would make. Yet, when you try to cook it, it never comes out with the same taste anymore. As if Ma had put her own love into it and it was another part of her you just would not have anymore.

After some time, the stew is finished, the broth thickened and the vegetables and meat cooked through to tenderness, and just then, Pa walks into the house. He walks as if the weight of the Earth rests on his shoulders and he breathes deeply, trying to regain the air in his lungs he had lost from the hard work of the day. You stand in the kitchenette, waiting for him to move from the frame so you are able to greet Mr. Prospect as well, but Pa shuts the door behind him.

“He did not wish to join,” Pa says simply.

“Did he explain why?” You ask.

“He said he did not want to impose. I did not press the matter; if he chooses solitude, I will not force his hand,” Pa replies as he sits down at the table.

You keep quiet, deciding not to further discuss the subject so as to not upset Pa and you ladle a helping of stew into a bowl for him, carrying it along with the basket of rolls to the table. You set it down in front of him and after he says his silent letter to Ma, he begins eating. You serve yourself some stew as well and sit down at the table. You and Pa eat in silence, as usual, but there’s a nagging thought in your head that will not subside. As much as you try to throw it to the wind, your curiosity gets the best of you and as you stand to grab your dishes, you find the courage to confront your father.

“Pa?”

“Hm?” He grunts, packing his pipe with tobacco.

“Why did you not inform me of Mr. Prospect yesterday?” You ask quietly, hoping he will not be upset with your questioning.

“I did not see the need to. Not until I had a chance to speak with him myself.”

“I could have helped, Pa. You could have sent him to me and I could have spoken with him,” you continue as you move to stand closer to him. He sighs deeply.

“No.”

His quick response comes out cold, a spat in the face more like, and you immediately take offense. Clearly, Pa still sees you as a child and, like a child, he expects you to bend to the laws he has established in this house. Your pulse races, the grown woman within you takes over your mind and you feel the urge to fight for your position. It breaks your heart; you were used to fighting for yourself in the town, but now you find yourself fighting against your own father.

“Why? Do you not trust my judgement? I’ve put my work in for the farm like you and Ma have before me,” you reply in a firm tone.

“Because I am the owner and I will hire whomever I see fit. Enough of this.”

He nearly barks at you, like the Bakers’ dog that would frighten you as a child whenever you passed its territory, and you feel that same terror rush through you now. You try to see reason, but no acceptable excuse comes to mind. Perhaps he did not feel as though you have earned his respects as the young lady you are. Whatever he thinks of it, you feel it may be best to settle the subject. For now.

“Yes, sir,” you say softly. You turn to the kitchenette, place your soiled dishes in the basin and walk back to the range, serving a helping of food into another bowl with a spoon and setting a roll on top. “I will go offer some stew to Mr. Prospect.”

“Leave him be, daughter. If he wished to eat, he would have joined us at our table,” Pa says with a furrow in his brow.

“Perhaps he is intimidated, Pa. Afraid to sit and converse with us after the town has already been so unfriendly. If he wishes to be lonesome, I will respect it. But I will not let him go hungry simply for his preference.”

Before giving Pa another chance to argue, you step outside and shut the door behind you. You take a moment to yourself once you are far enough away from the house. A crushing feeling sits on your chest, pressure building and building and you take deep breaths in an attempt to calm your rapidly beating heart and quiet the ringing in your ears. You allow yourself to feel the cool breeze from the night flow across your face and closed eyelids as you find your center again.

You had hoped Pa would see you as an adult by now, not a helpless child. The loss of your mother only matured your soul more than it already was previously. You wonder what Ma would think, if she would agree with Pa or with you. Only more sadness courses through you, though, as you remind yourself that you will never know the answer.

Finally regaining your strength, you walk towards the barn, bowl in hand and heart drumming nervously in your chest. Why? Why so anxious? What is it about this mysterious man that has you feeling like a schoolgirl again? He was absolutely an intriguing – and rather handsome – man, far different from the men around town, as well as friendly, so why had everyone else been so disconcerted by him? You truly must have a different set of eyes, then, because you only wish to know – to learn – more.

You reach the ajar barn doors and knock on the wood softly to announce your presence. There is some shuffling from within until Mr. Prospect pulls open the door, his gaze full of pleasant surprise to see you standing in front of him.

“Sunflower,” he grins. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I apologize for interrupting your rest, but I figured you might be hungry after today,” you reply and hold out your hand with the bowl. He glances down at it, quickly looking back up into your eyes.

“I couldn’t, miss, I would feel as though I am taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff and his eyebrows twitch amusingly at your rebuttal. “It is the very least we can do since we are not able to pay you much. ’Sides, I’ve already served you; I would be more offended if you were to decline now. Otherwise it will go to waste and that will not sit right with Pa. Or with me.”

“Very well, Sunflower. I would hate to disappoint, so I will accept. Thank you very much,” he smiles and grabs the bowl from your outstretched hand, his fingertips lightly brushing your palm and a slight tingle from his skin on yours trickles through your hand. “May I ask you to join me?”

“I’d best not linger; I’m afraid I’ve managed to upset Pa tonight and I’d rather not cause him any further distress before sleep,” you explain, pushing past the temptation to say yes.

“I am sorry to hear that; I hope my being here hasn’t caused any controversy between you and your father.”

“Not at all, it has nothing to do with you, Mr. Prospect. Rest easy,” you smile.

“Thank you, dear Sunflower. Both for the ease of mind and also for this meal; I cannot wait to taste the flavors that have charmed my nose with its temptatious smell.”

You giggle softly at his statement; he speaks so differently, his own elocution, it seems. You bow your head slightly at him and take a turn to leave, but a lingering curiosity prompts you to speak.

“Mr. Prospect, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he grins while he waits.

“Why do you call me ‘Sunflower’?”

“Do you take offense to my endearment, miss? I do apologize-”

“No,” you shake your head, offering a small smile for your expression to match your acceptance of the name he has bestowed upon you. “I must admit I quite like it. I was only curious.”

“It is because you glow as one; bright as the sun, yet gentle as its petals. Though, its beauty would diminish greatly were it next to you in comparison.”

Your neck, cheeks, and ears burn; an almost overwhelming heat you have not felt since little Morris Clark snuck a kiss to your cheek as children in the school play yard. Though, there was nothing childlike about the sensation rushing through you. His words make you smile; a genuine smile you forgot your face was capable of producing.

“I… I hope you enjoy the soup. I-I will be back for the bowl and spoon in the morning,” you stutter and attempt to hide the jubilant grin on your face by biting your lip. “Goodnight, Mr. Prospect.”

“Sunflower?” He calls out as you’re mid-turn, causing you to stop at his beckon. “Please, call me Ezra.”

Your smile breaks wider across your face and Ezra grins back, nodding slightly as he watches you consider his proposal. You take a breath to calm the thumping of your heart.

“Goodnight… Ezra.”

“Goodnight.”

~APRIL TWENTY-FIRST OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Sundays were your favorite days. No, not because of church, but because it was the only day of the week where you were able to close the shop early enough and have a spare moment to yourself. While everyone was busy praising God, praying to Him to prove they were holier than the rest of the town and repenting for the sins they committed during the week (just for them to start fresh on a new batch the next morning), it was the day you found your own escape.

You intently watch the clock ticking on the wall until the work day comes to an end and you quickly rush to the door to flip the sign, guaranteeing no other customers would make it through. You head back to the counter and carefully examine the ledger and count the coin from the day to assure each sale has been accounted for. After checking it once, you go through it again to reaffirm it’s correct and close the book.

You gather the coins in your hand and place them in the velvet bag, tying the string at the opening and setting both the bag and the book into the metal lockbox. You turn the small key, place the box in your bag, and nestle the key within your breast pocket.

You hurriedly make the trek back to the farm and you see Pa rounding up the chickens for their feeding. In your haste, you notice belatedly that you had not seen Ezra in the fields, but convince yourself he may be busy elsewhere. After a brief announcement of your arrival, you walk through the wooden front door, the floorboards creaking underneath you as you walk straight to the black safe next to the fireplace. You place the metal box from your bag inside the safe, closing it once again and heading back outside.

“Pa, I’ll be back in time for supper,” you call out as you stand under the apple tree, searching for the shiniest and reddest apple from its leaves to place in your bag.

“Be careful, daughter,” he replies as he throws more feed into the dirt. Considering how strained your relationship with Pa became, thankfully, he still respected your weekly ritual without any argument.

You wave and walk away from the farm, in the opposite direction of the town and towards the hills. It’s a mere five minute hike until you make it to the small landing at the base on the other side of the hill, letting the sounds of the flowing river fill your ears with delight. It is your own personal haven; no other person has found this place and you privately claimed it as your own, even marking your initials into the large oak tree that dwelled there.

As you make your way through the pine colored grass and up to your usual sitting area, you see the outline of a man sitting under your tree. Your brows furrow in confusion and you feel momentarily disappointed upon the realization that your secret place has been found by another, but you don’t dare be outwardly perturbed; how were they to know this was your own private sanctuary to escape the gloom of what has become of your life?

You continue in a steady march, not prepared to let your resting spot become someone else’s easily. Your mother taught you manners; you knew how to share. That did not mean it had to please you, but as long as they kept to themselves, you rationalize, what’s the harm? Maybe it was another lost soul finding comfort in the calming atmosphere of this place. An unavoidable grin stretches across your face, however, when you step closer and recognize the choppy cut of hair atop the man’s head. You catch a glimpse of his profile and his discernible nose and conclude it is the traveling man that has so intensely piqued your interest.

“Good afternoon, Ezra,” you address once you’re in range of his hearing. It catches him off guard and his shoulders jolt slightly, clearly unexpectant of anyone else finding this place.

“Sunflower,” he beams when his eyes meet yours as you stand under the shade of the tree. He moves to stand to properly greet you.

“Please,” you hold a hand up to stop him. “May I join you?”

“It would be a true delight,” he responds and resettles himself on the ground.

You smile sincerely and are pleasantly surprised to find it comes naturally and with ease in his presence. You lift your dress slightly from the ground and carry your weight to your knees to rest on your bottom, bending your legs to lay beside you. You sigh contentedly as you smooth out your skirts out around you.

“What brings you here? What about the fields?” You ask.

“Your father relieved me of my duties for the remainder of the afternoon. He declared: ‘Every soul should rest on the Lord’s day’.”

“Yes,” you chuckle. “That sounds like Pa.”

You do not press the subject of his religion, knowing first-hand how irksome it is when others comment on your lack of worship and you do not wish to cause Ezra any further discomfort by intruding on his personal preferences. A moment of silence passes between you two; the river flows and splits across different shaped rocks and boulders embedded into the dirt below the surface, creating a relaxing tune, gladly welcomed by your ears.

“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” You ask, turning your gaze to his. To see his peaceful face, full of heartfelt content of the surroundings, you think it may not be so bad to finally have a friend to share it with.

“Indeed; lovelier so with your company,” he smiles.

You feel a strange occurrence within you, a sudden spike in your pulse that makes your fingers and toes tingle, much like when they ache at the end of a long day. Yet, in this moment, you welcome it.

“I usually come here alone,” you say quietly as you fiddle with the strap of your bag.

“My apologies; if you’d prefer, I will find a different location of rest,” he frowns slightly, afraid he has imposed on time you prefer to spend alone.

“No,” you say quickly. “Don’t fret. Besides, this is the only place the children do not come to cause chaos.”

“I see,” he chuckles breathily, a sense of relief rushing through him that he has not upset you. “Perhaps we can share, then?” He questions tenderly in a hopeful wish released to the air.

“Yes,” you nod. “I think I would enjoy that.”

He smiles, his eyes gleaming along and you cannot fight the slight, arrhythmic thumping in your chest at the sight of his glee. Another moment passes without a word spoken as your heart paces normally once again and you look over at Ezra, his fingers busy fiddling with a small book.

“Whatcha got there?” You ask. He looks at you before meeting your gaze to his lap.

“Oh...” He looks at the brown, leather bound booklet in his hands. “A journal for my thoughts and compositions alike.”

“It’s nice to write down your reflections. May I hear some? Unless they are too close to your heart, then I do not wish to pry.”

“I’ve not read these aloud to anyone since my youth, dear Sunflower, but it would bring me great joy if you were to listen,” he says softly and you turn your body to face him, providing your utmost attention.

He smiles, chest rising profoundly with each nervous breath he takes as he opens his book, turning the ivory pages with the pad of his index finger until he lands on a scripture to read, clearing his throat before he begins.

“The vast expanse of the Green went on in each direction farther than the eye could see. The emerald of the leaves above coalesce into the umber of the earth below, both hues combining in the moss bound to the wide and tall bodies of majestic trees.

“The sunlight rained through the leaves, its rays bathing the ground I walked on and bringing the small buds of flowers to life with each step I took. The morning dew kissed the delicate fronds, single droplets meeting their lovers akin and they became as one, rolling away from the home they shared briefly and freefalling in blissful adrenaline until they met their demise in the dirt.

“I immersed myself in the environment, years upon years of the knowledge of rebirth all around, and I breathed in the crisp coolness of the air and life surrounding me. I long to become the moss on the tree, the buds in the dirt, the dew on the frond. To fade away into the Green and be born again.”

He takes a deep breath as he closes the book, grazing his fingers along the cover as if he is praising it, thanking it silently for the blank canvas it provides for him to express himself. His words move you, the meaning behind his composition striking a chord within your heart and, suddenly, you feel a small bead of water rolling down your cheek. As you bring your finger to your eye to wipe away the first tear you have shed in many moons, Ezra looks over at you and catches you in the act.

“Are you alright, Sunflower?” He asks with concern laced in his voice. He would reach out to comfort you through physical touch were he not afraid to overstep and offend you.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you brush off before flashing a soft smile at him. Though, he is not convinced. “It’s beautiful; you have a raw talent for composing. It sounds like a lush place, nothing like around here. What is ‘the Green’?”

“A never-ending stretch of greenery and tall trees. At times, I can faintly smell the aroma of the dirt, muddied by the rain.”

“Where is it?” You ask, a slight hope forming in your heart that you may be able to visit someday.

“Ah, it resides only in my dreams, I’m afraid. A place my subconscious has manifested for me to visit during my slumber.”

“It sounds heavenly,” you add in a whisper.

Ezra is stunned; in his youth, he has composed small poems and sonnets such as the one he just recited to you and each time he dared to share them with anyone, he always got the same response. Classmates teased him and called him a freak or queer and he never felt any desire to share his work again. Yet, with you, your gleaming eyes directed to him with such intrigue, he felt compelled to share once again. And the response this time warms his heart.

“It can be. Then again, it feels quite lonesome as well. Such a colossal stretch of land, yet I am the only one there.”

“It must be my own desire to be free of prying eyes and ears that makes it sound appealing. I did not consider how it has been for you during your travels. Forgive me, Ezra,” you say, your eyes shining with guilt and he looks deeply into them, a touch of gold streaking in his irises as the sun flashes across his face.

“You have nothing to apologize for, dear Sunflower. I understand your desires. If I had also grown in a town such as this, I would gladly welcome a visit to the Green.”

You nod your understanding, but a twinge of guilt hits you as you consider how poorly Ezra must have been treated when he first arrived. You do not wish to ask and ruin the peacefulness of this moment, though you vow to keep it in mind to ask at a later time. For now, you will enjoy your company with Ezra under the large oak tree, heart happily beating in your chest with someone to finally share time with.

Chapter Two || Chapter Four

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[loridrabbles]

Promise | Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian) x blind!reader

@fruits-ofeden Yooo I wrote it

     (Y/n) was on her knees in the market district after a rather rude civilian bumped into her, causing her to drop everything she was carrying. She had almost all the ingredients she needed to make dinner for herself and her sick, departing mother. As she felt around she listed off her belongings under her breath as she gathered them back into her arms,

     "Rice, corn, beans, pan bread, my purse..." She felt around the ground around her, searching for the familiar feeling of rough leather stitched together with twine under her fingertips. "My purse...." She felt nothing around her but coarse dirt and grass. "My purse! That man took my purse!" She shouted, standing up, facing the direction she remembered him running off in.

     She listened around her. Only one or two, probably older women by the sound of it, gasped, but no one seemed to care at all. She sighed, and turned away from the market, reorienting herself in the direction of home. It wasn't hard for her to find. A somewhat long walk through the woods, but simple. Walk straight until she felt a huge boulder in front of her. From what she was told, it was nearly double her height. A close friend of hers used a chisel fashioned from an old, dull knife crudely carve out the word "home." It wasn't the braille (y/n) was used to, but she knew she was in the right spot. 

     When she made it to the boulder, she would turn left, and continue straight until she heard the rush of a river. once at the river she would follow it all the way down until it was just a trickle in a pond where her house was. 

     As she walked away from the boulder, she picked up the sound of a fast pace crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs behind her. It didn't sound like an animal from this part of the planet. The steps were too heavy. The footsteps were accompanied with a heavy breathing that was...modulated?

     "Ma'am!" She heard a man's voice behind her, still a distance away.

     "Huh!?" She asked, almost in a panic. The voice got closer and sounded softer.

     "Ma'am. Your purse. The man dropped it as he ran away. Well, he dropped it after I stopped him and threatened him, then he ran away." He held the coin purse out to her. "Ma'am?" He noticed she wasn't quite facing him and he reached his other hand to her shoulder and she took a step turning to face him. As he examined her, he may admit, beautiful features, he noticed her eyes had a cast of milky white. 

     "Oh. You're blind?" He asked, taking her hand in his, placing the purse in it.

     "Yes. I went blind when I was almost 6." She said, tucking the purse away. "Thank you, so much for this. I'm so grateful for you. My mother is sick and this is all we have and- please, won't you join us for dinner."

     "I can't. I-"

     "Please. I insist. This is the only way I can repay you." She pleaded. He sighed quietly to himself.

     "Ok. I'll come." He said. "Where is your home?"

     "Umm. That big boulder. Where is it?" She asked. 

     "Right in front of you. Well, maybe 20 feet away." He said.

     "Oh. Well my house is this way." She said, turning around. She began to walk away and he wanted to ask her so many questions and she wanted the same thing. She could hear when he walked that he was not wearing normal clothing and based on his voice wasn't entirely sure he was human. He could be a Duros or a Kel Dor using a respirator, but she wasn't sure. He walked behind her, watching her and noticed a large root sticking up from the ground.

     "Watch out!" He said grabbing her arm.

     "Is that the root? I used to trip over it all the time, but I know to stick to the left side of the trail now. I guess I forgot having a guest walking with me."

     The continued to walk in silence until his curiosity finally got the best of him and he decided to ask some questions.

     "So. If you want to go somewhere besides the market or somewhere that you're used to, how do you do it?"

     "I have a wolf."

     "A loth wolf?"

     "Not that big, He reaches my waist. He was given to me by an organization that domesticates them and trains them to help people with disabilities. I do have a ship and a droid that helps me get where I need to go. My wolf, Naalnish, knows how to take me to many of the places I go on other planets."

     "Wow. That's really interesting. I didn't know that was a thing."

     "Yeah. I'm glad I have him. When my mother passes, I'd be so lonely if I didn't."

     "What about your father?" He asked.

     "He passed away about 5 years ago. He was older."

     "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose parents."

     "You do?" She asked.

     "My parents were both killed in an attack on my town when I was a child, Around 8. I was taken in my a family of Mandalorians as one of their own. They raised me. I'm grateful to them."

     "So you're a Mandalorian. I remember seeing pictures when I was little." She giggled. "I was trying to figure out what you were. I can hear your armor."

     "I guess I didn't do a good job at sneaking up on you did I?" He laughed. "Good to know. I'll be quieter next time." He gently punched her shoulder.

     "Hey! You nearly scared the shit out of me last time." She laughed along with him. 

     "Sorry sorry! I'll make it up to you. I promise."

     They didn't stop talking the entire 20 minutes it took to get to her home. Finally, they reached the pond with a small dock that extended out into the water and a cottage next to it with a stone pathway. Naalnish was out in the yard, sleeping next to an old stump where someone would chop wood, the axe still sticking out of the block. It looked weathered like it hadn't been used in years. The wolf woke up, wagging his tail as he stood and trotted over to (Y/n)'s side where he nuzzled her hand, letting her know where he was.

     "This is Naalnish." She said affectionately petting his head. "Naalnish this is...I don't think we ever exchanged names. I'm (Y/n)." She held her hand out for him to shake.

     "I'm...Dyn." He said, taking her soft hand in his gloved one. The leather was rough, but still softer than her purse and more workable. 

     "Let's head inside and I'll start dinner. You must he tired if you've been bounty hunting all day." She giggled. He chuckled at her naivety and followed her inside. 

     "Hi mom." (Y/n) said, walking up to her mother who was old and frail with long, silver, wiry hair, wrinkled skin, and long bony fingers. 

     "Welcome home dear." She said, wrapping her hands around (Y/n)'s healthy ones. "Who is this?"

     "Someone stole my purse from me in the market district. He got it back for me." She said.

     "Oh." She sighed. "What a wonderful man you are. Please stay for dinner."

     "I already invited him, ma." She laughed. 

     "Good! That means I raised you right." 

     Her mother's comet made the whole room laugh. (Y/n) got to work preparing dinner which was done rather quickly with Dyn's help. She turned down the heat on the stove and added the last few spices.

     "Why don't we head outside for a while while it simmers?" She said, walking towards the side door. He followed her out onto the dock. The boards creaked under their feet as they walked.

     "Your home is beautiful." He said, as they stood on the end of the dock.

     "Thank you. I remember how much I loved to stare at my reflection in the water and sit on the end here. I'd dip my feet in and sit for hours reading a book or just thinking. I can still do that, but I only have one book that's in braille."

     "I have to leave this planet soon. I would like to come back and visit. Maybe we could sit here and I could read something to you." He said. (Y/n) smiled wide and her cheeks turned pink.

     "I would really love that." She said. She felt a gloved hand grasp hers. She could feel warmth, even though the leather. They just stood there, listening to the wind through the trees and the birds chirping, enjoying eachother's company. (Y/n) broke the comfortable silence.

     "So you wear a helmet all the time. When did you last take it off?"

     "I was young. The same time my parents were killed. Well, that was the last time anyone's seen me without it. I can't take it off."

     "Hm."

     "You went blind when you were 6. Do you remember your face?"

     "I still imagine myself with the face of a child." She said. "It's the only face of mine I know."

     "Well, you're beautiful." He said making her blush. "The most perfect I've seen."

     "I wish I could see your face." She said as he took her other hand as well.

     "I can paint you a picture." He said. "I have brown hair that's a little wavy and not very long, brown eyes, and..." He paused, bringing her hands up to rest on his helmet. "I can't take it off, but you can."

     She smiled a little, feeling the smooth, cold metal beneath her finger tips contrasted by the rough warm leather of his gloves cradling her hands. Gently, carefully, she removed the helmet and he took it from her, placing it on the ground next to him. He took her hands again and brought them to his face. She smiled.

     "Stubble." She giggled, making him smile. "And dimples." 

     As she caressed his face, she felt a hand on her own cheek. Soft, but calloused, warmer without the gloves. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers moving a hand down to her chin. With it, he tilted her head back pressing a kiss against her lips. His stubble tickled her face as she ran her fingers through his hair, remembering the texture and the length. She bit her lip trying to hold back a smile.

     "Will you really come back?" She asked.

     "I promise."

[trillian-anders]

amor de mi vida - 1944

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, graphic descriptions of concentration camps/gore 

word count: 2686

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

note: in this year’s letters bucky goes into detail about what he sees out on the war front, it might be upsetting. 

In the middle of Harlem, almost an hour on the train from Brooklyn there was a movie theater you could go to. One that showed the movies of the war effort. Moving pictures that showed Captain America and the Howling Commandos. You could see him there, large and in black and white. Your husband. You cried the first time you saw him in action.

You wrote to him about seeing it. His hair was a little longer than he’d kept it at home. His face was more serious. You could see the dark circles under his eyes that sparked the memory of how he wrote to you about the lack of sleep. How he was always tired now. How the first thing he was going to do after getting home, aside from kissing you and eating dinner at his Ma’s, was sleep. 

He’d lost weight. You knew he wasn’t able to eat enough. Not like when he was home. You knew it was something he had to deal with. His last letter talked a little about hunger. The chocolate bars they gave them in their rations, he wrote, were chalky but the sweetest thing he’d had in a while. 

He asked if you’d make the dulce de leche you’d made not long before he’d left. Your Mother’s guilty pleasure. He said he could taste it in his dreams. That’s what he wanted, that and his Ma’s spice cake. He wrote about boliche and his Ma’s roast chicken. He wrote about getting ice cream at the soda shop, having a burger at his favorite diner. 

You watched a man you couldn’t believe was actually Steve lay out plans on the hood of a war vehicle. Laying out plans for a mission already completed. Your husband, a man you hadn’t seen in two years, fighting tirelessly beside him. You only hoped he would continue to do so. And that this war will end and he will be home soon. 

“I wanted to apologize.” Winnie lay her hand over yours, “I was taken off guard by what she said,” Winnie stopped by in the morning bearing a loaf of banana bread wrapped in cloth, still warm from the oven. “I shouldn’t have let her say those things about you.” Truth be told you’d already forgiven Winnie. You could understand that it’s hard, but times were changing. Slowly. But they were. 

“Thank you.” For the apology. Winnie cried when you opened the door, it broke your heart a bit. George conveyed her sorrow to you a bit earlier in the week. And the girls came over once or twice to check in and brought food with them each time, undoubtedly made by Winnie. 

Bucky and Steve. The Howling Commandos. He didn’t outright say it, but he was doing dangerous work. That you knew. These side missions, these bases they were infiltrating, something to do with a cell called Hydra. A brutal underbelly of the Nazi regime. Something deeper, more sinister with worse intentions. 

It made your heart leap in your chest every time there was a knock on the door. The fear that it would be someone from the government coming to tell you that Bucky was gone. That he wasn’t coming home. 

But his letters kept coming. Fewer in number than they had before. 

It’s harder to write when they’ve got us in the middle of nowhere. He says. They ship the commandos all over Europe. Chasing after Hydra cells. He sends out the letters in a thick stack when he can. Steve met a woman, he says. Margaret Carter. 

Bucky says you’d like her. And how when they get home the four of you should go out. A double date. Some realm of normalcy after the horrors he sees out there. 

He talks about something truly horrible. They were skin and bones, these kids. These people. Starved half to death. Flies on their bodies as though they were already dead. Taken from the concentration camps and put in these Hydra facilities to be experimented on. Bodies left to rot in the cells with them. 

The smell, he says. He doesn’t think he will ever forget that smell. 

These aren’t in the letters he sends to his family. 

He said he started having nightmares. He couldn’t understand how someone could do something so evil. To hate someone so passionately for what they believed. For who they were. But then again, he hates them for what they believed, for who they were. These monsters who ripped people from their homes and starve, beat, and kill them.

He just wants to be home. He sends a pressed peony on your anniversary. 

I love you, he says, more than anything. I can’t wait to see you again. 

He acts like he’s not afraid, because he doesn’t want to worry you. He says that the allies are winning, that he’ll be home in no time. 

“Are you Y/N Barnes?” Usually you don’t get bothered while out. Most women who shopped at this grocery store ignored you, the rumors of whether you were hired help or housewife circulated, but they were all too afraid to ask. It was impolite after all. And most believed you were the Help regardless. 

“Yes, can I help you?” Your english had gotten better but was still heavily accented. The woman behind you had a soft smile, you didn’t recognize her as someone you knew but the younger girl behind her looked to be Becca’s age. The Mother blushed, 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Her voice soft, so those around could not overhear, she stepped closer to you, “My daughter is infatuated with the dress Rebecca Barnes was wearing last Sunday in church and Rebecca says that you’re the one who made it.” You did. It was a soft blue for the oncoming spring. Yellow daisies hand stitched into the skirt. 

“I did.” The basket in your hands was growing heavy with the fresh peaches they’d recently gotten in, you weren’t sure where this woman was going with this. 

“Would you be able to make my daughter a dress just as fine?” The woman asked, “I’d be happy to pay you.” The young girl, fourteen, looked hopeful behind her mother. “A dress like that would probably be ten dollars in the store? Does that sound fair?” 

“What color would you like?” Ten dollars was good money for a dress. You couldn’t say no and the woman and her daughter were both very sweet. You’d worked hard on the dress for seven days before she came to pick it up. Her daughter cooing over the fabric and turning around in the mirror as you made final measurements. The blush pink and white stitching, blush pink roses soft in the hem. 

“Thank you very much.” The Mother, handing you the money as payment for the dress now zipped in a garment bag they’d brought. “I’m sure once I wring a little more out of my husband's pockets we will be back for more.” 

One dress became another, and another Mother wanted a dress for her daughter, and then the other girls in Becca’s class asking for dresses. Suddenly you were making your own money, not in the factory this time, but enough to keep your fingers busy and give you something to do during the day with the help of Winnie. 

Winnie would help you measure and fit the girls. She would help you with the basic stitching when the orders piled up, you would work on the finer details. The small stitching. The tug and pull of forming flowers. 

You excitedly wrote to Bucky about it. 

Once you were married he didn’t want you working at the factory anymore. “It’s a death trap.” He explained. But people could get away with a lot when it came to immigrants. Poor working conditions, not having the proper ventilation, and the long hours. You were doing the very thing he encouraged you to do all along. 

But making dresses for family was vastly different than making dresses for strangers. When prom season came around you were up to your ears in tulle and velvet. 

It seemed a little arbitrary, but he praised you for it anyway. You imagined him covered in dirt, out in the heat of summer, blood on his boots and an empty belly, writing this letter telling you how proud he was that you were doing something you loved doing. It felt heavy in your stomach. 

Like it was unfair.

But his checks went into the same account you put this money into. And it was good money. A plan for the future. 

A woman brought her baby once. A sweet fat little thing. Yes, she wailed and cried, she tugged on your hair and just about ripped the earring out of your ear but it gave a new craving. You wanted to start a family.

You thanked God that you hadn’t gotten pregnant before Bucky left, a baby was hard to handle alone. And with the stress and heartache with him being overseas you weren’t sure you could have handled having a baby going on two years old now. But when he got home, it was something to be brought up. A maternal craving you didn’t know you had. 

The summer brought backyard barbecues and trips to the beach. For Bucky it was a little different. 

He wrote about some nice things. The countryside. Steve rambling incessantly about his new girl. A village that made them a decent meal. He said that he’d forgotten what good food tasted like. He wrote about how he got to sleep in an actual bed for the first time in a while. About how he got to meet Howard Stark. That Steve knew him. That Stark helped him become whatever he is now. Stronger, faster, a super soldier. 

Stark was talking about starting an organization to deal with people like this, Hydra. To keep groups like this from taking root. He offered Bucky a job when he gets back to New York. But that would be a conversation for another day, he writes, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. 

He also wrote about the Russians liberating a camp, how they felt like they were getting closer to the goal. He said this time next year he should be home with you the way it’s looking now. There were a number of hydra bases left, but they’ve spent the better part of a year eradicating them. 

These letters that were being read by you now, albeit slowly, but Suzy was no longer looking over your shoulder became brazen, a little racy. 

Bucky wrote about how he dreams of you, every night. How you feel against him. How you taste on his tongue. You felt heat grow in your cheeks reading about it. He talked about how he looked at your picture every day, how he craved your lips. How your hair felt in his hands. How your body felt under his. 

You wrote back about tracing your fingers over his back, trailing your lips there. The closeness that sex brought you. How it made you feel. A breath apart and panting with it. The reunion was craved by both sides. The longing in the letters was clear. But it quickly turned sour. 

There was a husband, he wrote, in one of the villages. He’d gotten to safety. But his wife was taken. There was a Hydra base nearby. These men, he wrote, come whenever they want, whatever time of day they want, and they rob these people who have no means to defend themselves. When they found the base, it was similar to the others. He didn’t want you to know what conditions he was put under, so he never described it to you. But you could assume it was terrible with the way they found the people there. 

The man’s wife was dead. And he described how this man fell in the street. The emotion of it, raw and powerful. It broke your heart. He lamented about how the man told him that he’d met his love as a child. He spent his entire life with her. And now she’s gone. He asked what he should do. Because he didn’t know. And he wasn’t the only civilian who experienced loss that day. 

The sorrow was palpable, he wrote, there were no songs of victory by the campfire that night. There was no celebration. The village was small enough that everyone lost someone, and it was felt.

The summer closed with the boys back in London, seemingly the home base for whatever missions they’d been working on. And there was something big, or so Bucky eluded to. He couldn’t say to compromise the mission, but it was something big. He didn’t know exactly what would happen, but it was the beginning of the end, the real end. Of Hydra and Nazi Germany. 

It gave you hope. Maybe he’ll be home soon. Maybe this war will finally be over and he’ll be home, safe. 

Communication was tight for the rest of the year. Something you chose to ignore by making the girl’s fall and winter dresses. Throwing yourself into your dress orders, an entire room in the house, one that would, god willing, be a room for one of your future children, covered in crushed blue velvet and rich greens and reds. You’d gotten a beautiful champagne colored tule you couldn’t help but buy along with some frivolous ribbons and playful buttons to change up the looks of the back of the dresses. 

It was something easy to focus on, mindful and relaxing tasks that took your mind off of the fact that letters were fewer than ever and your husband was thousands of miles away doing truly dangerous work. 

The Barnes household was buzzing with activity. All morning preparations for Christmas dinner, straight after Church you found yourself in the Barnes’ kitchen peeling potatoes, cutting carrots, and trussing a turkey. 

Softly in the background was a memory of last year. I’ll Be Home for Christmas. The optimism of last year drowned with the optimism for next year. Bucky said he feels like it will be over soon. And hopefully it will be. 

There was a stack of presents accumulated from last year's Christmas and birthdays, and the year before’s. Waiting for him to open. 

“Maybe he’ll be home by his birthday.” Ginny was twenty and beautiful, now with a steady boyfriend you were sure would propose any day now. 

The room was light and hopeful. George Barnes was stringing cranberries with Rebecca and Suzy, and now eighteen-year-old Ruth was reading a letter that had just arrived for the family. 

“They got to see a USO show before going back out.” Ruth reads, “Dinah Shore.” You looked at her confused. You didn’t know who Dinah Shore was. “She sings ‘Yes, My Darling Daughter’, she was in ‘Thank Your Stars’.” You shake your head, never having heard the song or seen that movie before. Ruth shrugs, a smile on her face, “She’s blonde and pretty.” As an explanation to why they would have Dinah Shore try to raise the morale of the troops. A laugh was shared. “He said that he’s never going to eat another can of beans for the rest of his life.” 

You focused on placing the turkey in the oven. There was some unfound jealousy at the thought of your husband screaming and shouting, hollering at a woman sent to perform for them. It was dumb, but it was there. 

You tried to remind yourself about his last letter, the one he’d written before he left for his mission. He’d written enough to stagger out some letters, but you were afraid they were going to stop coming all together. You felt like you were being silly having jealousy about some woman who you didn’t even know. And it quickly went away as you thought about maybe this time next year. Maybe it’ll be all over. And that extra spot at the table will be filled. 

You could only hope. 

.

.

.

taglist //  @corneliabarnes​ @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @albinotigerpython​ @cake-writes​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @000bananaclip000​ @shadowbusiness @sprinkleofbooty​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @vhsbarnes​ @loseralert @wendaiii​ @mcueveryday​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious​

[songxiaolin]

A tree can grow 10 thousand feet tall but its leaves will always fall back to the roots

Guests were common at the Songxiao sect of Jinghai. People came and went; asking for advice, coming for help or training, sometimes offering donations that were almost always turned away. This was different. This was family. Wei Wuxian had accepted their invitation – not that there had ever been any doubt there – and so more had been put into preparation than before.

Lin Ming stood in the kitchen, checking on the ma shi as the eggplant for the yú xīang qié zi simmered in the sauce. She was certainly taking liberties with the dishes she had planned for dinner but neither Song Lan or Xiao Xingchen would know or care.

“Are you certain you don’t need help?” asked Xiao Xingchen. He had been hovering behind her, Baiying sleeping in his arms, for awhile now.

She wiped her hands on a towel and gently patted his cheek. He smiled.

“I know, you can handle it,” he said. “I only like to help.”

With his hands full, it was more difficult to be able to write her response but he managed to hold one palm out, cradling the baby with one arm against his chest.

You do, she wrote. But you’re helping now. Maybe you can go collect the beans. Zichen should have them.

“I can do that. I’ll be back.” He was a good judge of distance, pressing a kiss to her forehead that was only slightly off center before he turned to leave.

Lin Ming watched him leave with a smile before turning back to her work. Set to the side were a pile of hot peppers. She narrowed her eyes. There were plenty of other things that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen could eat — she was also making liáng cài — and didn’t Wei Wuxian like spicy food? He was a guest, after all, and it was important to cater to your guests. Her smile grew as she grabbed a handful.

It would be a good visit.

“Yuchun, don’t eat that.” Song Lan’s voice was stern as he pulled the now drool-covered stick away from the toddler

“Babies always put things in their mouths, don’t you know that?” A-Qing asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

Song Lan smiled tightly, watching the young girl shove another sweet in her mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said.

“Alright, alright.” She swallowed. “Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.” He wondered what Xiao Xingchen would say. The other man had a knack with the oldest that Song Lan hadn’t quite mastered yet. “You’ll be a good example for Yuchun.”

A-Qing seemed to consider this suspiciously for a moment before brightening.

“Of course I will! I can teach her all sorts of important things,” she said.

Song Lan immediately felt a wave of anxiety about all the possible trouble that could cause.

“I’m sure you will,” he said, voice slightly strained. With a high-pitched laugh, Yuchun lunged forward on unsteady legs and Song Lan caught her before she could go too far. She squealed and his smile softened as he picked her up.

“When is he going to get here? I’m tired of having to wait.” A-Qing’s voice was a whine.

“Soon,” he said, tossing the last of the vegetables that Lin Ming had requested into the basket. Yuchun reached for it and he handed her a green bean. She shook it a few times before sticking it in her mouth. “Be patient.”

“I am patient,” said A-Qing, impatiently stomping her foot.

Song Lan sighed.

“You are very patient, A-Qing,” said Xiao Xingchen as he approached, still holding Baiying. He knew that tone well. “Be patient a little longer.”

It was her turn to sigh.

“Fine, Daozhang.”

“Perhaps you should be the one greet Wei Wuxian,” Song Lan suggested as he picked up the basket of vegetables. He knew Wei Wuxian and was on good enough terms but he’d rather Xiao Xingchen deal with this sort of situation.

Xiao Xingchen knew that and smiled, nudging the man in black with his shoulder.

“Good idea.” He turned to A-Qing. “Will you help Zichen carry the vegetables back?”

“Sure, I guess.” She took the basket from Song Lan’s hand. “C’mon, Yuchun, follow me!”

The toddler gave a squeal and Song Lan set her down, watching her follow after A-Qing.

“I should make sure they don’t get too far ahead,” he said.

“It’s fine, Zichen.”

“Still—”

Xiao Xingchen laughed slightly and shook his head.

“Take Baiying, then,” he said, holding out the now waking baby. “I’ll wait for my nephew.”

Song Lan brushed his hand over Xiao Xingchen’s arm before taking the baby.

“Alright. I’ll go help Lin Ming,” he said and followed after A-Qing and Yuchun.

                               ******************

In the kitchen, Song Lan set down the basket of vegetables next to where Lin Ming was working. He could feel Baiying drooling on his shoulder but for once he didn’t care. Spying the chopped up pile of hot peppers, he frowned.

“You can’t use all of those,” he said.

Lin Ming turned to him, mouth twisting in amusement.

Our guest loves spicy food, she signed. I’m being a good host.

The expression on Song Lan’s face said he was not even a little bit convinced.

“Lin Ming.”

Don’t worry. I won’t put any in your food.

There was no arguing with her and he knew that.

“Just remember, this is important to Xingchen,” he said.

Her round face turned more serious and she kissed his cheek.

I know, she mouthed.

                                ******************

Xiao Xingchen didn’t have to wait long. He had been about to start pacing, start wondering if he should begin looking, in case his nephew ran into trouble, when he heard the familiar sound of approaching footsteps. He straightened and turned his head towards the sound.

“Xiao-shishu!”

At Wei Wuxian’s voice, he broke into a wide grin and stepped forward in that direction, arms moving as if he wanted to hug the other man but stopped. His bow was quick and less than formal. Even though Xiao Xingchen couldn’t see, Wei Wuxian returned the bow, smile planted firmly on his face.

“Shizhi, I trust the trip here wasn’t too bad? I know we’re out of the way,” said Xiao Xingchen, patting his nephew on the arm.

“Ah, no, no. It was no trouble at all. Have you seen how far Cloud Recesses is? This was nothing, don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian said, putting both hands on Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders for a moment.

“Good, I’m glad. Come, Lin Ming planned all the food and there’s two people that I can’t wait for you to meet.”

Xiao Xingchen took his nephew’s arm and began leading him towards the main home.

“Oh, you do? I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise, shishu,” he said.

“I know you will, I’m not worried.”

There was an undercurrent of laughter to Xiao Xingchen’s voice; Wei Wuxian never failed to amuse him.

“Ah, you put so much trust in me, “ Wei Wuxian said with a laugh. “I’m flattered, truly. A lot of people might think that’s foolish.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled, slight and knowing.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that someone called me a fool.”

“Then we’re both in fine company, aren’t we?”

Xiao Xingchen’s laugh was bright and clear, ringing across the courtyard.

“I am,” he said and gave Wei Wuxian no time to comment on his word choice. “Come, don’t mind the chickens.”

He lead Wei Wuxian inside; the main room was nothing special with wood floors and paper panel doors separating the room they used as a bedroom from the rest of the house. There were still repairs to be done but it was no longer an abandoned house but a home. From the kitchen in the back, the smell of spice wafted.

Lin Ming looked up and grinned, picking up Yuchun as she stood to greet them. Using one hand, she signed ‘hello’. There was delighted surprise on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Lin Ming! Have you been staying out of trouble?” he asked, though most of his attention seemed to be on the little girl.

From where he sat holding Baiying, Song Lan scoffed in a good-natured way causing Xiao Xingchen to laugh.

“Who is this little lady?” Wei Wuxian leaned forward and poked a finger at her. Yuchun hid her face in Lin Ming’s shoulder before peaking at him then hiding again. She repeated the whole thing two more times before giggling. Wei Wuxian smiled. “She’s even smaller than Sizhui was.”

“This is Yuchun,” said Xiao Xingchen, holding out his hand. Lin Ming took it and guided him to Yuchun’s head. Smiling, he stroked her fine hair. “She’s— We took her in. I suppose you could say she’s our daughter.”

It had always been implied, ever since they took in the two children, that they would be raised as their own but it had never been put so bluntly. Lin Ming smiled, her cheeks flushed, and hugged her daughter to her chest.

“Daughter?” Wei Wuxian’s tone was surprised but then he smiled. “She’s perfect, shishu. She looks just like you. Can’t you see the family resemblance, Lin Ming?”

She laughed and rang the bell at her waist once.

“You’re too much, shizhi,” said Xiao Xingchen though his tone was flattered. “Zichen?”

As Song Lan approached, Wei Wuxian straightened and bowed.

“Please, don’t,” said Song Lan, free hand stopping the bow like he had once before.

“Right, right. Of course. It’s good to see you again, outside of the conference.”

Song Lan’s face twitched slightly at the mention of the conference. Carefully, he placed the baby into Xiao Xingchen’s arms.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, tone implying that if he had to deal with another conference, it would be too soon.

Wei Wuxian chuckled; he could sympathize with Song Lan’s opinion, but most of his attention was on the small but chubby baby that Xiao Xingchen was holding. He wondered if Jin Ling had been so tiny on that day when everything had gone wrong. He always regretted missing that.

“And who is this?” he asked, not so surprised to find his voice cracked a bit as much as he tried to hold it back.

“Our son.”

“Ah, Xiao-shishu. He’s wonderful.”

Both Lin Ming and Song Lan could see the wet of tears in his eyes, knew Xiao Xingchen could hear it.

“Here,” said Xiao Xingchen. “You should hold him.”

Not waiting for answer, Xiao Xingchen held the baby out towards him. There was the briefest moment of hesitation before Wei Wuxian took him, cradling him in his arms and bouncing slightly as Baiying sucked on his fingers.

“What’s his name?”

“Baiying. For Zichen’s temple.” Xiao Xingchen paused. “And after you.”

It took awhile for the words to sink in, for Wei Wuxian to truly understand what was being said. He looked up.

“After me?”

Lin Ming glanced at Xiao Xingchen, her smile fond.

“Yes, I wanted to. You are family, after all,” said Xiao Xingchen. His forehead was creased as if he wanted to say something else but didn’t, instead reaching out to slip his arm around Song Lan’s.

“Ah—” He didn’t bother hiding the tears now. Baiying reached out, grabbing Wei Wuxian’s finger, gurgling contentedly. Wei Wuxian’s laugh was choked with emotion. “Ah, shishu, you shouldn’t have. He’s going to have a reputation already.”

“A good one,” said Song Lan, tone firm as if he would accept no argument otherwise.

Next to him, Xiao Xingchen nodded, tightening his grip on Song Lan’s arm in quiet thanks.

“Yes, a very good one,” Xiao Xingchen agreed. “But you traveled a long way and must be tired. You should sit and rest while we finish getting dinner ready.”

Lin Ming started to sign something but found it was next to impossible to do while holding a toddler. Without a word, Song Lan took Yuchun from her, freeing up her hands.

I made it especially for you, she signed at Wei Wuxian.

“She did make it especially for you,” said Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen took his meaning.

“Oh. Well, you do like spicy food, don’t you?”

“I do, I do,” Wei Wuxian said, looking up, still bouncing Baiying lightly. “Yunmeng food is very spicy, that’s why it’s the best.”

Lin Ming mouthed ‘I told you so’ at Song Lan who gave a resigned sigh. It made Yuchun laugh and he did it again.

“Then come, let’s sit and eat and you can tell us how everything has been with you,” said Xiao Xingchen, letting go of Song Lan’s arm to take his nephew’s instead, leading him towards the table.

Wei Wuxian’s steps were slower than usual.

“Xiao Xingchen,” he said. “Thank you, for everything.”

“There’s no need to thank me, shizhi, we’re family.”

[avengersassemble-fics]

Fine Line

part 04/?? “blossom”

masterlist

previous part // next part

word count 2.4k

an: sorry this one is a little shorter than usual jonqajov[bafnb but AHHHHHH

The thought of living another day in your childhood bedroom, under the watchful eyes of not only your parents but the nagging that came from your sister was what finally pushed you to make changes in your life. It could have also been the spur of the moment feeling that overcame you with the whole New Year feeling that filled the air. But one thing was for sure, you were moving back to Brooklyn, and no one was going to stop you (that included Derek, screw that whole “not your part of town” shit.)

Your parents were supportive of the idea, and you knew they were excited for you to start rebuilding your life (and maybe get that room back). You searched high and low for something you could afford in your favorite neighborhood, and stumbled upon the perfect place. Red toned bricks that even led into the front room that was adorned with mailboxes, the apartment itself was lined with white walls and big beautiful windows, and grey kitchen cabinets adorned the kitchen. You fell in love instantly. The character and the short walk to your favorite cafe were all ringing in your head in perfect little yes’s, and you applied for it right away.

Before Bucky had left on a new trip you had told him all about your idea. Though you hadn’t found the place yet, he was just as happy and supportive of this move for you. So when the approval came through about a week after he left (and his phone was turned off) you excitedly sent him a text message for when he did return home. You typed so fast you wondered if your fingers were going to fly off, but you just couldn’t help but bounce around after you got the news.

You: I found the perfect place! I move in next week, Buck :) Wish you were here so we could celebrate properly.

You had started to wonder about when you would get to meet this mysterious man you had grown so attached to. Bucky crossed your mind nearly everyday in the hopes of sharing something with him, whether that was a thought or maybe something that made you laugh. But then you remembered that he wasn’t here at the moment, and kept the thought to yourself. So when the next week rolled around and you traveled into the city behind your father who had your things in his truck, you were eager to settle into this new place, and your new life, and thought about when you would get to share that with him.

Bucky shifted a bit in the passenger seat of Sam’s car, trying to pull his phone from his bag that laid on his feet. He couldn’t help but grumble, and Sam tossed a glance his way, just to watch the super soldier struggle against the seat belt and he stifled back a laugh. Once Bucky was finally able to retrieve what he was looking for, he shot a glare at Sam.

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky warned. Sam only laughed.

“Why are you always so hostile after these missions?”

“Because you’re annoying,” Bucky stated. He powered on his phone and lightly tapped it against his hand as it booted up.

“You have the nerve to call me annoying when all you do is sit there on that damn phone and mumble to yourself?” Sam asked. Bucky glared at him again and Sam nodded. “I rest my case.”

“You and your case can shove it,” Bucky said as his phone came to life. He swiped through his messages in search of any from you, and smiled to himself when there were a couple waiting for him. Sam shook his head as he came to a stop outside Bucky’s building, and shifted into park. Bucky on the other hand was too distracted to notice his surroundings, which only made Sam sigh.

“You have it bad,” he said. Bucky looked up from his screen and glared at Sam. “Ever since New Years you’ve been like a lovesick puppy.”

“Goodbye, Sam,” Bucky said as he pushed open his door. Bucky stepped out of the car and grabbed his bag, but stopped and rested his arm on the roof to peer inside. “I think I should take the lead on the next mission, your sources suck.”

“Close my fucking door,” Sam said. Bucky grinned and slammed the door closed and watched as Sam pulled off down the road. He shook his head and climbed up the stairs that led to his building, and used his key to get inside. When he entered he made sure to stop and get his mail, and shuffled through it as he climbed the stairs up to his apartment. One flight, then the second, he shuffled through the envelopes before he made it to his floor, and Bucky being Bucky, didn’t see the person backing out of their apartment until he knocked into them.

“Shit, sorry,” he said. He wasn’t used to someone being in this particular apartment, they must have been moving in. Bucky though froze in his place when his eyes landed upon none other than..

Well.. You.

When you recognized him, your face lit up a bit. But Bucky was sure he broke out in an immediate sweat. Well, maybe not, but it suddenly felt very hot in here.

“Sam,” you greeted. That was right, he used fucking Sam’s name that night. Bucky forced a smile, and peered down at the box you were holding.

“Do you, uh, need help with that?” He asked. You smiled and nodded a bit at him. Bucky dropped his bag down almost immediately which earned a chuckle from you, and he took the box from your arms. You stepped to the side and Bucky entered your new apartment, walking through the grey painted kitchen into the main room. He came to a stop amongst piles of boxes, and set the box on top of another, when another man exited your bedroom.

Holy shit, your dad.

In other circumstances this would have been fine. If you knew who he was, if he was properly courting you, this would be totally fine. But this, with you thinking he was a man named Sam, was not how he wanted to meet your father. Under a lie. But Bucky put on the best face he could, a smile and wiped his hands on his pants as your dad came into the room. 

“Is that everything?” He asked, and you passed Bucky and gave him a nod. His attention then went to Bucky, and he took a step forward. “Who’s this?”

“That’s Sam, he’s a new neighbor of mine,” you answered. Your father gave him a nod, and then offered his hand for Bucky to shake. Carefully, with his covered metal hand, he shook your father's hand firmly, but not too hard. When he earned a nod from your father he inwardly sighed, and released his hand.

“Do you want me to stay and help you unpack this?” Your father asked. Bucky stole a glance towards the front door which was still wide open, and looked over the locks quickly that adjourned the door. He turned his attention back to the scene before him when you had laughed a bit.

“No no of course not, I can handle it from here,” you told him. Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and your father rubbed your shoulder, and said something he couldn’t quite hear. Bucky nodded a goodbye as your father passed him and out the door, pausing to get one last look inside. He disappeared around the corner and Bucky’s gaze shifted back to you, who shuffled through a box and he smiled a bit to himself as you pulled out a book.

“Y’know I never thought I’d see you again after that night,” you had said. You glanced his way and Bucky laughed a bit.

“Are you glad you were wrong?” He asked. His confidence shocked him a bit, but he couldn’t help it. Not right now. You smiled a bit and moved around a couple boxes to move near him.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted. Bucky nodded to himself, and when you were near enough he swore he felt his heart flutter. He swallowed the lump in his throat. There goes all that confidence.

“Well, welcome to the building,” he said, his voice low. You smiled up at him, your eyes shining even past your long lashes, and he fought the urge to sweep you up.

“Thanks, Sam,” you answered. You had followed him to the door, and Bucky picked up his bag, and you motioned to him. “Did you just get back from a trip?”

Bucky looked down at the bag in his hand and he cleared his throat. “Ah yeah, I did.”

You nodded and let out a soft hmm, and rested your hand on your door. “Well I won’t keep you from resting.”

Bucky smiled that devilish smile of his and you averted your gaze quickly to the floor. He whispered a goodbye and you did too and he listened, as he walked to his own apartment deeper into the building, to you close and (thankfully) lock your door.

That night you had worked on clearing some of the boxes out and finally took a break when your takeout arrived. You nestled yourself on the wooden floor, and looked through your phone, and smiled when you came upon a notification from just the person you were thinking of.

Bucky: Congrats, doll. Just landed today, have you moved in yet?

You whirled around the glass of wine you had poured for yourself a while ago. Well.. More like your third glass. The heat in your chest made you hover over the conversation and scoff a bit as you took another sip. Your thumb pressed a couple buttons before setting the phone down on the floor and listened to the ringing that filled the room.

Bucky was in the middle of cooking a spiced version of a pasta dish his ma used to make when his phone started to vibrate on the counter. He carefully placed the wooden mixing spoon over the boiling pot of water and wiped his steamed hands on a rag as he leaned over to get a glance. He frantically grabbed his phone and answered the call, clearing his throat a bit before speaking.

“Hello?” He answered. When Bucky’s voice filled your room you spilled to yourself, picking up some of the noodles in your takeout box with the given chopsticks.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” you started. “But I’m sitting here on the floor of my new place and.. Well, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Bucky grinned to himself as he put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter, He tossed the dish towel on his shoulder and went back to stirring his pot of noodles, which should be nearly done. “You’d never be interrupting me, doll. Do you like the new place?”

“I really do,” you answered. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

Well it wasn’t a total truth. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in you, but you felt compelled to admit to yourself that you wanted to see him. As you continued to sit on the floor, Buck in turn moved towards the sink in his apartment and dumped the noodles into a strainer, and chuckled a bit to himself.

“I bet your sister is thrilled you aren’t as easily accessible now,” he joked. You smile to yourself and brought your knees to your chest.

“Oh no definitely not, but I am,” you replied.

Bucky laughed and he continued to make his dinner. The two of you continued to chat and joke around, throughout both your dinners, and into the night. Bucky had settled himself onto his bed, still holding onto his phone. He could tell by now that the alcohol you had drank had taken its toll on you. You were filled with pretty little giggles that made him smile, and he listened as you ruffled through boxes in search of something.

“What are you looking for, doll?” 

“Something… Something I remembered I wanted to share with you,” you told him. Bucky smiled and adjusted himself on the bed, lowering himself further down to rest on the pillows, and rested his arm under his head. You hummed along and he closed his eyes at the sounds, drifting along with you. He listened as you pulled something along the cardboard, and heard a quiet thump. He heard paper being flipped about, and your humming soon came to an end.

“Did you find it?” He asked. You let out a little mhm, and he smiled. “Lay it on me.”

“What is a wound but a flower

dying on its descent to the earth,

bag of scent filled with war, forest,

torches, some trouble that befell

now over and done. A wound is a fire

sinking into itself. The tinder serves

only so long, the log holds on

and still it gives up, collapses

into its bed of ashes and sand. I burned

my hand cooking over a low flame,

that flame now alive under my skin,

the smell not unpleasant, the wound

beautiful as a full-blown peony.

Say goodbye to disaster. Shake hands

with the unknown, what becomes

of us once we’ve been torn apart

and returned to our future, naked

and small, sewn back together

scar by scar.”

Bucky stared at his ceiling as you went over the words. When you finished he was quiet, just thinking about how you always seemed to have something up your sleeve to surprise him. Always something to share with him. You rested on the floor with your back against the wall, and were staring down at the numbers growing higher on your phone. You shut your book and rubbed the cover, and looked around your surroundings. “Buck?”

“Yes, doll?” He answered immediately. His voice was low, almost in a whisper, and you smiled to yourself.

“Will we.. Will we ever meet?” You asked. Bucky sucked in a deep breath and exhaled silently. He didn’t really know how to answer, and with the way things were playing out, he wasn’t sure how this would end up. But he heard the tone in your voice, and he made a promise he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep.

“We will.. I promise we will.”

- - - - - - - - - - 

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[twodaysintojune]

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

Supernatural, Debriel, Warnings-None

Find me at AO3

If Dean had an equivalent of Sam’s Halloween hate, more often than not that hated event was Christmas.

And to be fair, growing up listening to joyous songs of peace on earth right after cleaning your father's wounds from a salt and burn, watching movies of people sharing gifts under a massive Christmas tree in a dingy motel room whose only pristine asset was the sink he had just cleaned himself and then growing up trying to make it up for Sam and give him some sort of celebratory feeling…

Yeah, that could definitely make Christmas a detested event for anyone.

Which is why he thought it was kind of stupid to be out here on December 23rd in the mild Kansas cold, waiting for Sam and Jack to finally pick up a tree. Not that he complained about it, with time he had learnt to tone his feelings down and go along everything his people said. He was watching them, hands in his pockets, listening to the jarring Alvin and the Chipmunks styled carols booming out of a speaker that he was sure he would utterly destroy if he had the chance to get anywhere near it when he felt more than saw Gabriel approach him.

“You look like you're having as much fun as a man picking up his last meal.”

Dean snorted, count on Gabriel to be able to tell his mood swings. He had become even better than Sam on it and that was saying something.

“Naw, I was just thinking how on earth I'm gonna tie that monster to Baby without giving her a scratch.”

Cas had joined the other two with an assistant of the lot to help them wrap the tree up. After some struggling by all of them, Jack approached Dean beaming.

“All set?”

“Yeah”

“Well then, let's go kid.”

The trip to the bunker had been good, changing the background music to the good ol’ Zep definitely did wonders to his mood so when he helped everyone get the tree and all the other decorations they had bought into the bunker’s library, Dean was smiling once more. Still, he managed to leave everyone there to hide in the kitchen and prepare some mulled wine for the first time ever.

Doing a new recipe helped him focus his attention on anything else than more bitter than sweet memories but first he had to open the bottles and pour the wine into a pot. After finishing the first task, he saw a sachet of spices he had been about to prepare appear out of nowhere on his hand.

“Thanks Gabe.”

He dropped the sachet and proceeded to add less cups of sugar than what the recipe claimed, knowing that it was easier to add on than to take away. Gabriel, who was suddenly by his side, moved to turn on the oven while Dean cleaned the few instruments he had used and then went to the counter to finish preparing the turkey that was already lying on a cooking pan. Curious, Dean glanced over him and took a look at the humongous bird he definitely didn’t recall buying.

“Where did you even get that from?”

“I may not have much grace but I can spare a bit for the good stuff.”

Dean just snickered while he moved to take the eggs and milk out of the fridge and add another big pot on the stove for the eggnog, nudging Gabriel to leave some space on the counter for him. It was odd, this homely feeling he was getting dancing around the kitchen with Gabriel. It was almost like this was the way things were always meant to be. It took Dean a while to notice Gabriel was humming ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ but when it finally hit him he couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“Were you ever even jealous of your half brother?”

Gabriel turned to look at Dean a bit startled and stopped his turkey filling task for a moment.

“Not really... I was kind of curious and a bit upset you know, since dad had forbidden us to bang with them and then he shows up and tells me I gotta give this girl Mary the news ‘cause he was being too much of a coward to show up himself after she told him she was not gonna give up on Joseph...” Gabriel paused for a long enough time fiddling with the spoon in his hands “...that should have been a dead giveaway about what he would do after Lucifer’s fall”

Dean moved to place his hand on the archangel’s shoulder.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault that he left.”

If he didn’t know better, Dean could have sworn he had seen Gabriel’s eyes glisten for a second.

“Anyway, all that stopped after JJ was born, he really was a cute baby… Too bad he had to grow up.”

Dean laughed heartily.

“Yeah, I get you on that. Sammy was the cutest when he was a kid. If you think his puppy eyes can kill you now you should have seen him then.”

The rest of the day went by with the bunker filling itself with the delicious scent of baked goods that Gabriel naturally did for Dean’s delight and the mulled wine. Despite not feeling like it, Dean had helped hang out the leftover garlands and was preparing some of the open bedrooms for Jody and the girls, who were invited for the celebration by Sam when he stepped into the library with some dusty rags at the same time as Gabriel, who was bringing snacks for everyone.

“Stop!”

They halted when Jack placed his hand in front against them.

“You’re under the mistletoe! You have to kiss!”

Both men looked upwards to find that, indeed, there was a small bundle of mistletoe hanging from a decorated red ribbon right over them. Still confused for the abrupt interruption of their activities, they turned to each other before going back to Jack.

“Uhm, I don’t think this is the way that works kiddo.”

“No, you have to do it! Sam and Castiel already have.”

Dean and Gabriel groaned while glancing their respective brothers, who were now sheepishly hiding behind some of the tree’s branches. Dean could have sworn Sam’s ears were three shades redder than what they should’ve been.

“Seriously? You had to go there now? On Christmas of all times!?”

“We had to! It was the mistletoe!”

Both Gabriel and Dean looked at them in judgemental disbelief for just a second. Then Gabriel sighed and placed the tray with sandwiches and beer on the table before turning towards Dean.

“Don’t worry Dean-o, this ain’t gonna hurt a bit.”

Dean was about to retort when Gabriel’s hands found his neck and pulled his face closer. He felt Gabriel’s lips closing on his with a softness he never would have expected of the guy. Dean knew little about love but he was certain that there had been something more caring in that brief connection than what the occasion would have required.

Gabriel parted almost as fast as he had approached him.

“There, happy now?”

Jack just beamed at his uncle, like he had done tons of awesome things to make the world a better place. Swiftly, both men made way to keep on with their own tasks. When the night arrived and Sam had disappeared with Cas in his bedroom, Dean gave a last round on the library, where he found Jack sitting in front of the tree on the carpet and a bunch of floor pillows he suspected Gabriel had magicked looking in awe at how the lights turned on and off in random patterns.

“You gonna stay here all night?”

Jack turned to Dean with eyes shining in glee. Dean just sighed and went to grab one of the comfy lap blankets, throwing it on Jack’s shoulders.

“If you go back to your room remember to turn off the lights.”

“I will.” The kid stared a second at the man “Dean...? I love you.”

Dean smiled gently and made way to fuss Jack’s hair.

“Love ya too kid. Good night.”

“Good night.”

On his way to his bedroom he was joined by Gabriel.

“Sooo… I got this xxx-mas video right here, you wanna watch it at my room?”

Dean grabbed the case of the video, a latina, an asian and a redhead posing with the mandatory red sheer babydolls trimmed in white faux fur and santa hats. It was funny how even after watching the same shit again and again he always came back to them.

“Sure, why the heck not?”

They played the video after throwing themselves on Gabriel’s bed, filled with multiple silk cushions. Dean had to give it to Kali for teaching her man how to decorate in opulence. He accepted gratefully the whisky he was handled and went to focus on the video. There were no guys in the video, it was just the girls, opening presents that held dildos and vibrators inside and playing with each other. After a while, Dean just sighed frustrated.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean chuckled “I was kinda hoping for an idiot dressed as Santa I guess.”

Gabriel looked at Dean for the longest time and paused the video.

“Not that, Dean, something’s wrong with you today, all these days since Sam pitched in on doing Christmas.”

Dean turned to look at the archangel feeling clearly betrayed for being called out by the only person he would have expected never to be confronted about anything considering how well he was known for running away from facing stuff. And the worst was that he was unable to give a single pretext to get away from the interrogation. He tried, he knew he had tried his best to get around the issue but Gabriel had pressed on and on until Dean spilled it all out. All about the winter days spent in a room without heating, holding Sam closely wrapped in a blanket, the gift giving watched from outside a living room, all the Holidays his father had been out doing only god knows which hunt. He didn’t know when he had started crying in the middle of his rant. Why was he even talking? Why was he allowing anyone besides himself listen to all of this? It’s not like Gabriel would actually care. Heck, it’s not like he still cared about it so why on earth was he tearing this way?

“I’m sorry, Gabe, you don’t even need to listen to this.” Dean grunted softly in the middle of his frustration, looking down onto his already empty glass. Gabriel went to level his sight up by pulling Dean’s chin upwards softly.

“Maybe I don’t need to but I want to.”

Dean looked at him shocked for a second. Who on earth would actually want to listen to him rant about his past? Gabriel moved closer to Dean, overcoming the mountains and valleys of coloured fabric and laying by his side.

“You don’t believe me.” Before Dean could even admit or deny the fact, Gabriel magicked out a small giftwrapped box, the size of a kid’s toy and gave it to Dean. Dean looked the object curiously but didn’t make a move to open it.

“Shouldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

“I didn’t get to be your Secret Santa.”

Dean eyed his friend suspiciously but relented and began to tear down the paper. He would never admit it but he actually gasped when he finally found out the small Chevy ‘67 Impala model in front of him. It was just like his Baby, all the way up to its original license plate. It was a silly gift, really, nothing too awesome to think about, and yet he clearly remembered he had been wanting this particular model ever since he had seen it at a mall, ages ago. His father obviously not buying it because there was no reason for Dean to have it knowing they already were riding a real one. Deep down, Dean knew it had never been about the car.

It had been about his father doing something only for him.  

“I know I shouldn’t be peering on your thoughts but you’ve been sending away this image strongly all these past days, I thought it was something you really wanted.”

And now, after so many years there was someone paying attention to him, maybe cheating a little bit but hey, nothing was perfect in this world. Dean could feel more tears welling up, he had to talk before his voice was stolen.

“Thanks Gabe”

The archangel smiled at Dean warmly. There was a myriad of things going through his amber eyes, lighting them like he was able to hold galaxies inside.

“Don’t sweat it kiddo”

Dean snickered softly “I gotta admit I always thought of you as a conceited brat”

Gabriel just raised his eyebrows and smiled as well. “Well, I cannot deny that I have been quite the hedonist my entire life”

“Then what happened?”

“You.”

Dean turned towards the archangel in shock, clearly he must have listened wrong but Gabriel was just there looking at him in earnest. After what Dean thought of as an eternity in silence, Gabriel broke it one more time.

“I know you only see me as a friend. That’s alright. I’m good with the way things are… but I’m not glad if you’re not glad, so if something goes around your head; I’ll be there to listen. Okay?”

“...Okay”

Jody and the girls arrived the following day around five, making everything more chaotic and fun. They had dinner after seven and then watched a silly Christmas movie. Dean found it funny that none of them even imagined for a second that Gabriel was indeed the Gabriel, archangel, messenger of God. They all assumed he was a fellow hunter and Gabriel, well, he didn’t really mind clearing that particular misunderstanding.

Well past midnight they did the Secret Santa swap. Dean had somehow found a plush for Castiel online that according to him was called ‘Sammy Moose’ so it was perfect for him. Sam bickered about it but Cas didn’t put the plush down for any reason other than hold the real Sam close. Gabriel had received from Claire three pairs of silly Christmas socks with googly eyed elves that he immediately wore and some chocolates and Dean received in awe a guitar from Jody who only said she had traded from a colleague that never stuck with any hobby. By the end of it all, they were all singing Christmas carols and finishing all the dessert they could.

Maybe he was being hopeful, or maybe he had had a bit too much spiked eggnog but Dean finally felt like this was a holiday he could actually enjoy.

[mercurygray]

Because I'm feeling difficult, Fantastic Beasts and "wassail"

[send me a holiday word and a character/fandom and I’ll write you a fic!]

Theseus had lied.

His brother had assured him at the start of term that in a few weeks, Hogwarts would feel like home, but it was now December, and the magical castle with its endless hallways and trick staircases and suits of armor felt no more home-like to Newt Scamander than a rocky cave. In fact, a cave might have been preferable, for a cave would have supplied rocks to turn over and creatures to find and would not have been filled with people he had to talk to and homework that had to be finished.

But it was now Christmas, and Newt, who had been so looking forward to going home to the predictable confines of his room and his mother’s hippogriff barns was once more disappointed. 

Not only had his brother’s promise of home-like comfort failed to materialize, but just the other day the owl from their mother had come  - a last-minute trip, clients very focused on a particular bloodline, hate to change plans…but the boys would be staying on at Hogwarts this Christmas.

This did not seem to bother Theseus at all, and why should it? He had friends who would be staying. This was his home, or something near to it. But for Newt? What was Christmas without a trip to the hippogriff barn to feed them, and laugh at the new foals, and decorate the tree, and eat cake by the fire while listening to his father read? Someone had already decorated the trees in the Great Hall, and no one would tell him where Professor Kettleburn stabled the Hogwarts teaching collection of beasts for Care of Magical Creatures, which Newt could not take until his third year.

So Theseus was outside building a snowfort and enchanting snowballs to knock his friends’ hats off, and Newt was inside the Hufflepuff common room, reading in lonely and somewhat bitter silence. It was Christmas Eve, and they had been promised caroling later, but it would not be the same as at home.

“Would master like something to drink?”

Newt looked down from his well-thumbed copy of Dewey Dewhurst Finds a Troll (he’d brought the whole series with him, and they were providing a little comfort as the term had gone on) to see a large, steaming mug, swaying precariously next to his seat. Leaning forward, a change of perspective produced a small house-elf underneath the mug, teetering under the weight of it, smiling expectantly as she struggled with her load. He took the mug, much to the relief of the house-elf, who let her arms drop in gratitude and looked up with interest at Newt. “Is it to your taste, sir?”

Newt had never met one of the Hogwarts elves before. Theseus had told him they usually stayed in the kitchens, and prided themselves on not being seen, but this one was obviously young, and still learning her trade. “Master Theseus gave Milpy the recipe,” she shared happily. “He says he is getting worried about his brother, who is sad they is not going home for Christmas. He is sneaking into the kitchens and asking elves to make it for him - so Milpy is doing as he asks, sir! Does Master Newt like it?”

Newt looked down at the mug, and took a deep breath in, inhaling the fragrant steam and closing his eyes. Clove and cinnamon, apple and pear - and a dash of Ogden’s Firewhiskey, just like Ma -

A tear peeked at his eye, and he sniffled, raising the cup to his lips for an experimental sip, the hot drink sliding into his mouth and filling his whole body with warmth. Just like Ma’s. How many cups of this has he drunk over the years, and ladled out to caroling neighbors as they went through another verse of “God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogryffs”? And how many times had he helped his mother make it, saying, as she always did -

“It’s not Christmas without wassail.”

Newt looked up, opening his eyes. In his head, he’d heard his mother’s voice, but someone else had said it, too.

Theseus was peeking out from the other side of the room, a mug of his own in hand. “I asked Ma for the recipe,” he offered, crossing to Newt’s chair. “I know you were looking forward to going home, and I…wanted to make it feel a little like Christmas.”

Newt nodded, trying hard not to cry. He had longed for a return to the familiar, after these first three months at school - but here was the familiar for him, in a mug that smelled exactly like home. “How did you get in?” he asked weakly, trying to cover up the sudden rush of emotion welling up in the wake of the wassail.

“Told the door I was here to cheer you up.”

“Milpy hopes you like it, young sirs!” the house elf said happily, taking Newt’s tears for an expression of joy. “There is plenty more downstairs if you wants! And Merry Christmas!” And, with a pop, she was gone, doubtless back to the kitchens.

Theseus smiled, taking a sip of his own mug and looking decorously away as his younger brother hastily wiped his eyes and tried to compose himself. “Professor Kettleburn said we could go feed the school hippogriffs, after dinner, if we liked,” he offered, tentatively. “I asked him special. And Ma sent me some Floo Powder, so we can read with them tomorrow night - I told everyone the Gryffindor common room fire was taken.”

Newt sniffled again, feeling suddenly humbled at this extravagant show of Theseus’ goodwill. His brother had obviously given this a lot of thought, in between snowball fights.  

“Can we…build a snow creature tomorrow?” he asked, wondering if it would press his luck to ask for such a thing. “And play gobstones?” That was his brother’s favorite game, which Newt usually hated to play, but there must be some concession made, in recognition of all of Theseus’ hard work. Besides, it would be nice to spend some time with him. That was part of Christmas, too  - putting up with your brother.

His brother grinned. “Of course.”

Newt looked around the Hufflepuff common room, finding, suddenly, that the fire was a little brighter, the chair a little more comfortable, and the whole room felt much more…like home.

–

One of the things I liked about CoG was the establishment of the idea that Theseus is fundamentally a brother who looks out for his sibling when he can - which is where this story came from! I think Hogwarts would have been hard for Newt, especially if he’s on the spectrum a little bit, as many people read him to be.

The custom of Wassailing is a very old Anglo-Saxon practice, which takes its name from the toast Wes tu hal, Be thou well. Traditionally, it is made with ale or cider, heated with spices and served from a great big bowl to passerby. In some regions of England, the bowl is taken out to the orchard so the trees that have supplied the cider can be saluted and celebrated.