#fallintolife

Moodboard for @fallintolife‘s Ways to Disappear !!

It’s their fic about a nb original character who neatly fills the gap of Tsunade’s parent’s generation. This Senju is such a great character and in the last chapter he really flowed off the page.

When she opens the door, she rakes her eyes up and down him, scanning for who-knows-what. Then: “Yes, Takushi-chan?”

“Chuunin-sensei said I was a girl,” Takushi says bluntly.

Something dangerous sparks in (Auntie) Ichino’s eyes, quickly hidden. “Did you tell him you weren’t?”

“Yeah,” Takushi says. “He didn’t listen.”

Auntie Ichino (parenthesis in quote for context) going up to bat for her nephew at the drop of a hat gave me feels deep in my little gay heart. Yeah you live in a ninja military dictatorship but family is family. 

go EAT wispy

I mean yes but also it was literally a thousand years ago that he founded the house.

I finished a WIP that had been languishing for six months

[Sorry for the long delay. I had this written, but I forgot to actually post it. Anyway, here’s some Jessica/Trish for you.]

Trish walked downstairs again, rolling her eyes as Jessica lazily flopped down on the couch after returning from the bathroom.

“Trish,” Jessica groaned. “Trish,” she tried again, extra whine slipping through her words.

“No,” Trish said firmly, pushing at Jessica’s legs, which were stretched out down the couch, boots resting on the armrest.

Jessica held her legs in place for a minute, just because she could, before she acquiesced. Trish sat down, facing her, and brought her hand to rest on Jessica’s leg below her knee.

Jessica narrowed her eyes at her, practically scoffing for no discernible reason. “Trish, come on.”

Trish smirked at her, one eyebrow raised. “No,” she said again, this time her voice light, not quite resigned but determined that if this game were going to continue, she was at least going to have a little bit of fun with it. “No,” she said immediately when Jessica opened her mouth to speak.

“Patricia,” Jessica said, leveling her with that look, the one that said she knew Trish inside and out and she knew exactly how to push all of Trish’s buttons, in both good and bad ways.

“Jessica,” she said back, free hand grasping for the remote to the television. She flipped on the tv and it lit up the dim apartment slightly. Enough that Trish could make out more than the outline of Jessica’s face; she could now plainly see Jessica’s look of half-annoyance, half-determination.

“Trish, please. Just this once?”

“It’s always ‘just this once’ with you, Jess,” she responded. “It starts with ‘just this once’ and ends with ‘but you always do it’ and a lot of pouting.”

Trish mute the tv but let it play on with the latest goings-on in the city.

Jessica huffed and shifted on the couch, wiggling enough that Trish’s hand slipped off her leg. “First of all, I do not pout. I have never pouted, ever,” she insisted. “And also, I promise it’s really just this once,” she said quickly. “I’m so tired.”

Trish shot her a look, humming for a moment.

“Third,” and this time, Jessica had the audacity to look smug, “we both know you can only suffer through my whining for so long until you get up and make me a sandwich.”

Trish drew in a long breath, bending her knees as she brought her feet on to the couch in the space in front of her. “You know, Jess -” she started, watching the way Jessica inhaled softly, as she always did when Trish called her ‘Jess’ and reveling in the moment, “I probably would have made you a sandwich if you hadn’t literally flopped into my living room demanding that I feed you. A little please goes a long way, you know.”

And Jessica pouted, full on pouted and looked at Trish with big eyes. “But,” she stopped for a second, “I’m hungry. You should be feeding me for doing that whole ‘save the world’ thing you’re always harping on about. I saved a bunch of lives today, I want a sandwich. I will whine until I get one.”

Trish chuckled and stood up, using Jessica’s knee to push herself up to her feet. She headed for the stars to her bedroom. “You did well today, Jessica, and I’m always proud of you,” she said. “You know that.”

“And —”

“And good night, Jess. I hope the empty room you whine to learns how to make a sandwich,” and she smirked all the way upstairs.

“Trish, you’re the worst,” Jessica called out. “Tri-ish,” she hollered. “Trish, no.”

Twenty minutes later, after Trish had already settled into bed in her pajamas with her tablet out in front of her, reading emails for tomorrow’s show, Jessica came into the room, boots dangling from one hand and the other hand holding a plate. Jessica looked at her defiantly, eyes narrowed, daring Trish to say something about the damn sandwich on her plate. But Trish just grinned at her and held the blankets up, waiting for Jessica to drop her boots by the door —  right in the spot where Jessica knew Trish would stop over them in the morning. Jessica slid into bed, half of her sandwich already in her mouth, getting crumbs everyone.

Trish sighed. “Always crumbs in the bed,” she muttered.