Imagine Danny waking you up with his music

Originally posted by theavengers

The low rumblings of music stirred you awake from sleep, stretching you limber out of bed in black sweat shorts and a green tee with the words ‘The Incident’ on it, a shirt you had bought from a young kid hustling dvds on some corner down in Harlem. Walking out into the living room of your apartment, you smiled at the shirtless man in front of you.

“Sorry to interrupt, but some people that like to sleep past 7am,” your fingers pressed pause on his cellphone.

Danny straightened himself up and gave you a small smile. “Didn’t mean to wake up, I was just centering my-”

“-Chi, I know Danny. I’m just messing with you. Listen, you keep doing your thing and I’ll make us some breakfast,” you strolled over to him and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. He grinned as you pulled away, his eyes peered into yours.

“You are special to me, you know that right?”

“I do,  but it’s good to keep reminding me everyday,” you smirked and patted his bare chest, fingers drag down to the black dragon brand on his chest. Knowing all he had gone through to obtain the power of the Iron Fist, you marveled at the brand then up to his blue eyes. “So, french toast okay?”

Danny smiled and pressed a warm kiss onto your forehead. “Sounds good.”

WC NaNo: Day One Writing Prompts

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Welcome to your first day of writing prompts for WC’s NaNoWriMo! Here’s a quick breakdown of our prompt categories:

First, we have Warmup prompts. These are generally more abstract exercises to get you into your writing flow. Think of them as writing stretches to limber you up for a day of great writing!

The next two categories are directed specifically to either First Drafters or Rewriters.
First Drafter prompts are much more story-oriented in order to spark forward momentum and–you guessed it–get plenty of words on the page! 
Rewriter prompts are a bit more reflective. These dive a bit deeper into the craft aspect to shift your thinking towards ways to flesh out, enliven and further strengthen the story you already have. 
Now, this isn’t to say that you can’t use a Rewriter prompt if you’re writing a first draft or use a First Drafter prompt if you’re rewriting! Use what speaks to you–we simply made this separation for extra guidance for those who might need it!

Finally, we have I’m Stuck prompts. These, much like our Wildcard planning prompts from October, are much more free-spirited. They’re silly and playful exercises to get your creativity going when the going gets tough!

With that introduction done, here are your prompts:

WARM-UP: Setting: Write a self-guided tour of your setting. Spend at least a paragraph (or even use bullet points if they’re more comfortable) detailing each of the following; the sounds, smells, textures, weather, temperature and any items or places of interest. Use this as a reference when you’re writing. 

FIRST DRAFTERS: Write a scene in which something strange happens. What would your protagonist pick up on as especially strange? Perhaps your protagonist can’t quite put their finger on what exactly seems so odd, but there’s certainly something off. What happens when your protagonist pursues this strange occurrence?

REWRITERS: Identify an underdeveloped reveal/plot twist and write a couple of minor foreshadowing moments or hints about this event into your opening chapters. 

I’M STUCK: Pick a song and incorporate something about it (i.e. the mood, the lyrics or the rhythm) into a scene. If you’re having trouble fitting a song to one of your scenes, simply pick a song and write the scene that comes to mind while you’re listening to the song.

Feel free to share the products of these prompts through the submission box–just include “WC Prompt Share” in the title or tags!

Boundaries, part 13

Steve Rogers x Plus Size!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes

Summary: You just finished a two year long photojournalist stint overseas and decide to take a break from traveling. So you head back to your home town and lucky enough, your childhood friend Sam Wilson has a few rooms to rent out. So you head back to California and are met with a surprise, a very handsome surprise.

His name is Steve Rogers and he’s a shy guy from Brooklyn, New York. Dragged across the country by his best friend, Bucky Barnes - he hopes to start a new life after a pretty bad break up with his long time girlfriend, Sharon Carter.

Can the of four of maneuver the art of living together? Or will boundaries be crossed?


Keep reading

In the dark

Silly semi casefile fic written for several reasons. For @leiascully’s XFWritingChallenge: Exercise and also for the anon on @lyndsaybones  blog who asked for a story about Scully being given an undercover assignment as another agent’s wife. 
I’m looking forward to the other stories that might spring from that particular anon!

The phone skittered across the desk, mocking him with its caller ID and perkiness. He’d fallen asleep in the office and his neck was gristled, his mouth filled with dry Bureau air.

           “Mulder, it’s me.”

           Well, yeah. That’s what the phone said.

           “Mulder, are you there?”

           “I’m here, Scully. Or should I say Mrs Sparks?”

           “That’s Ms Sparks. And you sound like you still haven’t gotten over this assignment, Mulder. It’s been two days and you’re a grown man. You need to get over it.”

           It’s been more than six years and he wasn’t over it, grown man or not.

           “What’s the plan today, Scully?” He forced a little grace into his voice.

           “You know I can’t tell you that, Mulder. I’m undercover,” her voice was buried in a rush of static and muffled voices. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call later.”

           And I’ll still be here. I’ll still be thinking about the smug look Skinner had in his eye when he informed them that Scully had been assigned to this case, going undercover as Danny fucking Conway’s wife, to lure out a serial killer who was ramping up in the DC area. And so close to the Arcadia case. What the hell was that man on? And why the hell did Scully agree to this bullshit? Hadn’t she had enough of being targeted by freaks?  She’d given him the usual line about being independent and doing her job blah blah. Their job was the X-Files, but the last time he’d tried to deliver a message along those lines, she’d gone and fucked that psycho in Philly and blamed the lack of a desk.

Soft, green light billowed out of his fish tank. It was supposed to be calming. That’s why he’d chosen tropicals. Their colour, their shapes, their fluid movements, the warmth of their lives…yet, all he wanted to do was rip the fucking thing off the shelf and stab the little beasts with a pencil. The phone had remained unreasonably quiet. It wasn’t even arguing back when he slammed it down on his coffee table. He stretched his arms up and relished the clunk of his joints. Pain. Fatigue. Being in the fucking dark. Yes. Welcome to the life of Fox Mulder.

           The buzzing of his cell woke him. Where had he thrown it? He scrambled around the couch, sticking his fingers between the cushions and down the back. He found nothing but crumbs and a tack that stuck behind his thumbnail. He cursed and sucked at the blood. Metal and dust. And the phone stopped ringing.

He was outside the house now, hunkered down in the driver’s seat, watching how the climbing rose curled and bowed around the door, mocking him with its elegance. He did not belong here. Not just because Scully would kill him, but because people like Mulder didn’t belong in this suburb.

Danny fucking Conway with his blond hair and frat boy good looks belonged here. Dana Scully with her contained beauty and ferocious intelligence belonged here. She really should live somewhere like this. All the things she personified were displayed in this building – success, style, class, refinement. She should never leave. She should be Ms Sparks, co-creator of GymProMatch, a site for high-end professionals wanting to find an exercise partner. However you span it, Mulder believed it was really a dating site for those who got off on watching women in exercise gear with sweaty cleavage and enough money to opt for surgical intervention should the running machine or the date become surplus to requirements.

GymProMatch also offered tailored personal training programs, online functionality so even less desirables, like Mulder, could get fit in the comfort of their glowing-green living room and be linked with other sad cases, diet plans, seminars and conferences with training professionals. The real people behind it had flown to their Caribbean chalet while Scully and Fucking Conway moved in.

           He shifted in the seat, his knees groaned at the confined space. He picked at the skin on the side of his thumb. He let his head fall against the seat rest and tried to keep his eyes open. The door opened. Scully stepped out, her hair caught in a high ponytail and white headphone wires forming a necklace around her bright pink fitted vest. She wore black yoga pants with a pink swirl around the calves, and bright white runners. She limbered up, stretching her quads and dipping her head side to side. She looked fucking gorgeous, backlit by the light above the door. She jogged up the paved path, edged by topiary bushes, and out on to the sidewalk. Mulder watched the back of her disappear into the murky evening before he opened his door to track her.

           He didn’t even get to the end of the car before she’d doubled back and was running at a pace towards him. She looked fucking angry.

He slunk into the car and she slipped in next to him, huffing out more than just energized breaths. There was fire in those exhalations.

           “I’m sorry, Scully. I needed to know you were okay.”

           “You’ve just jeopardized this whole operation, Mulder. And all because you don’t trust me to do my job.”

           “I do trust you, Scully. It’s Conway I don’t trust. He’s an asshole.”

           “That may be true, Mulder, but he’s a professional asshole. Unlike you, who at this moment, just look like a pathetic, jealous, ridiculous asshole.”

           Now they were getting somewhere. He deserved that. It made him feel better. He always appreciated the truth. Scully always told him the truth.

           “You can finish your run, Scully. I don’t mind waiting.”

           “Waiting for what?” Her voice thinned as her anger level rose. She was flushed anyway, but her chest heaved and her arms were tense and those veins near her wrists were pulsing and she kept licking her lips in that way that both irritated him and turned him on. He could practically smell the smoke coming off her, she was red-hot furious.

           It was now or never. He leant forward and captured her face in his hands, pulling her mouth to his. She was spitting out some curse or another but he swallowed it whole and savoured the taste of her. Her arms were trapped between them but he could feel her shifting against him, her fists bunching, ready to pummel him. He groaned into her mouth, pushed his tongue into the velvet of her, rubbed it against her teeth, let his hands move from under her ears, down her neck and to gently massage her shoulders. She was still fighting but she had opened her mouth wider and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was whimpering. He pulled back.

           She ran her tongue over the lower lip, looked down at her lap, then up at him. He steadied himself for the slap or the punch, but she just turned to open the door.

           “Wait, Scully. Please.”

           “I have to go, Mulder.” There was no intonation, no anger, no life in her words.

He reached out to shut the door. His arm brushed her breasts and she sucked in a breath, pushing herself back into the chair.

“Sorry. But I’m not generally in the habit of kissing you, Scully. There is a reason. And right now, that reason is approaching from the end of the street. Our suspect has been prowling around in the yard of the empty property at 190 for about an hour. Conway has called in back up. I’m wired up. You just need to keep kissing me. Come here.”

He snaked his arm around her and kissed her again. She softened into his arms and he reluctantly released her mouth to whisper into her ear.

“Skinner didn’t want you to know about my part in the assignment. He knew you would back out if I was any part of this job. This psycho loves himself a cheating red-head but he really gets off on torturing the boyfriend. Meet the boyfriend, Scully.” He nibbled her neck and she shuddered. She definitely shuddered.

“This is so fucked-up, Mulder,” her voice had dropped a notch and she was breathing heavily. Mulder let his fingers wander up and down her back as he listened for instructions from the team.

“Suspect is nearly at target point. Keep doing that, Scully.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing you’re doing with your…”


She pulled back and all hell broke loose. The passenger door pulled open, a hand reached around her and covered her mouth with duct tape. At the same time, the suspect lashed out at Mulder with a baseball bat but he managed to avoid most of the swing, so that it hit the steering wheel and let the horn sound. A dozen agents swamped the car, heaving Scully from the suspect’s grasp and pulling Mulder out. The suspect was grappled to the ground and Conway snapped on the handcuffs.

“Darling. I’m so glad you’re okay,” he smirked up at Scully.

Mulder rushed to her side. “Are you sure you want me to pull the tape off, Conway? I’m not sure you’re ready to hear what Scully has to say to you.”

She huffed out something unintelligible and he gently prised the tape off. Her mouth was red and puffy. He liked to think it wasn’t all because of the tape. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and turned away.

“You were good today, Scully.”

“At what? At being kept in the dark? At being manhandled by you and the suspect?”

Skinner swept forward, his hands buried in his overcoat. “Agents. This was a fine result. Good work.” Scully glared at him and then back at Mulder. “I understand you might have some further questions about this case, Agent Scully. Report to me in the morning. I’ll debrief you both.”

The phone skittered across his couch, mocking him with its caller ID and perkiness. The green glow seemed brighter somehow.

           “Mulder, it’s me.”

           Well, yeah. That’s what the phone said.

           “Mulder, are you there?”

           “I’m here, Scully. You sound out of breath. Are you all right?”

           “I’ve been running.”

“I hear exercise is a good for reducing stress and tension.”

“Will your next undercover assignment be as a medical doctor, Mulder? Or perhaps I won’t know until after you’ve performed an emergency tracheotomy or diagnosed someone with diabetes.”

“Touche, Scully. And again, I am sorry. But it wasn’t my decision.”

“Mulder, open your door.”

“You’re outside?”

“Yes, I ran from my car because it’s raining. I’m wet and grumpy so please, open the door.”

She was dripping, red with cold and looked fucking gorgeous. He pulled her in, pushed her to the bathroom and told her to take a shower. When she emerged, she was red less dripping, pink with heat and still looked fucking gorgeous. She took the cup of tea he’d made and sat on his couch.

           “Would it be inappropriate to say that I really enjoyed kissing you, Scully. Even if you were technically married to someone else. And you weren’t technically aware that I was going to do it?”

“Do you always make a habit of kissing married women, Mulder?”

“Only the red-haired, doctor ones.” He tried for a cute smile.

She blushed and sipped her tea.

“That thing you did with your…”



Tadashi traced the tiny notes as they slowly appeared on his forearm. The raised red ridges of the musical notes meant nothing to him; he genuinely had no idea what they meant. At 8 years old, learning the complicated symbols of sound had never interested him.
Until recently.
As of late, the small notes had been appearing on and off every few days. Which meant his soulmate had finally started writing.
Tadashi had been drawing to them for as long as he could remember. Flowers, dogs, pictures of people he knew… Anything he could think of to let them know, he was here!
An only child who lived with his grandparents, Tadashi had been waiting to meet his soul mate for so long he thought he would burst if it went on any longer. the notes receded slowly as he watched. Rolling over in his bed, and wrapping his blankets closer around him, he wondered what it sounded like. The music of his soul mate. Whether the person was happy or sad; what instrument they played and how old they were; whether they thought about him sometimes too, and enjoyed his pictures.
Kei’s long fingers, stretched and limber already from 4 years of piano, danced along his ivory keys. The old upright was his most prized possession and the closest to a friend he felt he had. It allowed him to vent and scream and pound into its keys without complaint, and didnt try to comfort or advise him if it wasnt enough to play till his fingers blistered.
Kei was a ‘difficult’ child. An antagonist at his worst.
Truthfully, Kei was an anxious child. So anxious his fear radiated into angry energy and vitriol. This, he knew, was not the way to make friends…
But, everytime he opened his mouth to a stranger, irregardless of age; out spat bile.
He was too young to hate himself the way he did.
His comfort came from his skin. The tiny artwork that tattooed him silently and painlessly everyday for most of his life. Beautiful, intricate linework. The fading broke his heart, he wished it would stay forever.
He’d never felt talented enough to reply. Even his stick men were wonky. Until he’d realised his talent was under his nose all along. He’d begun to write short melodies on his forearms. His favourites songs, things he’s written. Things to show his soul mate who he was.
Being 8 years old however, not realising not everyone knew music, it never occured to him that his soul mate didn’t understand any of it, no matter how sweet the intent.

“Tsukki! Tsukki, wait up!” Tadashi ran after Kei as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, although he was certain his overly tall bestfriend couldn’t hear him through his large white headphones.
Tadashi reached Kei and gently wrapped his tiny hands around his larger friends wrist. The way Kei flinched at this silent greeting destroyed Tadashi’s gentle heart.
Kei turned towards Tadashi slowly and removed his headphones with a sigh, as if resigned to whatever was to come next.
They locked eyes.
“Oh, it’s just you, Yamaguchi. Why didn’t you shout me?” Kei sneered.
“Sorry, Tsukki!” Tadashi beamed, dragging his friend towards the park.
“I’m not pushing you on the swings this time…” Kei huffed.
“Sure you’re not, Tsukki!” Tadashi giggled gently, still manhandling his larger friend through the park gates.
Kei smiled softly to himself as Tadashi ran, full pelt, at the slide. 'OK, so maybe I will….’ he thought.
Tadashi pushed through the door of the Tsukishima household, his arms laden with his belongings and snacks for the night, spirits high for the sleepover that night, announcing his presence and removing his shoes with his toes, he traipsed in without being welcomed. He was always welcome here, it was his haven, his safe space. His favourite place in the world. He breathed in the scent. Vanilla and sweet fruit. It smelled like Tsukki here. Or Tsukki smelt like the house… Either way it was wonderful.
He heard distant piano from the dining room; which meant Tsukki was definitely here. Whatever it was he was playing, it was wonderful, soft and bittersweet, flowing like water over him as he took his time making his way down the hall. He’d hate to disturn Tsukki while he was playing. He always looked so calm and content while his fingers danced over keys reading notes Tadashi still couldn’t read. He’d thought many times about asking Tsukki to teach him piano, or at least to read the sheet music, but the idea of being even more of a burden was too much for him to cope with.
As he approached the slightly ajar door, the velvety music came to a close. Then his left arm tingled the way it does when your soulmate sends you a message. There they were again. The beautifully drawn and prepared notes. He’d die to hear them. He peeked through the door jamb. Tsukki was writing in blue ink on his forearm.
He was writing music notes.
On his left forearm.
Tadashi’s chest constricted. He was certain he was going to suffocate right there in the hallway, surrounded by video games and chocolate bars aged 13 years old.
This was awful. He couldn’t tell him. Never. They’re friendship was everything to him. Maybe they were platonic soulmates? That could be a thing right?
HE’D never met platonic soulmates before, or heard of them but they MUST be a thing….?
Oh god no.
“Yamaguchi? Why are you skulking around in my hallway?” Kei had heard the clatter of Tadashi’s things hitting the floor.
Tadashi’s head whipped around so fast he felt his neck crack.
“Sorry, Tsukki! I dropped some things…” Tadashi could feel his face burning, how humiliating.
Kei clicked his tongue and bent down to retrieve the items that littered his floor. Tadashi could only stare. Tsukki was actually really attractive, in a tall, lanky, snarkier-than-thou, kind of way. Tadashi had always admired Kei’s personality. that was no secret. Kei golden orbs suddenly invaded his private reverie. Since his recent growth spurt, Tadashi no longer stood quite so far below Kei’s shoulder. His forehead could comfortably brush Kei’s chin. But when Kei tilted his head forward, and all but glared into his freckled visage, Tadashi suddenly felt very, very small all over again. His breathe caught in his throat and his heart hammered a racy rhythm against his chest.
“Are you ok, Dashi?” Kei asked, barely a whisper.
'DASHI. Oh god.’ Tadashi all but shivered at the childhood nickname. it was his weakness. Tsukki only used it when they were alone; and even then it was sparing.
“I’m fine, Tsukki.” His voice sounded disconnected from his body. He was honestly just glad of how secure it sounded compared to the internal mess he was caging.
“Well… Ok then. If you’re fine you won’t mind me handing you your ass in mario kart then, will you?” A rare smiled ghosted across Kei’s surprisingly plump lips and he pushed off the wall behind Tadashi’s head, grabbing bits and pieces from the floor as he passed them, headed to his room.
Tadashi gathered the rest of his things together in a daze before following.

In the bathroom, later that night, Tadashi took his favourite marker in with him and, under the guise of a shower, he drew more than ever before. Every inch he could reach was covered in the things he loved. French fries from his favourite fast food place, a couple tiny dogs chasing after a ball, flowers and beautifully decorated cakes like the ones in his grandparents bakery that Tsukki loved so much, he even drew a few books upon a shelf; their tiny titles too small to read.
He drew till his hand ached, his way of thanking Kei for the music. Knowing who write the miniscule notations suddenly made them so much more important. Tadashi knew what music really meant to Kei. It was his life the way art was Tadashi’s home. He suddenly understood the time and effort Kei would have spent making sure that every note was perfect, every song choice immaculate.
His taste had always been impeccable.
And that was the shame of it. Kei had always had such high standards. Tadashi may pass the friendship test, but with his freckled mess of chubby cheeks and unruly hair, he was far from a catch. His one redeeming feature were his olive eyes. Even he liked them, but that didnt mean Kei would.
He knew that as soul mates they were destined to fall in love. Or were already in love, or something. He didn’t really understand the whole thing. Tadashi stripped the last of his clothes and stepped under the shower head, scrubbing at the remnants of his love, removing any trace that might let Kei in on his secret.
A secret he intended to keep. He could love him from where he was, and that was fine.

Kei stared in awe at his arms, legs, stomach and chest. His body tingled everywhere, the miniature art gallery that was his skin alive with his soul mates creations. Kei didn’t know who they were, but their skin sketches had kept him alive some nights.
When he’d been lonely as a child, they’d been there so send him some joy. A smile, an unexpected laugh, it didn’t matter where they really where to Kei, they’d been there to HIM.
He couldn’t care less who they were either, as long as they drew for him everyday, anything. He lived only for the day he could see more than sketches that faded in minutes. He wanted something permanent, something he could hold on to.
God he hoped they felt the same.
Tadashi woke up alone to the sound of music. Typical.
Even on a Sunday Kei couldn’t sleep past 7. Tadashi hauled ass out of bed and slipped on a jumper. Kei house was always so cold in the morning. He glared, bleary eyed, at the bedside clock. 7:18am. Of course it was.
He stole some socks from Kei’s drawer and dragged them onto his frozen feet, then made his way down the stairs to the diningroom.
Things had been oddly awkward between them last night. Tadashi couldnt keep calm and Kei had been even more quiet than usual.
Tadashi still couldnt resist spying on Kei playing piano though. It was a guilty pleasure of his. Watching Kei lithe fingers glide over every key in a way Tadashi knew was NOT effortless style. Memorizing the lines of Kei’s face as he near grimaced into his sheet music like it owed him a favour. Tadashi had been watching for longer than he could really remember. How could he not have known before yesterday how he felt?
“Tsukki?” Tadashi spoke before he really realised it was happening.
“Hmmm…” Kei continued to play as he answered, his concentration clearly somewhere else.
Tadashi crept across the room and slide into the space beside Kei on the stool. “Will you teach me piano?” He asked, hesitant.
Kei’s hand still and the room dropped into silence for the smallest of moments before he laughed.
“Finally. Honestly, Yamaguchi, how anyone can go so long without learning an instrument is beyond me.” Kei almost smiled as he shuffled his music.
“Is now ok?” Tadashi beamed.
“Sure. Not like there’s anything better to do on a Sunday?”
Tadashi rans his eyes down his sheet music. The notes ringing in his mind as the bus jostled down the bumpy street. His pen tapped a steady rhythm against his knee and he counted pace. He was sure something was off about the beat but he couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Its in 4/8; not 4/4.” Kei whispered into Tadashi’s ear.
Tadashi glanced back at the sheet and read it in the new rhythm. Kei was right. He sighed and shoved it back in his bag, he could work on it later, if he let Kei anywhere near it he’d 'fix’ it. He pulled out his sketch pad and very deliberately turned so that Tsukki wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing.
Tadashi had very recently become addicted to watercolour pencils; he liked the way he could work on something and then adjust the colours together later. He’d also become obsessed with painting other peoples portraits, not that he’d ever tell anyone he was doing so. He just loved the people faces could convey so much emotion with a mere quirk of a brow, or the tiniest smile. It was through painting he’d finally begun to understand Kei’s tiny shows of emotion. They were admittedly miniscule, but they were there. They were Tadashi’s favourite things to draw. His sketchbook was a closed gallery of one Tsukishima Kei’s internal reportoire.
He’d been aware of his and Kei’s soulmate status for almost 3 years now, and as far as he knew, Kei was still entirely oblivious.
And that was how he wanted to keep it. At least for now.
The bus pulled up to Fukurodani and Tadashi packed away his things. Time for training camp.
“Coming, Yamaguchi?” Kei held out his hand to help Tadashi out of his window seat. Tadashi grasped it as gently as he could, he already had an unhealthy attachment to those hands… He couldn’t afford to be creepy.
Kei grabbed his own bag from the overhead stoarage and led the way off the bus; they were, as usual, the last off.
Tadashi didn’t dwell on the fact that Kei hadn’t let go of his hand yet.
Tadashi’s entire body ached. It hurt in places he didn’t know he even had until today. Coach Ukai was a monster, a monster encouraged by the rampaging lunatics he’d called team mates. Training camp had never been like this in Amemaru.
It was barely 10pm, but everyone in Karasuno was asleep already, exhausted from their hectic day. He could literally FEEL Tanaka and Asahi snoring, their soft palettes flapping in their throats.
Good god they should see a doctor… That couldn’t be healthy.
Kei turned to face Tadashi in his bedroll and scooted, ever so subtly closer to his best friend.
“What’s up, Tsukki?” Tadashi whispered, even his throat protesting at the usage.
“Can’t sleep. It’s so uncomfortable here.” Kei croaked. He’d never been particularly good at the whole whispering thing.
“Wanna get in with me?” Tadashi asked, without really having noticed what he said until it was too late. “I-I mean, we could share and put one bedroll on top of the other… to make it comfier… not, like, ya know.”
“No. I dont know. Explain it to me, Yamaguchi.” Kei replied, the mirth lacing his voice sending a shiver straight to Tadashi’s already sore heart.
“Just, that, we’re friends… So, it isn’t weird. We shared a bed all the time as kids.” Tadashi finished, lamely. He fought the urge to pull his blankets up over his face in shame.
“No offence here, Dashi, but I think we’re a little too tall to share nowadays, we’d have to really squish up against eachother.” Kei leant over Tadashi’s face to whisper into his ear.
And there it was. That crazy thumping rhythm his heart beat against his ribs whenever Kei called him Dashi. The room was suddenly far too hot, small and awkward for his liking.
“Yeah-yeah, you’re-uh-you’re right…” Tadashi mumbled into his hands, he had lost his battle against hiding his face, and was melting into his own embarrassment, face ablaze.
Damage done, Kei lay back against his own bed roll and yawned.
“Night, Yamaguchi.” He breathed, and rolled away.
Tadashi didn’t reply. He thought it best that way.
Stupid Kuroo.
Stupid, Ugly, Horrible, Asshole Kuroo.
Capital letters for emphasis. How dare he touch Kei. How dare Kei let him! UCK!
So maybe he was overreacting. Soulmate or not, he did not in any way OWN Kei; but that did not stop him being upset. It was only a hug, he reasoned with himself as he served the ball straight into the net.
His palm was on fire. He’d long since stopped caring that the skin was cracking and bleeding in some places. It must have been at least 6 hours he’d been here. He knew he’d missed dinner and that everyone was probably already back at the lodge by now. He simply didn’t care. They obviously hadn’t noticed his lack of presence. Kei clearly hadn’t either.
Well, forget them. He had volleyball serves to do.
“Yamaguchi!” Hinata threw open the gym door like a hurricane. “We’ve all been looking for you for hours! We thought Tsukishima was gunna cry! You should have seen it! Kiyoko-san and Yacchan took him back to the lodge to calm him down. He thought you’d run away.” Hinata half-yelled as he dragged Tadashi back towards the 1st gym.
“DASHI, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!? WHAT THE HELL WERE THINKING ITS ALMOST 11 O'CLOCK AT NIGHT!? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!?!” Kei practically screamed in Tadashi’s face the moment he entered the lodge kitchen.
Tadashi almost toppled over and suffocated when Kei lunged at him and forced him into what was admittedly a rather comforting hug.
“I… I just… lost track of time I guess.” Tadashi lied, poorly, trying to hide his swollen, bloody palm behind his back without making it obvious.
He failed. “What happened to your hand?” Kei asked, still infuriated as he gripped Tadashi’s wrist and pulled him to the sink.
“Too many serves…” Tadashi hissed as the cold water hit his hand. He could feel the other team member staring at them. It had to stop, he hated being stared at.
“You need to be more careful, you always overwork yourself. It’s not healthy, you stress yourself out and you’re always getting sick or you end up like -”
“Shut up, Tsukki.” Tadashi near whispered.
Kei stopped dead, then looked Tadashi straight in the eyes and smiled.
“Sorry, Yamaguchi.” he said, deadpan as he handed Tadashi a tea towel to dry his hand while he went to get bandages.
Tadashi turned towards his team mates, their mouths agape and still as statues.
“I’m sorry for worrying you all. It won’t happen again.” He smiled at them as Kei took his hand back and began to wrap it for him.
Kei stared at his left arm. The floral vines wrapping from his wrist to his elbow becoming more and more detailed as time went on. Whoever his soul mates was, they desperately intrigued him. They’d been drawing more recently.
He was becoming more and more vehement that he needed to find them lately as well.
He knew he could just ask them who they were.  He could just write the question on his arm and have done with it, but that ruined it somehow.
They deliberately never exchanged words, he didnt want to change anything. But he also really, really did.
Maybe he could make it a game. Like 20 questions. Then use the information to find them.
He rummaged through his dresser, in search of a pen, then waited for the vine on his arm to recede back into his skin.
'How old are you?’ he wrote, his breath caught in his chest. What if they didnt reply?
He waited almost 20 minutes before a single strawberry appeared, followed by 14 more, then, almost as an after thought, a half strawberry at the end of the row. He literally laughed. 15 and a half, well that was one way to reply.
“Do you live in Japan?” He knew it was sometimes possible for soulmates to be across the world from one another.
He waited again, 10 minutes this time. A squiggled shape appeared on his arm, when it was done he realised it was a small map of japan, with what looked like miyagi prefecture circled.
“In Miyagi?” He replied, hopeful. That meant they were close by.
He was still in the process of wiping the ink off his arm when the smiling face appeared on his inner wrist.
“I wonder if we’ve met.” He writes back.
He waited 4 hours. They didn’t reply again.
He couldnt write back.
Kei knew his handwriting as well as he knew Kei’s. Tadashi put his head in his hands and sighed.
Why would he start writing now?
Kei had been weird since they’d returned from camp. He’d been weird AT camp too, ever since Tadashi had gone 'missing’ for those few hours.
Kei had always been… Affectionate. Physically speaking. Not with anyone else, or in public, which honestly Tadashi appreciated, but he’d always liked to climb into Tadashi bed during sleepovers, or drag Tadashi into his. It was easier to watch movies that way, he’d always reasoned, when Tadashi questioned it. He’d also liked to hold Tadashi hand sometimes when they were sitting on the couch together, or cuddle up to Tadashi from behind when he cooked for them, which was often as Kei’s cooking usually ended with the emergency services.
But lately it’d been more frequent. He’d figured out when they were children that this was how Kei made up his brash personality and was not an indication of anything else, but nowadays Tadashi had been doing everything he could to avoid being alone with Kei. He had to make sure he didn’t slip up; like suddenly shoving his tongue down Kei’s throat the next time he smiled at him and called him Dashi while they were supposed to be watching Death Note.
“SHIT.” Tadashi said out loud, to no one in particular.
He awoke to the sound of screaming and yelling.
“Not again.” Tadashi grumbled to himself as something large smashed against the livingroom wall.
His grandparents sounded like they were killing eachother. He got up as quietly as he could and made his way down the hall.
“YOU! This is all your fault!” His grandfather grabbed his hair from behind and yanked him into the livingroom.
“Me? What did I do?” He and his grandparents had never gotten along as well as he would have liked, but this was the first time he’d ever been scared of them.
“You killed them. You killed both of them.” His grandmother screamed in his face, tears streaming down hers.
“What? NO! They died in the fire, Grandma!” Tadashi shouted back, knowing instantly what she meant. It wasn’t the first time they’d accused him of having killed his parents.
His grandparents continued to scream at him. His heart breaking with every verbal barb. He didn’t know what had brought this on at 6am in the morning, but he hated it.
He tried to get up and run back to his room, or the front door, either way, he needed outm they pulled him back, every time he attempted to escape their fingers dug into his skin more, finger nails drawing blood from his thin arms, his grandfather, still strong in his old age from his years of being a baker lifted Tadashi effortlessly and threw him against the wall. The impact forcing his chin up and making him taste blood.
He wipes blood from his chin and panics, and while his grandmother screams he takes his chance.
'Tsukki, Help me.’ the blood dribbles down his arm, and he has no idea if this will work, but its all he has to go on, and he hopes for the best.
Kei pours cereal into his dino bowl, the early morning sun filtering through the windows and casting an orange glow against the counter top. He almost ignores the tingle on his arm, spiteful after they ignored him last night.
He’s glad he doesn’t.
'Tsukki, help me.’ Messy and smeared with dribbled lines that send terrified shivers up Kei’s spine.
He’d know that writing anywhere.
He leaves the cereal where it is, milk splattered on the surface as he races to the door.
His feet can’t move fast enough, his heart pounds in his chest as he races barefoot down the 3 blocks to Tadashi’s Grandparents bakery. His breath rages in his chest and he’s never been so thankful that Daichi forced him to run so often and so hard.
He rounds the corner to the bakery so fast he literal skids on the still damp concrete and grazes his feet. He doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter. Only Tadashi matters right now.
He reaches the back stairs to the apart, takes them 2 at a time, and scrambles through the black plantpot for the spare key when he hears the screaming through the letter box. His hands are shaking so badly he can barely fit the key in the lock when he finds it, and practically shoulders the door through the wall.
He follows the dull, wet sounds of thudding and crying in the livingroom and finds Tadashi atop his grandfather, his face so covered in blood Kei can barely recognize his bestfriend of 7 years. Tadashi stops and climbs up from his grandfather, who spits at him.
“Dashi?” Kei’s voice sounds as weak he suddenly feels.
“Kei…” Tadashi sobs, “Kei, I’m sorry.” He cries as Kei lifts him up and carries him from the room, from the building. He lets him cry all the way back to his own house. He lets him cry while he dresses the cuts and bruises that litter his face, and even while he scraped the dried blood from Tadashi’s hands. Kei doesn’t speak. Tadashi doesn’t need that yet. He places Tadashi into his bed and wraps himself and the blankets around him, then pulls Tadashi’s face into his shoulder and strokes his hair till he stops shaking.
After a few hours, Tadashi’s breathing has settled, and Kei begins to think he may have fallen asleep, except that as he tries to move away, Tadashi’s grip on his shirt tightens, and pulls him back.
“Don’t go… please.” Tadashi’s voice is coarse.
“I’m just going to pee, I’m not gunna leave the freaking country. Chill, ok?” Kei huffs, and hears a tiny chuckle in response.
When he’s finished in the bathroom, he goes downstairs and gets Tadashi a glass of water, and makes them both some toast, then carries it all upstairs.
When he walks back into the room, he finds Tadashi sat up with his back against the pillows and his head on his knees. He places the tray gently on his nightstand and puts a hand in Tadashi’s hair. As if to reassure him that he came back.
“You hungry?” He asked, softly.
Tadashi just shakes his head and sighs into his knees.
“Shame… It’s got extra butter on it, guess I’ll eat it then.” he says, poking Tadashi’s hand with a slice. Tadashi slowly takes the slice and lifts his head just enough to take a bite, adjusting to cross his legs as he does.
“You ok, Dashi?” Kei shuffles into place under the blanket next to Tadashi and hands him his water.
“Yeah.” Tadashi sounds sore, and tired, but not upset.
“Wanna talk about it?” Kei takes back the glass Tadashi hands him and settled back into his pillows.
“They think I killed my parents in the fire.”
“Oh.” Kei says. Weren’t you like… 2 years old when your parents died?“ Kei was desperately trying to remember. Tadashi never spoke about it.
"Yeah, some electrical fault or something. But the week before the fire I broke the fire escape window. I don’t know how, I was too little to remember that, but I did, so when the fire happened my mum and dad couldn’t fit through the gap in the window, so they dropped my favourite teddy and told me to go get him, my downstairs neighbours saw me and took me to the front of the building.” Tadashi spoke steadily, as if reading from a page. “I don’t really remember much.”
“I see… But… you were a baby. You clearly didn’t do it on purpose.” Kei stated, matter-of-factly. “They chose to let you go, they wanted you to be safe because they loved you, and that’s not your fault. I get that your grandparents are upset, but what the Hell happened this morning?”
“I have literally no idea. I also had no idea I was this strong either. Physically i mean, emotionally I’m somewhere between 9/11 and the Titanic in terms of wreckage, but I’m actually kind of worried I hurt him.” Tadashi looked at Kei as he spoke, a pensive look crossing his freckled face.
“Dashi. Why didn’t you tell me if you knew?” Kei couldn’t stop himself asking anymore.
“I did tell you. I told you my parents died the first time you came to my house-
"That you were my soul mate, Tadashi. You had to have known to send me the message to help you…” Kei sighed.
“Oh. That. Right. I thought it was better that way I suppose. I thought-I thought i wasn’t… good… enough.” Tadashi sputtered.
“You absolute moron… Wow.” Kei huffed. “I spent 7 years with you for the convenience then, did I?”
“Being friends is different than dating!” Tadashi defended himself with a pout and crossed his arms across his chest.
“Is it? I don’t think so. Not for us anyway. I’m 90% sure we’ve been halfway dating since middle school. Minus a few things obviously.” Kei laughed.
Kei slipped his arm behind Tadashi’s back and yanked him into his lap.
“Well, either way, there is no way in Hell i’m sending you back there. You’re just gunna have to move in here with me. Not that anyone would even notice, most of your stuff lives here, and you’re here at least 4 or 5 times a week…” Kei nuzzled into Tadashi’s neck, the tip of his nose catching the lobe of Tadashi’s ear.
“I’m not here that much!” Tadashi face blazed, his cheeks aflame as he felt Kei kiss the edge of his jaw.
“Do you wanna be?” Kei’s lips brushed against Tadashi’s ears and he melted into an incoherent puddle right there on the bed.
Tadashi could only nod as Kei slotted his lips against his.
So this was what home felt like.

actually really enjoyed writing this. sorry its late. and sorry it sucks ass. i tried. please dont hate me….. @akkaai

anonymous asked:

“rise and fucking shine, motherfucker.” for the prompts. trimberly

This was intended to be a short, <1500 words one shot but then it got out of control so i’m splitting it into 2 chapters!

Read it on Ao3

“Rise and shine everyone; rise and shine!”

Zack’s surprisingly chipper voice rings through the crisp morning air and Kimberly wonders why she even agreed to this trip in the first place. A low grumble resembling a feral growl more than anything, emits beside her.

“I’ll rise, but I refuse to shine,” Trini grunts as she turns over and pulls her cushiony sleeping bag tighter over her head. Tufts of disheveled hair poke out from haphazard directions and it’s quite possibly one of the cutest things Kimberly’s seen, but that’s probably the drowsiness talking.

Jason had called for a group camping trip out on the mountain for the weekend, aiming to strengthen their team bond and take a break from their grueling training regimen. It seemed like a fantastic idea at the time, but with the bright sunlight flooding through the thin material of the cheap, flamingo pink tent and her stomach growling louder than a starving tiger, Kimberly’s starting to think that Trini has the right idea.

Keep reading

Jungkook: Bunny Boy

Genre: AU, fantasy, street fighter Jungkook, featuring Jimin and Taehyung

Warning: violence, anxiety

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: This offshoot of A Very Tragic Boy with Enormous Wings follows a homo-oryctolagus, a boy with antlers, and a boy with wings. They get into a bit of trouble and only one of the three can get them out of it.

photo credit: merimask on etsy (go look their masks are super cool)


As the bottom tip of the sun dips below the tops of office buildings, casting the street around me in a golden haze, I pull the hem of the beanie down lower over my ears. It muffles everything and makes me slightly uncomfortable, but it helps to not draw attention. I have to get to the wharf before the sun goes down.

My hands push deeper into my pockets, hiding the dark symbols inked onto my palms as a group of humans walks by. I can just make out their voices. Stocks and gas prices, Janice at the office, bad coffee, and other mundane things. I scoff, tuning out. Wouldn’t it be nice if my biggest problem was “running out of the good creamer.”

I find Hoseok on his boat just before he usually shuts down and I can see his familiar horse ears flick toward me. Hopefully he’s willing to make one more trip.

“Take me across?” I keep my voice low, soft. It’s natural for my fauna species, but it’s also common sense to not startle a homo-equus.

“Tattoos please?” he arches an eyebrow warily.

“Oh c’mon, you’ve ferried me at least like ten times-”

“Tattoos please,” his tone gets firmer. I pull my hands from my pockets and splay my palms face up. Hoseok nods, probably less for my benefit than his. “Alright hop on.”

Hop. I can’t tell if he’s being ironic.

“So what brings you to the Hive huh?” Hoseok starts untethering the small speed boat. There’s only a small bit of humor in his voice, “How’d Namjoon indoctrinate you?”

I shrug, stepping onto the boat beside him, feeling it sway with my momentum. I hate water, namely because I never really learned how to swim.

“He didn’t do anything. I haven’t met him yet.”

“Then how did you get in?”

I take a seat, gripping the edge of the plastic chair with white knuckles. I’ve done this before. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I clear my throat, responding as quietly as the muffled warm wind and lapping of waves allow, “A friend.”


“Yeah. Homo-cervidae.”

Hoseok pauses as he reaches for the key in the ignition, “Would his name happen to be Taehyung?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Is your name Jungkook?”

“Yeah… why?” I repeat.

Keep reading

LadyNoir July Day 1: Patience

The evening was warm but the lightest breeze kissed the back of his neck. He bounced from foot to foot, bounding circles around an amused Ladybug.

When she smiled at him like that, he knew he’d made the right decision to come out tonight in spite of his own discomfort.

“You seem like you’re raring to go.”

“Yep!” Chat stretched languorously, limbering up in preparation to sprint and leap onto the next roof over. “I was anxious to get out here. And once we finish with patrol, I can finally eat…”

“Wait.” Ladybug gaped at him, her yo-yo slipping in her grasp. “You didn’t eat before you got here?”

“Honestly, my Lady, I didn’t really get the time before I snuck out. Things…ran a little longer than I had expected, and I was anxious to be here.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Alright. When did you eat?”

“I’m…not really sure.” He tilted his head, crouching down on the edge of the roof as he puzzled. His food was usually bland but nutritious, so while he did eat it wasn’t usually anything worth remembering.

“Think. When?”

His eyes scanned the horizon aimlessly. “Maybe around lunchtime?”

“Chat!” His eyes widened as she advanced on him. “That’s not okay. You need to eat. Patrol can wait. I can wait.”

He smiled softly, watching her grow agitated in fascination. Even in the dark, her eyes were the most amazing shade of blue. “If you need me here, I will be here, whether I get to eat first or not. Besides, my Kwami is almost always eating.”

She rounded at him, landing a finger on his chest. “That’s not the same thing. I need you to eat. I can’t imagine coming out here hungry.”

“But,” His cheeks warmed as he grinned, pointedly glancing at where her finger lingered upon his chest. “It’s too wait now.”

Ladybug grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Tomorrow then. I would rather patrol on my own if I can’t trust you not to run yourself ragged.”

He sighed, dropping himself down onto the brick ledge, claws pricking lightly into the stone. “I’d rather be out on patrol. I like to be out here with you, Bugaboo.”

Her eyes narrowed, as she crossed her arms over her chest, not budging even one inch. “ I need to know that you won’t be out here exhausted and hungry, especially when we never know when we might be needed.”

Chat met her gaze, wishing for the millionth time he could explain to her in more detail. “My schedule is…unusual. And it isn’t like we have a reliable way to talk before we’re transformed.”

Ladybug blanched, her eyes growing distant. He knew what keeping their identities safe meant to her, not that either of them had came up with a good idea for dealing with their inability to communicate outside of their transformations.

He knew the exact moment that her inspiration struck. He had seen in mid battle often enough. He knew he would never tire of the way her eyes lit up with the tiniest hint of mischief. The way her lips curled up in a self-satisfied smirk.

““Well.” Her fingers were at her yo-yo, spooling it into another direction before he was on his feet. “ If you can’t eat before, then we’ll eat on patrol.”

“I happen to know of a rather excellent bakery…”

Chat lifted his baton from its holder and leapt off the edge to catch up, reasonably sure he knew where they were headed. His stomach growled in anticipation. “I croissant wait, my lady.”

His grin widened as her annoyed groan rang out into the night.

Works will be collected on AO3 |

Well traveled. Dreams of dancing every famous stage. Gets really excited about fancy desserts. Boyish charm. Really limber, stretches like rubber. Has dazzling eyes. Wears fancy-wear in shades of pink and white. Every aspect of him is graceful and emotionally-driven. Voice like sunny rain.

Ballet Boy

The Cat and the Wolf

Ok, I can’t resist. Something from Solas’s POV?

His brush drew the final strokes of the shadow, Solas stepping back to try and realign his perspective. He’d been so focused on the minute he nearly forgot how that one piece fit into the entire mural. As he glanced higher to take in the scope, he heard a rattle above him.

Someone was upon the scaffolding in his room. Crossing his arms, he turned to confront them, just as three drops of green paint descended from above. The first struck the ground before his bare foot, the second on top of his head, and the last landed in a globbed stain upon the middle of his chest. While wiping off the dot of paint on his head, he turned to glare down at his sweater forever marred.

An older woman, hands gnarled from a life she didn’t own, spun her last ball of wool and gifted it to the Dread Wolf. She wanted him to keep it safe, to remember her life in its threads. Slowly, as their world unraveled, as he ripped free every pretense of godhood from the world, his followers knit for him this sweater. Which was now stained by whoever found this kind of behavior hilarious.

“Sera…” Solas growled, his eyes narrowing to hone upon the scaffolding. She didn’t confess, nor did she leap down to laugh at the sight of him covered in paint. “You cannot escape my notice,” he warned her.

Movement rattled old brushes soaking in turpentine, Solas drawing closer. A spell formed on his fist, nothing too painful, when a head coated in brown and white fur poked itself over the edge.

“This is surprising,” he said aloud, shaking away his attack. The cat stretched upon the razor’s edge fall, its partially bobbed tail wafting too and fro to keep it steady. “What are you doing up there, cat?”

He didn’t expect an answer, but disconcerting yellow eyes bored into him. Part of the left ear was notched, and a scar ran down the length of the old cat’s face. A fighter. Perhaps it was hiding in here to lick its wounds. Or waiting for its next chance to attack.

“Would you be so kind as to get down?” he asked. A foolish thought, cats did not care to do what they were told. Much like gods in that fashion. They took what they wished when they wished it, and demanded praise for their wanton ways. Idolization. Worship.

To his continued surprise, the cat scampered to the edge of the scaffolding and leapt. Its pain coated paws landed upon his sleeping divan, small prints in shades of green and red trailing the creature. The cat paused just before Solas’ feet, its eyes staring up at the Dread Wolf, while the nobby tail twitched in contemplation.

“You see me for what I am, don’t you,” he spoke to the judgmental eyes. Turning over his shoulder, he took in the half painted mural of the Inquisitor’s last accomplishment. “Do you see the mural or the line?”

The cat mewled, stretching its limber body long against the floor. Bending to his knees, Solas kept his hands to himself even as he watched the animal roll around to scratch its own back. “Do you tire of the fight? Have you tried to find succor where none would expect you to hide? Do you hope for peace to fill the gaps left behind from your absence?”

He reached forward, tender fingers bouncing into the cat’s head. When his nails found the spot, the cat leaned into him, using his fingers for a free scratch. A rumble rose from deep in the creature’s gut, the soothing purr bringing a smile to Solas’ lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stopped to simply pet an animal.

A bird of bright plumage, colors no longer seen in this drained world, landed beside him. It watched same as the cat, eyes of a haunting blue wondering what that bald elf was doing. For a moment, he’d let his fingers wander from his path, curling against the downy feathers. Peace. Serenity. It was what he’d hoped for.

So he chose to end the reign of the gods. To free the people from what their own fervid beliefs created. The bird took wing before the veil erupted from his trembling hands to coat the world and change it.

He meant for it to be better.

Rising from his crouch, Solas turned to face the wall. It wasn’t the line he stared at, nor the mural itself. The wall, a fortress, a mountain, a country, a world. All of it in shambles because he created a void and they filled it with pain.

Heat brushed against his shins, Solas’ eye drifting down to find the cat circling his legs. With a smile, he patted his shoulders and commanded the cat, “Up.”

Paint prints trailed the cat’s climb, red and green tracks circling Solas’ back as the animal nested upon his shoulder. It drew its face against his, the scar of war scratching upon his chin. The animal purred relentlessly, finding a kindred soul within this world – the cat who followed orders, and the wolf who followed none.


anonymous asked:

Gayest album innit mate? Im turning on your notifications because I just really wanna know how youre gonna reach to say its gay. Explain this "Hard candy dripping on me till my feet are wet, she’s all over me, it’s like I’m paying for it, it’s like I’m paying for it, I’m gonna pay for it" sOo GaYyY wOw lmfaoooo

Well, Hard Candy is the name of Madonna’s second most underrated album, so I’d say that’s pretty gay, wouldn’t you?