A/N: Part 5A, ‘cause we gotta have our main go through a bit of an obstacle. You can read the related mini-series and the previous parts here: (Mini-series - Masterlist; Mini-series Spin-off: ‘Unexpected Reader’, ‘Little Ways Away’, and ‘She Said Yes’ - Masterlist; ‘Miss Graduate’: Part 1/Part 2A/2B/2C/Part 3/Part 4)
You hugged your laptop bag to your chest, nervously chewing on the inside of your cheek. You were about to meet with Geoffrey Davis, the head of production at New Line Cinema, to pitch your ideas as well as show him a few of the scripts you’d finished for school. When you told Chris about the materials you were taking with you for the meeting, he asked why you didn’t choose your mini series to pitch. He thought it was perfect to be turned into a television series, or even a movie. He’d read the original- the one you’d kept from Tumblr as you wrote in third person with an actual character rather than a reader insert. He believed it had a lot of potential and didn’t understand why you didn’t want to pitch it, arguing that “fan fiction or not, it’s a great story” when you turned down his suggestion because you didn’t think anyone would want to turn a fan girl’s fantasy into something for the screens.
Chris pulled into the parking lot of the studio’s headquarters and turned to you. You were so nervous and deep in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice his car had stopped, you could only hear all the voices in your head. They were all very mean, convincing you that “it’s not going to happen” and that “you are going to get rejected” and how “they probably won’t even see you.” You reached for your right earlobe and fiddled with your earring, then reached for your clover necklace with the other hand and fiddled with the pendant. These were all things you did when you were nervous, like they were capable of distracting you from your thoughts; they weren’t.
“Hey,” Chris reached over the gearbox and curled his fingers over your wrists, gently pulling them away from your jewelry. “I know you’re nervous, but you just gotta breathe.” He forced your gaze onto him, making obvious breathing movements so you could follow suit. “Okay,” one hand released your wrist to caress your face, “now you are going to be fine. Geoff and I talked, you’ve got a ten o'clock with him and he’s very excited to meet you. All you need to do is walk in there and dazzle him with your talents.”
“Dazzle,” you swallowed with a nod. “I can do dazzle.”
“I know you can,” he smiled, giving your cheek a quick brush with his thumb before returning both hands to his side. “Now I’ve got a meeting myself, so I’ll be back to pick you up. Geoff said he’s giving you an hour, so hopefully my side ends by eleven. If I’m not here when you get out, just text me and hang out at the Starbucks for a little bit.” You nodded, not ready processing what he was telling you because you were trying to focus on your breathing. “You are going to do amazing, baby.” He leaned forward and smacked a loud kiss on the side of your head, successfully drawing a smile from you. “Now go,” he chuckled, reaching over you to open your door. “Get out of my car.”
“Get out of my car?” You simultaneously scoffed and chuckled at the same time. “Is that really how a gentleman talks to his lady?” You asked as you got out, closing the door behind you. “Should really call Lisa to give his smart-ass a whooping,” you mumbled to yourself, smiling.
Chris wound down the window as you walked around to his side, “no, but I know if I don’t kick you out- you’re not going to get out.” He rested his elbow on the window’s ledge, eyes darting to his watch to remind you it was almost ten. “Hop along, little bunny. Hollywood awaits,” he beckoned his head to the entrance behind you. You turned and stared at the entrance, feet unable to move despite how much your brain told them too. “You’re going to nail it,” Chris assured you.
“As hard as you nailed me last night?” You heard yourself murmur the joke under your breath; Chris laughed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to. “Okay,” you huffed, glancing back at him with a forced smile. “I’m going in, wish me luck.”
“Luck is for the talentless,” he winked and your forced smile became slightly more genuine. “Power couple!” He called out as you walked away from his car, making you chuckle. You held up a hand and wave at him without turning around. “Power couple indeed,” Chris smiled when he saw you disappear behind the doors, then drove off to his own meeting.
• • • • • • • •
The scene inside was incredibly overwhelming, everyone was moving at a pace you knew you’d have trouble keeping up with if you got an internship there. It was at that point that you realized how lucky you were to have someone like Chris. Yes, there would be negative repercussions, but whether or not you used the help he offered- there was going to be hell to pay anyway. This was Hollywood, whether or not you knew people- it was going to be just as hard a climb to the top. If you could have a safety line, or a partner to help you along the way- why wouldn’t you?
You took a deep breath and clutched your bag strap tightly as you made your way to the front desk. “Excuse me,” you politely tried to get the busy receptionist’s attention. “I’m here to see Geoffrey Davis, I believe I have a ten o'clock appointment. I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself with a sweet smile.
Upon disclosing your name, it was like the room slowed. Suddenly, everyone stopped what they were doing and all eyes were on you. You swallowed as the whispers began and the dirty looks came. Suddenly, you remembered why you wouldn’t accept Chris’ help. Suddenly, you knew exactly what you were so afraid of.
“Y/N Y/L/N?” The receptionist practically smirked when she repeated your name. “You have a ten o'clock?” She darted her gleaming gaze from you to her computer, typing something in as she moved her mouse. “Oh yes, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel.” You felt your eyes narrow slightly. “Mr. Davis isn’t in at the moment, he’s currently in New York hearing a pitch from an actual screenwriter.” You suppressed your urge to scoff by pressing your lips together. “Sorry, sweetie.” She faked the sweetest smile at you which induced a fist clench.
“I’m guessing I shouldn’t come back at a later time?” You remained your professional composure, smiling politely as you spoke calmly. You already knew this was going to happen, as much as you wanted to cry or get mad- you couldn’t because you’d prepared yourself. You had to just suck it up and leave like you’d promised you would when it happened.
“No, you shouldn’t.” Her eyes weren’t even on you as she said that, she had returned her focus to whatever she was working on on her computer. The phone rang and she picked it up, waving you off with a hand when she realized you were still standing there. “New Line Cinema, Rebecca speaking. How may I be of assistance?”
You sighed as you turned around, making your way to the exit. You heard the whispers as you walked past, like the knife Rebecca had twisted into your heart wasn’t enough. It was like you were walking through a minefield, each step was another blow sending shattered pieces of your heart and soul sky high.
“Of course Geoffrey wasn’t going to meet with her, why would he waste his time?”
“She thinks that just because she’s Chris Evans’ fiancé, she’s entitled to a meeting.”
“I have no idea what he sees in her, she’s an unemployed twenty-one year old graduate.”
“She’s a child compared to him, not to mention a complete nobody. I don’t know why he’d-”
You got out before you could hear the end of that sentence. You knew being with Chris had its uphill battles, you’d been through quite a bit during your time with him- even when you were just a friend. The paparazzi and the fans- they pounced on you any chance they got, criticizing you whenever you made a mistake. Sometimes you didn’t even have to do anything, you could be squinting at the sun while walking with Chris and they’d come up with a new headline ‘Chris Evans and Y/N Y/L/N’s relationship are on the rocks!’ Then of course, there was the social status and age gap; you were twenty-one and a nobody, and Chris was thirty-eight and a world-famous movie star. It was puzzling for those who didn’t know the relationship, it didn’t make sense. But it didn’t matter what they thought- it hurt hearing it, but it didn’t matter because you and Chris knew why you were together and that was enough.
You had an hour to kill now, an hour to get your story together so you could tell Chris what happened in a way that wouldn’t make him angry at everyone at New Line Cinema. You were probably going to have to lie for that to happen, but you both agreed you’d be honest about things so…This was going to be a bit of a sticky situation for you. You sighed and crossed the road to go sit in the Starbucks and work on your story, as well as have a drink to soothe yourself.
A/N: I made a masterlist for Chameleon in case you guys need it :)
P.S.: I gotta start working on a synopsis so people will be more interested in reading Chameleon. Am I right?
You were locked in a room where the lights weren’t very strong but still you could see the woman right in front of you. It was small in there, but you didn’t know if it was for the space that was actually just a janitor’s closet or because Natasha’s presence built this huge sexual tension between the two of you.
“I thought you were more professional than this.” you said awarding a rough ‘shh’ from the agent.
“This is the most private room in this tower. Friday can hear us everywhere so if you are trying to keep this conversation safe from Tony, we better make it discreet.” she was speaking dangerously close to your face.
Natasha dragged you to the janitor’s closet right after you left the gym where you made sure not to transform into anybody else just to avoid any other camera flagrant of you other than the one last time.
“We could just have gone to a cafe or some-” and once again Natasha interrupted you.
“This is not a date, Y/N.” she thought you were being way too silly. She liked you though.
Before you could even excuse yourself, she had a penetrating look in your eyes, ready to start an interrogatory. Well, you weren’t ready for it, you had no idea what her questions would be about. Of course agent Romanoff would start off asking the basic about your powers, about the things that she had seen yesterday. After that, you couldn’t imagine what way would this conversation take.
You surely wanted to be more accepted, that was the whole point in blending right? But it wasn’t in your plans to in a single shot open up yourself to the Black Widow. This situation made you then think that maybe it was a huge mistake to have copied her DNA during your first training session. But well, it was too late now, Y/N.
Could you organize better your thoughts? You wanted to be accepted but also preserve your privacy. Both could happen but it would be very difficult since everybody had their eyes on you and still didn’t trust you at all. It most probably would get much worse after knowing you could copy their DNAs. Maybe Bruce Banner would just adore you and try using you as an experiment. Stay away from him, was your mental note.
“What did you do to look just like me yesterday? Don’t spare me the details.” Natasha asked going straight to the point. You swallowed the lump in your throat that instantly came back.
You weren’t scared of Natasha, you were just afraid she would be able to make you talk too much. You had to filter well everything you had to say, you didn’t need anybody knowing what had happened in the past even if it was quite long ago.
“I don’t actually know how it happens but I basically can copy your DNA through the touch.” you explained taking hold of the situation and bettering your posture not to look inferior to Natasha.
“What about my fighting skills? How did you copy them as well?” she crossed her arms drawing some attention to her cleavage. You kept your eyes on hers and fought not to feel the room too small again.
“I get some information from you too.” you started explaining. “I never had any scientific explanation to how things works, but I can get through your mind somehow. I copy the things people do, their personality… It’s like wearing a costume and being an amazing actress.” you tried to light up the mood. It was getting heavier and heavier, someone needed to do something.
“You invaded my privacy.” she complained. Natasha started not to like your talents.
“I didn’t go very far.” you went back to explaining. “I don’t break in, I don’t, I don’t- You wouldn’t understand. Nobody ever does. But don’t be afraid, it’s not like I can read your mind and know your secrets…”
Natasha wanted to believe in your words and she had no reason to doubt you. Y/N, you could do amazing things with your power, as well as destroy an entire civilization, but you never did. You wouldn’t ever do. You always had a kind heart, a raw soul, a little bit of love and hope in your life, you were a nice person, full of kindness and virtues, you just didn’t know. And if you yourself, didn’t know how incredible you were as well as were your powers, how could the others see it?
Yes, Professor Xavier knew, also Nick Fury knew. But to have a majority of people knowing who you are, who your heart turns you into, you had to be the essence and not a consequence of the middle. But you were only going to learn that in the future.
“I think you need to be studied.” Natasha came up with this idea. “To see what you’re really capable of and-”
“What? No. This is not happening. Im not a mouse, Natasha.”
“Bruce wouldn’t treat you like a mouse.”
“Bruce? No. Nobody is going to study me. And do you remember what I told you? If they know about my shit, they will hate me. Do you like knowing I can easily copy you? No, you don’t. Now imagine someone like Sam Wilson that already hates me. What about Tony? He would lock me somewhere deep inside under the earth. And-” of course Natasha interrupted you one more time.
“Y/N.” she held your face in her both hands making you look right into her eyes. This was probably the sweetest thing she has ever done to anyone besides kissing Bruce Banner which was another case. “We are a team. Stark can hate you, and Sam too, but they have hearts.”
Yes they have hearts. Well, they were humans after all. And they had no reason to hate you, did they? You were just a stranger, yes, but there was no real reason to write your name down on their black list. They didn’t even give you a chance to be nice to them or to prove that you were an Avenger as Sam doubted.
Avenger. Still two days here and so far you had no good opinion in being an Avenger. You needed something to flip you upside down and make you see things differently, to make you feel like a superhero. But this thing was still yet to come.
“I know you don’t wanna trust anyone, I felt that myself. Nobody seems reliable. But at least trust me.” she almost smiled to you. She held it back not to be too sweet to you, she had a reputation to conserve.
You stared into her eyes for long seconds holding your breath before you could answer. You wanted to say no, to keep things the way they were. But her voice echoed in your mind, we are a team. Unable to say anything, you nodded. You nodded because hiding would be too hard, because talking in the janitor’s room wasn’t comfortable, because you wanted to be respected, because you wanted people to understand you at least. Because you wanted Bucky to have more reasons to smile to you…
Natasha opened the door of the closet and took a look to check if anyone was around. Nobody. She stepped out closing the door behind her and a few seconds after you got out too. She was nowhere to be seen. You decided to go to your room and take a shower, prepare yourself for the day.
You never imagined that you would ever see Mr. Bucky Barnes need some help to lubricate his metal arm. It was funny but you behaved yourself in front of him and Stark’s assistant that took care of Bucky’s metal arm. She left the room leaving the two of you alone.
“I didn’t know you needed oil on your arm.” you said creating small talk with Bucky. He smiled. Seemed as he liked doing it, at least to you.
“I know this is high-tech but sometimes it sounds like opening a door of a haunted house.” he laughed and you did too.
Bucky sat next to you and noticed how tense you were. He thought it was because of him, he always thought he made people tense. His metal arm is pretty intimidating and being a cyborg as he felt he was, wasn’t very approaching. He didn’t want you to think he was weird, that he was dangerous even though he kinda was. He wanted you to like him, that was one of the reasons he smiled to you whenever he could.
“Did you have breakfast already?” the man asked but not looking at you. He was still getting rid of the thought of you scared of him, tense because of his presence.
“No. You?” he denied waving his head.
“Wanna go to this coffee shop around the corner? They have the best black coffee, and fresh croissant every morning.” you were going to say yes but not before remembering Natasha’s line when she said This is not a date, Y/N., when you told her to have your meeting somewhere else, somewhere like a cafe.
You didn’t know if coffee shops were a date place only to Natasha, but somewhere deep inside of you, you also wanted it to be to Bucky too. You smiled to the beautiful man next to you and said yes.
Before you could even get up from the couch, Bruce Banner shows at the door with a concerned look. He was looking for you but also for Natasha that shortly showed up from behind him.
“I think we should have a chat now.” Natasha said and it was the signal for you to discreetly go to Bruce’s lab and talk privately to him. With a exception of Friday that could hear you everywhere but would only release info if someone asked for it which none of you was counting to happen.
You looked at Bucky that had a confused looked until realizing that something was going on and it seemed pretty important, not to say complicated. He wondered if you were in trouble. Usually when shit would happen, either Bruce or Tony would be the ones to fix the damage. That’s what made Bucky turn back to you and ask:
“Is everything alright?” it sounded concerned the way he talked to you. The soldier really didn’t want you to be in any bad situation, he really had only positive things to wish to you.
“Yes, everything is fine.” you assured him but he didn’t believe a word you said. He took a better look at you and your tense arms made him wonder if again it was because of him or the sudden appearance of Bruce in the room.
“Are you sure?” he asked again this time annoying Natasha for taking you too long to just get up and follow them.
You are not a mouse, Y/N. You repeated to yourself. You knew you were not a mouse, you knew you weren’t an experiment, but did they know? In an act of instinct, you held Bucky’s hand and he held it back. Tight enough to make you feel somehow safe. The soldier was holding you for dear life at this moment.
“Can you come with me?”
The lab was full of things you didn’t know what were their use. You wondered if Bruce would try to use his weird tools on you, you hoped not. Bucky still held your hand and in no way it felt awkward. You needed support and even though you trusted Natasha, you didn’t trust Natasha and Bruce together. You knew well how a bad combination of people could do bad things, life had thought you that. So there you were, the four of you in the lab, doors locked.
“So what is this meeting about?” asked Bruce all shy. You didn’t believe his shyness; he was a scientist, he was probably a lunatic and not a shy guy, thought you.
“Y/N is a mutant.”
“What?” Bucky and Bruce reacted to Natasha’s words equally. It would be funny if the moment wasn’t of tension.
“Y/N?” Bucky called your name wanting to have something from you. An explanation of course.
“She’s right.” your voice was low and inferior to Natasha’s. You started feeling like a mouse already. “You know what, I’m fine with my mutants skills, okay? I don’t even know why I’m here. I don’t need help.”
“I’m sure you need help, Y/N.” Natasha spoke louder than you trying to convince you one more time that you needed Bruce.
“First of all, we need to make sure you are not as destructive as Hulk can be. And if you so, we need to control it. Not offence, Banner.” Nat was spitting out the truth. “I’m afraid of what else you can do but anyhow we also need to know how far you can go.”
The agent held your shoulders and squeezed them but her touch didn’t make Bucky move an inch from you. Always holding your hand and sometimes you would tighten your grip.
“And last but not least, you need a suit.” just the thought of having a suit disgusted you.
“Can we be more clear here? What does Y/N exactly do?” asked the scientist. He was just confused as the soldier but the latter was too focused on feeling your touch.
“Yesterday when we were training, I asked Y/N to show me what she knew, and apparently she knows how to copy DNAs.” agent Romanoff still didn’t make it clear to Bruce.
“I turn into other people. I take their DNAs and just… Change. I don’t know. It just happens, it is like-”
“That is… Incredible.” said Bruce with the best impressed facial expression he had. “Can I- Can I see it?”
“I’m not gonna do it again.”
“They need to see it, Y/N.” Nat, for the hundredth time, tried to convince you to do what she suggested.
“Okay, you don’t have to do it. Not now. But talk more, what else do you do?” the questions Bruce was asking were the same as Natasha’s earlier that day. You had to repeat everything again and it felt unpleasant. What a situation you put yourself into.
“Bruce, she fought me with my abilities. It was surreal. Y/N not only looked like me but she also acted like me. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“This is the kind of case you find in the X-Men.” Banner spoke and you swallowed dry.
You didn’t wanna have anything to do with the X-Men. Just hearing this name made you dizzy and see black spots everywhere. This was all a bad idea and to make it worse Bruce Banner was mentioning the largest group of mutants in the country. You had to do something not put yourself in a worse scenery than this exact one.
“Can’t you check the security cameras?” suggested Nat.
The three of them were behind Bruce’s computer screen waiting for the exact moment you turned into a version of Natasha Romanoff. You were on the other side of the table waiting for them be done with their entertaining show. A few seconds later the three avengers looked up at you and had priceless expressions. You could have snapped a picture of their faces and save it for future occasions.
“Y/N, how- how did it happen?” Bucky looked at you and tried not to check you out from up and down a little scared.
“I just touched Nat and it was enough to clone her.” and you regretted saying this.
Because the second you said it, Bucky instantly looked at his hand, the one he used to hold yours seconds ago before watching the video. He looks up back at you and you could see that he held his hand back, behind the table, somewhere you couldn’t reach. He knew that if you wanted, you had enough time to clone his DNA when you were holding hands anyhow he wanted to preserve himself now that he knew about how you ‘capture information’.
He didn’t want to touch you anymore. Well, he wanted to touch you, yes, but not risk having you cloning him. Did she just do it? The soldier asked himself not wanting you to have already stored his DNA. You couldn’t help but frown from seeing him distancing himself from you.
“Is there a time limit for you to stay in another form?” Banner continued questioning you but you had no mind to answer his questions anymore. You had no will to do anything anymore that day or any other day until Bucky went back to look at you as he did the first day you saw him.
It seemed like he wouldn’t smile to you any time soon. You regretted having him in the lab with you, and regretted talking to the crazy Bruce Banner and psycho Natasha Romanoff. What would you do now that you disappointed the only one that was kind to you?
Bucky decided to leave the room, while Bruce still talked and you didn’t hear him anymore, you had all your senses focused on the soldier that was now passing through the door leaving you behind completely paralyzed, deaf, speechless…
Bucky, wait. Too bad he couldn’t hear your thoughts.
@bloodybifangirl replied to your post“So like I have actual motivation to write today… But as per usual it…”
Exr for late night talks and “I know you better than I know myself” from the friends to lovers post
( i went with established relationship because it was… necessary… for reasons but I kept to the two prompts)
It’s past midnight when the sound of clacking keys wakes him.
At first he thinks it might be a mouse, and it takes him a few moments to remember how unlikely that is. It’s a few moments more before he recognises the absence of another body in the queen size bed.
He sighs. Has a very, very brief argument with himself about the fact that he needs to be at work in 6 hours, and then swings his legs out of the bed anyway, padding across the bedroom, out into the hall and towards the strip of light coming from under the study door.
Supercat prompt? Kara catches a drunk Cat who's fallen off her balcony
She stretched her arms above her head and let out a long breath, she stared at the screen in front of her and the words that were typed in perfect rows. It had taken her longer than she had intended to write the article, but she couldn’t just stop being a superhero just to finish one article. Then again, she felt more human, more normal, when she was confined in an office typing away with the steady hum of the office buzzing around her.
Kara pressed the send button, determined to get the article in before the deadline. She clicked it again, unsure as to why the document would not send to the editing department. Kara grew frustrated and rapidly hit her mouse pad, willing it to submit. She flung herself into her chair, effectively pushing it into the wall. The chair creaked under the force and Kara moaned as her head hit the wall behind her.
Her head was pounding and her body was filled with fatigue, Kara rubbed her eyes and let a small yawn pass her lips. She stood slowly, running options through her mind on how she could submit the article on time and still be able to do her nightly rounds. Kara grabbed her laptop and walked out of her office and into the main area of the floor. She tried logging into a couple different computers but they were all user locked.
Kara walked out onto the floor’s balcony in an attempt to clear her mind. Her hands traced the cool metal of the railing and the wind was barely blowing but it still washed the sounds of the city over the buildings. As much as she might miss Midvale, nothing would ever compete with her city; the city of her favorite sounds, food, lights, and people. Kara loved her family that she made in National City and could not think of a life without them.
“Go home Kara, you shouldn’t be here. Leave. Go anywhere but here.” Kara turned to face the all too familiar voice. A smile started playing at the corners of her mouth as she saw Cat Grant leaning over the side of the balcony like it was where she belonged.
Prompts are open. I watch way too many of these kind of videos so I was all over this. In my brain John is like a less sweet-as-sugar Markiplier, and Dirk is almost certainly a Ray-style fan-fave Twitch gamer. (John playing horror games with the Ghostbusters music as his outro is my new aesthetic.)
For whatever it’s worth, you were very drunk during the stream.
Honestly, you aren’t even sure how you remembered to upload it, but there it is, with a much larger number of views than you expected, and twice as many comments as normal.
Okay, well. At least the traces of your inebriation are all over the title, and the description, if you can even call the jumble of words down there descriptive.
You squint, sipping your coffee, dreading what you did wrong, other than your abuse of the English language. Bad things are what usually what gets the comments- your mistakes, the moments you slip up and say something offensive in the wrong ways, the times you mention something you didn’t know was as big a deal as it is.
Summary : Lucy was a 24 years old lone survivor, in her path of survival and escaping death , she stumbled across The Saviors who took her to The Sanctuary, where she found shelter and food. But what she didn’t know was that the girl who always hated and bullied her at school, is one of Negan’s wives (Frankie ) and is about to turn her life into a living hell all over again!
Pairings : Negan x Lucy
Type : slowburn
Warnings : language -minor violence and smut- bullying
It was the sharply exhaled swear word that awoke her. Bulma shifted under the mountain of cream colored downy comforters, turning to face Vegeta (who had stubbed his big toe on the corner of the dresser) with bleary-eyes. It was three in the morning she foggily registered. And as she slowly became more awake the more miffed she got. Why had her husband had come in so late?
“And where have you been?” She asked, sleep still thick in her voice.
Vegeta just grunted, choosing to ignore her as he shimmied out of his training clothes.
Normally, Bulma would have enjoyed her muscle-clad brooding husband getting naked, but after being awoken so suddenly it just left her angry. “Humph. Have a nice time? Good to know you’d rather be lifting heavy things by yourself than spending time with your wife.” She tried again, this time letting her irritation get the better of her. Still, Vegeta didn’t respond. He just shuffled off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and then turned on the light.
Huffing, Bulma flopped onto her back, arms crossed over her chest. The gentle whoosh of the shower started behind the bathroom door followed by the smell of his shampoo. ‘It smells good,’ she thought. He had hated every single one she’d ever bought him, so she’d just made her own in the lab. It was earthy smelling, funnily enough: crisp like a winter wind, smokey like a fire and herbal like peppermint. She’d just left it in the shower one day, and when he came out wearing that scent around him like a cloud she’d just about buckled over from joy among other things. He never mentioned it, but the fact he washed with it everyday let her know how much he liked it.
The water ebbed and Bulma could hear him moving around the bathroom; The clink of his toothbrush, the opening and closing of a drawer, the crack of his neck as he rolled it. Each sound so familiar to her now. It had taken her a long time to convince him to share a bed with her, in fact he’d only started sleeping in it regularly after they’d gotten married. She’d questioned him about it once, and found his answer surprisingly old fashioned,
“Only a husband and wife share a bed.”
Never mind the fact Trunks had already been born. But Bulma could appreciate the sentiment.
The light in the bathroom clicked off, and Vegeta stepped naked into the dark room. Bulma watched his silhouetted form make its way to the bed, lifting the covers and crawling into bed beside her. He smelled wonderful, his body still slightly damp from the shower. He was dead still, and probably could have passed for asleep if Bulma didn’t know him better. She slid down further under the covers, turning on her side to face him, “Hey.” She whispered.
“Why’re you being so quiet?” She prodded.
Vegeta sighed, “I was trying to be respectful and let you sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Bulma blinked. Wait. Her Vegeta was…being thoughtful?
He shifted, hand finding her bare hip under the copious amounts of blankets she slept under and squeezed lightly, “Go back to sleep. God knows you need every minute of beauty rest you can get.”
“Oh, har har very funny.”
Vegeta chuckled and she could practically feel his smirk.
“Seriously though,” she whispered, snuggling closer to him, “why are you still awake? You never train this late.” There was a long pause, and Bulma rolled her eyes, “forget it.” She huffed, starting to roll away onto her other side.
His fingers tightened on her hip and she stopped moving, “I was…thinking.” He said slowly, cautiously.
Bulma felt her heart began to pound. Vegeta was actually trying to communicate? What the hell was going on? Old fears of him leaving began to rise, why else would he be so willing to talk? Why wasn’t he talking anymore?! Why was his pause so long?!
“…you’re sweating.” Vegeta grumbled, removing his hand from her and making a point to wipe it on the sheets.
“You’re making me nervous!” She hissed, “I have no idea what is going on in that Saiyan brain of yours!”
“Woman would you shut up?! I’m TRYING here.”
Bulma snapped her mouth closed, trying to keep the insults she had ready to escape contained. Vegeta sighed, his fingers finding her ribs now, brushing against her again, “I’ve just had a lot on my mind. Training helps me think. I…needed to work some thoughts out.”
BA-BOOM went her heart, “Uh-huh…” she breathed.
Vegeta shifted, his strong arm drawing her closer against him.
BA-BOOM BA-BOOM BA-BOOM
He sighed, “I…don’t know quite how to say it…”
Something hot began building behind Bulma’s tightly closed eyelids, ‘Don’t cry!’ Her mind screamed, ‘Don’t show him weakness! You can do this without him-’
“…I want to have another child.”
Her heart stopped. Palpitated. Stopped again. And then took a nose dive straight into her lower intestine.
Vegeta huffed with irritation, “Well?”
Normally Bulma was a quick thinker, a genius of not only creating marvelous inventions, cracking codes and physics, but she was also pretty quick with a one liner for her surly alien husband. For some reason though, the connections in her brain were not functioning. The only thing she could manage to respond with was, “Guh?!”
“Tch.” Vegeta clicked his tongue then rolled onto his back and crossed his arms, shutting himself out from her, “Forget it.”
Bulma quickly sat up, staring bewildered down at him, “Who are you and what have you done with Vegeta?”
“Hmph.” Though the room was dark she could still see the hot blush across his cheeks, “Nevermind.”
“No no no!” She insisted, clambering on top of him now much to his irritation, “Say it again.”
“Vegeta,” Bulma said softly, her small hands framing his face. He stiffened, but didn’t try to move away so she figured that was a good sign, “look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings-”
“You didn’t hurt anything.” He snapped, but his tone reflected otherwise.
“Mmmhmmm,” a smirk played on Bulma’s lips, “of course. My mistake.”
Vegeta averted his eyes, “Whatever. Forget it.”
“No,” she said, fingers now tracing one of his thick black eyebrows, “don’t you think I’m to old for another baby?”
“Well, you’re old that’s for sure.”
“WHAT DID YOU JUST,”
Obsidian eyes slid finally slid back over to met her hot gaze, and Vegeta smirked.
Ugh. He was teasing her Bulma realized. Trying to change the subject. Avoidance thy name is Vegeta. “Listen here bucko,” she poked him on the chest, “I’ve already had the pleasure of pushing out one of your babies and let me tell you it was no picnic! And where were you for that? Out traversing the galaxy training. Like always! If you think I’m going to do that alone again you’re mistaken! And I think I look damn good now, you should be happy to have a wife that still looks this young after giving birth-”
His quiet reply caught her off guard. Vegetas’ arms finally uncrossed themselves, large hands gripping her hips, almost painfully as if making a point, “I… was a terrible father. And husband. I’m not a good person Bulma.”
Bulma was effectively rendered speechless, and even more so when he continued, “As leader of my people it is essential that I do what is best for their wellbeing. As I no longer have a planet to rule, that is you and Trunks. But…” her husband faltered, dark eyes closing, “I want to make sure that my legacy will live on… my peoples legacy.”
Sighing, Bulma laid down on top of him, her nose buried in the crook where his neck met shoulder, “Vegeta, babies aren’t just about procreation. You have to like, take care of them you know. They’re hard work.”
“Plus, it’ll take time away from your training, and my work. I’m running the company now, you know that. And Trunks would be so much older. It’s kind of unfair for him don’t you think?”
Bulma sighed, “I just don’t think it’s a good-”
“Is it that you don’t want another child with me?”
Startled, Bulma raised her head. He was staring at her, eyes hard. “Wha-what? Vegeta no!” She insisted, “you’re taking this way out of context.”
His eyes narrowed, “If you don’t want another child by me then tell me.”
Bulma groaned, dropping her head down onto his chest, “Oh my God this is not happening.”
“You’re my Queen,” he said softly. This caught her attention. Raising her head back up she caught him looking at the ceiling, expression unreadable, “you’re the only one I would even wish to have children with.”
She waited for the punchline, the quip, the insult.
It never came.
The silence between them grew, became heavier with each beat of her heart.
“You mean it?” Bulma whispered, hot tears stinging her eyes.
Still silent, Vegeta gave a gentle squeeze on her hip.
Sniffling now, Bulma kissed his cheek. This earned her a wary grunt, but he didn’t push her away. “So, I’m your queen?” She teased, wiggling her pelvis suggestively against his groin.
“That’s what I said, right?” He grumbled, “that’s what you agreed to when you made me go through that horrendous ceremony.”
“Hmm,” she hummed against his throat, pleased when she felt his cock begin to harden against her, “as your queen, you have to do what I say right?”
“Hardly. As the King, I have ultimate say.”
“Well, in some countries women outrank the men.” She said airily, fingers traveling down his bare abdomen and taking hold of his now very erect member.
Vegeta hissed through his teeth, “Not in this house.”
“This is MY house remember,” she whispered in his ear, “that makes me the boss.”
Vegeta grunted, thrusting himself through her loosely gripped fingers, “You wish.”
Bulma raised herself back up to straddle him, eyes drinking in the naked Saiyan below her. He was a fine specimen, all hard muscle and power. But now she saw something else that had only recently began to bubble unwillingly to the surface; humanity.
True, he was her husband and the father of their child. But until the last few years he’d pretty much ignored the two of them. His words and actions now however spoke something different. The change had been slow, but now he seemed almost content to spend time with her and Trunks, despite the grumbling and sometimes hostile nature he displayed he would almost always give in to her or their sons demands. Bulma took this as a way in which he had avoided arguments, but maybe it meant something different after all.
The corner of Vegetas lips pulled up into a predatory grin as she stared down at him, “See something you like?”
Despite her initial reaction to quip back, she gave him a tender smile, “Yeah, I do.”
His smirk slowly melted away, a blush starting in its place, “Wha-woman why are you staring at me like that?”
“Let’s do it.”
“No Vegeta,” she leaned down, touched her lips against his and whispered against his mouth, “let’s have a baby.”
His reaction was immediate. He flipped her over, arms trapping her beneath him, eyes piercing into hers, “Do you mean it? Don’t lie.”
Bulma smiled again, then raised her nightshirt over her head, “Are you just going to tease me or are you going to fuck me?”
Vegetas smirk grew wider, “I’ll have you begging my Queen.” His lips were on hers then, fingers ripping off the panties she had on. She was vaguely aware that she liked that pair, but what his hands were doing to her now quickly made her forget why she even bothered wearing them in the first place.
I have NO clue where this came from. But I like it. Should I add more?! Decisions!!!!
This is the longest thing I’ve written on here, EVER. Not sure if that jumbled it up, but thank you to everyone for sticking around to read about this crazy frat boy, sending me messages and asks and song recs for the playlist! This chapter’s a bit of a revealing one, and little almost imperceptible layers are chipped away. Let’s see if he’s ruing the day yet, yeah? xx (shout-out to @lovelhes for the bomb mood board, love you bb)
It was 2:54 AM by the time Renny got back. You knew because the comfort Zayn had brought
you dwindled fast with each step you took away from him, so much so that by the
time you got to the doors of your building, your legs were shaking from how
frantic you were. It had been much too dark outside, each
innocent bush and tall tree beautiful in the daylight suddenly twisting into
something sinister, hiding a dark figure just waiting to grab you and slit your
throat as you fall to the ground with a soundless shout. Even in the grossly fluorescent hallways that
seemed oddly empty for 1 am, you turned each corner quickly for fear of who’d
be waiting on the other side. Even the
shut of the heavy door behind you didn’t give you peace and when you’d swept your
room and checked the closet for potential predators hiding behind hanging
clothes, you knew you were being silly, so absolutely ridiculously silly. But
your furiously beating heart told you otherwise.
You couldn’t fall asleep after that.
But you pretended to as Renny got ready for bed, as she quietly
tip-toed through the room, the click of her low-lit lamp as she settled under
her covers once again coating the room in an inky stillness. Her little snores comforted you in the
slightest, but she wasn’t awake, she couldn’t distract you from your thoughts. And as your eyes bore up into the ceiling,
seeing past it to nothing at all, a hand lay on your throat.
The stream that ran red, his fists, the snake tat, his
touch, their smell, the men, his arms, the safety you felt in them. It wasn’t fair,
none of it was. That he could make you
feel something that felt so right and toss it in the trash like it never
happened. You had been fine with being
acquaintances, safe at that distance, pretend that you wouldn’t be affected by
him, but then he was the one who had to turn it into something more, to turn
you into this. You remembered your words to him and felt a
deep sadness seize your chest. You were
a hypocrite. The weight building inside
you contracted into a choke-hold, threatening to crush your lungs with its
deadly mixture of guilt, regret, anger, but you were too tired to release it in
a sob. So it sat there. Refusing to let you sleep. Suffocating you. Silly
girl, a voice sneered, All this for a
boy you haven’t gone on a date with.
The moan of his name in that unfamiliar voice rang loud in your head as
an unwanted tear rolled straight down to hit your ear. You willed yourself to numb your mind, to not
think about anything, but when had you ever truly had control?
Sometime, in the early hours of the morning, your lids felt
heavy and closed without you ever really knowing, the black cloak of the night
sealing them shut as the dark twists and pangs building inside of you pushed
you off a ledge, forcing your fall into a fitful sleep.
“Did you have a nightmare last night?” You cringed as Renny took her black eyeliner
and dug a little too hard with the tip against your cheek. You thought about denying it for a moment,
but decided against it. If there was one
person you could talk to, it was Renny.
“How’d you know?”
“You kept groaning and- hold on”
- she licked her thumb and rubbed below the line she’d just created for the
black #17 now on your cheek, smudging it up and using her nail to dig into the skin
and remove the extra bits she’d accidently drawn. She hadn’t asked to draw Harry’s number on
you and for that you were thankful. Your
favorite was Louis anyways - “There, perfect.
You just kept muttering something and you looked like you were shaking. I tried waking you up, but you just turned
back around and fell asleep.”
“Sorry for waking you,” you
offered her an apologetic smile, but she brushed it off.
“You honestly think I mind? I mean, I’m a little jealous you got to sleep
that much, but I was the one who chose not to leave the party.” You wanted to let out a single sharp laugh at
that, but you were better. “Paw print?” She brought the pencil to your other cheek and
paused, you nodded. She started to draw
the symbol of your school’s mascot, the panther, and for some reason Harry
popped into your mind again. Agile.
Brian Jacques was an English writer who was most beloved for his Redwall series, which included 22 books in total. Other books of his include a short series about the Flying Dutchman, a few picture books, and a cookbook, but the never-ending stories of Redwall were the ones that won him popularity. His descriptive use of storytelling, and the warmth in Jacques’s delivery, from delectable made-up foods, to his admirable characters, shines through even in ink on a page. His purpose for writing and his profound sense of imagination and inspiration are only part of the reasons he should be better acclaimed.
Jacques was born in 1939, Liverpool, England, where he grew up by the docks. From a very young age his family and friends discovered that he had a special skill for telling stories. In grade school at age ten he wrote a story about a bird and a crocodile, which his teacher thought was too good to be written by a child. In fact, the teacher accused him of copying the story, and he was since framed as the classroom liar. This didn’t discourage him from writing; rather, it made him realize that he loved to write.
At age 15, Jacques quit school and left home to be a sailor. He traveled across the Pacific and Atlantic, purely for adventure—but after the sea life took its toll on him, he returned to Liverpool where he had several different jobs. He’s been a stand-up comedian, a Bobby, a bricklayer, a boxer, and a bus driver among other things. However, during the time he was a milkman he wrote stories for children at a School for the Blind. This is when Redwall really began.
One of the things that makes the Redwall series so unique is the detail and description—this was so that those who were blind could visualize for themselves the exciting, terrifying, and suspenseful stories told to them. While Jacques’s literary debut was actually a few playwrights that were brought to life on stage, his good friend and English instructor read Redwall the manuscript and, unbeknownst to Jacques, sent it to a publisher. One thing led to another, and Jacques suddenly had a contract with the publishing firm and his very first book was bound and printed—respectively titled Redwall.
Redwall is the abbey he created in a country called Mossflower, which he based off of his childhood neighborhood. Here was the setting in which mice and rats waged war. Like J.K Rowling created the world of Harry Potter, Jacques created a world of talking animals in the least childlike way. Villainous sea rats were based off of men he encountered on his travels over the ocean. The constant rivalry and conflict in the stories are based off of life in World War II, as Jacques experienced the Battle of Britain. Hares were based off of the RAF’s (Royal Air Force), who protected the people of Liverpool during daily bombings.
However the most prevalent factor in all of the Redwall books is courage, as well as pride and bravery. Each story fosters a main character—whether it be a mouse, a squirrel, or a badger—who has been wronged in some way. These “wrongs” span from oppressive tyrannical forces, slavery, and kidnapping. As a result the characters overcome and defend themselves, their home, or, more specifically, Redwall. This theme comes from Jacques’s determination to protect his home and to be proud of where he comes from.
Something else that occurs in Jacques’s writing is incredible loss. In every Redwall book, several characters die or are murdered, if not severely mistreated. Jacques experienced war firsthand and lost a brother. He includes tragedies such as this in his stories to, as realistically as possible, draw connections to his readers. Reason being, grief is something everyone endures one day, and it’s in literature that some find comfort and a sense of coping at the same time.
Why Jacques uses animals to convey these intense, real life lessons, is simple: “Mice are my heroes because, like children, mice are little and have to learn to be courageous and use their wits.” This is partly where his purpose for writing comes through. Jacques started Redwall for children in the first place. They are the intended audience.
Redwall was first published in 1986. The main character was a mouse called Matthias, who discovered a sword special to the Abbey, and with it beheaded a snake and defeated villain Cluny the Scourge. In 1989, the sequel Mattimeo was published; this covered the topic of Matthias’s son, who was captured and enslaved by a fox named Slagar. Matthias and others set out to bring back the kidnapped and defeat the fox army. Martin the Warrior, published in 1993, takes place before Matthias and Abbey itself. Martin is a slave of weasel Badrang the Tyrant and escapes with companions to Mossflower country, where in the end he establishes Redwall. These three books among the 22 are associated together because they have related characters who eventually all use the same sword to defeat oppressing forces.
In all of the Redwall stories, however, Martin the Warrior has been linked to each of them. It’s in this way that Jacques manifests in great detail an entire world. Although Jacques has told Redwall readers again and again that there is no religion in his world, in a way Martin the Warrior is portrayed like God. In Redwall Abbey there’s a tapestry of him with rhymes and prophecies on the back. One of the rhymes reads, “I am that is,” which, unscrambled, spells Matthias. The Abbey dwellers tell stories about Martin and continue to remember his legacy. In addition, Martin the Warrior visits characters in their dreams, and for a select few villains, haunts them.
Jacques also created languages. There’s Loamscript, which only few characters are able to translate—it’s an equivalent to Latin for modern-day English speakers. There’s also something called Mole Speak, which is described as more of a dialect than a language. All of the moles in the stories talk like this, and for first-time readers it’s usually a bit difficult to understand. For example: “Harr, he’m be noice an’ soft, sur. Baint no rock nor root to stop us’ns, straight furrer we’m a-thinking” (63). Jacques has also had to explain that “burr” and “hurr,” phrases most used by the mole characters, means “um.” It has been concluded that when Jacques was a truck driver and drove into the Somerset region of England, the accents he heard inspired Mole Speak. What’s more, he uses parts of old languages to enrich his characters’ dialogue. “Eeulalia,” just for instance, is a war cry badgers say; Jacques has explained that it is Celtic/Norse for “victory.”
As song writing is another thing Jacques has been experienced in doing, he includes lullabies and ceremonial songs in his stories. These songs are written as poems in the structure of the books, but they actually have melodies and tunes. In the 60’s, Liverpool had a light shine on it when the Beatles became popular. It was then that Jacques, his friends, and his brothers started a band together. They were called The Liverpool Fisherman. Not only did Jacques include in this world historic figures, godlike deities, and various kinds of accents, he made an entire culture.
There was, evidently, a TV show adaptation of Redwall. There were only three seasons, each one covering the stories of Redwall, Mattimeo, and Martin the Warrior, of course. The first episode aired in 1999. It was relatively popular in the UK, France, and Canada—because it was French and Canadian television programs that most wanted to launch Redwall the show; eventually it appeared on American PBS, as well. Each episode opened with Jacques himself, either describing a brief summary of the episode, or saying his famous line: “In our imaginations we can go anywhere. Travel with me to Redwall in Mossflower country.” Potentially, there was going to be a fourth season starting in 2003, but because there was no financial support from American broadcasters, the show never picked back up.
Even near the end of his life, Jacques could not believe himself as a writer. Meaning, he could not believe he was doing what he loved for a living. He wrote in his garden, no matter what kind of weather there was. He wrote with a typewriter and his favorite pen. He once told the New York Times, “I have a working-class ethic. I get up in the morning, and I still feel guilty about being a famous author.” His very last book from the Redwall series was published in May of 2011, The Rogue Crew. It was in this book that the main character was inspired by a fan. Although he was known for vastly detailed writing, throughout his entire writing career Brian Jacques believed that he did not create characters well. As such, most all of his characters are created after real people in his life. Constance the Badger was created after his grandmother. Mariel the Mouse was created after his granddaughter. He, himself, is a character, too—Gonff the Mouse Thief.
As for the School of the Blind, Jacques had been an active, loyal patron until he died in 2011. He will always be remembered for his generosity: the creation of fantastical adventures following mice, squirrels, badgers and moles, for the sake of those who could not see. Moreover, for those who found great pleasure in growing up with stories developed from the very ground of Liverpool, the very source of compassion, and loveable characters. For these reasons, Brian Jacques should have been better recognized when he was alive, but also appreciated now that he’s left his legacy of Redwall.
Name: For the Coffee Pairing: Jon Risinger x Reader Summary: Jon forces the Reader to take some time off to relax. Rating: T Word Count: 1421 Triggers: Alcohol.
Your morning begins
with the ungodly caterwaul of your alarm clock. You briefly wonder
why even Satan would put such an infernal device on this planet, but
decide not to dwell on it for too long. You try to ignore the fact
that it’s 4:00 AM and entirely too cold outside for a Texas February
and drag yourself out of the safe haven of your bed. The chill of the
air assaults you as you trudge to the shower, sending shocks of cold
up your spine.
Sappy Sentence Prompt: “It’s always been you”/”stay with me forever”
I’M BACK I’M FREE I’LL NEVER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT GENOMICS AGAIN. The semester is over and I haven’t been this calm in three months. Anyway no one wants to hear about that, enjoy the fic!
With a cry, Connor collapsed on
top of Oliver, panting, falling easily on the other man. Laughing, Connor
raised himself on his elbows and kissed him, full of warmth and joy. Connor
smiled when he felt Oliver smile against his lips. They parted, and laughed
lightly as they gazed into each other’s eyes, Connor’s glimmering and warm in
the dim light of their room. Oliver reached out and ran his hand along Connor’s
cheek, rough and stubbly.
Two years have passed since
everything that happened at Middleton. Annalise Keating was a name in Connor’s
past, putting that behind him. The others have also found ways to move on from
the mess that woman put them through. Connor transferred to Columbia Law
School, a breeze for him and his grades. Oliver got a job at Lincoln Center,
joining the Marketing team starting on Monday. They moved into their cozy one
bedroom that was practically a shoe box a week ago, having finally gotten all
their things in the places they wanted. They were over the moon.
“How’s that for breaking in the
new sheets?” Connor joked, running his fingers through Oliver’s sweaty hair.
“That’s certainly one way to do
it,” Oliver said, leaning forward to kiss him again.
“Are you going to hop off my dick
anytime soon? You know I’m still inside you, right?”
Connor looked down at his hips
and legs, realizing they were still tangled up in each other, then shrugged.
“I fail to see how that’s a
problem. In fact, I wouldn’t mind falling asleep like this,” he said with a
Oliver rolled his eyes, “get
off!” he laughed. Connor sighed dramatically and rose his hips, rolling away
from the other man, pouting at the sudden emptiness he felt.
“I’ll be back I suppose,” he said
before carefully removing Oliver’s condom and retreating to the bathroom.
“Someday,” Oliver called,
snorting when he heard Connor’s disappointed grumbles under his breath.
“Ugh, but when?” Connor huffed returning to the bedroom, wiping away on his
“I don’t know, Christmas maybe,”
Oliver said, fiddling with the sheets.
“I’m holding you to that,” Connor
said with a smirk, sauntering towards the bed and climbing on the comforter.
“Allow me,” he said softly before
wiping Oliver’s stomach and chest. He tossed the wash cloth on the night stand,
and moved to lay close to Oliver, who wrapped an arm around his shoulder,
pulling him close, without hesitation.
“We’re like a sitcom now, you
know that?” Oliver murmured, his other hand drawing aimless lines on Connor’s
“Young gay couple, leaving their
past behind and moving to New York, living in a mouse hole. We’re like Will and
Grace, but not out of date.”
“Hey, Will and Grace is
Oliver rolled his eyes, smirking.
“There should be a sitcom about us, honestly.”
“I’ll put in a word with my
people,” Connor said dryly, chuckling at Oliver’s half smile becoming a full
“When do you start class?” Oliver
asked after a beat.
“Thursday, when do you start
“Monday, but I have to go into
the office and sort things out, paper work and all that.”
“Sure; and when did Michaela say
she was coming to visit us?”
“Saturday. We’ve become one of
those couples with a long, detailed, planner, haven’t we?” Oliver asked,
stilling the hand on Connor’s collarbone, absentmindedly moving his hand over
Connor chuckled, “Yeah I guess we
The pair let a comfortable
silence take over the bedroom, but a place can only be so silent in New York,
sounds of music from cars and trucks, and the noise of idle chatter on the
sidewalks came in, however muffled, from the windows outside. From his spot in
the crook of Oliver’s shoulder, Connor looked around at their apartment; 303
having been replaced by 715. The door that separates the bedroom to the living
room—of which Connor and Oliver expressed immediate relief–and find that their
decorations were the same, same picture frames, same god awful red chairs
Oliver insisted on keeping. They brought their couches from Philly as well as
Connor’s picture of James Baldwin, something Oliver was still curious about.
Everything was the same, but couldn’t be more different at the same time. New
city, new place to live, new lives.
“Hey,” Connor whispered, lips
ghosting over Oliver’s skin.
My life has been pretty chaotic lately and I haven’t had the
time, energy or desire to write. For
some reason though, this story got stuck in my head last night and remained
there this morning so I thought I’d give it a go. Please note that, once again, I made up Tom’s
niece’s name but I did make it the same name as I did in the story I had her in
Christmas Medicine –
A Hiddleswift Short Story
This is his favorite time of year. When nostalgia begins to seep into his soul
and his heart yearns for the familiarity and comfort of home and family. It seems to happen without fail the moment he
lays eyes on the first wreath of the season and intensifies with each carol,
ornament and whiff of pine. He loves how
it makes him feel. Loves the warmth it
provides. Loves that regardless of what
has been going on in his life, the moment he is able to walk along the light
draped streets of Suffolk during the Christmas season, all of his worries and
pains disappear. Christmas medicine his
mother once said to him.
Summary: LDF: long distance friendship… LDR: long distance relationship… at this point, Mingyu doesn’t know the difference
“Please don’t skimp out on snacks this time, you know how much I miss those. And go a little heavier on the perfume, it fades fast.” Mingyu says as he watches you through a screen. You’re putting together your own idea of a care package to send his way, but Mingyu has always been as picky as a child.
“This was supposed to be a surprise, you know? You’re not supposed to know what’s in the box until after you’ve opened it in your fancy dorm room.” You say, grabbing the bottle of perfume that he gave you for your birthday from your dressing table and showing it to your webcam. “This is the one you like, right?”
He gasps. “Yes. It’s my favourite.”
“You’re such a child.” You say with a roll of your eyes.
Mingyu had moved away for university not more than a few months ago. The first care package arrived at his doorstep during his first week of school and, like the toddler he is, he immediately called you to complain about all of his favourite snacks and comics that you had missed.
[Prompt: could you maybe do a Joker x Reader where Jonny Frosts sister comes to town to escape an annoying ex and J is interested from the moment he saw her. then her ex comes and tries to grab her but she knocks him out and J is like “oh my god i want her” and yeah.. haha only if you want]
A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long. Kinda lost it there for a second.
The rain pounds on the mansion roof as the storm relentlessly pounds Gotham. The lighting that streaking the sky seemed as though it was a vengeful god waiting to pass judgement on the sins of the city. Settling in for the night The Joker and Frost lounge in their living room enjoying a glass of Bourbon to end one of their rare days off.
A knock coming from the ornate wooden door setting Frost on edge and a low growl to slip from The Joker as his irritation grows.
“Who the fuck would have the audacity to bother me in my own home at such an ungodly hour?” turning to Frost he sneers “Go take care of who ever this dumb fuck is. I’m going to bed.”
Later on, they’ll tell him the explanation is magic.
Apparently, the Super Evil Actual Nazi Group that they’ve been fighting against has been around since antiquity and it was only during World War II that they decided to hook up with Hitler. Because Hitler, of course, absolutely loved all this occult shit and any supposedly mystical advantage that he could use to justify the existence of his “Third Reich” and win the war.
For the moment, Steve Rogers wakes up in a New York that vaguely resembles the city he’s been born and grown up in and the first thought that hits him is “Oh my God, we’re being invaded.”
It’s explosions and debris and people screaming and what looks like to be some sort of weaponized machines - it’s a scene straight out of Bucky’s pulp magazines. Or what War of the Worlds must’ve been like, if Welles hadn’t been pulling everyone’s legs. And that thing is about to target what looks like to be a bus full of people.
Steve pretty much knows that he can’t chase that god damn thing away with a trash can lid and he looks down on the ground and the first thing he sees is some kind of hammer. It shouldn’t be too heavy to lift, even for him, right?
He’s thinking fast - best option would be to draw that machine thing away from the people - he can run pretty quickly, as long as his asthma doesn’t catch up on him - but the point is, he can draw it away from those people, maybe long enough for them to get out and run for it themselves.