chocolate revel


“ TYL!Hibari and TYL!Xaxnus fluff please? Ehehe cx ” - Anonymous

First fluff for Hibari and Xanxus~! cx 

I hope you enjoy, Cuddle Cakes~ :D

TYL!Hibari: It was the middle of the night, and you were sitting up on the roof of the Foundation base with the one and only Hibari Kyoya. You covered your face with your elbow and sneezed, trying your hardest to keep quiet while the man slept with Hibird nestled in his hair. As soon as you made that sound though, HIbird fluttered up and started chirping; Kyoya opened one eye to look at you sitting criss cross next to him, humming slightly to let you know that he was now awake. “You woke me up,” he told you, sitting up and turning to look directly at you. “Are you getting sick?” he asked you as you reached into your bag to pull out a tissue and wipe your nose. “No, I think someone’s just talking about me,” you told him, although your sinuses had been bothering you quite a lot today.

Just as you said that, another sneeze came on. You covered your mouth with the tissue and sneezed, this one a little more quieter than the last one. “It’s just allergies. I’ll take some benadryl, I’ll be fine. Just go back to sleep-,” you sneezed again, slightly louder now as your body jerked forward because of the sneeze. Your nose was slightly red and runny now. You pulled another tissue out and blew your nose, wadding the tissue up and looking around for a place to toss it away. You stood and walked over to the first one you saw, tossing the used tissue away, only to sneeze once again. “Damn it,” you cursed as you went back to your bag and got another one. 

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick?” Kyoya asked you, slightly worried for your health now as you sneezed once more. You nodded your head when you returned to his side. “I’m fine, I promise,” you told him, sitting back down and lifting your hand for Hibird to land on your index finger. Another sneeze caused him to fly off. Kyoya sighed and stood up, pulled you up to your feet and picked up your bag, wrapping his arm around your waist a moment later. “Let’s get you home. Those don’t sound like allergies to me,” he told you as he made his way towards the door that lead to the stairwell. “K-Kyoya, I’m fine. Really,” you told him, but he just hummed as a response. 

You puffed out your cheeks as you walked with him down the stairs, knowing that he wasn’t going to believe you no matter how many times you told him you were fine. With a sigh, you followed Kyoya out the front door, huddling a little closer to him as you walked back to your home. “… It is a little chilly out, though,” you told him, a shiver running down your spine and through your body. Kyoya let out a sigh and let go of you for a moment, pulled his blazer off, and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? That’s probably why you’re sick now, herbivore,” he told you, kissing your forehead as he held you close and rubbed his hand up and down on your upper arm to warm you up a little bit. You just shrugged it off, choosing to respond to the last part instead. 

“I may be a herbivore, but I’m your herbivore,” you told him, earning a slight scoff from the taller male.

TYL!Xanxus: “Here,” Xanxus said as he walked into the room with a heart shaped box of chocolates. “A Valentine’s Day gift?” you asked him, and he nodded his head. During the past ten years you had been with Xanxus, he had never gotten a gift for you that wasn’t a piece of jewelry or very expensive designer clothes. It was strange for him to be getting you gifts like this since the only time he ever did was when he did something wrong and was trying to apologize to you. Raising an eyebrow at him, you stared at hmi for a long time before he shook the box, quickly becoming irritated with you for not taking the damn gift right away. 

With a sigh, you decided to let it go just this once and not ask him if he had done anything wrong. Xanxus held the box out to you and waited for you to take it, then laid down on the bed next to you. “Thank you, Xanxus,” you told him with a smile, pulling the box open and popping one of the chocolates in your mouth. “Want one?” you offered him, but he simply shook his head as ‘no’ and closed his eyes, his hands behind his head and one knee bent upward. “Not a big fan of chocolate,” he told you in that gruff, gritty voice of his that you had come to love so much over the past ten years. 

You shrugged your shoulders and ate another piece of chocolate, reveling in the sweet taste of it. “More for me then,” you said happily. You set the box of chocolates on the bedside table on your side of the bed, and turned to look at Xanxus with a smile on your face. “So, how did the mission go?” you asked him, and he shrugged his shoulders as a response. “Boring. Nothing exciting happened; it was just another piece of trash to get rid of, as usual,” he told you, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. “I didn’t even have to enter the premises. I used a sniper rifle, got him with one bullet right between the eyes,” Xanxus said, earning a nod from you.

You set aside the phone you had been using to watch a movie on and laid down next to him, lying your head on his chest and drawing small circles on his right pectoral. The sound of his heart beating soothed you as you simply laid there with your partner of ten years. “You wanna go out tonight?” you asked him after a few minutes of silence, but he just shook his head. “No. I’m tired,” he said, and you nodded. “Okay, we’ll stay in tonight. What do you want to do?” you asked him. “Sleep,” Xanxus said and you chortled at his response. You didn’t really want to go out tonight anyway. 

Whenever Xanxus had a job to do, instead of having Squalo do it, he had you take over for him at the Varia mansion and do all the paperwork and organizing while he was gone. So you were just as exhausted as he was. “We’ll do something tomorrow, then,” you told him but he was already snoring softly. Smiling, you leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek. 

“G'night, il mio amore.

Il mio amore = my love, in Italian.

LIKE O, LIKE H  [words: 30,556] E

Chris made an offer. Sebastian said yes. And today’s the day they sign the contract.

ENCIRCLE ME [words: 12,463] E

Negotiation, checklists, sandwiches, and the first day of being married. Also, sex on a very patient sofa.

ALL YOU NEED TO SAVE ME [words: 7,650] E

A first fight, some revelations, chocolate truffles, compromises, and a lot of love.

A VERSE, CHORUS, AND SUCH [words: 10,009] E

Sebastian learns some things. Chris thinks about art. Siblings are sometimes helpful. And fairy-tales matter.

A SURE TYPE THING [words: 7,135] E

Nighttime contemplations, good-morning sex, moving-boxes, minor injuries, jellybeans, confessions of love.


Sebastian’s never broken one of his new husband’s rules before.

THE KIND THAT’S NOT UNDONE [words: 12,797] E

Sebastian finally has that nightmare again, now that he’s got so much to lose. Chris tries to help him feel safe and loved.

+  EXTRA SUGAR [words: 41,359- WIP] various ratings

“all the bonus scenes, deleted scenes, alternate versions of scenes, short snippets, and extra tidbits from this series.”

Because yesterday was luninosity​‘s birthday and this is my belated present for her.

Also because there’s no better moment than every moment to read this beautiful series (once again).

anonymous asked:

Hey so I just joined my school's Ally club. I told my mom and told her I got her a pride pin because she's gay and loves putting them on her lab coat for work. The first words out of her mouth were "Does this mean you're gay now?" For the first time I stopped and thought about it. I've defined myself as straight my whole life but now idk. I'm not comfortable with saying straight anymore? I just don't know and I needed to tell someone who wouldn't make a huge deal of it.. Thanks Carmilla.

Anytime, cutie. Celebrate this revelation with chocolate.

Bookmarked: Chapter 1

Submitted by: duhlydiamartin

Description: After school one day, Lydia makes an unexpected connection with a stranger at the library.

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance, Strangers!AU

A/N: I don’t know if I’ll continue this series or not so let me know if you like it! And I might change the title idk yet it’s a work in progress :)

Keep reading

Why I Used to Hate Mr. Miyagi

Before I explain my rather complicated relationship with Daniel’s friend, protector, and mentor, a little bit of background: I am the son of a 1st generation Chinese-American man and a white American woman. I grew up in the suburbs of Detroit in the ‘90s. I was originally, like any kid, a HUGE fan of The Karate Kid. Despite being born and raised in my small town, I related to Daniel’s outsider status in Reseda. I loved when Mr. Miyagi kicked the shit out of the Cobra Kai kids. My parents even bought me the exact same bandanna that Mr. Miyagi gave Daniel. The movie spurred a conversation with my parents about the Japanese Internment Camps during WWII. All in all, I guess you could say I was a fan.

I can remember the exact moment I started to despise Pat Morita’s character. My family, like all American families would frequent the local ice cream stand during the summer. Called Bobjoes, this particular stand sold soft serve custards and even had the very dope, very delicious chocolate dipped shells. I was fascinated how ice cream could be dipped into what seemed to be hot chocolate but instead of melting came out with a tasty, crispy chocolate shell. I can remember every detail of Bobjoes, the faded facade, the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, the mismatched picnic tables out front. The first few trips to Bobjoes were relatively uneventful, save for the chocolate shell revelation. My sister and I loved Bobjoes. It was a special treat. One which we begged our parents for at every opportunity.

One summer night, my family piled into our forest green Aerostar van and headed to Bobjoes. There was a particularly long line. I remember we queued up and within five minutes I sensed my parents grow physically tense. I followed my mother’s gaze as she stared at a group of teenagers pantomiming the “wax on, wax off” technique from The Karate Kid as they snickered and nodded towards my dad. Before I could register what was happening, a man walked over to us and without introduction or explanation simply shoved his finger into my dad’s face and bluntly asked, “You know who you look like?” I looked up at my dad and I could see the blood rush to his face. He forced a smile and said, “No, who?” while my mother looked on in what I can only describe as a combination of pure horror, embarrassment, and helplessness. The man, undaunted, repeated his question, this time with incredulity, “You mean to tell me no one has told you who you look like? You look exactly like him.” My dad refused to play, he simply shrugged his shoulders as everyone in line started to notice this exchange. Finally, frustrated, the man blurted it out, “You look exactly like Mr. Miyagi! Teach me karate, you know wax on wax off, Daniel-san,” as he said this he affected the accent every Asian and Hapa kid has had to endure from mocking racists while he moved his fingers like chopsticks, catching imaginary flies. I thought someone would say something. My dad doesn’t look anything like Mr. Miyagi. I mean, they’re both Asian, my dad did have similar facial hair, but at the time he couldn’t have been older than his early thirties. In my head, Mister Miyagi was like, 80 years old. Instead of objecting or simply looking away, several more adults chimed in, echoing how uncanny the resemblance was. To his credit my dad stayed cool and said he’d never heard that before. Thankfully before anything more could happen it was our turn to order. It was the first time we ate our giant chocolate shelled ice creams in the car. The ride home was silent save for the occasional crack of a cone.

Growing up in the town I did, I was used to women almost constantly asking my anglo mother where she got my browner sister and I. She’d always say, “I gave birth to them, same as your kids.” I remember asking my mom what these women meant and she’d tersely respond, “They think you and your sister are adopted.” Often times the women would follow up with, “Oh…where did you meet your husband?” To which my mom would retort, “At law school.” I was used to kids and teachers asking where I was “from from.” Repeating, “Trenton, just like you.” Until I finally realized they wanted to know I was Chinese. I was used to the local bully calling me a chink and my teachers confusing me with the only other Asian boy in the entire elementary school despite him being a year older than me. But for some reason I didn’t put it together that my dad would experience the same shit. Until that night.

When we got home, my dad and I had the talk. Not about sex, but about how it feels when someone calls you a chink. Or makes fun of the way my grandma speaks English. Or why people think all Asians look alike. He told me that my anger and frustration was natural but to always stand up for myself. He told me if we didn’t do something about it, they’d just do it again to someone else.

After that incident it seemed liked everyone in the Metro Detroit area wanted to tell my family how much my dad looked like Mr. Miyagi. And it seemed to happen with the most frequency while waiting in line for our favorite ice cream. I started to loathe groups of white teenage boys because I knew it was only a matter of time before they would say just loudly enough for my dad to hear, “Wax on Daniel-san,” or simply mocked our language by repeating “ching chang bing bang” in the painfully too familiar sing-song cadence. My dad never ignored them. He would confront them and if nearby, their parents, challenging them to say it louder, to say it to his face. Almost always the teenagers would recoil and protest that he should be able to take a joke. The confrontations in public would leave everyone around uncomfortably silent, staring as my dad demanded an apology.

This routine became so common that I began to weigh the pros and cons of even going to Bobjoes. The ice cream was fucking delicious but it was beginning to feel like some soft serve really wasn’t worth all this bullshit. I stopped asking if we could go, professing that I preferred the ice cream we could buy at the grocery store. But much to my chagrin my parents would all but insist that we go to Bobjoes. I couldn’t understand why my dad was such a glutton for punishment.

I hated the confrontations, I hated the teenagers, I hated the men who would try and force my dad to admit he looked like Mr. Miyagi. I hated the bystanders who looked on and never said anything. I grew to hate Bobjoes and I grew to hate Mr. Miyagi and the man who played him, Pat Morita.

The Mr. Miyagi comparisons never stopped. To this day it happens. And to this day I seethe with an anger that I can barely control. I hated that people would remark with surprise that my dad didn’t have an accent despite their knowledge that he was born on the east side of Detroit. My dad told me that Pat Morita didn’t really have an accent either, that he was simply playing a character in the movie. Which incensed me. Why didn’t he just speak the way he normally spoke? Why did he take this role? How could he not realize that white america would just see other Asian men and conflate the character with them? Was he aware that he’s the reason people felt comfortable adopting racist accents in order to mock us? I stopped watchingThe Karate Kid. I shoved the bandanna deep into a drawer and loudly proclaimed that I hated that movie. In high school and college I would talk about how it was the equivalent of yellow face. That he set back Asian Americans by taking that role. That I understood why he took the role (money) but that I wished he hadn’t.

It took several years, maybe even a decade before I revisited The Karate Kid.I watched it as an adult and I realized that it’s a pretty decent movie. The relationship between Daniel and Miyagi seems unique and genuine. The story, while a bit trite, holds up with any contemporary high school underdog sports movie. Roger Ebert named it one of the best films of the year when it was released. I realized my anger was misplaced.

Mr. Miyagi might be problematic, but he wasn’t Long Duk Dong. His appearances in scenes weren’t paired inexplicably with a non-diegetic gong like the racist character John Hughes created. I realized that neither Morita nor The Karate Kid were the source of the stares and mocking and racism my family experienced. I had lived and learned enough to know that these were and are systemic problems. Problems that existed long before Daniel moved to Reseda and will stay long after Pat Morita’s character is forgotten.

I don’t hate Mr. Miyagi anymore. I like the movie. I realize now that by insisting that we still went to Bobjoes my dad was helping us fight the racism. It was his way of not allowing them to win. That waiting in line for a mountain of chocolate and vanilla twist ice cream was our karate tournament and those ignorant motherfuckers in line were our Cobra Kai. Fuck them. We wanted our ice cream and we weren’t going to let them keep us from enjoying it. We never ate our ice cream in the car again.

On reflex I still often cringe inwardly whenever I hear an Asian accent in a movie or television show. I pause when comedians who are the children of immigrants use an accent when telling jokes that involve their parents or relatives. I fear that it makes non-Asians feel comfortable in adopting the same caricaturish accents. I dread the “but you laugh when Margaret Cho does it,” conversations that inevitably ensue when I correct them. But just like my family gathered around the TV to watch every single episode of All American Girl, my family will watch Fresh Off the Boat, an ABC sitcom based on Eddie Huang’s memoir. I love how Huang has cut off criticism of the show’s title. Pushing back against an Entertainment Tonight reporter who questioned whether the use of the title on such a prominent network show may lead to non-immigrants using the term more freely, Huang asserted that non-Asians and non-immigrants should not and can not use the term and further,

“ I refuse to allow the dominant culture to limit the words that I can use just because I’m afraid of them using it…”

FUCK YEAH. Nobody’s going to stop me from enjoying the ice cream I want. Nobody’s going to stop me from loving the movies I do. Shout out to Eddie Huang and shout out to all my Asian and Hapa fam. We’re here and if you ever tell me my dad looks like Mr. Miyagi I’ll slap you so fucking hard you’ll wish all I did was sweep the leg.

“Chocolate Digestives revelation could change the face of biscuit eating forever”

Chocolate biscuits have the chocolate on the bottom of the biscuit, not the top, McVitie’s have confirmed, meaning Digestives, Hobnobs, Jaffa Cakes and more have a history of being eaten upside down.

The news sent shockwaves across the UK’s subreddit, after a user posted an email from United Biscuits explaining their composition.

“For your information,” a spokesperson wrote, “the biscuits go through a reservoir of chocolate which enrobes them so the chocolate is actually on the bottom of the biscuits and not on the top.”