#tat: writing

[tellmeallaboutit]

jealousy in creative spaces

I got an interesting ask that I am not gonna post because it is a bit too specific, but I still want to follow up on the topic. It's about jealousy in creative spaces.

We don't talk enough about jealousy in creative spaces. Many of us feel jealous, I certainly did. Of different things: of clout, of fanart, of comments, of popularity, of someone else's work that's considered a "gold standard" or a trendsetter, or just of someone else's skill and talent.

There is this two cakes meme, which is cute and reassuring... but come on. You are presented with two cakes IRL, you usually try both but pick the one you like more and go on eating it. If you eat both, you still have a preference. There's still the one you'd rather recommend to your friend. And of course everyone has different tastes, but sometimes by the end of the party one cake is completely gone and the other is half eaten.

And it stings. 

Myself, I stopped reading fics in the middle of chapter because I was being eaten alive by the green monster. It was well written, and eloquent, and witty, and so on, and it was - the main thing - better than I write. After that, I spent a good ten minutes in internal diatribes how this fic is overrated and pure shit, and then I got a grip on myself.

So, this is more anon-specific:

I think the line is that you should be aware of your feelings and not be directly harmful to the person who caused them - so no hate comments, no unwanted criticism, just, you know, don’t do hateful things. Otherwise, feel the feels, be frustrated, yeah, comparison steals joy, but we are human beings and cannot just turn off some things.

[gyarujo]

❛ 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡’ 𝗢𝗡 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗦 ブルーロック

synopsis. kaiser etches your kisses into his skin, permanently

contents. sfw! slightly suggestive if you squint. pro player! michael kaiser x fem! reader. est rel. they’re dating. reader gets called schatz & liebling. kaiser may be a little ooc i fear

michael kaiser is weirdly obsessed with your kisses. he leaves your lipstick marks on his skin because they’re proof he’s wanted. proof he’s loved. he wants everyone to see them, wants the universe to know he’s yours, and he’s immensely proud of it.

he shows up at soccer practice with glossy red marks littered just above his collarbone, like they’re a part of his uniform. at interviews, they’re smeared across his jawline. he grins shamelessly every time an interviewer pretends not to notice them, like he’s daring them to ask, just so he can brag about his relationship with you.

on the red carpet, he turns slightly to the side to let the cameras catch the faint glossy imprint you left on his cheek. even during the world cup, the world cup, he lifts up his jersey post-match and there it is. your kiss, stamped right on his abs, impossible to miss.

he wears your kisses everywhere. on his neck, along his jawline, just above his waistband. half-tucked away beneath the fabric. intimate and hidden from the rest of the world. he loves those the most, they’re quieter, softer, private, proof of your connection. of something real. and he loves the weight of it.

it’s more than lipstick to him. it’s love etched on his skin. it’s his signature at this point and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

it starts off as a joke. you’re sitting cross legged on the couch in one of his jerseys, when he strolls in after practice with yet another kiss of yours pressed above his collarbone.

you weren’t trying to start anything, not really, just pointing out the fact your lipstick was always on kaiser’s body and he did absolutely nothing about it. he wouldn’t even let you wipe them off yourself.

you’d be annoyed if he didn’t look so pretty with them. you’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so proud of himself.

“you might as well get them tattooed at this point mihya,” you say, shaking your head. half laughing, half-exasperated. you expect him to join in your laughter. to brush it off and call you silly. instead, he tilts his head and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips

“ja? you want me to?” his light blue eyes sparkle as he wraps his arms around you, “where should i get them, schatz?”

and when you roll your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed, pretending not to melt under his piercing gaze, he just grins wider. that cocky, irresistible smile that always gets under your skin. the kind that says he already knows you secretly want him to.

for a second, you think he’s bluffing. just messing with you like he always does.

“i’m serious,” he murmurs, voice low as his lips graze the shell of your ear, “your lips look good on me, might as well make them permanent”

something about the way he says it makes your heart stutter. you hate how much it gets to you so you brush him off with a scoff, refusing to meet his sapphire gaze as you push lightly at his chest

he doesn’t budge, lips brushing along your jaw as he murmurs again, “pick a spot liebling, anywhere and i’ll do it”

you almost forget about it. almost. he doesn’t bring it up and neither do you. until exactly a week later, he walks into your shared kitchen fresh from the shower, shirtless with loose-fitting sweats hanging low on his waist, and drops a blank sheet of paper down on the counter. alongside it is your favourite lipstick.

you glance up briefly before returning to your bowl of fruits, “. . .what’s that?”

he slides your lipstick across the marble towards you, “need three of ‘em schatz”, you blink at him curiously, “three kisses” he clarifies, “for the tattoo”

you begin to laugh, but he isn’t laughing with you. and your laughter dies in your throat, “oh, you’re serious?”

“dead” he leans against the counter, arms folded. his blonde and blue hair is a mess of wet curls, clinging to his forehead. and his impossibly blue eyes don’t waver. he isn’t playing around this time. “my appointment’s in twenty minutes”

you stare at him for a moment, then glance down at the paper, then back at him, “you’re actually getting my lips tattooed on you?”

“ja” he replies, like he can’t comprehend why he on earth he wouldn’t, “you said i might as well schatz, so now i am”

your lips part but no words are formed. he looks positively pleased with himself, “three kisses” he repeats, tapping the paper impatiently, “one for each year we’ve been together.”

“you’re insane” you mutter, grabbing the the lipstick and twisting the cap off with a click. for once, he doesn’t argue. he just watches you with quiet satisfaction as you press kisses to the paper. slow and deliberate. “there. three”

he doesn’t say anything right away, just stares down at the paper wordlessly like it’s something precious. like it’s more than three red lipstick stains on paper. he holds it a second longer than necessary, like he doesn’t want to crease it, but eventually he does, slowly, carefully, before slipping it into his pocket.

you think that’s it. that he’ll walk off smugly and stop bothering you. instead, he pads lazily around the counter, veiny hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the curve of your cheek, and he looks at you like you hung the stars just for him.

he leans in, nose brushing against yours as he kisses you. his lips taste faintly of mint. his fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you close enough for your chest to brush against his. when he finally pulls away, his lips hover just above yours, eyes half-lidded and soft

“i’ll be back soon liebling,” he whispers affectionately, lips ghosting over yours, light blue eyes shining with something softer than their usual cocky glint “try not to miss me too much”

with one last kiss to your temple, he turns away. you watch as he trudges to your bedroom to throw on a hoodie. a minute later, he grabs his keys from the counter, winking at you on his way out.

he’s gone long enough for you to stop doubting him, long enough for the utter ridiculousness of it all to wear off. long enough for it to start feeling real. you spent the first hour pacing, shaking your head, and laughing. because you couldn’t fathom how a meaningless joke had spiraled into this.

in the hours after the first had passed, your mind ran wild with possibilities of what the tattoos would look like. where would he get them? how big would they be? would he ask his tattoo artist to ink your name beneath them? you tried to convince yourself that no one couldn’t possibly be this obsessed with you. not even him. he had to be bluffing

spoiler alert: he wasn’t. he was dead serious

the front door opens a little after sunset, flooding the living room with mellow light. kaiser kicks off his shoes, drops his keys on the counter and doesn’t say much of anything.he just stands there, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

you sit up straighter on the couch, folding your arms over your chest “so?”

“so what schatz?” he cocks his head, feigning ignorance

“did you. . ?” you narrow your eyes at him from across the room “don’t mess with me mihya”

“come here.” he smirks, eyes sparkling with that infuriating confidence that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. you hesitate. he crooks a finger, beckoning you closer and he knows you’ll come.

you cross the room reluctantly. kaiser hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, eyes locked on yours the whole time, and slowly pulls them down just enough to show you.

your brain short circuits. there they are. three perfect, inked kiss marks. curved right along his v-line. identical to the ones you left on that paper.

“oh my—” you whisper, your hand lifts before you can stop it, fingertips grazing the saniderm draped over the kiss etched on his pelvis. the tattoos were still slightly red and sore around the edges. he sucks in a sharp breath as your hand falls to your side, “you actually—”

“told you i would” he shrugs, “and next year, i’ll get a fourth.” he murmurs, “one for each year we’re together”

he says it like the future is already set in stone. like loving you is the only thing he’s ever been sure of. like there’s no alternate universe or timeline where he could ever love anyone else.

“you’re gonna run out of space eventually”

“i’ll make more” he steps closer, drifting into your personal space like he owns it, like he owns you. his arms slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“you’re ridiculous” you say, shaking your head fondly as he grabs your wrist and brings it down to press against the tattoos, right over the fresh ink, still warm beneath his skin. he holds it there. holds you there.

“you love it,” he whispers, tilting his head just slightly, just enough to drag his lips over your jaw. “you love me.”

your voice is quieter when you reply, “i do love you”

“you know what i love?” he grins, placing a feather-light kiss to your sternum.

“mm?” you manage, breath catching in your throat as he presses yet another kiss to your collarbone. then your neck. soft and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“that now” he says, pressing another kiss to your jaw, “even when we’re miles apart. even when you’re not kissing me. . .” his lips find yours. hover there, barely touching. “you still will be, forever liebling ”

and when he kisses you for real and it feels like he’s right. like you’ll never truly stop kissing him. you curl your fingers into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer, but it doesn’t feel close enough. it never will

kaiser kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of you. like he needs to feel you to breathe. like the ink on his body isn’t enough, and he needs this too. he needs this more

when he finally pulls away, just barely, lips brushing against yours with each breath, his eyes are softer than they’ve ever been betore. and he knows, for certain, he would endure the pain of getting tattooed a million times over if it meant he got to keep you like this. in his arms. in his life, forever.

© GYARUJO 2025. please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites. do not feed to ai

[deerspherestudios]

Hi, so this is my first ask, I hope you are having a good day/night! I have a question: Yesterday you posted about mychael's handwriting, and that got me curious, what would Alma/Vida's handwriting be like? (Ooh and Atom's, too!) Have a good one!

Ahh it's a long time coming but Atom's handwriting is,,, well,,,

They're not the best with spelling. Or writing at all for that matter.

Bonus: Mychael’s handwriting OR Alma/Vida’s handwriting.

[ysaefinn]

First time having sex with childhood best friend Suguru who's been in love with you for YEARS but you're not allowed to cum unless you say you love him <33

[taddymason]

Face to Face

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Real Talk: Ace Didn't Need to Ask For Help, It's On Garp

i always hate when i see comments about how ace was an idiot or ace should have just asked garp for help because, no? like dawg wtf do you mean?

the one thing we have been told repeatedly across the manga and anime is that ace could have lived his entire life being perfect and he still would have ended up on that podium

he could have become a marine, a police officer, a teacher, a chef and all of that would have been reduced to nothing the moment his parentage was discovered

yes, ace became a pirate of his own volition, but sengoku never mentioned his piracy

he never mentioned all the criminal activity ace did as the captain of the spade pirates or even later as the second division leader of the whitebeard pirates

you know what sengoku did bring up though the moment he got on that damn podium? ace's parentage

he mentions nothing that gained ace his bounty to begin with when he gets that den den mushi in his hand. why?

because it doesn't matter that ace is a pirate. what matters is that they are eradicating the last gol d roger's bloodline

bear in mind that they were killing pregnant women and young children who could have even had the slightest possibility of being roger's lover or kin

akainu deadass says that he doesn't care if every other pirate at marineford escapes as long as ace and luffy died and he would ensure their deaths personally. and for what? not their piracy. none of their crimes. not even for ensuring that the truth that certain countries and lands that were actually saved by pirates instead of the marines never got out

but because their fathers were gol d roger and monkey d dragon respectively

solely because of that, he deemed neither of them deserved to live

and as far as garp goes - i love garp as much as the next person but garp has never done anything for ace to trust him enough to ask for help even if he felt he deserved to ask

garp's negligent parenting coupled with the abusive words ace grew up hearing led ace to believe he didn't even deserve to be born. when he even asks garp if his being born was a good thing, garp can't even tell him 'yes'. he just says 'time will tell'. my brother in the blue seas, that is an elementary schooler questioning his right to exist

ace is defeated by blackbeard in episode 325 (chapters 434-441), luffy hears about his execution being set in episode 416 (chapter 522) and then finally ace is killed in episode 483 (chapter 574). that is 158 episodes and 140 chapters total and in that time what ace receives from garp are conversations that boil down to

"you did this to yourself"

"i just wanted you to become a fine marine"

"i don't have sympathy for criminals but i do have sympathy for family"

and garp actively preventing those who wish to save ace from reaching him. yes after akainu strikes ace, garp does react viscerally with instinct to protect his grandson, but that's too little too damn late at that point

garp having his moral dilemmas mean nothing when, however long ace spent in impel down, he isn't trying to help him

garp having his 'wishing things had been different' thoughts mean nothing when garp is preventing people from saving his grandson

there's a reason garp lets dadan beat and berate him when they reunite in windmill village and it's because he knows she's right

over the course of 20 years, garp has consistently chosen work over ace and luffy. as much as i love dadan and co, bandits are not a good choice to have raise your grandkids and then be the surprised pikachu meme when neither of them wish to become marines

garp's inability to see past the system he disdains yet clings onto actively shoots him in the foot

prevents him from seeing that ace is right when he says he never could have become a marine

luffy could have never become a marine. i do hear arguments saying that luffy might have had a fair chance considering garp is biologically his grandfather but i say that's truly up in the air considering how, even with that knowledge, akainu still wants to put luffy on a poster

but that's all to say, asking why ace never asked garp for help is ridiculous

the fuck would ace look like asking the man who has done nothing but

unintentionally fostered ace's resentment towards luffy in their early childhood

told ace it was his own fault he landed where he did

falcon punched marco halfway across marineford

for help?

and that's not even mentioning the fact that up until that point, ace didn't believe he deserved to live. he didn't think he had the right to exist. the only thing that kept him going up until that point was hoping he'd find an answer that justified his being born and his love for luffy and sabo. ace tells luffy in his dying breaths if it weren't for the two of them, he would have gave up on living a long time ago

yes, garp loves ace and luffy

he loves them both dearly but he is also incapable of putting them before work, before his ideals of justice. these two truths can coexist at the same time. garp's stubborn to a fault and his moral dilemma resulted in both inaction and the prevention of ace's escape

so to say that marineford would have gone differently if ace had asked is seriously undermining the character work. because in reality, it's up in the air on whether or not that would have done anything. ace asking garp for help could have gone either way and that's the beauty of the gray area regarding garp's actions during the summit war

and yes, i can get why it's frustrating that ace turned around to fight akainu when he could have just left and got it back in a blood a different time

but aside from ace having a temper about specific topics, we do get an answer as to why he couldn't bring himself to runaway when we finally are able to dive into his past with luffy and sabo:

he doesn't want to run away from any situation because ace is deathly afraid of losing something if running away ends up being the bad call

and in that moment, luffy was behind him

even if akainu hadn't talked down whitebeard, ace would have inevitably turned back around because he wouldn't have been able to shake his fear of losing something or someone he cared about

as long as there is something precious for him to potentially lose, ace will never run

he was doomed from the start

his being the son of gol d roger doomed him from the start

and that's what makes ace so tragic

[luminar-a]

never forget that tatting is an extremely niche craft, and every time you’ll be on a train, pull out your little shuttle and start tatting, your hands will gain the power to hypnotize people

[galaxyspark-6e16]

My Viva gijinka design ✨🌟🌠 isn't she fantamazing!

[kortac-sweetheart]

it's hot. it's way, waaaay too hot to be normal. you feel like you're dying. sure in reality it might be hyperbole but that's sure what it feels like. is this how it's supposed to be? god, this is terrible.

you don't even have the strength to open your eyes, limbs leaden and throat dry. someone's running a hand over your face... it's cool. a welcome relief from the heat no matter how fleeting.

"the first is always the most intense...poor thing..." keegan can only shake his head, sighing as he stands to fetch a cold compress. logan is left alone with you, sat on the far edge of the bed in fear of worsening your heat. his eyes flicker worriedly between you and keegan, wringing his hands anxiously.

"you sure they'll be fine?" it seems like keegan is only able to sigh today.

"positive. never seen one this intense though. but the only thing we can do is monitor them and wait it out unfortunately."

at that moment you cry out in pain, writhing on the bed and it hurts them, feeling like they got stabbed in the heart.

keegan kneels besides where you lie on the bed, grasping your weak hand in his and keeping his voice low.

"shhh, sugar. it's ok... you're gonna be alright. tell us what you need if you can.." he gently tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind you ear, hand moving to hold your weak one. he's worriedly chewing on his lips, and logan has never seen him like this before.

it's... scary. yes, it's scary seeing keegan so worried. he always had things under control and to see him now, it's unsettling.

he's snapped out of his reverie when you cry, barely even able to form words.

"a--alpha.. lo-- (pant) logan..." your face scrunches up in pain again as another wave of searing heat washes over you. they give each other a confused look for a second, you were in absolutely no physical condition to do anything remotely intimate.

"what do you need from him sweetheart? go on, tell him." he urges you further, and it's like logan's body moves on it's own, now sat next to you instead of the bed's edge.

"(pant) hold-- hold me... please..?" you barely manage to wrench your eyelids open to look at him. or rather, what you think is him. everything's blurry and fuzzy around the edges, and only a second passes before they're closed again.

as if he could deny you of such a thing.

he moves on instinct, lying down on his side next to you and pulling you in. he gently maneuvers your head to rest on his bicep, face buried in his neck and right near his scent gland.

(your skin is nearly searing him through his clothes, but he'll endure anything for you.)

his other arm holds your back, anchoring you to him and as his legs intertwine with yours it's like you can finally breath again. your tense muscles relax, ache bleeding from your body as you breath him in.

he smells like dewy cool night air, the kind that lingers after a particularly intense rain shower. there's also the scent of freshly laundered linen, there's no particular detergent smell but it still smells clean, an almost papery quality to it. also that kiss of oakmoss and leather, the kind that's worn-- it brings a little earthy goodness to his scent. and to top it off, there's always a sort of gunpowder smell clinging to him. whether it's actually a part of his scent, or it's permanently rubbed off on him from work you'll never know.

his scent lessens the burden of your heat, skin once burning hot to the touch now merely warm. logan sighs, a relieved one this time.

the hand on your back slowly creeps up to pet your head, his heart clenching happily as you sweetly lean into his touch.

"feel a little better, hm? that's good, you're doing good, sweetness." logan can't resist the urge to coo at you, carding a hand through your still sweaty locks. you take a moment to nuzzle into him a little before turning your attention to keegan.

the edges of his silhouette are still a little fuzzy, but the concern is still clear as day on his handsome face.

"doin' better sweetheart? need anything else? i'll fetch it for you." he's already halfway off the bed before you can answer him.

"no-- no, just... can you hold me, too? please, keegan?" that little "please, keegan?" has him falling for you all over again (quite literally), nearly uncharacteristically tripping over his feet to hold you.

in an instant he's also laying on his side, right behind you; chest pressed to your back, and his leg on top of yours' and logan's. his arm wraps around you and logan, pulling the two of you closer as he nuzzles into the back of your head.

you relax even further when you smell keegan's scent.

he smells like ripe, late summer blackberries. sugary, saccharine, and juicy ones macerated with fresh bundles of rosemary and english lavender. there's also a cool refreshing quality, like a cup of sweetened southern ice tea after a long day. and to top it all of with a bouquet of sweet german chamomile and a grounding kiss of myrrh.

his scent feels like it seeps into your bones, replacing that accursed heat with a mentholated touch. your head tilts back a little and bumps into keegan's shoulder, all too eager to smell more of that addicting sugary blackberry scent you've come to adore. it pulls a chuckle from the both of them.

"now now, slow down there sweet thing. you'll get a crick in your neck if you keep that up. you can smell more of me later--just rest up for now, alright?" keegan's palm leaves logan's back to firmly rub up and down your arm, shoulder to elbow, over and over again.

you want to whine, but ultimately he's right (like always), so you huff, settling down sandwiched comfortably between them.

"will do... (yawwwwn) g'night logan... g'night keegs...love..you" sleepily nuzzling your face into logan's chest once more before your breathing evens out.

"good night, sugar."

"night, sweetheart."

"we love you too."

they know you can't hear them, but they say it anyway.

[evelyn-and-art]

TORSO STUDIES (extras): Kotoha, Shizuka, Tsubakino and Endo

Art Studies with Eve #2

The studio welcomes three lovely queens 🫶

...and a snake 😕

And that completes the torso studies! Thank you for the positive feedback on the first part and for waiting for this one 🫶.

Part 1

[tellmeallaboutit]

longfic engagement

I had a very interesting conversation with a fellow writer and this is something that I can fully confirm as somebody who wrote 5 novel-length (100k+ words) fics in three different fandoms: you will always, without fault, regardless of what you do, lose 30-50% of your original readership across the length of your work (and gain other ones). The overlap between the users that commented on the first chapter and the last chapter would be way smaller than you think.

It may have reasons that have nothing to do with you (readers falling out of a hyper fixation, real life issues), some reasons that have something to do with you (you just cannot know the direction of fic from the first two-three chapters, and there always would be people that expected a different plot / dynamic, or the curse of the middle-part, or just losing interest in the plot or pacing).

I think I just made this post to point out it's a very widespread phenomenon and I don't know a single writer who has not experienced it. There is not a single creative decision you could have taken to retain them; if you would taken another, you would have lost other readers.

(This phenomenon is not exclusive to writing form: most of the people in BG3 never make it to Act 3 or never finish the game).

[petalborn]

so travis meacham is a former navy man… right right… and an ex con…. right right… and looks like blonde joe keery with an earring…. right right.. and he’s a total fucking idiotic loser…. right right.. and i’m expected to not wanna write total filth about him and fantasize about fucking him in a janitor’s closet? …. right right

[hurlingdown]

hi hi! I was wondering, since you're one of my favorite writers, could u plzzz do little fic with law giving himself as a present to m!reader for his birthday?

(its my bday, dk if u care tho lol)

imagine having trafalgar law on your lap, eyes lidded, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, letting out small breathy moans as he works himself up and down your cock. 

it’s your birthday, and you’ve just returned to your room, but he had insisted on doing this, saying that it was all part of his gift to you. you were beginning to think that mind-blowing sex was the present he had prepared—not that you were complaining. 

it’s not until he’s shuddering and gasping, a moment away from tipping over the edge, gazing at you with so much love and want that you almost forget to breathe, that he shakily conjures a Room. 

“Mes,” he whispers, and cuts out his heart for you. 

you see it then: carved into red, pumping muscle, in neat black ink, is your name. 

you tremble, pulling him in for a kiss, hands shaky as you gently grasp your present, tracing every artery, feeling every pulse. all of it, permanently yours. 

“happy birthday,” he gasps against your lips, coming apart, and if you hadn’t realised, you know it for sure now: falling in love with trafalgar law is anything but fleeting. it is a strange sort of dance, sweet and saccharine at times, and in others, crowded with great tides of an inexplicable yearning to own and possess, heavy and intimate and soulful. 

law knows this very well, and you do too: because at the end of the day, what’s his is yours.

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

Sweet Bourbon (Simon ‘Ghost’ RileyxTatted!Baker!Reader) Ch.1

The brainworms were worming and I was getting ideas for this and finally decided to start on it! Let’s all enjoy Simon falling in love with a tatted baker!

TW: Swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scotland was cold this time of year, Simon had learned this years ago when Johnny’s mum had insisted that he start joining them for the holidays. The two men walked side by side, bags in hand after being tasked with getting last minute groceries and gifts.

         ”Oi L.T., you smell that? Like fresh bread and lemons.” Johnny turns to look at Simon and then the shop across the way as the large man stops and turns. The shop is brightly colored inside and painted dark outside; fairy lights strewn across the front giving it a warm glow. He grunts and turns away, fully ready to get back to the Mactavish homestead and out of the cold.

“Maybe Maw and sis would like some fresh desserts. Let's go an take a look!” Before he can protest Johnny has crossed the street to the little bakery, begrudgingly he follows. The crowd flowing in and out of the bakery impressive, they must be popular.

The closer the pair gets the more they can smell. The sight and scent of fresh bread, cookies, cakes and more makes their stomachs growl; they'd been out for hours now after all. Through the window there are some booths and a few tables currently occupied by a few elderly, some parents and kids, and a few of the teens and couples. “Cozy.”

Simon watches Johnny bounce up to the counter and the admittedly very out of place looking cashier. The woman smiles at him and Johnny, Simon can't help but enjoy the sight of her soft cheeks and their rosy color. “Would you boys like a sample of anything? It's all fresh out of the oven!”

-Reader's POV-

Your morning had started extremely early and slightly chaotic as you rushed around your room finishing your morning routine in record time. The reality of your dream coming true months ago had finally settled, early mornings and late nights holding all of your time. You locked the door to your home, waved goodbye to your mother and grandfather while flipping off your brother, insisting you didn't have time for his bullshit, the pastries weren't gonna bake themselves.

You head down the stairs from the second story and into the shop, the clock reads 2:45 a.m. Donning your apron and putting your hair up you get to work finishing the pastries you had started the night before. Your family eventually trickles in to help bake and get ready for opening, your brother placing out chairs and wiping down tables as your grandfather runs through the register to make sure it’s good to go. Your mother helps you place the fresh treats in the cold display case before starting to brew the coffee.

”Hey sis! It’s almost 6! Are you ready yet?” your brother bellows, “Just a minute you brat! Mom’s still working on the coffee.” You shake your head as he grumbles and heaves an annoyed sigh. It’s not long after that  before you hear the first knock on your door sounds through, the smell of fresh brewed coffee, tea and pastries drawing in the early risers. “Alright let's get started!” You turn the sign on the door to ‘open’ and unlock it, getting flooded almost immediately. With Christmas coming up it was gonna be another busy day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon couldn’t respond fast enough to her, Johnny cutting in immediately and agreeing to samples asking for almost 5 different kinds plus chocolates. He watches the young woman gather the samples for Johnny before she turns her gaze to him. “And you sir?” He stares a moment too long and feels his face flush a bit as she tilts her head in question, dyed pink hair moving with her. “Got anythin with bourbon in it?”

He can’t help but stare as she beams at him and nods excitedly. “We do! Just mastered the recipes last night!” She reaches into the case and pulls out a cookie, a chocolate and what looks like a brownie. “This is a bourbon brown sugar cookie, the chocolate is a bourbon vanilla mix, and the bar is vanilla and honey with the bourbon mixed into the chocolate layer!” She cuts them all and hands the pieces over. Johnny has long since finished his samples and has begun ordering, talking animatedly with an older woman and an elderly man at the mention of his family.

Simon pulls his face mask down enough to try the samples, his sweet tooth going into overdrive as the brown sugar and bourbon hit his tongue from the cookie, the chocolate was even better, the bourbon chocolate bar was so sweet he could feel his blood sugar spike. He held eye contact with the young woman as he ate the sweets, confused as to why she hadn’t looked away. “So? How are they? Good right?” Simon nods, giving a grunt. “I’ll take a bag. However many ya wanna put in it.” She nods and begins bagging and boxing up the treats.

Simon and Johnny pay for their haul getting ready to leave but just as they turn she stops them. “Just so you guys know, active military get free gift baskets and care packages. If you ever want any sent to your base just let us know! Have a good day and thank you for stopping by!” They wave back to her and continue on their way. It’s not long before the two men are finished and back at the house and wrapped up in the warmth of the fire and the smell of supper wafting from the kitchen. Mrs.Mactavish comes from around the corner of the kitchen to welcome them home, Johnny’s sister following close behind as they set the treats and groceries on the counter.

”Welcome back boys! Did ye get everythin’ on the list?” She begins going through the bags as Simon goes to set the gifts aside elsewhere. “Aye ma we did and some extra.” They look towards the sound of a rustling bag and see Simon already getting into his treats. “Noo Simon dinnae be spoilin yer appetite! Suppers almost ready.” He sighs and begrudgingly puts the cookie back in the bag. “Ohh! Are those from that bakery with the fairie lights out front? Maw’s been ravin bout the place for a bit.”

”Aye! Got some treats for dessert.” Johnny gives a yelp at being whacked with the wooden spoon his mother was using to stir the pot full of stew, getting reprimanded for trying to snatch a roll before she turns to Simon. “The young woman there is such a sweet lass. Bakes most of the treats herself, she does. Lives on the top floor with her family. Such nice people even though everyone finds her odd.” Johnny’s sister pipes up, mischief glimmering in her eyes as looks towards Simon. “She’s single too! Maw often has coffee with her mither when she goes to the bakery. The two ‘ave been tryin to play matchmaker fer awhile noo.”

Johnny plays into it. “Oh aye? Single ye say? Hear that L.T? She seems just yer type. Saw ya makin eyes at ‘er and she didn’t seem put off by yer starin.” Simon shakes his head and sighs, “No thanks. Don’t got the time for birds.” “Och nonsense Simon. Give the woman a chance eh? Ye never ken, she may like you back, hm? Least think ‘bout it.” He looks at Mrs. Mactavish for a second before turning away. “I’ll set the table.” He can’t help the lingering thought of actually shooting his shot with the pink haired baker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @cumikering

[honeybunniesoobin]

@stoned-writer got me thinking about tatted!rafe so it’s time :3

will do something on rafe getting a tattoo for you!! and maybe matching tattoos later hehe

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆

i personally feel like rafe would be more into a patchwork sleeve than a traditional one, and is super serious about the placement of them.

you will find him, at times, staring at his laptop in search for his next tattoo. occasionally, you see him looking at his arms to see where said tattoo could fit. he takes this task very seriously.

as someone with a bf that has a snake tattoo, i just KNOW that rafe also has one. he got it a while before he met you and when you go to tease him about it, he says

what do you mean every guy has a snake tattoo? how do you know that?

and then,

fuck. should i get it removed…

after that conversation, rafe makes sure to ask you about each tattoo he plans on getting — mainly for approval but also to make sure he’s not getting something basic.

[whumpfish]

"Take me instead," but not because the chosen target, B, is A's love interest, or the weakest on the team, or a recently redeemed character or someone A wants to show how much they really mean to the team.

"Take me instead," because A has suffered too great a loss already. "Take me instead," because A can't live through another loss, won't survive another funeral. "Take me instead," because A would rather be dead than have to watch one more person die, no matter who the person in question is.